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Archives for April 2011

Official Drink of the Pentecost

 These little beautiesare more popular than Margaritas in Mexico.

“Listen here, The Matrix is a terrible movie.”

In which the wondrous Ms. Fisher reviews the Escriva pic There Be Dragons, and I come thisclose to getting into a combox debate.  Hoo!

Your Move, Hummer

Inspired by a comment by Mr. Webb

Kurtz Unbound
These pitch-dark waters glisten in the sun;
As black, the sweat that falls across my gun.
“Is it time,” whispers Magobee the slave,
“To cut the anchor chain?” We note a wave
That urges us adrift. “Our journey’s done,”
I say. “This river, my lover, our grave….”

I wrote a (very short) review!

Water for Elephants, anyone?

Okay, let’s try this again…

Alphonse gets a shiny new website, plus a downloadable PDF version for just $.99.

[Image via Married to the Sea.]

No, seriously…

Why did you guys not tell me about this?

No, seriously…

…I would totally love to watch a show in which the girl does one of those “slip behind a screen to change clothes during a conversation with a man” scenes wherein the screen was a cardboard image of Jeremy Irons as the Pope.

Fr. Barron responds to Maureen Dowd re: Bob Dylan

Jonathan Potter, call your office. And all y’all go read the article in full, in which Fr. Barron deftly responds to Maureen Dowd’s contention that Dylan is a sellout for agreeing to leave out his most famous protest songs during his performances in China.

Anyone that knows the work of Bob Dylan knows that the songwriter has been deeply religious his career long. His explicitly political protest songs were rooted in the prophetic tradition of ancient Israel and almost without exception called the judgment of God on wicked rulers and unscrupulous financiers…

…Pace Maureen Dowd, the Bob Dylan who decided to proclaim, with the full blast of a rock band, the Lordship of Jesus Christ in Communist China has never been more truly revolutionary.

Embarrassed by the Miracle

Seven Stanzas at Easter

Make no mistake: if He rose at all
it was as His body;
if the cells’ dissolution did not reverse, the molecules
……… reknit, the amino acids rekindle,
the Church will fall.

It was not as the flowers,
each soft Spring recurrent;
it was not as His Spirit in the mouths and fuddled
……… eyes of the eleven apostles;
it was as His Flesh: ours.

The same hinged thumbs and toes,
the same valved heart
that — pierced — died, withered, paused, and then
……… regathered out of enduring Might
new strength to enclose.

Let us not mock God with metaphor,
analogy, sidestepping transcendence;
making of the event a parable, a sign painted in the
……… faded credulity of earlier ages:
let us walk through the door.

The stone is rolled back, not papier-mache,
not a stone in a story,
but the vast rock of materiality that in the slow
……… grinding of time will eclipse for each of us
the wide light of day.

And if we will have an angel at the tomb,
make it a real angel,
weighty with Max Planck’s quanta, vivid with hair,
……… opaque in the dawn light, robed in real linen
spun on a definite loom.

Let us not seek to make it less monstrous,
for our own convenience, our own sense of beauty,
lest, awakened in one unthinkable hour, we are
……… embarrassed by the miracle,
and crushed by remonstrance.

— John Updike

Telephone Poles and Other Poems © 1961