Nobody swings Christmas like Ella Fitzgerald.
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The cross is supposed to be the center of Christianity — it is the expiation for sin which redeems humanity, the cosmic turning point of history. That may be, theologically speaking. But if this redemption doesn’t take us all back to the stable in Bethlehem, to the hillside where the shepherds heard the angels sing, to the joy of the first Christmas — what the hell good was it?
If the cross was just a last-minute reprieve, a back-stop catching us up slightly short of the abyss, it might be worthy of eternal relief, but not of eternal enthusiasm.
The cross is not the center of the moral universe — the cross places the stable in Bethlehem at the center of the moral universe. When a man or woman of faith sees a cross, he or she should ask, “Which way is that manger I’ve heard about? Can I still get there in time for the big event, even with a change-over in Denver? What are the chances of picking up some myrrh in the airport gift shop?”
Suffering marks out the road to Heaven, sure, but as Blake said, gratitude is Heaven itself. Gratitude is the destination. Hit the trail to Bethlehem and bring a gift.
I understand that Bush and Obama and their CIA teams were working under extraordinary and in some ways unprecedented pressures when they committed war crimes. A case can be made that they should receive pardons after their convictions for those crimes, and I’d be more than willing to listen to it — but first, the convictions.
Fonvielle’s ‘Six Western Love Stories’
. . . isn’t a romance novel. No moon in June, pie in the sky, lovey dovey BS. The love in these short stories is sometimes given and sometimes taken, It’s hard and it’s rough, born of necessity, lust and greed. There are turns of tenderness though but that tenderness seemingly comes with time and life lived. Descriptive and colorful, I found myself living through these stories, being in them for the moments they took me to read. That’s the best I can say about these stories. They draw you in and make you partake. The only disappointment is when they’re over.
For book details go here:
Rock albums don’t get much better than Blue by Joni Mitchell — from a time when artists regularly put out LPs on which every track was a classic. (When did that stop seeming like a good idea?)
The modern pressing I’m listening to now, on 180-gram vinyl from Rhino, is clear and bright but the sound is slightly brittle –without the depth and roundness of the original. Someday Mobile Fidelity will put out an edition and that will be the one to have (unless you’ve got a nice clean copy of the first pressing.) Until then, this will do very well.