We live in what is possibly the most despicably wicked era since the ancient Canaanites threw infants into fires as sacrifices to Moloch. At least the ancient Romans who left their babies to die on trash heaps gave those children the opportunity to be rescued by Christians. Abortion is evil and morally wrong at any point in a pregnancy, but now we have morons in public office saying women should be allowed to decide to “abort” their baby AFTER it has been born. And these same politicians lecture us about the morality of looking for measures to stop illegal human trafficking and drug trafficking into this country. These “leaders” remind us how truly lost we are without the saving grace of Jesus Christ and His Holy Spirit who sanctifies us from our wicked beliefs and desires. Shame on church leaders of all denominations who fail to denounce this extreme level of evil. We should be talking and praying about it at every church service and taking appropriate actions against those church members who refuse to repent of their support for this vile practice.
On his 2013 album “On My Way to the Sun,” former Kansas singer John Elefante included a song called “This Time” about the story of how his adopted daughter had almost been aborted. This story ends well, but it is a reminder that not every similar story ends on a happy note.
To grasp the constitutional importance of the moment, it is necessary to set aside partisan or policy preferences. Every constitutionalist, even those who wished a different outcome, can celebrate the proper functioning, for the first time in nearly a generation
The interwar period of twentieth-century Europe accepted—without question—the notion that all history and human action moved toward some end point, generally a happy if not paradisiacal one. Dawson feared that this idea, called progress, had become so ingrained as an absolute in the human mind by the 1920s that no one questioned it as a fact to which all must submit. Even the devastation of the Great War (1914-1918) did little to attenuate the belief in progress. That war had been waged in the name of progress, but now the cost was, perhaps, too bloody for interwar Europeans to contemplate as frivolous. Could that entire generation of young men have died for less than nothing, for a phantom idea?
— Read on theimaginativeconservative.org/2019/01/christopher-dawson-nature-progress-bradley-birzer.html
I know that you guys decided to continue with the story addressed in the previous album, “The Similitude of a Dream”. Was that decision taken after the first album was finished, or did you know beforehand that there would be a sequel?
Oh, the decision was definitely made after the first album was finished. When I started writing I didn’t even want to [make it a sequel]– I remember coming home from one of the legs of the Similitude tour and wanting to just get some rest, but you know, just feeling that kick inside to go into the studio and write a little bit. And I think even as early on as spring of 2017 or even earlier than that, like during the winter, I started to jot down some ideas about that indicated we’d be going to lead towards the sequel. But I wasn’t sure either. I didn’t really have the whole picture. I just had a couple pieces though. It took a long time for us to sort it all out.
— Read on www.sonicperspectives.com/interviews/interview-with-neal-morse/
A very close friend of mine wrote this gorgeous reflection–full of faith and nostalgia and hope. She’s asked to remain anonymous.
I have used two of my grandmother’s copper pots for over twenty years. Some of my happiest childhood memories came from the work of her hands and the bowls of tomato sauce she would warm for me. If I became sick she would cook pastina with chicken broth to heal and soothe me.
A few nights ago I had to leave in a rush and had the timer set for a son to take the rice off when it was finished. As we left, S—- asked me if I really wanted to leave the pot there cooking and perhaps just forgo that part of the meal. Oh, but I knew better, “Oh honey, how can you serve Tikki Masala without rice.” Unfortunately, the son left in charge put earphones on and didn’t hear the timer.
An hour later, S—- got a frantic phone call from another son — “Where’s mom? There’s a problem with dinner.” We came home later that night to find one of her pot’s interior burnt to a crisp with what was once rice. For days I have been slowly working away to remove the layers of damage–low boils, gentle abrasives, hints from Heloise, sighs of ‘please God we need to fix this pot.”
This little episode seems like the state of the Church. The earthly vessel, our Mother, which holds the glories of the kingdom of God and the grace to dispense love and heal souls–Holy because of her head-Jesus- abandoned by those in charge of Her keeping, distracted with the things of this world and not the Gospel—leaving love in the ruins. I could never abandon my mother, the Church. I have witnessed the grace of God in souls–especially my own. I have witnessed the horrors of her members’ sins–especially my own. Yet, I know that the Church, and my copper pot, will always love and serve when not misused and abused. I know I can’t leave the clean up alone to the one who forgot the pot or the Church, because a treasure must be handled with care.
New rule at our house–no one in charge of supper may have earphones in their ears–and I won’t put sons in charge of the pots until I know, they know how to use them correctly. Let us focus on whatever our mission is, whether cooking dinner or shepherding souls.