The Healing Art of Forgiveness

"How can we forgive those who do not want to be forgiven? Our deepest desire is that the forgiveness we offer will be received. This mutuality between giving and receiving is what creates peace and harmony. But if our condition for giving forgiveness is that it will be received, we seldom will forgive! Forgiving the other is first and foremost an inner movement. It is an act that removes anger, bitterness, and the desire for revenge from our hearts and helps us to reclaim our human dignity. We cannot force those we want to forgive into accepting our forgiveness. They might not be able or willing do so. They may not even know or feel that they have wounded us.

"The only people we can really change are ourselves. Forgiving others is first and foremost healing our own hearts."

---Henri Nouwen

Anna Karenina

I just finished Anna Karenina, by Leo Tolstoy, a masterpiece in world literature, exquisite in its understanding of love, adultery and death. Here are a few quotes from this famous Russian book, mostly about Konstantin Levin and Kitty, one of the four couples whose lives are its focus. On to War and Peace

"Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way."
- Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina, Book 1, Ch. 1

"The place where [Kitty] stood seemed to him a holy shrine, unapproachable, and there was one moment when he was almost retreating, so overwhelmed was he with terror. He had to make an effort to master himself, and to remind himself that people of all sorts were moving about her, and that he too might come there to skate. He walked down, for a long while avoiding looking at her as at the sun, but seeing her, as one does the sun, without looking."
- Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina, Book 1, Ch. 9

"He could not be mistaken. There were no other eyes like those in the world. There was only one creature in the world who could concentrate for him all the brightness and meaning of life. It was she. It was Kitty."
- Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina, Book 3, Ch. 12

"The longer Levin mowed, the oftener he felt the moments of unconsciousness in which it seemed that the scythe was mowing by itself, a body full of life and consciousness of its own, and as though by magic, without thinking of it, the work turned out regular and precise by itself. These were the most blissful moments."
- Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina, Book 3, Ch. 5

"Levin could not look calmly at his brother; he could not himself be natural and calm in his presence. When he went in to the sick man, his eyes and his attention were unconsciously dimmed, and he did not see and did not distinguish the details of his brother's condition. He smelled the awful odor, saw the dirt, disorder, and miserable condition, and heard the groans, and felt that nothing could be done to help. It never entered his head to analyze the details of the sick man's situation.

"But Kitty thought, and felt, and acted quite differently. On seeing the sick man, she pitied him. And pity in her womanly heart did not arouse at all that feeling of horror and loathing that it aroused in her husband, but a desire to act, to find out the details of his condition, and to remedy them."

- Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina, Book 5, Ch. 18

"I looked for an answer to my question. But reason could not give me an answer-reason is incommensurable with the question. Life itself has given me the answer, in my knowledge of what is good and bad. And that knowledge I did not acquire in any way; it was given to me as to everybody, given because I could not take it from anywhere (p.791)."

[After his brother's illness and death, Levin is preoccupied with thoughts of death and of the meaning of life. In the end of the novel he finds that he believes in the existence of God and finds meaning in his life.]

I Have a Dream Today

"Let us not wallow in the valley of despair, I say to you today, my friends. And so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.

"I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: 'We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.'

"I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia, the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.

"I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.

"I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

"I have a dream today!

"I have a dream that one day, down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of 'interposition' and 'nullification -- one day right there in Alabama little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.

"I have a dream today!

"I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, and every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight; 'and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed and all flesh shall see it together.'

"This is our hope, and this is the faith that I go back to the South with. With this faith, we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith, we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith, we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.

"And this will be the day -- this will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with new meaning:

'My country 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing.
Land where my fathers died, land of the Pilgrim's pride,
From every mountainside, let freedom ring!'

"And if America is to be a great nation, this must become true.

"And so let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire. Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York. Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania. Let freedom ring from the snow-capped Rockies of Colorado. Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California.

"But not only that:

Let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia. Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee. Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi.

From every mountainside, let freedom ring.

And when this happens, when we allow freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual:

'Free at last! Free at last!
Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!'

From the "I have a dream" speech delivered by Martin Luther King forty five years ago today. For the complete text, audio recording and accompanying video, visit American Rhetoric: Martin Luther King, Jr. - I Have a Dream

The Speech at Ilyusha's Stone

From The Brothers Karamazov Chapter 3 - Ilusha's Funeral. The Speech at the Stone

"...It was the coffin of poor little Ilusha. He had died two days after Mitya was sentenced. At the gate of the house Alyosha was met by the shouts of the boys, Ilusha's schoolfellows. They had all been impatiently expecting him and were glad that he had come at last. There were about twelve of them, they all had their school-bags or satchels on their shoulders. "Father will cry, be with father," Ilusha had told them as he lay dying, and the boys remembered it. Kolya Krassotkin was the foremost of them.

"How glad I am you've come, Karamazov!" he cried, holding out his hand to Alyosha. "It's awful here. It's really horrible to see it..."

Alyosha went into the room. Ilusha lay with his hands folded and his eyes closed in a blue coffin with a white frill round it. His thin face was hardly changed at all, and strange to say there was no smell of decay from the corpse. The expression of his face was serious and, as it were, thoughtful. His hands, crossed over his breast, looked particularly beautiful, as though chiselled in marble. There were flowers in his hands and the coffin...

[Ilusha's father] Snegiryov's face looked eager, yet bewildered and exasperated. There was something crazy about his gestures and the words that broke from him. "Old man, dear old man!" he exclaimed every minute, gazing at Ilusha. It was his habit to call Ilusha "old man," as a term of affection when he was alive...

The boys, seeing that the father would not leave the coffin and that it was time to carry it out, stood round it in a close circle and began to lift it up.

"I don't want him to be buried in the churchyard," Snegiryov wailed suddenly; "I'll bury him by the stone, by our stone! Ilusha told me to. I won't let him be carried out!" He had been saying for the last three days that he would bury him by the stone, but Alyosha, Krassotkin, the landlady, her sister and all the boys interfered... At last the captain made a gesture of despair as though to say, "Take him where you will."

..At last came the funeral service itself and candles were distributed. The distracted father began fussing about again, but the touching and impressive funeral prayers moved and roused his soul. He seemed suddenly to shrink together and broke into rapid, short sobs, which he tried at first to smother, but at last he sobbed aloud.

When they began taking leave of the dead and closing the coffin, he flung his arms about, as though he would not allow them to cover Ilusha, and began greedily and persistently kissing his dead boy on the lips. At last they succeeded in persuading him to come away from the step, but suddenly he impulsively stretched out his hand and snatched a few flowers from the coffin. He looked at them and a new idea seemed to dawn upon him, so that he apparently forgot his grief for a minute. Gradually he seemed to sink into brooding and did not resist when the coffin was lifted up and carried to the grave...

Kolya ran out of the room, the boys followed him. At last Alyosha too went out.

"Let them weep," he said to Kolya, "it's no use trying to comfort them just now. Let wait a minute and then go back."

Meantime they were strolling slowly along the path and suddenly Smurov exclaimed:

"There's Ilusha's stone, under which they wanted to bury him."

They all stood still by the big stone... A sudden impulse seemed to come into his [Alyosha's] soul. With a serious and earnest expression he looked from one to another of the bright, pleasant faces of Ilusha's schoolfellows, and suddenly said to them:

"Boys, I should like to say one word to you, here at this place."

The boys stood round him and at once bent attentive and expectant eyes upon him.

"Boys, we shall soon part. I shall be for some time with my two brothers, of whom one is going to Siberia and the other is lying at death's door. But soon I shall leave this town, perhaps for a long time, so we shall part. Let us make a compact here, at Ilusha's stone, that we will never forget Ilusha and one another.

And whatever happens to us later in life, if we don't meet for twenty years afterwards, let us always remember how we buried the poor boy at whom we once threw stones, do you remember, by the bridge? and afterwards we all grew so fond of him. He was a fine boy, a kindhearted, brave boy, he felt for his father's honour and resented the cruel insult to him and stood up for him.

And so in the first place, we will remember him, boys, all our lives. And even if we are occupied with most important things, if we attain to honour or fall into great misfortune- still let us remember how good it was once here, when we were all together, united by a good and kind feeling which made us, for the time we were loving that poor boy, better perhaps than we are. My little doves let me call you so, for you are very like them, those pretty blue birds, at this minute as I look at your good dear faces. My dear children, perhaps you won't understand what I am saying to you, because I often speak very unintelligibly, but you'll remember all the same and will agree with my words some time.

You must know that there is nothing higher and stronger and more wholesome and good for life in the future than some good memory, especially a memory of childhood, of home. People talk to you a great deal about your education, but some good, sacred memory, preserved from childhood, is perhaps the best education. If a man carries many such memories with him into life, he is safe to the end of his days, and if one has only one good memory left in one's heart, even that may sometime be the means of saving us.

Perhaps we may even grow wicked later on, may be unable to refrain from a bad action, may laugh at men's tears and at those people who say as Kolya did just now, 'I want to suffer for all men,' and may even jeer spitefully at such people. But however bad we may become- which God forbid- yet, when we recall how we buried Ilusha, how we loved him in his last days, and how we have been talking like friends all together, at this stone, the cruellest and most mocking of us- if we do become so will not dare to laugh inwardly at having been kind and good at this moment! What's more, perhaps, that one memory may keep him from great evil and he will reflect and say, 'Yes, I was good and brave and honest then!' Let him laugh to himself, that's no matter, a man often laughs at what's good and kind. That's only from thoughtlessness. But I assure you, boys, that as he laughs he will say at once in his heart, 'No, I do wrong to laugh, for that's not a thing to laugh at.'

"That will be so, I understand you, Karamazov!" cried Kolya, with flashing eyes.

The boys were excited and they, too, wanted to say something, but they restrained themselves, looking with intentness and emotion at the speaker.

"I say this in case we become bad," Alyosha went on, "but there's no reason why we should become bad, is there, boys? Let us be, first and above all, kind, then honest and then let us never forget each other! I say that again. I give you my word for my part that I'll never forget one of you. Every face looking at me now I shall remember even for thirty years. Just now Kolya said to Kartashov that we did not care to know whether he exists or not. But I cannot forget that Kartashov exists and that he is not blushing now as he did when he discovered the founders of Troy, but is looking at me with his jolly, kind, dear little eyes.

Boys, my dear boys, let us all be generous and brave like Ilusha, clever, brave and generous like Kolya (though he will be ever so much cleverer when he is grown up), and let us all be as modest, as clever and sweet as Kartashov. But why am I talking about those two? You are all dear to me, boys; from this day forth, I have a place in my heart for you all, and I beg you to keep a place in your hearts for me! Well, and who has united us in this kind, good feeling which we shall remember and intend to remember all our lives? Who, if not Ilusha, the good boy, the dear boy, precious to us for ever! Let us never forget him. May his memory live for ever in our hearts from this time forth!"

"Yes, yes, for ever, for ever!" the boys cried in their ringing voices, with softened faces.

"Let us remember his face and his clothes and his poor little boots, his coffin and his unhappy, sinful father, and how boldly he stood up for him alone against the whole school."

"We will remember, we will remember," cried the boys. "He was brave, he was good!"

"Ah, how I loved him!" exclaimed Kolya.

"Ah, children, ah, dear friends, don't be afraid of life! How good life is when one does something good and just!"

"Yes, yes," the boys repeated enthusiastically.

"Karamazov, we love you!" a voice, probably Kartashov's, cried impulsively.

"We love you, we love you!" they all caught it up. There were tears in the eyes of many of them.

"Hurrah for Karamazov!" Kolya shouted ecstatically.

"And may the dead boy's memory live for ever!" Alyosha added again with feeling.

"For ever!" the boys chimed in again.

"Karamazov," cried Kolya, "can it be true what's taught us in religion, that we shall all rise again from the dead and shall live and see each other again, all, Ilusha too?"

"Certainly we shall all rise again, certainly we shall see each other and shall tell each other with joy and gladness all that has happened!" Alyosha answered, half laughing, half enthusiastic.

"Ah, how splendid it will be!" broke from Kolya.

"Well, now we will finish talking and go to his funeral dinner. Don't be put out at our eating pancakes- it's a very old custom and there's something nice in that!" laughed Alyosha. "Well, let us go! And now we go hand in hand."

"And always so, all our lives hand in hand! Hurrah for Karamazov!"

Kolya cried once more rapturously, and once more the boys took up his exclamation:

"Hurrah for Karamazov!"

Set Up for Successful New Year Resolutions

"There are two common mistakes that people tend to make when they start to make their New Year resolutions: They think about what they 'should' do, rather than what they really want to do. And worse, they think about what they should stop doing, rather than what they actually want to achieve. 'What should I do this year?' 'What should I stop doing?', 'What do other people suggest I should work on?'

"To be successful at any change, you need to really want it. Unless you take the time to think about what it is that you really want you (rather than what you should do or should stop doing), you will invariably end up making resolutions that you are not fully committed to.

"Without commitment, you aren't motivated. After the first setbacks or obstacles, you'll probably quit. So the first rule of New Year Resolutions is to only make resolutions that you can commit to – don't make them because it is 'the thing to do', or because someone has told you that you should...

"Eight Rules for New Year's Resolutions

"Our Eight Rules for New Year's Resolutions will help to set you up for success right from the start. Inevitably you will come up against challenges and road blocks along the way; however by planning ahead and following these rules, you'll be better placed to deal with these problems easily, rather than stumble and quit.

"Rule 1: Commit to Your Resolution...

Choose resolutions that you really want to achieve – and express them in a positive way.
Announce your resolution to everyone around you – they will help to hold you accountable.
Develop a ceremony to mark the beginning of your commitment – this makes it more "real" and special for you.
Don't leave your choice of resolution to the last minute - take time to think about your goals, and make sure that you are mentally committed to them...

"Rule 2: Be Realistic...

"Rule 3: Write It Down...

"Rule 4: Make a Plan

Start by envisioning where you want to be.
Then work back along your path to where you are today, writing down all of the milestones that you need to pass in between.
Decide what you will do to reach each of these milestones, at least at a high level. (You can plan in more detail as you reach that stage.)

"Rule 5: Be Flexible
Not everything will work out precisely the way you planned. If you are too rigid in your approach to making resolutions, the first minor obstacle can throw you off your course completely..."

Rule 6: Use a System of Reminders...

Rule 7: Track Your Progress...

Rule 8: Reward Yourself..."

From the Mind Tools newsletter

Happy Holidays? Bah! Humbug!

I avoid using the sappy, vapid phrase "Happy Holidays." I much prefer greeting others during the holidays with "Merry Christmas." I find it hard to understand how anyone could be offended by such a greeting, although I sometimes substitute the more traditional, "Season's Greetings" in a pinch.

Many of my friends and colleagues are Jewish, and I am relatively certain that none of them has ever been offended by hearing a hearty "Merry Christmas" greeting from me. Nor am I offended when I am wished a joyous and happy new year when Rosh Hashana rolls around. If someone is wishing for me happiness and blessings, then I am all for it.

As Dave Hoggard puts it:

"My traditional holiday greeting is not intended as an insult or to disparage anyone, I just truly dislike the phrase "Happy Holidays". "Merry Christmas" means something. "Habari Gani" means something. "Happy Chanukah" means something. "Happy Holidays" means nothing more than "I hold no traditions nor beliefs dear and don't think you should either, but I hope your few days off of work are pleasant."

Or as David C. Stolinsky, M.D., who is Jewish, states in this provocative article:

"This year it seems that fewer people wish one another "Merry Christmas." Instead, in an effort not to give offense, they say "Happy Holidays."

"Obviously, Christmas means the most to Christians, who make up the large majority of Americans. Yet non-Christians can also enjoy the beauty of the season, and they can honor the holiday without observing it – unless they are eager to take offense...

"Some would distort freedom of religion into freedom from religion. They take offense at anything that does not accord with their own beliefs – or lack of belief. They insist that the nation revolve around them...

"Is there too much happiness in the world? Is there a shortage of sadness and grief? Does hearing 'Joy to the world' really cause a problem? Is there too much friendship in the world? Is there a deficiency of hatred and strife? Does 'Peace on earth, good will toward men' really sound oppressive?...

"Is there too much fellowship in the world? Is there a dearth of hostility and ill will? Does a hearty 'Merry Christmas!' really give offense?

"Is there too much light in the world? Is there a scarcity of darkness and gloom? Do pretty lights really cause distress?

"A wise man said that it is better to light one candle than to curse the darkness. But what would he have thought of those who curse the candle?"

The Wonderfullest Christmas

"The gifted storyteller and former radio broadcaster John Henry Faulk recorded his Christmas story in 1974 for the program Voices in the Wind...

"Before the John Henry Faulk Show debut in 1951 on WCBS Radio, Faulk hosted numerous radio programs in New York and New Jersey. He was blacklisted in 1957, but with support from Edward R. Murrow, won a libel suit against the corporation that branded him a Communist. Faulk's book, Fear on Trial, published in 1963, chronicles this experience. Later in his career, Faulk appeared on Hee-Haw, wrote and produced the one-man plays Deep in the Heart and Pear Orchard, Texas, and made an unsuccessful bid for a congressional seat in 1983.

"In 1990, John Henry Faulk died of cancer in his hometown of Austin. The downtown branch of the public library there now bears his name."

You may read and listen to this wonderful story about the joy of simplicity, sharing and fellowship by visiting NPR : 'Christmas Story'. Found via this Tammy Lenski post.

Christmas accross Flickr Commons

A&P, COFFEE, SANTA CLAUS
from George Eastman House

On Flickr, you can check out public domain photos tagged with "christmas" from the collections of George Eastman House, State Library of New South Wales, Nationaal Archief, and The Library of Congress.

Magnificat of Mary

My soul sings in gratitude.
I'm dancing in the mystery of God.
The light of the Holy One is within me
and I am blessed, so truly blessed.

This goes deeper than human thinking.
I am filled with awe
at Love whose only condition
is to be received.

The gift is not for the proud,
for they have no room for it.
The strong and self-sufficient ones
don't have this awareness.

But those who know their emptiness
can rejoice in Love's fullness.

It's the Love that we are made for,
the reason for our being.

It fills our inmost heart space
and brings to birth in us, the Holy One.

--Joy Cowley, Auckland, New Zealand

Courtesy of the newsletter of Bishop John Shelby Spong who states

In honor of the Christmas season, I would like to publish with the permission of its author, Joy Cowley, a Roman Catholic Christian from Auckland, New Zealand, her translation of the words of Mary's Song from the birth narrative of the Gospel of Luke. That song, called "The Magnificat," can be found in Luke 1:46-55*. Joy understands the essential task of the modern disciple of Jesus to make yesterday's words capable of being understood in the words of the 21st century. I am grateful to her for her gift.

*46
And Mary said: 16 "My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord;
47
my spirit rejoices in God my savior.
48
For he has looked upon his handmaid's lowliness; behold, from now on will all ages call me blessed.
49
The Mighty One has done great things for me, and holy is his name.
50
His mercy is from age to age to those who fear him.
51
He has shown might with his arm, dispersed the arrogant of mind and heart.
52
He has thrown down the rulers from their thrones but lifted up the lowly.
53
The hungry he has filled with good things; the rich he has sent away empty.
54
He has helped Israel his servant, remembering his mercy,
55
according to his promise to our fathers, to Abraham and to his descendants forever."

Bing & Bowie Sing Little Drummer Boy

"Christmas variety shows were an inescapable part of Christmas for about 30 years, hosted by Perry Como (who did no less than 39 Christmas specials), John Denver, Bob Hope, The Carpenters and many others. One of the more serious, without the usual comedy sketches and “surprise” appearances by Santa, was Johnny Cash’s 1977 Christmas special, including an all-star tribute to Cash’s friend Elvis Presley, who had died a few months earlier. That same year, however, provided an even more unusual, and even more moving, Christmas show.

'For his sixteenth Christmas special in a row, legendary singer Bing Crosby wanted to sing with a young star. As he was on a concert tour of London, someone suggested 30-year-old David Bowie, who was then one of Britain’s more offbeat glam-rock artists. Bowie happened to be a huge Crosby fan, so he jumped at the chance. In a segment filmed on September 11, they sang “Little Drummer Boy,” which was perfect for Crosby’s crooning, but as Bowie’s voice was higher, he also sang Peace on Earth as part of the same number. Bing was impressed by the “clean-cut kid” and gave him his phone number. Sadly, the crooner died a month later, giving extra poignancy to the special when it was shown in November."



from mental_floss Blog » 8 Great TV Christmas Specials.

Christmas is About Hope

"[The Christmas story] is a story about hope (because all babies are about hope for the future); a story for ordinary people (because the angels appeared to shepherds); a story about a star (a symbol of light in a dark world); a story about wise men (the search for wisdom); a story about love (Mary and Joseph's love for their baby born in dubious and uncomfortable circumstances); a story about angels (if God is love, then angels are messengers of love); and a story, above all, about peace and goodwill on Earth!

'We all need that story. We all suspend belief when it comes to turtles racing hares, but we all can get the message."

--Margaret Rolfe

Scrooge Sat Counting

"..Once upon a time -- of all the good days in the year, on Christmas Eve -- old Scrooge sat busy in his counting-house...The door of Scrooge's counting-house was open that he might keep his eye upon his clerk, who in a dismal little cell beyond, a sort of tank was copying letters...

'A merry Christmas, uncle! God save you!' cried a cheerful voice. It was the voice of Scrooge's nephew, who came upon him so quickly that this was the first intimation he had of his approach.

'Bah!' said Scrooge, 'Humbug!'

He had so heated himself with rapid walking in the fog and frost, this nephew of Scrooge's, that he was all in a glow; his face was ruddy and handsome; his eyes sparkled, and his breath smoked again.

'Christmas a humbug, uncle!' said Scrooge's nephew. 'You don't mean that, I am sure?'

'I do,' said Scrooge. 'Merry Christmas! What right have you to be merry? What reason have you to be merry? You're poor enough.'

'Come, then,' returned the nephew gaily. 'What right have you to be dismal? What reason have you to be morose? You're rich enough.'

Scrooge having no better answer ready on the spur of the moment, said, 'Bah!' again; and followed it up with 'Humbug!'

'Don't be cross, uncle.' said the nephew. 'What else can I be,' returned the uncle, 'when I live in such a world of fools as this? Merry Christmas! Out upon merry Christmas. What's Christmas time to you but a time for paying bills without money; a time for finding yourself a year older, but not an hour richer; a time for balancing your books and having every item in them through a round dozen of months presented dead against you? If I could work my will,' said Scrooge indignantly,'every idiot who goes about with 'Merry Christmas' on his lips, should be boiled with his own pudding, and buried with a stake of holly through his heart. He should!'

'Uncle!' pleaded the nephew.

'Nephew!' returned the uncle, sternly, 'keep Christmas in your own way, and let me keep it in mine.'

'Keep it!' repeated Scrooge's nephew. 'But you don't keep it.'

'Let me leave it alone, then,' said Scrooge. 'Much good may it do you! Much good it has ever done you!'

'There are many things from which I might have derived good, by which I have not profited, I dare say,' returned the nephew. 'Christmas among the rest. But I am sure I have always thought of Christmas time, when it has come round -apart from the veneration due to its sacred name and origin, if anything belonging to it can be apart from that- as a good time; a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time; the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow-passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys. And therefore, uncle, though it has never put a scrap of gold or silver in my pocket, I believe that it has done me good, and will do me good; and I say, God bless it!'

The clerk in the tank involuntarily applauded. Becoming immediately sensible of the impropriety, he poked the fire, and extinguished the last frail spark for ever.

'Let me hear another sound from you,' said Scrooge, 'and you'll keep your Christmas by losing your situation! You're quite a powerful speaker, sir,' he added, turning to his nephew. 'I wonder you don't go into Parliament.'"

Read the rest at A Christmas Carol or check out this public domain movie: Scrooge in which Seymour Hicks plays the title role in the first sound version of the Dickens classic. This British import is notable for being the only adaptation of this story with an invisible Marley's Ghost and its Expressionistic cinematography. This is the uncut 78 minute version.

Christmas Day in the Morning, by Pearl S. Buck

.

He woke suddenly and completely. It was four o'clock, the hour at which his father had always called him to get up and help with the milking. Strange how the habits of his youth clung to him still! Fifty years ago, and his father had been dead for thirty years, and yet he waked at four o'clock in the morning. He had trained himself to turn over and go to sleep, but this morning it was Christmas, he did not try to sleep.

Why did he feel so awake tonight? He slipped back in time, as he did so easily nowadays. He was fifteen years old and still on his father's farm. He loved his father. He had not known it until one day a few days before Christmas, when he had overheard what his father was saying to his mother.

"Mary, I hate to call Rob in the mornings. He's growing so fast and he needs his sleep. If you could see how he sleeps when I go in to wake him up! I wish I could manage alone."

"Well, you can't Adam." His mother's voice as brisk, "Besides, he isn't a child anymore. It's time he took his turn."

"Yes," his father said slowly. "But I sure do hate to wake him."

When he heard these words, something in him spoke: his father loved him! He had never thought of that before, taking for granted the tie of their blood. Neither his father nor his mother talked about loving their children--they had no time for such things. There was always so much to do on the farm.

Now that he knew his father loved him, there would be no loitering in the mornings and having to be called again. He got up after that, stumbling blindly in his sleep, and pulled on his clothes, his eyes shut, but he got up.

And then on the night before Christmas, that year when he was fifteen, he lay for a few minutes thinking about the next day. They were poor, and most of the excitement was in the turkey they had raised themselves and mince pies his mother made. His sisters sewed presents and his mother and father always bought something he needed, not only a warm jacket, maybe, but something more, such as a book. And he saved and bought them each something, too.

He wished, that Christmas when he was fifteen, he had a better present for his father. As usual he had gone to the ten-cent store and bought a tie. It had seemed nice enough until he lay thinking the night before Christmas. He looked out of his attic window, the stars were bright.

"Dad," he had once asked when he was a little boy, "What is a stable?"

"It's just a barn," his father had replied, "like ours."

Then Jesus had been born in a barn, and to a barn the shepherds had come...

The thought struck him like a silver dagger. Why should he not give his father a special gift too, out there in the barn? He could get up early, earlier than four o'clock, and he could creep into the barn and get all the milking done. He'd do it alone, milk and clean up, and then when his fatherwent in to start the milking he'd see it all done. And he would know who had done it. He laughed to himself as he gazed at the stars. It was what he would do, and he musn't sleep too sound.

He must have waked twenty times, scratching a match each time to look at his old watch-midnight, and half past one, and then two o'clock.

At a quarter to three he got up and put on his clothes. He crept downstairs, careful of the creaky boards, and let himself out. The cows looked at him, sleepy and surprised. It was early for them too.

He had never milked all alone before, but it seemed almost easy. He kept thinking about his father's surprise. His father would come in and get him, saying that he would get things started while Rob was getting dressed. He'd go to the barn, open the door, and then he'd go get the two big empty milk cans. But they wouldn't be waiting or empty, they'd be standing in the milk-house, filled.

"What the--," he could hear his father exclaiming.

He smiled and milked steadily, two strong streams rushing into the pail, frothing and fragrant.

The task went more easily than he had ever known it to go before. Milking for once was not a chore. It was something else, a gift to his father who loved him. He finished, the two milk cans were full, and he covered them and closed the milk-house door carefully, making sure of the latch.

Back in his room he had only a minute to pull off his clothes in the darkness and jump into bed, for he heard his father up. He put the covers over his head to silence his quick breathing. The door opened.

"Rob!" His father called. "We have to get up, son, even if it is Christmas."

"Aw-right," he said sleepily.

The door closed and he lay still, laughing to himself. In just a few minutes his father would know. His dancing heart was ready to jump from his body.

The minutes were endless--ten, fifteen, he did not know how many--and he heard his father's footsteps again. The door opened and he lay still.

"Rob!"

"Yes, Dad--"

His father was laughing, a queer sobbing sort of laugh.

"Thought you'd fool me, did you?" His father was standing by his bed, feeling for him, pulling away the cover.

"It's for Christmas, Dad!"

He found his father and clutched him in a great hug. He felt his father's arms go around him. It was dark and they could not see each other's faces.

"Son, I thank you. Nobody ever did a nicer thing--"

"Oh, Dad, I want you to know--I do want to be good!" The words broke from him of their own will. He did not know what to say. His heart was bursting with love.

He got up and pulled on his clothes again and they went down to the Christmas tree. Oh what a Christmas, and how his heart had nearly burst again with shyness and pride as his father told his mother and made the younger children listen about how he, Rob, had got up all by himself.

"The best Christmas gift I ever had, and I'll remember it, son every year on Christmas morning, so long as I live."

They had both remembered it, and now that his father was dead, he remembered it alone: that blessed Christmas dawn when, alone with the cows in the barn, he had made his first gift of true love.

This Christmas he wanted to write a card to his wife and tell her how much he loved her, it had been a long time since he had really told her, although he loved her in a very special way, much more than he ever had when they were young. He had been fortunate that she had loved him. Ah, that was the true joy of life, the ability to love. Love was still alive in him, it still was.

It occurred to him suddenly that it was alive because long ago it had been born in him when he knew his father loved him. That was it: Love alone could awaken love. And he could give the gift again and again. This morning, this blessed Christmas morning, he would give it to his beloved wife. He I could write it down in a letter for her to read and keep forever. He went to his desk and began his love letter to his wife: My dearest love...

Such a happy, happy, Christmas!

Yes, Virginia

I am 8 years old. Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus. Papa says "If you see it in The Sun it's so." Please tell me the truth, is there a Santa Claus?

VIRGINIA O'HANLON
New York, N.Y.

Note: Virginia O'Hanlon wrote this to the editor of the New York Sun in September 1897.

Mr. Church's response was printed as a column in the New York Sun Sept. 21, 1897.

Virginia, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe unless they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men's or children's, are little. In this great universe of ours, man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect, as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus! It would be as dreary as if there were no Virginias. There would be no childlike faith, then, and no poetry, no romance, to make tolerable this existence. We would have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.

Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies! You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas Eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if they did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that's no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.

You tear apart the baby's rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived, could tear apart. Only faith, fancy, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it real? Ah, Virginia, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.

No Santa Claus! Thank God he lives, and he lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay ten times ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.

FRANCIS P. CHURCH
Editorialist
New York Sun
New York, N.Y.

The Man and the Birds reead by Paul Harvey

The man to whom I'm going to introduce you was not a scrooge, he was a kind decent, mostly good man. Generous to his family, upright in his dealings with other men. But he just didn't believe all that incarnation stuff which the churches proclaim at Christmas Time. It just didn't make sense and he was too honest to pretend otherwise. He just couldn't swallow the Jesus Story, about God coming to Earth as a man.

"I'm truly sorry to distress you," he told his wife, "but I'm not going with you to church this Christmas Eve." He said he'd feel like a hypocrite. That he'd much rather just stay at home, but that he would wait up for them. And so he stayed and they went to the midnight service.

Shortly after the family drove away in the car, snow began to fall. He went to the window to watch the flurries getting heavier and heavier and then went back to his fireside chair and began to read his newspaper. Minutes later he was startled by a thudding sound...Then another, and then another. Sort of a thump or a thud...At first he thought someone must be throwing snowballs against his living room window.

But when he went to the front door to investigate he found a flock of birds huddled miserably in the snow. They'd been caught in the storm and, in a desperate search for shelter, had tried to fly through his large landscape window. Well, he couldn't let the poor creatures lie there and freeze, so he remembered the barn where his children stabled their pony. That would provide a warm shelter, if he could direct the birds to it.

Quickly he put on a coat, galoshes, tramped through the deepening snow to the barn. He opened the doors wide and turned on a light, but the birds did not come in. He figured food would entice them in. So he hurried back to the house, fetched bread crumbs, sprinkled them on the snow, making a trail to the yellow-lighted wide open doorway of the stable. But to his dismay, the birds ignored the bread crumbs, and continued to flap around helplessly in the snow.

He tried catching them...He tried shooing them into the barn by walking around them waving his arms...Instead, they scattered in every direction, except into the warm, lighted barn. And then, he realized that they were afraid of him. To them, he reasoned, I am a strange and terrifying creature.

If only I could think of some way to let them know that they can trust me...That I am not trying to hurt them, but to help them. But how? Because any move he made tended to frighten them, confuse them. They just would not follow. They would not be led or shooed because they feared him.

"If only I could be a bird," he thought to himself, "and mingle with them and speak their language. Then I could tell them not to be afraid. Then I could show them the way to safe, warm...to the safe warm barn. But I would have to be one of them so they could see, and hear and understand."

At that moment the church bells began to ring. The sound reached his ears above the sounds of the wind. And he stood there listening to the bells - Adeste Fidelis - listening to the bells pealing the glad tidings of Christmas. And he sank to his knees in the snow.

---to listen to Paul Harvey reading this story click KFFB 106.1 FM — Arkansas Radio - Paul Harvey and “The Man and the Birds a Christmas Story”

Christmas & Hannukah to Merge

Continuing the current trend of large-scale mergers and acquisitions, it was announced today at a press conference that Christmas and Hannukah will merge. An industry source said that the deal had been in the works for about 1300 years.

While details were not available at press time, it is believed that the overhead cost of having twelve days of Christmas and eight days of Hannukah was becoming prohibitive for both sides. By combining forces, we're told, the world will be able to enjoy consistently high-quality service during the fifteen days of Christmukah, as the new holiday is being called.

Massive layoffs are expected, with lords-a-leaping and maids-a-milking being the hardest hit.

As part of the conditions of the agreement, the letters on the dreidel currently in hebrew, will be replaced by latin, thus becoming unintelligible to a wider audience.

Also, instead of translating to "a great miracle happened there," the message on the dreidel will be the more generic "miraculous stuff happens."

In exchange, it is believed that Jews will be allowed to use Santa Claus and his vast merchandising resources for buying and delivering their gifts.

In fact, one of the sticking points holding up the agreement for at least three hundred years was the question of whether Jewish children could leave milk and cookies for Santa even after having eaten meat for dinner. A breakthrough came last year, when Oreos were finally declared to be kosher.

All sides appeared happy about this. A spokesman for Christmas, Inc., declined to say whether a takeover of Kwanzaa might not be in the works as well. He merely pointed out that were it not for the independent existence of Kwanzaa, the merger between Christmas and Hanukkah might indeed be seen as an unfair cornering of the U.S. holiday market. Fortunately for all concerned, he said, Kwanzaa will help to maintain the competitive balance.

He then closed the press conference by leading all present in a rousing rendition of "Oy, Come All Ye Faithful."

(An oldie but a goodie)

Santa Scaredy Pants

10670833
Originally uploaded by TigerTigerTiger.

"Through the ages, children have taken refuge on Santa Claus' lap for the annual beg of Christmas goodies. Not all kids enjoy this necessity of life, as the big collection of funny real people pictures on display at southflorida.com attests. See tears and fears.

I also enjoyed the bad beards."

From South Florida Sun-Sentinel.com via this about.com post.

8 Steps to Happiness

Happiness expert Sonja Lyubomirsky suggests these 8 steps to a more satisfying life.

1. Count your blessings. One way to do this is with a "gratitude journal" in which you write down 3 to 5 things for which you are currently thankful...
2. Practice acts of kindness...

3. Savor Life's Joys...

4. Thank a mentor...
5. Learn to forgive...

6. Invest Time and Energy in Friends and Family...
7. Take care of your body... Getting plenty of sleep, exercising, stretching, smiling and laughing can all enhance your mood in the short term. Practiced regularly, they can help make your daily life more satisfying.
8. Develop strategies for coping with stress and hardship...

Read more in this beliefnet.com post

Inspirations for Grateful Living

To be grateful is to recognize the Love of God in everything.
--Thomas Merton

from www.gratefulness.org

Reflect upon your present blessings, of which every man has plenty; not on your past misfortunes of which all men have some.
--Charles Dickens

Gratitude is not only the greatest of virtues, but the parent of all others.
--Cicero

Gratitude unlocks the fullness of life. It turns what we have into enough, and more. It turns denial into acceptance, chaos to order, confusion to clarity. It can turn a meal into a feast, a house into a home, a stranger into a friend. Gratitude makes sense of our past, brings peace for today, and creates a vision for tomorrow.
--Melody Beattie

O Lord, who lends me life, lend me a heart replete with thankfulness.
--William Shakespeare

In our daily lives, we must see that it is not happiness that makes us grateful, but the gratefulness that makes us happy.
--Albert Clarke

There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.
--Albert Einstein

You have no cause for anything but gratitude and joy.
--The Buddha

If the only prayer you ever say in your entire life is thank you, it will be enough. --Meister Eckhart

from What is Gratitude?

All God's Children

"If we literalize the scriptures, as Christians have tended to do and which fundamentalists do without apology or hesitancy, we also literalize the prejudices of that era, which were against democracy, against people of color, against women and against homosexual persons. If on the other hand, we see the Bible as one stage of our development that is ongoing as we walk deeper and deeper into the mystery of God, we greet our emancipation from each of these prejudices with a sense of relief and joy.

"That journey into the mystery of God captures the deepest essence of both Paul and John. Paul asks us to seek the full stature of Christ Jesus that is within us, and John has Jesus define his purpose as giving us life abundantly. Neither of these goals is possible if we are hardened by debilitating prejudices that violate the dignity of any child of God."

--- Bishop John Shelby Spong -- A New Christianity for a New World

Meditation Creates Better Relationships

There's increasing evidence that the simple practice of mindfulness meditation can re-wire your brain. In key areas, you can literally change and grow neural connections which support finding and creating better relationships. And in nine different ways, your brain can become more like those who grew up knowing how to love and be loved in healthy, sustainable ways....

"1. Better management of your body's reactions.
Stress and anger lose their grip on your body more quickly and easily. When you get home from a hard day at work, you aren't still carrying the pent-up tension and frustration in your body, and so you won't be driven towards an angry reaction to your partner's benign comment...

"2. Emotional resiliency...

"3. Better, more "tuned in" communication...

"4. Response flexibility.
We often have a fairly limited repertoire of how we respond to those situations that just "set us off." Some people always blame and yell when they feel ashamed; others cry whenever receiving criticism, even if it is constructive and positive.

The habits of our nervous system can seem like electrical surges, leaving us vulnerable to making a real mess when we don't mean to. Having an emotional circuit breaker makes a real difference - creating the space for you to have a more mindful, conscious response. Mindfulness meditation, by beefing up areas which essentially buy us a tiny bit more time before we respond in a knee-jerk way, improves response flexibility.

"5. Improved empathy...

"6. Improved insight (self-knowing)...
Through meditation practice, the brain gets re-wired and "remembers," more often and more easily, who you really are - not just your thoughts and feelings, so they don't carry you away.

"7. Better modulation of fear...

"8. Enhanced intuition...."

Read more in this article from Psychology Today

In Flanders Fields

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.

"The poem 'In Flanders Fields' by the Canadian army physician John McCrae remains to this day one of the most memorable war poems ever written. It is a lasting legacy of the terrible battle in the Ypres salient in the spring of 1915.

"The most asked question is: why poppies?

"Wild poppies flower when other plants in their direct neighbourhood are dead. Their seeds can lie on the ground for years and years, but only when there are no more competing flowers or shrubs in the vicinity (for instance when someone firmly roots up the ground), these seeds will sprout.

"There was enough rooted up soil on the battlefield of the Western Front; in fact the whole front consisted of churned up soil. So in May 1915, when McCrae wrote his poem, around him bloodred poppies blossomed like no one had ever seen before."

Find much more on this poem and its author here.

Dostoevsky's Sonia reads Lazarus

“So you pray to God a great deal, Sonia?” he asked her.

Sonia did not speak; he stood beside her waiting for an answer.

“What should I be without God?” she whispered rapidly, forcibly, glancing at him with suddenly flashing eyes, and squeezing his hand.

“Ah, so that is it!” he thought.

“And what does God do for you?” he asked, probing her further.

Sonia was silent a long while, as though she could not answer. Her weak chest kept heaving with emotion.

“Be silent! Don't ask! You don't deserve!” she cried suddenly, looking sternly and wrathfully at him.

“That's it, that's it,” he repeated to himself.

“He does everything,” she whispered quickly, looking down again.

“That's the way out! That's the explanation,” he decided, scrutinising her with eager curiosity, with a new, strange, almost morbid feeling. He gazed at that pale, thin, irregular, angular little face, those soft blue eyes, which could flash with such fire, such stern energy, that little body still shaking with indignation and anger–and it all seemed to him more and more strange, almost impossible. “She is a religious maniac!” he repeated to himself.

There was a book lying on the chest of drawers. He had noticed it every time he paced up and down the room. Now he took it up and looked at it. It was the New Testament in the Russian translation. It was bound in leather, old and worn.

“Where did you get that?” he called to her across the room.

She was still standing in the same place, three steps from the table.

“It was brought me,” she answered, as it were unwillingly, not looking at him.

“Who brought it?”

“Lizaveta, I asked her for it.”

“Lizaveta! strange!” he thought.

Everything about Sonia seemed to him stranger and more wonderful every moment. He carried the book to the candle and began to turn over the pages.

“Where is the story of Lazarus?” he asked suddenly.

Sonia looked obstinately at the ground and would not answer. She was standing sideways to the table.

“Where is the raising of Lazarus? Find it for me, Sonia.”

She stole a glance at him.

“You are not looking in the right place. . . . It’s in the fourth gospel,” she whispered sternly, without looking at him.

“Find it and read it to me,” he said. He sat down with his elbow on the table, leaned his head on his hand and looked away sullenly, prepared to listen.

“In three weeks' time they'll welcome me in the madhouse! I shall be there if I am not in a worse place,” he muttered to himself.

Sonia heard Raskolnikov's request distrustfully and moved hesitatingly to the table. She took the book however.

“Haven't you read it?” she asked, looking up at him across the table.

Her voice became sterner and sterner.

“Long ago. . . . When I was at school. Read!”

“And haven't you heard it in church?”

“I . . . haven't been. Do you often go?”

“N-no,” whispered Sonia.

Raskolnikov smiled.

“I understand. . . . And you won't go to your father's funeral to-morrow?”

“Yes, I shall. I was at church last week, too . . . I had a requiem service.”

“For whom?”

“For Lizaveta. She was killed with an axe.”

His nerves were more and more strained. His head began to go round.

“Were you friends with Lizaveta?”

“Yes. . . . She was good . . . she used to come . . . not often . . . she couldn’t. . . . We used to read together and . . . talk. She will see God.”

The last phrase sounded strange in his ears. And here was something new again: the mysterious meetings with Lizaveta and both of them – religious maniacs.

“I shall be a religious maniac myself soon! It’s infectious!”

“Read!” he cried irritably and insistently.

Sonia still hesitated. Her heart was throbbing. She hardly dared to read to him. He looked almost with exasperation at the “unhappy lunatic.”

“What for? You don’t believe? . . .” she whispered softly and as it were breathlessly.

“Read! I want you to,” he persisted. “You used to read to Lizaveta.”

Sonia opened the book and found the place. Her hands were shaking, her voice failed her. Twice she tried to begin and could not bring out the first syllable.

“Now a certain man was sick named Lazarus of Bethany . . .” she forced herself at last to read, but at the third word her voice broke like an overstrained string. There was a catch in her breath.

Raskolnikov saw in part why Sonia could not bring herself to read to him and the more he saw this, the more roughly and irritably he insisted on her doing so. He understood only too well how painful it was for her to betray and unveil all that was her own. He understood that these feelings really were her secret treasure, which she had kept perhaps for years, perhaps from childhood, while she lived with an unhappy father and a distracted stepmother crazed by grief, in the midst of starving children and unseemly abuse and reproaches. But at the same time he knew now and knew for certain that, although it filled her with dread and suffering, yet she had a tormenting desire to read and to read to him that he might hear it, and to read now whatever might come of it! . . . He read this in her eyes, he could see it in her intense emotion. She mastered herself, controlled the spasm in her throat and went on reading the eleventh chapter of St. John. She went on to the nineteenth verse:

“And many of the Jews came to Martha and Mary to comfort them concerning their brother.

“Then Martha as soon as she heard that Jesus was coming went and met Him: but Mary sat still in the house.

“Then said Martha unto Jesus, Lord, if Thou hadst been here, my brother had not died.

“But I know that even now whatsoever Thou wilt ask of God, God will give it Thee. . . .”

Then she stopped again with a shamefaced feeling that her voice would quiver and break again.

“Jesus said unto her, thy brother shall rise again.

“Martha saith unto Him, I know that he shall rise again in the resurrection, at the last day.

“Jesus said unto her, I am the resurrection and the life: he that believeth in Me though he were dead, yet shall he live.

“And whosoever liveth and believeth in Me shall never die. Believest thou this?

“She saith unto Him,”

(And drawing a painful breath, Sonia read distinctly and forcibly as though she were making a public confession of faith.)

“Yea, Lord: I believe that Thou art the Christ, the Son of God Which should come into the world.”

She stopped and looked up quickly at him, but controlling herself went on reading. Raskolnikov sat without moving, his elbows on the table and his eyes turned away. She read to the thirty-second verse.

“Then when Mary was come where Jesus was and saw Him, she fell down at His feet, saying unto Him, Lord if Thou hadst been here, my brother had not died.

“When Jesus therefore saw her weeping, and the Jews also weeping which came with her, He groaned in the spirit and was troubled,

“And said, Where have ye laid him? They said unto Him, Lord, come and see.

“Jesus wept.

“Then said the Jews, behold how He loved him!

“And some of them said, could not this Man which opened the eyes of the blind, have caused that even this man should not have died?”

Raskolnikov turned and looked at her with emotion. Yes, he had known it! She was trembling in a real physical fever. He had expected it. She was getting near the story of the greatest miracle and a feeling of immense triumph came over her. Her voice rang out like a bell; triumph and joy gave it power. The lines danced before her eyes, but she knew what she was reading by heart. At the last verse “Could not this Man which opened the eyes of the blind . . .” dropping her voice she passionately reproduced the doubt, the reproach and censure of the blind disbelieving Jews, who in another moment would fall at His feet as though struck by thunder, sobbing and believing. . . . “And he, he–too, is blinded and unbelieving, he, too, will hear, he, too, will believe, yes, yes! At once, now,” was what she was dreaming, and she was quivering with happy anticipation.

“Jesus therefore again groaning in Himself cometh to the grave. It was a cave, and a stone lay upon it.

“Jesus said, Take ye away the stone. Martha, the sister of him that was dead, saith unto Him, Lord by this time he stinketh: for he hath been dead four days.”

She laid emphasis on the word "four".

“Jesus saith unto her, Said I not unto thee that if thou wouldest believe, thou shouldest see the glory of God?

“Then they took away the stone from the place where the dead was laid. And Jesus lifted up His eyes and said, Father, I thank Thee that Thou hast heard Me.

“And I knew that Thou hearest Me always; but because of the people which stand by I said it, that they may believe that Thou hast sent Me.

“And when He thus had spoken, He cried with a loud voice, Lazarus, come forth.

“And he that was dead came forth.”

(She read loudly, cold and trembling with ecstasy, as though she were seeing it before her eyes.)

“Bound hand and foot with graveclothes; and his face was bound about with a napkin. Jesus saith unto them, Loose him and let him go.

“Then many of the Jews which came to Mary and had seen the things which Jesus did believed on Him.”

She could read no more, closed the book and got up from her chair quickly.

“That is all about the raising of Lazarus,” she whispered severely and abruptly, and turning away she stood motionless, not daring to raise her eyes to him. She still trembled feverishly. The candle-end was flickering out in the battered candlestick, dimly lighting up in the poverty-stricken room the murderer and the harlot who had so strangely been reading together the eternal book. Five minutes or more passed.

Work & the Four Agreements

"In his book, The Four Agreements, Don Miguel Ruiz outlines four essential codes of conduct that can be of significant value when used as directed in a consciously applied program of mental hygiene and regular professional care ... PLUS you’ll have fewer (mental) cavities.

"The Four Agreements gives us direction about what WE can do to respond appropriately to difficult behaviors and make our work relationships run more smoothly. They are deceptively simple, yet are rather difficult to apply. However, with mindful and diligent practice, they are utterly effective.

"1. Be impeccable with your word... When your colleagues know you are on the 'up and up,' that you’re willing to own up to your mistakes, ask questions, and be who you say you are, they are more willing to hear you out, and work through any real or imagined slight or conflict...

"2. Don’t take anything personally... [you are not] the center of the universe...

"3. Don't make assumptions... When we assume, we’re working... quite frequently with data that is incomplete, if not flat out wrong... and behave as if our incomplete and unverified data is 'reality.'...

"4. Always do your best... When we put forward our best effort, and our colleagues know they can rely on us, they are much more likely to hear us out. When we’re doing our best we are fully engaged in our task, we have passion for the work and best of all, it doesn’t even really feel like work! Doing our best brings out the best in others..."

from this Good Morning Thinkers! post.

Columbus Was First

So contended the Honorable Michael Musmanno, the colorful, outspoken, controversial judge, Congressman and author, who died, fittingly, on Columbus Day in 1968. Mussmanno is buried in Arlington Cemetery almost directly across the road from the eternal flame of the grave of John F. Kennedy.

The Michael A. Musmanno collection at Duquesne University contains the personal papers and library of the man. "Among the many highlights of his career were the campaign to abolish the Coal & Iron Police,(a private police force maintained by the coal companies for the purpose of strike breaking), legislation to end the Sunday Blue Laws, a defense lawyer in the Sacco & Vanzetti trial, a presiding judge at the Nuremburg war crime trials, and appearing as a witness for the prosecution in the case against Adolf Eichman...

One of the highlights of the collection is the transcripts of Musmanno's personal interviews of the Hitler intimates. Other noteable features are the transcripts of the Einsatzgruppen Nuremberg trial and the Adolf Eichmann war crimes trial. Musmanno was also the author of a number of books including, Ten Days to Die, which recounted Hitler's last days and was later made into a motion picture, and Black Fury a novel about a coal miner struggling with the hardships of the mines and the brutality of the Coal and Iron Police. He was also a zealous defender of Columbus discovering America and supported his claims in the book Columbus Was First.

Musmanno penned blistering and sometimes hysterical dissenting opinions as a jurist. His dissent in the Pennsylvania Supreme Court obscenity case regarding the book, The Tropic of Cancer, is a classic. The majority opinion failed to find the book obscene within the meaning of the First Amendment. Justice Musmanno disagreed:

The decision of the Majority of the Court in this case has dealt a staggering blow to the forces of morality, decency and human dignity in the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania. If, by this decision, a thousand rattlesnakes had been let loose, they could not do as much damage to the well-being of the people of this state as the unleashing of all the scorpions and vermin of immorality swarming out of that volume of degeneracy called the "Tropic of Cancer." Policemen, hunters, constables and foresters could easily and quickly kill a thousand rattlesnakes but the lice, lizards, maggots and gangrenous roaches scurrying out from beneath the covers of the "Tropic of Cancer" will enter into the playground, the study desks, the cloistered confines of children and immature minds to eat away moral resistance and wreak damage and harm which may blight countless lives for years and decades to come.

As this post from Moleskin Notebook observes "That's just the introductory paragraph, it only gets better." The opinion continues and concludes:

[Henry Miller's Tropic of Cancer] is not a book. It is a cesspool, an open sewer, a pit of putrefaction, a slimy gathering of all that is rotten in the debris of human depravity. And in the center of all this waste and stench, besmearing himself with its foulest defilement, splashes, leaps, cavorts and wallows a bifurcated specimen that responds to the name of Henry Miller. One wonders how the human species could have produced so lecherous, blasphemous, disgusting and amoral a human being as Henry Miller. One wonders why he is received in polite society. ... From Pittsburgh to Philadelphia, from Dan to Beersheba, and from the ramparts of the Bible to Samuel Eliot Morison's Oxford History of the American People, I dissent.

The opinion can be found at Commonweatlh v. Robin, 421 Pa. 70 (Pa. 1966).

Musmanno loved Columbus, but he didn't care for jazz music, as noted in this The Volokh Conspiracy post, quoting another of his dissenting opinions:

In the eyes and ears of many people, including the writer of this opinion, a juke box confined to ‘jazz’ records may be a nuisance. It robs the air of sweet silence, it substitutes for the gentle concord of stillness the wailings of the so-called ‘blues singer,’ the whinings of foggy saxophones, the screeching of untuned fiddles, the blasts of head-splitting horns, and the battering of earshattering drums. It makes a mockery of music, it replaces harmony with cacophony, tonality with discord, and peace with annoyance.

Quite a character.

Happy Columbus Day.

God is a Decision

God is a decision
to embrace the good in me and in others
God is a force, a spirit, a choice, a verb
I do God
by bringing love to every situation
God is love
God is the essence of being
God is the ultimate mystery
God is the ultimate reality
God is not up there somewhere controlling everything
God loves me into existence
I do nothing to deserve God’s love
God just loves me
To know God, I give myself away
Do, then know -- not know, then do
I am a creature on a journey
I am happy to be a creature
It is good to be a creature
I reflect the image and likeness of God
My response to the love of God is love
I love God by loving my neighbor
My neighbor is anyone I encounter
My neighbor is anyone with whom I have a relationship
– close, distant, direct or indirect
In God I find peace in chaos, light in darkness, without denying reality
The evolving human species has just been born
I exist therefore I am loved
I am saved in this world
I let God worry about the next
I am part of God’s life
God’s love is the true drink
If I love, God lives in me
I bloom where I am planted
I pray for guidance and strength
God is revealed in Buddha, Krishna, Mohammed,
the Law and the Prophets and other spiritual teachings
God is revealed in Jesus
Jesus is the word of God (love) made flesh
Jesus is love (the word of God) incarnate
Jesus gives himself away, fully, without reserve
Jesus is love - the bread of life
Jesus gives himself away so that I may be nourished
Jesus is the example of how to live
What did Jesus teach? That is the question
Love as Jesus loves and all will be well
I try to do my best – that is all I can do
My soul is all that I am and all that I will become
My soul will exist after my body ceases
I will not be surprised by what follows this life
I will die – am I afraid to die?
Yes, but I know God will take care of me

--Anthony Cerminaro

Conceptions of God

"Maybe you should see your inability to picture God as a Santa Claus above the sky as a step into maturity and wholeness... there are other ways to conceptualize God.

"Alfred North Whitehead conceived of God as a Process. Paul Tillich experienced God as the Ground of Being. The problem is that we use the language of time and space to give form to an experience and a reality that is not bound by or within time and space. When I use the word 'God' I am not talking about a being. I am describing that sense of transcendence that I believe I have encountered within time and space. I believe I experience God as life fully lived, as love wastefully given, as being completely realized. I cannot tell you or anyone else who or what God is. I can only describe my experience...

"I join the mystics in saying that I think I am part of what God is. God lives in me, loves through me and empowers me to escape that drive to survive that is in every living thing in order to give my life away. That is the Christ role and I think it is also the role that his disciples are called to model.

"So I am drawn by God beyond my boundaries and I perceive that God becomes real when I enter into the task of living and loving and being. This means that it doesn't occur to me that I am alone with no one to whom to pray. This makes me rather a deeply infused, God-intoxicated human being who no longer has the words to describe the God in who I live and move and have my being, but it does not even occur to me to doubt the reality of that which I experience, but can never define..."

--- Bishop John Shelby Spong

For more on this topic, see Conceptions of God - Wikipedia

Hey Yunz G-twunnies 'n'at

Yinz visitin' Picksburgh for the G-20 some-it, ya may wanna learn some Pittsburghese, since yunz ain't from aron here, same fer doze of ya in Ahia, other parts of Pensivania, and even yunz up 'ere on da Sahside slopes, or ov'ere in Sliberrty, Sharteers Crick, da Mon or da Yock or dahntahn or in da Strip or near da carline in da Sout hills or in Oaklan near where Jaynell used ta be.

So take off yer babushka, read' up yer room, and if ya haven’t et yet, reach into yer cubberd for yer favorite snack. Get up off yer p'toot and off yer stoop and head to da Jynt Iggle. Grab some jumbo or chipped ham for a sammich and pop it in your poke. Or get some city chicken, and a Klondike. And to worsh it down, drink yer pop, or take yer church key and snap da top off an ahrn.

If ya cuttent or dittent understand what I jus wrote, yer prolly wonderin’ what’s goin’ on. Don’t worry, y'aint lost jet. 'Specially if yer nebby, stick with it. Don’t get tangled up in your gutchies, or be a jag off 'n'at. Don’t worry 'baht da sidewalks bein’ slippy, or brown warter comin’ out da kitchen spicket or if da Stillers will win this week. Put a gum band on your wrist soze ya remember. This is yuge.

That’s it Fort Pitt. Yer first lesson is over.

Roughly translated:

You who are visiting Pittsburgh for the G-20 summit may wish to learn about the local vernacular spoken by native Pittsburghers, because you are not from Pittsburgh, and also those of you may be interested who live in Ohio, other parts of Pennsylvania and those of you who live in the South Side Slopes or East Liberty neighborhoods of Pittsburgh, or near Chartiers Creek or the Monongahela River, or the Youghiogheny River or in downtown Pittsburgh, or in the Strip District section of Pittsburgh or near the trolley tracks in the South Hills of Pittsburgh or in the Oakland section of Pittsburgh in the vicinity of the former site of the Jones & Laughlin steel mill.

So, remove the kerchief that is folded triangularly covering your head and tied below your chin, clean your room, and if you have not eaten, reach into your cupboard for your favorite snack. Get off your behind, leave your front porch and head to the local Giant Eagle grocery store. Buy some bologna or processed ham sliced as thin as an onion skin for a sandwich and place the items in a grocery bag. Or enjoy a meal of breaded pork and veal skewered and grilled, or a Klondike brand ice cream bar. And to wash it down, drink soda, or take a bottle opener and open a bottle of Iron City Beer.

If you could not or did not understand what I just wrote, you are probably wondering what is going on. Don’t worry, you are not lost yet. Especially if you are nosey, stay with it. Don't get tangled up in your underwear or be a jerk. Don’t worry about the sidewalks being slippery, or brown water coming out of the kitchen spigot, or if the Steelers football team will win this week. Put a rubber band on your wrist as a reminder. This is huge.

That’s all. Your first lesson is over.