We are a commune of inquiring, skeptical, politically centrist, capitalist, anglophile, traditionalist New England Yankee humans, humanoids, and animals with many interests beyond and above politics. Each of us has had a high-school education (or GED), but all had ADD so didn't pay attention very well, especially the dogs. Each one of us does "try my best to be just like I am," and none of us enjoys working for others, including for Maggie, from whom we receive neither a nickel nor a dime. Freedom from nags, cranks, government, do-gooders, control-freaks and idiots is all that we ask for.
Had we stood in that crowd that day, it is a forgone conclusion that we would have been part of the sneering mob, ushering him to eternal doom.
He who knew no sin, took ours on to Him, and became the sacrifice for us that each of us deserved.
Good Friday may be a day of celebration for you. But not for me. It is a day of conviction, meditation, remembrance, and sorrow.
Sorrow that a God who never had to, sent His only son, to suffer everything I have always deserved.
The realization of this is the beginning of gratitude. But on Good Friday there was nothing to be grateful of for sure. Only some vague promise that He might return.
On Good Friday, the only hope we had dared to believe in was dead. Evil had won, mockers had succeeded, traitors were enriched, and the enemy of everything good declared victory.
On Good Friday even God the Father turned his back.
It was the smell, not just of death, but of abandonment, hopelessness, emptiness, and defeat. It was all encompassing, it was suffocating.
On THAT Friday there was nothing good...nothing good for anyone.
On Good Friday hell rained down everything it could on Him, and fortunate for us, He was strong enough to take it!
28After he had said this, he went on ahead, going up to Jerusalem. 29When he had come near Bethpage and Bethany, at the place called the Mount of Olives, he sent two of the disciples, 30saying, Go into the village ahead of you, and as you enter it you will find tied there a colt that has never been ridden. Untie it and bring it here. 31If anyone asks you, Why are you untying it? just say this, The Lord needs it.
32So those who were sent departed and found it as he had told them. 33As they were untying the colt, its owners asked them, Why are you untying the colt? 34They said, The Lord needs it. 35Then they brought it to Jesus; and after throwing their cloaks on the colt, they set Jesus on it. 36As he rode along, people kept spreading their cloaks on the road. 37As he was now approaching the path down from the Mount of Olives, the whole multitude of the disciples began to praise God joyfully with a loud voice for all the deeds of power that they had seen, 38saying, Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven, and glory in the highest heaven! 39Some of the Pharisees in the crowd said to him, Teacher, order your disciples to stop. 40He answered, I tell you, if these were silent, the stones would shout out.
John Donne (1571-1631) had an interesting life. Besides being an erotic poet and a metaphysical poet, he was Dean of St. Paul's and an admired preacher.
To His Mistress Going to Bed
Come, Madam, come, all rest my powers defy, Until I labour, I in labour lie. The foe oft-times having the foe in sight, Is tir’d with standing though he never fight. Off with that girdle, like heaven’s Zone glistering, But a far fairer world encompassing. Unpin that spangled breastplate which you wear, That th’eyes of busy fools may be stopped there.
Unlace yourself, for that harmonious chime, Tells me from you, that now it is bed time. Off with that happy busk, which I envy, That still can be, and still can stand so nigh. Your gown going off, such beauteous state reveals, As when from flowery meads th’hill’s shadow steals.
Off with that wiry Coronet and shew The hairy Diadem which on you doth grow: Now off with those shoes, and then safely tread In this love’s hallow’d temple, this soft bed.
In such white robes, heaven’s Angels used to be Received by men; Thou Angel bringst with thee A heaven like Mahomet’s Paradise; and though Ill spirits walk in white, we easily know, By this these Angels from an evil sprite, Those set our hairs, but these our flesh upright.
Licence my roving hands, and let them go, Before, behind, between, above, below. O my America! my new-found-land, My kingdom, safeliest when with one man mann’d, My Mine of precious stones, My Empirie, How blest am I in this discovering thee!
To enter in these bonds, is to be free; Then where my hand is set, my seal shall be. Full nakedness! All joys are due to thee, As souls unbodied, bodies uncloth’d must be, To taste whole joys. Gems which you women use Are like Atlanta’s balls, cast in men’s views, That when a fool’s eye lighteth on a Gem, His earthly soul may covet theirs, not them.
Like pictures, or like books’ gay coverings made For lay-men, are all women thus array’d; Themselves are mystic books, which only we (Whom their imputed grace will dignify) Must see reveal’d. Then since that I may know; As liberally, as to a Midwife, shew Thy self: cast all, yea, this white linen hence, There is no penance due to innocence.
To teach thee, I am naked first; why then What needst thou have more covering than a man.
"Following a terminal cancer diagnosis, Sister Úna--a smoking, drinking, wisecracking Catholic nun dedicated to mentoring teens--chooses to live life to the fullest in the face of death. The self-proclaimed “leader of the misfits” takes on her last nine months by planning her funeral, tackling her bucket list, and teaching us that death isn’t the end."
A quote 
In an abysmal article, Nautilus
Why do we do things that are bad for us? 
John Donne (1571-1631) 
Is wearing a necktie
It's J.S. Bach's birthday