Come Hell or High Water

What do you do when the lightning fills the sky and thunder crashes like the guns of Kursk, as a mighty deluge of rain pours down from the sky? You can sit at home like some kind of pajama boy in a onesie and cower in your parents' basement sipping lattes and hot chocolate. Sure, you can do that, that's one option. Or you can climb into your rig, crank up the jukebox, and drive through the storm to Mass.

I chose to avoid Hell and brave the high water, which isn't as amusing as it sounds when you're hydroplaning across a flooded country two lane. Slow down, you're of no liturgical use, in this world, if you wipe out and die in the wilds of Hill County.

Slow Down, Fool.

The storm raged throughout the Mass, like Hillary Clinton thwarted of a speaking fee, or Satan, falling to earth like lightning.

Wake of the flood,

LSP

Go Fishing, After Mass

God never did make a more calm, quiet, innocent recreation 

than angling.  

Izaak Walton

With Walton's Compleat Angler in mind I went fishing, after Mass. It was good to stand on the bluffs overlooking Lake Whitney and cast off in the hope of big fish, though I was more in it for relaxation and quiet concentration than anything else.

Not knowing the water, I tried the shotgun approach, which means throwing in a variety of lures to see if anything works, in this case plastics, spinners, a silver spoon and a crankbait shad. No result with the plastic worms and the spoon got hung up as I bounced it off the bottom. Contrary to the spirit of Mr. Walton, I made a bit of a ruckus trying to unsnag the thing but no joy, the lure was stuck, so I cut the line. Just then, a large gray Catfish rose up from the depths and circled around and above the watery tomb of the spoon. It was like a baby shark, no fooling.

Compleat

This taught me that big Catfish live under the bluffs on that part of the lake and that they can and will be caught if I fish accordingly. Think positive, fisherman. After the spoon, I had a bit of action on the crankbait, which was partially hit by a Bass as it lured its way near the surface, but no strike and I called it a day.

Look. It's a Fish.

Just for kicks, I cast off in a shallow part of the water on the way to the truck, using a small green spinner. Why not? Maybe the fish will find it irresistible, I thought to myself, and sure enough, after a couple of casts a ferocious little Bass attacked the lure like a social justice warrior at a Trump rally. And that was that.

Fish on,

LSP

The Gates of Hell Shall not Prevail. God Bless Bishop Iker.

Bishop Iker in LSPland

You've heard the old saying, "They should round up all the bishops and put them in a cage." There's an exception to that rule in Jack Iker, Bishop of Fort Worth. 

Iker doesn't celebrate Neronian gay marriages and he doesn't ordain women, he doesn't even hold goof-off liturgical dances in his cathedral. But what he does do is drive out to LSPland to confirm a very sick man in his home, out by Slap Out, aka Hubbard.

We RV'd at the Compound and drove out to the countryside and the sacrament of Confirmation, in which the Holy Spirit is bestowed by the laying on of hands and anointing. Now, I've never been present at a "house confirmation," much less asked a bishop to do one and I'll tell you this, it was a powerful and blessed event. I don't say that lightly.

Cage These Goons. And Stacy Sauls? You're fired.

Bishop Iker is known for his unwavering stand for catholic orthodoxy, in the Anglican tradition, in the face of the litigious rage the Episcopal Church. He was the first traditionalist bishop to say enough is enough and leave the Episcopal Church with his diocese. He did so on the floor of the 2006 General Convention in Columbus; I know, I was there. Three years later the Episcopal Church rounded on Iker and his diocese, suing him personally and the diocese, in an attempt to gain its money, property and presumably wreck the life of its bishop.

A Couple of Goof-Off Clowns

That lawsuit is ongoing at huge expense and the Episcopal Church is losing, having suffered a series of defeats in the courts. 

The result has yet to be called, but Bishop Iker remains a pastoral and good man in the Apostolic succession. And what can I say? 

The gates of hell shall not prevail, do not compromise with them.

God bless,

LSP

Nero, The Rainbow Emperor

Christians who support gay marriage might like to consider the marriage equality activism of their forbear Nero.

Nero married three men, Sporus, Doryphorus and Pythagoras. As described by Seutonius and Tacitus:

"[Nero] had a boy named Sporus castrated and tried to transform him into an actual woman; he married him in a regular wedding ceremony, with a dowry and a bridal veil, took him home in front of a great crowd, and treated him as his wife. A witty remark that someone made about this is still circulating: that human kind would have been well off, if his father Domitius had had the same kind of wife” (Suetonius, Nero 28-29).

Here's Doryphorus:

“…he invented a new kind of game (so to speak) in which, dressed in the skin of a wild animal, he was released from a cage and attacked the private parts of men and women who were bound to stakes and, when he had had enough of this savagery, he was finished off (as it were) by his freedman Doryphorus. This Doryphorus he took as his husband, just as Sporus had with him, and in doing so he imitated the cries and wailing of a virgin who is being raped” (Suetonius, Nero 28-29).

And Tacitus gives us Pythagoras:

“A veil was placed over the emperor, the interpreters of the auspices were sent; a dowry, a wedding bed and marriage torches -- in the end, everything that is concealed by night even in the case of a woman was on display” (Tacitus, Ann. 15.37).

A Couple of Rainbow Clowns

The Emperor Nero wasn't just famous for marrying men, he also has a place in history for persecuting the church. According to Tacitus:

"And perishing they were additionally made into sports: they were killed by dogs by having the hides of beasts attached to them, or they were nailed to crosses or set aflame, and, when the daylight passed away, they were used as nighttime lamps. Nero gave his own gardens for this spectacle and performed a Circus game, in the habit of a charioteer mixing with the plebs or driving about the race-course." 

Christians might want to think twice before following the example of the Rainbow Emperor, Nero.

LSP

The Rampaging Harridans of the New Orthodoxy

As witnessed on the campuses of so-called higher learning and elsewhere, the champions of inclusion and tolerance don't seem very good at being, well, inclusive or tolerant. The late Richard Neuhaus, in The Unhappy Fate of Optional Orthodoxy, described them as a "rampaging harridan":

The new liberal orthodoxy of recent decades is hard and nasty; compared to it, the old orthodoxy was merely quaint. The old orthodoxy was like a dotty old uncle in the front parlor; the new orthodoxy is a rampaging harridan in the family room.

A Typical Rampaging Harridan

But what's under the harridan's hood, what drives the motor of radical inclusion to run over any and all opposition? A set of radical ethical imperatives, for sure, to say nothing of good old fashioned revolutionary ardour. And what lies behind this? Neuhaus parses the issue in terms of "identity" and "experience":

Proponents of the new orthodoxy will protest, with some justice, that they, too, are committed to normative truths. These truths, however, are not embodied in propositions, precedent, ecclesial authority, or, goodness knows, revelation. They are experiential truths expressing the truth of who we truly are —“we” being defined by sex, race, class, tribe, or identifying desire (“orientation”).

He goes on:

With the older orthodoxy it is possible to disagree, as in having an argument. Evidence, reason, and logic count, in principle at least. Not so with the new orthodoxy. Here disagreement is an intolerable personal affront. It is construed as a denial of others, of their experience of who they are. It is a blasphemous assault on that most high god, “My Identity.”

There can be no appeal against this other than an assertion of identity, of self, and the rules of that playing field are at best a short step away from a raw assertion of power, to a triumph of the will that allows no dissent, whatsoever.

You have been warned.

Your Old Friend,

LSP

It's Bushcraft Wednesday!

Bushcraft isn't about relying on supermarkets or even butchers and fancy modern kitchen conveniences, like Viking ranges and Agas. No, it's about surviving in the great outdoors, in the bush.

Part of that means catching your own food when in season, such as turkey, and cooking it in the wild. Here at the Compound we hope you find this short infovideo as helpful as we do.

Make sure you use this method near a plentiful water source.

LSP

Obey Your Rainbow Rulers

Great Britain's Monarch, Sir Elton John, has forbidden British press from reporting on his star-studded sex life, involving steamy three-ways with his husband David Furnish and other male celebrities.

Elton John and David Furnish

Because of a court order, it is now illegal for media to publish stories about Elton John and David Furnish cavorting with their lovers in children's swimming pools and having olive oil wrestling bouts with Canadians.

John Bercow

The pink gag order extends to England's Parliament, where the Speaker of the House of Commons, John Bercow, has banned MPs from revealing the identity of England's Rainbow Rulers, Elton John, and David Furnish.

Er...

Thanks to what is known as a "back door injunction," British citizens and MPs face punitive fines and prison if they publicly reveal the identities of their Queens.

You can read about England's new-found freedom of speech here, here and here.

Some Guy in a Dress

In related news, the US Navy is actively recruiting transsexuals. "The hope," said one senior naval officer on the condition of anonymity, "is that the enemy will die laughing."

Rule Britannia,

LSP

Mark of the Beast

Who is the Beast and the False Prophet, and what does the bestial number, 666, signify? Everyone wants to know. But before we get carried away and leap to obvious conclusions, pointing our fingers at Barack, Hillary and Soros, consider St. John's numeric source, namely Solomon, who serves as a type, or forerunner, of Antichrist.

Recall Solomon's apostasy after the departure of the Queen of Sheba, in which he breaks the laws of kingship, multiplying horses, women and gold to himself contrary to Dueteronomy 17: 16-18. How much gold did the Astaroth, Moloch worshiping king amass? We're told in I Kings. 10: 14, "The weight of gold that came to King Solomon in one year was six hundred and sixty six talents of gold."

There you have it, the infernal number of idolatrous abomination and a blasphemous parody of 888, which is the number of Jesus reckoned by rabbinical Gematria. But if Solomon serves as a type of Antichrist, how was that played out in St. John's time? Here's Farrer; after discussing the sixfold pattern of divine judgement in the Apocalypse, he writes:

"On the sixth day of the week, and the sixth hour, says St. John (Jn. 19: 13-22), the kingdoms of Christ and Antichrist looked one another in the face in Pilate's court, and the adherents of the False Prophet (Caiaphas) firmly wrote on their foreheads the mark of the Beast, when they said, 'We have no King but Caesar.'"

We have no King but Caesar. How does that differ, in effect, from the present spirit of the age? 

Beware the wrath to come,

LSP

Snake Hunt!

What do you need to go on a snake hunt? A knife might come in handy, so take one. Take a hat, too, to keep the scorching April sun off your head. Wear boots, as an extra layer of protection against the sharp fangs of the snakes and vicious Texan thorns. But what about a gun?

A Hat

Yes, you'll need one. I chose a battered Mossberg 12 gauge pump. OK, it's not a fancy-pants, Ivy League, boarding school, Illuminati elite, Country Club double, but so what? It gets the job done.

Spot the Space Junk

Now that you're loaded for snake, set off and check out the serpentzone. I poked around in a pile of space junk that I knew a rattlesnake was fond of. How did I know? Because I saw it there the other day, with GWB. No luck. Next, peer down into a small ravine and gaze at the clear water of its creek. Tranquil, that's for sure, but still no snake.

So Where's the Snake?

Don't give up, like a beaten army, scout along a treeline and observe various animal bones while looking for Indian artifacts, maybe there'll be a snake. No, there wasn't; there were plenty of wild flowers, most attractive, but still no snake. Perhaps the snakes will be at the Beach, I thought, after all, they love water. Especially Water Moccasins. 

The Beach. Watch out for Snakes

Alright, go to the beach and look in wonder at the height of the water, chances are there'll be a snake. They do, in fact, like to congregate in places like the Beach, so if you're thinking of using this snake hunt as a guide, be careful when knocking about the shorelines of snaky tanks, I was. Regardless, the serpents were hiding, unlike the frogs which were in abundance.

Snake Territory

I called it a day after the Beach and counted it a successful armed stroll through the Texan countryside. And there's nothing wrong with that. At all.

As I write this serpentine wisdom, big lightning fills the eastern night sky like an artillery barrage, but it's silent so far.

Your Pal,

LSP

153 Fish And The Mystic Lamb

Did any of you get to Mass yesterday? If you did, you may have noticed that the disciples caught a miraculous catch of 153 fish under the direction of the Risen Lord. Why 153? Apparently the ancients believed there were 153 different species of fish, and so the catch represents all of humanity. The Gospel is of universal application to all men, everywhere; to put it another way, it's catholic. But here's the detail, from Rebirth of Images:

"Sir Edwyn shews that the number of the miraculous catch, 153, is what the ancients called the triangular power of 17... Here Sir Edwyn stops, because 17 considered in itself is a meaningless number. But we do not need to consider it in itself; we may consider it as the diagonal of the square twelve, as the measure of that river which, issuing out of the throne of God and of the Lamb, cuts Paradise from top to bottom. It is then obviously good sense to see the fishes as the ‘fullness’ or the ‘complement’ of the River of Life, just as the citizens are the fullness or complement of the square city.

"But why, we may still ask, does St. John take the triangular power of 17 as its ‘fulness’, rather than the square? The answer is that the square (289) is a meaningless number, whereas the triangular (153) receives an appropriate sense from that very treatise of numbers which St. John found in Solomon’s temple-building. The labour of the building was done by the non-Israelites of Solomon’s dominions; 153 thousand and some odd hundreds were set to work (II Chron. II, 17-18: VIII, 7-8). What could be more appropriate to St. John’s purpose? The miraculous catch, as has long been recognized, signifies Gentile converts: it is these, rather than the Jews, who build up the temple of God, the church."

Some people think that the New Testament is two dimensional, or less. That would be an error. Others think that St. John the Divine had too much time on his hands while in exile on Patmos. Perhaps, but I prefer inspired, holy, brilliance.

God bless,

LSP

Go Fishing After Mass

There's all kinds of ways you can relax on Sunday afternoon after Mass and I'll share one option with you. Go to a lake somewhere in central Texas and catch some fish, or at least try. With that in mind, I put a rod in the bed of the rig, Blue Crankbait in the cab and drove off to RV with GWB at a lake.

Hope Springs Eternal

Would I catch any fish, I asked myself hopefully, as Blue Eschaton frisked and gamboled in the lakeside pasture. Remembering past success, I put a sparkly green worm on a Bass hook and cast off. Bass love sparkly green worms, I thought, full of pescatorial wisdom. 

A Bass

Strike! Fish on, the rod bent double and out played the line. Big excitement in LSPland, I can tell you, and after a decent fight I reeled in a Bass. Good result. A little later, GWB tipped up and cast off with a spinner but soon retired to watch a Sand Hill Crane through a spotting scope. There it was, a Sandhill Crane. 

Recon

I kept fishing, however, which is a sport that's all about perseverance, and was rewarded with a fair sized Catfish that struck my plastic worm near the surface. Again, big excitement, top water hi-jinx, but he slipped the hook after thrashing about in the water like an enraged Great White. Readers, all three of you, don't underestimate the fury of the fish. Then, as the sun was beginning to set, another Bass decided to strike, this time hitting a blue worm. Bass love blue plastic worms. Well, at least this one did, and that was that.

A Typical Texas Sunset

Fishing adventure over, we scouted out the land near the lake for potential predator calling and hunting. It's beautiful country and remarkably green and lush, which will change all too soon under the fierce Texan sun; the country even has hills and views, or vistas. Rremarkable, it's like Gloucestershire, except for the bobcats, snakes, coyotes and wild pigs.

Speaking of which, the man who farms there says that pigs are always a problem and I guess they are, except when they're on the grill.

God bless Texas,

LSP

Free State PPSh-41

Hickok 45 reviews a Soviet submachine gun in Texas, one of this country's comparatively free states. Notice how he shoots auto in controlled bursts. Message to market:

You're more likely to hit something if you aim the gun.

Shoot straight,

LSP