Sunday Mass

 

For the first time in over a year I took a Sunday off and went to Mass in Dallas, at St. Matthias. "Smokey Matt's" is a traditional Anglo-Catholic church with an oriented liturgy, faithful priests and a down to earth, goodhearted congregation. Great people.

The previous Rector was sent there, he tells me, "to shut the place down," but he didn't, he grew the parish instead and quite literally built it. More than this, under his guidance, the church bought its way out from under pharaonic captivity to the Rainbow Church of Woken Dreams and the Diocese of Dallas. It now lives within the green pastures and still waters of the Diocese of Fort Worth. Result.

Fr. Dwight, Deacon of the Mass, gave an entertaining and true homily on today's Gospel, Martha and Mary. Without Mary's listening to Christ in love, in prayer, our active service becomes brittle at best and we run the risk of becoming "dried out activists." Yes indeed. Here's Benedict XVI on the same passage in Luke:

Martha and Mary are two sisters; they also have a brother, Lazarus, but he does not appear on this occasion. Jesus is passing through their village and, the text says, Martha received him at her home (cf. 10: 38). This detail enables us to understand that Martha is the elder of the two, the one in charge of the house. Indeed, when Jesus has been made comfortable, Mary sits at his feet and listens to him while Martha is totally absorbed by her many tasks, certainly due to the special Guest.

We seem to see the scene: one sister bustling about busily and the other, as it were, enraptured by the presence of the Teacher and by his words. A little later Martha, who is evidently resentful, can no longer resist and complains, even feeling that she has a right to criticize Jesus: "Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to serve alone? Tell her then to help me". Martha would even like to teach the Teacher! Jesus on the other hand answers her very calmly: "Martha, Martha", and the repetition of her name expresses his affection, "you are anxious and troubled about many things; only one thing is needful. Mary has chosen the good portion, which shall not be taken away from her" (10: 41-42). Christ's words are quite clear: there is no contempt for active life, nor even less for generous hospitality; rather, a distinct reminder of the fact that the only really necessary thing is something else: listening to the word of the Lord; and the Lord is there at that moment, present in the Person of Jesus! All the rest will pass away and will be taken from us but the word of God is eternal and gives meaning to our daily actions.

Dear friends, as I said, this Gospel passage...  recalls the fact that the human person must indeed work and be involved in domestic and professional occupations, but first and foremost needs God, who is the inner light of Love and Truth. Without love, even the most important activities lose their value and give no joy. Without a profound meaning, all our activities are reduced to sterile and unorganised activism. And who, if not Jesus Christ, gives us Love and Truth? Therefore, brothers and sisters, let us learn to help each other, to collaborate, but first of all to choose together the better part which is and always will be our greatest good.

Here endeth the Lesson and as we reflect upon it, check out this helpful infographic.

Arduus Ad Solem,

LSP 

Butchers And Liars

 

Jordan Peterson calls the shot. Watch this:

When has the left gone too far? When it insists that the surgical mutilation of children has become a moral necessity. When it insists that believing that has become a sign of moral virtue and that all else is unethical.

Good work, Mr. Peterson, sending those shots right into the X Ring. In the meanwhile, we remain compliant as medical professionals, surgeons even, butcher our children for profit.

Enough,

LSP

STEAM POWER

 

You may have forgotten about Traction Engines, which are large steam driven tractors invented in the 1850s and used, in the UK, into the 1950s. But if we've forgotten these colorful "road locomotives," rural England hasn't. Team LSP reports, from somewhere in England:

"I'm at a Traction Engine Rally, in a beer tent, listening to Country and Western. Guess what, there's not a single rainbow in sight. But there's hundreds of engines.

"The rally hadn't been held for three years because of the scamdemic but now it's back. There were 24 vintage fire engines alone, and a steam car, a Stanley Steamer."

Being a conscientious editor, I gazed in awe at photos of land leviathan relics of the industrial revolution and asked for further detail, to add color to the story. "Send photo of beer tent, thx," and got a Stanley Steamer instead, "Didn't think you'd want a photo of the beer tent. My bad." 

Mutinous correspondents aside, the Stanley Steamer was an American car, with regular models capable of 75 mph. A Stanley even set the world land speed record in 1906, clocking 150 mph before it crashed at Daytona. And what can we say? Steam cars are awesome, I want one.

Who knows, perhaps they'll suddenly become an imperative when gas becomes totally unaffordable for all but the very rich who rule us. And isn't America famous for its machine shops?

Your Pal,

LSP

CAT

 

You might remember the story of The Specialist And The Cat, in which a lowly enlisted man befriends a tiny, abandoned, defenseless kitten and takes the helpless creature home to the old family Compound, for healing, and a new start in life.

It's a moving tale of cat, soldiery, animal rescue and country life in Texas, but how's it going, how is the kitty? I was worried at first, because the kitten ran foolishly from the safety of the Compound. "The golden little cat?" offered one neighbor, "He's probably been eaten." Such is nature, red in tooth and claw.

But not to worry, the next day at around Noon, a woman was singing over her laundry, what a sweet sound, and up bounded the cat, who galloped across the road in search of food and water. He found it and played ridiculously.

Since then, the cat spends his time between several local porches, visiting the Compound's in early morning and late evening, typically. I like that. Fierce little creature and an asset.

Felix,

LSP

Patrolling

 

The day dawned bright, with the sun torching its way through the hazy air of a Texan July; time to go on patrol. So much better than lying and moaning on a post-op sickbed and after all, movement, we're told, is a sign of life.

The alley cats were out in force. They were on patrol as well, though much of this seemed to be about an ad hoc all round defense. Well, they are irregulars.

The Fuel Stop was up and running too. They've had bullet proof(?) perspex forever, way before the Covid craze brought sheets of see through plastic to our stores. Does the plastic defend against bullets? Perhaps. Does it stop a virus? Maybe as much as the vaccines themselves.

Then it was time to stroll by Cursed House. According to legend, Cursed House used to be a dental office and home to untold horrors, and for a fact it's seen a stream of unfortunate tenants over the last few decades. 

These leave, shrieking, and are mostly never heard from again. It's under new management these days, let's see if the renovation cleanses the place from its wicked spirits. And there you have it. A good morning, well spent.

Cheers,

LSP

Zadok

 

I love this and you might too,

LSP

Under The Knife

 

0430. Get up. Feed the Blue, hop into a waiting Uber and head North  to Dallas' famed Preston Plaza. But why do such a thing at such an ungodly hour? Because I had to get an inguinal hernia fixed at the Plaza's surgery center and was first on the list.

We got there early, which gave me time to scope out the renowned plaza. "Not so much a plaza as a car park," I thought grimly to myself, staring at empty lots overlooked by medium rise, black glass offices, one being the surgery center.

0600. March promptly into the medicos, sign some papers, put on a made in China mask, because Science, and before you know it you're in a hospital bed waiting for anesthetic and surgery. I didn't have to wait long and enjoyed a short prayer with the surgeon, what a good man. Then next thing you know it's 0930, the procedure's done,  and it's time to go back to Ma LSP's. So quick. 

So there you have it, Tuesday morning under the knife and now a few days off in Dallas. Thanks Doctor, and associated team.

God bless,

LSP

St. Benedict

 

It's the Feast of St. Benedict today, the founder of Western monasticism and, some would say, one of the saviors of the West itself. He died in 480 AD at the monastery of Monte Casino, the same place used as a stronghold by Nazis in WWII and subsequently destroyed at great cost.

This prayer's attributed to him, it's a form of exorcism:

Crux Sacra Sit Mihi Lux

Non Draco Sit Mihi Dux

Vade retro Satana

Nunquam suade mihi vana

Sunt mala quae libas.

Ipse venena bibas

Here's the initials, found on the medal itself, as an aide memoire: C S S M L – N D S M D, V R S N S M V – S M Q L I V B.

This prayer has great power. Use it.

St. Benedict, pray for us,

LSP

NCOs And All Of That

Respect, Utterly Failed Mission

Do you remember them, Old Skool NCOs? Arnhem veterans and beyond? They have a culture and a dam fine one too, backbone of the Army.  And they've passed that on. Utter respect.

Boy

That in mind, the young 'un's going on a "Leadership School" all next week, and's kinda nervous. "Good," I advised, "You should be nervous, give it all you got and don't give up."

Let The Reader Understand

Your Old Pal,

LSP

You Dirty Little Beast!

 

Guns are great, we love them, they spell freedom and they're awesome in and of themselves, plus they're fun to shoot. But here's the thing, if you shoot them they get dirty, filthy dirty, and if you don't clean them they don't work. Useless.

Deadly gas guns especially. Great fun, no doubt about it, and all very well regulated militia, but they're a pain to clean, thanks a lot, gas impingement system. Still, it works and works well, if you can afford the ammo, which is questionable for most.

In related news, the people of Sri Lanka rose up and overthrew their dirty, corrupt, GloboHomo Green Government, chasing their beloved GreenCorpRainbow leader out of the country, and who can blame them? No more farms or food for you, serfs, we're going green! Pan to enraged mob storming presidential palace.

A harbinger of things to come? That in mind, a clean gun is a happy gun.

#2A,

LSP

The Hyena of Auschwitz

 

Irma Grese was just a teenage high school dropout when she found purpose and meaning in the Reich, as a concentration camp guard. The job suited her and she rose in rank, moving from the women's hell that was Ravensbruck to Auschwitz.

As the "Hyena of Auschwitz," Irma unleashed plebian fury on the unfortunates under her care. You can imagine what that looked like, up to and including lampshades made of human skin. Picture, if you like, the women kicked to death by Irma's hobnailed boots as they stood naked on roll call in freezing rain.

The Hyena was arrested by British forces in Spring 1945. She was hanged in the December of that year, 22 years old. Quite right too.

Your Pal,

LSP

Time To Shoot Again

There it was, another beautiful, clear, already ovenlike morning in country Texas, another day to shoot. This time at Chandler's range just outside of Valley Mills where I RV'd with some church people. Of course I was on a mission to test out yesterday's malfeasant gas gun. Would it work today after yesterday's failure and remedial gas block surgery?

Good question. You'll recall, far-sighted readers, that the gun wouldn't cycle because of an incorrectly aligned gas block and wrong length gas tube, which I corrected. Or had I? First shot. Bang, right in the center of the green terrorist's head, nice, the weapon was on. But no cycle. Dam.

Out came the screw driver, off went the hand guard, and whaddya know, the gas block still wasn't right. Attention to detail, LSP, get it right the first time, enough of your shoddy, useless gunsmithery. That in mind, I nudged the block back over the handy indent in the barrel, tightened it up, fired a test shot, the rifle cycled, phew, and replaced the hand guard.

A few shots later on the head of the green terr proved the rifle was in working order. Mission accomplished. Result. The rest of the morning went on remedial .45 practice, I'm rusty, and plinking about with a .22. Great enjoyment and what a lot of fun to meet with with church friends for a shoot in the clean country air. 

We must build on this worthy endeavor.

Gun Rights,

LSP