Yesterday was beautiful and sunny, but it was just a ruse, a cunning device to deceive brought on by the Old Adversary. Today is different. Our Enemy the Climate has changed. Thunder rolls, while rain lashes down against the weathered timbers of the Compound's HQ with elemental, enraged fury. Not unlike Hillary on hearing the news of Trump's victory in 2016.
Are we deterred, thrown into wailing, weeping, tariff induced panic as we hunker down in our hardened bomb/tornado shelter? Hardly. First step: Stand on the porch like Ahab, braving the elements. Second Step: Gather the faithful for Evening Prayer at Mission #1, 1928 BCP thank you very much. Then say that important act of communal worship as thunder rolls like an artillery barrage and rain crashes down.
My soul doth magnify the Lord, regardless of climactic opposition. Speaking of which, do any of you pray the Roman Breviary? I used to and liked it, but its hideous English translations of psalms and canticles became too much to bear and I jettisoned the thing. For all I know there's a better variant out there but I haven't seen it.
Speaking of which, I remember talking with some senior Roman priests somewhere in Gloucestershire, years ago. They scorned the new liturgical texts, "All they had to do, Father, was use the language already worked out by the Church of England. But no, they wouldn't do that, thought they were clever. But they weren't, utterly useless." I loved those old boys.
Regardless, the Texan sky has turned that shade of green which may or may not presage a further storm. Does this mean we should pay the Weather moar tax, like some kind of Dane Geld? I say no, you might say yes. Your call.
No Rule,
LSP
