Summer Travels: Stars Fell on Alabama

Every summer the wife and I trot off to a family reunion, usually held somewhere in the Deep South.  Attendees are relatives on my mother's side, though the closest kin to me are descendants of some of my great-great-grandfather's brothers.  So mainly, the people are just long-time friends we've made over the last 33 years, who all just happen to descend from the same German immigrant born in 1758.  Before we left, my wife asked, "isn't this thing ever going to die-out?"  We always enjoy it--once we get there.

The venue this year was a lodge on Lake Eufaula, on the Alabama-Georgia border.  We made a long weekend of it, leaving late Thursday, and coming home Monday.  I tire easily of the interstate, and leave it at the first opportunity.  My doing so made an easy five-hour trip from Jackson into an eight-hour drive.  But I am glad I did.  I turned off I-20 and meandered down through Eutaw, Greensboro and Marion--the heart of what is called the "Black Belt."  These towns get little hype, which make them all the more interesting.  The wife and I enjoy the Deep South, but usually for it's literary connections--Faulker's Oxford, Welty's Jackson, Percy's Greenville, Chopin's Nachitoches, Lee's Monroeville or O'Connor's Milledgville--that sort of thing.  But I also remember the classic line from Stars Fell on Alabama, "For God's sake, get out of here before it's too late."

We always drive around the courthouse squares of these little towns, where my wife is on the look-out for old-time hardware stores.  We hit three of them along the way, picking up a homemade step-ladder in one.  We also stumbled upon this, housed in an old store-front, two blocks off the courthouse square in Greensboro.  Any business with the word "pie" in the advertisement is going to get my attention.  As it turns out, the enterprise is owned and run by young people, with oversight and support from UA.  And yes, the pie was delicious.  On the return trip, we found "Bates' House of Turkey," where you can either have turkey and dressing, or a turkey sandwich.  I appreciate a place that does one thing, but does it very well.   

The reunions are usually an interesting and convivial mix of old-money Mobile azalea-district meets red-clay Georgia back roads double-wides.  There's always a memorable line or story we bring back home.  Saturday afternoon, we were wandering around a thrift store in downtown Eufaula and bumped into a Georgia couple we've known for many years.  The talk turned to my wife's bout with poison ivy after cleaning out around the house in early summer.  The woman suffered from it as well, and told the story of her mother taking her down a back country lane as a child.  Their destination was a "conjurer," a local woman who "conjured" her poison ivy away.  My wife just looked at her, and finally asked, "if she is alive?"  My cousin Selma is always good for a quote.  She is in her mid-50s, unmarried, and lives in her mother's gracious home on a shady, old-money Mobile street.  That description, while accurate, paints the exact wrong impression, however.  She is also an outspoken, firebrand Democratic Party activist and attorney who gravitates towards representing those from the wrong side of the tracks--in other words, an old-school Southern liberal in the very best sense of the word.  A graduate of the University of Alabama, she was shocked to hear that one of her nieces was contemplating Auburn.  "Auburn??  I'd rather hear that she'd become a Republican than go to Auburn!"

Eufaula was a pleasant surprise--a historic downtown complete with good food and drink, but situated (now) on the shores of a large recreational lake.  The city makes good use of both advantages.  As one resident put it, Eufaula was just far enough away from Atlanta, but just close enough to Panama Beach.  The only discordant note was my discovery at the Eufaula Piggly Wiggly that you cannot buy a half-case of Yuengling to carry back home on a Sunday in Barbour County, Alabama.

Summer Travels: My Cousin's Wedding

My family has never been one of those big-wedding clans.  When I would see movies and television shows depicting Father of the Bride  type extravaganzas, complete with wedding planners, a full church, elaborate receptions and dance bands, I would always think "Do people actually do that?"  Of course, I know people do-just not my bunch.  Perhaps my parents set the tone when they eloped 76 years ago.  My grandmother followed my mother across the yard to where my dad was waiting in his roadster--wagging her finger at her daughter and telling her not to ever come back if she left with that man.  My wife and I wanted to elope as well, but her aunt insisted on a church wedding, primarily because she wanted to host the reception and show-off her new house in the process.  And so we did--my wife's niece was her one attendant, her cousin my best man, her father the minister, and cake and punch at her aunt's afterwards.  Of course, these days I have a different outlook on it all, but that is the subject for another post.

This summer, my extended family did in fact have one of those Father of the Bride weddings. My cousin is a school teacher of almost forty years, but her husband is a doctor of almost 25 years, which makes this sort of thing considerably easier to pull off. The bride-their daughter-is incredibly beautiful, with a personality to match. Both she and her brother and their cousins are just fine hanging out with their parents' old-fogey cousins. They were raised right. The groom looks like a good fit, as well. I think they will be just fine.

This was an "away" wedding, the venue being the Chapel of the Incarnate Word at the college of the same name in San Antonio--"chapel" being something of a misnomer as it is an immense, ornate sanctuary built in 1907 when Catholic architecture still meant something. The Chapel of the Incarnate Word is one of those unusual churches with the pews facing each side of the central aisle. Most of my cousins are Catholic and they had never seen this done either.    The newlyweds will live in San Antonio where he will attend medical school. 

My cousin from Arkansas drove down, and rode the rest of the way with my wife and I.  My son took his own car.  We stayed in the grand old St. Anthony Hotel downtown, built in 1909.   You almost cannot have a bad time in San Antonio, and we certainly didn't.  The wedding reception following was in the old Ursaline Academy, a historic 1850s convent right on the River Walk, now rented out for events like this.  The bridal party went back to their hotel, boarded a barge and floated down the river to the Academy, where we were all waiting, hors d'ouerves and drinks in hand.  Later at the meal, I felt a little odd having food and drink in what had clearly once been the convent's chapel.  During the meal, one cousin had my wife's ear the entire meal--no mean feat that, as my beloved is herself a conversationalist of the first order--while I chatted with my 88-year old aunt by marriage-the grandmother of the bride-who thought it all a little too much.  The mother of the bride was much occupied with the wedding planner, as there were, apparently, the requisite wedding crashers.  At some point during the night, we five first cousins stood together for a photograph outside the convent.

I've always been closer to my paternal cousins than my own siblings--both much older than myself.  My brother is deceased, but I have a sister who lives about six miles away.  I called her in early February, to tell of a family member's death, and before that I had not talked with her for about two years prior.  If I never call her again, I will never talk to her again.  This has been the pattern for almost 30 years and I am long used to it.  She has children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren,  but apart from my deceased brother's son, I am, in effect, an only child without nieces and nephews.  And so, my cousins filled this void.  There were 15 of us, all told.  (I have the same number of maternal cousins, as well, most of whom live nearby.  Unless I was handing out cash, however, I could not gather a quorum of them if my life depended upon it.)  One uncle's children by his brief first marriage always lived in California, and consequently were never in the mix.  One of their half-brothers met one of them, once.  My brother and sister never cared to keep up the connections with the cousins.  And so, that left eleven of us.  The picture below is of the eleven of us around our granddad in 1962:  Butchie, Dickie and Ronnie;  Debbie, Billy and Ellen; Susan, Daniel, Janet and Robert; and myself.  I always thought they were the neatest cousins anyone could have, and I still do.  We're a bit scattered now--North Carolina to Missouri to Arkansas to several locations in Texas.  But somehow, we manage to keep up with one another--sporadically to be sure, but still ongoing.  Cousins are the best.

Death by Football

This headline in today's Tyler paper confirmed what everyone knew was coming.  Little Lon Morris College in Jacksonville, Texas--the second-oldest college in Texas (1873)--is no more.  Already in bankruptcy, the federal funding is gone and the fall semester cancelled. 

I taught a history class there last fall and spring.  A good friend from church got me on there.  In fact, we had something of an Orthodox presence on campus.  All together, there were five of us.  Back in the fall, the checks--if you could call them that for adjuncts--started coming slower and slower.  By mid March, they stopped altogether.  Before graduation, control had been turned over to a consulting group, who terminated all teachers shortly after classes ended.

It didn't have to be that way.  Lon Morris College, heavily and lovingly endowed by Texas Methodists, was a going concern for many decades.  It did one thing really well, and that was drama:  Sandy Duncan, Tommy Tune, Margo Martindale--all Lon Morris alums.    For years, the Tyler Civic Theater has produced fluffy English drawing-room comedies.  Tyler audiences lap-up that sort of thing.  But if you wanted to see a musical, or a real play, you went to Jacksonville.  In our early marriage, my wife and I made a regular habit of it. 

Now mind you, Jacksonville--a quirky place in a county noted for being backward, even by East Texas standards--is no-one's idea of a typical college town.  The community has some rough edges to it, and the East Texas you encounter south of the city is noticeably different in culture from the more enlightened (or so we claim) environs to the north, where residents instead look to Tyler.  An old saying here north of the county line is that "if you want to look good, then go to Jacksonville."  Once my wife and I drove to a down-country funeral.  On the way back, she needed to stop at the Walmart or Dollar store.  In her black dress and pearl necklace, at the Jacksonville Walmart, I told her that she looked like Princess Margaret.  Other than Lon Morris, Jacksonville boasts an expansive plastics-plant manufacturing district, an annual Tomato Fest, and the Tops-in-Texas Rodeo.  The locals, however, accepted the artsy-types hanging around town, every one immediately identifiable as a Lon Morris drama major. 

Several years ago, a new regime came aboard, determined to shake things up with a new vision for Lon Morris.  Drama went by the wayside.    A new administrative center took shape, complete with grand lobby and spiral staircase, curved wood walls and expansive meetings rooms and office suites, with a fountain plaza out front.  By the time I came on board, the fountain was dry as a bone.

Of course, if Lon Morris was going to be really jazzed-up, it would need a football program.  And so, with the Board of Regents in tow, the president inaugurated the football age at Lon Morris College.  In short order, the campus gained a field house, practice fields and coaches.  For a couple years, enrollment soared to 1,000.  This was far more students than the college could house, so new dormitories were constructed.  In the interim, the overflow students were housed in an old motel on the edge of town.  Of course, the place was trashed, the neighborhood vandalized, and lawsuits popped-up against the college.  Academic standards and expectations plummeted.  By the time I arrived, enrollment was back down to about 450 or so.  The growth had not been natural.  The football, basketball, soccer and track jocks who couldn't get a real scholarship to a real sports program elsewhere found their way to Jacksonville.  I do not understand exactly how it all worked, but the college was going deeply in the hole for each and every student in the athletic program.  Once in class, I tried to muster a modicum of interest in their game that weekend, and asked who they were playing.  The best I could tell, it was a prep-school in Houston. 

In short, the football program never really caught fire, and instead of filling the college's coffers, sucked it into debt too severe to overcome--10 million, 14 million, 16 million, and finally 18 million.  The president and Board of Regents pushed on, confident that God had a miracle in store for the college.  The loyalists spoke in terms of it being their mission to educate the underprivileged.  Those discontents who questioned the direction of things were accused of not having enough faith.  It was do-good Methodism at its best.  My friend tried to organize some of the instructors to push for a change in direction, back toward academic excellence.  Most, however, were content to ride it on down.  Luckily, my friend bailed out and nabbed a position at Baylor. 

Some institution may buy the facility for a satellite campus.  Who knows.  There are a lot of lessons that can be learned from the death of little Lon Morris College.  I enjoyed my time there.  In my two classes of about 26 students each, I only had one student who knew a damn thing about American history--and he was from the Congo.  I doubt if I made any lasting impact on the others, but I had a helluva good time trying.

Easing Back into Things

    
     This has been a long dry spell for me.  I haven't tired of blogging, and it is not due to lack of subjects to discuss.  There's plenty I wish to pontificate about--the political circus, Syria, Orthodox concerns, foreign policy, cultural observations, etc.  The simple fact of the matter is that I haven't felt well in quite some time.  I suffered a freak pulmonary embolism last August, and as I now understand things, the fact that I am here writing these words after that is pretty remarkable.  But I never bounced back, and gradually came to the realization that I have been chronically fatigued for years. 

     When the sudden spike in blood pressure and chest pains started kicking-in, it was time to go see the doc.  As it turned out, I was in excellent health to be so sick. We were sure I suffered from the heart trouble that runs in my paternal side.  My heart, other than the too-frequent hardness thereof, was in fine shape.  So, I couldn't use that as an excuse.  My dad's grandmother was a wiry little dwarf of a woman who could still ride a horse at age 75.  She manipulated and controlled her daughters by feigning "heart-flutters" whenever she didn't get her way.  And it finally did take her on out--at age 84.  And so, I told my wife I was just having "heart-flutters," but she wasn't buying it.  My lungs checked out fine as well.  Ditto everything else they checked.  The last resort they knew to check was my sleep.  I've always been skeptical of these sleep studies, as it seems that if you take the test, they will diagnose you with sleep apnea.  As it turns out, I did have it--bad.  Basically, I stopped breathing 22 times an hour and my brain was in gear 31 times an hour during "sleep."  Whatever you want to call what was happening, it wasn't real sleep, and I awoke exhausted. 

     So now, I take double my former blood pressure medicine, I take a little acid-reflux pill that has made the chest pains go away, and I sleep with one of those masks hooked-up to a CPAC machine.  And with all this tinkering with my system, I am actually starting to feel good again.  I now wake up alert, which hasn't been the case for years.  The only thing left on my check-off list is to lose 25 lbs.  The doctor said I could eat potatoes or I could eat bread, but I couldn't eat both.  Damn.

     The rest of the year will be a busy period for me.  I have a writing project that will have to cook-off by late October.  I am teaching an online class at the university here, as well as 3 history classes at the junior college (a Mon-Wed  5:35 class, a Monday night class and a Wednesday night class, so it is not as bad as it sounds.)  And then there's my day job.  But I do plan to ease back into regular blogging.  The easiest way for me to do so, I suppose, is to throw out a bit of travel writing.  My recent pecuniary difficulties have kept me stateside in recent years.  Even so, something always turns up, and I managed to squeeze-in a journey or two this summer:  a cousin's wedding in San Antonio, our annual summer reunion trek to the Deep South, a historical/genealogical research jaunt to NC and PA, and a business trip to San Angelo, the queen city of mid-south-central West Texas.  So, look for these reports to trickle-in in coming days.   

Twenty Minutes at the Kimbell

St Anthony Torment of the Demons by Michealangelo (age 13)

Ordination by Poussin

I had the great pleasure of traveling to Fort Worth recently, visiting relatives there.  The state of Texas has three cities to commend it--Austin and San Antonio being the other two.  Both of these latter cities are falling victim to their own success, it seems.  Fort Worth, however, is just about right.  Unlike Dallas, this is a city of real neighborhoods.  And the city fathers have put some real thought into infrastructure--it being surprisingly easy to zip between the residential areas, downtown, the medical district and the arts district.  In terms of sheer livability, Fort Worth is hard to beat.

Christ and the Woman of Samaria by Guercino

I visited my aunt in rehab and then started home, a drive taking the better part of three hours. On a whim, I decided to stop off at the Kimbell Museum of Art, one of the city's treasures.   I was able to park almost at the front door, and the gallery is free of charge.  I spent twenty minutes or so, revisiting some of my favorite works, a few of which are posted here.

Four Figures on a Step by Murillo

Christ Blessing by Bellini

The Anger of Achilles by David

The Cardsharps by Caravaggio

The Cheat With the Ace of  Clubs by de la Tour

I always enjoy ending-up in front of a matched pair of paintings--The Cardsharps by Caravaggio and The Cheat with the Ace of Clubs by de la Tour.  Both present a similar theme:  the easy fleecing of these rosy-cheeked sons of privilege.  De la Tour's is especially droll, as his cheat--by showing his hand--makes the viewer an accomplice in relieving the youth of his gold doubloons on the table.

On Kicking a Ball

I have never been much interested in competitive sports.  I take pride in the fact that I rarely know which teams are playing in the Superbowl, much less any of the other bowls.  I am even less interested in baseball and basketball, not having the slightest clue about "March Madness."  I consider golf to be a colossal waste of time, almost sinfully so.  I can watch 10 minutes of the Tour de France, but only for the scenery.  

I do take a passing interest in soccer, however.  I wish it had been around when I was growing up.  Who knows, I might have been halfway decent at a sport which did not require me to throw, catch, hit or dribble a ball.  And back when I was traveling overseas more regularly, I confess to getting caught up a bit in the enthusiasm of it all.  With soccer, you can do interesting things--like rooting for Paraguay.  How often do you get a chance to do that?  

Nicholas Farrell, an expatriate Brit living with his Italian wife in her homeland, makes a few observations on the sport in The Holy Roman Church of Football.  He notes that, generally speaking, the Catholic countries are far better at the sport than Protestants who invented the game.  He has a little fun looking for a correlation between the Protestant Work Ethic and poor soccer skills.

Why are Catholics so good at kicking around soccer balls but so bad at running their countries?  Is it because they are Catholics?

Germany's refusal to sholder the entire debt burden of the eurozone's Catholic countries, plus that of Orthodox (semi-Catholic) Greece meant that its defeat was greeted with euphoric applause across the continent.

Whereas Karl Marx regarded economics as society’s driving force, Max Weber saw religion as more important. He argued in 1905’s The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism that there was a causal connection between Protestantism, especially Calvinism, and capitalism’s rise and that this explained why the Industrial Revolution took place in the Protestant, not Catholic, countries of Europe. 

Protestantism possessed what Weber called “the spirit of capitalism”; Catholicism did not. Weber said the Catholic Church was hostile toward the pursuit of wealth while the Protestants emphasized hard work and economic success to achieve salvation.

Weber said that Protestants, unlike Catholics...had become detached from magic.  The fruit of their disenchantment was capitalism.  Weber was definitely onto something.

The huge success of Catholic countries in soccer cannot be due entirely to the sign of the cross they make each time they run on to the pitch and their belief in God, who--being a Catholic--intervenes personally each time they play....Maybe it is because Catholics prefer sport to work and that is where they direct their energy and passion.  For as Weber wrote...To Catholics work is an obstacle, not a means, to salvation.

I have traveled in any number of places where the so-called Protestant Ethic never took hold(mainly due to lack of Protestants.)  Some of these places can only be described as down-trodden.  I do not want to romanticize these locales, and it would both arrogant and narcissistic to complain too much about the very ethic which, when you get right down to it, made it possible for me to walk those particular streets.  Observing the pace of life and appreciation of the small things, however, sometimes left me envious. Winning can be just another name for losing.  And visa versa. 

On Loathsomeness

"Loathsome" was a particularly favored adjective used by the late, great Milton Burton.  In his East Texas drawl, no one could make better use of the word than he.  So naturally, he came to mind when I read this article--The Loathsome Romney Candidacy:  How Did We Get Here? (and a h/t  to Rd. John for linking this.) 

Here's an excerpt that sticks with me:


Most decisive is what I’ve been calling the theological fusion of social and economic conservatism. Too many evangelical Christians seem incapable of even questioning Mammon. Now they enthusiastically welcome the money changers into the temple. Like the Calvinists of old, they glorify market outcomes as a sign of divine favor. And the cliche “class warfare” has served as a handy tool to shut down any deviation from this new orthodoxy.


Yep.  Loathsome is the word.

This Week in American Religion

     I've been too busy lately to do much in the way of blogging.  We are having the coolest, wettest summer (for Texas) in many years.  Evenings like this are too precious to waste in front of a computer screen, and I can no longer stay up into the wee hours.  And so, my imagined essays mostly remain only that.  I did want to comment, however, on a couple of recent developments.
    I remain endlessly fascinated by the ever-changing American religious scene.  Last week, an outlier LDS professor in Memphis, David V. Mason, caused a little stir when the NYTimes published his "I'm a Mormon, not a Christian."  Apparently Dr. Mason did not receive the memo from Salt Lake on this one.  No one expects theological subtlety from Mormons or the Times, but this piece is even sillier than most.  Mason explains the difference between Mormonism and Christianity thusly:

For the curious, the dispute can be reduced to Jesus. Mormons assert that because they believe Jesus is divine, they are Christians by default. Christians respond that because Mormons don’t believe — in accordance with the Nicene Creed promulgated in the fourth century — that Jesus is also the Father and the Holy Spirit, the Jesus that Mormons have in mind is someone else altogether. The Mormon reaction is incredulity. The Christian retort is exasperation. Rinse and repeat.

     And it is that howler that has generated the most reaction.  I am going to be charitable and assume that even most Mormons have a better understanding of  the doctrine they reject than does this particular writer.  But as one astute observer and friend of this blog has noted on another forum--why should anyone give a damn about how badly this writer or the New York Times mangles Trinitarian Christianity, or how any theologian responds to it since the vast majority of even professing Christians in this country simply do not have a clue as to what the argument is all about?  Owen writes:  "It's long past time to accept that a public interest in or even acknowledgement of Christian doctrine is long past and it ain't coming back anytime soon.   I think he has a point.  And before I get on my theological high horse and whine about all this, I need to remind myself of my own background.  I spent 25 years in a restorationist/evangelical church, and not just a pew-warmer, but the heavy-duty stuff--serving as deacon and elder, teaching classes, giving the occasional "sermon," etc.  In all that time, I cannot ever once remember myself or anyone else using the words "theology," "Trinity," or Lord forbid, "Trinitarian."  Had I done so, I would have been accused of reading the wrong kind of books (that accusation, of course, came later on.)  And besides, such terminology is not found in Scripture and was to be avoided at all costs.  We basically worshipped the Bible (the "Word") which informed us about Jesus.  We didn't know what to make of the Holy Spirit, other than whatever it was, it wasn't what the charismatics claimed it was.  My halting engagement with any sort of theological concepts--Trinitarian or otherwise--has only come about in the last 9 years.  And so, I was no different than most everybody else, except for the fact that I should have known better.  The subject of Mormonism came up last year in a conversation with my wife (who remains Protestant.)  She questioned my off-hand reference to the fact that they could not be understood as a Christian body, in the traditional understanding of the faith.  I was now able to answer her in a Trinitarian context.  She maintains a very particular understanding of her faith, but even so, she is like I was, and as is most of the country--identifying the LDS Church with clean-living, secretive (and weird) rituals, abstinence from caffeine (Good Lord!) and their extraneous book of "scripture," but unable to articulate exactly why they fall beyond the pale.  I firmly believe that the LDS Church is on the fast-track towards full acceptance, taking its place in the broad mainstream of American religiosity.  This has much more to do with the sluffing-off of American Protestantism, however, than it does with the validity of Mormonism's claims.  

     Apart from Dr. Mason's Trinitarian muddle, I believe his statement of faith to be of some significance. 

I’m perfectly happy not being a Christian. My Mormon fellows, most of whom will argue earnestly for their Christian legitimacy, will scream bloody murder that I don’t represent them. I don’t. They don’t represent me, either. ...In fact, I rather agree with Richard D. Land, the president of the Ethics and Religious Liberty Commission of the Southern Baptist Convention, who calls Mormonism a fourth Abrahamic religion, along with Judaism, Christianity and Islam. Being set apart from Christianity in this way could give Mormonism a chance to fashion its own legacy.

     There has been an obvious reluctance in recent generations to just come out and say this--first, I suppose, because most people simply don't care, and second, because Mormons are just so darned nice.  It makes it easier when one of their own states it so baldly.   Being calmly and dispassionately realistic about what they are would be a healthy approach going forward--which means there is little chance of this happening.

     Part of my fascination with Mormonism is wrapped-up in their Americanism.  Understanding the LDS Church provides a useful platform for comprehending what it is, exactly, we are as Americans.  They are so quintessentially American in every aspect of their faith.  Theirs is the American Gospel, or as they say, the "restored Gospel."  Restorationism  itself is a completely American phenomenon, of which the Mormons are only one group.  Of course, I always thought the Book of Mormon was just so much hokum, but give them their due--no restorationist church has pursued the concept with the wild, make-it-up-as-you-go abandon as have the Mormons.  The official church site is fun (for some reason, now blocked for me, but I think it is www.mormons.org.)   They have an interactive timeline of church history.  The only years given are:  32  and 33 A.D, 70 A.D, bad stuff in 325 A.D., a nod to 1517, and then Joseph Smith in 1820.   The language is almost exactly the same as I used to see in Church of Christ treatments of history--just substitute Alexander Campbell and 1809.  It is all fantasty stuff, obviously, when it comes to the historical record, but fascinating how they employ similar narratives for their origins.

One commentator hit the nail on the head in a discussion of this article:  

     Mormonism’s existence is only justifiable if all existing “Christian” bodies prior to Joseph Smith had in fact, by apostasy –the Mormon term for it– ceased to be “The Church”. So asking “Are Mormons Christians?” is the wrong question. Any Mormonism that is honest and integral would have to ask, “Are Non-Mormon Churches Christian?” and answer in the negative. The contemporary whining that the LDS are being excluded from the fold is disingenuous. It is a “fold” that Smith’s revelation judge to be wholly bankrupt of the Gospel.

     But it is the Southern Baptists who have garnered the headlines this week from their convention in New Orleans.  First, they have nominated their first African-American as President of the Convention.  There seems to be widespread enthusiasm for Rev. Luter, and it is hoped this will help counter the image of a church founded in the slavery controversy and described as being "as white as a tractor pull."  Along those lines, the delegates voted to allow the use of the name "Great Commission Baptist" in lieu of "Southern Baptist," if so desired.  No one asked me, but I do not think this will catch on.  When my former church's true-believers used to describe themselves as "New Testament Christians," this was usually met with eye-rolls.  In their common culture, everyone knew what each church represented, regardless of the name they tried to use.  Maybe this will have some traction in their mission fields.  And, it can be seen in the light of the on-going non-denominationalization of this and other Protestant sects. 

     Then, there is a brewing in-house SBC squabble between the Calvinists on one side, and the Arminians on the other, with accusations of semi-Pelagianism being batted about.  If the headlines can be believed, there are even accusations of heresy in the wind.  The fear of creeping Calvinism is behind it all.  Nothing leaves me colder than Reformed Theology, so one of the great side-blessings of Orthodoxy is that we absolutely do not have a dog in this fight.  

     The Southern Baptists certainly had a full plate this week, as they even debated the "Sinners Prayer":

    I'm convinced that many people in our churches are simply missing the life of Christ, and a lot of it has to do with what we've sold them as the gospel, i.e. pray this prayer, accept Jesus into your heart, invite Christ into your life....Should it not concern us that there is no such superstitious prayer in the New Testament? Should it not concern us that the Bible never uses the phrase, 'accept Jesus into your heart' or 'invite Christ into your life'? It's not the gospel we see being preached, it's modern evangelism built on sinking sand. And it runs the risk of disillusioning millions of souls."

     Even though this observation comes from one of their Calvinist ministers, I share his concern.  At the heart of it all seems to be a gnawing realization that there simply has to be more to it than what they have made of it.  And that may be a hopeful sign indeed.     

Sunday of All Saints

Therefore whoever confesses Me before men, him I will also confess before My Father who is in heaven.  But whoever denies Me before men, him I will also deny before My Father who is in heaven....He who loves father or mother more than Me is not worthy of Me.  And he who loves son or daughter more than Me is not worthy of Me.  And he who does not take his cross and follow after Me is not worthy of Me. (Matthew 10:  32-33, 37-38.)

Today is the Sunday of All Saints in the Orthodox Church, and the homily for today is taken from the above passage.  The confession our Lord references is much more than the weak tea modernity has made of it.  The context of the passage is nothing short of martyrdom, if need be.    One sure mark of the Church is that you can be killed for belonging to it.  History ebbs and flows, and persecutions flare-up and die down, but one thing is certain--the Church of our Lord was, is and will always be the Church of the Martyrs.  And on this day, the story and memory of young Evgeny Rodionov was never far from my thoughts.
     For a timely post on Evgeny Rodionov, check out Martyrium by Mark Hackard.  He links the young Russian's story with that of Tsar Lazar of Serbia, some 600 years earlier.  Hackard is an excellent writer, and I encourage the reading of his other articles, as well.
     I find Rodionov's story compelling, and I have a tiny icon of Evgeny on my shelf at work.  He was no aesthetic.  He did not leave any collections of spiritual wisdom and insight.  Evgeny was no one's elder.  In fact, he was at best just a young man--what we would call a "kid."  But Evgeny was called to confess Christ in the manner of Matthew 10:32, and in so doing, he is remembered today and always. 
     Evgeny was not raised in a particularly religious home.  His parents saw that he was baptized, more out of superstition than anything else.  But there was something different about him, even as a child.  At age 10, he put on his baptismal cross and it never came off his neck again--until such time as his neck was severed from his head.  His mother tried to convince him not to wear it outside, but he told her not to talk like that.  At one point in his school career, he became skilled at boxing, but quit this as he did not want to hit anyone in the face.  At age 18, if not before, Evgeny was conscripted into the Russian army and eventually deployed to the Chechen conflict. 
     The action of the Russian government in regard to Evgeny's fate, and other young soldiers like him, is both despicable and without excuse.  Treated as less than cannon-fodder, he and 3 other young soldiers were placed in a remote checkpoint, then abandoned, without weapons.  In short order, they were captured by Chechen guerrillas.  The 4 young men were held and tortured for 100 days.  According to the later confession of his executioner,  they offered Evgeny his life if he would take off his cross and embrace Islam.  He steadfastly refused.  On his 19th birthday, Evgeny Rodionov was gruesomely butchered and beheaded. 
     To my knowledge, he has not been canonized (which is a whole different process than in Catholicism), and may never be.  His veneration is widespread in Russia (and elsewhere,) however, particularly among the military, who feel equally abandoned by their government.  To the non-Orthodox, this must all seem odd and cultish.  Perhaps.  But it is what we do.

Memory Eternal to all Martyrs.

A View from the Garden

My little postage-stamp of a garden out behind the chicken pen is going gangbusters.  I planted tomatoes, peppers, squash, eggplant, zucchini, cucumbers, watermelons, gourds and sunflowers.  Last year's crop was pretty dismal.  But this winter, the wife and I hauled dirt in from a creek bank off our farm and built-up the soil.  This has made all the difference in the world.  The adjoining chicken pen hosts 3 Buff Orpingtons, 4 guinea fowl, 2 Chinese Owl pigeons, and--a pair of peafowl, just because.  I got rid of my rooster and guniea cock.  They were a couple of troublemakers.

Peacocks are wonderful fowl--calm but inquisitive, majestic, and a perfect reminder of the Resurrection.

Sunflowers and gourds aplenty

                                                                Tomatoes coming on

                                                                        And eggplant

                                                                

 Cherry tomatoes are the best

                                                       Le Arc de Cocombres

You cannot beat Buff Orpingtons

Guniea eggs work just like hen eggs--just use 3 for every 2 chicken eggs.

 

The flock

Prize gourd

Melon on the make

Every afternoon after I get home, my dog and I go out to the back of the yard and take care of this enterprise.  I give the poultry the table scraps for the day (they will eat anything), check their water, put out some laying pellets if need be, and gather the eggs.  I briefly scold them for eating the Morning Glories that are trying to wind up the side of their pen.  Then I check the garden.  I pull any weeds that need pulling, then pick the ripening tomatoes, and the cucumbers off my trellis.  I check on the status of my young melons, and hope the crows haven't spotted them just yet.  The burn barrels are close at hand, and I often burn our paper trash and the pecan limbs that fall most every day.  I cannot tell you how therapeutic all this is.  Of course, when you consider the price of the pen, the feed, and all the costs in getting my garden set up, it will be years before we come out ahead.  But that is not the point, is it?  I suppose if times get too hard, then we can get by on guinea eggs and sweet pickles (24 pints so far.)  Now I just wish I had paid more attention growing up the son of a farmer.  I will not have much time for writing before long--the figs are about to make. 

Two Views of American Orthodoxy

I recently came across Rod Dreher’s Eastern Right:  Conservative Minds Convert to Orthodox Christianity in the current issue of The American Conservative.  Let me say that I am a fan of the magazine.  The conservatism espoused there hearkens back to a much older way of thinking, and would be anathema to all but a tiny segment of today’s GOP. Primarily, I read it for their foreign policy insight.   They have been a consistent voice--opposing American adventurism abroad and the neo-conservative agenda of both political parties, as well as asking the hard questions of our unthinking American Exceptionalism.  I particularly enjoy the writings of Daniel Larison and Andrew Bacevich.      One article by the latter is generally worth the subscription price.  I am less enthusiastic when their attention is turned to domestic policies and politics, or some social issues, as I am generally distrustful of libertarianism. 

And so, while I was certainly interested to read Dreher’s article on American Orthodoxy, it is not what I open this magazine to read.  And yet, the concerns of the Orthodox faith in this country are such a small affair in our broad culture that one part of me is a bit proud that the piece reached a national audience (though admittedly, the TAC readership does not exactly blanket the nation.)

Dreher notes the importance of Roman Catholicism in the history of American intellectual conservatism, and suggests that Orthodoxy now also offers an increasingly attractive alternative.  He suggests that a number of intellectual conservatives have already opted for Orthodoxy, and others are considering it.  Perhaps.  I do not see any empirical data that indicates a trend in this direction, just as there is none for the population at large.  Converts will climb aboard here and there, and no doubt some of them are “intellectual conservatives.”  I hope the Holy Spirit proves me wrong, but I doubt that Orthodoxy will ever be “the next big thing” in this country. 

The piece may serve some purpose, in a very general way, for readers ignorant of the Orthodox faith—such as my friend from years ago who described the monks at one of our monasteries as “dirty Catholics” (this years before I converted.)  For such people, who think of the Orthodox as just some sort of quasi-Catholic offshoot, then this piece could hint at the real and substantive differences between the churches.  The Orthodox rightly emphasize the unchanging nature of the faith.  To the general reader, Dreher offers some insight into why (broadly speaking) this is not idle boast.  In this regard, a quote by an unnamed “Orthodox professor” is instructive-- “It’s not true that Catholicism is conservative. It is, in fact, the mother of all religious innovation, and has been for more than a millennium.”

Dreher observes that the conservative intellectuals he spoke with expressed their appreciation that the Orthodox Church avoided the “Republican Party at prayer” feeling that characterizes Evangelical churches.  Ideally, when we are at our best, this is certainly true.  The problem is that often we are not at our best.  If you look around, evidence of Movement Conservatism is not hard to find in American Orthodoxy.  Some jurisdictions are more susceptible than others.  From my own observations, the Antiochians are rife with it, but I fear the OCA is not far behind.  Mind you, I believe Orthodoxy is for everybody—intellectuals of any stripe, cranks, malcontents,  screw-ups and misfits, know-it-alls and know-nothings—come one, come all.  The problem can be, however, when converts view the Church as a comfy place to park their social conservatism (or liberalism.)  Approached thusly, Orthodoxy can be viewed through the prism of a particular ideology, instead of the other way around.  Considered here and there, it is not such a bad thing, as Orthodoxy has plenty of room for quirkiness.  But if such attitudes start gaining critical mass and become normative, then we Americans have done what we do best—changing that which should not be changed and restyling according to our preferences.

Dreher quotes from Frederica Mathewes-Green, whose conversion story is familiar to many.  I know there is more to the story, but his accounting makes it sound as if she considered Catholicism, but then chose Orthodoxy as it was a more comfortable fit for their social conservatism.  Like I say, I know there is more to their story—I’ve read it before—but casting it in this light is a bit dangerous, if it encourages people to embrace Orthodoxy for that reason.  There is only one reason for anyone to become Orthodox—it is because that is where you find Jesus Christ and you come to believe the claims the Church makes of herself.  I had an early friend in Orthodoxy who converted shortly before I did.  He was brilliant in a number of areas, including history.  But his attraction to Orthodoxy was all on an intellectual plane.  He did not stay long and moved on to Catholicism.   I have seen others come and go as well, leaving me wary of some peoples' motivations for becoming Orthodox. 

I fault Dreher for a totally unsubstantiated and unnecessary swipe at St. Nicholas OCA Cathedral in D.C. –a cheap tactic meant to drawn Orthodoxy into the public fight over homosexuality.  I believe that overall, the Church’s low key approach has worked quite well, thank you very much.  This reference mars the piece as a whole, leaving a nasty aftertaste. 

Dreher may be on to something.  Perhaps there is a movement (as yet imperceptible) in our direction.  I pray that this is true.  Just leave your ideology outside the narthex, please.

A favorite site of mine is Fr. Jonathan Tobias’ Second Terrace.  I love the way he writes—his clarity and gift for getting at the heart of things.  In a recent post, he addressed nationalism, American and otherwise.  And along the way, he looks at the state of American Orthodoxy--past, present and future.  You might say that he sees our prospects in a different light than does Dreher. 

He opposes American nationalism and exceptionalism with a “simple neighborly and land-loving patriotism.”  Fr. Jonathan reminds us that it is “never good to count ourselves blessed at the expense of other nations” and that “The Church -- not the nation -- is the city set upon a hill.”  Indeed:

Jesus is not going to use America to shape an end-times narrative. He is not using it now to defeat Islam and other religions. He is not utilizing America to fend off trends of immorality and secularization. Current experience presents something of a conundrum for nationalists who believe fervently in such divine fending-off, because they would like to wave their civil religion flags against Muslims and gay pride parades at the same time: at even a cursory level of comparative theology and ethics, such simultaneous flag-waving comes off as at least mildly inconsistent. Jesus is not using America as an instrument of safeguarding a Biblical faith: preachers can throw up the American flag behind the pulpits and powerpoints all they want, but America is not the hope for the nations. The Rapture is just as much part of the American dream as is the hope of building so many new barns for rich fools -- who, when they discover the reality of the soul only at the late moment when it is “required” of them, find that the Rapture and the Dream were mere spectral fantasies indeed.

America did not bless Christianity. Christianity did not improve when it got to these shores.

God, as Creator and freely distinct from His Creation, does not need America.

America, surely, needs God, and the reality of His Church.

Orthodox Christianity did not improve, either, when it got here. .

Fr. Jonathan also has some thoughts on our future in America:

I am note sure whether America ever occurred to Orthodox prophecy. If there is a place for America in a real eschatology, it will be that in this civilization, America is where history goes to die. (emphasis mine)

America said it wanted a respectable and successful religion.

Orthodoxy tried too much to give America what it wanted, and in doing so, it failed to give America what it needed.

“Need” is the only business of true religion.

“Want” is ever the stuff of the imperial cult, throughout the ages.

Let me utter a simple prophecy here. In this decade and the next, Orthodoxy will become more and more solitary. The coalitions may or may not survive, depending on whether the other groups become more or less Orthodox.

And Orthodoxy will move from its uncomfortable associations with imperial religiosity and become more like it was before Constantine. The Constantinian age is drawing to a close, with the complete rise of this a-historical and anti-sacral civilization. The eschaton, as it draws closer, will scour away the unrealities that are now clogging and burdening the church.

And you will see, as clear evidence of this scouring, the signs of clearer proclamation from the Church. Its language will become more Christological and Trinitarian and less the marketing speech of the agora. Its critique will become more continuous with the prophets about justice, in defense of the poor and the powerless. Its leaders will lead to deification largely through their own experience of deification: as in “imitate me, as I imitate Christ.”

In the light of that day, the Orthodox American may patriotically and faithfully say “God bless America,” and know in his heart that He has, surely, through the presence of his Church.

Fr. Jonathan's future is bleaker and more sobering to our American sensibilities--but it has the ring of truth to it.

Just Like the Greeks, huh?

Well, that was certainly interesting.  We had about 8 to 10 visitors--all young people--at Vigil Saturday night.  The prospective bishop for our diocese was visiting, so I assumed they came because of him.   When none went forward to venerate the Cross, I knew differently.  These visitors were clearly not from around here--all tall, blond and well-scrubbed--seemingly the nieces and nephews of Garrison Keillor's Norwegian bachelor farmers.

Come to find out, these young people were a contingent from the local Youth With a Mission (YWAM) campus.  This group, and any number of other evangelical organizations have set up headquarters in the rural northwest part of the county.  YWAM and Teen Mania are the most well-known--and of the two, the former is slightly less cultish than the latter.  A number of straight-forward missionary efforts, such as Mercy Ships, also headquarter in the area.  We were talking to some of the young people out on the front porch (excuse me, exo-narthex) and discovered that this was a team, in preparation to "take the Gospel to Greece."  Their instructor at YWAM sent them to our mission so they would know what to expect when they arrive in an Orthodox country.  Ho-boy.

I suppose we should be flattered, but the irony was lost on none of us.  They are making assumptions about Orthodoxy in Greece based on visiting a convert OCA parish in East Texas???  Such naivete is somehow refreshing--for they are too young for it to be labeled as hubris.  That will come later.

The team leader clutched his Holy Bible to his chest the entire time, as if to ward-off anything that might be catching from Orthodoxy.  He talked a bit about Greece and how they planned to hand out Holy Bibles and evangelize there.  He was surprised, or at least interested to learn that several in our group had been there.  He asked my son if he was Greek (ha!), and when he found out that he was not, he asked if the Greeks were "dark."  Somehow the discussion turned to Patmos, and the team leader looked at my son and said, "Did you know that it was on the island of Patmos that the Apostle John received the Revelation?"  For some unknown reason, my son can be a bit sarcastic at times.  I give him credit here--he did not say anything but simply smiled and nodded.

We convinced 4 of them to stay and eat with us in the hall.  Theophan and I set down with 3 of them, both of us interested to see where the conversation would lead.  They had a number of questions, even the dream question that all converts long for.  One of them asked me, "What made you choose Orthodoxy?"  Well, first I had to turn the question around and and take my answer out of the American religious cafeteria.  But then, I was able to do an abbreviated "conversion story."  (Remember, it is okay to tell--but only if you are asked!)  Anyway, the conversation was respectful, but spirited--with Theophan doing the heavy-lifting.  They seemed interested, or maybe they are just taught to strike that pose in their classes as YWAM. 

I wish the young people well.  Travel changes a person (or at least it should.)  My wish is that their experience in Greece is absolutely nothing at all like they expect it to be.