The land of the ice and snow, aka Canada, which means getting up at an unearthly hour tomorrow and venturing forth to DFW and the joy of modern air travel. What will Alberta be like? Will you still be able to pay with cash, will there be giant billboards of Justine Trudeau staring down at you from Orwellian rainbow hoardings?
A typical Albertan house
Who knows, and this mission's all about reconnaissance, it's a recce patrol. And I tell you, it's been a few years since I've been there, not since the deadliest plague to lockdown humanity in the history of deadliest plagues. That's passed over now, leaving 99.9% of the populace alive, so let's see what's left of Calgary, Alberta, in the aftermath of the horror.
My feeling is that the Ranchmen's Club still stands. Regardless, see you on the other side.
Do you remember the annoying saying, "What comes around goes around"? And another is like unto it, "As ye reap so shall ye sow." Maybe Hi-Stepping Soros-backed New Orleans DA, Jason Williams, is thinking just that after being carjacked with his 78 year old mother last month.
Williams was helping his mother into her car when armed masked men held them up at gunpoint and took off with the elderly woman’s belongings.
Williams said in an interview that having a gun pointed directly at him was “horrific” and it made him think of crime victims.
Right, well done, you paid-off, POC, diversity hire, corrupt puppeteer, masquerading as a civil servant, who dismissed 66% of all violent felony crimes in your district. Good looking out, now your egregious malfeasance is coming home to roost as your aged mother gets ripped-off at gunpoint and you're horrified. Go figure. Oh, woe is you, all the way to the nearest bank account.
Dear readers, I won't bang on, but yet again we see an axiom in force. Viz. Everything the Left enacts produces the exact opposite of its intended result.
"Tell us, when shall these things be? and what shall be the sign of thy coming, and of the end of the world? And Jesus answered and said unto them, Take heed that no man deceive you. For many shall come in my name, saying, I am Christ; and shall deceive many. And ye shall hear of wars and rumours of wars: see that ye be not troubled: for all these things must come to pass, but the end is not yet. For nation shall rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom: and there shall be famines, and pestilences, and earthquakes, in divers places. All these are the beginning of sorrows."
just coz
See that ye be not troubled, stay steadfast to the end and win the crown of glory.
Thanks to LL, we're reminded that it's the time of year when we challenge you to send in your best drawings of Mohammad, the desert prophet who spoke with a demon in a cave. By way of inspiration, here's a few examples.
Look, Mo and Aisha, she's 9.
And here's head chopper killer. So very religion of peace, not least in Texas.
You see, what happens when you hold a DrawMo is that Jihad savages are drawn to the event like moths before a flame, and dealt with. So feel free to send in your best DrawMos, and may the best artist win!
En lieu of a homily by me here's Austin Farrer preaching at All Souls chapel, Oxford, after World War II:
‘May they rest in peace, and may light perpetual shine upon them’ - those millions among whom our friends are lost, those millions for whom we cannot choose but pray; because prayer is a sharing in the love of the heart of God, and the love of God is earnestly set towards the salvation of his spiritual creatures, by, through and out of the fire that purifies them.
The arithmetic of death perplexes our brains. What can we do but throw ourselves upon the infinity of God? It is only to a finite mind that number is an obstacle, or multiplicity a distraction. Our mind is like a box of limited content, out of which one thing must be emptied before another can find a place. The universe of creatures is queuing for a turn of our attention, and no appreciable part of the queue will ever get a turn. But no queue forms before the throne of everlasting mercy, because the nature of an infinite mind is to be simply aware of everything that is.
Everything is simply present to an infinite mind, because it exists; or rather, exists because it is present to that making mind. And though by some process of averaging and calculation I should compute the grains of sand, it would be like the arithmetic of the departed souls, an empty sum; I could not tell them as they are told in the infinity of God’s counsels, each one separately present as what it is, and simply because it is.
The thought God gives to any of his creatures is not measured by the attention he can spare, but by the object for consideration they can supply. God is not divided; it is God, not a part of God, who applies himself to the falling sparrow, and to the crucified Lord. But there is more in the beloved Son than in the sparrow, to be observed and loved and saved by God. So every soul that has passed out of this visible world, as well as every soul remaining within it, is caught and held in the unwavering beam of divine care. And we may comfort ourselves for our own inability to tell the grains of sand, or to reckon the thousands of millions of the departed.
And yet we cannot altogether escape so; for our religion is not a simple relation of every soul separately to God, it is a mystical body in which we are all members one of another. And in this mystical body it does not suffice that every soul should be embraced by the thoughts of God; it has also to be that every soul should, in its thought, embrace the other souls. For apart from this mutual embracing, it would be unintelligible why we should pray at all, either for the living or for the departed. Such prayer is nothing but the exercising of our membership in the body of Christ. God is not content to care for us each severally, unless he can also, by his Holy Spirit in each one of us, care through and in us for all the rest. Every one of us is to be a focus of that divine life of which the attractive power holds the body together in one.
So even in the darkness and blindness of our present existence, our thought ranges abroad and spreads out towards the confines of the mystical Christ, remembering the whole Church of Christ, as well militant on earth as triumphant in heaven; invoking angels, archangels and all the spiritual host.
Today marks the Solemnity of All Saints and we join them in the worship of God and holiness. St. Bernard of Clairvaux offers us this:
Why should our praise and glorification, or even the celebration of this feast day mean anything to the saints? What do they care about earthly honors when their heavenly Father honors them by fulfilling the faithful promise of the Son? What does our commendation mean to them?
The saints have no need of honor from us; neither does our devotion add the slightest thing to what is theirs. Clearly, if we venerate their memory, it serves us, not them. But I tell you, when I think of them, I feel myself inflamed by a tremendous yearning.
Calling the saints to mind inspires, or rather arouses in us, above all else, a longing to enjoy their company, so desirable in itself. We long to share in the citizenship of heaven, to dwell with the spirits of the blessed, to join the assembly of patriarchs, the ranks of the prophets, the council of apostles, the great host of martyrs, the noble company of confessors and the choir of virgins.
In short, we long to be united in happiness with all the saints. But our dispositions change. The Church of all the first followers of Christ awaits us, but we do nothing about it. The saints want us to be with them, and we are indifferent. The souls of the just await us, and we ignore them.
Come, brothers, let us at length spur ourselves on. We must rise again with Christ, we must seek the world which is above and set our mind on the things of heaven. Let us long for those who are longing for us, hasten to those who are waiting for us, and ask those who look for our coming to intercede for us.
We should not only want to be with the saints, we should also hope to possess their happiness. While we desire to be in their company, we must also earnestly seek to share in their glory. Do not imagine that there is anything harmful in such an ambition as this; there is no danger in setting our hearts on such glory.
When we commemorate the saints we are inflamed with another yearning: that Christ our life may also appear to us as he appeared to them and that we may one day share in his glory. Until then we see him, not as he is, but as he became for our sake. He is our head, crowned, not with glory, but with the thorns of our sins.
As members of that head, crowned with thorns, we should be ashamed to live in luxury; his purple robes are a mockery rather than an honor. When Christ comes again, his death shall no longer be proclaimed, and we shall know that we also have died, and that our life is hidden with him. The glorious head of the Church will appear and his glorified members will shine in splendor with him, when he forms this lowly body anew into such glory as belongs to himself, its head.
Therefore, we should aim at attaining this glory with a wholehearted and prudent desire. That we may rightly hope and strive for such blessedness, we must above all seek the prayers of the saints. Thus, what is beyond our own powers to obtain will be granted through their intercession.
But I tell you, when I think of them, I feel myself inflamed by a tremendous yearning. Amen to that, and as Farrer reminds us, "the saints are our evidence." Yes indeed, that even we can be transformed by grace and the indwelling presence of Christ into holiness, and so reflect the features of our Lord and Savior.
Tonight we celebrate the defeat of the demons, tomorrow we look to heaven and the jubilation of the countless throng of the Saints as they worship the Lamb. By way of prelude:
What a joyful sound! Lift up your hearts, sursum corda, the Gospel of salvation has one voice. Victory is assured and evil will be blown away like smoke before the wind.
But no, Halloween's not a celebration of evil, it's the Eve of All Saints and looks forward to their victory in Christ over the forces of darkness and death. Here's a prayer:
O Almighty God, who hast knit together thine elect in one communion and
fellowship in the mystical body of thy Son Christ our Lord: Grant us grace so
to follow thy blessed saints in all virtuous and godly living, that we may come
to those ineffable joys which thou hast prepared for those who unfeignedly
love thee; through the same Jesus Christ our Lord, who with thee and the
Holy Spirit liveth and reigneth, one God, in glory everlasting. Amen.
Saints, pray for us, we need all the help we can get right about now.
There we were, in the dead heat of a dead hot summer and we prayed, when will this heat ever end? Maybe never, so there you are at your desk, sweat dripping down onto the Dell even though your AC's running full blast like a racehorse which just can't keep up.
No kidding, the very ground is cracking under the heat and there you are, idly chopping sweating mahogany with a razor sharp kukri, chop, chop, chop, in time with failing ChiCom ceiling fan dystopia.
A knock on the door. Rap, rap, rap. You look up through the heat haze, clearing a Glock .45, "Come in!" All very Master and Commander and enter the office, and he does, a complete 5.7' of hooded aggressor. Wow, 13% produces 50% of the crime. "Where's your money at?" demands our malfeasant POC friend, waving a blunt machete and a worse than useless garbage Hi-Point.
You look hoodrat in the eye and ask, "You want money? Yeah, we all want money, so take it, it's yours, it's up the monkey, just help yourself. Hey man, have at it, feel free, it's all yours."
100% eye contact. There you are in 110* waiting on the monkey rush, call it a stand-off. So what's it gonna be? Life and death. Rush the monkey to get the cash or... not. Your call, buddy, as a dystopian fan whirs overhead, and the heat does not lessen. No, it builds.
Hoodie looks at the munificent monkey, standing tall in your corner, full off cash, a veritable simian of a floor safe, and you can see the pull of greed versus personal safety playing out in Hoodie's mind. What's it to be, rush the monkey and get the cash and die rich, or retreat out of this hot, hot room, alive.
You watch, tapping your kukri impatiently against a scarred desk, "Maybe it's time for you to go, my friend. Or maybe you want to get all up in the Rittenhouse. Your call, go ask the monkey. It's totally up to you."
Which way would you play this utterly unlikely scenario, punters?
