Some Observations by Dr. Brzezinski

I always enjoy when Mika's dad is a guest on the show. Just returning from overseas, he touched on a number of subjects in a 14-minute interview. Dr. Brzezinski requires little coaxing to say what is on his mind. Often too much a globalist for my taste, his plain-spoken realism, however, is in short supply these days. His comments--while sobering--are a welcome antitode to the usual blather.

Russia:
In a "state of unease, uncertainty"

Germany:
"a sense of uneasiness" about America

the Middle East:
entering era of "populism, not democracy"
"we've missed the boat here"

Our Middle East policy:
"disintegrating before our eyes"
"absence of any sense of strategic direction"

Our opposition to Palestinian statehood in U.N.:
a "tragic historical error"
"blind people looking at today and mostly at yesterday are leading"
"an evasion of historical responsibility"
"both the United States and Israel with be totally isolated in the Middle East"

Israel:
"isolating itself by an increasingly self-destructive policy"
"6 million people are ruling 5 million other people--that's not stable"
"in the long run, not a formula for survival"
"perpetual conflict and eventual fading of the security of Israel and its prospects for survival"

Pakistan:
"we are willing to be part of the solution, but we are not going to be there eternally, solving the problem for the region, if they are not willing to participate with us...we are going to pack up and leave...throw the ball to the Chinese...and it will be their problem"

The American Rich:
"who whoop it up without any responsibility--social responsibility--for our lives here in America"
"cannot have society in which 1% owns so much"

The American Poor:
"the remnants...are deprived"
"prescription for social conflict, in addition to economic paralysis"

GOP Candidates:
"going through kind of a lunatic phase in our politics"
"living in a never-never land of illusions, slogans, passions, convictions--very unrelated to reality"
"literally frightening"

President Obama:
"Pity...very, very dramatically atttractive leadership which doesn't really go far beyond speeches, that's part of the problem"

Fr. Demetrios Carellas

St. John of Damascus Orthodox Mission is hosting a lecture series featuring Fr. Demetrios Carellas on September 26th through 28th. The talks will be at 7:00 PM each night, preceded by Vespers at 5:30, with refreshments in between. If you are within driving distance of Tyler, Texas, we hope you will consider attending.

9/12+

I spent a pretty normal Sunday yesterday--church, then council meeting, then back home for some reading and a bit of writing. I watched no television, save for a few choice scenes from It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World--which I know by heart already. I purposely bought no newspapers. Nor did I purchase any of the requisite commemorative magazines. In short, I completely avoided taking any notice of 9/11. Our little town pulled off a large memorial service at the halftime of our homecoming football game on Friday--complete with a field-sized flag, fly-overs, and a ladder truck from the NYFD. They even borrowed our antique bell to ring in commemoration. We didn't go. My wife and I did not even talk about it during the weekend. This morning's local headlines were of the Tyler extraganza at the megaBaptist church, with firefighters and police front and center, American flag videos running continuously on both movie screens flanking the podium, and a rousing medley of patriotic songs, which is all appropriate, I suppose, if your religion is Americanism, rather than Christianity.

I do not discount the horrendous human tragedy of that day. Human carnage is sickening--all of it. I suppose the thing is this: I cannot divorce the events of 9/11 from everything that has come afterwards--our lost, fearful disastrous decade which shows every sign of becoming a lost, fearful disastrous generation. I'm not saying we should forget--far from it. Remember the tragedy and the lives lost in the conflagration. But the event and--God forbid--our response, should not define us as a nation.

I find it hard to express exactly what I want to say, but I am largely in sympathy with the sentiments of the following articles.

Pat Buchanan

Patrick Foy

Tom Engelhardt

Andrew Bacevich


A superb collection at Tipsy Teetotaller

And this from Fr. Andrew Stephen Damick:

Orthodox Christianity is about coming face to face with death, grappling with death, and wrestling it to the ground. It is not about accommodation to this world. Those who prefer to be accommodated to this world will always be utterly devastated by moments like 9/11, because they cut so sharply into the comfortable complacency of a consumerist culture. For them, it is true that nothing will ever be the same. But those who will not surrender, those who will not be defeated by death or by the world that death holds in its thrall, those who have put on Christ and struggle to put on Christ every day—they cannot be destroyed.

Repose of Archbishop DMITRI

Archbishop DMITRI, first and (as yet) only bishop of the Diocese of the South (OCA) fell asleep in the Lord early this morning. Those outside the Diocese of the South may not understand the relationship we had with this good and saintly shepherd. I recall the first homily I heard from him. I was not yet Orthodox, but was visiting at the Cathedral. Archbishop DMITRI came out onto the ambo and leaned on his staff. As he motioned for everyone to gather-round, we came closer and sat on the floor at his feet. Then, in a soft, gentle voice--as if he was having a personal conversation with each of us--he simply expounded from one of the parables. In my previous religious tradition, we talked much of shepherds, though mainly it involved the "qualifications" for the office. All of that turned out to be so much intellectual posturing and nonsense. For as much as we talked the game, I had never seen "shepherding" really done until that day.

Archbishop DMITRI was raised Baptist, and never discounted his early religious training. In his words, he simply wanted "the rest of his church." And it was this personal connection with the Protestant Bible Belt that informed his zeal for Orthodox evangelism in the South. It is because of his vision that there should be an Orthodox presence in East Texas, that our mission--St. John of Damascus--is here today. I have been around since the inception of our young church, and I know well the direct hand he played in our establishment.

I think everyone in the DOS has an Archbishop DMITRI story. Generally, it involved a tale he would tell, with the ever-present cup of coffee in his hand. One he never tired of relating was the following: He was traveling in East Texas and stopped at a Dairy Queen for coffee. He was not far from his hometown of Teague. An Orthodox bishop is not the usual customer one encounters in a podunk Texas Dairy Queen. As he told it, an old man setting across the cafe from him was staring a hole in him, as we say. Finally, the man could stand it no longer, and got up and came over to Archbishop DMITRI. He took another long look at him, and said, "yer not from around here, are ya?" The archbishop looked up over his coffee and replied, "Well, actually I am." The poor befuddled customer didn't know how to take that.

I feel deeply privileged and blessed to have been under his care.

The following tribute/biography is taken from the OCA website, and it is quite good.

In Memoriam: + His Eminence, Archbishop DMITRI

Orthodox Christians were deeply saddened to hear of the falling asleep in the Lord on Sunday, August 28, 2011, at 2:00 am [CDT] of His Eminence, The Most Reverend DMITRI, retired Archbishop of the Diocese of the South, Orthodox Church in America. The Archbishop was eighty-seven years old. Ordained in 1954, then consecrated to the episcopacy in 1969, his ecclesial ministry spanned fifty-seven remarkable years.

His Eminence was born Robert R. Royster on November 2, 1923, into a Baptist family in the town of Teague, Texas. He often credited his mother for providing him and his sister with a strong, initial faith in Christ. After discovering Orthodoxy as teens they asked their mother for a blessing to convert, whereupon she asked one basic yet predictive question: "Does the Orthodox Church believe in Christ as Lord and Savior?" As it turned out, a specific emphasis on the person and work of Jesus Christ became the hallmark of the future hierarch's ministry, profoundly influencing his preaching and writing.

Having received their desired blessing, and after a period of inquiry and study, brother and sister were received together as Orthodox Christians at Holy Trinity Greek Orthodox Church in Dallas, Texas in 1941. It was at that point that the two received the names of Dmitri and Dimitra.

Dmitri was drafted into the US Army in 1943, after which he underwent intensive training in Japanese and linguistics in Ann Arbor, Michigan and the Military Intelligence Service Language School in Fort Snelling, Minnesota. Following this he served as a Japanese interpreter at the rank of Second Lieutenant on the staff of General Douglas MacArthur. After his military service Dmitri completed his education, receiving a Bachelor's Degree from the (now) University of North Texas in Denton, just outside of Dallas, and a Master's Degree in Spanish in 1949 from Southern Methodist University. He completed two years of post graduate studies at Tulane University in New Orleans whereupon he returned to his home in Dallas.

In 1954, as a subdeacon with the Ukrainian Orthodox Church under Constantinople, Dmitri worked with the Mexican Orthodox Community of Our Lady of San Juan de Los Lagos, at which time he began translations of Orthodox liturgical services into Spanish. In April of 1954 Subdeacon Dmitri, his sister Dimitra and their priest, Fr. Rangel sought permission of the local hierarch, Bishop Bogdan, to establish an English language Orthodox mission in Dallas, the future St. Seraphim Cathedral. Dmitri was ordained to the diaconate and priesthood that same year and assigned as rector of St. Seraphim's. In 1958 permission was sought and given to bring both Fr. Dmitri and the parish into the Russian Metropolia, predecessor to the Orthodox Church in America. During his pastorate Fr. Dmitri served as an instructor of Spanish at Southern Methodist University. He functioned in this capacity for a number of years. Dmitri also taught at Tulane University in New Orleans for a brief period during his tenure as student.

During the early years of St. Seraphim's Fr. Dmitri continued his missionary activities among the Mexican Americans but was intent on developing the new community placed in his care. As a direct result of his desire that people from all walks of life hear the message of Orthodox Christianity, the Cathedral remains to this day, a multi-ethic parish, consisting of both cradle Orthodox and converts.

While working outside the Church and tending to priestly responsibilities, Fr. Dmitri found time to print his own original articles in a weekly Church bulletin. In the 1950's and 60's Orthodox theological works in English were scarce, particularly on a popular level of reading. Fr. Dmitri saw a need and sought to address it. Later, his curriculum for catechumens used at St. Seraphim's would be published by the Department of Christian Education of the Orthodox Church in America, with the title: Orthodox Christian Teaching. The Dallas community grew steadily; Fr. Dmitri had a unique gift for relating to all people. Both young and old looked to him as a loving father.

From 1966 to 1967 Fr. Dmitri attended St. Vladimir's Orthodox Seminary in New York while concurrently teaching Spanish at Fordham University. He studied with people like Fr. Alexander Schmemann, Fr. John Meyendorff, and Professor Serge Verhovskoy. In 1969 Fr. Dmitri was elected to the episcopate. On June 22 of that year he was consecrated Bishop of Berkeley, California as an auxiliary to Archbishop John (Shahovskoy) of San Francisco. The consecration of Bishop Dmitri is regarded by some historians as the first consecration of a convert to the episcopate in America (though Ignatius (Nichols) was consecrated in 1932 but subsequently left the Church).

In 1970 Bishop Dmitri was given the title, Bishop of Washington, auxiliary to Metropolitan Ireney. He would later recall the helpful training he received as an auxiliary under both Archbishop John and Metropolitan Ireney, particularly the many periods of instruction in Church Slavonic.

On October 19, 1971, Bishop Dmitri was elected Bishop of Hartford and New England. In 1972 the Holy Synod of Bishops brought Mexico under the auspices of the Orthodox Church in America, which had received its autocephaly (the right to govern itself) in 1970 from the Moscow Patriarchate. Given his knowledge of and fondness for Mexican culture and the Spanish language, Bishop Dmitri took on additional responsibilities from the Holy Synod as Exarch of Mexico. He was as much beloved by the Mexican people as by those in his own Diocese.

In 1977 at the 5th All American Council convened in Montreal, Bishop Dmitri received a majority of popular votes in an election for a new Metropolitan of the Orthodox Church in America. For the sake of continuity -- a cradle Orthodox occupying the Primatial See was more in keeping with the contemporary challenges of a young territorial Church -- the Holy Synod chose instead The Right Reverend Theodosius (Lazor), Bishop of Alaska who became an advocate and supporter of missionary work in the southern United States.

In 1978 the Synod of Bishops took an important step by creating the Diocese of Dallas and the South. His Eminence became its first ruling hierarch, taking St. Seraphim Church as his Episcopal See. Christ the Saviour Church in Miami, Florida, a prominent Orthodox community in the South, became the second Cathedral of the newly formed Diocese. The Archpriest George Gladky, a veteran missionary and rector of Christ the Saviour, was named Chancellor. He and Bishop Dmitri worked admirably with others to establish Churches and teach Orthodoxy in a region of America where Orthodox Christianity was relatively unknown. The first Diocesan Assembly of the South was convened in Miami, August 25-26, 1978.

In 1993 the Holy Synod elevated Bishop Dmitri to the rank of Archbishop. During his tenure as hierarch the Archbishop chaired various departments of the Orthodox Church in America, and was instrumental, early on, in speaking with representatives of the Evangelical Orthodox Church seeking entrance into canonical Orthodoxy.

On September 4, 2008, following the retirement of Metropolitan Herman, the Holy Synod named Archbishop Dmitri as the locum tenens. Archbishop Seraphim (Storheim) assisted him as administrator. In November of 2008, Archbishop Dmitri's role as OCA locum tenens ended with the election of Bishop Jonah (Paffhausen) of Fort Worth as Metropolitan. On March 22, 2009, the Archbishop requested retirement from active duty as a Diocesan Bishop effective March 31, 2009. Under his leadership the Diocese of the South grew from approximately twelve communities to over seventy at the present time and remains one of the most vibrant Dioceses in the OCA.

During the past two years the Archbishop has lived quietly at his home, writing, making occasional visits to Diocesan communities, and maintaining a quiet involvement with the life of St. Seraphim Cathedral. He was blessed in his last days to have many parishioners who visited and cared for him at home twenty-four hours a day as well as medical professionals who came to his bedside to treat and evaluate his condition. The community in turn received a great blessing from the love and courage with which the Archbishop welcomed them and approached his illness. He remained courteous, hospitable and dignified throughout, even attending Church when his strength allowed. These unexpected visits to the Cathedral by the Archbishop were sources of joy and inspiration to the faithful.

For his former Diocese and the Orthodox Church in America, His Eminence leaves behind a progressive vision of evangelism and ecclesial life, a solid foundation upon which to develop future communities and schools. He leaves the faithful the experience of having had a compassionate father whose enthusiasm was contagious, inspiring many to look profoundly at their own vocations in the Church.

Archbishop Dmitri's greatest joys as well as sorrows were connected to his episcopal ministry. The establishment of new missions, the ordinations of men to the priesthood or diaconate, and the reception of others into Orthodoxy were continual sources of delight. In addition he patiently dealt with clergy and laymen during his tenure who needed correction. In fact, it would be difficult to recall an instance where he strongly reprimanded anyone, at least publicly. Private, gentle advice when needed was more "his style." At times his approach confused and frustrated some who believed that his manner of oversight should be stricter; that he should be more demanding in his expectations. Again, this was never the Archbishop's way. It was not in his character to remind people bluntly of their responsibilities. The Archbishop chose to lead by example rather than by decree. Ultimately and personally this became a source of his extraordinary influence and popularity. Accordingly he lived in a modest manner and was generous to a fault, not only giving beyond the tithe to his Cathedral, but donating to seminaries, charities, diocesan missions, and persons in need.

As stated, Archbishop Dmitri's episcopacy was strongly characterized by a single-minded devotion to the person and work of Jesus Christ. His publications are testimony to this dedication. They include commentaries on: The Sermon on the Mount, The Parables of Christ, The Miracles of Christ, St. Paul's Epistles to the Romans and to the Hebrews, The Epistle of St. James, and the Gospel of St. John. His works also include the aforementioned Introduction to Orthodox Christian Teaching, as well as A Layman's Handbook on The Doctrine of Christ. Some of these have been translated into other languages, enthusiastically received as instructional tools by the faithful abroad. When asked to document his personal thoughts concerning evangelism or American Orthodoxy the Archbishop consistently hesitated, preferring instead to dwell on the teachings of the fathers regarding Scripture and Church doctrine.

For many years His Eminence was the editor of the first diocesan newspaper in the Orthodox Church in America: The Dawn. This modest publication was a primary means of education and an instrument of unity amongst members of a Diocese spanning over one million square miles. One full page in The Dawn was regularly devoted to making available his translations of Orthodox Spanish material. Later the Archbishop included a Russian page to minister to the needs of new immigrants.

The dignity that he brought to his episcopacy was well known. People commented on his bearing, the way he carried himself as a bishop of the Orthodox Church. Some found it surprising that such an august figure possessed great love and respect for others, that he presented himself as one of the people.

Without exaggeration it can be said that His Eminence was a rarity, a unique combination of faith, talent, intelligence and charisma. For the Diocese of the South, indeed for the Orthodox Church in America, he was the right person at the right time.

Forty- two years a bishop, each day offered in service to Christ with Whom he now enjoys the blessedness of the Kingdom. We pray for his continued prayers and we thank the Lord for having given His flock the gift of Archbishop Dmitri. May his Memory Be Eternal.

"Remember those who rule over you, who have spoken the Word of God to you, whose faith follow, considering the outcome of their conduct" (Hebrews 13:7).

"For though you might have ten thousand instructors in Christ, yet you do not have many fathers; for in Christ Jesus I have begotten you through the gospel..." (I Corinthians 4: 15)

Back to Burke

We've always been a magazine family. Both the wife and I like nothing better than to curl up with a new publication. In recent years, we have scaled back considerably--a good thing, particularly as the magazine age may be drawing to a close. We are down to a few essential subscriptions. There is Southern Living, of course, which will probably be last to go. (I know, I know. But we are white, middle-class Southerners. This is what we do.) In terms of Orthodox or other religiously-oriented publications, I retain only Road to Emmaus. We also enjoy the Oxford American, basically a magazine for Southern Living subscribers with something more than Readers Digest Condensed Books on their bookshelves. I also have kept my subscription to Southern Cultures, which is the best scholarly journal on the subject. Finally, there is The American Conservative. The name can be misleading, as the magazine is anything but a promoter of what passes for conservatism in today's public discourse. Here is where I can get my fill of such writers as Andrew Bacevich, Michael Lind, Patrick J. Buchanan and Daniel Larison, who all view with a jaundiced eye the myth of American Exceptionalism.

The conservatism that the magazine and such writers promote is usually far removed from the policies advocated by Movement Conservatives, who to the extent that they are even aware of contrarian views, dismiss such approaches as quaint, crackpotish, antiquarian or even liberal. A conservatism that concerns itself with actually conserving things, traditionalism and minding one's own affairs gets little traction these days. But this is no time for despair. The battle must be waged, as the current issue's editorial sets out in clear language.

Back to Burke

The biggest loss conservatives suffered in recent years was not the election of Barack Obama in 2008 or the defeat of the last Republican Congress in 2006. It wasn’t the passage of the president’s healthcare reform or nearly $1 trillion stimulus package, nor any other legislative setback. Conservatives had already lost something far more basic—their moorings.


Edmund Burke was never more eloquent than when denouncing the Penal Laws that circumscribed the liberties of Ireland’s Catholics. That system, he wrote in 1792, was “as well fitted for the oppression, impoverishment and degradation of a people, and the debasement, in them, of human nature itself, as ever proceeded from the perverted ingenuity of man.” This was Burke’s opinion at a time when Catholics were synonymous with subversion—didn’t they owe highest allegiance to the pope? To fearful Englishmen, “papists” were “the apex of all evil” above “all Pagans, all Mussulmen.”


Burke demanded civil liberty—“a liberal and honourable condition”—for them anyway. He was not oblivious to minority dangers, nor indifferent to public orthodoxy. But who can imagine him alongside such Islam-baiters as Herman Cain or Pamela Geller, shouting about Sharia or boasting of plans to exclude an unpopular minority from public office?


A great imposture has taken place. Whatever else the likes of Cain or Geller may be, if Burke is a conservative, they are not.

What is true for civil liberties applies to foreign policy as well. From John Quincy Adams to Robert A. Taft, American conservatives have been realists, not in the Henry Kissinger sense but in their worldly understanding of the limits of power, both our own and our rivals’.

The ideological intensity of the Cold War muted this tradition. But even then Barry Goldwater fought wasteful Pentagon appropriations, while Ronald Reagan undertook no Mideast nation-building, notwithstanding the murderous bombing of the Marine barracks in Lebanon. What would Goldwater have made of the $388 billion F-35 Joint Strike Fighter program?

The point is not to hold up any of these men, even Burke, as right in all respects. They illustrate rather than define conservative style.

In contrast, the latter-day right possesses what Michel Chevalier called the morale of an army on the march: no time for reflection, no room for dissent, there are liberals to vanquish.

Nine years ago The American Conservative took its stand athwart this mentality. From the beginning, the magazine reclaimed conservatism’s discarded patrimony while reaching out for new ground as well. Within the first three months, thinkers as disparate as diplomatic historian Paul Schroeder and Norman Mailer—a sometime “left conservative”—had graced these pages.


TAC is not libertarian or what was once called “paleoconservative.” It aspires to be conservative as Burke was, broad-minded but firmly rooted, with an emphasis on securing peace and a well-grounded liberty at home. One of our themes has been the local, not as an “-ism” but as the texture and matrix of civil life, urban as well as rural. The recovery of political economy too, in the face of liberal and neoliberal dogmas alike, is part of this. (The muse is Jane Jacobs, not Ayn Rand.)

For over 20 years conservatives have been denied their name and heritage, fobbed off with the counterfeit goods of partisanship and neoconservative ideology. Today the plight of the country is too grave to accept any substitutes; it’s time for conservatives once more to speak in their own voice.

Memory Eternal

The recent heat wave/drought in the state of Texas has been one for the record books. I am told that this is the hottest it has been since 1980. I do not remember that summer as being anything like this, but perhaps the fact that I was in my 20s then has something to do with it. July and August have always been endurance runs in Texas, even for those of us who have lived here always. This summer, any crops were burned-up long ago, and now many trees are dying in this stifling, take your-breath-away heat and humidity. And my recent stay in the hospital reminded me that as hot as it is, the hottest place in the state is a Texas prison. During my hospitalization, there were 4 prisoners in the immediate adjoining rooms--much less the entire hospital--all there due to heat-stroke.

The day after my release, I drove down to the Micheal Unit prison, located in Tennessee Colony, Texas. I have been a volunteer chaplain for over a year now, meeting with the Orthodox offenders and inquirers every 2nd and 4th Thursday. A ROCOR priest drives down from Dallas and meets with them on the 1st and 3rd Wednesdays. This scenario is the ideal. In practice, there may be many things to disrupt the pattern, from unscheduled lock-downs, to the chaplains (through whom we have access to the offenders) simply not being there on our days. At first, I worried about being prepared, and what I would say, etc. This is a foolish and selfish consideration--the offenders are simply glad that anyone from the outside shows up at all.

I have to go through 4 gates/checkpoints before I reach the chaplain's office. She then escorts me through a maze of passageways, and 3 more checkpoints, to the gym, where all religious services are conducted. If we are lucky, we meet in a small corner room. If that chamber is being used for storage, we meet in a corner of the gym, with a few folding chairs and a large fan. As we were walking over to the gym, she told me of the death of Alexander, one of "my guys," as I refer to them. The previous Monday, he had collapsed from the heat and died. This caught me by surprise, as all sudden, unexpected deaths do. The prison buildings are concrete block, with high narrow windows. The offices are air-conditioned, but all the living and working quarters of the offenders are not. There are fans, here and there, but that is not normative. As I was led to understand, Alexander's was one of several heat-related deaths in recent weeks.

Alexander was a quiet and soft-spoken man in his mid 40s. English was not his first language, or even second, for that matter. He was a Georgian, who had spent a number of years in Russia before coming to the U.S. Of course, his remembrances were not tinged with my Georgiophile romanticism. It had been a hard existence there, and his family sought a better life, first in Russia and later in the U.S. I never knew what it was that landed him in prison, it being a question I never ask. Frankly, it does not matter. From my perspective, the only difference between us was that he got caught and I did not.

Alexander was most comfortable in the Russian language. I know that Fr. Seraphim went to great lengths to obtain a Russian-language prayer book for him. As much as it depended upon him, Alexander never missed one of our classes, or the services with the priest on alternate weeks. The last time I met with him, we passed the prayer book around during the prayers and I was surprised at how well he could now read English. He walked along side me as far as he could when I returned to the chaplain's office afterwards. I do not remember now that of which we talked--just the normal small talk of life, I suppose. When I left him at the gate and said goodbye, neither of us had a thought that this would be our last meeting in this life.

I understand that a nephew has been located and he claimed Alexander's body. We had a short panikhida service for him at our mission, and his name is now commemorated in our services. So, for Alexander, I say "Memory Eternal!" Please pray for the servant of God Alexander, and while doing so remember, if you will, the others there at the prison: Ron, William, Antonio, Mariano, James, Demetrius and Silas. Ron and William are set to become catechumens on August 31st.

With the Saints give rest, O Christ,
to the souls of Thy servants,
where there is neither pain, nor sorrow, nor sighing,
but life unending.

Perry-Free Zone

I have been concerned for some time now that the casual visitor to this blog might be frightened away by the sudden image of a grinning Rick Perry in the previous post. I decided to post something a little less threatening--and what could be more soothing that baby chicks?

I was being released from a 6-day stay in the hospital at just about the same time that Governor Rick was rolling out his Big Announcement. I suppose this passes for news in these dog days of summer, but to listen to the television talking heads, one would think that the race was now all but over. Four days into his official candidacy, however, things are looking a little differently, which fits with my overall prediction for Perry and the race in general. But still, visions of a 3rd Bush term (just without the intellectualism) have, I feel, hindered my recovery. And so, for the foreseeable future at least, and in the interest of my mental health and spiritual well-being, I am declaring this blog a Perry-Free Zone.

Prayerapalooza in Houston

Longtime readers of this blog will know that I took, and continue to take a rather dim view of the George W. Bush presidency. At best, I only ever considered him a lesser among evils, and in time I came to even revise my opinion on that. But say what you will about him, there was no pretense or duplicity about the man. You knew exactly what you were getting. In short, I would not classify George W. Bush as a demagogue. This casts him in sharp contrast to his successor in the Texas statehouse.

Our current and forever governor, Rick Perry, is in the news a lot these days. It seems he fancies a run for the White House himself. If nothing else, this illustrates the role delusion plays with those too long in power. Governor Rick is not popular here. Our vaunted economy does not look so good up close, and nobody here attributes it to anything Perry has or has not done. True, the state of Texas will vote Republican regardless of the nominee, and he will no doubt do well in the Iowa and South Carolina primaries. But in my wildest imagination, I cannot imagine another Texas governor winning the GOP nomination, much less the Presidency anytime soon. In fact, I would support a constitutional amendment prohibiting Texas or Minnesota politicians from becoming President.

From observing several Perry gubernatorial election cycles, it should come as no surprise that I have pegged him as a huckster of the highest order, willing to say/do/be anything to win an election. And after all this time in office, we now discover that he has a softer, more spiritual, downright prayerful side. This Saturday, Governor Rick is heading up a giant prayer rally in Houston, (more details, here.) The usual evangelical players are here: both Dobsons, Tony Evans, Richard Land and Tony Perkins are among the co-chairs, with the other sponsors including the ever-ready John Hagee and Max Lucado, but consisting mainly of evangelicals of the Pentecostal variety, with a smattering of Baptists.
























To ridicule this event exposes one to the charge that they are opposed to prayer. I am not, but I believe I am on firmer theological ground here when I suggest that it is better done in a closet than in a coliseum. Frankly, I had intended to ignore the whole extravaganza, and was prepared to do that very thing. So, I was a bit perturbed when the new mayor of our little burg (population 2,340) proclaimed Saturday as a "Day of Prayer and Fasting" to coincide with the event. For those unable to make the drive down to Houston, a big-screen would be made available at the First Baptist Church where local residents could follow along. The "fasting" was proscribed as lasting from 10:00 AM to 5:00 PM. I suppose a sun-up to sundown fast would have sounded too Ramadanish. Our normal routine on Saturdays calls for a late breakfast and early supper, with no meal in-between. I never knew that all these years we had been "fasting."

William McKenzie writes of the event in today's Dallas Morning News (accessible only to subscribers, unfortunately.) McKenzie is a good journalist and Presbyterian layman. He is what passes for a moderate in Texas. He writes:

Let's cut the governor some slack. If he wants to gather largely conservative evangelicals to hold a rally to pray for America--and has invited other governors to what is billed as a Christian event--let him. It's his prerogative. What's troubling is Perry's theology.


Start with the flag-and-cross concoction. Perry and other sponsors want attendees to pray to God to guide America and to learn about Jesus Christ.


Each is fine, but not together. When you bind prayer for a nation with learning about Jesus, you take off down the wrong road.

He concludes, as follows:

And here's another problem with the event's theology: Mixing Jesus and America and the assumption that Christ will bless America with greatness if we, the people, call on him. I don't doubt that God loves each American and that he wants our nation to act justly and righteously. But this view assumes that we--collectively, as a nation--are on his side and that he should be on ours. Where in Scripture can you remotely get to either point?


Some on the Christian Right long have woven America into their theology. And this goes way beyond politicians asking God to bless America at the end of speeches.


In a 1972 essay, author Thomas Howard explained how Americanism and Christianity became intertwined as far back as the 1800s:


"American was not just vaguely considered Christian: believers actually looked upon the American way of life as a basically Christian one, and hence regarded any threat to that way as a menace to Christianity itself."


One good thing about this Perry rally is that it shows again how conservative evangelicals have engaged the world. They once separated themselves from the larger culture.


But the theology at play is open for debate. Perry and his followers aren't going to change their minds come Saturday. They still are going to promote their creed. But the rest of us don't have to buy it.


I think McKenzie has it about right.

Extracting a Southern Blessing (Travelogue 2011)

My wife and I recently returned from a short trip through the Deep South. Every July we attend a regional reunion on my mother's side of the family, descendants of a Revolutionary War veteran who died in Georgia in 1816. Consequently, most of us in attendance are only very remotely related to one another. These get-togethers have been going on for 32 years and many of us have formed closer bonds with each other than with our more immediate relatives. This is a good thing, as my "close" relatives on this side of the family would not walk across the street to attend a family reunion. Anyway, we find it to be great fun, and my wife always returns with a year's worth of stories and anecdotes. Chattanooga was our venue this year, for no greater reason than we've never met there before. (Next year looks to be Lake Eufaula in Alabama, and the year following to be in North Carolina.) From Tennessee, we pushed on to Charleston, South Carolina for a first time visit. We stayed two nights there, followed by one night in Senoia, GA and then a 12-hour slog straight home. I tend to avoid interstate highways whenever possible, which makes for a longer, but far more interesting journey.

The South is a complex region--equal parts fascination and frustration. But I have never found it dull. Flannery O'Connor said that one has to "wrestle with the South, like Jacob with the angel, to extract a blessing." While she had writers specifically in mind, I believe the larger point holds. The South is easily given to caricature, with the mystique of Moonlight and Magnolias on one end of the spectrum and the NASCAR/Dukes of Hazzard stereotype on the other. I will say that the reason these perceptions are so enduring is that there is an element of truth in each. I know real people and situations that could be straight out of Hollywood central casting for these particular depictions. Fortunately, the South is many other things in between.

Texans have a unique, and sometimes equivocal relationship with the South. We are Southerners, to be sure, but we were the last state of the old Confederacy, as well as the place where the West begins. And so, we have two very distinct orientations, and Texans often pick and chose between them. We are Southern when it suits our purposes and Western when it does not. This dichotomy allows us to be a little more discerning at times, and less accepting of the darker side of Southern culture. Of course, we have our own particular demons. The University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill once defined the limits of the South as the circulation of Southern Living magazine. This is as good a definition as I have heard. As we have been subscribers all our married life, I guess that puts us inside the South.

The region is not at all immune to the creeping and increasingly shallow similitude of our broad American popular culture. Southern communities that have sold out everything to the god of American consumerism are as ugly, bland and soulless as anywhere else in the country (the stretch of road through the Florence-Muscle Shoals area of Alabama comes to mind.) You could be in Anywhere America. In spite of this, I am always reassured by the resilience of Southern culture. Even in the areas blighted by our general culture, you can turn off the main thoroughfares, drive a bit, and soon there is no doubt about the region you are in. Of course, the racism is still around, though now largely confined to the political arena. And when one does encounter it, it seems more anachronistic than normative.

We stayed the first night at Jackson, Mississippi, only 5 hours away and giving us a good jumping-off point for all points East. Instead of taking the interstate through Alabama and on up to Chattanooga, I decided to follow the Natchez Trace Parkway into northeastern Mississippi, and then cut over to the reunion. The Parkway is one of the great treasures of the South, extending all the way from Natchez to Nashville. The entire route is two-lane, 55 mph, with no billboards or traffic signs, and with limited access. There are no home and very few farms along the way. For the most part, you are simply driving through the woods. This is not for everybody, but suites me quite well. The problem came when I left the Parkway and tried to work my way in a general easterly direction towards Chattanooga. The commercial sprawl of Florence-Muscle Shoals in Lauderdale County marred what should have been a scenic area. I believe there are more Churches of Christ per capita in this county than anywhere else in the world, including Nashville. My own ancestors played no little part in making it that way back in the early decades of the 19th-century. Limestone and Madison Counties were much more attractive, and contained some of the finest farmland I was to see. We finally arrived in Chattanooga, hours later than we would have otherwise, but I would do the same if I had it to do over.

We left Tennessee on Sunday morning, with a fairly lengthy drive ahead of us. As to what to do about church, I had already decided on a course of action. Chattanooga has an OCA mission I would have loved to visit. But Saint Tikhon's is located on the northwest edge of the city, while we were staying out by the airport on the southeast, with the convoluted interstate highway under construction in between. And of course, my wife would no doubt sit in the car while I was at Liturgy. The better alternative was to fore go my preference and ensure that she was able to attend a Church of Christ. I found one close at hand, with a 9:00 a.m. service, in which I accompanied her. The only times I have entered a Church of Christ in the last 5 or 6 years has been at these reunions--in 2009 in Macon, Georgia, and in 2007 in Little Rock, Arkansas. Each left a lasting impression. The Arkansas church was in an upscale neighborhood, with a young energetic minister (whose wife--in an odd six-degrees-of-separation scenario--turned out to be a granddaughter of my grandfather's late-in-life second wife.) I recall that he skillfully expounded at some length on the nature of mission work, its scriptural basis and the necessity for our doing the same, but without once mentioning the actual subject of mission work. During the entire service, except perhaps during the singing, was the name of Jesus ever even mentioned. Not once. The Georgia church was smaller, older and less affluent. Here, the minister sat on a stool with his laptop on the lectern, and delivered his entire exposition of Scripture by PowerPoint. And they were so starved for visitors, that we were literally swarmed in the foyer. My visit to the Churches of Christ in 2011 would prove equally memorable, though I approach the retelling of this with some misgivings. Whenever one criticizes their former religious affiliation, it is often seen as self-justification for what they have replaced it with--and a weak one at that. I know that is my reaction to those who have left Orthodoxy and write of it, and no doubt my Church of Christ friends must view my comments in the same light. And so, I will try to do this as dispassionately as possible. The East Brainard Church of Christ is a large, suburban congregation, with attendance in the 570s, and weekly contributions in the neighborhood of $25,000 (this from their bulletin.) The service had just started when we arrived, and the auditorium was fairly well filled. Churches of Christ are now all across the spectrum, though even the most "progressive" of them would still be seen as fairly conservative given the current state of American Protestantism. I knew immediately where this congregation fell within the spectrum--the guy in the pew in front of us brought his Starbucks coffee to the service and the young song leader was leading in a rousing "Shine, Jesus, Shine." The communion service came early on, and I was impressed that the man reading Scripture beforehand actually invoked the three Persons of the Trinity. I thought this a nice touch, as it is not normally done. In fact, I had about decided that--in the Church of Christ context--they were "doing" worship about as well as could be expected. During the communion service, I noticed that there seemed to be backdrop on the stage. There were panels painted to look like a child's room, with a small bed on one side and a desk on the other. I assumed it pertained to something going on with the children's department. A "Toy Chest" sign had been placed on the double doors to the left of the stage. Soon, all would be made clear. A young woman and a boy walked briskly down the aisle, where the boy climbed up on the stage. Ahhh, a skit. The woman put her hands on her hips and told the boy, in no uncertain terms, to clean up his room. Once they had exited, the double doors opened and characters dressed up as a cowboy and a spaceman climbed up on the stage. They proceeded to go into their routine and it was soon obvious that they were plugging the Vacation Bible School that started that night, being kicked off with a screening of "Toy Story 3." Before long, they were joined by three men painted green and dressed as soldiers, a Mr. and Mrs. Potato Head and someone in a dinosaur suit. They proceeded to dance around and go through their routines, to general clapping and laughter. Neither my wife nor I said a word, and I knew she had to be mortified. I was thinking that whatever the preacher had to say couldn't be too credible, coming on the heals of this. Things could not get any sillier. Or so I thought. At that point, the cowboy character, taking roll, started enquiring where Barbie was. And at that point, a young buxom, blond church member wearing a tight workout outfit with everything pushed up and out, you might say, rode a bicycle down the main aisle of the sanctuary, honking her horn as she went. She ran on stage and started bouncing up and down (literally) and waving to the crowd. And so, VBS was kicked off in a big way. This does not quite stoop to the level of a clown mass, but it is on its way. As it turned out, I never got to hear what the preacher had to say. My wife turned to me and asked, "are you ready to leave?"

The trip down through Georgia and South Carolina proved to be most interesting. I wanted to cut over through Jefferson and Lexington, as these communities have historical significance to my family. The latter, though a county seat, is little more than a hamlet and one of the most unspoiled little country towns I have seen in quite a while. The fact that Oglethorpe County is not exactly on the road to anywhere plays a large part in its preservation, I suspect. I stopped at the "new" Bethsalem Presbyterian Church--the one built in 1817. My family came to Georgia from North Carolina with this church group in 1785. Again, I was impressed with the productive farmland. In my region of Texas, crops stopped being grown decades ago, taken over by cattle and timber. And so I always enjoy traveling through a real agricultural region. I never knew corn grew as high as I saw it here. We entered South Carolina at Augusta, and then angled over to Aiken. This small city has to be one of the most pleasant communities anywhere. One day, I hope to return there and look around a little more closely. On the road into the town, I passed the sign for St. Catherine Orthodox Church. I know nothing of this mission or its status, but I was pleased to see it take its place among other roadside churches, such as the Whosoever Wills Prayerband Holiness Church, a bit further down. And who knows, perhaps one day these missions may dot the Southern landscape here and there. (I know that hope does not fit the narrative of some who assert that Orthodoxy will never take hold in the country, doomed as it were by the very converts it attracts. They may be right, but I think not. And even if so, I have always enjoyed working at something while being told it can't be done.) Of course, there were plenty of roadside establishments of a less spiritual nature, such as Zippy's Motel and Social Club and the Wow-Wee Country Club. Had I been traveling alone and not in such a hurry to reach Charleston, I think the Wow-Wee would have made a tempting stop.

In due course, we finally arrived in Charleston, a city not exactly on the way to anywhere. Charleston was meant to be approached by sea, rather than by road. Our accommodations were well-situated, on Meeting Street three blocks north of Broad, within easy walking distance of most everything one would want to see in the old town. I always try to get a sense of the places I visit. I suspect that my snap judgments may sometimes be far off the mark. That said, my impression of Charleston is not that of the quintessential Southern town I imagined, what with the part they played in starting the war and all. In many ways, the town hearkens back to something far older than the ante-bellum South. One gets the feel of insularity from the outside world, a city-state almost. I believe the residents are more about being "all about Charleston," than they are being representatively Southern.

The town bills itself as the "Holy City" in light of its numerous churches. That might be stretching it a bit, but the old town is chock-a-block with them and most are quite lovely. The portico of St. Philip's Church actually extends out into the street. The entire churchyard, as well as the lot across the street is the parish cemetery, where many notables, including John C. Calhoun, are buried. At night, this is one of the most atmospheric places in the city. There are all sorts of specific tours of the old town, including the ubiquitous "Ghost Tours." But the good folks at St. Philip's are having nothing to do with it. They have a sign posted inside the fence stating "The Only Ghost at St. Philip's is the Holy Ghost...Join Us for Worship Sundays and Learn about the Trinity, Including the Holy Ghost." Good for them, I say. The raised tomb of William Rhett, a founder of Charleston who died in 1722, is hard up against the iron fence directly across from St. Philip's. The top of the tomb is covered with pennies, and a few nickels that passers-by have flipped there for good luck. I do not believe in luck, but reached into my pocket anyway. I did have a number of pennies, as well as a few dimes. In my foolish reasoning, I considered how much more lucky a dime would be than a mere penny. And so, I flipped the dime through the fence onto the tomb. The coin landed on end, rolled around in a complete circle and then careened off the raised slab onto the ground below. I had to laugh at myself, now duly chastened for my over-reaching. I fumbled in my pocket again and came out with a nickel, figuring to split the difference. The five-cent piece rolled and stayed. I would have to be content with moderate luck, I suppose. The nearby Circular Congregational Church (United Church of Christ) is an interesting structure on Meeting Street, a block north of Broad. I really did not expect to find an old Congregationalist church in Charleston, but nevertheless, there it was. As at St. Philip's, the churchyard was completely taken over by the ancient graveyard, which in fact backed right up to the St. Philip's Cemetery. Many of the burials dated back to the early part of the 18th-century. With the older stones depicting the angel of death, the cemetery could have just as easily have been in colonial Boston or Cape Cod, except for the fact that many of the names were French. I had to chuckle at the sign in front of the church, which read "Circular Congregational Church, a Progressive and Inclusive Community since 1681." But of course! These days, everyone knows what the words progressive and inclusive really mean when used in a religious context. And when one thinks of progressivism and inclusivity, I am sure that Charleston, South Carolina is the first thing that pops into our minds, as it has since 1681. Pretty silly stuff, that. In my first semester in graduate school, my history professor introduced us to the concept of "presentism," in which one's contemporary beliefs are forced back upon historical events. But then, another sign advertised that on Tuesday nights the stolid old church transformed itself into "Praise House!" I am sure you get the picture.

The old city market was only a block north of our inn. This long, narrow hall is a fixture of old Charleston. The structure has recently undergone a thorough-going restoration, and is now a tourist haunt. Most of what is sold here is frou-frou stuff manufactured elsewhere. But outside the halls, a number of black women still sit in the shade and weave the beautiful sweet-grass baskets. We purchased a small one, our only souvenir from Charleston. The payment went directly to the artisan herself, who only stopped weaving long enough to take the money. Unique to the Gullah culture, I understand this weaving is something of a dying art. There seemed to be a number of women doing it, but with limited interest among the younger generation.

The inn where we stayed offered up an impressive breakfast in the lobby each morning. While I was piling-up my plate, I overheard one of the guests talking to the black lady who was obviously in charge of this operation. The tourist lady was trying to decide which outlying plantation home to visit that day and asked the black lady if she had ever visited there (a question I would not have asked.) The woman was polite, but firm, answering "No, no. I've never wanted to go there." The traveler nodded and quickly replied, "I understand, I understand." And I think we stiff-necked white Southerners are perhaps finally beginning to understand. These stately old Southern plantations that are our pride mean something altogether different to our fellow Southerners whose ancestors were forced to work them.

I left our itinerary in Charleston totally up to my wife, and she decided that we should visit Drayton Hall, a plantation on the Ashley River not too far out of the city. The residence itself was built in 1738 by a younger son of the family that owned the neighboring plantation, "The Magnolias." The latter home, obviously older than Drayton Hall, still remains in the family. The home we visited stayed in the Drayton family for 7 generations before it was finally gifted to the National Historic Trust. Outside of the obvious fact that it was the headquarters of a slave-based rice plantation, there was nothing about the house that we would particularly characterize as Southern. The three-story Georgian and Italianate mansion is simply an English country home, what one would expect to see in Hampshire or Surrey. Other than painting-over, nothing was really ever changed inside the house. The detailed 18th-century woodwork remains in place. The interior reminded me very much of Stratford Hall, the Virginia boyhood home of Robert E. Lee. But more than the house and grounds, we enjoyed the 45-minute presentation and group discussion on the enslaved inhabitants of Drayton Hall. A retired librarian, now Trust employee, led an engaging discussion about the development of the Gullah culture along the South Carolina coast. She had no axe to grind, neither excoriating nor defending the Draytons, merely telling it as it was, as dispassionately as possible given the subject matter.

Before returning into Charleston, I looped over to the suburb of Mount Pleasant, where I visited the Holy Ascension Orthodox Church. I had a nice visit with Fr. John Parker (whom I had met before) and a seminarian summer intern. This is a beautiful temple, and in one sense is something of a rarity in the OCA. I suppose it would be unkind to characterize them as a wealthy parish, so I will just say that their temple is in a wealthy neighborhood and leave it at that. Knowing something about them ahead of time prepared me to be impressed, and I was not disappointed.

Leaving Charleston and trying to get anywhere reminded me again of how isolated the city can seem. I resigned myself to a good bit of interstate driving and did not leave same until I reached Macon, Georgia. I ventured west and northwesterly from Macon, and visited three family cemeteries connected to both our families. Fortunately the graveyards were all right next to the road, and I was able to see what I needed without even engaging the Georgia chigger population. A fruit stand in Woodbury was a necessary stop for some peach ice cream and a 25 lb. box of Georgia peaches, which would find their way into the freezer and jelly jars once we made it home. We stopped over a bed and breakfast in Senoia, Georgia, in what had once been the old Hollberg Hotel. This little town was also saved by being by-passed by the main highway. Incredibly, the town never really suffered, and is in such a state of preservation that it has become something of a destination. A movie studio in town has been the catalyst for a number of major motion pictures being shot here, including "Fried Green Tomatoes," "Sweet Home, Alabama," "Driving Miss Daisy," and a bit incongruously, Stephen King's "Pet Sematery, II." Anyway, it provide a nice respite for the marathon drive home.

That last day, we lingered around the breakfast table visiting with our hosts, as if we did not have a 12-hour slog ahead of us. But we finally got on our way. Before we crossed over into Alabama, I stopped and picked up a half-case of Yuengling, which cannot be purchased west of the Mississippi. I did not know how far west I could buy it, but I wasn't taking any chances! We made a short detour in Uniontown, Alabama, home to one of the most beautiful Episcopalian churches anywhere, the Church of the Holy Cross. Directly behind the church and graveyard stands an old, decaying Southern mansion. I checked on it two years ago when passing through, and at that time, the house was just on the edge of being an utter ruin. I was pleased to see that someone had purchased it, and is tearing away the rotten wood--of which there is a considerable amount--and seem to be in the initial stages of restoring it. I commend them and hope they have deep pockets. About 10 miles further on, we detoured in Gallion to take a look at St. Marks, a beautiful Episcopal church out in the west Alabama countryside. We stopped briefly at our favorite bookstore in Jackson, Mississippi for a 5:00 book-signing by two Southern authors. By 11:00 we were safely at home, and the next morning I was back at work. All in all, a week well-spent for the both of us.

It Could Be Worse

Curmudgeonly Thoughts on Patriotism and the Fourth

Let's just say I'm not much of a flag-waver. I have always been a little ambivalent about the Fourth of July holiday. As a historian, I understand the significance of what happened on this date in 1776, and our collective need to commemorate it. And in terms of our history, it is the colonial era--whether it be English, French, Spanish or Dutch--that most interests me. I wholeheartedly agree that our Revolution and the proclamation of the Declaration of Independence which set our course as a nation are truly remarkable events in world history.

That said, a realistic, even-handed reading of the struggle reveals that George III made for an unlikely villain, and that of Britain's many possessions, we were the most pampered, privileged and prosperous. The Seven Years War (our French and Indian War) nearly bankrupted the Empire. And when asked to pony-up our share of the massive debt the Crown incurred in defending these very same colonies, well, the colonists were having none of it. We had been left to our own devices for too long, it seems. And the only thing that separated our glorious revolution from an ignominious one was the fact that we got away with it (thank you, France.) None of this means we should not celebrate the occasion, I'm just saying that I have never been carried away by all the hoopla surrounding the day.

When I was about 12 years old, I remember a conversation between my mother and my uncle--her brother-in-law. My mother was working in the kitchen, as usual, and my uncle was sitting there on a stool, drinking a cup of coffee and smoking a cigarette, no doubt, talking away. Two more dissimilar people could not be found, but they enjoyed each other's company, even though he was much more the conversationalist. My mother was the most literal, matter-of-fact person you would ever encounter. She did not speak the language of nuance and subtlety and shaded meanings. Symbolism was lost on her. Mother said exactly what she was thinking, regardless, and in her view it was the right thing to say because it was what she believed. As would be expected, this created lots of controversies through the years, but my dad was usually there to smooth things over, or at least pick up the pieces. She was fiercely loyal, but only to her tribe, her blood kin. It went no further. My uncle was a career Navy man. A life at sea had rescued him from both the Great Depression and an aimlessness in life. He circumnavigated the world 3 times and served in World War II, the Korean Conflict and the Vietnam War. His experiences gave him a perspective my mother could never imagine.

Anyway, the conversation somehow turned to "the Flag." My uncle spoke eloquently of the honor and respect due the flag and its symbolism, etc. My mother, almost off-handedly, remarked that it did not mean anything to her at all, that it was just a piece of cloth. My uncle was left speechless, one of the few times I ever saw him at a loss for words. The discussion continued on, with my uncle becoming increasing frustrated with my mother's intransigence on the issue. And while I understood my mother's thinking--even at that age--I nevertheless sympathized with my uncle.

So, the Fourth was never a major holiday in our home. Generally, it fell during hay-baling season, so the day off simply meant that there was a good chance I would spend it in the hay field. There was always a good meal that night, perhaps with homemade ice cream, but that would be about it. Fireworks were never considered--"foolishness" in my mother's eyes.

My attitude at this stage of life lies somewhere between my uncle's and my mother's view. My "patriotism," if you want to call it that, or at least my loyalties, have much more to do with a particular piece of dirt that I live on, or my family lives on or has lived on. I have no particular feelings about our flag, or any other. In that sense, I recognize that I am my mother's son. I find American history to be unique, but not exceptional. We are not the end of history. Given enough time, there will be other configurations within what is now the United States, some maybe sooner than we would otherwise believe.

I respect and honor our soldiers, and now feel some regret that I did not serve in the armed forces myself. And when the caskets or maimed bodies of our young men are returned home from Mesopotamia or the Hindu Kush, from these most incomprehensible of incomprehensible wars, I am deeply saddened for them, their families and the utter waste of it all. And no amount of flag-waving, parades, Star-Spangled-Bannering or politicians eulogizing about their sacrifice in "defense" of our country helps one damn bit.
.

Tom Perrotta on Flannery O'Connor

Good talk by novelist Tom Perrotta on Flannery O'Connor, here.

Death of Patrick Leigh Fermor

[Update: Wonderful Fermor anecdotes in "Surprised by Time," here.]

Patrick Leigh Fermor has died at the age of 96. Since I first learned of him, Fermor has been something of a hero to me, and I have written of him, here and here, and tangentially, here and here. Christopher Hitchens summed-up his legacy thusly: "To his last breath, he remained curious and open-minded to an almost innocent degree and was a conveyor of optimism and humor to his younger admirers. For as long as he is read and remembered, the ideal of the hero will be a real one."

A selection of excellent tributies follow:

The Telegraph

The Guardian (by Jan Morris)

Slate (by Christopher Hitchens)

Paul A. Rahe

The New York Times (by Robert Kaplan)

Maggie Rainey-Smith


The Independent

And then there is the following trascript from a public radio broadcast in northern California (h/t to Dana):

WORDS ON BOOKS and A FEW OTHER THINGS FROM TIME TO TIME
by Tony Miksak for KZYX&Z-FM, 90.7 Philo CA
Airs Sunday, June 19, 2011 at 10:55 am & Wednesday, June 22 at 1 pm
Title: Patrick Leigh Fermor (1915 – 2011)

(MUSIC UP) This is Tony Miksak with a few Words on Books...

We lost an old man this month at age 96. They say whenever someone
dies an entire universe – thoughts, feelings, experience – also dies.
This could not be more true in the case of Patrick Leigh Fermor.

His books are inspiring, thrilling memoirs that inspire others to
similar feats of travel and insight.

When Patrick Leigh Fermor was 19 he decided, having nothing better to
do, to walk alone from London, along the Rhine, down the Danube, to
Constantinople, now Istanbul. This was in 1933, ten months after
Hitler's accession to power, through a Europe soon to disappear.

Years later Leigh Fermor pulled out his battered old notebooks and
wrote two books about the trip, A Time of Gifts and Between the Woods
and the Water. The first was written in 1977, the sequel eleven years
after that. Both have become true classics.

A high-spirited 19 year-old sets out across Europe, but it’s his 63
year-old future self who tells the story. Youth transformed by
maturity, experience enlightened by scholarship, impulse tempered by
reflection. In these books there is more than one kind of time, more
than one state of mind. Fermor blends his selves with grace and
intelligence.

From A Time of Gifts "Often, half in a bay of the mountains and half
on a headland, a small and nearly amphibian Schloss mouldered in the
failing light among the geese and the elder-bushes and the apple
trees...Those buildings looked too forlorn for habitation... But, in
the tiny, creeper-smothered windows, a faint light would show at dusk.
Who lived in those stone-flagged rooms where the sun never came?"

Fermor on the Baroque: "Concave and convex uncoil and pursue each
other across the pilasters in ferny arabesques, liquid notions ripple,
waterfalls running silver and blue drop to lintels and hang frozen
there in curtains of artificial icicles. Ideas go feathering up in
mock fountains and float away through the colonnades in processions of
cumulus and cirrus..."

Walking lonely stretches in the dead of winter Fermor amused himself
by reciting aloud the Latin poets or Shakespeare. At one point a
peasant woman walked out of nearby woods with arm loads of kindling.
Hearing the strange words she dropped everything and flew back into
the forest.

Fermor concludes A Time of Gifts standing on a bridge between Slovakia
and Hungary: "Close behind me, girls in bright clothes were hastening
excitedly across the bridge, all of them carrying bunches of
water-lilies, narcissi, daffodils and violets... I found it impossible
to tear myself away from my station and plunge into Hungary. I feel
the same disability now; a momentary reluctance to lay hands on this
particular fragment of the future; not out of fear, but because,
within arm's reach and still intact, this future seemed, and still
seems, so full of promised marvels."

Fermor served as an irregular in the British Army in Greece during the
Second World War. Living as a shepherd in the mountains of
Nazi-occupied Crete, his small group captured the German general in
charge of the island and conveyed him to British forces in Egypt. For
this exploit and for his later writings Fermor was medaled and later
knighted.

Over the years Patrick Leigh Fermor wrote a number of books, some set
in Greece, all in his uniquely elegant style. This month, obituaries
published all over the world praised both his courage and his
creativity.

(MUSIC) You too, can receive WOB scripts in your email and review
episodes you may have missed. To be on the list, please send a note to
amiksak@gmail.com. I'm blogging at www.wordsonbooks.blogspot.com and I
enjoy reading your comments there.

NOTES:

Newly reprinted this year, the story of that Cretan adventure:

Ill Met by Moonlight by W. Stanley Moss, with an Afterword by Patrick
Leigh Fermor. Paul Dry Books paperback $14.95. ISBN 1589880668.
Stanley Moss was the other British officer on this raid.

A summary of the thrilling story of the General's kidnaping told in
the New Yorker in 2006:
http://www.accessmylibrary.com/coms2/summary_0286-16387551_ITM but to
read the entire article you will have to register with Highbeam
Business...

Fermor’s walk from London to Hungary:

A Time of Gifts by Patrick Leigh Fermor, Introduction by Jan Morris.
New York Review Books paperback $16.95. ISBN 1590171659.

Hungary to Constantinople:

Between the Woods and the Water by Patrick Leigh Fermor, Introduction
by Jan Morris. New York Review Books paperback $15.95. ISBN
1590171667.

Words of Mercury is an out-of-print anthology of Leigh Fermor's
writings. Many copies are available, mostly in Canada and the UK. Try
www.addall.com

You can read a review here:
http://books.guardian.co.uk/reviews/travel/0,6121,1105876,00.html

Fermor on the pleasures and rigors of monastic life: "In the seclusion
of a cell – an existence whose quietness is only varied by the silent
meals, the solemnity of ritual, and long solitary walks in the woods –
the troubled waters of the mind grow still and clear, and much that is
hidden away and all that clouds it floats to the surface and can be
skimmed away; and after a time one reaches a state of peace that is
unthought of in the ordinary world."

Quoted from:

A Time to Keep Silence by Patrick Leigh Fermor, Introduction by Karen
Armstrong. New York Review of Books paperback $12.95. ISBN 1590172442

I had hoped that Fermor would be able to finish the long-awaited last volume of his trilogy before death. Perhaps it will be published posthumously, and the writer for The Independent (who had lunch with Fermor 10 days prior to his death) gives us all hope that this will indeed come to pass:



I can say that no other person I have encountered has shown such an embrace of laughter, learning, language and life as this towering genius of word and action. The great memorial will be his writing and a great excitement is that the third part of his trilogy about crossing Europe is due soon – I have seen it, and many have waited years for this crafted reminiscence so long in gestation, about which Paddy in self-mockery called himself "The Carpathian Snail".

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There is little evidence of wide-scale mutiny of Syrian soldiers. No solid evidence that they shot at each other, and some evidence that the young men of Jisr set a trap for Syrian soldiers with simple weapons and dynamite. Individual soldiers do seem to have deserted. Some turned up in Turkey. They seem to have been instructed to exaggerate the defections and to follow a common narrative of soldiers shooting each other in a large conflagration at Jisr. This story is hard to verify, making it seem dubious.

Contrary to the claims of Syrian authorities, 120 Syria soldiers do not seem to have been killed. A single mass grave turned up 10 dead soldiers. Four had their heads cut off. This would seem to have been done by the militia of Jisr, which had some success in fighting the soldiers initially sent to pacify them.

On the question of a scorched earth policy, both sides are claiming that the other is burning crops and threatening innocent civilians with retribution and the destruction of their farms if they side with the enemy. The Syrian government issued these interviews with people from Jisr. My last few posts have linked to accounts from refugees in Turkey that insist that the Syrian authorities are burning crops to punish local inhabitants of Idlib province from giving assistance to the assistance.

The refugees in Turkey told stories of revolt, mutiny and mayhem. Government stories that 120 members of the police and military were killed were explained by the opposition as security forces shooting themselves. The Syrian government then published tapped phone calls of activists in Jisr that it collected on the eve of the initial combat. If they can be taken at face value, the activists establish a plan to send all the women and children of the city to Turkey. They were instructed to tell foreigners that Syrian military personnel shot each other. When enlisted men refused to shoot on unarmed demonstrators, their Alawi officers mowed them down – that was the story to be told to the Western press.

Meanwhile, the men of Jisr organized an ambush. One phone call between two activists goes over how to bury the dead; they discuss whether to bury them in a one grave or divide them up an bury them two by two, so as to better conceal the fact that the opposition had abandoned passive resistance in order to take up arms. They discuss how not to be photoed during prayers so as not to give the regime a pretext to claim that they were Salafists. They wonder how to combat tanks with dynamite. Above all they are anxious to get their story out to the West in the most favorable light so as not to reveal they they have established an armed insurgency and to blame any killings on the Syrian army.

The Syrian army has exaggerated the number of its dead in order to justify ever harsher repression of the inhabitants of Jisr and Idlib province. The governent is thrashing about in a failed effort to stop the demonstrations from spreading. Syrian authorities have utterly failed to get out their version of events and have lost the media contest to demonstrate that they stand for anything good. The West is entirely convinced that “the people” stand with the opposition and favor revolution. Government attempts to explain to Western authorities that they stand with the people and are serving anything other than bloody-mindedness with the repression of the revolt, have been such a failure that Rim Haddad, the head of the government’s media effort has been fired.

The Eastern Schism: A Study of the Papacy and the Eastern Churches during the Eleventh and Twelfth Centuries by Steven Runciman

I have just finished reading The Eastern Schism by Sir Steven Runciman (1955.) This is the eleventh of his works that I have read, so it is safe to say I am something of a fan. Unlike contemporary scholars who often seem to major in minutiae, Runciman was a historian of the old school, who knew that his craft was not, at heart, that of an analyst, but rather that of a story-teller. For anyone interested in Byzantine history (or the larger medieval world, for that matter,) my advice is to start with Runciman. He is that good.

This particular study examines the historical events which resulted in the Great Schism, an event we usually associate with the year 1054. This development is little known among most Protestants, for whom church history begins shortly after 1500. But for Roman Catholics and Eastern Orthodox, the event is pivotal, and in different ways defines our respective world views. Nobody lays out the historical processes by which East and West took diverging paths more succinctly than Runciman. A few points from the book stood out in my mind.

1. The schism was not over the Filioque

2. The schism did not occur in 1054

3. Efforts to avoid schism and resolve differences were ongoing by cooler heads on both sides up to the very end of the 12th-century

4. The Fourth Crusade ruined everything

I know that in Orthodox sources, the controversy over the Filioque is usually listed as one of the underlying causes of the Great Schism. And of course, it was a serious issue (from Runciman's view, the azymite controversy--the use of leavened or unleavened bread--was quite nearly as important.) By the 11th and 12th-centuries, both positions had solidified and neither the East nor West showed any sign of budging. But as Runciman well demonstrates, communion was not broken over it. The Orthodox believed that the West was wrong in arbitrarily adding to the Creed, but because of the West's particular history, the limitations and inflexibility of Latin relative to Greek, the lack of educated lay population in the West and other factors, the East was prepared to allow the West to continue with the Filioque, as long as it was not imposed upon the East. In short, they had agreed to disagree in practice. The real problem, however, lay in the arbitrariness of the addition. The Creed came out of the Ecumenical Councils, and to the Eastern mind, that was the only place, and not the Papacy, that a subsequent addition could be enacted. And as time went on, it became obvious that the Pope was intent on imposing his understanding. So, the insurmountable hurdle then was, as it is today, the specific claims of the Papacy.

For high drama, nothing beats the scene of Cardinal Humbert, the Papal Secretary, striding into Haghia Sophia during a Divine Liturgy and laying a Bull of Excommunication on the altar in 1054. According to Runciman, it was a silly document, unworthy of someone of Humbert's education. And surprisingly, it received little notice in Constantinople. The Emperor ignored it, and the general populace was not enraged (for long) and still considered the West to be their Christian brothers in an undivided church. If one were looking for the first time a Pope of Rome was not listed on an Eastern diptych, then the date of the schism would be 1009, not 1054. And if one were looking for an hard and fast date that communion was broken, on the ground, then the date would be 1100, when a Latin Patriarch was chosen for Antioch, when a Greek, John the Oxite, already held the office.

The simple fact of the matter was that relations ebbed and flowed over these two centuries, and even during the lowest points, cordial correspondence passed back and forth between Pope and Patriarch and Emperor, and their representatives. Each side seem committed to continuing the dialogue and avoiding at all costs an outright schism (though often for reasons of pure political expediency rather than piety.)

Several months ago, I let myself be sucked into an argument on one of the sillier monarchist blogs (I am generally sympathetic to monarchy in principle, just not the British version.) The blogger posted a tribute to Constantine XII, the last Byzantine emperor, but in so doing, made some comment to the effect that if the East had just submitted to Rome, then the downfall of Constantinople could have been avoided. I responded and suggested that real history might be a bit more nuanced than this. All discussions of this nature seem to end up back at the Fourth Crusade, as did ours. He finally sputtered "Well, if the Crusades were so bad, then why did the Byzantines keep asking for their help?" By this time, I knew better than to continue the correspondence, as he clearly did not know what he did not know. As Runciman notes, the Byzantines never asked for the Crusades--not even the first one. In 1095, Alexios I was short on manpower and engaged in a bitter struggle on the eastern front with the Seljuk Turks. Two representatives of the emperor were in Italy recruiting soldiers to join the eastern Roman army in this fight. At the same time, a general church council was in session, and the two envoys requested permission to address the gathering and make their needs known. Something was lost in translation and Pope Urban took the plea and ran with it. By the time he had crossed the Alps and gave his famous speech at Clermont, a simple recruiting effort had morphed into a plea by the East to be rescued by the Christian Army of the West. This was not at all what Alexios had in mind. Likewise, the Second and Third Crusades were endured, but never requested. And the Fourth Crusade turned on Constantinople itself. The tragedy of 1204 was outside the Papacy's control, and they had no choice but to validate the results afterwards. But in so doing, the Schism was set. And each side, from the highest clerics down to the communicant in the lowliest village knew it. Neither now saw the other as brother, but as schismatic or heretic.

Some selections:

Throughout the history of the Eastern Empire there was a large lay population that was as well educated as the clergy. The professors, the government servants, and even the soldiers were usually as cultured as the priests. Many of them were highly trained in theology, and almost all of them felt themselves perfectly competent to take part in theological discussions. No one in Byzantium thought that theology was the exclusive concern of the clergy. (p. 7)

Right worship was really more important to the East Christians than right belief. They were devoted to their liturgy...[and] was probably the strongest single spiritual force in the make-up of the Byzantines. It inspired their best art and their best poetry and music; and the humbler members of the Empire felt an even stronger loyalty to it than the educated. (p. 8)

The whole attitude of the medieval West was different. Christianity spread more slowly in the West than in the East, and paganism lasted on much longer there, particularly in cultivated circles. The Church there was obliged, for its self-defence, to insist on the need for unity and uniformity of belief. At the same time there was less general interest in speculative philosophy and less desire, therefore, for theological debate. Language played its part in the difference. While Greek is a subtle and flexible tongue, admirably suited to express every shade of abstract thought, Latin is far more rigid and inelastic; it is clear, concrete, and uncompromising....Even in Roman times the level of culture had been generally lower in the Western provinces....The cultured lay circles of Italy were extinguished during the wars and troubles of the fifth and sixth centuries. The only education that survived was conducted by the Church for the Church. In the early Middle Ages there were few laymen int he West who could even read. This gave the Church in the West a position in society that the Eastern Churches never possessed....Unlike the Eastern Liturgy, the Western Mass was a mystery performed by the priesthood, and the lay congregation did not have the same intimate feeling of participation. Moreover, while the language of the Byzantine Liturgy was roughly intelligible to the average Byzantine, the Latin of the Mass was a foreign language to most of the faithful in the West. The Western laity was seldom permitted to interfere in any matter of religion. (p. 9)

The East enjoyed speculation and argument; but the official Church was ready to exercise charity towards unessential divergences, and avoided doctrinal pronouncements and condemnations except when political issues or the liturgy was involved. The West had a simpler, stricter, and more legalistic and logical conception of right and wrong belief. In the East there were large numbers of educated laymen and laywomen accustomed to play a part in religious affairs, and there was an articulate public opinion that did not hesitate to criticize both the Emperor and the hierarchy. Neither an educated laity nor a public opinion that was articulate on religious matters existed in the West before about the twelfth century... (p. 11.)

Thus to the Romans Church union meant the submission of the Eastern Churches to Rome, but to the Byzantines it meant that the Roman bishop should resume his place as the senior of the Patriarchs and be mentioned once more int he diptychs and be accorded all deference and honorific titles due to him. It would be difficult to reconcile these views (p. 58.)

Economy was still more necessary when it came to the controversy over the Filioque. Of course this was wrong; but, after all, he [Peter III, Patriarch of Antioch] wrote, the Latins are our brothers, and it is only ignorance that makes them deviate. We must not demand from them the same scrupulous exactitude that we demand from our own highly educated circles. it should be enough that they confess the Mystery of the Trinity and the Incarnation. Perhaps, he suggested, they had lost the copies of the acts of the earlier councils (p. 65.)

The Latin argument on the Filioque seems at first sight to be clearer and more convincing than the Greek; but the Latin conception of the Trinity is less subtle and delicately balanced....The only solution would have been for each Church to show the Economy so often recommended by Orthodox theologians. But Rome was not in the mood to allow divergences, while the Greeks, though they might be willing to show tolerance over purely theological points and practices, could not bring themselves to forgive an addition to the Creed which they considered a direct challenge to the authority of the Oecumenical Councils. Nor were they prepared to admit that any of their old-established usages could be wrong. The essential issue was the question of papal authority. Could the Pope add to the Creed at his pleasure, and could he even insist on uniformity of usage? (p. 109.)

How to Make Furniture

The W. K. Cowan Furniture Company of Chicago, Illinois was in business from the years 1894 to 1916. William Kennett Cowan (no relation, or at least none this side of the year 1660) was known for the quality of his product. In the 1898 catalog, he set forth his philosophy, to-wit:

To govern production by excellence rather than expense;

to prefer simplicity;

to make use serve beauty and beauty usefulness;

to believe in goodness, abhor sham, make surroundings contribute to Life;

in short to conserve, even in the midst of commercial stress and strife, those eternal verities which make for advanced living;

these things are a part of the Ideal and the Working Plan of this Company.

Here was a man who obviously saw his trade in life as a noble calling. The furniture he created was intended to "make surroundings contribute to Life." I found it a bit jarring to read this and realize how antiquated such sentiments would seem to many today. I suspect most businessmen would laugh at a business plan that set out to "conserve...eternal verities." And that is to our shame.