In the day of trouble

Via Alan Jacobs: 

Almighty God, who hast given us this good land for our heritage; We humbly beseech Thee that we may always prove ourselves a people mindful of Thy favour and glad to do Thy will. Bless our land with honourable industry, sound learning, and pure manners. Save us from violence, discord, and confusion; from pride and arrogancy, and from every evil way. Defend our liberties, and fashion into one united people the multitudes brought hither out of many kindreds and tongues. Endue with the spirit of wisdom those to whom in Thy Name we entrust the authority of government, that there may be justice and peace at home, and that, through obedience to Thy law, we may show forth Thy praise among the nations of the earth. In the time of prosperity, fill our hearts with thankfulness, and in the day of trouble, suffer not our trust in Thee to fail; all which we ask through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.  

Book of Common Prayer (1928)

In the spirit of neighborliness

O God, the Creator of all, whose Son commanded us to love our enemies: Lead them and us from prejudice to truth; deliver them and us from hatred, cruelty, and revenge; and in your good time enable us all to stand reconciled before you in Jesus Christ; in whose Name we pray. Amen.

Increase, O God, the spirit of neighborliness among us, that in peril we may uphold one another, in suffering tend to one another, and in homelessness, loneliness, or exile befriend one another. Grant us brave and enduring hearts that we may strengthen one another, until the disciplines and testing of these days are ended, and you again give peace in our time; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Book of Common Prayer (Anglican), 2019.

"Make us wise..."

MOST heartily do we thank Thee, O Lord, for all Thy mercies of every kind, and for Thy loving care over all Thy creatures. We bless Thee for the gift of life, for Thy protection round about us, for Thy guiding hand upon us, and for the many tokens of Thy love within us; especially for the saving knowledge of Thy dear Son, our Redeemer; and for the living presence of Thy Spirit, our Comforter. We thank Thee for friendship and duty, for good hopes and precious memories, for the joys that cheer us and for the trials that teach us to trust in Thee. In all these things, our heavenly Father, make us wise unto a right use of Thy great benefits; and so direct us that in word and deed we may render an acceptable thanksgiving unto Thee, in Jesus Christ our Saviour. Amen.

The Book of Common Worship (Presbyterian), 1906.

Misfortune

Re-posted because it's perfect:

"Once a thing is done..."

Similar to an argument I would make to persuade 9^th graders of the value of studying history:

...[T]he future is imaginary, the present is happening and that only leaves the past to be true; and it leaves the past as, in a sense, all of a piece. Once a thing is done, it belongs to the past. .... C.H. Sisson (1914-2003)

Anecdotal Evidence: 'Brands Us As a Sailor'

"For I am a stranger...and a sojourner"

Lord, let me know my end and the number of my days, that I may learn how short my life is.

Behold, you have made my days as a span in length, and my age is even as nothing before you; and truly, everyone living is but a breath. For everyone walks about as a shadow, and disquiets himself in vain; he heaps up riches and cannot tell who shall gather them.

And now, Lord, what is my hope? Truly, my hope is in you.
Deliver me from all my offenses, and make me not a taunt of the foolish.

I became mute and opened not my mouth, for it was you that brought it to pass. Take your affliction from me; I am consumed by the blows of your heavy hand.

When you, with rebukes, chasten someone for sin, you consume what is dear to him, like a moth eating a garment; everyone therefore is but vanity.

Hear my prayer, O LORD, and with your ears consider my cry; hold not your peace at my tears. For I am a stranger with you, and a sojourner, as all my fathers were.

O turn your gaze from me, that I may again be glad, before I go away to be seen no more.

Psalm 39:5-15 (Coverdale, 1535)

Memorial Day

Mom's youngest brother, Robert Levi Bond, killed in action in September of 1944, buried in Belgium at Henri-Chapelle American Cemetery.

Mom, Uncle Robert, Aunt Bea

Secretary of War Stimson

Surrounded by a cloud of witnesses

From the Book of Common Prayer, 2019:

Most loving Father, you will us to give thanks for all things, to dread nothing but the loss of you, and to cast all our care on the One who cares for us. Preserve us from faithless fears and worldly anxieties, and grant that no clouds of this mortal life may hide from us the light of that love which is immortal, and which you have manifested unto us in your Son, Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Heavenly Father, help us to entrust our loved ones to your care. Though sorrow darkens our lives, help us to look up to you, remembering the cloud of witnesses by which we are surrounded. And grant that we on earth, rejoicing ever in your presence, may share with them the rest and peace which your presence gives; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Honored dead

My Bond Great-grandfather's brother

Levi W. Bond, Company B, 15th West Virginia Volunteer Infantry, US,
killed September 3, 1864, near Berryville, Virginia

Cigars

Sat outside under shelter this afternoon. Rain, straight down, warm, April showers, (in May), global warming, I guess, except a month later. Smoked a very good cigar. I first smoked cigars in graduate school in Virginia (1969-1970), cigarillos with plastic tips, I think.  A friend, now a pastor, later introduced me to Jamaican cigars — a considerable upgrade. Later, in the UK I purchased a packet of Cubans legally. They were unavailable here because of the boycott JFK imposed on Cuba (but only after he arranged to buy lot for himself). I enjoy them. A friend, who did, too, and whose wife didn't object, can't smoke anymore because of precarious health, and has stopped. Another friend, also stopped because they no longer gave him pleasure. Life can be unfair. I was reminded of this Kipling poem from 1922:

OPEN the old cigar-box, get me a Cuba stout, For things are running crossways, and Maggie and I are out. We quarreled about Havanas—we fought o’er a good cheroot, And I know she is exacting, and she says I am a brute. Open the old cigar-box—let me consider a space; In the soft blue veil of the vapour musing on Maggie’s face. Maggie is pretty to look at—Maggie’s a loving lass, But the prettiest cheeks must wrinkle, the truest of loves must pass. There’s peace in a Laranaga, there’s calm in a Henry Clay; But the best cigar in an hour is finished and thrown away— Thrown away for another as perfect and ripe and brown— But I could not throw away Maggie for fear o’ the talk o’ the town! Maggie, my wife at fifty—grey and dour and old— With never another Maggie to purchase for love or gold! And the light of Days that have Been the dark of the Days that Are,   And Love’s torch stinking and stale, like the butt of a dead cigar— The butt of a dead cigar you are bound to keep in your pocket— With never a new one to light tho’ it’s charred and black to the socket! Open the old cigar-box—let me consider a while. Here is a mild Manilla—there is a wifely smile Which is the better portion—bondage bought with a ring, Or a harem of dusky beauties fifty tied in a string? Counselors cunning and silent—comforters true and tried,  And never a one of the fifty to sneer at a rival bride? Thought in the early morning, solace in time of woes, Peace in the hush of the twilight, balm ere my eyelids close,

This will the fifty give me. When they are spent and dead, Five times other fifties shall be my servants instead. The furrows of far-off Java, the isles of the Spanish Main, When they hear my harem is empty will send me my brides again. I will take no heed to their raiment, nor food for their mouths withal, So long as the gulls are nesting, so long as the showers fall. I will scent ’em with best vanilla, with tea will I temper their hides, And the Moor and the Mormon shall envy who read of the tale of my brides. For Maggie has written a letter to give me my choice between The wee little whimpering Love and the great god Nick o’ Teen. And I have been servant of Love for barely a twelvemonth clear, But I have been Priest of Cabanas a matter of seven year; And the gloom of my bachelor days is flecked with the cheery light Of stumps that I burned to Friendship and Pleasure and Work and Fight. And I turn my eyes to the future that Maggie and I must prove, But the only light on the marshes is the Will-o’-the-Wisp of Love. Will it see me safe through my journey or leave me bogged in the mire? Since a puff of tobacco can cloud it, shall I follow the fitful fire? Open the old cigar-box—let me consider anew— Old friends, and who is Maggie that I should abandon you? A million surplus Maggies are willing to bear the yoke; And a woman is only a woman, but a good Cigar is a Smoke. Light me another Cuba—I hold to my first-sworn vows. If Maggie will have no rival, I’ll have no Maggie for Spouse!

That's not me. If I had married I would have given up the habit if it would have pleased her (whoever would have had me), but in my bachelor existence cigars have given a lot of pleasure.

"The book made me laugh out loud"

In my library

From "Laugh Out Loud with P.G. Wodehouse":

What is it about Wodehouse that makes so many lifelong enthusiasts of his readers? The world described in his novels and stories—at English country houses, in the clubs of London, on New York’s Broadway—seems to come to us from an early 1920s time capsule, even though the majority of his books were written later than that. His tales always bring the reader to a kind of happy ending, and along the way display no malice whatsoever, even for characters who might deserve to be despised (such as the fascist Roderick Spode). There are no murders, no situations truly fraught with tragedy or grave danger. ....

Perhaps it is Wodehouse’s attention to meticulous plotting. We know in advance, for instance, that the very appealing young man and woman will be together at the end, but the author can still surprise you with unexpected—and hilarious—situations before we get there. When it comes to his many love stories, Wodehouse is the twentieth century’s Jane Austen—girl meets boy, initial disregard turns to something else, wedding bells are finally heard—but armed with a squirting bouttonière.

Or perhaps it is Wodehouse’s perfect mastery of English prose. None of his sentences ever goes awry, though they can be as long and intricate as those in the epistles of St. Paul. Wodehouse’s English is always formally correct, yet it is sprinkled liberally with slang, odd idiomatic expressions, effortless literary allusions, and sudden punch lines that hit you between the eyes.

And then there are his characters. The inimitable Psmith (“the P is silent”), the roguish Ukridge, the indefatigable storyteller Mr. Mulliner, the puttering old pig farmer the Earl of Emsworth. And of course the perfectly amiable twit Bertie Wooster, his priceless brace of aunts (Dahlia, good, and Agatha, bad, but both formidable), his would-be fiancée, the fearsome Honoria Glossop, and his omniscient gentleman’s gentleman, Jeeves. Most Wodehouse fans find their way in via the first-person tales of Bertie. I recommend The Code of the Woosters (1938), which begins with the best description ever written of the experience of a hangover, or Joy in the Morning (1946), published in the U.S. as Jeeves in the Morning. ....

One learns after a while that when one begins a Wodehouse story, satisfaction is guaranteed. Like a fresh whisky and soda, his work promises an easing of the tensions of daily life, an invitation to merriment, and a quiet contentment that in the end all will be well. (more)

Isolation Bookshelf: Laugh Out Loud with P.G. Wodehouse - Public Discourse

Remembering and feeling nostalgic

Pulled out a folder from my filing cabinet this afternoon that contained documents and photos from my years teaching. I hadn't looked through it for a long time and it brought back many memories. There were evaluations based on principal's observations of my teaching, letters and cards from students and parents. All were positive. It is quite possible I simply didn't save things that weren't. But it was a pleasant way to spend an afternoon and left me feeling pretty good about myself. There was a packet from my final year teaching, 2005 (I retired from James Madison Memorial High School in Madison, Wisconsin), that I particularly enjoyed reading: the result of a survey of seniors asking them to nominate an "Influential Teacher." The cover note read "Traditionally, these ballots have been destroyed after being counted, but I thought it would be nice to share these with you; it is not too often that we get positive feedback!" They were anonymous.

An example:

Obviously that is the sort of thing a teacher hopes might be said. There were quite a few and if there were negative evaluations they weren't passed on to me. A few others that I particularly enjoyed reading:

2001

• I learned a lot and he influenced my ways of thinking and showed you can command respect not by harsh discipline but by example.
• He encouraged open discussion in his class even though he held a minority and often unpopular view. Furthermore, his classes were lively and encouraged thinking about a variety of political issues.
• He has such a vast knowledge of his subject that he shares with his students. I've never had a teacher who knows his subject so well. He shares his own opinions but listens to others as well.
• He is an expert at what he teaches. He seems to know the answer to any question his students ask and always treats his students with respect and as if they are intellectual equals, not inferiors.
• I entered American Politics class knowing little and caring little about politics. However, Mr Skaggs's enthusiasm and wide-knowledge base made me very interested in something I cared very little for in the past.
• As the sole influential conservative in the building, he brings diversity to the classroom and says what others won't. His retirement will truly mark the end of an era. He's the most learned person I think I've ever met in respect to politics and history.
• Cuz he was da straight shit, yo!

It's been a good afternoon!

"On Him all my need I lay"

Jesus bleibet meine Freude, Meines Herzens Trost und Saft, Jesus wehret allem Leide, Er ist meines Lebens Kraft, Meiner Augen Lust und Sonne, Meiner Seele Schatz und Wonne;         Darum lass' ich Jesum nicht, Aus dem Herzen und Gesicht.

Jesus all my joy remaineth, My heart's solace and my stay All my wounds to heal he deigneth, On Him all my need I lay He's my heart's fond hope and treasure, My soul's rapture and dearest pleasure He is with me day and night, Ever in my heart and sight.

English translation

Originality

From Anecdotal Evidence this morning:

It takes a singular individual, one who is unfashionably non-aligned, to acknowledge his dependence on the work of others. .... Originality is a pernicious myth. Something truly original would be a horrifying blank, or chaos. We all come from somewhere.... Simon Leys writes in “The Experience of Literary Translation” (The Hall of Uselessness: Collected Essays, 2013):

“String together all the pages that you have copied out over the course of your readings and, without there being a single line by you, the ensemble may turn out to be the most accurate portrait of your mind and your heart. Such mosaics of quotations resemble pictorial ‘collages’: all the elements are borrowed, but together they form original pictures.”

I'm pretty sure I've never had an original thought.

Anecdotal Evidence: 'Accurate Portrait of Your Mind and Your Heart'

"All should be equally free"

Quoted in the "Moore to the Point" newsletter this morning:

Government should protect every man in thinking and speaking freely, and see that one does not abuse another. The liberty I contend for is more than toleration. The very idea of toleration is despicable; it supposes that some have a pre-eminence above the rest to grant indulgence, whereas all should be equally free, Jews, Turks, Pagans, and Christians.

— Virginia Baptist evangelist John Leland (1754-1841).

"Thank God for laughter!"

Re-posted:

I really like the story, and enjoyed noting its attribution. Via Ray Ortlund:

Rev. Theodore L. Cuyler, the celebrated Brooklyn divine, was visiting the famous London preacher, Rev. Charles H. Spurgeon. After a hard day of work and serious discussion, these two mighty men of God went out into the country together for a holiday. They roamed the fields in high spirits like boys let loose from school, chatting and laughing and free from care. Dr. Cuyler had just told a story at which Mr. Spurgeon laughed uproariously. Then suddenly he turned to Dr. Cuyler and exclaimed, "Theodore, let’s kneel down and thank God for laughter!" And there, on the green carpet of grass, under the trees, two of the world’s greatest men knelt and thanked the dear Lord for the bright and joyous gift of laughter.

The Sabbath Recorder, 1 February 1915, page 157.

Updated when I discovered where it was to be found. The page number was correct but the fifth issue, rather than the first, of The Sabbath Recorder in 1915.

On the wrong road

We all want progress. But progress means getting nearer to the place where you want to be. And if you have taken a wrong turning then to go forward does not get you any nearer. If you are on the wrong road progress means doing an about-turn and walking back to the right road and in that case the man who turns back soonest is the most progressive man. There is nothing progressive about being pig-headed and refusing to admit a mistake. And I think if you look at the present state of the world it's pretty plain that humanity has been making some big mistakes. We're on the wrong road. And if that is so we must go back. Going back is the quickest way on.
C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity

"Bless the name of the Lord..."

An interesting essay by a Christian who has been in lock-down in Michigan ends with a quotation from Samuel Johnson:

The chief security against the fruitless anguish of impatience must arise from frequent reflection on the wisdom and goodness of the God of nature, in whose hands are riches and poverty, honor and disgrace, pleasure and pain, and life and death. A settled conviction of the tendency of everything to our good, and of the possibility of turning miseries into happiness, by receiving them rightly, will incline us to “bless the name of the Lord, whether he gives or takes away.” The Rambler No. 32, Saturday, 7 July 1750

‘Be Strong, Fear Not’: The Case for Christian Stoicism - Crisis Magazine

“The Weight of Glory”

This week Russell Moore's Reading in Exile series of YouTube talks is taking up a collection of C.S. Lewis's essays — a different one each day. Yesterday it was one of the best, “The Weight of Glory.” I was curious whether that essay, actually a sermon preached in 1942, could be found online. It is here as a pdf.

“I don’t think I am wrong, but what if I am wrong?”

Shadow To Light is an interesting Christian blog that engages with atheist arguments. Today he takes up Sam Harris’s effort to refute "Pascal’s Wager."

Blaise Pascal

.... I was not raised as a Christian. I became a Christian, and remain a Christian, because of reason and evidence. However, I also recognize the limitations of the human intellect. Since my Christian faith is not rooted in intellectual certainty, I fully concede that I could be wrong. I could be deluded. That naturally leads to the following question – “What if I am wrong?” It’s precisely at this point that the Wager comes into play. For if I am wrong, if when I die I simply cease to exist, the answer becomes “So what?” It’s not as if I will ever know or notice it. ....

...[G]iven the Wager is a wager, it’s not an issue of it being “valid.” It’s whether or not it is wise. Whether it is smart. And the answer to that question will depend on a) the actual wager being made and b) the person who makes the wager.

Yes, I think when it is an issue of choosing between atheism and Christianity, the Wager is wise. As I mentioned above, if I am wrong, and the atheist is right, I’m left with the unanswerable question – So what? When I die, I simply cease to exist. I have incurred no cost. ....

I accept and embrace Christianity because I think it is true because of reason and evidence. As I explained, the Wager comes into play after the evidence is considered. The Wager exists due to the fact that none of us can purchase intellectual certainty. The human brain is too limited and too fallible. The Wager is the response to the question, “I don’t think I am wrong, but what if I am wrong?” ....

How I Defeat Sam Harris’s Attack on Pascal’s Wager | Shadow To Light