Too hot for the former President

 Today it is finally too hot for me.

The temperature at 3 p.m. was 93 and the dew point was 75.

I like the heat. People say to me, "Hot enough for you?"

And I reply, "no, bring it on."

But not today.

It is hot enough for me.

It's getting really hot for the former President too.

In spite all the weeping and wailing from Republicans and Right-Wing pundits, the FBI raid of Mara Lago wouldn't have been done if the Justice Department and the FBI didn't believe there was some very good reason and important things to get a hold of.

The January 6th committee is breathing down his neck.

Important advisors are being interviewed.

In 2 states--Georgia and New York--prosecutors are making cases against him.

And Fox News no longer considers him their poster boy.

Getting a little too hot for him, I think.

Just like Cheshire is today for me....

Just a different kind of heat.

 

Sudden rain

 It's raining like crazy--which is good news. We need it.

The bad news is I left my car windows down!

When I went out to close them, I got soaked, even though I had an umbrella.

Now it's time to feed Brigit and walk her.

She'd be water logged if we did.

She'll have to wait for her walk and a few extra minutes for her dinner.

But the rain is good, it really is.

The Photo

About 20 years ago, my Aunt Elsie, my mother's sister, sent me a package of photos my mother had given her before either of them died.

I didn't look at them for years.

Most of them are me and my parents as I was growing up.

One of them was of me and my father and mother in our living room in an apartment with no central heat, in Anawalt, WV.

I was shocked when I saw it.

My father was in the easy chair, my mother on the right arm and me on the left, our arms around my Dad.

Both mom and I are smiling--I was 12 years old--and my dad, as was his custom, was not smiling.

But what shocked me was the picture above us in the photo.

It was of a Collie, in the snow, barking because he had found a wounded lamb.

I had the same print--on the bookshelf to the left of my computer--only bigger.

I had had it for years and didn't know why I had bought it.

Now I did.

Amazing what unremembered memories can do to the unconscious mind.

That photo is now in front of my print.

Past and present meet.

As they often do.

 

The Hundredth Monkey

Are you familiar with the book "The Hundredth Monkey"? 

It tells the story of monkeys on the Japanese island of Koshima and other island where scientists began in 1952 dropping sweet potatoes for them to make sure they were getting enough to eat.

The monkeys liked the potatoes but didn't like the sand on them.

One young monkey began washing her sweet potatoes in a stream.

Other young ones and their parents started doing the same thing.

In 1958 a monkey Ken Keyes, jr., the author calls 'the hundredth monkey', began washing potatoes before eating. And then all the monkeys did!

More amazing, after the hundredth monkey, monkeys on all the islands started washing the sweet potatoes!!!

The book is about nuclear war and how the 100th monkey could help prevent it ever happening.

But I want to look at it from the point of view of what happens to the former president (who I do not name in this blog).

The hundredth monkey could turn the nation against him and have him criminally prosecuted for his actions leading up to January 6th and his lack of action on that day.

The whole nation would be liberated from that awful day of treason.

Come on, Hundredth Monkey.

Wash that sweet potato! 

 

R,D,'s death

One of my good priest friends--RD, has died. He was 80. I just heard about it from the Diocese today.

He was at a church near me in New Haven and Waterbury. I loved him dearly.

He was kind, compassionate, friendly and much bigger than me.

He died in July and his Mass (he was very high church) has already been held.

Why did the Diocese wait so long to let me know my friend had died?

I would have gone to his service.

I haven't seen him for a few years and yet I miss him dearly.... 

This week's sermon

 

August 7, 2022—“Don’t worry, be happy…”

        I really wish the lectionary folks had added the passage left out between last Sunday’s Gospel lesson and this Sunday’s. Listen: (read from Bible)

        Isn’t that wonderful! Don’t worry—strive for the Kingdom of God.

        Reminds me of that pop song by Bobby McFerrin—“Don’t worry, be happy”. I watched the original video on YouTube and it made me very happy….

        It was even on Bumper Stickers for a while. If Luke’s Jesus had had a car, he would have had that bumper sticker.

        Then he continues by saying, “do not be afraid, little flock”. Jesus, the Good Shepherd calls his followers, “little flock. Isn’t that great.

        As you may know, Luke’s Jesus is my favorite of the four. Luke’s Jesus is compassion personified.

        There are only 7 miracles in John’s Gospel—Luke has miracles—healings—by the dozens. Compassion personified.

        He goes on to tell them to be generous to those in need and they will have purses that do not wear out in the heavenly Kingdom. “And where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” So, don’t worry, be happy to serve the Lord.

        He then talks of servants waiting up for their master and how when the master finds them like that, he will feed them himself.

        We too are members of Jesus’ little flock.

        He asks the same of us as he asks of them: worry not, neither be afraid: be vigilant and aware. Serve those in need and wait for the Master to return.

        Lovely sentiments. An oh, so true.

        In my time here at Trinity, I have witnessed your generosity to those in need. Your willingness to strive for the Kingdom. Your compassion and understanding for others in your church.

        So, be not afraid, Little Flock. All you need will be given you by God.

        So, please, please—don’t worry be happy.

(Let us end with a time of silence to reflect on God’s promises to us.)

Be still and know God’s goodness.

Shalom and Amen.

       

Thinking of Mommy

I've been thinking of my mother today.

Marion Cleo Jones Bradley.

I'm half-Jones, not surprising for the southernmost county in West Virginia. Lots of Jones', Smiths', Browns', Terry's and other common names there. Spencer, LaFon, Davis, to name a few others.

Cleo had a master's degree in education and taught, mostly first grade.

She had earned her education by going part-time to Concord College, one county over. And Bluefield State College, over to the East too.

A friend told me recently that Concord College was now a university. I had trouble believing him, but he swore that it was true.

I don't have a lot of memories of my mother.

I do have a black and white photo I keep on the bookcase to the left of me as I type.

My father is in an easy chair and my mom is on the right arm and I am on the left one.

I must have been 10 or 11. A little goofy looking (which I probably still am!) my mom and I are smiling and my father wasn't. (Seldom did.)

Above us is a painting of a Collie dog calling out in the snow over an injured lamb.

Behind where I keep the photo is the same painting--a bit larger.

I must have bought it from a memory of our apartment when I was growing up.

My mom was a sweet and gentle woman.

She died when I was in college. She was only 63.

I have fond memories of her, but very few....