Friday Funnies: A Jedi Christmas

 

This year in my neighborhood I've noticed several flattened Santas during the daytime. Maybe this is the reason.

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The global appeal of "Take Me Home, Country Roads" (CBS Sunday Morning)

"Take Me Home, Country Roads," a song about a longing for home (co-written by a songwriter who had never even been in West Virginia), has been embraced by the Mountain State in a big way, and has since been appropriated by singers around the world looking for their very own "place I belong."

 

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Saturday Haiku: Christmas Journey

Mary and Joseph

journeyed from that quiet town

into all the world

___________________

Image: Mary and Joseph on the way to Bethlehem
Found at Ignatian Spirituality.com



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Finding Christmas

I enjoy the Christmas season and when I discovered the liturgical season of Advent as an adult, that sacred time of waiting gave the season even more meaning for me. At the same time, I realize that there are many who have difficulty participating in the festive season. Some have painful memories from the past; some have been hardened by life and cannot make their way back to hope. Others have either lost faith, were nurtured in a different faith, or were raised without a strong faith tradition.

My hope is that everyone can find reason to celebrate the season and that we all can have hope for the days ahead. The following essay is one that was first posted in December of 2010. It was first written and presented at the request of Rev. Karen Matteson, a Unitarian Minister. She wanted me to take part in a Sunday morning service in preparation for Christmas. Many in that Unitarian congregation felt that it was very important to have a big Christmas Eve celebration. Others had a problem with Christmas because they came from different backgrounds, and most had a problem with affirming the divinity of Christ. The minister wanted to have a service to help bring everyone in to the celebration of the season while acknowledging the different places that many were coming from. "Finding Christmas" was my contribution to that service which I was honored to take part in.

   Finding Christmas: A Post-modern Christian Revisits an Ancient Holiday

by Charles Kinnaird

"In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me 

                                            there lay an invincible summer."

                                                   ~Albert Camus

In the Jesus story, the Gospel writer at one point has the Roman Governor, Pontius Pilate, asking the question, "What am I to do with Jesus?" It is fascinating to me that from that time until this, most of us in Western Civilization have had to ask that very question and in some way respond to the question. When I was in high school, there were two Broadway musicals, Godspell, and Jesus Christ, Superstar, that represented one way that my generation was responding to the question of what to do with Jesus. Michelangelo's Sistine Chapel, Handel's Messiah, Zulu Zionism in South Africa, Base Communities in Latin America, and the Jesus Seminar in Santa Rosa, CA, represent a few of the many varied responses to the same question.

In my own journey, I am always re-evaluating and redefining. I took a computer course once where we were working with spreadsheets. I loved the visual effect of having the spreadsheet all laid out, then typing in another number and watching the whole screen change in response to the new data. A living philosophy has to be that way. When we are confronted with new information or new experiences, our perspective will change in some way. There may even be a shift in our worldview.

The Risk of Incarnation

A few years ago, I was attending a Eucharistic service at an Episcopal Church (some traditions refer to it as Mass, or Holy Communion). It was at a time when I was re-assessing what the Christian myth meant to me, given my worldview. It occurred to me that however the person of Jesus fits (or does not fit) into one's theology, the Jesus Story dramatically illustrates the risk of incarnation. It was an emotional moment and I immediately connected with that notion because I knew first-hand the risk of incarnation.

In my work as a registered nurse, I often have to ask patients to sign a consent form for the surgeon to operate. I always ask the patient "Has the doctor explained to you the risks and the benefits of this procedure?" If the patient answers affirmatively, then I know that he or she is ready to sign the consent form. That day during the Eucharist, I knew that as I drank from the cup, I was affirming my own participation in the risk of incarnation. Knowing the beauty of being alive, I was also fully aware of the risk.

Celebrating the Light

Christmas is about light and life. It is a celebration in the middle of winter that the light will come and the darkness will end. It is a celebration of the promise of new life beginning. We call it Christmas, a time when Christians celebrate the birth of the baby Jesus as the incarnation of God and a light to the world.

The celebration existed, however, long before the Christians took it over. Winter Solstice had long been a time to celebrate the dawn on the darkness of winter. It was a time to extol the evergreen that proclaimed the promise of life in the dead of winter.

Christmas for us can be a time to celebrate the joy and beauty of incarnation as we know it. If we have lived long enough, we understand the risk, but we also know from our collective experience that the darkness will end. We sense the persistent hope of new life. We know that life on this planet is worth the risk. We can use the Christmas season to acknowledge our own participation in the incarnation of Life.

Our light has come.

Our day has dawned.

We can joyfully celebrate

Life is up to something,

    and we are included!

Life is full of surprises,

    and we are a part of it!

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Monday Music: Guantanamera (Playing for Change)

 From the YouTube website:

We invite you to watch and enjoy another Song Around The World ... "Guantanamera". We started the song with Carlos Varela in Havana and it features over 75 Cuban musicians around the world, from Havana and Santiago to Miami, Barcelona and Tokyo. We recorded and produced this track with Jackson Browne, who explains that "traveling with Playing For Change across Cuba was one of the most rewarding and inspiring musical experiences of my life."

 

 

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Saturday Haiku: Storm

Today's haiku is from my archives, re-posted to acknowledge that there are people mourning their losses

swirling winds at night –
with daylight comes quiet calm
as losses are mourned

                                                                   

_____________________

Image: Oklahoma tornado (courtesy of Wikipedia)

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Friday Funnies: That's Some Dog

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White Christmas

(The following essay is a re-post from Growing Up Under Southern Apartheid)

White Christmas

In east-central Alabama, we typically don’t get a white Christmas, at least not like the one Bing Crosby sang about. When I was a kid, I looked at many a picture book with snow-laden Christmas scenes and saw Christmas cards come in through the mail that featured snow-covered villages. In the South, we could wish for snow, but we were more likely to get rain. Snow might come later (if only for a day) but never as early as Christmas.

As children, even without the snow, we began to feel the anticipation of the holiday as the time drew near. Adults would start it. They’d say, “What’s Santy Claus gonna bring ya?” or “Have you been a good little boy this year? Well, mind your Mama ‘cause Santa’s comin’.”

Sights and Sounds of Christmas

One of the things that really set the stage for the holiday was putting up the Christmas tree. In rural Alabama back in the 1950s, most folks cut their own trees. Cedars grew wild in the pastures and farmland in the area. I remember going with Dad one year to look for a tree. We went to a farm owned by an older man who let us walk through the pasture to find the one we wanted. I remember Dad stopping back by the old man’s house to pay him, but the farmer just waved him off and wouldn’t hear of it. It was probably because my Dad was the preacher in town. In those days, churches paid their preachers a meager salary but people tried to make up for it in other ways. Someone might have a good day fishing on the river with too many fish to clean, and he’d take the preacher enough to feed his family. Someone else would have some corn or beans coming in and would take a mess of vegetables to the preacher’s house. Many merchants in town offered discounts for clergy.

At our house, by the time the Christmas tree went up, we had Christmas records playing. We had a little record player that played 45 and 78 RPMs and we’d delight in hearing “Up on the Housetop,” “Jingle Bells,” “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer,” and the like. Of course, in Sunday School we would sing “Silent Night,” “Away in a Manger,” and “O Little Town of Bethlehem.” 

And then there were the Christmas stories.  Dad would thrill us in reading Clement Moore's poem, ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas. On Christmas Eve, Mom would read Why the Chimes Rang, by Raymond MacDonald Alden to set a solemn yet magical tone for the holiday. Our excitement could hardly be tamped down because the next morning would be filled with drifts of wadded wrapping paper, stockings filled with candy, and the unmistakable Christmas aroma of new plastic from all of the toys gathered under the tree.

 Santa Comes to Town

We lived in Wedowee, Alabama from 1955 to 1960, so that makes it easy for me to place a relative time period on my early childhood memories since I was only a year old when we first arrived. I suppose in those days every community had its own way of marking the beginning of the Christmas season.  In Dadeville, Alabama, where I began the sixth grade, the local Girl Scouts sang carols on the courthouse steps on a Saturday afternoon as the town turned on the Christmas lights for the first time on Main Street.

In the small town of Wedowee, the county seat of Randolph County, the Christmas season was heralded by Santa riding into town on the back of a red fire engine. Children would gather at the town square in glad anticipation. Sure, New York City had the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade with Santa and his sleigh as the grand finale, but we ushered jolly old St. Nicholas into town in grand style!

1955 GMC Pumper 

I remember when Dad took my brother and me to join the crowd of kids waiting to see Santa come to town. At the appointed time, we heard the siren wailing in the distance. Soon the fire truck appeared, driving through the town, Santa standing on the back and waving to the crowd. When the fire truck stopped, Santa began handing out bags of candy to all the eager children.

Christmas in the South was as segregated as all the other community activities, but there must have been some allowances in Wedowee for Santa’s visit. That day when we went to see Santa ride into town, it was an event for all children, both Black and white. It made such an impression upon me as a child that one particular image stands out in my memory to this day.  As I made my way up to see Santa who was handing out the candy to all the children, I saw a little Black girl walk up to get some candy. She was younger than I – I would have been around five, so she must have been around three years old. She had on a blue dress and pink bows tied up in her hair. The little girl walked slowly up to Santa at her mother’s encouragement, and what did Santa do?  He bent down and picked her up in his arms!  He then walked around, continuing to wave at the kids, carrying the little girl in his arms.


Of course, we knew this was not the real Santa. It was clear that he was a man in a costume. I have no idea who Santa was that day, but I never forgot the way that he carried the little Black girl in his arms. I was not accustomed to seeing Black children because Black people and white people lived separate lives and the children went to separate schools. While the little Black girl did not fit into all of the Christmas images and songs that I had in my head at that young age, that day a new image of Christmas was added to my memory. Throughout my childhood, though we never had snow, all of my Christmases were white, except for that one day.

________________________

Photo credit:

• Vintage 1950s Christmas card was found on Pinterest
• "Unmanaged eastern red cedars" photo from Wildlife, a publication of The Samuel Roberts Noble Foundation.
• The record player and fire truck images were both found on Pinterest with no credit attributed.

For an index to other essays in Growing Up Under Southern Apartheid, go here.

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Monday Music: Morning Has Broken (Cat Stevens)

 In 1971, Cat Stevens awakened the public to a beautiful hymn from The Presbyterian Hymnal and Rick Wakeman’s piano artistry makes the recording a first-class presentation. The hymn, first published in 1931, was written by Eleanor Farjeon and set to the Scottish Gaelic tune, “Bunessan.” Stevens made the song popular, though he erroneously pronounced “re-creation” as “recreation.” An understandable mistake since hymnals typically will hyphenate words to fit the notes. One could see it and not realize that it is the actual hyphenated word, re-creation. Nevertheless, it is still a timelessly beautiful song.

 

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Saturday Haiku: Sunlight and Shadows

 

 

finding quiet time
where sunlight and shadows fall
enlarges the soul

_____________________

Photo by Charles Kinnaird

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Monday Music: Sunny Days Ahead

 Advent is a time of waiting and hope. Christmas is a season of light. Throughout December, I'll be posting non-Christmas music that reflects a sense of hope and light. This rendition of George Harrisons' Beatles song, "Here Comes the Sun" was sent to me by a friend on my birthday last month, and it was such a delight to hear!

 

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Saturday Haiku: Last Roses

 

springtime roses sing –
 last roses of the season
recall summer joys

_________________

Photo: Floribunda Rose in Autumn
Credit: Charles Kinnaird

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Why Do We Sacrifice Our Children?

Can anyone say that we are a life-affirming culture when we cannot keep our children from being gunned down in their schools? Sadly, I have posted this essay seven times now since 2015.  Why are we so trapped in this death-making culture? ~ CK

The Fires of Moloch Are Burning

Moreover he burnt incense in the valley of Ben Hinnom, and burnt his children in the fire, after the abominations of the heathen whom the Lord had cast out before the children of Israel.

                                                                                                                  2 Chronicles 28:3

And they built the high places of Baal, which are in the valley of Ben Hinnom, to cause their sons and their daughters to pass through the fire unto Molech; which I commanded them not, neither came it into my mind, that they should do this abomination

                                                                                                                  Jeremiah 32:35

Illustration from Foster Bible Pictures
Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons 

Moloch was the ancient Phoenician and Canaanite god known in the Old Testament Book of Deuteronomy for the practice of propitiatory child sacrifice.  There are few images more horrifying than that of fearful people offering up their own children to be burned on the altar of a domineering death-making god. Yet we are seeing the fires of Moloch burning in 21^st century America.

We have seen this week yet another disturbing incident of promising lives brought to a sudden end by gun violence. Once again there is talk of stronger gun control laws, yet we are impotent to make any changes. Our failure to act even in the wake of the Sandy Hook massacre  in which 20 young children were killed, all of them 6 and 7 years old, demonstrated that we would rather sacrifice our beautiful preschoolers than do anything that might be perceived as a desecration of the Bill of Rights. Our words say that we honor American freedom, while our actions say that we live in fear and have so little regard for our children that we will willingly feed them to our modern day fires of Moloch. [To see a map of all the mass shooting since Sandy Hook, go here]

In a country whose politicians love to shout “God Bless America!” at the end of their speeches, and whose people speak of faith in the public square and argue about putting the Ten Commandments on display, it is the ancient and brutal god Moloch who holds sway over so much of our public discourse. Indeed the fires of Moloch continue to consume our children while nothing is done to extinguish those flames.

Why Do We Tolerate Death and Glorify Violence?

According to The Brady Center, “Over 18,000 American children and teens are injured or killed each year due to gun violence. This means nearly 48 youth are shot every day, including 7 fatalities.” 

And here are some more statistics from The Brady Center:

America has a problem with gun violence

·         One in three people in the U.S. know someone who has been shot.

·         On average, 31 Americans are murdered with guns every day and 151 are treated for a gun assault in an emergency room.

·         Every day on average, 55 people kill themselves with a firearm, and 46 people are shot or killed in an accident with a gun.

·         The U.S. firearm homicide rate is 20 times higher than the combined rates of 22 countries that are our peers in wealth and population.

·         A gun in the home is 22 times more likely to be used to kill or injure in a domestic homicide, suicide, or unintentional shooting than to be used in self-defense.

Gun Violence Takes a Massive Toll on American Children

·         More than one in five U.S. teenagers (ages 14 to 17) report having witnessed a shooting.

·         An average of seven children and teens under the age of 20 are killed by guns every day.

·         American children die by guns 11 times as often as children in other high-income countries.

·         Youth (ages 0 to 19) in the most rural U.S. counties are as likely to die from a gunshot as those living in the most urban counties. Rural children die of more gun suicides and unintentional shooting deaths. Urban children die more often of gun homicides.

·         Firearm homicide is the second-leading cause of death (after motor vehicle crashes) for young people ages 1-19 in the U.S.

·         In 2007, more pre-school-aged children (85) were killed by guns than police officers were killed in the line of duty.

Gun Violence is a Drain on U.S. Taxpayers

·         Medical treatment, criminal justice proceedings, new security precautions, and reductions in quality of life are estimated to cost U.S. citizens $100 billion annually.

·         The lifetime medical cost for all gun violence victims in the United States is estimated at $2.3 billion, with almost half the costs borne by taxpayers.

Americans Support Universal Background Checks

·         Nine out of 10 Americans agree that we should have universal background checks, including three out of four NRA members.

·         Since the Brady Law was initially passed, about 2 million attempts to purchase firearms have been blocked due to a background check. About half of these blocked attempts were by felons.

·         Unfortunately, our current background check system only applies to about 60% of gun sales, leaving 40% (online sales, purchases at gun shows, etc.) without a background check.

One question we must answer is why does our society so quickly come to the defense of guns after every deadly incident of gun violence? There are those who call for change, but such calls are always met with a push back from people who cannot tolerate any change in our gun laws. Lawmakers are forever paralyzed by the gun lobbyists and the fear-mongers.

Freedom or Fear?

Why are our citizens and our politicians are unable to put a stop to gun violence? If there were the political will, assault rifles and semi-automatic weapons could be banned tomorrow. The sad fact is, however, that our people seem to be too fearful to consider a peaceful society. We say that we are honoring the Second Amendment to the Constitution – that we hold the Bill of Rights to ensure our freedom – but the truth is, we live in fear. Why else would we be so powerless to stop our current practice of sacrificing children to the fires of gun violence?

Poster from The Brady Campaign to Prevent Gun Violence

Picture depicting worship of Moloch from The Jewish Encyclopedia

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Cherokee Language

In this excerpt from the documentary "Voices of North Carolina*" Cherokee people in North Carolina talk about efforts to preserve their language and culture.

*A production of the LANGUAGE AND LIFE PROJECT at NC State University www.languageandlife.org

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Giving Thanks Prayer by Native Americans

Robin Wall Kimmerer, in her book, Braiding Sweetgrass: Indigenous Wisdom, Scientific Knowledge, and the Teachings of Plants has a chapter, “Allegiance to Gratitude.”  She writes that the various Native American tribes have one thing in common: “we are rooted in cultures of gratitude.”  She tells of the Onondaga school which begins and ends each week with the  Thanksgiving Address, “a river of words as old as the people themselves, known more accurately in the Onondaga language as the Words That Come Before All Else.” 

She writes on p. 111:

    Imagine raising children in a culture in which gratitude is the first priority. Freida Jacques works at the Onondaga Nation School. She is a clan mother, the school-community liaison, and a generous teacher. She explains to me that the Thanksgiving Address embodies the Onondaga relationship with the world. Each part of creation is thanked in turn for fulfilling its Creator-given duty to the others. “It reminds you every day that you have enough. Everything you need to sustain life is already here. When we do this, every day, it leads us to an outlook of contentment and respect for all of Creation.”

     You can’t listen to the Thanksgiving Address without feeling wealthy. And, while expressing gratitude seems innocent enough, it is a revolutionary idea. In a consumer society, contentment is a radical proposition. Recognizing abundance rather than scarcity undermines an economy that thrives by creating unmet desires. Gratitude cultivates an ethic of fullness, but the economy needs emptiness. The Thanksgiving Address reminds you that you already have everything you need. Gratitude doesn’t send you out shopping to find satisfaction; it comes as a gift rather than a commodity, subverting the foundation of the whole economy. That’s good medicine for people and land alike.

*   *   *

I was able to find a recording of a Native American thanks Prayer on YouTube which sounds like what Kimmerer describes in her book. In the video below, you will hear the Native American language followed by an English translation.

 

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Saturday Haiku: Autumn Gold

the gold of autumn,

its transitory wonder,

abides in the trees

_____________

Photo: Ginkgo Tree with Yellow Planter

Credit: Charles Kinnaird

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National Day of Mourning

 In honor of Native American Heritage Month, we listen to some Wampanoag voices on why they have, since 1970, observed a National Day of Mourning on Thanksgiving Day. Many today do not realize that the Wampanoag people still reside on their native lands in Massachusetts.

 

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Thanksgiving Day and our Storied History

"Uncle Sam's Thanksgiving Table: Christian Perspectives on American Identity, Inclusion, and Immigration" A panel discussion at Gordon College

Mark Charles, in the first twenty minutes, gives a "myth-busting" Native American perspective. 

 

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Monday Music: Song For The Sacred Elements - Chenoa Egawa & Alex Turtle

 In honor of Native American Heritage Month

 

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Saturday Haiku: Nature's Boundaries

 some plants keep blooming
until the first frost appears –
boundaries enforced

______________________

Photo: Cotton Blossom by Charles Kinnaird

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Friday Funnies: The Older You Get

 

A Native American Oral History of Little Big Horn

Continuing with Native American Heritage Month, some oral history from two Lakota people

Hear some stories of Chief Sitting Bull, Crazy Horse, and Little Big Horn from Lakota voices whose families passed them down.

On YouTube, Reechel Donohue has shared a film she produced of Chief Sitting Bull's great-grandson recounting an oral history as passed down by his people of the battle of Little Big Horn. He also explains some of the Lacota culture and sheds light on the circumstances surrounding Custer's attack on the Lakota people.

 

The site does not allow playback on other sites (such as this blog) but the 12-minute video can be viewed on YouTube at https://youtu.be/u-3NIrXW92s

*   *   *

Chief David Bald Eagle shares in this 18-minute video what his grandfathers told him about Crazy Horse and how his people would send scouts to see if the enemy (the U.S. Cavalry) was anywhere near. His grandfather told him that Crazy horse did not want to be a leader, that he was more spiritually inclined. When Crazy Horse came to their village, they could tell by the way he wore his feather whether the news was good or bad.  

Chief Bald Eagle was himself a WWII veteran (4th Cavalry, 82nd Airborne Division)He was also a musician, a cowboy, and an actor. He died at the age of 97 in 2016, the same year this film was produced.

 

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In Between The Lines: Native American Poetry

In honor of Native American Heritage Month, here is a short film from New Mexico PBS: COLORES | In Between The Lines: Native American Poetry.

"Featured are a remarkable group of Native American teen poets from Pueblos and the Navajo Reservation. For many Native teens, their tie to tradition and culture is blurring, these poets are standing at a crossroads in a rapidly evolving world. In Between the Lines catches that spark that ignites these young writers. We go in-between-the-lines and film them on their home ground in a cinema verite style. Through their poetry we learn of connections: family, the land around them and their native language. We also learn of obstacles: poverty, the drug and alcohol abuse and the dramatic incursion of a modern Western world. How do they keep the tradition and culture alive? Do they even want to hold on to their heritage? How do they see the Western world? Where do they fit in? In Between the Lines intimately looks at the questions these young Native Americans poets face."

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Native American Black Ash Baskets

I'm reading Braiding Sweetgrass, by Robin Wall Kimmerer. A wonderful book of Native American wisdom written by a botanist who is a citizen of the Patawatomi Nation. When I finished her chapter about learning to weave baskets from black ash trees, I was so fascinated, I had to see the process. I found this short video from another indigenous source.

The man in the film demonstrates how he asks permission before cutting the tree, offering a ceremonial gift of tobacco. He also explains to us that one does not take the first tree he finds. He leaves that one to assure future growth and goes on to find the next tree that will serve for making splints for basket weaving.

 

From the YouTube notes:

A functional art form is preserved through the dedication to learning and sharing traditional Native American skills needed to create ash baskets. Abenaki Jesse Larocque walks through the forest to a grove of ash trees and explains how to choose the right tree. Using traditional tools and a demanding technique of rhythm and strength, he pounds the wood splints and then demonstrates the art of creating a basket.

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Monday Music: Cherokee Morning Song

In honor of Native American Heritage Month, here is Cherokee Morning Song with accompanying English translation.

 

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Native American Heritage Month with U.S. Poet Laureate Joy Harjo and Secretary of the Interior Deb Haaland

November is Native American Heritage Month. A number of online events are noted at https://nativeamericanheritagemonth.gov. One of the events was recorded and available on YouTube which I am sharing today:

"To kick off Native American Heritage Month, Joy Harjo, the first Native American U.S. Poet Laureate, joins Deb Haaland, the first Native American cabinet secretary, in a conversation with Librarian of Congress Carla Hayden."

 

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Saturday Haiku: Honorable Harvest*

 

late autumn pokeweed
yields her fruit as birds harvest
what nature offers

___________________

Photo by Charles Kinnaird

*There is a story behind this week's haiku. Earlier in the summer, I saw some pokeweed in my backyard. I left it to grow knowing that the birds would enjoy the berries. I have enjoyed watching them fly down to pick the berries.  I have also been reading Braiding Sweetgrass, by Native American botanist Robin Wall Kimmerer. She offers what she has learned in academia as well as wisdom from her Native American elders. 

One thing she talks about is how her indigenous ancestors were taught to harvest only what is offered, and then to take only half. This assures future harvests as well as protection of the land. One of her chapters is titled "The Honorable Harvest" in which she elaborates on those indigenous principles. From what I observe of the mockingbird, the cardinal, the brown thrasher, and the mourning dove, they practice honorable harvest by taking only what is offered and leaving some for another day.

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Two Poems for Veterans Day

(Photo by Joe Raedle/Getty Images*)

                         

For Veteran's Day, two memorial poems. One by British poet John McCrae and the other by American poet Walt Whitman.

After World War I, November 11 became known as Remembrance Day in Europe, commemorating the end of the war “on the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month.” 

Red poppies bloomed across some of the worst battlefields of Flanders in World War I. Their bright red color came to symbolize the blood spilt in war, and the poppy became the emblem of Remembrance Day because of the poem In Flanders Fields.

In Flanders Fields

By John McCrae

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields. 

       

                                   *         *         *         *         *         *

During the American Civil War, Walt Whitman volunteered as a nurse in army hospitals. He also made visits to the wounded and read the newspaper, literature, and poetry to the young men which many found more comforting than visits from chaplains. The war inspired many poems from Whitman, and he was obviously deeply moved by the conflict within his country.

         Old War Dreams

By Walt Whitman

In midnight sleep of many a face of anguish,
Of the look at first of the mortally wounded, (of that indescribable look,)
Of the dead on their backs with arms extended wide,
I dream, I dream, I dream.

Of scenes of Nature, fields and mountains,
Of skies so beauteous after a storm, and at night the moon so
unearthly bright,
Shining sweetly, shining down, where we dig the trenches and
gather the heaps,
I dream, I dream, I dream.

Long have they pass'd, faces and trenches and fields,
Where through the carnage I moved with a callous composure, or away
from the fallen,
Onward I sped at the time--but now of their forms at night,
I dream, I dream, I dream.

________________________

*Photo: Vietnam Veterans Dennis Byrnes, left, and Billy Sheets touch a plaque at the World War II memorial on Veterans Day as they pay their respects to the soldiers killed during the war Nov. 11, 2004, in Washington, DC. (Photo by Joe Raedle/Getty Images)

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Monday Music: Bring Me Little Water Silvy

A friend introduced me to this version of the song last week. Great harmony, and a tune that will stay delightfully in your head the rest of the day!

Bring Me Little Water, Silvy by Huddie Ledbetter (Leadbelly) Arranged for voices with body percussion by Moira Smiley

 

 

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Jon Meacham on The Soul of America

Since Jon Meacham was recently disinvited from speaking at my alma mater, Samford University, I am re-posting a blog from 2018 in which Mr. Meacham talks with Willie Geist about his book, The Soul of America: The Battle for Our Better Angels. 

Jon Meacham is a former vestryman of Saint Thomas Episcopal Church, Executive Editor at Random House, and distinguished visiting professor at Vanderbilt University. Today, he is being installed as Canon Historian at the Washington Cathedral.

He is a Pulitzer Prize-winning presidential biographer and author of many other books including The Hope of Glory: Reflections on the Last Words of Jesus from the Cross. In short, Jon Meacham is a model of scholarship guided by faith and reason. 

In the Book TV video below, he provides us with a thoughtful, articulate, and intelligent discussion on our history as well as the times we are living in. It is not the current version we would have heard at Samford University, but any opportunity to hear Jon Meacham is definitely time well spent.

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Saturday Haiku: Last Blooms

 

a surprise blossom
brightens the cool grey drizzle
of November days

_____________

Photo: Camellia blossom

Credit: Charles Kinnaird

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