Maundy Thursday Pistol

 

One of the things which happens on Maundy Thursday is that the priest gets to wash peoples' feet, as Christ washed his disciples' feet. My MC doesn't like it because he thinks it's "hokey," which perhaps it is. That in mind, most definitely a lesson in humility.

Regardless, there I was, about to wash a rancher's right foot, and there on a sock next to his boot was a compact S&W(?), a 9 or 40 I think. So I looked at the pistol, looked at the foot and did some quick math.

Should I bless the pistol and make it part of the rite or not? I chose the latter path, deciding to store up value for a later a date, a churchwide blessing of guns. Go long and hold, went the arithmetic.

Later, at the Pax, I told  my friend, "That was the safest footwashing I've ever seen." He replied, embarrassed, "Padre, I just forgot it was there, in my boot!" He needn't have worried, "Brother, next year we'll make it mandatory."

And that, all five of you readers, is the story of that. A short tale of God, country life and guns in Texas.

God bless,

LSP

Holy Wednesday

 

In between cleaning all the guns that I don't have and watching scenes from Tombstone on continuous loop, I look forward to Maundy Thursday with it's double mandate, do this and love one another as I have loved you, the former realized in the Eucharist, was ever a command so obeyed?, and the latter signified by Christ washing the feet of his disciples.

The connection is clear and lies in the Cross, from which Jesus washes away our sins in his supreme act of love. And it's precisely this sacrifice that's made present to us in the Sacrament of the Altar. The extent to which we receive the grace offered, think Parable of the Sower, depends on our obedience to the commandment to love. 

Benedict XVI reflects:

In it (Confession), the Lord continually rewashes our dirty feet, and we are able to sit at table with Him.

But in this way, the word takes on yet another meaning, in which the Lord extends the "sacramentum" by making it the "exemplum," a gift, a service for our brother: "If I, therefore, the master and teacher, have washed your feet, you ought to wash one another's feet" (John 13:14). We must wash each other's feet in the daily mutual service of love. But we must also wash our feet in the sense of constantly forgiving one another. The debt that the Lord has forgiven us is always infinitely greater than all of the debts that others could owe to us (cf. Mt. 18:21-35). It is to this that Holy Thursday exhorts us: not to allow rancor toward others to become, in its depths, a poisoning of the soul. It exhorts us to constantly purify our memory, forgiving one another from the heart, washing each other's feet, thus being able to join together in the banquet of God.

Holy Thursday is a day of gratitude and of joy for the great gift of love to the end that the Lord has given to us. We want to pray to the Lord at this time, so that gratitude and joy may become in us the power of loving together with his love. Amen.

Amen to that. We must and should hunger and thirst for righteousness, swords about the Cross. But by the same token, there is no place for the poisonous serpent of hatred within our hearts. It is the hallmark of our Adversary, Satan. And remember, though it seems counter-intuitive, the enemy's lost and lost hard.

Be on the side of Light,

LSP

A Typical Night At The Compound

 

Just another typical day in North Central Texas. Make of it what you will.

Wild West,

LSP

You Dirty Beasts!

 

If you lost all your guns when the canoe capsized on the Brazos you don't need to worry about cleaning them because they're gone, lost to the waters of the deep. But say, hypothetically, you were able to retrieve some of the firearms, perhaps with rope and magnets. Well then, you'd clean them.

Light and Fast

Otherwise they'd be filthy, dirty, beasts and wouldn't work properly, and what's the point of a gun if it doesn't work? Speaking of dirty, I like gas guns a lot, they're fun to shoot, but they do get fouled up and take time to clean.

7.62 Weightlifting, anyone?

Thanks a lot, "gas impingement." Still, it works, and I like the low recoil of the .308/7.62 AR as much as I dislike the weight of the thing. Is it a deadly assault rifle? Good question, it's certainly black, so perhaps it is. Who knows, maybe it'll learn to take a thermal and assault the nocturnal porcuswine.

Typical Street Scene in Biden's America

But that's in the future. In the meanwhile, I'm waiting for ammo prices to drop from their currently obscene heights; 50 cents per round for .22LR, really? Over a buck for a round of 5.56, what? And that's if you can find it.

Not that it matters, I lost all my guns when the skiff hit a reef in Lake Whitney and sank beneath the waves. What. A. Catastrophe.

#2A,

LSP 

Juke Box Monday

 

Shoot some pool, fire off a few darts, have a pint or several and spin some tunes on the juke. Yes, it's Jukebox Monday and here's Juliette's choice, Copperhead Road. Great choice.

Infidel takes us to a contemplative space, with Stella Blue. Let's hear it for the Dead:

RHT recommends Stevie boy.

And here's some country from Jim.

Me? I just like Thunderstruck, because it's awesome. Check it out:

Rock on,

LSP

Wolf Pack

 

It's been a busy time here at the Compound, so we're catching up. This short infovid's for our nautical friend LL; we managed to get some video footage, so check it out. And if you don't like the "Metal"? Too bad, no one ever said life'd be easy (click "watch on Youtube" and widescreen):

Mind how you go,

LSP

Death Metal

 

Sometimes the old tunes are the best tunes, and this one's for WSF, who knows Death Metal when he hears it. Enter Sandman:

Well, there's genius and there's genius.

Your Pal,

LSP

A Short Palm Sunday Sermon

 

Here we are on Palm Sunday, the "gateway to Holy Week," and the liturgy of the Mass seems strange or jarring. One minute we're hailing Jesus as the Messiah while singing All Glory Laud and Honour and the next shouting out Crucify Him!, as we hear the Passion. It's as though we've been catapulted, in mood, from Easter to Good Friday. But of course we understand the connection.

Christ's kingship as the anointed holy one of God rests upon the Cross, his throne from which he establishes sovereignty over sin and death. He could, in that week leading up to his death, have chosen worldly power; the temptations in the wilderness surely returned with demonic intensity.

Stones to bread? Yes indeed, literal bread for himself and the world, to say nothing of spiritual bread in the form of the righteous wisdom he could have given from the gleaming, thunderstruck fastness  of Mount Zion. 

Instead of being scourged and nailed to a cross by Roman soldiers he could have ordered the angelic host to his defense, lest he dash his foot against a stone. And the kingdoms of the world? His for the asking, with all the glories therein.

Christ says no to this and by extension to the Devil himself. He follows a different path, the way of the Cross. What qualities took him there? Humility, for sure. He emptied himself, taking the form of a servant or slave, even to an agonizing, shameful death. Likewise obedience. 

Recall the Garden of Gethsemane, where Jesus prays that the chalice of suffering and death would be taken from him, but he continues, "My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass away from me; nevertheless, not as I will, but as Thou willest." (Matt. 26:39) This utterly faithful submission to the Father's will takes him to Golgotha, where he lays down his life in a perfect act of love for the forgiveness of our sin.

Humble, obedient, loving faith. The way of the Cross and the way to the empty tomb and everlasting life. It comes at a cost, obviously, but consider the reward, the green pastures of paradise.

I pray we're given the courage, by the grace of God, to acknowledge Christ as our King and follow him through the "grave and gate of death" to eternal life.

God Bless,

LSP

Stations of the Cross and Benediction

 

"It's almost that time of year, LSP, can you you help out?" asked the Rector of St. Matthias. I zeroed in, like a thermal on a hog, "You'd like me to give a Lent talk? Sure, count me in," and took the last Friday of the course.

My job was to drive to the Metrosprawl yesterday and comment on the last sentence of the Apostles Creed after assisting at Stations of the Cross. Which I did, contrasting the fear, uncertainty and deceit of the world with the boldly asserted truth of the Creed. 

Thurifer, get down!

Then came Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament,  Therefore we, before him bending, this great Sacrament revere; types and shadows have their ending, for the newer rite is here; faith, our outward sense befriending, makes our inward vision clear.

A blessing, and it was good to be back at St. Matthias and its people. The Metrosprawl? Fun to visit Ma LSP's HQ and have dinner with her and BW. Less fun to see all the mask zombies wandering about with their made in China talismans covering their faces, voluntarily. 

"I say, what's that?" "We call it a 'laptop' LSP."

They proudly "follow the science" even though the scientific language on the Chinese mask boxes says, quite specifically, that the facial wares enclosed don't protect the wearer from viruses. You'll remember Goebbels:

If you tell a lie big enough and keep repeating it, people will eventually come to believe it. The lie can be maintained only for such time as the State can shield the people from the political, economic and/or military consequences of the lie. It thus becomes vitally important for the State to use all of its powers to repress dissent, for the truth is the mortal enemy of the lie, and thus by extension, the truth is the greatest enemy of the State.

 

He and Magda poisoned their beautiful young children, and then killed themselves as the truth caught up with their lie at the end of the war. Death and destruction, perhaps especially of children, are the hallmarks of the People of the Lie and their Father, who was a murderer from the beginning.

The Ninth Station, Jesus falls for the third time

Compare and contrast that to the God-given truth and life of the Creed.

Your Friend,

LSP

Obey Your Rulers

 

Are we a Constitutional Republic or a degenerate freakshow, a kleptocracy run by a crew of power lusting oligarchs and their bought and paid for shills inside and outside the Beltway? I present to you the new normal. This is a woman:

Yes, the first ever womyn of its kind elected by the Senate to public office, HHS Assistant Secretary, no less. And this is the most popular President in the long history of popularity. He ascended to power on the strength of not campaigning. He didn't have to, such is the natural charism of the Corpse:

Our aptly named Vice President is popular too, that's why she got so many votes in the Democrat primaries. Kamala, aka the Whore, is famous for keeping POCs in California jails, and here she is:

Scary, isn't it. And don't forget Nancy "Blow Dry" Pelosi and the Baltimore mafia. Let them eat $20 tubs of handcrafted ice cream is her motto. Which is perhaps why she feels the need to surround the Capitol with razor wire and National Guardsmen. Well, there's nothing like popularity. Have a look at this octogenarian advert for plastic surgery:

Reassuring, isn't it, that our nation's in such capable, honest, selfless Millionaire Socialist hands. But that's enough visual torture for now, what gets me is that people are still framing the debate in the language of the past.

Evil top hat, right wing capitalists v. good, for the people socialists. Republican v. Democrat, Left v. Right, Tory v. Labour, when the reality, across the board, is a Uniparty led by gang of voracious psychopaths in suits, hiding behind a thin, faked up veneer of PC driven tolerance. 

To paraphrase a famous author, Winston, I have seen the future, a rainbow colored wellington boot, stamping on a human face forever. A terrifying vision, let's hope it doesn't come to pass. In the meanwhile, obey your rulers.

Cheers,

LSP

Lightning!

 

No sooner had Stations of the Cross and the obligatory Lenten meal and class finished than it began to rain. Not heavily, but the drops were big, Texan style. Then the wind picked up and ominous rumbling filled the air. Thunder, like the sound of guns along the Oder Front, or Deep Purple.

Lightning began to arc, illuminating clouds which scudded across the firmament of heaven as night turned to electric day. It was easy, at that moment, to believe in the Electric Universe. Roll on, Nicola Tesla.

In other news, it's the Feast of the Annunciation of the Blessed Virgin Mary tomorrow. Here's the Collect:

WE beseech thee, O Lord, pour thy grace into our hearts; that, as we have known the incarnation of thy Son Jesus Christ by the message of an angel, so by his cross and passion we may be brought into the glory of his resurrection; through the same Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

 

Somehow this seems apt in the storm and my mind goes to  I beheld Satan as lightning fall from heaven.

God bless,

LSP

Well Shoot - Another Foray Into The Heart of Southern Darkness

 

Birds sang and the sun shone in the big Texan sky. Yes, it was time to head out to the countryside yet again as part of our ongoing investigation into the scourge of rural systemic racism. And before you could whistle Dixie there I was, in a ranch shop, talking guns.

You know how it is, one thing led to another, a couple of Polaris quads revved up and there we were, slinging skeet and shooting plates. Racist? Well, the guns were black and brown, the plates white and the skeet orange. The quads were green. Hmmm. 

It was hard to stop myself admiring a WWII trophy Luger as I reflected on this knotty indigenous peoples justice conundrum, to say nothing of a canned Enhanced Remington 1911. The latter shot well, scoring hits on a plate at around 75 yards, big fun.

Then it was time to visit the Confederate Air Force at an aerodrome not too far from my friend's ranch, DD has a hanger there where he builds and restores airplanes. 

There was a CAF trainer on the tarmac about to get ready for take off. Some of you'll know the make/model but I forget the details.

Regardless, DD was working on a Cessna and the wings of another plane, which he showed us after a delicious snack of poppers, smoked sausage and ice cold beer. What a gentleman, I do not say that lightly. And he still flies, though in his '80s. He'd been in the US Aerobatics team. 

Then it was time to head back to the bucolic haven that is this small farming community in North Central Texas to hear someone's confession. Was this whole experience irredeemably, incurably, insufferably racist?

I can't answer that but I do say this, it was big fun.

Your Pal,

LSP