Category Archives: Uncategorized

I am thankful for America, the bright light on the hilltop, a beacon to the world, from sea to shining sea.

I am thankful for my own year of life, my own year of living, my own year of prayer, penitence, and pleasure.

I am thankful for my latest novel, Angel Mountain, a story about the state of Western Civilization, Intelligent Design and Evolution, faith and science, cancel culture and free speech, Heaven and the Apocalypse, true history and the Holocaust, the sanctity of live and human dignity. 

I am thankful for America, for her freedoms, her liberty and law, her First Amendment and the right to worship, peacefully gather and voice our hearts and minds. 

I am thankful for America, for her people and their courage to stand up to tyranny rising, to speak the truth, to label lies, and sort fact from fiction.

I am thankful for America, for her entrepreneurs, inventors, scientists, homemakers, nurses, farmers, and all other workers with their unique talents; for books and writers, music and musicians.

I am thankful for President Trump and Operation Warp Speed, for his devotion to our country, for protecting us from threats within and without, for his epic heroism.

I am thankful for America, for the falling pandemic death rates in a country so vast and diverse. 

I am thankful for America, for those who defend her, on foreign or domestic soil, military and police.

I am thankful for America, for those who cherish academic freedom and have suffered for it.

I am thankful for America, for her past and present and future, for her wars of defense and correction, civil and uncivil, for righting wrongs and freeing slaves, for Pilgrims and the Founding Fathers, for the Constitution and Bill of Rights.

I am thankful for our loving God, for his Son and Redeemer, Jesus Christ, for His Holy Spirit indwelling in us, for his promises of Heaven.

I am thankful for our Church and clergy; for the faithful who pray for one another; for those who sing His praises, daily, hourly, minute by minute; for the hymns, thundering and poetic and uplifting, sung for centuries, ringing into this minute of our day; for Morning Prayer and Evening Prayer; for Holy Sacraments.

I am thankful for our tabby cat Laddie, who climbed the ladder to Heaven, who shared his time on Earth with us; for animals and plants and colors and seasons; for wind and rain, for stars and planets, for day and night, for the sun and the moon, for apples and pears, for plentiful harvests, for ice cream, for espresso, for sleep, for dreams, for work and play, for seeing, hearing, smelling, tasting, touching; for laughter, for faces, for smiles; for kindness, love, and generosity.

I am thankful for friends and family, for children, born and unborn, for the miracle and mystery of life itself.

May God bless America, from sea to shining sea.

Today is Stir-up Sunday, the Sunday next before Advent in the Christian calendar. It is called this because of the opening prayer that a collects us together:

STIR up, we beseech thee, O Lord, the wills of thy faithful people; that they, plenteously bringing forth the fruit of good works, may by thee be plenteously rewarded; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. (1928 BCP, 225)

We call the Holy Spirit to come upon us and give us the will to do right according to His commandments, to bear good fruit. And there is no better time to call upon this Third Person of the Holy Trinity. There is no better time to stir up God’s people, our nation under God.

We often need stirring up, for we are a joyful people and prone to complacency in our joy. We have answered some of the great mysteries of life, the whys and wherefores, the whats and whos, the whens. We know we are fallen, but we know the remedy. We have a deadly virus, but be not afraid, for we have the antidote. We are under sentence of death in the cosmology of Heaven’s justice, but we know how to commute that sentence through repentance, through the death and resurrection of Christ, the Second Person of the Holy Trinity, through touching the hem of His garment and carrying His cross. We are at peace, for we have immense meaning in our lives. More than that, our  lives embody meaning, every breathing moment adding to the total of that meaning, for nothing is lost and everything gained. Nothing is wasted.

Bishop Morse of blessed memory used to cheer me up with the words, “Nothing is lost.” I’ve often recalled those words, when I hammer away at a keyboard or receive another rejection, or a project has fallen through, or a plan come to naught. Nothing is lost. Everything counts in the economy of God. 

It is this wholeness of life, this holiness of life, that the Christian owns, that the Christian can claim for his or her own. It is a vast fortune, and we claim it to be ours. It is an inheritance my hermit Abram speaks of as he preaches and baptizes from a rocky ledge to the pilgrims in the grassy meadow below. It is a theme of my recently released novel, Angel Mountain, this joy, this grace given.

So out of sheer complacency, having been given so much grace, we often need a little stirring up. And so this Sunday Collect prepares us for the Advent season as a kind of bugle cry to get our attention: wake up! It’s time! The last trumpet will soon sound! Christ is born in Bethlehem! Christ is returning, filling the sky! Can you see Him?

The world needs stirring up as it awaits the Second Advent of Christ, the Second Coming.

This last week I needed stirring up and I needed the reassurance that nothing was lost. While I knew the media had years ago declared war on a sitting President, and while I knew that if an honest and free press gives way to tyranny that democracy dies, I was surprised once again that a major news conference shedding evidential light into the deep shadows of our recent election was not covered, but dismissed and scorned. It was as though the last hope of a free press was gone.

The Gospel today was St. John’s account of the feeding of the five thousand, with only a lad’s five barley loaves and two small fishes (John 6:5+). Andrew asks, “What are they among so many?”

And we ask, what are we among so many?

How can truth be broadcast when major media is corrupt? And yet our voices continue to be heard. For nothing is lost.

And so in St. John’s account we see the economy of Heaven: the vast and the microscopic, the immortal and the mortal. The Lord of the Universe sits on a hillside and receives a basket of loaves and fishes from a little boy. We are given concrete details: the people are to sit; there is grass to sit upon; Jesus gives thanks and distributes the loaves and fishes, feeding them all. It was a miracle of creation repeated, multiplied, a down-from-Heaven-to-Earth miracle, an intersection of eternity into time.

Finally, Jesus instructs his disciples to “gather up the fragments that remain, that nothing be lost.” Nothing be lost. I am a fragment: gather me. I don’t want to be lost. John writes that there were twelve baskets of fragments gathered. He is a good witness to reality, to truth. He gives us details in his account.

And so we must be good witnesses to all the fragments.

One of the ways that totalitarian governments take and retain power is to repeat lies until they (seem to) become truth. Just so, it seems we the voters are expected to see and not to see, to witness and not to testify. We begin to doubt our senses. We begin to believe the lies. It’s so much easier to go along.

But many are praying that true truth is told by those who do the telling. As evidence is amassed in numerous court cases litigating recent election practices, we pray that light lights up the dark, forces the lies to emerge from the shadows so that we can truly see.

We must be stirred up enough to remain awake to reality, to truth, to the truth of the Advent of Christ, to the truth of the light shining in the darkness, to the truth of who we are in spite of our brokenness. We gather our words like loaves and fishes, hoping they will multiply and feed the hungry. The fragments are gathered too, so that nothing is lost.

Every breath counts. Every prayer counts. Every true vote for freedom counts. We need not be afraid. Nothing is lost.

I was meditating on what to write this afternoon when I received an email from a friend in one of our parishes. Did I have a recommendation for where to order personalized Bibles as gifts for Confirmation?

I considered the week and the watching and waiting for the Second Coming of Christ found in the Gospel of Matthew assigned readings. The words of Christ in red cover several pages as he foretells the last days, the Judgment, Heaven and Earth. There is a winnowing, a sorting out of human souls, those who watched and were ready, those who cared for the poor, those who followed Christ’s commandments, those who bore good fruit, those who said yes to the wedding feast of the king. Those who didn’t do these things would be sent into outer darkness, where there would be gnashing of teeth. He mentions outer darkness a significant number of times to add authenticity to his words. 

And then there was the lovely Friday Reflection, “Fraud Control,” by James M. Kushiner of Touchstone Magazine in which he writes of the importance of autographs as seals of authenticity. He cites St. Paul in his closing words to the church at Thessalonica (today Greece):

“The salutation of Paul with mine own hand, which is the token in every epistle: so I write.” (2 Thessalonians 3:17-18, KJV)

Paul uses the words, outo grapho, or “this is my handwriting,” the origins of autograph which meant any works handwritten by the author. Paul was concerned that others were forging letters to the churches, and so he emphasizes with his outo grapho that his letter is truly from him. 

Just so, James Kushiner writes, the signs of Christ – his deeds – were his signature, affirming who he was and is.

Christians are named at Baptism, given “Christian” names, christened with signs all our own. Our name identifies us, separates us from others. Just so our autograph, our name written by our own hand, has long been used to ensure authenticity of documents. Today, with electronic signing and accounts that no longer require signatures we have nearly returned to the days of making our mark with an “X”, the mark of the illiterate, or no mark at all. We are identified by our passcodes, numbers. I am told that children are no longer taught cursive. What does that mean in terms of their signatures? A scribble or squiggle, I suppose. A fingerprint. A passcode.

In our national election we are currently concerned with signatures that match records on file so that voters are identified to be who they claim to be, living or dead, legitimate or fraudulent. Signatures still count, we hope.

Handwriting. Signatures. Fingerprints. Faces scanned.

Each one of us is so unique. We take this for granted but it is an amazing miracle that no two persons are identical. Even twins have unique markers, genetic as well. And so I fear we will not do well in the Judgment when we must say we allowed the genocide of several generations of unique human beings, children with all the identity markers we have, children that will never be born, children we will face in Heaven, should we survive the sorting.

As Christians we are assured of our salvation, to be sure, for we have Christ defending us; we have Christ standing for us before the throne of God, as long as we repent the times we looked away, the times we denied Christ, the times we were ashamed to speak. But we have been marked by Christ.

Just like the Bibles, we are personalized by our Creator. In the last days we will be marked with the sign of the cross on our foreheads, just as we were marked in our Baptisms with holy oil: 

“WE receive this Child (or person) into the congregation of Christ’s flock; and do *sign him with the sign of the Cross, in token that hereafter he shall not be ashamed to confess the faith of Christ crucified, and manfully to fight under his banner, against sin, the world, and the devil; and to continue Christ’s faithful soldier and servant unto his life’s end. Amen.” (1928 BCP, 280)

And when Confirmed, having been regenerated in Baptism, we are now given the gifts of the Holy Spirit:

“ALMIGHTY and everliving God, who hast vouchsafed to regenerate these thy servants by Water and the Holy Ghost, and hast given unto them forgiveness of all their sins; Strengthen them, we beseech thee, O Lord, with the Holy Ghost, the Comforter, and daily increase in them thy manifold gifts of grace: the spirit of wisdom and under-standing, the spirit of counsel and ghostly strength, the spirit of knowledge and true godliness; and fill them, O Lord, with the spirit of thy holy fear, now and for ever. Amen.” (1928 BCP, 297)

We belong to Christ. We have been signed with his Cross, a blood red autograph. We are not ashamed to write, to speak, to love as he has taught us to do. At life’s end, we will hear his call, know his voice, and he will know each one of us. He will say, “Well done, good and faithful soldier and servant. Welcome to the Kingdom of Heaven.”

Dark clouds rolled in shortly after noon today and soon filled the big sky over and around our portion of Planet Earth. Then thunder roared and rain poured, as though the skies opened  to pour their tears on our land. It was cold last night, and I gazed up to Angel Mountain (Mount Diablo) wondering if it might snow. An American flag flew in the distance in the brown grass, and, farther up the horse trail, the white cross stood sturdy, weathering the weather. We are nearing Veterans Day, the day in which my novel’s story opens, closing on Thanksgiving. In Angel Mountain, the skies are filled with thunder and lightning. The leaves are turning gold and bronze and russet, as they fall into Fall. Earth is preparing for winter.

Thunder shatters the air, rumbling through the canyons. But I fear no evil. I was reminded this last week to be not afraid, that God is the God of all history, and there will come a time when there are no more tears. Christ will come again to judge the peoples of the Earth, and those who desire justice among men will have their fervent and patient wish granted.

But beware. This means a personal judgment as well as a general one. Wheat will be separated from chaff (weeds), sheep from goats. For if there will be no more tears in the new Heaven and Earth, those who did not keep (and do not desire to keep) the Ten Commandments, the Law given to Moses and the Prophets, those who did not bear good fruit, will be cast into outer darkness. This is God’s justice, justly severe, as written in Holy Scripture.

This last week the Book of Common Prayer daily Gospel readings included Christ’s condemnation of the Pharisees. They are harsh words, hellfire and brimstone words, and he is clear in his intention. So if we believe Jesus is the Son of God, if we believe the Scriptures are a fair account of his works and words, then we might pause and take stock of our own lives.

And so it was also good to hear the Gospel for today in which Christ explains forgiveness. We are to forgive our enemies, those who harm us or seek to do us harm. Forgiveness must come from deep within our hearts, through prayer and patience. We are told to love our enemies. Do good to those who persecute us. This does not mean that we embrace words and deeds of the lawless and the dishonest. We must be wise and not throw pearls before swine. But we prepare our hearts to forgive them when they repent. We do not hold grudges. With forgiveness we are free from this darkness. When we forgive, as seen in the prayer Our Lord taught us to pray, the “Our Father,” we will be forgiven in like measure.

I ponder these holy mysteries – a soothing symmetry – as I watch history unfold on our national stage, today an international stage, watched by the peoples of the world with fear and trembling. America, for now, shines her light on the hill, a beacon lighting up the darkness, a promise of hope to all those escaping the terror of socialist regimes. For as long as honest debate is allowed, freedom thrives. For as long as free and honest elections are held, liberty is lauded. As long as we can speak without fear, live without fear, America will continue to shine her light from the mountaintop.

And so I am pleased that our President is shining light on the allegations of fraudulent practices in the recent election. Such light will strengthen our republic. Such transparency will show the world that we are still a place of refuge, a place of justice. Our constitutional procedures wisely give us time to examine these charges, and, as we await the final results, we can pause and give thanks that we have such a process. I pray that all Americans accept peacefully the results, having waited patiently for every legal vote to be certified, trusting that the electors, in mid-December, will represent the true and honest will of the American people. For this is America. This is how we protect our freedoms.

The projections made by the media are projections, not elections. Let us pause and breathe deeply and pray for our country, for all her wonderful peoples of every race, creed, and background, born and unborn. She is a glorious melting pot, just like each one of us, a rainbow of colorful traits, treasures, and talents. She is the hope of the world.

The sun just came out on Angel Mountain, the sky now a dome of blue, the colors of the earth singing their song of hope.

May God bless America.

Prayer For Our Country:

“ALMIGHTY God, who hast given us this good land for our heritage; We humbly beseech thee that we may always prove ourselves a people mindful of thy favour and glad to do thy will. Bless our land with honourable industry, sound learning, and pure manners. Save us from violence, discord, and confusion; from pride and arrogancy, and from every evil way. Defend our liberties, and fashion into one united people the multitudes brought hither out of many kindreds and tongues. Endue with the spirit of wisdom those to whom in thy Name we entrust the authority of government, that there may be justice and peace at home, and that, through obedience to thy law, we may show forth thy praise among the nations of the earth. In the time of prosperity, fill our hearts with thankfulness, and in the day of trouble, suffer not our trust in thee to fail; all which we ask through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.” (1928 Book of Common Prayer, 136)

This prayer was offered in one of our Anglican parishes this morning, All Saints Day. It is a poetic, potent, plea for our nation as we draw near to election day and our choice of President for another four years.

I love America, and I believe her fortunes greatly influence the world’s fortunes. Many say that every election is heated, which to some degree is true. But never in our history have we had an election with such transparency. The ubiquitous smart phone has given every person a window into the character and habits of every public figure. This is historically new.

In the past, public figures were shielded simply by limited access. They could indulge in corruption and promiscuity with impunity. Damage control was far easier when information could not go viral in minutes whether true or false. (FDR, JFK, Bill Clinton come to mind)

This “living in a glass house” with full transparency has hurt both Democrats and Republicans. Some are offended by President Trump’s style. Some are offended by former Vice President Biden’s corruption. Even more folks are aghast at the biased press and the disintegration of this vital pillar of our free democratic republic (this may be the ultimate poison pill).

In spite of the power and wealth of the media (Hollywood /press/ academia /publishing /big tech), I return to my fifty-year policy of choosing candidates based on what they can do for our country. For what happens to our country affects the world for good or ill. I choose substance over style, performance over personality. There is too much at stake to consider anything else.

The current genocide of the unborn, free speech, freedom of worship, freedom of assembly, and peace at home and abroad are all substantive issues at the top of my list and have found their way into my novels. Cancel culture is seen in all of these issues – the cancellation of life, the cancellation of churches and schools, the cancellation of speakers (and novelist bloggers!), the cancellation of enterprise of all kinds, the cancellation of law and order. The Chinese virus was and continues to be weaponized against freedom, the pandemic’s dangers real but fears far exaggerated, designed to keep us locked down in dependance upon the State.

But be of good cheer, for today is All Saints! A wonderful celebration in the calendar for Christians. One of our preachers this morning (I visited three virtual liturgies and am becoming a sermon junkie) said that saints are you and I as well as those on the calendar, those canonized by the Church. He said, when folks think of you, do they see Christ? Tough question. Saints walk among us today, everyday saints, men and women who love with the love of Christ, who witness to his acts of salvation, who follow his commandments and repent when they fail to obey them, who pick themselves up (and dust themselves off) and move into the next minutes and days and months and years, suffering for the love of you and I, courageous and free from fear.

And so we thank God for the saints past, present, and to come in these challenging times. We pray for our nation and our nation’s leaders. We pray for peace. We pray for freedom from tyranny, from socialism in all its forms, soft or hard. We remember Russia and China and Germany and Cuba and those who fled here for refuge (and continue to flee here), those who witness to the horror they experienced. We tell our history to our children – true history, our true past so that we can learn where we went wrong and how to do better. We pick ourselves up and dust ourselves off and gather together in prayerful thanksgiving and song:

“For all the saints, who from their labors rest,/Who thee by faith before the world confessed,/Thy Name o Jesus, be forever blessed./Alleluia, alleluia!” (Hymn #126, words by Wm. Walsham How, 1864)

May God bless America!

In many of our Anglican parishes we celebrate the Feast of Christ the King today (some celebrate at the end of November, following the new Roman rite from 1970.) Today kingship is one more form of authority frowned upon. And yet, as Bob Dylan sang in 1979, in “Gotta Serve Somebody”:

“You’re gonna have to serve somebody.
Well, it may be the devil or it may be the Lord,
But you’re gonna have to serve somebody.”

Dylan recognized that we all must make this choice whether we admit to it or not. Many make the choice by default.

Today many serve themselves, their own passions, their own wills, their possessions. As Christians we recognize we can choose whom we serve. For all must recognize an authority, whether they realize this or not. Christians have the blessed fortune to serve Christ the King, the God of ultimate love, the Creator of the world and the Creator of each one of us.

To recognize that we must choose whom or what we serve releases us from many worries. For when we choose our King, we choose the path on which we are to walk – His path – and the rest falls into place.

But the Devil lurks like a lion, ready to pounce, ready to tempt and distract. He desires our allegiance. Will we serve him?

We live in a world today that observes a darker and lower allegiance, a power that feeds on us, on our needs and desires, destroying us with lies. We are told that we do not need a king. We do not need authorities that tell us how to live. We are told to seek our own desires and be ruled by them. We are told to feel good, to follow whatever “makes you happy.”

And yet as Christians we know happiness can only come from the King who created us. Happiness can only come when we become what He designed us to be.

The mob violence in our burning cities, the gender confusion that mutilates children, the desire to throw out rules of behavior and live as we wish, the genocide of the unborn – all of these trends in our world today enslave those who claim truth is relative, goodness is relative, all perspectives are relative.

As Christians we know that Christ the King gives mankind ways to live since the world began. These ways, encoded in the Ten Commandments, the Beatitudes, the law of love, of faith, hope, and charity, we know informed the founding of our nation. Now, as our people depart from allegiance to Christ the King and His law of love, our nation and world fragment into millions of identities, devolving into tribal wars, and sinking into the abyss of chaos.

As Christians we know this world is only the beginning of something far better, more beautiful, more glorious to come, a nurturing time in which we grow fuller, more complete, whole. As T.S. Eliot wrote in “Four Quartets, The Dry Salvages”:

“These are only hints and guesses,/ Hints followed by guesses;/ And the rest is prayer, observance, discipline, /Thought and action. /The hint half guessed, the gift half understood, /Is Incarnation.”

We are part of this Incarnation, for we are made in the divine image, in the flesh, incarnate. We have choices. We can choose to create or we can choose to destroy. We can hide our light or we can shine our light. We can seek our Creator and listen to His voice, those hints followed by guesses. We can observe His law of love and discipline our souls and bodies with prayer, thought, and action. For today we see through a window dimly but tomorrow will clearly, having grown into our fullness.

We gotta serve somebody. If not Christ the King, then who knows what dark forces (including our own egos and passions) will command our path in this life.

It is easy to listen to the wrong powers that be. It is easy to choose ease and self and even withdrawal into hidden corners. It is not always clear which choice to make in a given moment. And so we pray. We immerse ourselves in the gifts half understood – scripture and sacrament and song. We keep Sundays holy. We honor our parents (and other authorities). We try not to lie, kill, covet, cheat. We repent and are washed cleaned by the blood of the Lamb.

And the hint half guessed is Christ the King himself. The hint half guessed is the Incarnation of our Creator who lived among us, died, and rose to life. The hint half guessed is all there before us – in the glory of song and the poetry of prayer and the humility of dependence upon our God of love, our heavenly Father.

For in the end, we need not worry. We are care-less, free of care. We fight the good fight, run the race. At the end of the day, we place our cares and worries at the feet of the King. We place our sufferings in his hands. And it is through these wounds that we climb the ladder to Heaven. It is through these wounds that we are welcomed by His side. It is through these wounds that His hand finds ours, pulls us up, and enfolds us in his arms.

For we have chosen whom we will serve – the God of all Creation, the God of Love, Christ the King.

I’ve spent a good deal of time this year sheltering with my icons.

Saints, Apostles, Holy Events, Our Lord Jesus, the Holy Family, the Holy Trinity, all cover my walls in my home office, a veritable cloud of witnesses to the love of God.

And when I sing the Gloria in Excelsis Deo and the Creed, even the Our Father, along with my virtual chapel congregations during a Sunday Holy Liturgy, I let my eye rest on these golden images. They comfort, strengthen, enable. They pull me into their stories as I sing the words of the stories.

For that is what the Creator does, he shines golden light on his Creation, making each of us shine too, shining light in turn on others and other created matter.

Like my hermit on Angel Mountain, I am called through these doors into another world, a more real world, one that makes the ordinary world of matter more real too. Unlike the wraiths from Hell in C.S. Lewis’ The Great Divorce, where they find upon their visit to Heaven they cannot walk on the too real grass with their flimsy see-through spirits. They have not been made real enough to partake of this greater reality. As I recall, the blades of grass are like knife blades, hurting the feet of these flimsy creatures.

Do we want to experience life more fully, see colors more vividly, love with greater selflessness? We can if we become Christians and allow God to remold our souls, and often, bodies.

Our journey to Heaven as we travel through Earthly time, heading for Eternity, is a journey that prepares us for this greater Reality. We are weak and frail, but Christ feeds us and strengthens us.

Today is St. Luke’s Day, and we recall and celebrate the evangelist who wrote the third Gospel. We heard about him today in our virtual sermons, but what I think of most of the time in regards to Luke is the Christmas narrative in Chapter 2. It is said that Luke received the account from Mary herself, and that he painted her image several times.

“And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be taxed…” Christmas after Christmas, the children lined up in the narthex of our local parish, dressed in robes and sandals and head scarves, carrying stuffed lambs, arranging glittery sashes over white smocks with matching halo crowns. They would process up the aisle to the chancel in their turn, first the prophets prophesying, then Mary and Joseph journeying to Bethlehem, then lo and behold, a child is born and placed in the straw manger basket. Angels enter, carrying a giant bright star that leads shepherds and kings to the stable-cave.

In our tradition we use the classic King James translation, and the narrators speak the words to the congregation with great joy and reverence as though offering words of gold, poetic beauties, on this cold Sunday, days after the winter solstice. And all the while, the congregation sings well known carols, welcoming the little players in this giant pageant.

And so I am fond of Luke who traveled with Paul, preaching the Gospel, as described in his book, Acts of the Apostles.

Tradition holds that Luke painted an icon of Mary holding her Holy Child, and of the three images surviving, one is in the Basilica of Mary Maggiore in Rome. We have visited often. There is a side chapel in the transept, home to this image which rests high above the altar. The great Marian shrine is one of the historic pilgrimage churches, and when we entered the giant space, we often heard singing coming from this side chapel. We would follow the song – usually an Ave Maria as well as other tunes – stepping silently up the central aisle, turning left at the transept and peering into the side chapel, full of pilgrims. We would enter, kneel in the back, and say a silent prayer of thanksgiving. The pilgrims were most often from other countries, and often from America, school children and choirs that have laced their Rome journey with a necklace of spontaneous song. It was a great privilege to experience this again and again.

There is a second image that Luke painted that is said to be in Bologna, and I believe a third in Constantinople (Istanbul), said to have been lost. The one in Bologna is in its own shrine outside the city on a hill, and I recall a colonnaded walkway that connected the shrine and the city. Each year a procession formed and winded its way to the shrine, singing. We were never able to be part of this, but the image is encouraging and lingers in my memory.

One of our preachers this morning said that St. Luke is credited with painting the Our Lady of Vladimir image of Mary as well as the Black Madonna of Czestochowa.

So Luke is artist and author, one that sought to celebrate this great intersection of time and eternity.

The Church has been given a magnificent patrimony in both faith and art, gifts that make reality more real. For by expanding our sight into another dimension, through words and image, we become closer reflections of the Divine. We are made in the image of God – every one of us. And we are pulled into this Divine Image by our own creation, by partaking of the sacraments, by breathing the Holy Spirit into our lungs as we breathe the name of Jesus, by sharing with others made in His image how beautiful each person is.

We are in a time of great national peril, a time when these gifts may be threatened, a time when we may have to celebrate our Lord of Eternity in a hidden chapel tomb as the first Christians did. I hope and pray this is not the case. Today is a time to speak and to warn, to fall on our knees before God in chapel or procession, virtual or physical, and pray for our country and the Western tradition that guards its faith and freedoms.

We must not be muzzled by masks – by lies masked as truth, by hate masked as love. St. Luke wrote and painted and encouraged the telling of this great good news, nothing less than the story of our redemption. Thank you, St. Luke.

I am pleased to report that I am on page 663 (of 980 pages) of Andrew Roberts’ excellent doorstopper, Churchill: Walking with Destiny. While the details of World War II (battles, etc.) are more difficult for me to follow, the personalities and how they interacted at the time to literally save Western Civilization has been fascinating: Winston Churchill above all, but many others as well.

Thinking about history, the question is often asked, “How do we know what is true, and what isn’t?” or “How do we study/write history?” “What are primary and secondary sources?” “What authorities make this true?” And Pilate’s famous one, “What is truth?”

I asked and considered these questions in several of my novels, in particular, The Magdalene Mystery, which searches for the narratives surrounding Mary Magdalen, and tries to discern the truth, if there is one. How historians have “done” history over the last century is a part of the equation, for methods have changed considerably. New Testament history – the Gospel accounts of Mary Magdalene and what she saw and didn’t see at Christ’s tomb on that first Easter morning – have been questioned. And yet, as I researched how we know what we know, the more I understood how these accounts were written and read and copied over the centuries to become our testament of redemption. And yet the naysayers, the destroyers of objective truth, won over public opinion and destroyed our people’s faith in the salvific acts of Jesus Christ two thousand years ago.

In truth, some modern intellectuals, particularly on the Left, consider truth an impossibility and at best a subjective opinion. Again, the history of history and historians is also a subject of The Magdalene Mystery. For it is remarkable how truth is considered dead, along, I suppose, with faith.

I still believe in objective truth. Granted each person sees it slightly differently, but we should all seek it fully and not be afraid of discovering it to the best of our knowledge at that moment in time. Hence, the choice of go-to authorities is important for the average person, since most of us cannot be authorities on everything.

Facts and fictions are tossed about today in a media circus of entertainment. We as readers and viewers have been reduced to observers in the stands, wondering if it is worth voting for anything or anybody. We fear speaking out or questioning, so that only one side controls the conversation. In the case of speech in our world today, might makes right, not democratic or constitutional.

And so as I read about Winston Churchill, and his many heroic deeds, I am supremely grateful to Andrew Roberts. Mr. Roberts’ words ring true. He shows where Churchill goes astray, misses the mark, creates the wrong impression, is, in fact, human and full of foibles. But he also shows how this man, with all his faults, was a man walking fearlessly with his destiny. He stood alone most of the time, always seeking how he could save Britain, and by saving Britain, save the United States and the free world.

I am currently reading about early 1941 and, having researched the invasion of Greece by Italy and Germany as backstory to a character in Angel Mountain, I recognize overlapping moments in my memory where truth resides. The Nazi invasion of Crete in the spring, where my Elizabeth Levin (6) with her little brother (2) were hiding with their families in the mountains, was a moment I describe in the novel. The character of Elizabeth is based on a true account (I heartily recommend), a memoir by Yolanda Avram Willis, A Hidden Child in Greece, Rescue in the Holocaust.

At the time, the Nazi landing on the beaches of Crete was considered a great defeat for the Allies, but it turned out to be a great victory, for it delayed the invasion of Russia for six weeks, just enough time for a particularly cold winter to set in, one that spelled victory for the Allies.

And so today, in the midst of many warring factions in the West, we see history torn down, erased, cancelled. Truth is said to be lies and lies said to be truth. The past is weaponized, and we are left in a dangerous void of meaning. We must pray for discernment, for totalitarian regimes are fond of erasing history. This we know from history, and there are a few of us left who studied history. He who controls the “narrative”, the past, controls the present and the future, according to Communist dictators. Many have written eyewitness accounts of this, and the mass killings that ensue, should anyone be left to read a true account. An excellent account of the Communist gulags and the suppression of truth can be found in the works by Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn.

Even so, we still have reliable authorities, those who tell true history. And as we celebrate Columbus Day tomorrow, it is good to seek authorities that tell true American history. I found one such article in the Epoch Times, a paper I trust, which I am looking forward to reading in celebration of America’s discovery.

We still have libraries and books and pages to be turned, words to be read. We still have heroes and saints and sages. This may be our time, our world, our destiny. This may be the time in which we are called to tell the truth and to walk with those who seek it.

Today is the Feast of St. Francis of Assisi, the beggar who traveled the roads of Italy, preaching and healing, who kissed a leper on his face. He was both humble and joyous, and he understood he must be pierced by the love of God in the flesh to fully love. He died at age forty-two, nearly blind, and bleeding from the wounds of Christ, the “stigmata” received on the mountain called La Verna. He is a saint of the flesh, of the body, of God’s immense love.

I have come to appreciate the human face and its remarkable ability to communicate. While noses are for breathing (definitely a good and essential part of the face), mouths are for speaking, and for subtle expressions that I have taken for granted over the years.

Because now I can’t see them, masked as they are. Mouths are essential as well, but since they expel and inhale dangerous viral globules, they risk spreading and receiving infection. Sneezing and coughing are discouraged, although I had thought they were always discouraged. Good to be reminded, I suppose, not to sneeze or cough on anyone.

I confess that I have always hated telephones. Hearing a person’s voice to me is not enough. I hold the instrument to my ear or tap the speakerphone, and I try to fathom what the face at the other end of the line, the other side of the Cloud, is trying to tell me. And of course this can be remedied by Skype or FaceTime or Zoom, I do realize.

I visited some family members not part of my “pod” yesterday and left greatly disturbed by the necessary masks. This time it wasn’t that I couldn’t breathe (which is true, I tend to panic) since they were kind enough to allow me not to wear my mask, and we were “distancing”, and I am healthy in spite of being over seventy and deemed by the powers that be to be vulnerable. This time my disturbance was over having to speak to eyes looking at me over the mask. It was surreal, as if they weren’t there, but not quite.

I heard their vocal expressions and nuances and laughter and I could see their eyes crinkle and widen and smile oddly. But I left their home frustrated, feeling I had been robbed of something essential to my well-being, my communication face-to-face. I had been robbed of something intrinsically human, and also, I am beginning to think, divinely ordained to express love. I longed to really see them as our Creator intended, and I couldn’t really see them.

My recent ACFW blog post speaks a bit about this, the uses of the face, the need for Christian writers to reflect God’s face in their writing. I’m glad God doesn’t wear a mask, but breathes his Holy Spirit here among us, stirring us up with joy. And we have God the Son too, a face replicated by icons through the centuries, a face we have come to pray to, a face that is full of love and concern, if perhaps sometimes demanding and stern, as is proper in a well-ordered creation, a created order that loves one another.

And in spite of all the furor over mask-wearing, there has been (as of this writing) no evidence that the practice makes any difference, except that it curtails those who might sneeze upon you or cough upon you, in which case you have made the foolish decision (or loving decision) to be too close to a very ill-mannered person, and might need to think that through in future choices you make, at least if you are deemed vulnerable by the powers that be.

One way or another, the State has taken away our responsibility for our behavior, our ability to choose to love on our own, to make the decision to stay home if we are sick, or to sneeze or cough our globules into a sleeve (as we used to do).

In our faith tradition, in our liturgy and afterwards, we have many moments when we are close to one another, sharing the Eucharistic cup, eating of the Eucharistic bread, kneeling side by side before the tabernacle. In the past we would shake hands, hug, touch a shoulder in tenderness, encouragement, or sympathy. When I had a cough, a didn’t cough on others. If I was sick, I stayed home. Now I’m always home, by decree.

I hope we can return to normalcy, to loving one another again, but I’m not sure about that in California. We shall see. Many are fleeing the state and for many reasons. Government control over faces might be a breaking point at some time. It’s just about my breaking point (and I worry about the children in this world of separation, this world of isolation and unlove).

But, then again, there is today’s Epistle, Paul’s call for “lowliness and meekness and long-suffering in the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace—one body, and one Spirit, even as ye are called in one hope of your calling; one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all, who is above all, and through all, and in you all” (Ephesians 4:1+). Paul calls himself “the prisoner of the Lord.” So I shall embrace my facelessness as best I can, in increased humility and most of all in love, and become a “prisoner of the Lord” too.

At least among Christians, there is only one body, the Body of Christ, the Church, as one of our preachers said this morning. In this painful separation from one another, and the fueled divisions of our politics of hate, this is Good News. We are not separate from one another. We are not faceless. We are one body, His Body. Until the New Heaven and Earth. Until we see Our Lord face-to-face, with our redeemed faces.

And just as described in my recent novel, Angel Mountain, we will sing with all our might, one of the hymns that our Berkeley chapel chose for today, “Holy, Holy, Holy, Lord God Almighty,” based on Revelation’s song of the angels. We will sing with the angels and the saints and all those who have gone before us, those who have died during this pandemic, those who have died before this pandemic, all those family and friends we long to see once again. We will sing with St. Francis.

For we will see their redeemed faces, full of Christ’s glory. And we too will be redeemed, full of Christ’s glory.

I’m pleased to announce that American Christian Fiction Writers (ACFW) published my post today, “The Face of God”, considering how Christian novelists are called to transfigure Earth with Heaven. Thank you ACFW!