Rapture Ruptured

As the rapture predicted for last Saturday did not come off, my silly mind wonders how many people "taken up" in the Joplin tornado thought the rapture was just 24 hours late. I don't mean to treat a tragedy lightly. Sunday's tornadoes were one of the great disasters in the history of our country. My thoughts, prayers and a Red Cross donation are all directed towards Joplin. My Grandfather Ross was born not far from Joplin and I have always had a soft spot for the city although I've never been there.

I have thought in the last few days that I am grateful that we do not have big time tornadoes in Arizona. Every state in the continental United States has had a tornado. As a kid, I remember seeing one about a thousand feet up above our house in Northern California. Technically, I am led to understand that it is not a tornado unless it touches the ground, but that one sure impressed me. I saw another tornado, a real one, in Shreveport, Louisiana. It just looked like a very dark cloud that reached the ground. A few years later, high in the mountains of Utah, I saw the results of one that twisted mature pine trees in every direction and left quite a swath. Again, I was impressed.

I've been lucky where natural disasters come. Aside from the aforementioned tornadoes, just one small earthquake, a few hailstorms, some big snows, pneumonia and that's about it. I sit, watch the Joplinites on the TV and wonder how I'd react if my home and everything in it was gone. I'm not sure. I'm grateful that hasn't happened and hope it never does, to me or to you. Hang in there Joplin.

Blessings.

Many Hands Help

This post is an apology for the last post, sort of. I fear that some may think it is my view that only religious organizations serve well. That is not true. Even in a small town like Payson, Arizona, many service clubs and other organizations were very active. The Red Cross did some great work. Habitat for Humanity was amazing. The Rim Country Search and Rescue helped save lives. There were many more. Many volunteers for these and other organizations, people who would never darken the door of a church, gave freely of their time and effort. In larger communities there are many volunteer organizations that make a big difference in many lives. I would not want to diminish the efforts of these wonderful individuals. I especially appreciate the elderly gentleman, a volunteer, who brought me a newspaper every morning when I was in the hospital recently.

I will remain critical of those who do nothing for any one, but still criticize churches and other volunteer organizations. Churches and synagogs may be full of hypocrites, but there are plenty of hypocrites on the outside too.

Blessings, especially to hypocrites!

Disorganized Religion

Many times, I’ve heard the statement, “I just can’t deal with organized religion,” or “I find God in the mountains (desert, ocean, river, etc.)” or “I worship God in my own way.” Having once embraced this philosophy myself, it is hard to be critical of these sentiments. The church, in whichever variety one chooses, is an organization of people, hypocrites, if you will, who are often either sanctimonious or uncommitted. People come to church for many reasons, some even to worship.

When I left the Baptist Church at age 13, I felt cajoled, judged and not ready to do what was wanted of me. This is not to criticize the Baptists, those things can happen in any church, synagogue or temple. The Baptists were sincere in their desire to make a better person out of me and they did in many ways. Many times, as I sit in the church of my choice, living the lifestyle of my choice, I recognize the mountains do have a certain pull.

In Payson, Arizona, in the last couple of years, I witnessed the true value of organized religion. Two entities in town, the Community Presbyterian Church and St. Vincent De Paul, were trying to feed a needy community. Other churches, including my own, would deal with individuals and families case by case, but the two I previously mentioned were carrying a burden for the community. Of course, the needy could get assistance and food stamps from the state, but the working poor and those waiting to qualify for state aide needed help.

The churches of Payson were asked by the mayor to mount a food drive. We were challenged to collect a lot of food and a substantial amount of money. Since the Presbyterians and St. Vincent’s had a structure in place, they were the recipients and distributors of what was donated. Goals were set and collections were made throughout town and donations received. Most churches in Payson participated and sent representatives to an executive committee. It seemed like every one pitched in. The drive was a success and Payson feed its own. The collective clergy who will never agree on doctrine united in this great cause.

Later, in Payson, a similar group was brought together to help find shelter for high school homeless forest kids (living in tents) and others playing couch roulette. Clergy and school district leaders came together to solve a serious community problem.

The point? While working on both of these committees, I did not find any “mountain worshipers” or atheists in attendance. Those who wanted to serve and help community needs were exclusively churchgoers. While I may have sympathy with the sentiments of individual worship in nature, it is people who are willing to stand for something who get things done. Is our individualism just that or is it a selfish masquerade tainted by the desire not to be committed? I cannot answer that question for other people, but it is fair to pose the question.

Militant atheists may rage on about how religion has brought about death, torture and war like no other entity. They conveniently omit the Hitlers and Stalins of history. While they rail on about such things, selfless individuals in churches, synagogues and temples throughout the world are getting thing done!

Being a member of a congregation is a commitment. It requires us to look beyond ourselves. It has to tolerate hypocrisy, because none are perfect. It requires patience. It puts us with a group of people we might not otherwise associate with. But as many have said, the church isn’t a country club for the saved, it’s a hospital for the sick and needy. Who among us is not sick and needy in some sense? You may be the most needy of all, maybe as much as me. The best way to help the community, church and thereby ourselves is to serve. It heals.

The Best Ever Movies

As I am in my third week of pneumonia and bronchitis, my mind does funny things. A couple of days ago, I made a list of the best movies I've seen during my life. There are about 100. Be warned that I think that older movies are better than 99% of what comes out these days. If any one is familiar with all of these movies, I'd like to hear from you. We have a kinship. If some decide to watch some of these, please don't neglect the silents on the list. They are amazing and often copied. If you think "Star Wars" was an original effort, watch "The Searchers." Lucas says it was a major influence on "Star Wars." The theme of a young man trying to find his way as he searches for his sister is powerful in both.

My list is roughly in order of preference although that could change when I get well! If you haven't seen many of these, try the top one or two from each category. You are in for a treat.

Blessings!

Movies

The very best:

Lawrence of Arabia

How Green Was My Valley

The Third Man

The Bridge on the River Kwai

To Kill a Mockingbird

Red River

A Man for All Seasons

Casablanca

Ben Hur

The Ten Commandments

Westerns:

Red River

The Searchers

High Noon

My Darlin' Clementine

Stagecoach

Will Penney

The Stalking Moon

The Westerner

Winchester 73

Shane

True Grit (John Wayne)

Lonesome Dove

Action/adventure:

Gunga Din

The Guns of Navarone

North by Northwest

The African Queen

The Sea Hawk

Master and Commander

Captain Horatio Hornblower (Gregory Peck)

Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon

Indiana Jones

Comedy:

A Night at the Opera

The Gold Rush (silent)

Bringing Up Baby

The Odd Couple

The General (silent)

Mr. Roberts

Some Like It Hot

Napoleon Dynamite

Romance:

Casablanca

The Quiet Man

Dr. Zhivago

The Shop Around the Corner

Roman Holiday

Ninotchka

An Affair to Remember

Love in the Afternoon

Sleepless in Seattle

Musicals:

Fiddler on the Roof

My Fair Lady

The Sound of Music

Oklahoma

South Pacific

Carousel

Yankee Doodle Dandy

Oliver

Mary Poppins

Phantom of the Opera

An American in Paris

Singing in the Rain

War:

Wings (silent)

Pork Chop Hill

The Winds of War

Battleground

Gettysburg

The Great Escape

Drama:

A Man for All Seasons

Double Indemnity

The Maltese Falcon

Key Largo

The Grand Illusion

The Elephant Man

The Apartment

The Days of Wine and Roses

Laura

Bad Day at Black Rock

Science Fiction:

2001

Star Wars

Them!

Animated:

Snow White

Fantasia

Pinoccio

Bambi

Up

Cars

Toy Story 1&2

Pixar Shorts

Actors/actresses:

Cary Grant

Gregory Peck

Audrey Hepburn

Kathryn Hepburn

James Stewart

Ingrid Bergman

Peter O'Toole

Humphrey Bogart

William Powell

Greer Garson

Walter Brennan

Harrison Ford

Best Movie Music:

The Sea Hawk

Red River

Lawrence of Arabia

Dr. Zhivago

How Green Was My Valley

The Alamo

Mushrooms (or the gag reflex strikes again)!

The other day, our daughter, Jennifer, brought us some homemade pizza. She's a great cook and, as I am under the weather with bronchitis, the pizza was welcome and has kept her Mom and I going for several days. Jen is a great daughter, but she has one defect. She likes mushrooms, really likes mushrooms. I was not a perfect parent after all. She sprinkled the shrooms generously upon the pizza we received and covertly covered them with cheese. The first mushroom I ate started out well. I was chewing along and had the thought, "I wonder what this is that I'm eating?" When it occurred to me that it was a devilish mushroom, I swallowed hard without a gag. A day later, a big one got me and the gag kicked in. It reminded me of the time when I was six years old and my parents slipped me buttermilk by mistake and I spewed it our all over the dinner table. With no practice, I soaked everyone's full dinner plate. My parents were not pleased with my gag buttermilk reflex. I still have the scars.

I would rather eat okra than either mushrooms or buttermilk. That is not a compliment to okra.

Note: avoid the next two paragraphs if you are squeamish.

I defy anyone to find any virtue in mushrooms (One advantage of being in the desert is that mushrooms don't grow here. They have to be imported. Why do people go to the trouble?) Mushrooms grow in the forest. They are fungus-the same entity that grows between the toes of would be athletes. I anticipate that left untreated long enough, an athlete's foot infection would eventually turn into gourmet's delight.

I will also note that a cooked mushroom looks a lot like snot. I don't like that word (particularly when I have bronchitis). It may taste like snot too, but I've never knowingly cooked snot, so that will remain a mystery.

Note: the squeamish may want to avoid the next paragraph too.

All this started back in the deep recessed of my memory. I was about four, my sister, Margo, about two. Our mother had made the error of feeding us both mushrooms for lunch, then took us immediately to the Bank of America in downtown San Diego, California. Knowing Mom, I assume she was making a withdrawal, not a deposit. Back in the 1940's you dressed up to go to the bank. Banks were large, sophisticated temples of finance. High ceilings and polished marble floors were the norm. There were Sunday clothes and bank clothes. Bank clothes may have out done Sunday clothes. To get to the point, as we were in the middle of the polished marble floor of the Bank of America downtown San Diego, California, dressed to the nines, Margo, with impeccable timing, let go of all her mushrooms all over the polished marble floor. Kind of creates a visual, doesn't it? The incident became family folklore. Margo was given a free pass, being labeled as by Mom as "allergic to mushrooms." I, who did not throw up, but suffered from Post-Tramatic Visual Mushroom Barf Disease, was not given a free pass (I quote, "Shut up and eat your mushrooms. You didn't throw up on the Bank of America's floor, you're not allergic."). If there had been such a label at that time as there is now, I still don't think Mom would have bought into my PTVMBD.

Note: the squeamish may begin again.

To any one who wants to eat the slimy fungus, go ahead. Just remember it is not animal, mineral or vegetable. It is fungus. If you are a fungus eater, please post a warning at your kitchen table. If you are not:

                                                     PTVMBDers UNITE!!!!!!

Confession: Jen, in her defense, warned me about the mushrooms!