WINNER

 

Here's the thing, a woman, a biological women even, just flipped a solid blue Democrat congressional seat in Texas. And guess what, Mayra Flores is from Mexico, a legal immigrant married to a border guard.

The attractive, talented and popular Flores beat her unpopular Democrat opponent by a sturdy 8% in this overwhelmingly Latino district. Her platform? Dios, Famila, Patria or God, Family, Fatherland. 

It seems this message resonated with Hispanic voters, which is really strange. Surely Abortion, War, Drag Queen Story Hour, COVID Control and ever increasing prices would have pulled those immigrantx in like bees to honey. Apparently not. Democrats and neocon RNC, listen up and take note.

Just because you open the Southern Border doesn't mean all those millions of Spanish speaking immigrants are going to vote for cultural or any other form of Marxism. It's simply not a given, think Pinochet, Peron and the Cartels, and there's always El Jefe himself.

Just a thought. Congrats, Mayra, you're a winner.

Cheers,

LSP

Guilty

A Mountebank Crook

 

Maxine Waters, for inciting race hatred, and being a corrupt, hypocritical fraud of a Millionaire Socialist.

A George Floyd Juror

Our legal system, which is clearly broken.

A Martyr Angel Saint God

George Floyd, for breaking into a woman's house and pointing a gun at her stomach while an accomplice searched her home for drugs and money.

A Cop

And Dereck Chauvin.

Speaking of which, I was fishing with a couple of semi-retired LEOs when George Floyd became a beautiful, martyr saint, holy angel. One of them asked the other, "Is that the kind of hold you teach your students?"

A Dindu

Regardless, now that the show trial's over, will Minneapolis burn to the ground? Maybe the MPD should stand down if it does, while the Guard enjoys rainbow diversity training.

Maxine Waters' net worth is a paltry $2 million, low by #MillSoc standards. Don't say race baiting mountebank.

Your Pal,

LSP

Truth

 

As I read LL's excellent sermon on the nature of Truth and Mathematics, my mind went back to the good old days of the Church of England, the days before womyn priestesses. In fact, to the day of a "viva," OK, interview, with the suffragan bishop figure of Tewkesbury, which is a picturesque town in Gloucestershire noted for hippies, a battle and an abbey church, now a cathedral.

"Can we say," asked the grey-clad prelate in his unpleasantly low-ceilinged 'lounge,' "that there is such a thing as right and wrong?"

It was a genuine question and the fighting monkey was young in those days, so I answered, "Oh, I think there is. Say I took a baby and skinned it, alive. Would that be right or wrong?" 

He muttered something like, "Ahem, yes," and moved on, doubtless mentally oppressed by the stifling lowness of the ceiling above him, and the ferocity of the monkey. I apparently passed muster, curiously.

Point of the parable? That there is such a thing as Truth, with a capital T, that which is, and our minds are in conformity with it or not. And, ultimately, this Truth is God, He who is, I AM that I AM, self-existent being which speaks all things into being. Try saying no to that and see how far you get.

Ἐν ἀρχῇ ἦν ὁ λόγος, καὶ ὁ λόγος ἦν πρὸς τὸν θεόν, καὶ θεὸς ἦν ὁ λόγος, in the beginning was the word and the word was with God, and the word was God. Reflect on that and do not dare, unless you are a fool, to go against it, reality Himself.

Here endeth the Lesson,

LSP

Love

 

Love, says the Angelic Doctor compactly, consists in willing the good of another. God is this, in perfection, in himself (1 Jn. 1:18). We see the truth of revelation in the Trinity where Father, Son and Spirit live in an eternal dynamic of infinite love. But what are we to this? 

Nothing in comparison, though we're commanded to love God with all our heart, soul and mind. Where does this take us? To nothingness again, which paradoxically becomes something, namely our true selves. We see the thing casually; the person who forgets themselves in conversation is more entertaining than a faked-up fraud.

I found this helpful, by Peter Kreeft:

Nothing is ours by nature. Our very existence is sheer gift. Think for a moment about the fact that you were created, made out of nothing. If a sculptor gives a block of marble the gift of a fine shape, the shape is a gift, but the marble's existence is not. That is the marble's own. But nothing is our own because we were made out of nothing. Our very existence is a gift from God to no one, for we were not there before he created us. There is no receiver of the gift distinct from the gift itself. We are God's gifts. So the saints are right. If I am nothing, nothing that is mine is anything. Nothing is mine by nature. But one thing is mine by my free choice: the self I giveaway in love. That is the thing even God cannot do for me. It is my choice. Everything I say is mine, is not. But everything I say is yours is mine. When asked which of his many library books he thought he would have in heaven, C.S. Lewis replied, "Only the ones I gave away on earth and never got back." The same is true of our very self. It is like a ball in a game of catch: throw it and it will come back to you; hold onto it and that ends the game.

 

And Farrer as always is beautiful:

Even today, when we pray, the hand of God does somewhat put aside that accursed looking-glass, which each of us holds before him, and which shows each of us our own face. Only the day of judgment will strike the glass for ever from our hands, and leave us nowhere reflected but in the pupils of the eyes of God. And then we shall be cured of our self love, and shall love, without even the power of turning from it, the face that is lovely in itself, the face of God; and passing from the great Begetter to what is begotten by him, we shall see his likeness in his creatures, in angels and in blessed saints; returning at long last the love that has been lavished on us, and reflecting back the light with which we have been illuminated. To that blessed consummation, therefore may he lead all those for whom we pray, he who is love himself, who came to us at Bethlehem, and took us by the hand.

 

Love not hate,

LSP

Archbishop of Canterbury Goes Gender Neutral Christ Still King

By now all the world knows that Justin Welby, the Archbishop of Canterbury, doesn't think God is male or female.

Welby, who's popularly known as Justsin, dropped this theological bombshell at St. Martin-in-the-Fields, stating, “God is not a father in exactly the same way as a human being is a father. God is not male or female. God is not definable."

Good heavens, there was everyone thinking the necessary Being of the Deity was just a scary old bloke in the sky with a beard. Now we know, thanks to Justsin, that God's a bit more than that and we can only speak of the Creator by analogy.

We know where Justsin's earthshaking logic leads. God's a perfect spirit, beyond gender so, drum roll... we should have wimmin priests and bishops, trans education in church schools, and get rid of all those pesky male personal pronouns invented by the patriarchy to keep the people down.

Let's go further, in the bold spirit of boundary breaking Justsinian theological inquiry. 

God's neither male nor female, obviously, so we deploy gendered language to describe the divinity as a kind of construct. And what's human gender but an invention, a construct? Which means that hybrid no-sex transsexuals reflect the reality of God better than anyone else. So make them bishops.

The problem with this, apart from the fact that it's completely wrong, is that some analogies are better than others and that the ones we use, as Christians, are definitively revealed in the Person of Christ, who was notoriously a Man and taught us to pray to God as Father. Geoffery Kirk, at Ignatius, makes the point and you can read it here.

But feel free to break with revelation in favor of the spirit of the age, disregarding the truth given to us by the Word made Flesh. Go right ahead, disobey your Sovereign King and see where it gets you. 

Just don't be surprised if you wake up to find a demon gnawing on your shinbone.

Viva El Cristo Rey,

LSP

St. Matthew The Apostle

It's the Feast of St. Matthew the Apostle and Evangelist today so here's a prayer to help get the festivities rolling. From the 1928 Book of Common Prayer instead of some weird newfangled nonsense.

O ALMIGHTY God, who by thy blessed Son didst call Matthew from the recipt of custom to be an Apostle and Evangelist; Grant us grace to forsake all covetous desires, and inordinate love of riches, and to follow the same thy Son Jesus Christ, who liveth and reigneth with thee and the Holy Ghost, one God, world without end. Amen.

God bless,

LSP

Syria

It's weird, but every time Western backed proxy Jihad militias in Syria are on the verge of losing yet another battle, the Syrian government launches a chemical attack against their civilians, prompting the West to attack Assad forces.

We're gearing up for this deadly spectacle again as the Russian and Iranian backed Syrian army launches a full scale assault on Al-Quaeda affiliates in Idlib province. Well ahead of the offensive on one of the last remaining terrorist strongholds, Russia warned of a false flag chemical attack. 

Western response has been predictable, threatening Assad with swift and vigorous action if chemical weapons are used. Fair enough, but who stands to benefit if they are?

A Syrian government on the edge of victory, which has everything to lose by drawing down potentially catastrophic fire on its own position, or the Islamist terrorists who have everything to gain from massive intervention on the part of the US and allies.

Put simply, Assad stands to lose everything if he uses chemical weapons, the reverse applies to the Islamist terrorists.

So if and when heart wrenching reports of men, women and children being killed by poison gas in Idlib, along with stirring humanitarian videos of the Mother Theresa inspired White Helmets providing humanitarian aid start to surface, who's the culprit?

Assad or some other thing?

By the way, Youtube's not only banned Alex Jones but the Syrian government too. Surely a coincidence. 

And since we're visiting, some 300,000 people have died in Syria since the Saudi/Qatari/US backed LNG war against Assad started.

Imagine, just for a moment, that we were Syria and had lost so many people. Then add Iraq's 500,000 dead and ask yourself how you'd feel about our foreign policy if you were on the receiving end

Out demons out,

LSP

Thank God For Rain

It rained yesterday evening. Seriously, no kidding, it rained. Clouds rolled in, lightning flashed, thunder rolled and water fell from the sky.

It was like a gift from heaven. No, it was a gift from heaven and I stood on the porch enjoying the sheer, cooling, clarifying beauty of the thing.

Perhaps you think that's some kind of exaggeration. So what, you mutter darkly from the bay window of a water soaked pub on Aberystwyth Pier, it rained, like we're supposed to care.

Not so fast. When the ground's cracking and every day's a triple digit furnace, rain means a lot. No fooling and you have to ask how people managed back before air conditioning. The answer is, they mostly didn't. Texan towns only got big after the advent of HVAC.

Still, those that pioneered the state were tough, no doubt about it. Right out there on the frontier in the relentless heat and the sleeping porch. Respect.

With all of this in mind I stood firm, like Ahab, as the rain crashed down and thanked the Almighty for His mercy.

Trust the plan,

LSP

Labor Day Fishing

It was beautifully cool at a refreshing 27 degrees, clouds were rolling in with the promise of blissful rain and the time seemed right to go Labor Day fishing.

So cast off into the depths with a tried and tested worm rig, twitch it along and wait for action. But there was no action, just the occasional turtle diving about and one or two sluggish, non-committal tugs at the line. 

A couple of boats pulled into the cleaning station and they hadn't done well either, not a good day for the guides, and taking that as an omen I upped rods and headed to another spot. Maybe that would produce the goods.

It didn't. The fish were obviously on strike, swimming out in solidarity with international labor. OK, several refused to be brainwashed by Boshevik agitprop and took snatching runs at the hook but only to fall back in red cowardice to the aquatic barricades. I couldn't close the deal.

Then it began to rain and catching fish didn't seem to matter any more. God had sent life giving water from the sky to ease and refresh spirits parched and arid from the never ending funeral rites of the most heroic patriot that ever lived anywhere in the world ever.

Uplifted by this gift from heaven, I left the piscine Marxists to their aquatic skulduggery and headed back to the Compound. But not to worry, this match ain't over.

Fish on,

LSP