Hells Angels & Irish Clydesdales

The Donald

Sunday morning, the Pastor, Josh, referred to situations where you encounter people who are “more important.” Uncharacteristically, I remained silent. He used a TV program called Celebrity Apprentice as an example, and used Donald Trump as the archetype “more important” guy.


Is Donald Trump “more important”? Is there such a creature as someone “more important”? More powerful, sure. Able to say, “You’re fired,” absolutely. Is there someone powerful enough that we can’t be honest with them? Well, we always have the choice. “Yo, Donald, you’re a jerk, the women aren’t after your body, they want your money, and your hairdo is ridiculous.” True, but it might have the effect of his not giving us something we wanted. I support our governor in the strongest possible way - he’s brought us back from the economic toilet and positioned us to survive a Depression. But is he “more important”? Ask him. Others have, and he’s answered with a strong, “Hell, no!” And a “We’re in this together.”

Amen.


Kaffiyehs & Colors

In the Disciples of Christ, Communion is (1) celebrated weekly and (2) open to all comers, no tests, memberships, oaths or stuff like that there required. Come in a suit, jeans, a kaffiyeh or biker colors, you are welcomed to the Lord’s Table, because it’s His table, not ours.

I’ve figured out that if that weren’t the case, I would be seriously screwed.


Other colors

That doesn’t keep me from being a tad curmudgeonly in the House of God. A dear friend made a comment last Sunday about my pocket handkerchiefs being two shades of bright green, so I must be getting the jump on St. Patrick’s Day.

If anyone were to call me a clothes horse, they would be thinking of a Clydesdale. But one thing I do to add a bit of color is put two or three bright pocket handkerchiefs in my breast pocket, and I did have two green and one bright blue.

Remembering the precincts, I let the button be pushed, but filtered the response, and told her that I’ll be darned if I’m going to drink green beer, talk about old Eire, or generally claim Irish ancestry, and that anyone who says that they are Irish-American can drag their derriere back to Ireland, ditto African-American, European-American and any other sort of hyphenated-American. The whole idea of tossing cabers, gobbling haggis, wearing top hats to sweep chimneys, brandishing short spears and silly stuff like that is ridiculous.

She got a large and long laugh out of it.

Pippa passes.

R