Ah. And So It Begins.

Our synod is assembling later this week, and for  while we thought it might be a moderately pleasant couple of days.  No bishop to elect this year.  The only resolutions we had heard about concerned torture (we're agin' it) and sex (well, okay, the debates are never pleasant, but as we've said before, they do have -- ahem -- a comfortingly predictable rhythm).  

But today's mail brings a delicately worded missive from our bishop, to the effect that

[s]ome members of a former congregation of the Metropolitan New York Synod and pastors who are not on the roster of Ordained Ministers of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America have indicated that they intend to participate in our assembly.  This may present some awkwardness in our gatherings ....

"Some awkwardness," indeed.

Sadly, this is no great surprise, at least to close watchers of synodical events.  The case of Bethlehem Lutheran Church in Brooklyn has been a thorn in our collective flesh for years, and just lately seems to have caused an infection.  

Briefly, the story goes like this:  typical declining urban congregation can no longer manage its own affairs; is divided into warring camps; one camp requests synodical administration; opposite camp tries to keep this from happening.  For those unfamiliar with urban churches in decline, the level of obstruction may seem shocking.  Pastors sent by the synod to lead worship have been locked out of the building; the self-proclaimed council president moved into the rectory, began paying herself a salary and put a mortgage on the church.  Meanwhile, the building has partially collapsed, and will almost certainly have to be demolished in any case.  Trust us when we say, from long and bitter personal experience, that this is all par for the course.

There have been legal proceedings, all decided in the synod's favor, but the losing side still refuses to hand over the books and records.  And they have been looking for a victory in the court of public opinion instead, by going to the media. There was a sloppy and ill-informed article in the Daily News, and better one (linked above) in a Brooklyn paper.  Check out the "Comments" section, in which locals demonstrate a surprisingly clear-headed picture of what's going on.

There are a lot of issues, legal as well as theological, and we really don't have the space to work them all out here.  At the heart of all this is a terrible truth, which is that the congregation is dead.  Both sides hope only to sell the property.  If the majority faction, and the synod, win out, the profits will support ELCA mission in New York.  If the minority faction wins, the profits will support one woman and her family, as well as the people she hires to do her bidding.

So, since that's the case, let's put some personal details on the table -- stuff that the bishop's letter (okay, his lawyer's letter) tactfully omits.  

The woman behind all this is Muriel Tillinghast, a veteran civil rights activist.  She was also Ralph Nader's New York State running mate in 1996.  Sounds good, right?  Sadly, it is a much-observed fact that the radicals of yesteryear have had three subsequent career tracks:  neoconservatism (like Tillinghast's fellow-SNCCer Richard John Neuhaus); polite leftism (like Obama's much-abused colleague Bill Ayers); and a descent into irrelevance, punctuated by addled efforts to reclaim a former glory, however dubious (like Timothy Leary).  We suspect strongly that Tillinghast has made a jump from the second category to the third.

Assisting her, however, are two "Lutheran pastors" whose involvement in the matter concerns us deeply.  One is George Muenich, who has recently left the ELCA and is now convincing his own small Brooklyn congregation to do likewise.  The other is Norman David, who left the ELCA years ago, and serves a congregation in Massachusetts.  Both men are interfering in the affairs of a congregation to which they have no call, and indeed of a church body in which they have resigned membership.  At the very least, this raises serious canonical issues -- and therefore, legal ones.  Clearly, their self-assigned role is to help Tillinghast do what they themselves have already mastered -- foment schism.  We suspect strongly that they hope to make some money off an eventual real-estate deal, but it is completely possible that both men are simply in it for "pure" motives -- meaning pure self-aggrandizement.

Do we even need to mention that both men have AELC roots?  No, because faithful Egg readers are already aware of our observation that, because the Missouri Synod was created in schism, it has always taught a theology which seeks to justify breaking fellowship (based, we suspect, on a congregationalist misreading of AC7); and that in the AELC, this theology was further distorted by a team of narcissists with keen political skills and lamentable overconfidence in their own parochial education.  So no surprise there.

The question is how to handle these buffoons and their latest effort at self-promoting street theater.  ("Latest," because two of them tried to disrupt a smaller meeting recently).  Here are some possibilities:

1.  Let Them Talk.  A dear but idealistic friend suggests that, despite their utter lack of standing, they should be given some time to present their case at the assembly.  It is, after all, our highest deliberative body, empowered to make decisions which take precedence over those of the bishop or synod council.  

In a more perfect world, we would agree.  But it is our observation that synod assemblies routinely fail to deliberate effectively, for several reasons.  First, because they are not entirely transparent.  Claiming a desire to avoid "micro-managing," as well as low morale, staffers have habitually kept certain kinds of  information to themselves.  The result is that, of 500 people gathered in a room, no more than 75 are likely to know much at all about this case, and only 15 or 20 will have ben fully briefed.

The unfortunate result -- demonstrated over and over in previous years -- is that assemblies, lacking facts, are therefore swayed by emotional appeals, especially when made my silver-tongued orators.  Hence, every discussion of gay people turns into an exchange of anecdotes, and no election of a bishop involves a close look at candidates' track records.

2.  Kick Them Out.  None of the people likely to show up urging a discussion of this matter has any official standing.  Muriel Tillinhast is the "president" not of a congregation, but of a schismatic faction which is recognized neither by the synod nor by the courts.  Norman David and George Muenich are not ELCA pastors; they have neither voice nor vote.

The problem here is that, if things really do go all street-theater, efforts to exclude them could blow up in the assembly's face.  In a worst-case scenario, there are pictures on the TV news of a lovely old black lady being dragged away in cuffs by the Suffolk County police.  (She wins that round.)  But even failing that, there is the likelihood that well-intentioned but ill-informed members of the synod will be so offended by proceedings they cannot understand that they will fear becoming party to a genuine injustice, and cross over to the dark side of the force.  

Still, politely barring them from the hotel might work.  A few picket signs in the parking lot just make them look like screwballs.

3.  Fight Theater With Theater.  If by some bizarre chain of events, any of these nutjobs does get to a live microphone -- or even a dead one -- we could start singing a hymn, really loudly, and drown them out.  While the obvious choices are A Mighty Fortress and Amazing Grace, because we can all sing them from memory, the Egg has a few other suggestions for synod staff who want to be prepared:

• The Church's One Foundation goes right to the matter, complaining that we are "by schism s rent asunder, by heresies distress'd."  But could we get to the third verse without a lyric sheet?
• Once to Every Man and Nation has that precious verse about how the Church proceeds "by the light of burning martyrs."  Father A. will be distributing pitch-impregnated torches, out by the summer-camp display booth. 
• There's also this long-forgotten breviary hymn:

A sin there was in ancient days, 

The Apostle names its name, 

And marks its nature with dispraise, 

The Church's bane and shame. 

Who formed without her factions new. 

Or nourished feuds within, 

Or scorn upon her rulers threw, 

Were guilty of that sin.

But what's the tune?

4.  Pray for Deliverance, and Call an Exorcist.  This seems like the best route.  And while we don't have a synod exorcist, what good is a full-communion relationship with the Episcopalians if they won't lend us theirs?  Paging Merrily Watkins!

"I Never Drink ... Wine."

In Romania, recently, Father A. was entertained by a colleague, who offered two bottles of local wine, saying, "You have your choice of sweet or very sweet."  

We are amused to read that, at a recent competition, Romanian wines won 46 medals, out of 61 awarded.  Of course, the competition was held in Bucharest.

Suddenly, the search for alternative beverages makes sense.  Which explains palinca.

Quartered With the Hand of War

Yesterday was Mother's Day.  Today, a US soldier at Camp Liberty, in Baghdad, opened fire on other soldiers (nationality unknown, but likely ours as well), wounding three, killing four as well as himself.

(The official press releases doesn't say that the killer was one of ours, but CNN has confirmed that with an unnamed "senior defense official.")

We are reminded that Mother's Day, now a treacly celebration of sentimentality and commercialism, began in part as a "Mother's Day for Peace," promoted by Julia Ward Howe in reaction to the carnage of the Civil War and the Franco-Prussian War.  The idea was that the mother's themselves, instead of staying in bed to eat burned French toast and have orange juice spilled on their sheets, would organize and protest to show that, pace Marc Antony, they do not "but smile when they behold their infants, quartered with the hand of war."

Because of this misbegotten war, at least four more mothers will not see their children again.

Dijon-Gate Scandal Deepens; Executive Clemency Requested

It's an ad, but a timely one.  Those people are quick.

This is and oldie, but a goodie:

Makes us wonder what Hannity ate for lunch.  He's unfreaking believably rich, you know.  makes something like $40 million a year.  We've heard.

Newsflash! Obama Eats Fast Food!

With that physique, we figured the guy must live on sprouts and protein shakes.

But the funny part is that he apparently ordered a cheeseburger with mustard.  This has the talking heads talking -- well, the stupid ones, anyway.  Yes, we mean you Sean Hannity.  And Mark Steyn, and Laura Ingraham, the last of whom is apparently under the impression that grown men still eat ketchup.

In fairness, the president's offense wasn't so much mustard as Dijon mustard.  Our elderly readers will remember a droll advertisement some years back, in which two rich guys in Rolls Royce touring cars stop on a country road, and one of them begs a jar of Grey Poupon from the other.  (And one of them has -- gasp! -- a French accent.)  Hannity is old enough to remember this ad, or at least to have taken away its central message, that Dijon mustard is the condiment of the elite.  And we suppose he's right, if it's still 1979.  

Since then, the stuff has gone downmarket.  They sell it in squeeze bottles now, right next to the mayo.  For the record, we ourselves put a little Dijon on our pastrami sandwich this afternoon.  And it was good.  So good that we did it again, on another sandwich.

But, for those who want to remember the good old days, when using a fancy mustard meant you flew on the Concorde:

 

Supposedly, It's Great

We haven't seen it yet, but we will.  Our biggest challenge is convincing Mother Anonymous that she doesn't have to hold out for IMAX.

But in the meantime, Wonkette made us laugh with this suggestion:

Everyone remembers last year’s important Wall Street Journal column, “George Bush Jr. Is The Bat Man.” This year’s version? “Barack Obama is the Spock.” Steady yourself…

They even cite examples, which get funnier as they go.  

Padre Oprah is No Nigerian

Following up on our last post, about sex-starved Nigerians, we might mention the Rev. Alberto Cutié, know to the Cuban-American population of South Florida as "Padre Oprah" because of the advice he doles out on a television program.  Sadly, despite his vows, it appears he has not been sex-starved in the least. 

In pictures, Fr. Cutié appears to be an extraordinarily good looking fellow.  He described as "conservative," and although the secular press often uses that adjective to describe any Roman Catholic who actually supports the Church's teaching, his show is broadcast in Latin America by EWTN, which seems to run the spectrum from genuinely conservative to kinda nutty.

But we have to mention that the current crop of "celibates" who can't keep their zippers zipped includes both the right and the left (see under:  Lugo, Fernado).  And in all fairness, Cutié's disobedience appears -- thus far -- to have been far milder than Lugo's.  But we fully expect a media circus, and are staying tuned for more lurid revelations.

Lysistrata Gets Sued

Seems that Kenyan women's groups called for a week-long sex boycott.  They feel that the nation's leaders are placing political rivalry above the common good and seek to, ahem, prick their consciences.

This is an old idea, although one rarely acted upon.  The modern-era update is the response of James Kimondo, who has filed suit against the feminist umbrella group G10:

"Since the women called for the sex boycott, my wife has denied me my conjugal rights. This has caused me anxiety and sleepless nights," Kimondo [told reporters outside the Nairobi High Court, where he lodged his petitions for damages].  "I have been suffering mental anguish, stress, backaches, lack of concentration." 

Yeah, a lawsuit is going to cure the stress.  Sure it is.

Department of No Surprise: Pornography Edition

The headlines read:  "Student Suspended from Christian College for Appearing in Gay Porn Movies."

We ask:  Did they have to be gay porn movies?

More on Browning

We couldn't resist.  There's work to be done, and yet we googled the Robert Browning story.  It's all true, and for some details, click above.

Buckley on the Buckleys

Christopher Buckley has been writing lately about his life with, and the deaths of, his parents, William F. and Patricia.  We read with great interest his memoir in the Times magazine two weeks back, which is linked above.

We give Buckley a great deal of credit for this.  Writing about one's dead parents is probably hard enough under any circumstances (we say "probably" because we haven't yet had the opportunity to try.  Our parents live in Tucson, which may be as hot as Hell, but which we are reliably informed is actually on Earth).  In Buckley's case, the job is made much more difficult by the fact that his parents were wealthy, famous, controversial and -- yet -- deeply beloved by a vast number of friends.  We imagine it is a challenge to write anything about such people, knowing that every syllable will be scrutinized by friends and enemies alike, all of whom truly believe that they knew your parents better than you did.

Still, he does, and it is fascinating.  Both of them tended toward self-dramatization, but only one did so in print, so it is not surprising to learn that Buckley pere was a deeply religious Catholic who liked his Masses Latin and, toward the end, popped pills like candy, and thought about suicide.  This complements a recent Vanity Fair portrait, which made William F. out to be the sort of snob who truly believed that the wealthy are more virtuous than the poor.  Christopher doesn't mention that part, and although he does tell a few stories that make the old man look destructively self-important (Christmas on the yacht!), this is a loving and intimate picture of the Buckley we assumed we knew.

The description of Mrs. Buckley is more surprising, at least to those of us who didn't travel in her circle.  She was apparently a great liar, among many other faults.  She was prone to making wicked scenes, of the sort that embarrass anybody in the room capable of embarrassment, and used the lies not only to aggrandize herself but to hurt others.  We at the Egg are tempted to diagnose borderline personality disorder, and would do so at once if we were in even the slightest way qualified.

Anyway, it's a touching article that must have been difficult to write.  It's also very funny, and we recommend it.

Hang It All, Robert Browning

Apparently, the great poet (whose work is on our "get to know better now that we're old enough" list) was under the impression "that 'twat' was a kind of medieval headgear for elderly nuns."

This delicious tidbit, which we fully intend to repeat after a few beers at the synod assembly,  is from a review of the well-titled Origins of the Specious, by Patricia T. O'Conner.  We mention the book mostly because of our own last post, since reviewer Alexandra Mullen complains that O'Conner is snide, especially for a descriptivist.  As if only prescriptivists had character flaws!

Just Gettin' It Off Our Chest

One of the faithful periodically tries to start a conversation by telling us about her "pet peeves," and we listen politely because it is a call from God to suffer in solidarity with Christ.  But the truth is that we don't care about pet peeves, hers or anybody else's.  You might say that the custom of collecting, nurturing and enumerating minor grievances is our pet peeve.

But we have others.  And what is a blog for, if not airing the private prejudices and grievances of its creators?  So if, like us, you are yourself peeved by peeves, stop reading now.  Click somewhere else.  We recommend Sullivan or, just for a change, Anglo-Catholic Socialism.

If you're still reading, here they are, the ones that are bugging us today:

1.  "Process," with an accent on the ultima.  Guess what, people?  It's not a verb.  We generally take a pretty descriptivist position on language matters, but this is a case in which we are flatly prescriptivist.  In traditional English, one doesn't pro-CESS down an aisle, one pro-CEEDS down an aisle.  The OED identifies this neologism as "jocular," which tells you everything you need to know.  It's a joke -- a donnish, clerical joke.  And yet, through the magic of illiteracy, the punchline has been mistaken for the set-up.  It's as if people actually established a charitable fund to benefit the man from Nantucket.

2.  "Introit," one syllable, rhymes with Motor City.  This is a harder case, since we often approve of Anglicizing pronunciation when speaking English.  The best instance is circa, which would be keer-ka to Cicero and cheer--ka to the Pope, but which simply sounds effete unless pronounced sir-ka.  But this is not one of those instances.  Say in-TRO-it, or beware our wrath.  (Of course, since the LBW revised the liturgy, few of us need to say it at all anymore).

We're a little humiliated by airing all this.  It's almost as bad as blogging about last night's dreams.  But we had to get this off our chest.

Sitting It Out, Part Deux

Along with the ELCA's proposed statement on sexuality, there is another summer storm into which we at the Egg have refused to run.  We speak, of course, of the controversy surrounding Notre Dame's invitation to President Obama.

This has been big news among conservative Protestants and Catholic traditionalists.  (Or at least they have chosen to make it big news, which amounts to the same thing).  Since the president supports the Supreme Court's finding with regard to abortion, the anti-abortion team has argued that the invitation, along with a conventional honorary degree, violate the policy of  US Conference of Catholic Bishops.  Notre Dame and its supporters have counter-argued that the USCCB teaching precludes Roman Catholic institutions from honoring Roman Catholics -- but not others -- whose actions run counter to Catholic teaching. 

We've been silent because this is a fight in which we have no dog.  Our own church takes no firm position regarding abortion (falling somewhere near the Clintonian formula that it should be "safe, legal and rare").  We doubt that the president currently spends much time thinking about the matter, or that he will occupy himself with it when he speaks at Notre Dame.  We certainly hope not.  We do believe that honorary degrees are foolish and ought to be discontinued, but not for any of the reasons adverted in this instance.

Still, we are intrigued by Father Z.'s post, regarding some current polling data (click up top for the post, here for the press release).  Simply put, just over half of all respondents agree that Notre Dame should have "followed the  guidelines ... and refrained from awarding an honorary degree to President Obama."  The other half are split between "award the degree" and "don't know or care."  

We are concerned because the question seems unfairly phrased.  If Notre Dame's argument is that they did follow the guidelines (in letter, if not in spirit), asking whether they should have is a bit like asking whether the Pope should stop beating his wife.  It's not a question designed to get meaningful results.

Beyond that, though, we are mildly amused to see that among those who chose to oppose the degree (tip o' the biretta to the MMMS of yore, there), Evangelical Protestants (66%) are more opposed than Roman Catholics (60%) the awarding the degree.  So -- hmm -- is Richard Land a running dog for the Papacy?

And "Evangelicals" feel even more strongly (87%, to 56% of Catholics) that a speaker should "share the university's views at schools with religious affiliations."  Again, we'd like to see the actual poll questions.  Because while that may well be a sustainable case for commencement speakers, it certainly is not for speakers in general.  How else are students to encounter new ideas?  Of course, that may be the whole idea....

Obama Is a Secret Atheist!

Which proves he isn't a secret Muslim.

Apparently, the United States has something called National Day of Prayer.  This is news to us at the Egg, and you might have thought we would have known.  It goes back to President Truman, and in recent years (meaning, explicitly, the administration of George W. Bush) has been observed with great hoopla (if by "hoopla" you mean not so much "prayer" as "ostentatious gatherings of Christian and Jewish leaders which pointedly exclude Muslims, Buddhists, Hindus, Sikhs, Taoists, Unitarians, Mormons and the Baha'i") at the White House. 

But we didn't know about it, apparently because nobody told us.  Which makes us think this is one of those inside-the Beltway things, the ones that don't really make a difference to anybody except the stuffed shirts and sock puppets who organize and participate in them, for whom they have symbolic power.

Evidence to support this hypothesis is provided by responses to this year's National Day of Prayer.  Apparently, President Obama issued the traditional proclamation, but didn't do much else to observe it.  (Well, apart from actually praying, which his press secretary says he does every day, and which would seem like the most sensible observance).  But there was no gathering of clerics in the East Room, to have their photos taken and look important.

James Dobson is "disappointed in the lack of emphasis," on the grounds that "this is our history."  It's not really clear what that means, but Dobson is an old man, and hasn't made sense since, well, ever.  (Actually, it makes perfect sense, if you have lost your short --term memory, and think "history" began in 2001.  Otherwise, not so much). Congressman John Kline  claims to be "surprised," but gives a pretty good idea of why a thoughtful president might choose to pray privately and let it go at that:

“Many of us who are in the bipartisan congressional prayer caucus [Kline said afterward] believe that recognizing and underscoring the deep and rich religious history, frankly the Judeo-Christian history, with our founders is an important part of America and this place.”

Ah.  So the idea here isn't to pray, per se, but rather to celebrate American history -- or rather, to celebrate one particular aspect of it.  And a fairly controversial one at that.  Because, while it is readily apparent that many of the nation's founders were Christians, at least by their own standards, the Klines and Dobsons of the world are in the business of helping us forget how strange those standards were (Jefferson's mutilated Bible, Washington's refusal of Holy Communion), or the profound significance to our early history of doubters and skeptics (Thomas Paine, obviously; but also Ethan Allen, who halted his own wedding service until he could make the celebrant agree that the "God" before whom he made his vows was the God of nature; and even sober John Adams, who said "This would be the best of all possible worlds, if there were no religion in it").

And don't get us started on the folly of a "Jud[a]eo-Christian" history.   Of all hyphenates, that one most boils our blood.  While of course the two religious share a great deal of history, most of that history is soaked in blood.  Jewish blood, specifically.  Despite the shared scriptures, their truth claims are dramatically different.  The holiest truth of one is a scandal to the other.  The dimwitted custom of treating them as cognates -- political correctness of the 1950s vintage -- is an insult to both.  And we are appalled by the notion that America's history -- very largely a history of Christian schismatics uncomfortably learning to tolerate first one another and then, much later, adherents of other religions altogether, all for the sake of civil peace and material prosperity -- is somehow "Jud[a]eo-Christian"

So.  The President has decided to do what most of his post-war predecessors have done, or claimed to do:  sign a piece of paper encouraging prayer, then pray, then get back to work.  Good for him.  As for those who are disappointed and surprised that they weren't invited to the East Room this year, we feel their pain, and encourage them to go out and find a synagogue or a street corner to pray on, where everybody can see them.

White Trash Extravaganza

Some readers may already be following the adventures of Carrie Prejean, who failed to win the Miss USA pageant, and blamed the gays. 

During the presidential campaign, our beloved godfather warmly admonished us to express our sentiments here politely, and with a minimum of vulgarity.  Sadly, we do not find that there is any way to do that in the Prejean matter, which is itself a study in bad taste.

Fortunately, the guy who writes the gossip blog Egotastic has apparently neither a godfather nor a superego, and so is able to be as blunt (and as vulgar) as he wants.  He expresses our feelings quite nicely, so click the link above if you won't be offended.

The Pork-O-Phobia Spreads

Per Reuters:

Afghanistan's only known pig has been locked in a room, away from visitors to Kabul zoo where it normally grazes beside deer and goats, because people are worried it could infect them with the virus popularly known as swine flu.

.... "For now the pig is under quarantine, we built it a room because of swine influenza," Aziz Gul Saqib, director of Kabul Zoo, told Reuters. "We've done this because people are worried about getting the flu."

"We understand that [there are no direct flights between Mexico and Afghanistan, no pig farms in Afghanistan, and no evidence whatsoever that this isolated pig could be a source of infection] but most people don't have enough knowledge. When they see the pig in the cage they get worried and think that they could get ill," Saqib said.

This sounds like a funny story about Muslim superstition or the endemic ignorance of the developing world, but it is neither.  It is further evidence of the way illness is used as a metaphor -- thank you, Ms. Sontag -- by which people separate the "clean" from the "unclean."  Viewed that way, locking away one poor solitary pig (dare we call it a "scape-pig"?) is actually no less ignorant -- and far more humane -- that imposing economic sanctions on Mexico, or discriminating against Mexicans living abroad.

Lutherans Say No To Gay People

In two different ways, which we suspect may shine some light on each other.

1.  The ELCA's Eastern North Dakota Synod, in its annual assembly last weekend, voted 187-167 to reject the proposal of the churchwide task force which would permit pastors to live in monogamous same-sex relationships.  This is a fairly close vote -- roughly 53/47 -- and no doubt reflects the strong emotions on both sides.  There will likely be equally close votes all over the country this summer.  (Our own synod will probably split 60/40 in favor of the proposal, but that's just a guess.)

The actual merits of the case are hard to assess.  We have already complained that the work of the task force arrives at a place we consider defensible, but does so by a theological route that we consider unfortunate.  We are also aware that a few regular readers disagree passionately with the conclusions of the task force, and consider them a breach with tradition and Scripture.  (They're mistaken, but we know that's how they feel.)

But here is something that is not difficult to assess.  At the North Dakota synod assembly, unless we are mistaken, the "nay" voters tried hard to demonstrate that they were voting in favor of tradition, and not against gay people.  They probably objected, strenuously, to the innuendo directed at them by "yea" voters -- specifically, to the implication that they were cold-hearted ignorant homophobes.

Amazing how we can know this stuff without having been there, huh?  It's almost as though we'd listened to the same damned arguments every spring for twenty years.  And we do not doubt that, among the "nay" voters in North Dakota, there were many who have gay friends and family, even pastors, and who manage to love them and care about their well-being, while continuing to believe that the church ought not countenance their relationships.

But here's the thing:

2.  Today's other Lutherans-and-gay people story concerns a decision by the California Supreme Court upholding a lower-court ruling which said that California Lutheran High School of Wildomar (a WELS school) could expel two students who, after having had rumors spread on MySpace by classmates, confirmed to an administrator that they were lesbians.

The legal issue at stake is whether the school, is a "business" under state law, required to be nondiscriminatory, or rather a "social institution" entitled to restrict its membership according to any criteria it chooses.  (Strangely, freedom of religion does not appear to have figured largely in the case).  We aren't lawyers, and offer no opinion on the legal issues.

But we do have an opinion on the expulsion as a moral act.  To exclude students from your school because of their sexual preference (or, more to the point, because of what they claim their sexual preference is for a few weeks in their teenage years) is cold-hearted and ignorant.  It punishes them not for what they do, but for what they feel -- or even who they are.  It is, in the plainest possible way, homophobic.  

And it inevitably raises the question of how many of those "nay" voters, the ones who claim they bear no animus against gay people per se, are simply lying -- if only to themselves.

Pro Texana Sed Non Ecclesia

(A nod to the Baylor alumnae/i among our readers.)

Texans, as we learned at an early age, are passionate about their national soft drink.  And so we pass on this news:  it would seem that the original formula for Dr. Pepper has been discovered in a beaten-up old ledger, and will go up for auction on May 13.

The recipe for "D Peppers Pepsin Bitters" is said to include mandrake and sweet flag roots.  Much of it appears to be undecipherable, and yet the present-day patent holders assure us that this is not a formula for their product.

Whatever.  Dr. Pepper is just another man-made beverage.  When somebody unearths the golden tablets upon which the Divine Finger etched the original formula for Diet Coke, then we can have a conversation.

A Plague Year

"... [T]he plague was returned again in Holland; for it had been very violent there, and particularly at Amsterdam and Rotterdam, in the year 1663, whither, they say, it was brought, some said from Italy, others from the Levant, among some goods which were brought home by their Turkey fleet; others said it was brought from Candia; others from Cyprus. It mattered not from whence it came; but all agreed it was come into Holland again."

This is from the beginning of Defoe's classic account of an early-modern epidemic.  Does it sound familiar?  He opens with the sort of conversation people always seem to have in the face of a new and frightening disease:  Where did it come from?

In the 1980s, when AIDS was new, fingers pointed first at Haiti, then at Africa.  With Mad-Cow, they were pointed at Britain and the US.  A few years ago, the media made it seem as though the bird flu sweeping west from China would mark the end of civilization.   Today, as both Americans and Europeans begin their swine-flu panic, the fingers point at Mexico.

The finger-pointing is not entirely without purpose.  Scientists who study the origins of a disease may be better able to cure it.  Certainly, there are countries whose agricultural practices seem likely to create sanitary disasters, and they (okay, we, since the US is a primary offender) deserve public censure.  But little of this has much to do with the average non-lab-coated citizen.  For most of us, identifying a putative national origin for every disease serves principally as a way of distancing our own nation from it, and attaching blame to some other. It is a way of saying, in only slightly veiled language, "We aren't dirty -- they are dirty."  It is a reaction steeped in the water of racism and nationalism.

So we'll call A (H1N1) swine flu, rather than Mexican flu, thanks very much.

But that's not what's really on our mind this evening.  Rather, this, as summarized by the WaPo religion blog:

The North American Mission Board of the Southern Baptist Convention ... has reissued Pandemic Flu Preparedness Guidelines, including the possibility of limiting mass gatherings: "This may include canceling Sunday services, weekday events at the church, weddings, and funerals."

"Limiting Mass -- sorry, we meant mass -- gatherings?"  Brrr.  This is especially shocking when we consider how Christians responded to Defoe's plague.  At least among "the serious people," he says that:

The Government encouraged their devotion, and appointed public prayers and days of fasting and humiliation, to make public confession of sin and implore the mercy of God to avert the dreadful judgement which hung over their heads ...

Okay; that probably won't fly in a secular nation, at least during a Democratic administration.  But we might still hope for this:

[the] alacrity [with which] the people of all persuasions embraced the occasion; how they flocked to the churches and meetings, and they were all so thronged that there was often no coming near, no, not to the very doors of the largest churches. Also there were daily prayers appointed morning and evening at several churches, and days of private praying at other places; at all which the people attended, I say, with an uncommon devotion. 

Instead, people seem to be making plans to cut back on church attendance, or to bowdlerize their rites:

Methodist churches in Texas are changing the way they do communion, ordering shipments of individually wrapped communion wafers and juice packets to be used instead of passing the same loaf of bread of a common cup.

And okay, we all know the Methodists were just waiting for an excuse.  But Roman Catholic bishops in several dioceses have asked priests to stop distributing wine to the laity at Communion.   (Actually, they may have been waiting for an excuse as well).  The North American Old Catholic Church has prohibited its parishes and ministers from "physically exchanging the sign of peace by shaking hands, hugging, or other bodily contact," as well as from allowing laypeople to hold the chalice or to receive by intinction.

Let it be said that none of these reactions (except for the Baptists') is entirely unreasonable.  The flu is serious business, especially a new strain for which the health establishment is unprepared.  It's not hard to catch, and it can be devastating.  So keeping your hands off each other, and skipping the chalice for a few weeks, may be the better part of parochial valor.

On the other hand, ideas that are sound in a crisis may become absurd when they become institutionalized afterward.  Germ theory developed quickly during the second half of the nineteenth century, and with it came the ruinous idea that churches ought to begin distributing communion in shot glasses instead of a shared chalice.  after all, science said the common cup could make you sick.  (Better science might have observed that, over the previous eighteen centuries, mortality rates among regular communicants had never been noticeably higher than those among pagans or Deists).

But those stupid little glasses began to catch on, albeit slowly.  There were alternatives, to be sure.  Catering to those who wanted the chalice but not the risk, an Episcopalian came up with a swank little eucharistic straw, made of silver by Tiffany, with a one-way valve.  The idea was to bring your own to church, in its velvet bag -- we're not making this up; it was in the Times -- and sip from the cup.   The Orthodox spoon made a comeback, and the pouring chalice was developed. 

Another idea, even more profoundly stupid, also began to take hold:  auto-intinction.  In intinction properly so-called, as readers are surely aware, the celebrant dips the host and places it into the communicant's mouth.  Assuming a scrupulously well-washed celebrant, this is a  pretty sanitary way of doing things, at least for a few minutes.  eventually, you will get some saliva on your hand.   Nine people in a row will present their tongues extended, but the tenth will lick you like a puppy. (Trust us; we do it a lot).  But auto-intinction is worse:  people take the bread into their own hands, and dip it into the chalice.  And sooner or later, some of those hands -- comparatively few of them washed, some of them cracked and flaking skin -- will graze the wine, or the rim, or both.  Or maybe not so much "graze" and plunge into, up to the knuckles, fishing around for a dropped wafer or a chunk of bread that fell apart.  Trust us, it isn't pretty.  Auto-intinction, although often favored by the germ-o-phobes, is widely reported to be the least sanitary way ever devised to share a meal.

Lutherans (along with Papists and Episcopalians) resisted these innovations.  The faculty of the Lutheran Theological Seminary at Philadelphia issued a strongly-worded statement on the theological weaknesses of individual cups.  But they lost, and although it may not have been decisive, we expect the 1918 "Spanish" flu helped sway the debate.  (St. Bartholomew's, a prominent PECUSA parish in Manhattan, proudly withdrew the cup from the laity during the pandemic, and later proposed that their practice be made general.)

For some pastors now in their 50s and 60s, it has been a life's work simply to make communion, externally, what it had been through most of Christian history: a weekly celebration, in which a cup of wine and pieces of some bread-like substance are distributed to the faithful.  One wouldn't want to see that work undone by this year's flu, or by any other transitory scare.

And people are scared, which leads them to say and do stupid things.  Consider the Episcopal Diocese of Texas, which (per the Houston Chronicle)

... issued an advisory earlier this week suggesting clergy explain to parishioners how to decline the communion cup. The letter also said parishioners can intinct, dipping bread in the wine and then eating it.

That's right.  As a possible pandemic ramps up, these dimwits advised people to take the least sanitary option known.

So.  We're not telling anyone what to do.  These are difficult decisions, and there are legitimate arguments on most sides (not auto-intinction.  No legitimate argument there.)  But we are begging our friends and colleagues not to do anything in a panic that they or their posterity will have decades to regret.

Absolutely No God

A.N. Wilson converted to atheism, and it was exhilarating, like joining the top fraternity:

If I bumped into Richard Dawkins (an old colleague from Oxford days) or had dinner in Washington with Christopher Hitchens (as I did either on that trip to interview Billy Graham or another), I did not have to feel out on a limb. Hitchens was excited to greet a new convert to his non-creed and put me through a catechism before uncorking some stupendous claret.

“So – absolutely no God?”

“Nope,” I was able to say with Moonie-zeal.

“No future life, nothing ‘out there’?”

“No,” I obediently replied. At last! I could join in the creed shared by so many (most?) of my intelligent contemporaries in the western world – that men and women are purely material beings (whatever that is supposed to mean), that “this is all there is” (ditto), that God, Jesus and religion are a load of baloney: and worse than that, the cause of much (no, come on, let yourself go), most (why stint yourself – go for it, man), all the trouble in the world, from Jerusalem to Belfast, from Washington to Islamabad.

Frankly, we know what he's saying. We've been there, and it was great. Not only do you get to feel intellectually superior, but you can do anything you want, and you save a fortune on tithes.

And yet, as Wilson tells his own story in an excellent New Statesman article, "my doubting temperament ... made me a very unconvincing atheist." He had to keep reading David Hume "to pull myself together, rather as a Catholic having doubts might return to the shrine of a particular saint to sustain them while the springs of faith ran dry."

Ultimately, he came so see that religion "was not a matter of argument alone. It involves the whole person. Therefore I was drawn, over and over again, to the disconcerting recognition that so very many of the people I had most admired and loved, either in life or in books, had been believers. ... Attractive and amusing as David Hume was, did he confront the complexities of human existence as deeply as his contemporary Samuel Johnson, and did I really find him as interesting?"

There's much more to this brief but excellent essay, but this particular idea strikes home for us. In Wilson's case, it was Gandhi and Johnson and Coleridge; in ours, George Herbert and John Donne. And of course a few people we actually met in the flesh over the years. But the idea is the same, and important: that the testimony of the saints is a precious treasure, because -- in a way that polemics and apologetics cannot -- it shows forth the beauty of holiness.

Sitting It Out

Faithful readers may have noticed that the Egg has little to say about the ELCA's proposed social  statement on human sexuality, nor about the recommendations regarding rules for rostering gay priests. (Click above for the official docs). 

This may seem like an odd oversight.  After all, the masthead does say "sex, religion and politics."  Surely the proposed statement qualifies on all counts?  And indeed it does.  And yet we have written little, and do not imagine ourselves writing much.

Our reasons are various. We are pressed for time -- there are sick people and newborns and people struggling with their faith, all of whom need our attention; the gorgeous pile of neo-Gothic stone at which we serve is waiting for its Abbe Suger, and until he arrives we are on the spot for some restoration work.  Oh, and we're relocating the pressroom to Romania, so we spend part of every day tramping the docks, asking the steamship lines what they will charge to ship our collection of incunabula.

Another is that, although we are not displeased by the general direction that the church seems to be heading, we have grave doubts about the means by which it is heading there.  As we have said before, neither the ELCA task force nor, so far as we can see, any of its naysayers are prepared to articulate what we consider a truly traditional theology of sex.  

There is a long Protestant tradition which, to oversimplify a bit, gives marriage a uniquely privileged place among human relationships, making it -- in the most extreme readings -- the most perfect expression of the divine will revealed in the Creation.  (Such, in fact, is the clear understanding of a colleague whose memoir, entitled "Why I Complain About the ELCA But Look Forward to Collecting My Pension," is currently circulating in manuscript.)  It seems to us that much of the hoo-hah regarding marriage is carried on between two parties which are equally sold on this idea, and whose argument is simply on whether the "marriage" in question is necessarily between people of opposite sexes.

But it has long seemed to us that Protestantism missed the bus on this one.  In its mad scramble to break up the monasteries, it failed to take seriously the theological insights which had created them.  Specifically, it failed to deal with the Biblical texts which in fact do raise up celibacy as the most desirable use of human sexuality. (Saying casually, "Well, that was because of an over-optimistic eschatology" doesn't really deal with the canon, so much as dismiss it).  And, perhaps more important, it failed to deal with Augustine's existential insight that sexual desire exercises an unique power over the human will, and is unparalleled in its capacity to distract the will from God -- thus making it an icon less of the Creation than of the Fall.

Parenthetically, we find Camille Paglia shrill and tiresome, not to mention dated, but we nonetheless recognize that is onto something important when she talks about sex as inherently dangerous, an Apollonian force which will inevitably disrupt any Dionysian utopia.  We only wish that more readers understood (as she surely does) that she cribs this stuff from the Church Fathers.

So we haven't said much about the proposed statement because we aren't wild about some of its premises, and yet we are reluctant top criticize for fear of comforting the Protestant (or, worse yet, soi-disant-Catholic) ideologues who argue from premises no less flawed. 

And, of course, we haven't read the final draft.  Oops.  But if readers have, and want to tell us why we're full of copros hippou, the "comments" are open.

Those Were The Days

Gary Trudeau dug this one up:

"Torture anywhere is an affront to human dignity everywhere... I call on all governments to join with the United States and the community of law-abiding nations in prohibiting, investigating, and prosecuting all acts of torture."

-- George W. Bush, June 2003

Buy One For That "Special" Colleague

After all, synod assemblies are coming up.

(Weirdly enough, we found this on a self-proclaimed Gnostic website.  On the subject of theologies lacking a little in the depth department ....)

It's a Bit Awkward

... but somebody needs to say this.

We at the Egg have recently read about the arrest of a colleague, and incidentally a friend.  (We won't link to any articles or give any names, although intrepid Googlers will no doubt learn the details quickly enough.)  Our friend has been accused of getting drunk at a party, dancing suggestively with a woman who was not his wife -- even when she asked him to stop -- and later of touching her inappropriately.

It isn't exactly rent boys and crystal meth, a la Ted Haggard, but it is a scandal.  The congregation is divided between those who see an innocent, if humiliating, mistake, and those who see a serious violation of the man's pastoral duties.  The court has not yet decided what exactly it sees.  As we understand it, absent a court decision, the synod has limited authority to intervene.

For the record, our friend is a pleasant, thoughtful man of middle years, who has long supplemented his parish work by serving a chaplain in the military reserve.  Like many reservists in recent years, this has involved a surprisingly long overseas deployment, which can be draining on both family and parish life.  We honor him for his willingness to answer the call.

Now, scandals involving the 250 or so Lutheran pastors in these minor outlying islands are not rare, but neither are they common.  Generally speaking, we live pretty respectable lives, marred now and then by the same things that mar everybody else's -- booze, adultery, bizarre lapses in judgment.  (Occasionally, we do fall into a second category of misdeed, defined by ludicrous assertions of incompetent theology, but these rarely seem to attract any interest outside our own small number.)  Scandals that actually make the newspapers, as our poor drunken friend's did, are quite rare.  

The last one we can recall, several years ago now, involved another friend, who in addition to serving a parish was also a school teacher and -- come to think of it -- a chaplain in the military reserve.  In fact, the scandal involved submitting false military orders to the school district so that he could get some extra continuing-education time.  (Because of our great love and respect for this fellow, we were terribly disappointed at the time, but we do recall thinking "At least it wasn't about sex.")

So.  Why are we airing all this dirty laundry?  Because we want to make an observation, in support of a pet thesis, a thesis of which our many indulgent friends are no doubt already tired.  We apologize for the redundancy.

Observation:  Both pastors -- the most recent newspaper-worthy scandals in our synod -- are men of middle age.  (Women are rarely the subject -- although often the object -- of an ecclesiastical scandal).  Both are military chaplains. (Our late grandfather once observed that the skills required by the military don't match well with those required by parish ministry, and we believe this to be the case).  And -- here's our main point -- both were raised in the Lutheran Church-Missouri Synod, educated at Seminex, and ordained in the AELC.  It was by far the smallest of the ELCA's predecessor bodies, but, as James Nestingen has observed, seems to account for a disproportionate number of its misconduct cases

Thesis:  There was something in the Missouri water, in the 1960s and 1970s.  Something dangerous, of which the rest of us might do well to beware.  Not that we don't love our ex-AELC colleagues.  But we're just saying.

While We're Away

The Egg will be offline for a week for so, while Father, Mother and Baby Anonymous are in Romania, hunting the vampires who have supposedly been driven from the halls of Boston Latin.  We are taking pectoral crosses aplenty.

Meanwhile, here are some things we might be reading, were we in town to do so, and which Egg readers may enjoy:

• Arts & Letters Daily: Your one-stop shop for new ideas about Beowulf.
  
• Skating in the Garden: Don't miss Pr. Joelle's reflections on Islam, Christianity, babies and patriarchy.
  
• St. Superman : So Marymount won't give him tenure until he graduates. So what? 
  
• Sullivan: Because "conservative" really does mean "liberal." Doesn't it?
• Danger Room: Because the world is a scary place.
  
• babyrunaround: Because gossip dulls the pain
  

Good News, Bad News

The good news (lower case, here people; nothing theological intended):  Christian Moerlein still exists.

For those who've never had the pleasure, Moerlein is a Cincinnati-brewed beer.  Something a of a local legend.  Time was, Father A. drank a fair amount of it.  Just typing the name still brings back some happy memories, many of them actually beer-related.  We remember it being rich and creamy, but without the heaviness (or bitterness) of a dark beer or porter.  (And for the record, we mostly drank dark German beers in those days, and porter or black-and-tans in these).

But the poor little cleric tries not to travel west of Newark, and hadn't heard a whisper about Moerlein in decades.  In time, he assumed it had closed up shop, a victim of the wretched Buds and Coorses of the world.  So a great huzzah to know the company is going strong.

Now here's the (potentially) bad news:  

The German-American Citizens League of Greater Cincinnati will host a ceremonial keg tapping of a reformulated Moerlein Lager House beer on May 15 at Germania Park. All proceeds benefit the German-American Citizens League and Germania Society.

Reformulated?  Wtf, people?  You don't reformulate a classic.  Just ask Coca-Cola.  And yes, Lager House is their flagship, advertised as "the first American beer to pass the Reinhetisgebot Purity Law."  (They mean "comply with," but give them a break.  It was late, and they had probably already started sampling the wares).

Hmm.  We are gravely concerned, but will await the verdict from some kindly Ohio reader.

Lawrence Summers Beats Children

How's that for sensationalism?

We just wanted to get your attention, because we have learned something pretty disturbing.  Child abuse cases are spiking as the recession worsens.

Per Reuters:

"In the last three months we have twice as many severe inflicted injury cases as we did in the three months the previous year," said Allison Scobie, program director of the Child Protection Team at Boston's Children's Hospital.

Typically, her hospital handles about 1,500 such cases a year. That rose to 1,800 last year.

"We're finding that it is directly attributable to what is happening economically," she said. "Many of the hospitals around here report an increase of 20 to 30 percent of requests for consultation regarding suspected child maltreatment."

The article tries, but doesn't quite manage, to establish a direct link between economic hardship and actual assault.  

For instance:  A poor mother had to leave her diabetic child alone during the day, and couldn't afford the co-payments for his treatment.  Okay, this is bad for the child, and the state probably has a duty to intervene.  But this certainly isn't one of those cases where a parent brutalizes the kid out of meanness, drunkenness or impatience.  Poverty didn't make her a bad mother, but it did reduce her options pretty severely.

Even without a direct link, though, there certainly does seem to be a statistical correlation, and it is grim.  Whether because of the recession or not, more children are being brutalized:

"We saw a huge influx of shaken-baby cases," said Dr. Alice Newton, medical director at Massachusetts General Hospital's Child Protection Team, which treated 25 children for serious abuse this year. That compares with 16 for all of 2008.

We don't doubt that hard times do play a role here.  But so, of course, do a dozen other factors:  the decline of the extended family (which we sometimes consider even more important than the nuclear one, and which is far more endangered); the historic underfunding of child protection agencies; Satan.

Still.  Even if it is not a result of the investment banks and their mortgage-backed securities, and therefore traceable to the failed economic policies of both the Clinton and Bush administrations (pursued, in the latter case, by some of the same people now working for Obama, Summers notable among them), this surge in child abuse needs to be publicized and stopped, fast.  If drawing connections to other things -- politics, the economy -- helps make people talk about the subject, then so be it.

Department of No Surprise: Even Toothless Dogs Bite

Kirsten Gillibrand is the New York state senator chosen to replace Hillary Clinton in the US Senate.  Jim Murphy is the name of the fellow who was recently elected to replace her, over a Republican named Jim Tedisco.  

But the Albany Times-Union reports:

This just in from Columbia County: when Sen. Kirsten Gillibrand’s absentee ballot came up in the queue, the poll watchers for Jim Tedisco objected to it, saying the senator was in the county on election day and should have voted in person.

Senator Gillibrand's response gives this claim the drubbing it deserves:  

"The Republican's challenge is frivolous and without merit. This is part of their larger attempt to disenfranchise legal Democratic voters and delay the inevitable Democratic victory in the 20th." ...

NYS election law says that an elector must intend to be out of the COUNTY on Election Day when the elector submits the absentee ballot or requests the application. Senator Gillibrand requested and completed an absentee ballot because she did not expect to be able to vote at her polling location since votes were scheduled in the Senate that day. Furthermore, Republican claims that she was in the county are false. She was not in Columbia County on Election Day.

Although we may (or may not) be experts on piracy, we at the egg are certainly not experts on Empire State election laws. But it sounds to us as though Tedisco's people are liars and imbeciles.

The Callous Sophisticates Laughed at Judy's Little Head

And at Susan Boyle, a 48-year-old Scottish spinster who had never sung before anything larger than a village church.  She appeared on "Britain's Got Talent," saying she wanted to be like professional singer we'd never heard of.  

They laughed.

Until the third or fourth note, when their faces broke into stunned smiles, and then simply smiles, and later a few tears.  Four days later, she is almost certainly more famous than that singer she wanted to be like.

Watch the clip.  And smile.

Hot-Blooded Latins

Fernando Lugo is the president of Paraguay.  He was also, until recently, a Roman Catholic bishop.  He is also a liar and a fornicator.  The good news is that the Vatican has -- finally -- agreed to let him stop being a priest.

Per the Times, above, Lugo stopped working as a priest in 2006, when he began seeking elective office, and he petitioned for laicization.  This petition was rejected at first, and finally approved in July 2008 -- three months after Lugo was elected to the presidency.

Meanwhile, he is the father of a boy who turns two in May.  The child was conceived after the petition for laicization was submitted, but before it was approved.  This isn't quite as scandalous as it would have been had it all happened while Lugo was still serving, to be sure.  But it does raise some questions both about Lugo, 57, and his 26-year-old paramour.  How long had they been involved sexually before conceiving a child?  Will he marry her?  (We are tempted to ask why the bishop didn't use birth control, but perhaps he still wanted to follow some of the rules.)  

What concerns us most, however, is that the child's mother had to take Lugo to court, beginning proceedings which would have required him to submit to a DNA test, before he came clean.  To leave your ministry is one thing, and in this case arguably a good one for Lugo to have done.  But to abandon your child and his mother is another thing altogether.  It is, bluntly, a very serious moral failure, and raises questions about President Lugo's fitness for office..

40 Days Too Late

True story, per the AP:

PELHAM, N.H. — Police in southern New Hampshire are searching for a burglar who says he's sorry.

Pelham police say a resident who pulled into his driveway Friday afternoon caught a burglar coming out of the house with jewelry boxes and electronic items. The homeowner told police that when he approached the burglar, the man apologized, then put the stolen goods back.

Police say the homeowner tried to detain the burglar by engaging him in conversation, but the suspect fled by the time officers arrived.

Where was this guy when we were writing all those Lenten sermons?

America is a Superpower Again!

You can tell, because we killed a couple of Somali teenagers on Easter Sunday.

Okay, look.  We at the Egg are as ticked off as anybody at this piracy business.  And we are as proud as any Americans at the sheer grit displayed by the crew of the Maersk Alabama, unarmed men who resisted an attack by AK-47 wielding thugs.  We are deeply moved by the heroism of Captain Richard Phillips, who traded himself for the safety of his crew.

And, yes, we are quite pleased with the outcome of the resulting standoff.  Navy SEAL snipers saw their shot and took it, killing three pirates and rescuing Phillips.  Had we been in command, we would have authorized them to do so in no uncertain terms. Had we been where the snipers were, we would not have hesitated.  They are heroes.

But with all that said, we can't resist a touch of bitterness.  The Times article describes this particular standoff as "tragicomic: the world’s most powerful navy vs. a lifeboat."  The WaPo says that the fourth pirate, who had gone aboard a US ship for medical treatment, was "18-20 years old."  Given the opposition, this sort of thing should be so easy for us that nobody ever tries it twice -- and yet you know that somebody will.  They may even be more eager to try, since the pirates who eventually succeed in publicly humiliating America will be overnight folk heroes.  

And we face the humiliation built into any asymmetrical warfare, which this most certainly is:  simply by defending itself against an obviously frail opponent, a massive military power looks like a bully.  It's the main reason that terrorism works.  They can't really intimidate us, but they can make us look really bad to the rest of the world.  (Come to think of it, that's probably what made Gandhi so effective, too.)

Our main concern, though, is about the big picture.  Military efforts, even if they were to be coordinated among nations with serious navies, won't solve the piracy problem, which is rooted in the political chaos and legal vacuum onshore.  And those are not the sort of problems our government has shown any expertise at resolving.

On the other hand, we have David Petraeus, and his very solid counterinsurgency tactics, which emphasize co-opting the locals whenever possible.  It seems to have worked -- somewhat -- in Iraq, and the principles are surely impressive.  

Having once vacationed in the Bahamas, we at the Egg are -- obviously -- experts on piracy.  And so our advice to the US military is to find a Henry Morgan.  (Not Harry Morgan, the guy who played Col. Potter on M*A*S*H; Henry Morgan.  He's more than just a spiced-rum salesman.)  You know, some pirate who can be bought off, and turned into a regional warlord, but whose power will come from the US, with the clear understanding that if he can't control the pirates, he loses everything.  

Alleluia! Surrexit Christus!

Surrexit Dominus vere, alleluia!.

We at the Egg are completely wiped out after the usual grueling Holy Week. But we are grateful to our worship leaders, choir, organist, and to all the faithful, who turned out to hear the great good news. Happy Easter, world.

Eighteen Percent Pension Contribution Wasn't Good Enough

... for Fr. William Blasingame, of Staten Island, who is accused of stealing something like $85k from his church, and blowing it on "fancy clothes, plastic surgery, Botox and booze," as well as more mundane stuff like car insurance.  He is also accused of pocketing money given him for an old woman's headstone.

A kick-boxing cleric who will not be nicknamed for fear of retribution pointed this out to us, and observed that Episcopalians even commit ludicrous crimes with a certain elan. She mentioned the orgies on Long Island some years back, although -- according to the settlement agreement with Penthouse -- those were fabricated stories. Nor do we know whether Blasingame is guilty, or the victim of some terrible misunderstanding.

But, seriously -- Botox?

Calvinism: Still Not Dead

This being Good Friday and all, the Egg pressroom is a spare and desolate place.  The staff is out, contemplating the death and sufferings of Our Lord Jesus Christ.

Which reminds us of Calvinism.

The connection is indirect.  Many years ago, in a cheap hotel room in a developing country, Father Anonymous, then known as Seminarian Anonymous, found himself arguing with a Calvinist.  It was a wide-ranging argument, and dwelt mostly on the subject of whether children ought to worship with adults or in segregated ecclesiolae, little "children's churches."  (Our friend liked this idea, and insisted that letting kids worship with adults was "a ritual."  We agreed, and thought that rather proved our point, but he kept repeating himself.  It was a very confusing conversation, until an Episcopal interlocutor leaned over and whispered in our ear, "Remember, ritual is bad.")

Anyway, at some point in the conversation, our Calvinist friend mentioned the crucifix, and snarled, "Is Christ dead or is he risen?  Is he at the right hand of the Father, or is he still on the Cross?   Then why do you leave him hanging there?"  And we were reminded that, although Lutherans and Calvinists share a firm commitment both to the reality of Christ's Passion and the reality of Christ's Resurrection, the manner of our devotions is often very different.

All of which is meant to preface yet another report from the front lines of American Christianity.  According to the mainstream media, Calvinism isn't actually defunct.  It has (in the emerging, and unfathomable, media narrative) risen from the dead.

According to David van Biema in Time magazine (linked above), the "new Calvinism" (also "neo-Calvinism") is one of the "ten big ideas changing the world right now."   By this, they apparently mean "Calvinism as preached outside the traditionally Calvinist denominations.  

Here is the gist of van Biema's story:

Calvinism ... is a bit less dour than its critics claim: it offers a rock-steady deity who orchestrates absolutely everything, including illness (or home foreclosure!), by a logic we may not understand but don't have to second-guess. Our satisfaction — and our purpose — is fulfilled simply by "glorifying" him.  [In America, it was] overtaken in the U.S. by movements like Methodism that were more impressed with human will. Calvinist-descended liberal bodies like the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) discovered other emphases, while Evangelicalism's loss of appetite for rigid doctrine — and the triumph of that friendly, fuzzy Jesus — seemed to relegate hard-core Reformed preaching (Reformed operates as a loose synonym for Calvinist) to a few crotchety Southern churches.

There is some truth to all this:  the lure of semipelagianism is strong, and works-righteousness is everywhere in our culture.  The rise of the "Buddy Jesus" has been strange to see. But the main current is hogwash.  Van Biema may overstate the Calvinist doctrine of predestination, which is principally about the fate of souls, not of mortgages.  And his distinction between "liberalism" and "hard-core Calvinism" is just irritating.  The two aren't mutually exclusive.  It's like saying "all the Eskimo-descended people have turned into lawyers, so they aren't Eskimos anymore."  It means nothing, and would mean nothing even if it happened to be true.

Attentive readers will recall our amusement some months back, at a Times profile of Mark Driscoll, which promoted the same idea -- that old-style Reformed Christianity has long been a thing of the past, and is only now making a comeback from the pulpit of a young punk evangelist spitting in the face of his Arminian elders.  The brief Time piece adds to Driscoll's name those of John Piper and, notably, Southern Baptist leader Alfred Mohler.  (Mohler tickled us pink by saying that "The moment someone begins to define God's [being or actions] biblically, that person is drawn to conclusions that are traditionally classified as Calvinist."  Really?  So can we assume that he will begin preaching infant baptism, as prescribed by Calvin's Institutes, 4:16:7ff?).

The press does love its metanarratives.  But this one is sort of lame, and we hope they'll let it drop.  Calvinism hasn't risen from the dead; it has been doing just fine for five centuries, thank you.

No Vampires at Boston Latin

Despite what you may have heard.

Oh, we've all stumbled across the rumors: a clan of the evil undead, residing in the crypt of a presigious prep school, emerging at night to suck the blood of Brahmin and Back-bayer alike. But headmaster Lynne Moon Teta assures us that there are no vampires in her school.

We assume that she has driven stakes through their hearts and decapitated them. Or at least planted garlic on the commons.

"Conservatism" That Makes Your Head Spin

This sounds important, at first:

Pope Benedict XVI has ordered a probe into the ultra-conservative Legionaries of Christ after allegations that the order's late founder Marcial Maciel secretly fathered a child, the Zenit agency reported.

A team of bishops and priests will carry out the inquiry into the movement after reports that Maciel, who died in January 2008 aged 87, had fathered a daughter, the agency reported. ... At stake in the investigation is the significant estate that Maciel left behind, which his daughter could have a claim to.

Oooh. Bad priest! Then we remember that there have been reports for years that he sexually abused seminarians. And suddenly, the secret family seems almost innocent. We wonder if any of those guys will get a share of the estate?

Robots Are Stealing American Jobs

Build a wall on the border of MIT!