“Pursuit of Happiness”

The expression, “pursuit of happiness,” can mean many things, and it definitely had at least one commonly-accepted meaning at the time Jefferson included the phrase in the Declaration of Independence that is almost unknown today, but I want to consider just one today in light of the following comment by William Penn:

“No people can be truly happy, though under the greatest enjoyments of civil liberties, if abridged of the Freedom of their Conscience as to their Religious Profession and Worship.” — William Penn, Pennsylvania Charter of Liberties, 1701

The First Amendment to the Constitution explicitly denies the “feddle gummint” ANY power to impede the free expression of religion. Nowadays, the feds are all over the place bending over backwards to accommodate those who want to eradicate any religious expression that does not agree with their own agendas from the public arena.

And Christians, of all groups, make it especially easy by having secularized their churches to the extent that they have little to stand on in protest of “feddle gummint” misbehaviors.

Let’s take Penn’s “Religious Profession and Worship” phrase to contrast to today’s churches. “Religious profession,” in Penn’s language, does NOT mean “professional religionists,” as in clergy. No, a “religious profession” is a declaration of one’s religious beliefs–to many, anathema in the public square. . . as long as it is profession of Christian beliefs. Anathema even to some who claim to be Christians. When Christians allow themselves to be cowed into silence about the substantive teachings of the church, they have denied their profession.

And what of worship? *feh* The weak, insipid, false view of worship that pervades churches nowadays is the direct result of churches becoming just another part of secular society, and just as secular as what is found outside the congregation. Confining a highly secularized “worship” to behind a church’s closed doors is simply a denial of worship, since true worship is behavior that pervades all of life.

Sidebar: The late 60s youth song, “Sunday’s Child,” about someone who was holier than thou on Sundays but lived like hell the rest of the week comes to mind, as does Fred Pratt Green’s, When the Church of Jesus.” A snippet:

V.2

If our hearts are lifted
Where devotion soars
High above this hungry
Suffering world of ours:
Lest our hymns should drug us
To forget its needs,
Forge our Christian worship
Into Christian deeds.

Now, what “Church of Jesus” would allow “feddle gummint” bullying or naysayers’ whinnying to keep them from true worship? Those who do forfeit a happiness that it is their right to pursue. . . or eschew, as most do.

Yes, I’ve wandered around a bit and not really defined what this form of happiness is, but unless one is willing to pursue obedience to Christ, describing it will do no good.

Matthew 28:19-20

19Go ye therefore, and teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost:

20 Teaching them to observe all things whatsoever I have commanded you: and, lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world.

Yes, “all nations” (all people) means our own, and everyone we meet, whether they like us for doing so or not. Jesus did not say, “Go ye therefore into all the world and try to make people like you by never offending them.” No, in another place He warned that “the world” would hate those who followed Him. Get over it. The highest happiness, for the Christian, is not found in the approval of others–whether of his fellow Christians or outside the congregation of believers. It is found in trusting obedience (our half of the “fides covenant”).

Religious profession: telling others of your faith. Worship: living a life of trusting obedience to God.

And neither of those are genuine if confined only–or even primarily!–inside “church” walls.

Gone. . . and Mostly Forgotten

A recent article, “A Thoughtless Age,” by David P. Goldman, contemplates what has been lost from our culture.

This paragraph reminded me a bit of extended family gatherings when I was growing up. . . just a bit.

“The last place where literature is read closely by a non-specialist public might be the Orthodox Synagogue, where the Hebrew Bible is examined through the eyes of ancient as well as medieval and modern commentators. It is read not as literature but as family history, and its readers have an existential interest in the result. The Hebrew Bible, to be sure, is not all of literature, but it is the best of it (nothing in Greek or Latin compares to the grandeur of Isaiah). Most of all, it is the continuing concern of a living community which has read it together for thousands of years.”

A bunch of Baptists gathering together, talking family, current events and scripture might not be an Orthodox Synagogue, but it used to be similar. Notsomuch nowadays. . . But real questions about our place in God’s creation were at least on the table, and considered in light of the “great literature” of The Bible, literature that compasses the whole of human experience and as much of divine transcendence as can be contained in the words of men.

“As long as the ambient culture runs from the existential questions brought forth by religion, and as long as the religious public contents itself with the pap of popular culture, we will be shut off from access to the great works of the past.”

No, Not Just Because I Like Writing, “Pork Butt”

5.5 pounds of pork butt in the slow cooker with onion, garlic, a wee bit of salt and freshly ground pepper. After five hours, a bit “soupy” but smelling great. Give it overnight on a nice, low setting so it can be pulled tomorrow and then put back to soak on low heat in BBQ sauce.

Beans are soaking separately. They’ll cook up nicely to go with the pork for tomorrow evening’s meal. Cornbread? Sure, why not that, too? Now, for greens. . .

Mock Material

Not feeling like streaming stuff. . . watching a syndicated re-run of Blue Bloods. Commercial on. Guy says “anabotics” when he means “antibiotics”. Eminently mockable. Would love to mock him in person. Because fun.

Déjà vu All Over Again

The problem with reading fiction is that there is a limited number of plots, and I’ve read them all many, many times, in so many combinations and permutations that I invariably think, “Déjà vu all over again,” when reading a novel. Characters, descriptive narrative, and minute plot variations are the interest points I read fiction for anymore. Well, that and a writer’s deftness (or lack thereof) with a story arc, etc. *shrugs* There’s enough left to feed the addiction. Re-reading exceptionally well-written fiction is quite often much more interesting than most new material available.

Non-fiction? Different criteria in many ways.

Parthian Shot

Most folks who object to what they say is “name calling” really seem to be objecting to accurate labeling.

Thatisall.

Color me *meh*

I know, it’s probably just me, but I cannot wrap my head around the idea of “anniversary visits” to a loved one’s grave site. *shrugs* I just don’t get it.

Signs and Portents of Declining Literacy

While even I (*gasp!* really?!?, moi? *heh*) am subject to errors of this sort from time to time (particularly after struggling to read through many long text samples by subliterates), a fairly sure sign of poor literacy (that is, not being well-read) is using compound words that are adjectives or adverbs in place of noun or verb phrases OR using separate words when compounds of those words is proper.

Already vs All ready
Altogether vs All together
Anyone vs Any one
Anything vs Any thing
Awhile vs A while. . .
. . .
Backseat vs Back seat. . .
. . .
Everyday vs Every day. . .
. . .
Maybe vs May be. . .
. . .
Sometime vs Some time. . .
. . .
Workout vs Work out. . .

And many, many more.

Why do some writers regularly mix such things up? Because they are not well-read. Such writers may have read a lot of text, but if they have, the text they have read has been written by poorly-read, less than genuinely literate writers. Being well-read requires having read enough text by genuinely literate writers to have absorbed good language skills, which includes, among many attributes, knowing the useful distinctions between such compound words as listed above and the phrases they’ve been compounded from. (Insert obligatory Winston Churchill comment about ending sentences with prepositions here. 🙂 )

Of course, that’s only one, of many, abilities a literate writer will have in his bag, but when it’s missing, one can be pretty sure that the writer who lacks this ability is just too lazy to have done his homework. He might be a good storyteller or public speaker/lecturer, but he’s not really literate enough to be trusted with a pen (or keyboard) and a publisher (even if it is himself*).


*Subliterate self-pubs/”Indie” writers almost invariably are too cheap (or financially strapped) to pay for decent editing–either content or line editing–and even if they try “crowdsourcing” such things usually only appeal to their own cohort of subliterates to check their work. *gagamaggot* Of course, there are literate “Indie” writers with literate peers and readers, and their works are generally edited to a standard that, nowadays, exceeds that of the increasingly poor quality of editing coming from traditional publishing houses. Not common but welcome.

My Greenish Thumb

Nice to see my Wonder Woman’s houseplants make a comeback from a Winter of Cat Destructo action, simply from being put outside (some in shade, indirect light, some out in the open). A few months of “thriving in the wild” (nope, even when I did this last year, no supplemental watering) seems to do them wonders.

My “tire-augmented” hugekultur compost bed/garden seems to be doing well. Flowers blooming and HUGE jalapeno plants grown from seed (flowering and already producing peppers) seem to testify to the worth of putting in the little extra to build the thing. Ease of weeding is also a plus. Now that everything’s up and thriving, mulch to come. Expanding this concept in the back yard. . .

The grass is growing so fast this year, I’ve only had one chance to use my fav mower–the chain-driven Fiskars reel mower–a real joy to mow with, but nothing over 6”. When rain keeps the mowing to one day a week (or my aching back–see below–says, “Another day, my friend”) 6” comes pretty quickly. Oh, well. At least it gives me more grass clippings to “drunk compost” when I have to use the gas mower. Hate all the noise, fumes and crap it stirs up in the air. At least I can wear hearing protection and a dust mask. *shrugs* It still looks scalped, not cut, but that’s a rotary mower for ya.

Gas mower doesn’t adjust handle height like the Fiskars does, though, so I always have to mow hunched over a bit. That’s a pain in the back (actually, I have a much lower opinion of that, IYKWIMAITTYD 😉 ). Still, I tell myself, “Grass clippings. Compost. Deal with it.”