This hymn has been calling to me all morning, and to my mind, that means I ought to post it. Consider it a sanity break–He Leadeth Me (1862), sung by the Mennonite Hour Men’s Quartet.
Author Archives: leeduigon
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The Most PC Cop Show Ever
My wife was sick all day Sunday, so when she rallied enough to want to watch something, last night, I was happy to let her choose the show. She chose the new episode of The Brokenwood Mysteries, made in New Zealand. We’d watched several seasons’ worth, and liked it.
Now it has become a show in which characters actually babble about “diversity” and “inclusion” as real things that are important in their lives. The setting is a small town in which there are no intact families. Not even one. And you can always tell who’s going to turn out to be the murderer, or at least a victim who richly deserved it, because it’ll be a character–usually a “Christian,” whatever they think they mean by that–who stands out because he’s the only one not on full-throttle, cartwheel-turning support for everything sodomy. One individual–naturally, the wisest, wittiest, and most benign human being in Brokenwood–is billed as the town’s “first gay mayor.” As if he were to start a whole dynasty of homosexual mayors. Even the little old lady who takes walks is, like, totally woke.
It’s indescribably dreary. The episode ended with the police counseling the estranged lesbian pair to give it another go because “love wins” or something.
Can’t blame Hollywood for this travesty. This is a New Zealand caper, all the way.
But is this what screenwriters and “entertainment” honchos really, truly, think our lives should be? What could be more depressing than the flat, barren, dead sameness of “diversity”?
But if people really lived like that, it wouldn’t be long before there were no more people.
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‘Piffle Alert! The “Lunar Temple”‘ (2017)
The thought that such deluded individuals have the power to levy taxes on normal people, and make them pay, is enough to give you nightmares.
I wonder how far they’ve gotten with their “Lunar Temple” project, and how much money they’ve spent on it already.
https://leeduigon.com/2017/01/27/piffle-alert-the-lunar-temple/
Yessireebob, we’re gonna have a colony on the moon–why? because you saw it in a science fiction movie?–and there we’re gonna build a Temple only there ain’t gonna be no God in this Temple blah-blah-blah-blah!
The Europeans are such a reliable guide. Whatever they’re doing, turn around and do the opposite–and you’re bound to be right.
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‘Savior Like a Shepherd Lead Us’
I couldn’t find Lyle with his guitar in this video, but there’s Nathan with the autoharp, plus family and friends, with Savior Like a Shepherd Lead Us–by Dorothy Thrupp, in 1836.
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How Cats Can Terrify You into Babbling Idiocy
Y’know that classic ghost story by M.R. James–Oh, Whistle and I’ll Come to You, My Lad? The one in which the sheets on the other bed in the room rise up and start to fold and wrinkle themselves into–well, never mind, I don’t want to spoil it for you. Point is, it’s almost certain that that story was inspired by a cat. And in this video, you’ll see how that was possible.
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Oh, for Shame!
Nineteenth-century Russian princes could do things that only big-name Democrats and politically-approved scientists can do today. That is, cheat like mad and get away with it. Even in chess.
Enter Prince Dadian of Mingrelia, who published 38 games he played against some of the top players in the world, winning every single one of them. Modern chess historians smell a rat.
Dadian is believed to have composed chess games that were never actually played, or to have had them composed by others, and then published them as brilliant victories. Chess players in the 19th century, as a class, were usually short of money (“The fame I have. It’s money that I need!” said Wilhelm Steinitz). The prince helped them out, it is strongly suspected, by paying them to lose games to him–even going so far as to write their moves for them in advance. He would also pull strings–again, not proved, but very strongly suspected–to have uncooperative chess stars kicked out of resorts like Monte Carlo.
He would fit right in today. He’d probably be hawking Climate Change instead of chess; there’s more money in it. Or else he’d be president of a teachers’ union.
We didn’t invent cheating in our era. We just made it more lucrative.
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The Elopement, at Last (‘Oy, Rodney’)
At last! Lord Jeremy Coldsore has eloped to marry Lady Margo Cargo, the richest widow in Scurveyshire.
Chapter CCCXLI of Violet Crepuscular’s epic romance, Oy, Rodney, opens with Lord Jeremy and the vicar waiting in the abandoned warehouse in Plaguesby, where the marriage is to be secretly performed. They have to be careful because there’s plague in Plaguesby. Also in attendance, as best man, is Jeremy’s bosom friend, the American adventurer, Willis Twombley. He has a burlap bag over his head. This provokes a fit of the giggles from the vicar.
“Why has he got a burlap bag over his head?” the vicar asks, giggling.
“Because Lady Margo thinks he and I are the same person, and it confuses her when she sees us both together,” Lord Jeremy explains. The vicar finds that richly humorous.
Midnight draws near, without a sign of Lady Margo. “What’s keeping her?” Jeremy grumbles.
“Alas, dear reader,” Ms. Crepuscular breaks into the narrative, “Lady Margo, escorted by her crusty old butler, Crusty, has misunderstood the plan and gone to an abandoned warehouse in the isolated nearby village of Plaguespot. The place has an unwholesome reputation! It is said that Black Rodney’s brother, Red Pokey, passed through Plaguespot in 1483 and, just for practice, put a terrible curse on it.”
As midnight draws near, Crusty grows impatient.
“I told you Coldsore was no good, you stupid old bat,” he confides in Lady Margo. “How can you trust a man with two left feet? Both of which seem to have gotten cold!”
“I can’t say I like this as a location for a wedding,” mutters Lady Margo. “All those sinister voices whispering I don’t know what, all around us in the dark! Are you sure this is where dear Jeremy said he’d meet us?”
Crusty is jealous: he has long desired Lady Margo for himself.
Just then, a long-drawn-out, hideous moaning erupts from the shadows–
We suspect it’s the reader.
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By Request, ‘Pass Me Not, O Gentle Savior’
Requested by Joshua–Pass Me Not, O Gentle Savior, sung by Fernando Ortega.
What can we say, but “Amen”? We’re needing you today, O Lord.
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Southern Baptists and Soros: Perfect Together?
I really don’t want to believe this. I’m too tired to believe it. But some of you are sure to come across this story today or tomorrow, so I think I should at least mention it.
The Baptist Press has denied persistent rumors that Far Left Crazy uber-atheist George Soros is funding an apparatus of the Southern Baptist Church with the goal of settling more “refugees” in America (https://www.baptiststandard.com/news/baptists/rumors-linking-soros-to-evangelical-immigration-table-disputed/).
Helping someone who’s poor and needy is a Christian duty. Helping some jihad johnnies get a foothold in America is criminally suicidal.
The Baptist Press called the reports–most recently posted at Breitbart.com–“elaborate conspiracy theories [that} date back at least six years.”
I don’t want to believe that any church takes money from, and lends support to any agenda of, George Soros, an avowed enemy of Christian America.
I won’t go into the complexities of the rumors here. I’m not up to it. Suffice it to say that these matters need to be thoroughly investigated by real investigators, not puppets for one side or the other. In the meantime, I think we ought to take the Southern Baptists’ denial at face value and give them every benefit of the doubt–as we would hope to receive, were we falsely accused of any wrongdoing.
Because buddying up with Soros, no matter how you slice it, is wrongdoing.
P.S.–By the way, it wouldn’t surprise me to discover that Soros himself, and his henchmen, started these rumors just to hurt Christians. He’s perfectly capable of it.
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‘The Vindication of Joseph’
When I was a little boy, the story of Joseph scared me, but good. His brothers stuck him in a hole and sold him as a slave, and then he was thrown into jail for something that he didn’t do. What if it happened to me?
R.J. Rushdoony touched upon a key element in the story of Joseph, in this essay reprinted first in 2007.
https://chalcedon.edu/resources/articles/the-vindication-of-joseph
It’s easy to waste a lot of your life, he warned, brooding over past injustices and vainly trying to win back what you’ve lost. Joseph never did get compensated for the injustices he’d suffered. He was too busy saving Egypt. “Trust in God’s ultimate and unswerving justice,” Rushdoony wrote. It’s the only real justice there is.
But God pity us! We’ve made a whole way of life out of obsessing over past injustices, some indeed long past, and demanding…um… “reparations.” Doesn’t seem to matter how long past, or who was actually affected.
Happiness and peace of mind–the world knows how to avoid attaining it.
