Sunday Sermon - Moneychangers

 

If you follow the newfangled lectionary, you'll have heard St. John's account of Christ driving the money changers and associated cattle out of the Temple. Picture the scene. 

There's the forecourt of the Temple turned into a cattle market, replete with FX grifters exchanging secular currency for Temple coin, and making a nice profit to boot.  Why? Because the Jews had to buy animals to sacrifice and the Temple didn't accept secular money. Enter Christ.

Zeal for his Father's house consumed him as he drove the beasts out with a whip, overturning the cattle market casino which had turned the Temple, the holiest place on earth, the focus of atonement as it then was, into a "den of thieves." 

The Temple was defiled and Christ couldn't stand for it, hungering and thirsting for righteousness he drove it out, and the message, on the face of it, is clear. No corruption, grift, skulduggery and malfeasance in the Holy Church of God. But there's more.

Sensing something deeper, bystanders ask for a sign, they want to know what our Lord's actions signify, and he tells them, "Destroy this temple and in three days I will raise it up." Of course they're confused, but we're not. 

Jesus' cleansing of the Temple is a prophetic act which points to his death and resurrection, to his atoning sacrifice and its attendant victory. He will be the new Temple and its Sacrifice, as one. So Christ drives the animals and the moneylenders out of the Temple. Their time is done.

We're the beneficiaries of this, the blood of the Paschal Lamb is on the lintel of our souls, such that the Angel of Death passes over us. As living stones in the spiritual temple of Christ's Body, the Church, his sacrifice is operative within us, which brings us back to the wicked money changers.

For sure, the Church writ large must cleanse herself of corruption, but what about us, as persons, the Church writ small? Surely the same applies. We're Temples of the Spirit, says the Apostle, and so we are. Message to market?

Repent. Drive those knavish thieves, the world, the flesh and the Devil out of the temple of our souls so that we, clean, may find union with the Cross and the life which flows from it. Therein lies sanctification and beatitude, and herein endeth the Lesson.

Your Old Friend,

LSP

Biden's America - A Maypole

 

You can read all kinds of commentaries on the information superhighway, but here at the Compound we think this infovid captures the spirit of it all. Feel free to disagree.

LSP

Remember The Alamo

 

Lest we forget:

At 4 o’clock on the morning of March 6, 1836, Santa Anna advanced his men to within 200 yards of the Alamo’s walls. Just as dawn was breaking, the Mexican bloodcurdling bugle call of the Deguello echoed the meaning of the scarlet flag above San Fernando: no quarter. It was Captain Juan Seguin’s Tejanos, the native-born Mexicans fighting in the Texan army, who interpreted the chilling music for the other defenders.

Santa Anna’s first charge was repulsed, as was the second, by the deadly fire of Travis’ artillery. At the third charge, one Mexican column attacked near a breach in the north wall, another in the area of the chapel, and a third, the Toluca Battalion, commenced to scale the walls. All suffered severely. Out of 800 men in the Toluca Battalion, only 130 were left alive. Fighting was hand to hand with knives, pistols, clubbed rifles, lances, pikes, knees and fists. The dead lay everywhere. Blood spilled in the convent, the barracks, the entrance to the church, and finally in the rubble-strewn church interior itself. Ninety minutes after it began, it was over.

All the Texans died. Santa Anna’s loss was 1,544 men.

 

Never surrender,

LSP

Life On The Compound?

 

Sometimes it's easier to say it in song.

Your Pal,

LSP

The Song of Roland

  

A long distance shooter friend, JF, sent this in today, from the journalist and former Communist, Whittaker Chambers:

It seemed to me that I had a more important task to do, one that was peculiarly mine. It was not to attack Communism frontally. It was to clarify on the basis of the news, the religious and moral position that made Communism evil. I had been trying to make a negative point. Now I had to state the positive position, and it was a much more formidable task than attack. It meant explaining simply and readably for millions the reasons why the great secular faith of this age is wrong and the religious faith of the ages is right; why, in the words of the Song of Roland, the Christians are right and the heathen are wrong.

 

I'd say there's a lesson to be drawn from that and a good one, but I'll spare you the sermon. Instead, consider the Song of Roland, the great, epic, 11th century chivalric poem. Betrayal, heroism, faith, the battle of good versus evil, all that and far more. It's also bloody. 

Here's Archbishop Turpin in action against Corsablix at the battle of Roncevaux, in which Roland and the ferocious if saintly prelate ultimately die:

To strike that king by virtue great goes he,

The hauberk all unfastens, breaks the shield,

Thrusts his great spear in through the carcass clean,

Pins it so well he shakes it in its seat,

Dead in the road he's flung it from his spear.

Looks on the ground, that glutton lying sees,

Nor leaves him yet, they say, but rather speaks:

"Culvert pagan, you lied now in your teeth,

Charles my lord our warrant is indeed;

None of our Franks hath any mind to flee.

Your companions all on this spot we'll keep,

I tell you news; death shall ye suffer here.

Strike on, the Franks! Fail none of you at need!

Ours the first blow, to God the glory be!"

"Monjoie!" he cries, for all the camp to hear. 

Despite steely Almace and his lance, Turpin's mortally wounded, though he continues to fight the heathen: 

Come on afoot a thousand Sarrazens,

And on horseback some forty thousand men.

But well I know, to approach they never dare;

Lances and spears they poise to hurl at them,

Arrows, barbs, darts and javelins in the air.

With the first flight they've slain our Gualtier;

Turpin of Reims has all his shield broken,

And cracked his helm; he's wounded in the head,

From his hauberk the woven mail they tear,

In his body four spear-wounds doth he bear;

Beneath him too his charger's fallen dead.

Great grief it was, when that Archbishop fell.

Turpin of Reims hath felt himself undone,

Since that four spears have through his body come; 

Nimble and bold upon his feet he jumps;

Looks for Rollant, and then towards him runs,

Saying this word: "I am not overcome.

While life remains, no good vassal gives up."

He's drawn Almace, whose steel was brown and rough,

Through the great press a thousand blows he's struck:

As Charles said, quarter he gave to none;

He found him there, four hundred else among,

Wounded the most, speared through the middle some,

Also there were from whom the heads he'd cut:

So tells the tale, he that was there says thus,

The brave Saint Giles, whom God made marvellous,

Who charters wrote for th' Minster at Loum;

Nothing he's heard that does not know this much. 

Wow, and you can and should read the whole thing here before it's banned by the rainbow Maoists and better still, in the original, which rings.

Chanson in mind, it's said that William the Conqueror's minstrel  went into the Battle of Hastings singing the Song of Roland, and most certainly, Bishop Adhemar de Monteil carried arms in the First Crusade. A mace, perhaps.

What a far cry from the Church of the West as it is today, cowering from a sickness with a 99.8% survival rate, as it cravenly parrots the faddish shibboleths of our corporate sponsored, oligarch, leftist elite establishment and their billionaire CCP heathen patrons. 

Draw the moral as you like, but what would Olifant say? 

Monjoie,

LSP

Texas Independence

 

Texas won it's independence from the Mexican Imperials on March 2, 1836. All hail Sam Houston and come and take it. Santa Anna? Not so much. 

Some Fool on Genie Belle

We celebrate this great victory today, while setting up statues to General Lee, attempting math, dumping coke and reading Dr. Suess as we play with gender positive Hasbro toys. The less DC the better.

Secession,

LSP

Ramblin' Man

  

Biden's America. Note made in China mask trash in foreground

The sun shone, birds sang, squirrels attacked a cat nesting on the Compound's fence, and the cat won. All was right with the world, so I went for a ramble after morning prayer.

Tarleton House, a wreck since "Biden"

Past the broken down shacks behind Tarleton House, past the flotsam and debris of Biden's America and into the comparative sanity of the local High's "discipline school."

Hail the Discipline School

Dicipline School? It used to be a bakery and sounds ferocious. Like, maybe, Prussian BCT, but it's just where malfeasant teens go to pass high school. The kids have to wear khakis and a polo, a veritable uniform, and they're not allowed to talk in class unless it's requested, either, and their performance or miserable lack thereof is monitored daily. Good heavens.

Doge Lofts?

Sounds a bit like school, which puts the normal ISD carry-on in perspective. Whatever, I know all this because the SPC attended this hallowed hall of academe before embarking on a career of military adventure. He's enrolled in college now, partly thanks to the DS. Thanks, teachers.

And on, past half-occupied warehouses which stand as mute monuments to King Cotton. You'd think some enterprising dogecoin millionaire would turn those upper stories into attractive lofts for people who want rural bucolic haven but have to commute to the appalling metrosprawl to earn a buck.

Then home, and guess what. Governor Abbott's lifting Texas' absurd, stupid, corrupt, iniquitous, snake oil, faked up China virus restrictions. About dam time. Let's hear it for secession.

Republic of Texas forever,

LSP

Maths - You Nazi

Mathematics. 2+2=4. Simple truth, right? No, you Nazis, racist white imperialism. So let's get with Woka Cola and stop oppressing our dusky brethren persons of color with the racist assumption that they can add and subtract. How very top Nazi Cecil Rhodes.

But seriously, when you get rid of truth what are you left with? Opinion and force, to say nothing of infernal pride and the deadly, insane logic of the Pit.

Note SMLE? Or some kind of "double"?

Speaking of which, we wonder, why does Satan thrash so furiously? For the same reason that the doomed Fuhrer did in his bunker. In the face of utter defeat, burn it all down. He failed, and so has the Devil.

Your Pal,

LSP

After Mass Outlaws - Belle Starr

 

Belle Starr on Venus

Talk after Mass at mission #2 turned naturally to famous Bosque County outlaws, and I learned something. The famous Bandit Queen, Belle Star, née Myra Shirley, owned a 160 acre ranch not far from the church, in what became Fairview.

This would have been in the 1870s, in the turbulent years following the War, and the ranch served as a hideout for Belle, then Myra, her first husband Jim Reed and assorted outlaws. These could well have have included members of the James and Younger gangs, former Confederate raiders turned horse thieves and bandits.

Wild West Show?

The Bandit Queen knew these men because she'd served as a scout(?) with Quantrill, "Bloody Bill" Anderson and other guerrillas during the Missouri-Kansas border war. Her brother Bud served as a raider and taught Belle to ride and shoot. 

After Bud was killed in action in 1864, Belle's family, the Shirleys, moved to Texas, northeast of Dallas, where they continued their relationship with the very irregular cavalry.

Jim Reed was shot in 1874 in Paris, Texas, and Myra moved to Indian Territory (Oklahoma) where she set up on the South Canadian River with a Cherokee outlaw, Sam Starr, her second husband. Starr was shot by lawman Frank West at a Christmas party and Belle went on to marry another Cherokee horse thief, Bill July, who she renamed Jim Starr.

Belle Starr

Belle was ambushed, shot and killed in 1889, at the age of 40. Suspects included Edgar Watson, a neighbor and horse thieving associate, her son Ed and possibly her third husband Jim. But I won't bang on, here's Belle:

My home became famous as an outlaws' ranch long before it was visited by any of the boys who were friends of mine in times past. Indeed, I never correspond with any of my old associates, and was desirous my whereabouts should be unknown to them. Through rumor, they learned of it. Jesse James first came in and remained several weeks. He was unknown to my husband, who never knew until long afterward, that our home had been honored by Jesse's presence. I introduced Jesse as one Mr. Williams from Texas. But, few outlaws have visited my home, notwithstanding so much has been said. The best people in the country are my friends. I have considerable ignorance to cope with, consequently, my troubles originate mostly in that quarter. Surrounded by a low down class of shoddy whites, who have made the Indian country their home to evade paying tax on their dogs, and, who I will not permit to hunt on my premises, I am the constant theme of their slanderous tongues. In all the world, there is no woman more peaceably inclined than I.

 

Again:

You can just say I am a friend to any brave and gallant outlaw, but have no use for that sneaking, coward class of thieves who can be found in every locality, and who would betray a friend or comrade for the sake of their own gain. There are three or four jolly, good fellows on the dodge now in my section, and when they come to my home, they are welcome, for they are my friends, and would lay down their lives in my defense at any time the occasion demanded it, and go their full length to serve me in any way.

 

Belle Starr, an excellent horsewoman, see Venus, who often rode side saddle, was a crack shot with two revolvers which she called her "babies," served less than a year in a Detroit jail, acted in a Wild West show where she robbed a stagecoach and... became a legend in her lifetime. 

She had, to my mind,  a hardbitten look by the time she married July, and no wonder. You can imagine her running hospitality for killers like the James and Younger brothers.

For my part, I'll remember her when I drive down 56 past Fairview on the way to Valley Mills. And rumors that some of our people are part Cherokee and out of Bonham are just that, vicious, unfounded rumors.

Ride on, and ride fast. Or slowly if you've busted your hip,

LSP

To Meridian

 

I drove to Meridian this evening as the sun was setting to officiate at a funeral. It's a good drive, hilly for Texas with a western feel to it, I always think. You can imagine John Wesley Hardin riding this road before it was a road, the Horrell Boys, and more. Not that long ago, when you think on it.

Outlaws aside, the funeral went well, pretty much a country crew, and good people to boot. So the prayers were said and may the soul of Don, who liked to hunt and fish, rest in peace.

God bless,

LSP

Jukebox Friday

 

Yes, it's Friday evening and time to spin up the jukebox. I'll go first, and because today's been all about lawyers, guns and money, here it is.

Jim asked for Steve Young's Tobacco Road. Great song and a good call.

Nothing wrong with Pancho and Lefty either, thanks, RHT. I like Emmylou's version.

And Brig requested Waylon and Jessi's Storms Never Last. What a great choice.

With a H/T to Jim and WSF, here's the original Big Ball's in Cowtown. Have we devolved since 1949? Sure looks like it to me.

On topic, this one's for LL, who's focusing on the Great Reset and life in the Hive. Sorry, arcology. Do you remember the tale of Babel? Let's hear it for Hawkwind.

Rock on,

LSP

Look What I Found!

 

And at normal price, too, from Walmart. Some claim the age of miracles is over. I would dispute that claim.

Shoot straight,

LSP