tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-57945292261909259932024-03-13T09:03:46.321-04:00The Maryland CrustaceanMusings of a native Marylander on various topics ranging from family, religion. politics, philosophy, economics, history, music, culture, travel, or anything else that might come to mind.The Maryland Crustaceanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18309250912148013290noreply@blogger.comBlogger134125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5794529226190925993.post-2884878880912614202013-09-19T22:35:00.000-04:002013-09-23T20:39:31.432-04:00Seeing Italy with New Eyes<div class="MsoNormal">
As a son of Italian immigrants, my parents raised me to love
and cherish Italy. I have lost count of how many times I have been blessed to
visit, to see friends and relatives in Sicily and Genoa, and to enjoy the
natural, artistic and historical beauty of everywhere in between. At age 55, you would think that going to
Italy would be old hat for me by now, but I can say without hesitation that my
trip to Italy this year has been the most memorable by far.</div>
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Why? Because it was
the first time I got to share Italy with some dear American friends. My wife Susan and I were joined by three
other couples: Gordon and Jean, Glenn
and Donna, and Tommy and Jeanne. We had
been planning the trip for almost two years and everyone was excited, but no
one as much as me, because I was looking forward to playing tour guide and showing
off the land that I love. Though I had
seen many of the places before, I would vicariously be enjoying them for the
first time as I saw Italy’s unmatched beauty through my friends’ eyes.</div>
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I was a little nervous at first, wanting more than anything
for my friends to have the time of their lives.
The extended weather forecasts did not look promising, calling for unseasonably
cool weather with the rainy season uncharacteristically lingering into late May
and early June. Wanting them to have a good
impression from the start, I was also nervous about landing at Rome’s Fiumicino
airport, which is not known to be traveler friendly.</div>
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Thankfully, when we landed, the sun was shining. It was still May, and the chaos so
characteristic of Fiumicino in July and August did not materialize. Though we were exhausted from the
trans-Atlantic journey and needing three or four more hours of sleep, it seemed
to take very little time to make it through <i>Controllo
Passaporti </i>[immigration]<i>, </i>retrieve
our baggage and rent a nine passenger van.
Before we knew it, we were on the <i>Grande
Raccordo Anulare</i> (the Roman beltway) heading toward Highway A1- South.</div>
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After a good shot of <i>espresso
ristretto</i> at the first Autogrill, I was all set to drive us to the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Amalfi_coast">Amalfi Coast</a> while everyone
else caught up on sleep. Our destination
was <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Praiano">Praiano</a>, a small town on
the Gulf of Salerno side of the Sorrentine Peninsula, just past <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Positano">Positano</a>. The intention was to spend a couple of nights
just to chill out and enjoy the scenery as we recovered from the jet lag.</div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-koFSLYRdfc0/Ujutj1OiIrI/AAAAAAAAAR8/YI7jz0Kv3sM/s1600/WP_20130526_006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-koFSLYRdfc0/Ujutj1OiIrI/AAAAAAAAAR8/YI7jz0Kv3sM/s320/WP_20130526_006.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Breathtaking views like this are all over the Amalfi Coast</td></tr>
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By the time we took the exit at <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Castellamare_di_Stabia">Castellamare di
Stabia</a>, everyone was awake and excited to get to our destination. It was not long before the “ooh”s and “ah”s
started as we hairpinned along the road that hugs the mountainside high above
the Tyrrhenian Sea. Of course we stopped
at many of the scenic overlooks, taking way too many pictures of us smiling in
front of the backdrop of the Bay of Naples and Mt. Vesuvius.</div>
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Driving the narrow, Sorrentine streets was not a new
experience for me, but this was the first time I did so in a nine passenger
van, so it took a little getting used to.
I eventually achieved a certain comfort level and was able to navigate
without giving it much thought. It was
only later that I realized that my passengers were terrified.</div>
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“Did you realize that you only missed that wall by about two
inches?” Tommy asked as he pulled in the passenger side view mirror to keep it
from scraping.</div>
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“Well, I did miss it, did I not?”</div>
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The only other complication about the drive had to do with
relying on a GPS for the first time. It
proved to be more trouble than it was worth, especially in mountainous areas
like the Amalfi Coast, because it had trouble distinguishing the road we were
on from the road 50 feet above us with almost identical coordinates. At one point, we came to a dead end and the GPS
squawked: “Turn right onto
pathway.” Uh, no, I don’t think so, as
that would send us careening down the mountainside. With the help of a friendly resident guiding
us through what seemed like a fifteen point turn, we somehow managed to turn
the huge van around and get to our destination at the <a href="http://www.hotelholidaypraiano.com/">Hotel Holiday</a> in Praiano. We arrived exhausted, but we were jazzed by
the new experience and the stunning views from our balconies.</div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pm5LfOOmjSw/UjuuWfi4UHI/AAAAAAAAASI/eKsoZc4ViO8/s1600/WP_20130527_005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pm5LfOOmjSw/UjuuWfi4UHI/AAAAAAAAASI/eKsoZc4ViO8/s320/WP_20130527_005.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Positano</td></tr>
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The next morning, we wisely decided to leave the van parked at
the hotel and took the bus to Positano.
Words cannot do justice to this lovely town of cobblestone streets,
quaint shops with flowers everywhere, artisans showing off their handiwork,
stone houses stairstepping up the mountainside, and the crystal clear waters of
the Bay of Salerno. We decided to have
lunch at <a href="http://www.lacambusapositano.com/">La Cambusa</a>, relaxing
at an outdoor table on a terrace overlooking the main beach. I was skeptical at first, fearing it might be an overpriced tourist trap, but it turned out that the food was delicious and very reasonably priced. We asked for their red house wine, and I was surprised when they brought out a couple of very good bottles of <i>Aglianico.</i> (I had only
recently learned about <i>Aglianico</i> at
the Italian Wine and Culture Seminars held at <a href="http://www.casaitalianaschool.org/">Casa Italiana</a> in Washington, DC,
that it was the prime grape of the Campania region and often called the “Barolo
of the South.” The wine lived up to its
name, and we would enjoy many more bottles of <i>Aglianico</i> during our stay in Italy.)</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qN14goQodKM/Ujuzd8LfuGI/AAAAAAAAASk/bQLE2gwg-4c/s1600/WP_20130527_033.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qN14goQodKM/Ujuzd8LfuGI/AAAAAAAAASk/bQLE2gwg-4c/s320/WP_20130527_033.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Enjoying some appetizers and some Aglianico at La Cambusa. </td></tr>
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The following day, we were headed back north. After spending a few hours touring the ruins
of Pompei, we were on our way to Rome for three nights. Not that we didn’t enjoy it, but the time in
Rome was almost obligatory. One does not
come to Italy without seeing the Coliseum, the Forum and the rest of Ancient
Rome, as well as St. Peter’s Basilica and the Vatican. To bypass them would be--shall we say?--a
sin.</div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://scontent-a-iad.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ash4/p480x480/316138_584210358267694_833351943_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://scontent-a-iad.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ash4/p480x480/316138_584210358267694_833351943_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In front of St. Peter's Basilica</td></tr>
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After Rome, we were now ready for the main event. We had reserved one week at a villa in the
heart of Tuscany, where we intended to enjoy beautiful scenery, food and wine,
rest and relaxation, peace and quiet, interrupted only by occasional day trips
to Florence, Pisa, Lucca and the like.
But there was one more day before our reserved week, and I assured my
friends that they absolutely must spend at least one day and night in <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Assisi">Assisi</a>.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XTVRWWTS3sU/UjuvvQNu39I/AAAAAAAAASQ/wg4Dtdmo77o/s1600/WP_20130531_009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XTVRWWTS3sU/UjuvvQNu39I/AAAAAAAAASQ/wg4Dtdmo77o/s320/WP_20130531_009.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A view of Assisi from the fortress of Rocca Maggiore</td></tr>
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As we entered Umbria, it was raining, and my heart sank as I
could barely make out the contours of Assisi shrouded in fog and rain. This would not do. But somehow, miraculously after we had checked
into our hotel and had a light lunch, the rain abated and the sun started
peeking through the clouds. We dared to
venture out on foot down the medieval cobblestone streets, and a few of us climbed
the path to Rocca Maggiore, where we enjoyed a breathtaking bird’s-eye view of
St. Francis’ home town and its beautiful churches, castles, and surrounding
countryside.</div>
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The next morning, we were off to <a href="http://www.villagiardo.com/eng/index.html">Villa Giardo</a>, a spacious
and elegant five bedroom villa nestled in the hills about halfway between the
towns of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Greve_in_Chianti">Greve in
Chianti</a> and <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Figline_Valdarno">Figline
Valdarno</a>. Here again the GPS proved to be worthless, because Villa Giardo
is so remote that the last mile is made up of unpaved “roads” that a GPS could
only guess at. The street address was
“Via Case Sparse” (“scattered houses”), so you can imagine the setting. The final mile ascending to the villa was
somewhere between exhilarating and terrifying, but, having reached our
destination, it was more than worth it.</div>
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The Villa is a restored stone building, parts of which date
back to the year 1059. The interior has
every modern day comfort and convenience you could wish for, even while
retaining an old world ambience. It is
surrounded by cultivated trees and gardens, vineyards and olive groves. Many an evening was spent gazing at the stars
and admiring the flora and fauna in this utterly peaceful setting while sipping
on abundant wine, enjoying delicious food, and deepening friendships. </div>
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://scontent-a-iad.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ash3/q74/s320x320/946517_585417054813691_745749940_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://scontent-a-iad.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ash3/q74/s320x320/946517_585417054813691_745749940_n.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Villa Giardo</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">All of us agreed it was the trip of a
lifetime. It was summed up most simply
and eloquently when our friend Donna told me, “Leo, you have a beautiful
country.” I smiled with joy and
satisfaction, so thrilled that our friends enjoyed Italy as much as I did. Italy is indeed a beautiful country.</span>The Maryland Crustaceanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18309250912148013290noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5794529226190925993.post-49627890242339725152013-02-10T15:32:00.001-05:002016-02-09T19:37:11.448-05:00A Special Lady<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0E061W5lijQ/URgAzqjBccI/AAAAAAAAARY/fWUBWbhhsmE/s1600/Nonni+Ruello.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="241" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0E061W5lijQ/URgAzqjBccI/AAAAAAAAARY/fWUBWbhhsmE/s320/Nonni+Ruello.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I write this post in honor of a very special lady who would
have been 110 years old today were she still alive. On February 10, 1903, Antonia Longo was born
in the small town of Torre Faro, just outside of Messina in Sicily. I am not sure what life in southern Italy was
like back then, but I am told that Messina used to be a thriving city,
certainly well positioned as a major seaport on the strait that bears its
name. That was before 1908, when a major
earthquake leveled the city which, though since rebuilt, is nothing like its former self.</div>
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The earthquake had to have a lasting impression on Antonia, as
it left her trapped in the rubble for a few days before help arrived. I wonder how formative that traumatic
experience must have been to her, as it seemed to set the tone for the many
things through which she would have to persevere later in life.</div>
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She was around seventeen years old when she married Nicola
Ruello who, born in 1886, was practically twice her age at the time. Their marriage soon produced two
children: Joe was born in 1922 and Rose
in 1927. Nicola was not home much, as
he often traveled to the United States in search of better opportunities,
sending money home to his family. This was not uncommon, and women like Antonia were often referred to as “American
widows”. On one of his trips home in 1929, Nicola and Antonia conceived a third
child, Angela. They may not have known
that Angela was on her way when Nicola departed again on a very ill timed trip
to the United States.</div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-o3G-WDo0nN8/URf-aEs1xJI/AAAAAAAAARQ/JtW6BztYSEU/s1600/ma+aunt+rosie+and+uncle+joe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="227" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-o3G-WDo0nN8/URf-aEs1xJI/AAAAAAAAARQ/JtW6BztYSEU/s320/ma+aunt+rosie+and+uncle+joe.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Antonia's three children, circa 1931, left to right, Joe, Angela and Rose. </td></tr>
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<span style="text-align: center;">The stock market had just crashed. The U.S. and much of the world were entering into the Great Depression. Between the prolonged economic downturn and the subsequent hostilities of World War II, it would be sixteen years before Nicola and Antonia would see each other again, and sixteen years before Angela would meet her father for the first time. During that time, Antonia endured even greater trials without the support of a husband. In 1933, Rose became very ill and, due to a misdiagnosis, ended up dying in her mother’s arms at the tender age of six. Antonia also lost her mother and her mother-in-law within a short span of time. A few years later, her son Joe—now a young man--managed to join his father in the United States, only to end up serving in the U.S. army. To add to her many other woes, Antonia now had to worry about her oldest son being in harm’s way.</span><span style="text-align: center;"> </span></div>
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Aided only by a support network of extended family, Antonia
was left to raise Angela by herself. Above
and beyond the relative poverty of southern Italy, they had to endure the shortages
and rationing caused by the war. As the
war heated up around the Strait of Messina, Antonia, Angela and the extended
family had to flee their homes up into the mountainous countryside. Once it was clear that the Allies were in control
of the area and had routed the Germans, they returned home, only to find it
bombed, the second time in Antonia’s life that her home was leveled. With no other choice but to
carry on, Antonia and Angela persevered past the end of the war until 1946,
when they were finally able to join the rest of their family in America. <br />
<br />
As if to crown and reward Antonia for her faith and perseverance, the reunion in America produced yet a fourth child. Born to Nicola and Antonia in their later years, Lillian was all the more precious to them, and they lovingly referred to her as "<i>a figghiola</i>" (the little girl), even after she became an adult.</div>
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Antonia Longo Ruello is one of my heroes. She was also my grandmother (and Angela was my mom). Her perseverance and faithfulness
through adversity have always been an inspiration to me. She was also a very godly woman, and I have
no doubt that her faithfulness and perseverance were the fruit of a genuine
faith in the Savior.</div>
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In the Apostles’ Creed there is a reference to believing in “<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Communion_of_Saints">the communion of saints</a>”,
the idea that there is a mystical union among all the saints of the church,
both living and dead. While Protestants
and Catholics may have different ideas as to exactly what that means, I am
feeling a special closeness to my <i>Nonna
Antonia</i> today. This is partly because I loved her dearly and continue to be inspired by her, but also
because I had the privilege of sharing a birthday with her, and today she would
be exactly twice my age. </div>
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<i><span lang="IT"><br /></span></i></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gYw8AdkRE4g/URf8Tso5aWI/AAAAAAAAARE/rPuup_om2JI/s1600/bday.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="254" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gYw8AdkRE4g/URf8Tso5aWI/AAAAAAAAARE/rPuup_om2JI/s320/bday.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Celebrating a birthday with my <i>nonna.</i></td></tr>
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<i><span lang="IT">Buon compleanno, Nonna. Ti voglio tanto bene.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
The Maryland Crustaceanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18309250912148013290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5794529226190925993.post-2010703156319736442012-12-28T21:37:00.000-05:002012-12-28T21:37:30.915-05:00Funeral for a Friend<br />
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His name was Giuseppe. We met over thirty years ago in graduate
school while both pursuing a relatively useless Masters Degree in
Spanish Language and Literature. Though
he was almost 20 years my senior, we had much in common in addition to our
course of studies: Like me, his parents
were from Sicily. In fact, his home town
was only a few miles from my parents’ birthplace of Torre Faro, Messina. We hit it off well, and I invited him over to
dinner often, as both of us enjoyed having someone to speak Italian with, as
well as talk about Sicily. </div>
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There was also much that we did not have in common. I was a young Christian, married for a couple
of years with an infant daughter, attending a local church and doing my best to
stay on the straight and narrow as best as I knew how. He on the other hand, was an older, confirmed
bachelor, and very much a man of the world.
I had some opportunities to share the Gospel with him and was thrilled
when he prayed a prayer of faith and repentance, only to be disappointed that
his profession of faith apparently did not result in an immediate change in lifestyle.</div>
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After we both completed our studies, we saw much less of
each other, though we kept in occasional contact. He eventually retired and moved to Florida,
still a confirmed bachelor, but not like he used to be. He started living a relatively solitary and
quiet life, and his social contacts seemed to be limited to friends in a small prayer
group at the church he attended in Florida.
His conversations with me seemed to be limited to two topics: (1) his politics, which—believe it or not—were
even further to the right than mine; and (2) the church, and he was
particularly fond of talking about his prayer group.</div>
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I got to see him about once a year, inviting him over to the
house when he periodically traveled back north, but otherwise our contact was limited
to an occasional phone call and exchanges of Christmas greetings. I was surprised this year when the Christmas
letter I sent him was returned with no forwarding address. I had not heard from him, and it would not be
like him to not let me know that he had moved.
When I called his number and got a recording that the number was no
longer in service, I assumed the worst--
“googling” his name and the word “obituary”--but the search did not yield
any relevant results. When I searched
exclusively on the address and found some real estate records listing him as
the owner, I clicked on his name and learned that he died sometime in 2012 at
the age of 73. There were no other details.</div>
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Given the lack of an obituary on the internet, I wonder if
there was even a funeral. As far as I
knew, his only living relatives were a sister and some nieces and nephews in
Sicily. Though his absence will not have
a major impact on my life, I am taken aback that a friend of mine is no longer
here, and I am particularly saddened by the possibility that he may have died
alone. And yet, by God’s mercy, I have
reason to hope that he did not die alone.
So long, <i>paisano</i>. May you receive a rich welcome in God’s
Kingdom, and I look forward to seeing you there.</div>
The Maryland Crustaceanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18309250912148013290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5794529226190925993.post-77657897486092277792012-12-23T22:36:00.001-05:002012-12-24T10:55:28.641-05:00An Epiphany<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="color: red;">In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born
in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men from the East came to Jerusalem, asking,
"Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we observed
his star at its rising, and have come to pay him homage."<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The look on Herod’s face confirmed to Melchior that perhaps
the long trip to Jerusalem was not such a good idea after all. He had doubts ever since the day he left
Persia.<br />
<br />
It started as kind of a lark or
adventure, maybe even a dare. Melchior
was well read, a scholar—some would say a nerd—well versed in the sciences,
mathematics, philosophy, history, literature and religion. His studies in the latter discipline were more of a hobby, and he really was not sure what he believed. Yet all of his reading and studies seemed to
be drawing him to the conclusion that something special was going to be
happening in the land of the Hebrews… or what was left of it. As he knew well from his studies, they were
once a great kingdom before they got done in by the Babylonians, to be followed
by Melchior’s own Persian ancestors, then the Greeks, and now the Romans.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yes, the land of Israel, once a mighty nation of great kings like
David, Solomon, Hezekiah and Josiah, was now a two-bit backwater colony. According to their sacred writings they were
hoping a new king would arise and restore their former glory. Good luck with that! Anyway, it was all very interesting, and Melchior
had always wanted to travel there, so off he went. The trip to Jerusalem was
quite an adventure, starting with the caravan he ran into out in the middle of
the desert. The ensuing conversation was
interesting, to say the least.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Who are you? And
where are you going?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Perhaps I should ask you the same thing! My name is Balthazar. I left Arabia three days ago and am on my way
to Jerusalem. Don’t ask me why—it’s a
long story—but I believe something special is going to happen there, perhaps
the birth of a great king.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You’re joking, right?
Are you some kind of wise guy?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh, some people back home think I am wise. I’ve certainly read a lot, but I’m not
certain that makes me wiser than anyone else.
In fact, I’ve wondered for the past few days how wise it was to venture
on this journey, really based on nothing but a hunch.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Melchior and Balthazar continued to compare notes when they
noticed yet another caravan approaching. The riders were
dressed rather strangely, their turbans quite distinctive, definitely not from
Arabia or Persia. The head rider
dismounted and approached.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Caspar, and I left India two
weeks ago. I am on my way to…”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Jerusalem?” Melchior interrupted. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“How did you know?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh, just a hunch, I guess.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Caspar continued. “I
have been reading the ancient writings of the people of Judea. I could not put them down. They speak of one God who made the heavens
and the earth and created mankind. They recount
how this God dealt graciously with His people despite their rebellion, and how
He promised to send them a special King.
I am not sure why, but these words ring true. That is why I am on my way to Jerusalem. Stranger still, and don’t ask me how I know,
I have this strange feeling that this special King has already been born. I just wish I had something to go on other
than this feeling in my gut. Some kind
of sign perhaps would help, maybe something in the heavens.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Like that star?” Melchior interrupted. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The three travelers gasped in simultaneous astonishment. It was brighter than a typical star, and it
stood out in the night sky.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Supposing we find this Special King,” Melchior wondered out
loud, “I guess we should be bringing Him some sort of gift to pay Him
homage. All I have is some extra
gold. I admittedly did bring plenty more
than I needed for the journey.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“All I have is some incense,” Balthazar chimed in. “I wasn’t even sure why I brought it, but now
I guess I will have some use for it.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Same here,” Caspar continued. “I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with
this myrrh. “</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
These conversations kept playing through Melchior’s mind as
he tried to interpret the hostile and fearful look on Herod’s face. Whether or not it was wise to make this
journey, it definitely was not very bright to ask the regent in Jerusalem where
they could find the newly born King of the Jews. He saw right through Herod’s feigned interest
in finding and worshiping the child himself.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="color: #00b050;"><br /></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="color: #00b050;">When King Herod heard this, he was
frightened, and all Jerusalem with him; and calling together all the chief
priests and scribes of the people, he inquired of them where the Messiah was to
be born. They told him, "In Bethlehem of Judea; for so it has been written
by the prophet: 'And you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah, are by no means
least among the rulers of Judah; for from you shall come a ruler who is to
shepherd my people Israel.'" <o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Having been unceremoniously dispatched by Herod and his
court, the three travelers set out. It was not until they had cleared the city
gates of Jerusalem and left them far back in the distance that Melchior, Caspar
and Balthazar finally breathed a sigh of relief. The audience with “King” Herod had been
neither pleasant nor friendly, and they were thankful that they made it out
alive. As they approached the humble
village of Bethlehem, a far cry from the pomp of the Jerusalem court, their
fears subsided. As the sky darkened,
they noticed the same unusual star that had left them astonished just a few
nights prior.</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="color: red;">…and there, ahead of them, went the star that
they had seen at its rising, until it stopped over the place where the child
was. When they saw that the star had stopped, they were overwhelmed with joy. <o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As they approached the house, Melchior and his companions
had to wonder whether they had the right place. Granted, it wasn’t the royal
palace in Jerusalem, but beyond being several cuts below a king’s residence,
the place was downright plain and inconspicuous. It was a tiny house in an agricultural
setting, with a stable for farm animals attached. His doubts about the wisdom of this journey
began to return. “This has got to be the
most ridiculous thing I have ever done!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All three of them conferred as to what to do next. The place looked desolate. Was anybody home? Should they knock? Supposing someone answered, what would they
say? Those questions all became moot as
the door opened and a man exited, apparently on his way to run an errand. The man was understandably startled to see the
three strangers at his front door. Both
the quality and the style of their dress indicated that they were not from
anywhere near Bethlehem.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Hello friends! My
name is Joseph. May I help you?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The three travelers stammered for words, not having a clue
what to say. Caspar finally decided to
cut to the chase.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“We have come from far away, each from a different land, but
all of us have been led here. We seek
the One who has been born king of the Jews.”
Caspar immediately sensed how awkward and bizarre his words must have sounded. Melchior and Balthazar were visibly
uncomfortable. Nevertheless, Melchior
managed to add:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“The bright star that has been in the night sky over the
last several nights seems to have led us here.
Forgive us for disturbing you, but perhaps we have come to the wrong
place.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Perhaps not. Please come
in.”</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="color: #00b050;">On entering the house, they saw the child
with Mary his mother.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Nothing or no one in the house seemed particularly
noteworthy. There was just a lowly
mother nursing her child, nothing indicative of royalty. Like the surrounding village and the house
itself, both mother and child seemed to be plainness personified. There was nothing in the least bit extraordinary
about them, much less anything regal—which made the reaction of the three
travelers all the more inexplicable. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Suddenly, each one sensed in the core of their being that they had indeed
found the One they were looking for. Had
they been asked how they knew, they would have been at a loss for words. They just knew.</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="color: red;">And they knelt down and paid him homage. Then,
opening their treasure chests, they offered him gifts of gold, frankincense,
and myrrh.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As they presented the gifts, each traveler sensed how paltry
and pathetic they were. What good would
gold be to this child? Perhaps his parents could use it. But frankincense and myrrh? At best, they could be sold and put to the
same use as the gold. Furthermore, each
was painfully aware that they could have given so much more out of their vast
treasures at home. Had they known they
would find the One they were seeking, perhaps they would have brought
more. But then again, if this Child was
indeed the One that their hearts seemed to be telling them, the entirety of
their treasures and possessions would not be sufficient. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Melchior, Balthazar and Caspar rose from their reverent
posture, bid farewell to Mary and Joseph, and simply left. Thinking again about the utter inadequacy of
their gifts, they nonetheless felt a strange sensation that their gifts were nonetheless accepted, not because they were worthy or had any value, but simply
because the Child somehow accepted them. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
How did they know? They could not say.
They just knew.</div>
The Maryland Crustaceanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18309250912148013290noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5794529226190925993.post-29714160842597060152012-12-19T23:03:00.000-05:002012-12-31T14:47:13.873-05:00Advent<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Unless
you have been a hermit living in a cave, you are aware that according to some
ancient Mayan prophecy, the end of the world as we know it may occur on
December 21, 2012. Just in case the Mayans were on to something, I figured I
should try to post a Christmas related message a little earlier than usual this
year.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Last
year a well meaning but misguided evangelical Christian by the name of Harold
Camping made his umpteenth prediction about the return of Christ and the end of
the world, which according to his calculations was supposed to occur on May 21,
2011. When that did not happen he said
he miscalculated and it would actually occur on October 21. The rest is history. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Jesus
Himself said that no one knew the day or the hour of His return. The unfortunate obsession of people like
Camping to predict the date was not only wrong-headed but justifiably mocked by
the world. I myself joined in the fun
and had a few good laughs. But the sad part about such end-times and doomsday obsession
is that it distracts from the main message of the Gospel<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Having
said all that, I have been thinking a lot about the supposed Mayan calculation
of December 21, 2012. The possibility
does make me kind of pensive in a funny sort of way. Wouldn’t it be just like God to not reveal
such things to Christians, who would ostensibly be interested—even eager—to
know the day of Christ’s return, but instead reveal it to those whom you would
least expect? Sometimes God in His grace
gives supernatural wisdom even to pagans. After all, how did the three wise men
(pagan astrologers at best) know to follow the star to Bethlehem?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">At
Christmas we celebrate when Jesus came the first time. No one seemed to be expecting Him, save for
the precious few to whom God had revealed it.
The world was in turmoil, and the descendants of Abraham, Isaac and
Jacob were once again a captive people without much hope. The Romans had taken over. All of “God’s chosen people” were suffering
under oppression, except for those who had sold themselves out or had been
co-opted by the Romans; such as tax-collectors, corrupted religious leaders
and, last but not least, “King”
Herod. Needless to say, the latter was
not thrilled when the wise men inquired:
"Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we
observed his star at its rising, and have come to pay him homage." Everyone desperately needed for such a Savior
to be born, but not everyone knew it, nor did they have a full appreciation of
what they needed to be saved from.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Two thousand-plus
years later, the more things change, the more they remain the same. The world is in turmoil. The regions surrounding the birthplace of
Jesus look frighteningly like a powder keg ready to explode. The great democracies of the western world,
which for the most part have been a force for good, seem ready to collapse
under the weight of their own excesses.
We sense that there is something fundamentally wrong, but we may not
have a full appreciation or understanding of exactly what ails us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Against
this backdrop, we live our daily lives. I
personally am truly blessed and have much to be grateful for. Life is good. I have been married to the same
lovely lady for more than 33 years, taking great delight in her and being
amazed that she apparently delights in me. We have been blessed with three
children, the oldest of which is married to a godly man, and they have given us
two beautiful grandchildren. Our other
two children have special needs and we continue to pray for them, but they are
otherwise healthy, content and provided for, and we love them dearly. We also take joy in our extended family and a
circle of friends, particularly those with whom we fellowship at Solid Rock
Church, where we have attended for more than 33 years. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">These
are little slices of heaven on earth.
And yet there is a longing in my heart for something more. Part of it is because of the pain and
disappointments that stand in contrast to the blessings: mourning over lost loved ones, disappointment
in myself over sins and shortcomings I have not yet been able to overcome, and
the aches and pains of life, both figurative and literal. And a quick glimpse at the newspaper on any
given day feeds my fears that the world is going to hell in a
handbasket. But even if life were
presently a bed of roses, I know it is all fleeting. We all eventually grow old and die, and
everything we worked so hard for and everything that seems so important eventually comes to nothing, except…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">… except
it does not come to nothing. I said
earlier that the sad part about doomsday obsessions is that they distract us
from the main message of the Gospel, The Gospel in a nutshell is this: Jesus, the Son of God, took on flesh and
lived the perfect sinless life that we could never live, died the death that we
deserve, and rose again to offer us forgiveness and eternal life. One day--and
we don't know when--He will indeed return. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">May it
be soon. Come, Lord Jesus. </span></div>
<i>
</i>The Maryland Crustaceanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18309250912148013290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5794529226190925993.post-59942736522052463602012-11-25T11:23:00.000-05:002012-12-06T22:46:27.331-05:00My Sexagenarian Brother<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am the youngest of three baby-boomer brothers. When
we were growing up, the Smothers Brothers were popular, and we would
occasionally joke about one of their routines in which the younger Tommy
Smothers would lament to the older Dick, “Mom always liked you best!” In our case, the mantle of “favored-one”
fell not to my oldest brother Pete, but to the next in line, Nick.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In stark contrast to Tommy Smothers, we say this about
Nick with not even a hint of bitterness
or jealousy. It was simply a fact. After all, what’s not to like? Nick was always the best behaved and the most
compliant. He cleaned up after himself,
did his chores, never left things half-done, and was always ready to serve his
parents. He was most likely the one who
started the practice of serving our mother coffee and toast in bed on weekend
mornings, which kind of obligated the rest of us the follow suit. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The personality traits that made Nick a good kid followed
him through his teens and into adulthood.
Though I was almost six years his junior and therefore not a suitable
playmate, he stayed close to me and watched after me, keeping me under his
wing. I remember this most vividly from around
the beginning of the seventies when he had just graduated from high school, and
our parents were away a lot, tending to their dying parents in Italy. Nick was looking after his kid brother both
then and later in 1972 when he and I took a memorable trip together to Italy <i>sans</i> parents.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the mid-seventies I started attending the University of
Maryland. Nick had just graduated from there
and settled in the area, so I spent my freshman year living in his apartment. I must have been a pain in the ass during
that time, but he still took me in and looked after me. Even after I moved into the dorms, he was
always nearby and checked up on me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As a government and politics major, Nick quite logically pursued
a career as an auto-mechanic. (Well, at
least he specialized in Fiats and other European cars, so his minor in
international relations was not a complete waste.) My first car, a used 1975 Fiat 128, was one
that he picked up for me and replaced the blown engine to make it
roadworthy. The next several used cars I
drove were purchased with his advice and guidance, and of course he was always
ready and willing to help me out with routine and not so routine repairs.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Though I have long since weaned myself from Nick’s
assistance in all things automotive, it is so good to know he is always there. We live on opposite sides of the Washington
beltway and both lead very busy lives, but hardly a day goes by that one of us
does not ring the other up, if nothing else just to check in and say “hey”. There are certain topics we stay away
from. For example, he does not care for
my politics. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But one thing I can say for certain, though I disagree with him
politically, I can attest that Nick has the biggest heart I know. As busy as he is, he seems to find time for
everyone, serving a wide circle of family and friends, whether lending a
helping hand, or just being there in a time of grief or difficulty.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He also seems to find time to live life to the fullest and
stay quite active. Even a bout of cancer--which
he roundly defeated and survived, thank God—was unable to keep him off the
soccer field or the basketball court. It
gets me a little nervous sometimes, especially because neither of us are as
young as we used to be, but I trust he does know his limitations at sixty years
of age.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yes, my brother Nick turns sixty years old today. Happy birthday, bro. I love you very much.</div>
The Maryland Crustaceanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18309250912148013290noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5794529226190925993.post-87973589033415410052012-11-07T19:29:00.001-05:002012-12-06T22:46:58.544-05:00Finding Hope in Babylon<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ll cut to the chase by stating the obvious. I am deeply
disappointed at the results of the election on November 6. I find little or no comfort in any of the results. Beyond disappointed, I am frightened.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was just as frightened, albeit prayerfully hopeful, in the
months preceding the election, as I watched our continually deteriorating and
weakened nation losing its way. Our
economic woes, exacerbated by profligate spending of money we do not have, have
us careening toward a fiscal cliff, yet we continue to speed pedal to the metal
as if the laws of basic economics—or even basic math—did not exist. Like the law of gravity, they are pretty
non-negotiable. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The reason I was prayerfully hopeful is because the issues were laid out clearly and starkly. Surely the people would not continue on this insane path. Yet a slim
majority of us decided to close our eyes, stay the course and hope for
the best. On top of the fiscal insanity,
our culture continues to deteriorate. Mob
behavior is encouraged and celebrated, and ideas that were once universally
disparaged as immoral or absurd are now a matter of serious debate. To add insult to injury, my home state of Maryland has
become among the first in the union where the voters freely chose to not only
tolerate deviant behavior, but affirm and honor it by codifying an oxymoron
like “homosexual marriage” into law. And
to mix fiscal insanity with cultural decline, they also voted to expand
gambling in the hopes that it will put more money into the coffers of lying
politicians who promise to spend it on education.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I sometimes wonder if our nation will even survive. The ash heap of history is full of once great
civilizations that thought they were immortal but eventually committed collective
suicide. Is it now our turn? Oh, no.
This is the United States of America!
It will never happen to us!
(Famous last words!) </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My prayers before the election were that God would have
mercy on us and not judge us by giving us the government that we deserve. Perhaps He has chosen to not answer those
prayers, and He would be perfectly just in doing so. I sometimes wonder how Jeremiah felt, taking no
comfort in being correct as he prophesied the destruction of Judah. After all, it’s not that he was immune to
what was going to happen. He too would
be going down with his countrymen.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I no longer feel at home in my culture. Outside the circle of like minded friends and
family, especially those in my church, I feel like I am an exile in an alien
culture, much in the same way that the exiles of Judah and Israel felt after
they were deported to Babylon. But
therein lies my hope. Even when Jeremiah’s
prophecy inevitably came to pass, God still showed mercy to His people in
exile, and spoke to them tenderly through Jeremiah:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="text"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">This is what the</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></span><span class="small-caps"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant: small-caps;">Lord</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></span><span class="text"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">Almighty,
the God of Israel, says to all those I carried</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></span><span class="text"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">into
exile from Jerusalem to Babylon:</span><b><sup><span id="en-NIV-19641"> </span></sup></b>“Build</span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></span><span class="text"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">houses
and settle down; plant gardens and eat what they produce.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></span><span id="en-NIV-19642"><span class="text"><b><sup><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></sup></b></span><span class="text"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">Marry and have sons
and daughters; find wives for your sons and give your daughters in marriage, so
that they too may have sons and daughters. Increase in number there; do not
decrease.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"></span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></span><span id="en-NIV-19643"><span class="text"><b><sup><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></sup></b></span><span class="text"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">Also, seek</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></span><span class="text"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">the
peace and prosperity of the city to which I have carried you into exile. Pray</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></span><span class="text"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">to
the</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></span><span class="small-caps"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant: small-caps;">Lord</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></span><span class="text"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">for
it, because if it prospers, you too will prosper.</span>… <b><sup> </sup></b>For
I know the plans</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></span><span class="text"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">I
have for you,” declares the</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></span><span class="small-caps"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant: small-caps;">Lord</span></span><span class="text"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">, “plans to prosper you
and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"></span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"> (Jeremiah 29:4-7,11)<o:p></o:p></span></blockquote>
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<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">So that is what I
intend to do. I will carry on. The fright has given way to a sense of
resignation, even serenity, as well as a tiny glimmer of hope. I will continue to work to the best of my
ability. I will love and serve my
family. I will seek to be a blessing to
those around me. I will continue to go
to church and try to live out my faith in the midst of an alien culture, and prayerfully
try to influence it positively. And I
will also heed the words of the Psalmist:</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">Do
not put your trust in princes, in human beings, who cannot save. (Psalms 146:3)</span></blockquote>
The Maryland Crustaceanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18309250912148013290noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5794529226190925993.post-54191267487350857452012-10-06T17:58:00.000-04:002013-03-20T20:44:47.618-04:00Clinging to the Rock of Ages<br />
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Augustus Toplady was an Anglican priest who lived a
relatively short time in the eighteenth century (1740-1778). By his own account he became a committed Christian
at the age of 15. He was ordained as a
deacon in the Church of England in 1762 and served the rest of his life in
various ecclesiastical capacities. </div>
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He also wrote a number of hymns, and even if you have never
heard the name Augustus Toplady, you are probably familiar with his most famous
hymn:</div>
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Rock of Ages
cleft for me<br />
Let me hide
myself in Thee<br />
Let the
water and the blood<br />
From Thy
wounded side which flowed<br />
Be of sin
the double cure<br />
Save from
wrath and make me pure</blockquote>
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<a name='more'></a>Toplady wrote “Rock of Ages” in 1763, about eight years after he had first embraced the Gospel and, by all accounts, had been walking in it
faithfully. Yet the heart cries of his
famous hymn sound very much like someone who is desperate, who realizes afresh his
utterly fallen state and whose only hope is God’s mercy expressed through the
Gospel:</div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
All the labors of my hands<br />
Cannot meet Thy Law's demands:<br />
Could my zeal no respite know,<br />
Could my tears forever flow,<br />
All for sin
could not atone:<br />
Thou must
save, and Thou alone!</blockquote>
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It is almost as if, when reminded of God’s holiness and his
own sinfulness, he is crying out yet again for God to save him. Though he knew full well and had already placed his
hope in the truth of the Gospel, that Jesus died for all of his sins, it is as
if he had to remind himself again and again.
Why is this?</div>
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It seems that the longer a Christian walks with God and
becomes more acquainted with His holiness, the more he becomes aware of his own
sinfulness and unworthiness. When Christians are reminded of the sins of their past
as well as those that persist in the present despite their best efforts, fear
can easily set in, causing us to wonder: Is the Gospel too good to be
true? Are my sins really forgiven? How can I know for sure? Toplady addressed these questions in one of
his lesser known yet equally powerful hymns:</div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
From whence
this fear and unbelief,<br />
Since God my Father, put to grief<br />
His spotless Son for me?<br />
Can He, the righteous judge of men,<br />
Condemn me for that debt of sin,<br />
Which, Lord, was charged on Thee?"</blockquote>
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Of course
the answer to the song's rhetorical question is a resounding “No!” as Toplady
answers by reminding himself again of the truth of the Gospel:</div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Complete
atonement Thou hast made,<br />
And to the utmost farthing paid,<br />
Whate'er Thy people owed;<br />
How, then, can wrath on me take place,<br />
If sheltered in Thy righteousness,<br />
And sprinkled with Thy blood?</blockquote>
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In yet another hymn, “A Debtor to Mercy Alone,” Toplady
reminded himself and other believers that God and God alone will save us and
keep us from start to finish.</div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
The work
which His goodness began,<br />
The arm of
His strength will complete;<br />
His promise
is yea and amen,<br />
And never
was forfeited yet.<br />
Things
future, nor things that are now,<br />
Nor all
things below or above,<br />
Can make Him
His purpose forgo,<br />
Or sever my
soul from His love.</blockquote>
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Those who grew up in church singing “Rock of Ages” and know
it well might not be familiar with the hymn’s subtitle: “A Living and Dying Prayer for the Holiest
Believer in the World”. Toplady
understood that even those who do their utmost to walk in holiness and
obedience to God, no matter how successful they may appear to be in doing so,
are just as desperately dependent on God’s grace and mercy as the worst of
sinners.</div>
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Toplady struggled with the same doubts and fears that I encounter;
he had to remind himself again and again of the truth of the Gospel. This is a great source of encouragement to
me. Toplady and Christians throughout
the ages have understood that the message of the Gospel is not just for sinners
who need to be converted. It is also for
those who have already repented and believed, and who must continue to do so on
a daily basis as they cling to the Rock of Ages.</div>
The Maryland Crustaceanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18309250912148013290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5794529226190925993.post-14820199886365000032012-09-15T10:51:00.002-04:002012-10-06T18:33:53.215-04:00“Let Baal Contend”<span style="font-family: inherit;">The odd title for this post needs an explanation. It is a somewhat obscure quote from the
otherwise familiar Old Testament account of Gideon. Most Sunday school children know Gideon as
the guy with the fleece. The Israelites
had been overrun and ruled by the Midianites, who ravaged their crops and held
them in servitude. When an angel of God
appeared to Gideon, a humble wheat farmer, and instructed him to lead a
rebellion against the Midianites, he was naturally incredulous and wanted to
see a sign that would convince him it was really God speaking to him, so he “laid
out a fleece” (Sunday school kids know the rest of the story; if you are not
familiar with it, you can read it in the Book of Judges, Chapter 6.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The first thing Gideon did after the divine visitation was to
smash down the altar of Baal, the deity of the idol worshiping
Midianites. As expected, this caused no
small amount of commotion, and when the Midianites learned that Gideon was the
culprit, they surrounded the house of his father (Joash) and demanded that
Gideon pay for the deed with his life. </span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="text"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">But
Joash replied to the hostile crowd around him, “Are you going to plead Baal’s
cause?</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;"> </span></span><span class="text"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">Are you trying to save him? … If Baal really is a god, he can
defend himself when someone breaks down his altar…. <i>Let Baal contend</i> with him.”</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I often think of this story whenever I hear of yet another
episode of Muslim’s rising up in anger whenever they feel their religion or
their prophet Mohammed has been insulted.
This happens all too often, with the most recent episode playing out at
U.S. embassies across the Middle East, as angry mobs have been stirred up into violent
and homicidal protests over some amateur YouTube video that allegedly insults
the prophet Mohammed. The reaction is
typical and predictable, as demonstrated by countless similar episodes, from
the death threats against Salman Rushdie for writing <i>The Satanic Verses</i> to the frenzied mobs rising up over some Danish
cartoons that supposedly insulted Mohammed.
</span></div>
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<a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The reaction is so predictable, that many in the west prefer
to curtail our rights to free speech lest we offend the sensibilities of the Muslim
world. Yet no one seems to be as
concerned about offending the sensibilities of Jews or Christians. Why not?
Are they hostile to Judaism and Christianity and therefore consider them
fair game? Perhaps, but it is more
likely a tacit admission that the Judeo-Christian ethic is generally more level
headed and civilized, and is not expected to react violently when insulted.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Christians in particular <i>expect</i>
to be insulted, because their Lord was reviled, insulted and persecuted to the
point of death. Jesus himself warned
us: “If the world hates you, keep in
mind that it hated me first.” When Christianity
in general or Jesus in particular are insulted, Christians may be grieved--even
outraged--but there is no need to demand justice or retribution. For example, when a sick minded “artist”
named Andres Serrrano plunged a crucifix into a jar of urine and displayed it as “art”,
Christians were understandably angry, particularly because their tax dollars
were subsidizing such trash through the National Endowment for the Arts, but
there were no angry mobs or threats of violence. Again, Christians expect to be insulted. It is par for the course. </span></div>
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More importantly, Christians understand that if
their Lord and God is who He claims to be, He has no need to be defended. The all powerful, sovereign Lord of heaven
and earth can defend himself, and His Name and Cause will be vindicated. This is something that insecure Muslims don’t
seem to get. To paraphrase what Joash
said to the Midianites about Baal: “If it is indeed true that there is only one god Allah, and Mohammed
is his only prophet, let Allah contend.
Let Mohammed contend.”</span></span>The Maryland Crustaceanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18309250912148013290noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5794529226190925993.post-34060801455501529782012-08-04T14:09:00.001-04:002012-11-18T20:26:22.205-05:00Of God and Dice<div class="MsoNormal">
When Albert Einstein was first presented with Max Plank’s theory of quantum mechanics—that the behavior of particles at the subatomic level is not completely predictable—he rejected the idea out of hand. Before the quantum theory was postulated, the underlying assumption behind science and the scientific method was that the universe and everything contained therein was completely orderly and predictable, which caused Einstein to quip: “God does not throw dice!”</div>
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I don’t claim to know much about quantum mechanics, but I can draw one conclusion from Einstein’s reaction, together with many other things he said: Einstein believed in God. To be sure he was more of a deist—not believing in a personal God who involves Himself in the affairs of men—but there was no question in his mind that there was an intelligent deity behind the creation of the universe. </div>
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<br />
<a name='more'></a>Einstein believed in God, as did Max Plank himself for that matter, as well as a host of other scientists throughout history, from Newton to Leibniz to Kepler, and on into the modern era. This is the premise behind <i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Of-God-Dice-Scientists-Supporting/dp/1470041502/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1344121226&sr=8-1&keywords=of+god+and+dice+leidner" target="_blank">Of God and Dice: Quotes from Eminent Scientists Supporting a Creator</a></i>, a short yet powerful tome cataloging the many scientists throughout the ages who have convincingly and unapologetically expressed their belief in God.</div>
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(In the interest of full disclosure, I mention this book in part because I have the privilege to count its author, Gordon Leidner, among my friends. He and I share a love for the Savior and a great interest in Christian apologetics--as well as an appreciation for a good glass of wine, particularly Italian reds, but I digress.)</div>
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By means of powerful quotes from scientists throughout the ages, Leidner shatters the widely held truism that there is an inevitable and necessary conflict between science and religion. Topically organized into subject areas such as “The Limitations of Science”, “The Big Bang Theory”, “Our Finely Tuned Universe”, etc., each chapter begins with an introduction to provide some unity and context for a number of well documented and referenced quotes, and then he lets the masters speak for themselves.</div>
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<i>Of God and Dice</i> is an easy to read, well organized reference tool for equipping believers to answer the skeptics who question their faith, and perhaps even to answer their own questions as they wrestle with doubts caused by the onslaught of disinformation from an unbelieving world. It is definitely a worthwhile read.</div>
The Maryland Crustaceanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18309250912148013290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5794529226190925993.post-13482446882333335012012-08-03T21:46:00.005-04:002012-10-06T18:34:52.917-04:00It's still a free country, for now...<div class="MsoNormal">
"Adam Smith" is a rather common name, but most people associate it with the 18<sup>th</sup> century Scottish social philosopher, the author of <i>The Wealth of Nations </i>and the father of capitalism. Another Adam Smith of modern times is/was the CFO of a medical manufacturing company called <i>Vante.</i><br />
<br />
The latter, lesser known Adam Smith has achieved his fifteen minutes of fame. He does not happen to care for Chick-fil-A, calling the company a horrible organization, a hateful organization, because the family owned restaurant chain supposedly hates gays. To be precise, the owners said they believe in the Biblical definition of marriage, to not only include the union of one man to one woman, but the faithful “until death do us part” definition of marriage. In Mr. Smith’s eyes, that is hateful.</div>
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So intent was Mr. Smith on making this point that he shot a video of himself pulling up to a Chick-fil-A drive-thru window, taking advantage of their free water, and giving the young lady at the window a piece of his mind. Mr. Smith was so proud of himself for his tremendous act of courage that he posted his video on YouTube. Have a look.</div>
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Adam Smith has an inalienable right to express his opinion. But as the more well known Adam Smith would undoubtedly remind him, and as <i>Vante</i> CEO Roger Vogel ultimately told him, he does not have an inalienable right to be the CFO of <i>Vante</i>. In a company statement, Vogel said that</div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">Vante regrets the unfortunate events that transpired yesterday in Tucson between our former CFO/Treasurer Adam Smith and an employee at Chick-fil-A. Effective immediately, Mr. Smith is no longer an employee of our company.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"> <span style="background: white;">We hope that the general population does not hold Mr. Smith's actions against Vante and its employees,</span></span></blockquote>
By contrast, the classy girl at the drive-thru who endured Smith's tirade and responded with soft spoken kindness is still employed, having done an admirable job of representing the values of a very classy company, whose owners also have freedom of speech. After all, it is still a free country, for now.
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<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
Addendum:
Well, sometimes people do see the error of their ways, think better of it and apologize. Good for Mr. Smith for apologizing to Rachel. Though he is still wrongheaded about Chick-Fil-A and the organizations that Chick-Fil-A supports, he does have a right to his opinion. I have no reason to think that he is not sincere in his apology and I hope he gets his job back. Better yet, I hope and pray that God would use this incident to open Mr. Smith's heart to the Gospel.
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<br />The Maryland Crustaceanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18309250912148013290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5794529226190925993.post-90723879076430615502012-07-28T11:47:00.003-04:002012-07-28T22:04:00.243-04:00Life's a Beach<div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">My daughter and son-in-law thought it would be a great idea for our two families to spend some time at the beach together. I agreed, but it was going to be a challenge, because we were limited time-wise to a long weekend, which made it next to impossible to rent a decent beach house that could comfortably accommodate four adults, a teenager and two toddlers.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">We settled on two efficiencies for three nights at the Quality Inn Beachfront in Ocean City, MD. It was going to be a tight fit, but, who knows? Perhaps it would be a great time to make some memories with the grandchildren. The husbands and wives planned on taking turns looking after the kids so the former could have a guys’ night out and the latter could spend an afternoon talking and watching chick-flicks. And of course, we would make plenty of memories at the beach. If nothing else, I was looking forward to getting away. Work had been stressful, and life at home was no picnic either. Life always has its challenges with an autistic daughter (Angela), but it has been even more difficult lately due to my wife Susan’s foot injury and two surgeries which have severely limited her mobility, thus causing me to carry a significantly heavier load as well. I was more than ready for some R and R.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"></span><br />
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</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Although the weather forecast had been looking very promising all week, we were met with a band of thunderstorms just as we pulled into Ocean City. That’s when Susan told me that the weather forecasts had changed, and it was going to be raining on and off all weekend. It seemed like the clouds were following us. Sometimes I feel like that is the story of my life, both literally and figuratively.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">It looked like I would be facing three long days cooped up in an overpriced, phone-booth sized efficiency on a rainy weekend, with an autistic daughter and a semi-disabled wife. Susan does not even like the beach all that much, but she goes because she enjoys the fact that we enjoy it. Between the weather and her crutches (which don’t work too well on sand), it was not looking likely that even that would happen. The visions I had of R&R, fun memories and glorious beach time were fading fast. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">There were other issues to add to the mix. My daughter Christine and the two grandkids are on special diets, as is my daughter Angela. In addition, Susan goes meatless during the summer heat because it causes her migraines. So we definitely would not be feasting on typical vacation fare. It seemed that my son-in-law Allen and I were the only ones in the entourage who did not “have issues” of one kind or another. Scratch that. I think Allen was the only “normal” one of the bunch. So basically I resigned myself to the fact that I was not going to be having a good time. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Late in the first afternoon, the rain and thunderstorms abated long enough for Allen and I to get to the beach with the grandkids. We only intended to get our feet wet, but thinking this might be the only chance I would get, I dove into the water in my shorts, and the others followed suit. Given what the weekend, was looking like otherwise, it was a pretty good start. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">And there was evening and there was morning, the first day.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I got up early Friday morning and did my best to quietly fix myself some coffee and a bagel while Susan and Angela slept. I thought perhaps—just perhaps—if they kept on sleeping, I could get a little time to read my Bible and pray and maybe—just maybe—go for a short run on the beach.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">It wasn’t meant to be. I no sooner finished the coffee than Angela was two inches away from my face, obviously wanting breakfast. I did my best to quietly fix her eggs and cut up some fruit while Susan continued to sleep. I was successful, and Angela scarfed everything down while I washed dishes in the tiny sink, immediately drying them with a dishcloth, because there was no room for a dish rack. Just as I was finishing up, Susan started to stir. I might as well fix her breakfast, because a run on the beach was definitely not going to happen.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The sun occasionally peaked through on an otherwise overcast day, and it was decidedly cool, but we were determined to do the beach nonetheless. Susan made her way out as far as the crutches would allow her, and then started leaning on me once the sand rendered them useless. Though I wished it were not necessary, I felt an odd sense of joy as she leaned on me. As I watched Allen and Christine introduce the fun of the beach to James and Jennifer, my mind nostalgically went back to similar moments of thirty-some years ago. I did manage to get in a few minutes splashing in the water and body surfing. Not a bad day so far. I just wish the sun would shine a little more. And I still haven’t had that run on the beach. Maybe tomorrow?<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">That evening, Allen and I had our guys’ night out. In addition to their self-imposed dietary restrictions, Susan and Christine both have an odd allergy to shellfish, so our opportunities to enjoy Maryland steamed crabs have been severely limited. It was time, so Allen and I made up for it with a vengeance at an all-you-can-eat establishment. The crabs were heavenly delicious, and I washed down mine with a couple of cold draft beers. To walk it off, we ended up traversing most of the boardwalk, conversing on a variety of subjects… future vacation plans, work, my upcoming retirement, Allen’s upcoming mission’s trip to New Orleans, what God is teaching us in our respective situations. It was probably one of the most significant and meaningful conversations we have had, and both of us walked away from it edified and encouraged from the fellowship. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Not a bad day!</span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">And there was evening and there was morning, the second day.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Day three started out exactly like day two—same sequence: quick coffee and bagel, Angela’s up, have to prepare her breakfast, wash and dry the dishes; Susan’s up, repeat the same steps; forget about the early morning run on the beach.</span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">An odd thought came over me.</span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I am actually enjoying this.</span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Where did that come from?</span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The new twist to day three was a morning drive to the Ocean City Police Department, to pick up a beach wheelchair we managed to reserve. Gee, that’s nice. The chair maneuvers just as well on hard surfaces as on sand, so Susan got to go out on the boardwalk as well as the beach. That afternoon, I wheeled her out to the water’s edge, and then helped her a few steps so we both had our feet in the water. We stood together hand in hand as the waves rushed over our feet, probably no more than two or three minutes, but that alone was worth the price of admission.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">For a brief moment, I wasn’t sure I liked the idea of using a free beach wheelchair courtesy of the Municipality of Ocean City, and I wondered how much it cost the taxpayers. Surely they could at least charge a modest rental fee. Then I looked down and saw an inscription on the cross bar: “This chair was donated by Vincent di Domenico.” God bless you, <i>paisano</i>!<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">And there was evening and there was morning, the third day.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Sunday morning and the sun was shining brightly, not a cloud in the sky, and the temperature was headed up to the mid-eighties. It would be nice weather on the day we have to leave! I did manage to get out to the beach that morning and even got in a short run. But as I looked back at the overcast, semi-rainy days, the cramped quarters in the efficiency, and all the limitations imposed on us by the various disabilities, diets and other issues, I was shocked to realize that I actually enjoyed this vacation. Initially, the more intent I was on getting the R&R and enjoyment that I thought I needed and so richly deserved, the more miserable I was. But once I gave up on that illusion and made an even feeble attempt at serving others, I actually started to enjoy myself.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I am too much of a self-centered dolt to have figured that one out on my own, but God was gracious enough to teach me that lesson. It was a great vacation after all.<o:p></o:p></span></div>The Maryland Crustaceanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18309250912148013290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5794529226190925993.post-11556275322088606252012-07-14T22:08:00.001-04:002012-07-15T20:26:13.443-04:00Texas: A Textbook Case for the Tenth Amendment<div class="MsoNormal">I have written about this before, but I was freshly reminded of the genius of the founding fathers by a recent <a href="http://www.hoover.org/multimedia/uncommon-knowledge/121661">interview of Texas Governor Rick Perry</a>. After giving a brief summation of Perry’s impressive career, <a href="http://www.hoover.org/multimedia/uncommon-knowledge">Uncommon Knowledge</a> host Peter Robinson started the interview with an interesting statistical anecdote: </div><blockquote class="tr_bq"><b>Robinson</b>: U-Haul rates. This is painful for me. This is very painful for me. I went on line and checked how much it would cost to rent a 26 foot U-Haul truck to drive from Palo Alto where I live, to Austin, Texas, where you live.And to go from California to Texas today would cost $1855. To go from Austin to Palo Alto, $723<br />
<b>Perry</b>: We need to get those U-Haul trailers back to California.<br />
<b>Robinson</b>: That’s what makes it so hard.</blockquote><div class="MsoNormal">Why? The obvious answer is that more people want to move from California to Texas than vice-versa. And why is that? Texas is where the jobs are, the Texas economy is humming, and it is a much more pleasant place to live, despite the sweltering heat of a Texas summer.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">How did Perry turn Texas into a magnet for business and people? He explained it best himself: <br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">You keep the taxes as low as you can on those job creators. You have a regulatory climate that is fair and predictable and a legal system that does not allow for oversuing. And then you try to get out of the way and let the private sector do what the private sector does best.</blockquote></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">Texas is a textbook case of the wisdom of the founding fathers to concentrate power not in the federal government, but in individual states and localities where people are free to pursue their own solutions, and where elected officials are closer to and more accountable to the people that elected them.</span> They envisioned a small federal government with limited enumerated powers, and left all other powers to states, localities and individuals, as is clearly and simply stated in the 10<sup>th</sup> Amendment:</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></div><blockquote class="tr_bq"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">The powers not delegated to the United States by the Constitution, nor prohibited by it to the States, are reserved to the States respectively, or to the people.</span></blockquote><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">This principle maximizes freedom on the one hand, and accountability of elected officials on the other. It also creates a healthy competition between states. If elected officials get power hungry and create an onerous environment for its people and commerce, the latter are more likely to vote them out of office. And if they are unable to vote them out of office, they have the option of voting with their feet by moving to a friendlier environment. And as people and businesses move out, they take with them lots of tax revenue, which is the very life blood of power hungry politicians and demagogues who would otherwise keep themselves in power by spending other people’s money.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">This has happened not only in California, but in my home state of Maryland. According to a recent <a href="http://www.washingtontimes.com/news/2012/jul/3/marylanders-move-in-droves-to-virginia/">Washington Times article</a>:<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><blockquote class="tr_bq"><span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;">Maryland lost the most residents in the mid-Atlantic between 2007 and 2010 — and many of them moved to Virginia, according to a study released Tuesday.</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;">Almost 40,000 Marylanders crossed the Potomac River for new homes in Virginia, taking $2.17 billion with them, according to the<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><a href="http://www.washingtontimes.com/topics/internal-revenue-service/"><span style="color: #164a6e;">Internal Revenue Service</span></a><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>data used in the study conducted by<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><a href="http://www.washingtontimes.com/topics/change-maryland/"><span style="color: #164a6e;">Change Maryland</span></a>, a nonpartisan group advocating for less state spending and lower taxes.</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;">The high level of loss may reflect people’s dissatisfaction with Maryland’s tax policy, said<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><a href="http://www.washingtontimes.com/topics/jim-pettit/"><span style="color: #164a6e;">Jim Pettit</span></a>, spokesman for<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><a href="http://www.washingtontimes.com/topics/change-maryland/"><span style="color: #164a6e;">Change Maryland</span></a>.</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;">“People vote with their feet,” he said, adding that tax policies “absolutely” are tied to the number of people leaving the state. Critics have said Maryland has less-friendly tax policies than Virginia, and new income-tax increases for the state’s highest earners went into effect Sunday.</span></blockquote><div class="MsoNormal">(That means you can expect the exodus from Maryland to continue.)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The phenomena of exodus from one state to another is not just a proof of what policies work best, but also an expression of the founders’ desire for individual freedom. There might actually be people whose personal preferences are to live in states like California or Maryland or Massachusetts, because they actually prefer to live in a high-tax state that provides cradle-to-grave care for its citizenry. Fine! <i>Vive la difference!</i> Governor Perry himself noted in the interview.</div><blockquote class="tr_bq">Here’s the bigger issue for me. It’s okay that you live in a liberal enclave. That’s the beauty of America. People move with their feet. They vote with their feet. And over the course of the last decade, people have voted with their feet. And they’ve come to the state of Texas. And I would suggest to you, if we will allow the states to be the arbiters of issues like health care, education, transportation infrastructure, the other issues that make your quality of life, we’ll get this all sorted out. But if Washington, DC continues to try to make one size fit all.... then we will become a country that is even more separated from each other, there will be more turmoil, it will be more economic calamity, but if we will respect… you know there are people that want to have government do these things for them… then they can go live in New York.…. I think that’s the beauty of the 10<sup>th</sup> Amendment.</blockquote><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>The Maryland Crustaceanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18309250912148013290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5794529226190925993.post-7431431272840717712012-07-02T14:58:00.001-04:002012-07-15T20:27:04.671-04:00Roberts' Russian Roulette<div class="MsoNormal">I sat in stunned yet stoic silence Thursday morning as my coworker told me the news that the Supreme Court had upheld Obamacare. I was determined not to get worked up about it. That determination was severely tested when details started to come in. The culprit was not Justice Anthony Kennedy, as would be expected of the notorious swing vote of the SCOTUS. Kennedy not only sided with the conservative minority about the unconstitutionality of the law’s infamous individual mandate, he joined them in wanting to throw out the whole law. The culprit, of course, was Chief Justice John Roberts, who is supposed to be a conservative jurist, a strict constructionist wanting to uphold the original intent of the Constitution and the rule of law.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And indeed, Roberts argued strongly in his opinion that Obamacare and the individual mandate would be a gross violation and abuse of the commerce clause, but guess what? Despite what the President and Obamacare's proponents and the law itself clearly say to the contrary, Roberts inexplicably declared that the law’s penalty for not buying insurance is not a penalty at all, but rather a tax. Because taxation is one of Congress’ enumerated powers--voilà—the law is constitutional!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">As dumbfounded as I was by Roberts’ betrayal and the verbal gymnastics he used to turn plain language on its head, I was even more perplexed by the positive spin that came from conservative pundits and bloggers. Oh, this is a good thing they say. In one fell swoop, Roberts has reined in Congress’ abuse of the commerce clause, kept the court above the political fray and, more importantly, forced the country to deal with Obamacare politically—at the ballot box, and that will surely help Republicans. One headline went so far as to say, “Did Chief Justice Roberts just hand Romney the White House?”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Sorry, but I don’t buy it. Throwing Obamacare out the window would not only have upheld respect for the Constitution and the rule of law, but perhaps—just perhaps—would have given the private sector enough confidence to jump back into the water and start investing resources and hiring people. By allowing to stand a law that is not only unconstitutional but onerously burdensome and damaging to the country both individually and corporately, the SCOTUS has sent the clear message that it is not safe to get back into the water, and it will not be unless and until we decide the matter politically.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">While I do indeed hope and pray that a major political reversal in November will keep this country from going off the cliff, I sometimes wonder if the country will even survive that long, particularly as we continue to borrow forty cents on every dollar we spend. Even if we do survive, I wish I had a level of certainty whether we will indeed change course, or whether a majority of the country will fall prey to the demagoguery and class warfare of the Democratic left and their water carriers in the media. After three and a half years of chronic unemployment, a moribund economy, skyrocketing deficits a weakened nation on its knees both domestically and abroad, and the overwhelming evidence that the President is indeed the radical ideologue that conservatives warned he would be: it is both dumfounding and downright scary to think that the President even has a shot at re-election. His numbers should be in the basement, yet polls show him as being competitive if not slightly ahead of Mitt Romney.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">By allowing Obamacare’s trampling of the Constitution to stand and leaving the fate of the republic to the whims of a fickle and pliable electorate, Chief Justice Roberts is playing Russian roulette with the republic. God help us. </div>The Maryland Crustaceanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18309250912148013290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5794529226190925993.post-36543109785491099862012-06-23T14:16:00.003-04:002012-07-15T12:42:27.495-04:00Not All Democrats Are Lemmings<div class="MsoNormal">The first time I had heard of <a href="http://www.franchot.com/" target="_blank">Peter Franchot</a> was back in the late eighties during his unsuccessful run to oust Representative Connie Morella from Maryland’s 8<sup>th</sup> Congressional District. Though Connie Morella was not conservative enough for my tastes, she was a classy lady, and I was glad she survived the challenge at the time.. After Franchot's loss to Morella, he subsequently faded from my memory.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">But Mr. Franchot has been in the news much more as of late, and I am starting to like what I see. As a member of Maryland’s House of Delegates, he was an ardent campaigner against legalizing slot machines in Maryland, believing that the social costs of increased crime and broken families would far outweigh any (illusive) revenue gains. Though he was unsuccessful, I believe Mr. Franchot has been and will continue to be proven right.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">Recently as Comptroller, Franchot has again spoken out against increasing the use of slots and table games as a means of gaining revenues in light of Maryland’s budget shortfalls. More importantly, and quite surprisingly for a Democrat, Franchot has been an outspoken fiscal conservative—a thorn in the side to the tax-and-spend Governor Martin O’Malley. In a recent interview on <a href="http://wmal.com/article.asp?id=2372176" target="_blank">WMAL</a>, Franchot displayed some common sense that stands in stark contrast to the demagogic buffoonery we tend to hear from the Democratic left:</div><blockquote class="tr_bq">Franchot, a Democrat, told the WMAL Morning Majority that tax increases on Marylanders are not the right approach. He cautioned that economic recovery is threatened by a continued spiral of borrowing and tax increases.<br />
"We are in the midst of a feeble recovery from what can only be described as the Great Recession," Franchot said.<br />
He said the Democratic Maryland administration's proposed tax increases are "well-intentioned but it doesn't work, doesn't get good results."<br />
"It's that adding of new debt, adding of new spending, adding of new taxes, which instead of helping the recovery hurts the recovery," he said.<br />
As lawmakers and Governor O'Malley look for ways to close what could be a billion-dollar shortfall, Franchot says they must see the wisdom of staying in control of the budget.</blockquote><div class="MsoNormal">More recently, Franchot contrasted Maryland’s self inflicted fiscal mess to the performance of its southern neighbor in Virginia, suggesting that the latter’s common sense policies are the reason for its superior economy and employment picture.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This is all very encouraging. It is possible for even a dyed in the wool Democrat to come to his senses when confronted with the laws of economics and basic math. While I am sure that I still don’t see eye to eye with Mr. Franchot on many an issue, it is refreshing to see a Maryland Democrat who does not walk in lockstep with the state’s party establishment as it walks off the fiscal cliff like a bunch of lemmings. I understand that Mr. Franchot has his eye on the governorship in 2014. Great! Unless there is a strong and compelling alternative on the Republican side, I might actually consider voting for him.</div>The Maryland Crustaceanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18309250912148013290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5794529226190925993.post-58517842526615048982012-06-15T14:36:00.005-04:002012-06-19T22:39:14.220-04:00Reid to the Rescue!<div class="MsoNormal">I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry when I saw Senator Harry Reid being interviewed the other night on Fox News' "On the Record with Greta van Susteren". The illustrious majority leader of the world’s greatest deliberative body seemed quite subdued, saddened by recent events, and he was considering legislation to remedy the situation. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">What could have put him in such a somber mood? Was it perhaps the out of control deficit of about $16 trillion, exceeding the gross domestic product of the USA? Maybe it was the highly classified intelligence leaks, which people on both sides of the aisle agree have severely damaged our national security? Or maybe it is the increasingly disappointing employment numbers in light of the stalled economic “recovery”?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">No, none of that. The headline read: “<a href="http://www.foxnews.com/politics/2012/06/13/reid-disputes-decision-in-pacquiao-fight-pushes-for-stalled-boxing-legislation/#ixzz1xt2WnBfM">Reid disputes decision in Pacquiao fight, pushes for stalled boxing legislation</a>”. Of course I haven’t a clue who Pacquiao is because I don’t give a rodent’s posterior about boxing, but Mr. Reid apparently does. Mr. Reid is himself a former amateur boxer and chairman of the Nevada Gaming Commission. What’s more, Pacquiao is a friend and political supporter.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Apparently, Mr. Pacquaio just lost a boxing match in a decision that most observers agree he should have won. Now I did not see the fight (see my previous comments about how I feel about boxing), but I will grant for the sake of argument that Mr. Pacquaio was robbed of a victory that he was due. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Now Mr. Reid did not accuse the referee of corruption or fixing the match. He made it clear that this was simply a bad decision by an otherwise upstanding and respected referee. Nevertheless, something needs to be done. What is Mr. Reid’s proposed solution? </div><blockquote class="tr_bq">"Senator McCain and I have been trying for years -- years -- to get a national boxing bill passed here," he said. "We have not been able to do it. Maybe this will be the impetus (for McCain and I to) get back, work on that again. I haven't had the chance to talk to him in the last 24 hours, but I will." </blockquote><div class="MsoNormal">But of course! There is apparently not a problem in this world that cannot be fixed by federal legislation. According to a follow-up article, “The bill in question would establish a National Boxing Commission to regulate the sport with health and safety standards. The first version of the bill set licensing standards for boxers, judges and referees and registration standards for promoters, trainers and others.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Great idea! Unfortunately, I am searching in vain for anything in Article I of the Constitution, or more specifically in Section 8 which enumerates the limited powers of Congress, for anything that suggests that it is within the purview of the federal government to regulate boxing. Of course, this has never stopped them before from sticking their collective noses into every aspect of our lives, and they are likely to do so again, especially when RINO’s like Senator McCain seem all too eager to cooperate:</div><blockquote class="tr_bq">A McCain spokesman later told the Las Vegas Sun that the senator is considering introducing the bill again, and considers the Pacquiao-Bradley decision a "black mark" on boxing's reputation. </blockquote><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">Unfortunately, the proposed legislation would be only the latest in a long history of black marks--not on the reputation of boxing--but on the integrity of an out of control federal government.</div>The Maryland Crustaceanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18309250912148013290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5794529226190925993.post-52196121621769779712012-06-07T22:26:00.005-04:002012-06-18T18:08:42.613-04:00Corny Capitalism II<div class="MsoNormal">It was about a year ago that I published a post entitled <a href="http://mdcrustacean.blogspot.com/2011/06/corny-capitalism.html">Corny Capitalism</a>, which discussed the advertising efforts of the <a href="http://www.cornfarmerscoalition.org/">Corn Farmer’s Coalition</a> and other associations. Their form of advertising is obviously not an effort to get people to buy their product. Their target audience is not individual consumers, but rather elected and bureaucratic officials, with the hope of influencing law, policy or regulations to favor their industry.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Well, they are at it again. Huge wall murals and floor decals are again gracing Washington’s Union Station and informing me and my fellow commuters that:</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><ul><li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;"> </span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">95% of all corn farms in America are family owned.</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">America’s corn farmers are by far the most productive in the world, growing 20% more corn per acre than any other nation.</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">An acre of corn removes 8 tons of harmful greenhouse gas, more than that produced by your car annually.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">(Source: EPA)</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">America’s corn farmers exported $10 billion worth of corn last year – one of the few American products with a trade surplus. (Source: USDA)</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">More than 30% of U.S. farm operators are women. (Source: USDA)</span></li>
</ul><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">And on and on it goes. It kind of makes you want to go out and buy a bushel of corn, doesn’t it? No, I don’t think that is their intent. Their website makes it abundantly clear that the target audience is policy makers, not consumers of <i>silver queen</i> sweet corn in the summer time:</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><blockquote class="tr_bq"><a href="http://www.cornfarmerscoalition.org/2012/05/farm-families-to-return-to-the-nation%e2%80%99s-capital-with-educational-program-this-summer/">FARM FAMILIES TO RETURN TO THE NATION’S CAPITAL WITH EDUCATIONAL PROGRAM THIS SUMMER</a><br />
WASHINGTON, DC – The nation’s top crop and the farm families who grow it will return to the U.S. capital this summer for the fourth year in a row as part of the Corn Farmers Coalition educational program that debuts June 1, at Union Station, <u>an important venue for reaching policymakers inside “The Beltway</u>….<br />
The Corn Farmers Coalition is launching its major advertising campaign by taking over every available ad space at Union Station. The effort will also put prominent facts about family farmers in Capitol Hill publications, radio, frequently used websites, and other Metro locations in June and July.<br />
<br />
</blockquote><div class="MsoNormal">Again, if all these things are true about the industry in general and corn farmers in particular – and I am not suggesting they are not – then, wonderful! Hooray for farmers as another example of a great American success story and positive contributor to our culture, economy and environment! But the fact that their target audience is policy makers at the federal level suggests that there is something fundamentally wrong.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Why should corn farming and family farms be a concern or fall within the purview of federal policy makers? It certainly was not the intention of the founding fathers when they drafted the Constitution, which gave only specific and enumerated powers to the federal government, and these definitely did not include passing laws or regulations having anything to do with farming, or any other industry for that matter. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Just in case there was any doubt that the framers did not intend for the powers of Congress to go beyond those enumerated in Article I, the various states considered and passed ten amendments, also known as the Bill of Rights, Amendment 10 stating specifically and without a hint of vagueness:</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><blockquote class="tr_bq">The powers not delegated to the United States by the Constitution, nor prohibited by it to the States, are reserved to the States respectively, or to the people. </blockquote><div class="MsoNormal">In other words, the federal government in general and Congress in particular were to keep their nose out of people’s personal business or anything affecting their daily lives. The founders envisioned a very small federal government, reserving most legislative powers to states and localities, which would be closer and more accountable to the people, who could in turn boot them out of office if they got out of line; and failing that, they could easily vote with their feet by moving to another state.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Alas, those days are gone now, and we have a behemoth federal government that has managed to find a way to regulate and intrude on some of the most intimate details of our lives. As the founders feared would happen despite their best efforts to avoid it, the size, scope and intrusiveness of the federal government has steadily grown over the years, and the states have become a mere appendage of the federal government.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The primary area where Congress has gotten its foot in the door is by abuse of Article I Section 8(c), which specified one of its enumerated powers “to regulate Commerce with foreign Nations, and among the several States, and with the Indian Tribes”. The intent of the clause was clearly to have a coherent, uniform and sound national policy to (1) regulate commerce with foreign nations, and determine the tariffs and regulations by which foreign nations would trade with the United States and (2) to keep individual U.S. states and territories from unduly interfering with free and open commerce across state lines. There was nothing to suggest that the framers intended to give Congress the power to regulate individual industries and businesses. In keeping with the tenth amendment, that would be the purview of the individual states where those industries were located.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">But that is precisely what the federal government and Congress began to do, imperceptibly at first, but undergoing a major crescendo in the 20<sup>th</sup> century. In keeping with today’s post, one of the major turning points had to do with agriculture—not so much corn, but wheat. As I explained in a previous <a href="http://mdcrustacean.blogspot.com/2010/08/hooray-for-henry.html">post</a>,</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><blockquote class="tr_bq">The most infamous Supreme Court decision which opened the floodgates to the abuses of the interstate commerce clause was <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wickard_v._Filburn">Wickard v. Filburn</a>(1942). When a chicken farmer named Roscoe Filburn, had the audacity to grow more wheat than was allowed by federally imposed limits, he was ordered to pay a fine and destroy the excess amount of his wheat crop. Mr. Filburn took the government to court by claiming, quite sensibly, that the law was unconstitutional because he was using all of his wheat to feed his own chickens and was not selling any of it, and it certainly was not crossing state lines. Therefore the law went beyond the powers stated or implied by the interstate commerce clause. </blockquote><div class="MsoNormal">Unfortunately, in a classic case of twisted and tortured logic, the Supreme Court, feeling some very public threats and pressure from President Roosevelt (sound familiar?), ruled against Filburn, stating that the fact that he grew enough wheat to not have to purchase any on the open market somehow affected interstate commerce, so therefore Congress had the right to regulate how much wheat he was allowed to grow.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Since that infamous decision, there has been little or nothing that Congress or the federal government has not felt empowered to do, regulating any and every industry. Now they have even attempted to regulate our own individual healthcare decisions. (We shall see later this month whether the Supreme Court finally says that the abuse of the commerce clause has gone too far, or whether they will use the same twisted logic of Wickard v. Filburn.)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">But I digress. I started out talking about a major symptom of the problem: major industry and trade associations such as the Corn Farmers Coalition spending advertising dollars—not to promote their products, but to influence federal legislation and policy in areas that were never intended to be the business of the federal government. The increased size, scope and intrusiveness of the federal government has not only curtailed our individual freedom, but has fomented a cottage of industry of associations and lobbyists all lining up at the federal trough for subsidies or favorable treatment. The end result is that we no longer have a free market system, but rather corrupt, <s>crony</s> corny capitalism.</div>The Maryland Crustaceanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18309250912148013290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5794529226190925993.post-82653160004232277042012-06-02T20:54:00.004-04:002012-06-02T22:44:12.394-04:00GSA: Do As I Say And Not As I Do<div class="MsoNormal">It was in back April when the stories of GSA waste, fraud and abuse started breaking, the most infamous among them being the $823,000 boondoggle to Las Vegas for 300 employees of GSA’s Western Regions, a convention to engage in “team building”. It is old news by now. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The GSA made the headlines again in the last couple of days, this time with revelations that work-at-home employees had somehow managed to rack up $750,000 in travel expenses over a nine month period. This was even too much for Jeff Neely, the <i>former </i>head of the GSA’s Pacific Rim Region and the infamous mastermind behind the <i>kumbaya</i> fest in Las Vegas.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">“OMG,” wrote Neely in an email about the high ranking employees who were working from home but nonetheless claiming travel expenses. "100 virtuals and most of them with some pretty serious grades. Well this is a fine mess we've gotten ourselves into." </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Ironically enough, I am not sure these particular expenditures are so outrageous. The fact that we are dealing with work-at-home employees has nothing to do with whether the nature of their job requires travel to other cities. Assuming it does, $7500 per person in a nine month period may be a little high, but certainly not scandalous. It depends on the number and length of the trips, whether they were all legitimate for conducting government business, and whether they followed the <a href="http://www.gsa.gov/portal/content/104790">Federal Travel Regulations</a> (FTR), the rules that GSA itself issues for the reimbursement of all U.S. Government travel. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">That being said, it is these travel regulations and other rules issued by agency that makes the GSA’s waste, fraud and abuse so galling. In a classic case of “Do as I say but not as I do,” the FTRs are a bureaucrat’s dream and a government traveler’s nightmare. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Believe you me, traveling for the U.S. government is no picnic, though it has gotten a tad better over the years. I remember when I first started traveling for the government, back in 1985, we were given $75 a day to cover hotel, meals and incidentals. That did not get you very far, especially in expensive urban centers like New York, Chicago, San Francisco, etc. (And it was the same rate, no matter what the city.). In order to not go beyond the limit, some travelers ended up staying in some “happy sheets”, by-the-hour hotels. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Things have improved since then, with the government now making variable allowances for lodging and meals and incidentals, depending on the city and the cost of living therein. Usually the reimbursement rates are reasonable. For example, the lodging allowance is in keeping with the government rates that GSA negotiates with major hotel chains. The only problem is that hotels sell only so many rooms at government rate, so if they are sold out on government rate rooms or if a major convention drives down room availability and drives up the price, then you are out of luck and may have to eat the difference (Unless you care to file a ton of paperwork to justify actual expense" reimbursement) . </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Even for a routine reimbursement, the amount of time and effort expended for the traveler to prepare the paperwork and for an army of accountants and budget analysts to audit and make sure everything is processed according to the dictates of the 308 page FTR makes me wonder how much money the government is saving even if the rules are followed.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The GSA’s Las Vegas boondoggle is particularly offensive to government travelers like me, because in general the government is very exacting and a bit stingy when it comes to reimbursing travel expenses, at least to those of us who have to follow the rules and fight with voucher examiners who question every last penny we submit for reimbursement. My question is how does the GSA get away with it? Oh, I forgot. Those that make the rules don’t necessarily have to follow them. </div>The Maryland Crustaceanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18309250912148013290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5794529226190925993.post-18714461116361067522012-05-05T22:06:00.004-04:002012-05-08T17:47:48.850-04:00Julia, Vote for Me<div class="MsoNormal">I am certainly not the first to comment on it, but I am not sure how to react to the Obama-Biden Campaign’s web-ad <a href="http://www.barackobama.com/life-of-julia">Life Of Julia</a>. I literally don’t know whether to laugh or cry. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">If you haven’t seen it, go ahead and click on the <a href="http://www.barackobama.com/life-of-julia">link</a> and have a look. In the style (and intellect) of a children’s cartoon, the site chronicles the life of a fictitious character Julia, recounting how life is all peaches and cream for her because of Obama’s policies: Head Start program at 3 years old; superb SAT scores at 17 because of Obama’s “Race to the Top” program; college admission at 18 under a Pell Grant; healthcare coverage while in college at 22 because she gets to stay on her parents' healthcare insurance; equal pay for equal work at 23 because of the “Lilly Ledbetter Fair Pay Act”; student loans easily paid off at 25 because Obama has kept the interest rates low; at 27, she can rest assured that her health insurance covers birth control and preventive health care; and on and on it goes until retirement when she collects social security and Medicare. All these wonderful things happen to Julia because Obama is president or his policies are in place. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">By contrast, life would be awful if that evil Mitt Romney or his ideological twin Paul Ryan had their way.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">My first reaction is laughter. I can’t make this stuff up. They are proudly campaigning on the promise of a cradle-to-grave nanny state, enthusiastically perpetuating an unsustainable status quo that is destined for implosion unless we reverse course or engage in the very sensible reforms that the evil Romney-Ryan duo are proposing. It is so patently absurd that even children can see through it.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I have of course enjoyed the conservative commentary and tweets parodying this mindlessness:</div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><ul><li><b>David Burge:</b> “At age 28, Julia drops out of the labor force, helping keep the unemployment rate down.”</li>
<li><b>Teri Christoph:</b> “I love how the Julia slides end abruptly when she’s 67. Just what does Barack Obama have in store for our older citizens?”</li>
<li><b>Casey George</b>: “Julia died at age 78. She voted Democrat until age 92.”</li>
</ul><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">But the more I think about it, the “Life of Julia” site is not so funny. The sad fact is that this hilarious nonsense might actually appeal to an increasing portion of our population. Perhaps there are too many voting age adults who easily fall for what children should see through. With only about half of the population paying taxes and an ever increasing percentage on the government dole, the cradle-to-grave nanny state is actually something desirable for such an increasing target audience. It is also frightening to think that a dull and lazy population does not have the intellectual will or character to see through such disingenuous pabulum.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">My last thoughts on the subject are the opening lines of an old Beatle song by the same name, which are utterly appropriate:.</div><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">Half of what I say is meaningless.<br />
But I say it just to reach you, Julia.</blockquote><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>The Maryland Crustaceanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18309250912148013290noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5794529226190925993.post-85847733390486084842012-03-11T20:40:00.004-04:002012-03-17T19:57:38.895-04:00Is there a Grain of "Truth" in Правда?<div class="MsoNormal">Being a cold warrior in the tradition of Ronald Reagan, I have always taken anything printed in Pravda with a <s>grain</s> bucket of salt. This misnomer of a newspaper could always be relied on to parrot the propaganda and misinformation of its patron, the Soviet government. I fondly remember Reagan’s reaction to one of Pravda’s many whoppers: "We have a word for that. It’s a word with a long and honored history in our rich agricultural tradition."</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">Mind you, I had never bothered reading anything in Pravda, at least until very recently, when I was alerted to an intriguing Pravda headline quoted in a <a href="http://times247.com/articles/pravda-media-silence-on-arpaio-s-obama-probe-deafening">Washington Times article</a>, and out of curiosity I just had to follow the <a href="http://english.pravda.ru/opinion/columnists/07-03-2012/120708-arizona_sheriff_obama-0/">link: “Arizona sheriff finds Obama presidential qualifications forged”</a>. To be sure, the article was written by an American-- Dianna Cotter—but why was it appearing in Pravda?<br />
<br />
The gist of the four page editorial expresses astonishment at the U.S. media’s silence and dismissal of Sherriff Joe Arpaio’s independent investigation, in which he concludes that the “long form” birth certificate released by President Obama last year is highly suspect, likely an electronically constructed forgery. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">(I should be quick to make clear that the intent of this post is not to resurrect the birth certificate issue. I am not a “birther”. Well, maybe not. I am 99.9% sure that President Obama was born in Hawaii, if for no other reason than that numerous prominent conservatives, ranging from center-right Karl Rove to ultra conservative Ann Coulter have all concluded that this is a non-issue, based on the evidence that they and others have seen. Conservative Republicans would have every incentive to keep the issue alive and call for investigations, so if they say it is a dead issue, I am pretty certain it is a dead issue. Perhaps I would be 100% certain if Obama and company had not obfuscated, tap-danced, and sternly resisted any and all attempts to bring his birth certificate to the light of day for more than three years, before finally releasing a facsimile of the long form last year. But I digress….)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">What I found most amusing and curious about this editorial appearing in Pravda is that it takes the U.S. media to task for protecting and carrying water for President Obama. I happen to agree with that assessment, but I would not expect to find such an opinion printed in Pravda. <span lang="EN">Despite the fall of the Soviet Union and the ensuing push toward freedom and democracy, Russia is still very much a socialist state. According to <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pravda">Wikipedia</a>, after a period of breakup and offshoots, the Communist Party of the Russian Federation recovered control of Pravda in 1997. My guess would be that, despite the long adversarial relationship with the USA, the Russian government would be sympathetic to President Obama—which is why I found it amusing that this editorial appeared in Pravda. The “birther” issue aside, the editorial was spot on about the U.S. media carrying water for the President. </span></div>The Maryland Crustaceanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18309250912148013290noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5794529226190925993.post-46282735154755027342012-02-28T22:21:00.003-05:002012-03-17T20:08:32.088-04:00How Long Oh Lord?<div class="MsoNormal tr_bq" style="line-height: 150%; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">Has anyone ever asked you “What is your favorite Psalm?” Many would cite Psalm 23 (The Lord is my Shepherd) or Psalm 103 (Praise the Lord O My Soul and Forget not all His benefits) or something similar. Though I appreciate these wonderful Psalms, I often find myself drawn to Psalm 13. If you are familiar with this Psalm, you might think I am a little strange. It starts out like this:<o:p></o:p></span></div><blockquote class="tr_bq">How long, O LORD? Will you forget me forever?<br />
How long will you hide your face from me?<br />
How long must I wrestle with my thoughts<br />
and day after day have sorrow in my heart?<br />
How long will my enemy triumph over me? </blockquote><div style="background: white;"><o:p></o:p></div><div style="background: white; line-height: 150%;"><br />
<a name='more'></a>This is a Psalm of David, whom Scripture describes as “a man after God’s own heart”. David loved God, but apparently he experienced times when he felt like the God he loved was hiding His face. He wrestled with his thoughts. How long did this go on? Apparently it went on “day after day”; and certainly long and often enough that he cried out, “How long, O Lord?” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">I can relate to David. On and off through much of my adult life, I have had similar struggles. Sometimes, I haven’t a clue why. At other times, I can trace it to faulty thinking. That is, like David, I have had to wrestle with my thoughts. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><ul><li><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">For example, I have a very tender, sensitive conscience, which on the surface is a good thing.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I feel genuine shame when I even think an evil thought, not to mention if I actually say or do something sinful.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">But a tender conscience that is not constantly bathed in the truth of the Gospel--remembering that Jesus Christ paid for all my sins past, present and future--puts me in danger of falling into a downward spiral of despair.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Or if I do not keep the Gospel foremost in my mind, letting it be a balm to my soul, memories of hurts, regrets and failures from the past will start to rear their ugly head; I must preach the Gospel to myself to correct my thinking in order to keep myself from reliving or rehearsing the past.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">At other times, I have been horrified by unspeakably evil thoughts that have crossed my mind, perhaps because of something I read in the paper or heard on the radio, or even a thought that seemed to come out of nowhere. I have been beset with fear and horror, thinking, “My God, what is wrong with me that I could even think something so evil?’ I forget the sage advice of Martin Luther, who once said:</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">”You can’t stop the birds from flying over your head but you can stop them from nesting in your hair.”</span></li>
</ul><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">Sometimes it has been difficult to keep those birds of faulty thinking from nesting in my hair, and it has sometimes resulted in a heaviness of heart, a debilitating pall and sadness that weighs me down emotionally and even physically. Even after I have caught myself and have corrected my thinking and started reminding myself of the truth of the Gospel, sometimes the sadness does not lift right away. Sometimes it can go on for weeks. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">These times of sadness have not always been brought about by faulty thinking that is uninformed by the Gospel.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">Sometimes they come for no apparent reason, and I have had to logically talk myself out of it.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">I have had to speak to my soul not only with the Gospel but with some simple logic, such as:</span></div><blockquote class="tr_bq"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Yesterday, all was well with my soul and I was happy, but today I am not. Yet nothing has really changed, and God still loves me. There is no logical reason for me to be sad, so I am going to do my best to move on.</span></blockquote><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">Whatever the cause or the duration of these episodes, God has preserved me for all these years. Even through the most depressing times, He has been faithful and shown mercy by causing the sadness to lift and joy to return. Yes, I have experienced times of sadness and depression, but God has been faithful and true to bring me through them all. So if and when the darkness returns, I can take courage that He will deliver me again, because He is faithful and true, whether I am experiencing joy or going through a dark period. The Gospel is still true, and Jesus is the same yesterday, today and forever.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">One of the biggest lies that depressed people tend to believe is that nobody else has experienced or could possibly understand what they are going through. But I know that I am not alone. Just like David, there have been many saints in the Bible and throughout church history—Martin Luther, John Bunyan, and Charles Spurgeon, just to name a few--who have glorified God by persevering through struggles that are not altogether different from mine, probably even worse. In our nation’s history, Abraham Lincoln suffered deeply from depression most of his adult life. Knowing this, I can be encouraged to …<o:p></o:p></span></div><blockquote class="tr_bq"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">…stand firm in the faith,”--as it says in I Peter 5--“because you know that your brothers throughout the world are undergoing the same kind of sufferings. And the God of all grace, who called you to his eternal glory in Christ, after you have suffered a little while, will himself restore you and make you strong, firm and steadfast.</span></blockquote><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">There is another sense in which I am not alone: I have some very dear friends in my church who stand by my side when I struggle, who do not condemn me but instead encourage me, who care for my soul by speaking truth to me. They are a gift from God to me, a means of grace that He uses to help me persevere.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">And persevere I will, not because I am somehow heroically fighting for joy, but because God is preserving me. As Paul said in I Corinthians:<o:p></o:p></span></div><blockquote class="tr_bq"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">He will keep you strong to the end, so that you will be blameless on the day of our Lord Jesus Christ. God, who has called you into fellowship with his Son Jesus Christ our Lord, is faithful.</span></blockquote><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">So whether my soul is filled with “joy unspeakable and full of glory”, or I am wrestling with my thoughts, beset by dark clouds, I will agree with David in his conclusion to Psalm 13: <o:p></o:p></span></div><blockquote>But I trust in your unfailing love;<br />
my heart rejoices in your salvation.<br />
I will sing the LORD’s praise,<br />
for he has been good to me.</blockquote>The Maryland Crustaceanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18309250912148013290noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5794529226190925993.post-89800819145379464472012-02-04T19:49:00.002-05:002012-03-17T19:59:59.440-04:00Adding Insult to Injury<div class="MsoNormal">I had never even heard of the Susan G. Komen foundation, much less ever donated money to it. Yes, I had heard of “Race for the Cure” and I am certainly sympathetic to any organization that wants to fund breast cancer research, but I never knew the specific name of the foundation associated with such an otherwise worthwhile effort. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Though I have given to plenty of worthy causes in my life, this just happens to not be one of them. I just never thought to do so. My bad. But whatever the merits of breast cancer research, the Susan G. Komen Foundation (SGKF) will certainly not ever be getting a dime from me now--not after the events of the last few days.<br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">SGKF recently came to the realization that Planned Parenthood did not meet their criteria for receiving funds or grants,, so they announced that they would not be funding P.P. … for now. You would think I would say “Hooray!” because they had struck a blow against the disgustingly profitable abortion industry.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">On the contrary, my first question is “Why was SGKF funding P.P. in the first place?” Is P.P. involved in breast cancer research? (No). Do they even provide mammograms? (No again.) Is P.P. involved in anything whatsoever that would advance the cause of finding a cure for breast cancer? (Thrice no.) On the contrary, the medical research and evidence is quite clear that there is a higher incidence of breast cancer (in addition to other physical and emotional maladies) in women who have had an abortion. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So what was SGKF thinking in the first place?!?!?! I wonder how many people who had enthusiastically participated in Race for the Cure or otherwise given to the cause knew that they were funding the abortion industry? </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It’s bad enough that P.P. makes money hand-over-fist by providing abortions, and supplements their coffers by sucking at the teat of the government and of ostensibly charitable organizations; they also scream bloody murder if anyone dares to threaten the flow of largesse from any source. This past Friday, SGKF knuckled under to the bullying tactics of P.P. and their allies on the left and reversed their decision. But given SGKF’s unconscionable support of P.P. in the first place, this reversal was just an anti-climactic addition of insult to injury.</div>The Maryland Crustaceanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18309250912148013290noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5794529226190925993.post-1187144676109758972012-01-21T18:33:00.003-05:002012-03-17T20:00:22.722-04:00The Iron LadyI wasn't really sure I wanted to see Meryl Streep’s rendition of Margaret Thatcher in <i>The Iron Lady</i>. The little I had read about the movie in pre-release reviews made me suspicious that it was going to be another left-wing hatchet job. It was understandably causing a <a href="http://www.nationalreview.com/media-blog/283223/furor-uk-over-ithe-iron-ladyi-nathaniel-botwinick">furor in the UK</a> because of the film’s setting and approach, portraying the prime minister’s otherwise remarkable and admirable career as a series of flashbacks in the mind of an ailing, demented Margaret Thatcher. Throughout the movie she is shown having hallucinatory conversations with her long deceased husband Dennis, hardly a respectful and dignified portrait of one of the great world leaders of the twentieth century.<br />
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Despite the screenplay’s uncomplimentary setting, it portrayed Margaret Thatcher’s life and career in very positive terms: Her humble beginnings as a grocer’s daughter, being taught at a young age to not follow the crowd, to stand up for your convictions in the face of criticism, to stick to your ideas not because they are popular but because they are right, and to persevere in the face of adversity, fierce and unfair criticism and even violent opposition.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
That is the type of spine that was needed in the second half of twentieth century Britain, a nation in moral and economic decline, in the stranglehold of debilitating social welfare policies and corrupt trade unions, self serving politicians resorting to class warfare and demagoguery, claiming to stand up for the poor and the little guy, but really accomplishing nothing other than increasing the intrusive scope of government and dependency. Sound familiar?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
The unfolding scenes of the movie caused me to remember and relive the transformative decade of the 1980’s, when great leaders like Margaret Thatcher and Ronald Reagan faced fierce opposition and blistering criticism for the stands they took for conservative principles of individual freedom and responsibility. She did what was required to turn around a nation in decay, stating “Yes, the medicine is harsh, but the patient requires it.” Throughout the movie I found myself muttering, “Oh, how we desperately need leaders like that today!”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
I am not sure about the screen-writer's intentions in portraying Margaret Roberts Thatcher as frail and ailing, slipping into dementia. It certainly seems disrespectful, particularly given that she is still alive. Whatever the writer’s intentions, I personally choose to view this portrayal as appealing, perhaps not in political terms, but definitely in theological terms. God created us to love and serve Him, giving each of us a calling and mission. In the movie, a young Margaret Roberts says, “One’s life must matter”. Toward the end, an elderly Margaret Thatcher states, “All I wanted was to make a difference.” Indeed, she did, and the world should be grateful. But in the end, no matter what we accomplish, this life is fleeting. We are frail and finite; we decline and, at the time of God’s choosing, we die. Whether we achieve great things like Margaret Thatcher, or lead humble and obscure lives whose impact is limited to family, friends and acquaintances, our calling is to be faithful to Him.</div>The Maryland Crustaceanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18309250912148013290noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5794529226190925993.post-63836939026030750212011-12-22T20:30:00.003-05:002012-03-17T20:00:49.775-04:00A Christmas Story<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><v:shapetype coordsize="21600,21600" filled="f" id="_x0000_t75" o:preferrelative="t" o:spt="75" path="m@4@5l@4@11@9@11@9@5xe" stroked="f"> <v:stroke joinstyle="miter"> <v:formulas> <v:f eqn="if lineDrawn pixelLineWidth 0"> <v:f eqn="sum @0 1 0"> <v:f eqn="sum 0 0 @1"> <v:f eqn="prod @2 1 2"> <v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelWidth"> <v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelHeight"> <v:f eqn="sum @0 0 1"> <v:f eqn="prod @6 1 2"> <v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelWidth"> <v:f eqn="sum @8 21600 0"> <v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelHeight"> <v:f eqn="sum @10 21600 0"> </v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:formulas> <v:path gradientshapeok="t" o:connecttype="rect" o:extrusionok="f"> <o:lock aspectratio="t" v:ext="edit"> </o:lock></v:path></v:stroke></v:shapetype><v:shape id="_x0000_s1026" style="height: 1in; left: 0; margin-left: 464.3pt; margin-top: 40.35pt; mso-position-horizontal-relative: page; mso-position-vertical-relative: page; position: absolute; text-align: left; visibility: visible; width: 81.25pt; z-index: 251657728;" type="#_x0000_t75"> <v:imagedata o:title="" src="file:///C:\DOCUME~1\Susan\LOCALS~1\Temp\msohtmlclip1\01\clip_image001.wmz"> <w:wrap anchorx="page" anchory="page" type="square"> </w:wrap></v:imagedata></v:shape></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="color: #00b050; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;">Christmas past…..<o:p></o:p></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><i><span style="color: red; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></i></b></div><blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="color: red; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, </span></i></b><b><i><span style="color: red; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">keeping watch over their flocks at night.</span></i></b><b><span style="color: red; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span></b><span style="font-size: 8pt; line-height: 115%;">[Luke 2:8]</span></blockquote><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It had been about four hours since the sun had set. The three shepherds were trying to stay warm, and Simeon was lost in his thoughts….</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">What a miserable existence, spending days and nights in the fields, away from home, watching someone else’s sheep. Shepherding was once considered honorable. After all, King David was a shepherd, as were the patriarchs. But this day and age, shepherds are considered lowlifes, not a vocation to aspire to. Not many fathers would relish giving their daughter away in marriage to someone who spent more time with sheep than with a wife and children.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">At least Simeon was lucky in that regard. He and Hannah had been together for more than a decade. They had two sons and a daughter, not including the one they lost. Simeon suppressed a pang of grief that surfaced again, diverting his thoughts instead to being home soon, where he would be able to spend a few days with Hannah and the children before starting the cycle all over again, moving sheep from pasture to pasture.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In the meantime, he was cold and tired, trying to make it through the night, small talking and bantering with his companions Jacob and Zechariah. Though the three of them were barely literate, they all had a basic knowledge of the Scriptures that were read in the synagogue every Sabbath. The rabbis taught them that God had called their fathers to be His chosen people to be a blessing to all nations. They knew about Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, how their descendants were delivered from slavery in Egypt and brought into a promised land. They knew the story of David, the Shepherd King who firmly established and extended the Kingdom of Israel, safe from all its enemies, a land flowing with milk and honey, and everyone under their own vine and fig tree. And God promised David that his dynasty would last forever.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It sure didn’t seem that way. At this point, Simeon had neither vine nor fig tree. The land flowing with milk and honey was being run by surrogates of Rome, the latest in a long succession of empires that had overrun the land of Judah. Simeon wondered to himself--though he wouldn’t dare question out loud--if God’s promises were true. It didn’t seem right that the Promised Land should be under the yoke of unclean Gentiles. It also troubled him that some of the religious leaders had a much too cozy relationship with their Roman rulers. Then there were the Israelite tax collectors who were selling out their brothers by working for Rome.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Simeon wasn’t too angry at them. After all, they too needed to make a living. And he was painfully aware that he had his own faults, more than he cared to remember. His conscience bothered him. He had been taught that God was holy and just, but the rabbis assured him that God would forgive sins by accepting an offering. He wasn’t quite sure how or why sacrificing an innocent lamb would take away his sin. Did it really? </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Simeon continued to ponder. Though he looked forward to going home in just a few days, truth be told, he felt weighed down, empty and afraid. He worried about whether he could provide for his family. As he thought about the Roman occupation, he also worried about the future, particularly for his children. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Simeon’s thoughts were interrupted by what he could only describe as brightness. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he and his companions suddenly had another and more immediate reason to be afraid: </div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><i><span style="color: red; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></i></b></div><blockquote class="tr_bq"><b><i><span style="color: red; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. </span></i></b><span style="font-size: 8pt; line-height: 115%;">[Luke 2:10]</span></blockquote><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="color: #00b050; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;">Christmas present…..<o:p></o:p></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It’s a winter evening in front of my computer. The house is quiet, and I can relax after a long and somewhat tedious day’s work as a government employee.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I've been doing it for some twenty-seven years now. There have actually been times when I enjoyed my job, particularly back in the days when I was a garden variety translator. Whether the material I was translating was interesting or mundane, routine or ground breaking, I always left work with a sense of accomplishment. Even after I moved into management there were still times I felt like I was making a difference. I was once a bit of a mover and shaker, but those days are gone now. Truth be told, I am bored to tears; my brains are turning to jelly, and I am counting the days until I am eligible to retire in less than three years. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It used to be that “public service” was considered honorable. Now it is viewed as a cushy, overpaid job for people who can’t accomplish much. Though my conscience is clear that I work diligently and competently for my pay, the existing negative perception of government service is all too often justified. I have seen plenty of bloated, top-heavy organizational structures, what I like to describe as “The Department of Redundancy Department.” It galls me that while people in the real world have to make sacrifices and tighten their belts, life in the government proceeds as normal.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I guess I should be grateful. At least I have a job--well paying at that—while about ten percent of us do not. And even the tedium and setbacks of my current employment have an awakening side benefit. Unlike in my heady days of when I thought I was a mover and shaker, I am reminded anew that I cannot and should not find my identity in my employment. There are much more important things in life than the work I do to support my family… such as my family itself! I am truly grateful. I have been married to Susan for more than 32 years, and life with her keeps getting sweeter. We’ve been blessed with three kids and now we have two wonderful grandkids.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Then again, the joys of family remind me of heartaches as well. I miss my mom and dad, as well as many others from their generation (and some in this generation) who are no longer with us. Yes, I am confident that they are with the Lord and I will see them in eternity, but I still long to hear their voice and hug them again. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I also worry about the future for my children and grandkids, particularly for my two special needs children. How will they fare when I am gone? What kind of world will it be? Things do seem to be going to hell in a hand basket. The economy is in the tank, mob behavior is encouraged and celebrated, and ideas that were once universally disparaged as immoral or absurd are now a matter of serious debate. Sure, there is always the hope that things will turn around and sanity will be restored. There were hopeful signs at the ballot box in 2010. Maybe the turnaround will be even more decisive in 2012. But even if we do reverse course politically, I know I can’t put my hope in man or political parties. In the meantime we are speeding pedal-to-metal toward the cliff, and I sometimes wonder if our nation will even survive. The ash heap of history is full of once great civilizations that thought they were immortal but eventually committed collective suicide. Is it now our turn? God help us, I hope not. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I am tempted to get angry at those who have brought us to the brink; liberal demagogues who spout off class-warfare rhetoric as a means of increasing the size and scope of government (and their own personal power); statist busy-bodies who want to run other people’s lives; lazy, under-educated and self-indulgent generations who feel a sense of entitlement. I could go on and on, but then I remember, there but for the grace of God go I. Good grief, I feel guilty enough knowing that I probably could not earn my present salary in the private sector. I would like to think that I work hard and conscientiously, but am I too part of the problem? </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Yes, there is that faithful companion called guilt. It used to paralyze me, even though the Gospel informs me that my sins are forgiven. I would often find myself quoting the prayer from Psalm 25: 7:</div><blockquote class="tr_bq">Do not remember the sins of my youth and my rebellious ways; according to your love remember me, for you, LORD, are good.</blockquote><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="color: #00b050; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;">Christmas always…..<o:p></o:p></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Yes, it does seem I have a lot in common with Simeon, my historical fiction friend from Christmas past. But whether the issue is boredom and disillusionment with a vocation, heartache and mourning over lost loved ones, anger over waste, fraud and abuse, fear for the future of my family and nation, or even a gnawing sense of guilt; God has an answer for both Simeon’s fears and mine:<b><span style="color: #00b050; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div><blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="color: red;">But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid. I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is Christ the Lord. This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.” </span></i></b><span style="font-size: 8pt; line-height: 115%;">[Luke 2:11-12]</span></blockquote><div class="MsoNormal">Jesus, son of Mary and Son of God has met our greatest need. The messianic descendant of King David was born in relative poverty and in an uncertain time. He was subject to the same types of joys and sorrows that Simeon, you and I face every day. He was “in every respect tempted as we are, yet without sin.” <span style="font-size: 8pt; line-height: 115%;">[Hebrews 4:15] </span>He came not as Judge but as Savior. He subjected Himself to the worst this world has to offer, dying on a cross as the innocent Lamb to take away our sins, and rising again. By trusting in Him, there is assurance that our sins are forgiven, and that He will never leave nor forsake us. And His Kingdom will have no end. This is good news indeed!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>I wish you and yours all the joys and blessings of Christmas, both now and throughout the year. <o:p></o:p></i></div>The Maryland Crustaceanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18309250912148013290noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5794529226190925993.post-36464808081002702182011-10-29T20:56:00.005-04:002012-03-17T20:02:27.523-04:00Arius, Athanasius and Jehovah's WitnessesA couple years ago I wrote about <a href="http://mdcrustacean.blogspot.com/2009/10/i-could-have-done-better.html">an encounter I had with a Jehovah’s Witness</a>. I wondered then (and still wonder now) how best to carry on a conversation with them. They have some sincerely held beliefs that motivate their proselytizing activity. And they generally are not argumentative or confrontational (at least not with me). I often ask them if they believe the Gospel, that Jesus died on the cross for their sins and rose from the dead, and their answer is usually an unequivocal “yes”. <br />
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For those of you who are not clear on the difference between the Jehovah’s Witness’ beliefs and classical Christianity, it has to do with their understanding of who Jesus is. They believe him to be a created being, even the first created being, but nonetheless separate and apart from God Himself, as opposed to the classic Trinitarian belief that God is One Being but somehow Three Persons: Father, Son and Holy Spirit.<br />
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Of course, it is hard to fathom and get your arms around the classic Christian belief. Three Persons but One God? I don’t get it! I think it was Augustine who said about the Trinity: “Try to explain it and you will lose your mind. Try and deny it and you will lose your soul.” Indeed the early church wrestled with and finally settled the matter at the Council of Nicaea in 335, prior to Augustine’s birth. <br />
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The matter in question was the teaching of Arius of Alexandria, who taught that Jesus was a being separate and apart from God. He was opposed by Athanasius, the Bishop of Alexandria, who contended that Jesus was one in essence with God the Father. The Council declared Arius’ teaching to be heresy and affirmed Athanasius. As the Nicene Creed summarizes:<br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">We believe in one Lord, Jesus Christ, the only Son of God, eternally begotten of the Father, God from God, Light from Light, true God from true God, begotten, not made, one in Being with the Father. Through him all things were made.</blockquote><br />
Now you might ask, what is the difference, anyway? Isn’t it just like theologians to argue how many angels can dance on the head of a pin? I remember years ago discussing this with my dad who, though a believer, had little patience for theologians. Though he affirmed classical Christianity and disagreed with Arian theology, he viewed Arius as some kind of free thinker who ran afoul of a powerful, politically connected ecclesiastical council. Actually, the opposite was true.. It was Arius who was the more politically powerful. Even though the council affirmed Athanasius’ teaching, it was Arius who was the more popular, and Athanasius ended up being banished. According to John Piper, <br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">Athanasius was driven out of his church and office five times by the powers of the Roman Empire. Seventeen of his forty-five years as bishop were spent in exile. <span style="font-size: x-small;"> [<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"><em>Contending for Our All </em></span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">(2006, Wheaton Illinois, Crossway Books), p. 39.]</span></span></blockquote><br />
But I digress. What difference does it really make whether Jesus was a created being or whether Jesus and God are one? Isn’t the fundamental issue that He lived a sinless life, died on the cross for our sins and rose from the dead? Paul himself said: <br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">“For what I received I passed on to you as of first importance: that Christ died for our sins according to the Scriptures.” (I Corinthians 15:3)”</blockquote><br />
I could cite several Scriptures that make it clear that Jesus and God are one, and indeed I have gotten into such discussions with Jehovah’s Witnesses, and these discussions have generally proven fruitless. But lately I have been thinking of a different approach, and to give credit where credit is due, I must thank the non-Christians, even atheists, who have often come forward with the following argument:<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">“So you believe that God so loved the world that he sent his only begotten son… to die a horrific death on a cross--although he was innocent--so you could be forgiven of your sins? You call that good news? That is terrible! If anything, I would call that cosmic child abuse!”</blockquote><br />
You know, if Arius and the Jehovah’s Witnesses are right, if Jesus was in fact a separate being, if God sent such a “son” to suffer and die, I suppose the atheists have a point. That would be cosmic child abuse indeed! However, it was Athanasius and the Council of Nicaea who got it right. God did not send someone else. Rather, He came Himself to bear the penalty for our sins, doing so in the Person of Jesus, the God-Man, and rose again to give us forgiveness of sins and eternal life. As the Nicene creed affirms:<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">We believe in one God, <br />
the Father, the Almighty<br />
maker of heaven and earth,<br />
of all that is seen and unseen.<br />
<br />
We believe in one Lord, Jesus Christ, <br />
the only Son of God,<br />
eternally begotten of the Father,<br />
God from God, Light from Light,<br />
true God from true God,begotten, not made,<br />
one in Being with the Father.<br />
Through him all things were made.<br />
<br />
For us men and for our salvation <br />
he came down from heaven<br />
by the power of the Holy Spirit <br />
he was born of the Virgin Mary, and became man.<br />
For our sake he was crucified under Pontius Pilate; <br />
he suffered, died, and was buried.<br />
On the third day he rose again <br />
in fulfillment of the Scriptures;<br />
he ascended into heaven <br />
and is seated at the right hand of the Father.<br />
He will come again in glory to judge the living and the dead, <br />
and his kingdom will have no end.<br />
<br />
We believe in the Holy Spirit, the Lord, the giver of Life, <br />
who proceeds from the Father and the Son.<br />
With the Father and the Son he is worshiped and glorified.<br />
He has spoken through the Prophets.<br />
<br />
We believe in one holy catholic and apostolic Church.<br />
We acknowledge one baptism for the forgiveness of sins.<br />
We look for the resurrection of the dead, <br />
and the life of the world to come. Amen.</blockquote>The Maryland Crustaceanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18309250912148013290noreply@blogger.com2