It was of great delight that a perusal of a second hand stores book shelves revealed another gem. One of the Harvard Classics, It was printed when I was in my early 20’s. Roughly 6 decades ago. (The 1^st publication date is 1939) What a find for a dedicated fan of reading books and storing them away with groaning shelves everywhere in our house.

This book has English essays from Sir Philip Sidney to Macaulay. Ben Johnson, Joseph Addison, Johnathan Swift and David Hume to name a few of them. Quite an assortment of analysis, praise of earlier authors is in this book. A treasure to a writer to glean ideas, precious quotes and insights. They did it, why not me?

The essay by David Hume on Taste was intriguing. It struck to the bedrock of philosophy on human behavior. That sort of subject has been on the best seller list since the times of Homer and the Greek writers of that era.

Everyone, well, most everyone likes to know if their visions of civilized society and the world we live in have been written about. Written and put into practice for all of known history.

Stunningly, yet another movement has begun to re-write history to suit tastes of some group alienated from truth. Akin to ‘1984’ or ‘Brave new world’ classics are these attempts. Always for power and influence as though anybody with the ability to think and read would fall for it. Propaganda is the term and even during WWII there was a ministry of propaganda in Nazi Germany. It was headed up by Joseph Goebbels and his pal, Leni Reifenstahl. The movie that Leni made, Triumph des Willens (Triumph of the Will) showed the Nazi dream and is still known as the most successful propaganda film of all time.

It’s an old story that, driven by insanity, drives the insane to rewrite human history to fit their version of reality. Today it is the denial of truth of humanity itself. Not only revisionist history to enable money to be funded to people that feel they are owed for things that happened over a century ago, but to rewrite history that somehow enabled these things. The oppression happened but not at all as re-written. Some of the derogatory language had been imported from Scotland as well as their lightening quick deadly response to insult, real or imagined. These things are still embraced today by youths that do not know real history. Read some Tomas Sowell for clarification.

Oh, I forgot, no one reads these things today going back to Greek philosophy forwards to today. Movies of distraction are popular. Considering our confused nation and the recession, it fits the mind set of the great depression of the last century. Scholars and thinkers are passe’ and it’s the New Thing that captures the hunger of our nation. “History is false” “Change your sex if you feel like it” “Educate the children to all these lies”

Why? Indeed, the question of the hour. Even our government has been deluded and encourages lies much akin to the WWII ministries of propaganda. As Solomon wrote, all is vanity and there is nothing new under the sun.

Why do these things happen over and over again throughout our history? It goes back to our very beginning. “Did God really say?” And thus, the battle had begun. Read all about it.

It’s interesting and sometimes pretty good. Jack Gator

It began with an invite from Norm’s friend, the one he really met in a hospital. That’s in another column, ‘A battle for individual worth’ When that friend says something to Norm, it’s important and he listens.

This time was over a food truck Gyro. A casual remark about a gathering near their homes. About a mile or so away at the Trade Lake Swedish Mission church Up on a hill from the one time bustling community of Trade Lake.

A picnic/potluck was promised and Norm got mildly interested. “It’s next Saturday. Pick me up, I’ll be waiting at the door” Norm looked it up with a quick search of the paper archive (the one Norm used write for). The time was listed as well as the main speaker. He was a former pastor of his for 10 years and the mild interest turned into a firm draw. Since Norm and Julie had a pretty successful garden that year, It seemed good to pick and slice up some ripe tomatoes and offer those. Julie finished the offering with an oval Pfaltzgraff serving plate and perfect garnish’s of Basil leafs with fresh picked snow peas in the center. Norm was hoping this would be OK and it was an instant hit and ALL of it was eaten afterwards. It was well received as fall had begun in earnest and picnic dining was looking OK, nice late fall. Back to the service…

Norm picked his usual spot in the front pew and had a little chat with the two brothers that were doing the worship. Nice young men, and they listed the songs. Hymn’s. The beginning one, however, is one of Norm’s new favorites, ‘How great thou art’ done by a Gaelic band with bagpipes. It sounded promising. Two guitars.

The young men began, and when it got to the chorus, Norm rapidly began weeping and stood up. Maybe it was the other way around. Hands held high and really worshiping as the song rang out in that old wooden Mission church. The tears were unbidden and unexpected and he did not care if no one else was standing or not. He was in the front pew and it was easy to just let go and leap up.

The salt from the tears became a badge to him that a good thing was happening. Right there, right now. It felt so free. The last song was America and Norm, military fellow he was, stood with hand on his heart and thoughts of this incredible constitutional country where he could stand for the flag. Below the flag, fastened to the wall, was one of those classic paintings of Jesus with His eyes looking up. Right at the flag.

The two guitarists played more songs and Norm noticed one looked a lot like his youngest son and he was deep into the songs. He knows that look and that sound. It’s obvious, undeniable and perfect.

Looking down at his feet, firmly planted on the old puncheon floor he was transported to a C.S. Lewis vision of an old farmer worshiping at vespers. Ask Norm, he can detail it for you.

It was a simple old church building with a nice isinglass wood stove and photos lining a wall of neighbors long gone who’s names are still on the mailboxes. It was called a mission church because camp missions were funded by potatoes sold to the local starch factory. The factory is long gone but some of the funded local church camps are close by that grew out of those times.

There were four of them within the township. Two have been sold, one of which Norm met his wife at. Whispering Pines Camp. She was the director and introduced him to a mile and a half of pristine lake shore with an isthmus called picnic point. Tall pines and trails for young campers that came, spring to fall. The lake shore view brilliant with reds and yellows around the lake. The season was then closing down and near the end of tents and dining hall chatter for another season. The sale of this beauty was imminent and the buyer, a developer, built his mansion out on the point. They took down the cross, chained to two trees near the lake and that was somehow, the saddest loss.

At the mission church, (which will never be sold) it was the way worship should always be done. Done well with heart and spirit shifted into top gear and the accelerator floored. Still transfixed as I type this. Unanticipated ecstasy and revival of the best kind. It was beauty and poetry of the best kind. Norm picked up their clean oval dish and they went home. Another memory of clarity and beauty.

It’s pretty good Jack Gator

It was a ‘mandatory’ meeting. All hands on deck sort of thing. No head counts per Se’ but the feeling of head swivels noting that sort of thing. Facing forward we all pay attention to what is being said or demonstrated to us. This information is essential and a lot of us take notes in our journals. The desire is to understand it all with alacrity and conviction. This meeting should help.

The mandatory part is spelled out in a very old book. The folks that wrote that ‘how to’ manual knew things some of us have forgotten, even if we had read them a while back.

Memory is not the problem. The desire to remember is. Once a week we all meet together.

Quite a bit of the information is written by different authors and some of them use different sentence structures and can be unclear to some of us, including myself. Basic stuff as to which way do you want to live in the world. Always your choice to know which path you are to go to.

Revelations are quietly done. Creator to created. A lot of times just the two of you. There are no badges of seniority or symbols as such. Just knowing what comes next is exciting enough. The pay is the same plus very good retirement benefits. Learn everything but knowing your Creator is the outcome expected. Not knowing about Him but knowing Him as your closest friend. His heart is always open but incredibly enough, quite a few of us just want to read about Him thinking perhaps we know everything and have discovered a precious jewel in that knowledge. 1.

So, there are some of us who listen, but just ‘tune out’ and think about other things. The main speaker is serious and often humorous. It’s more common than we think. I can only imagine the research and inspired writing that coalesces into these talks. It seems so fluid and easy. It isn’t.

I am one of the blessed few that stay behind after the meeting is over to talk with anyone that wants to know more about the world and what it means to them. I am very glad to be called to be there because it usually leads into revelation about our world to both of us. There are a handful or less that attend to help right afterwards. For a room that once held hundreds, perhaps a dozen or so would like to be prayed over about their lives. Hunger for more than just knowledge is the key. Hunger for love reassured. Hunger for the food of love and the water of life.

The world’s part is worship and knowing it’s Creator with eager and open hearts. It is my extreme pleasure to tell them of this Creator and that He knows everything about them. He is eager to help and above all that, loves to hear our concerns about our lives. He is Jesus, King of the universe. Getting to know him and talk to Him is the greatest reward of our life. It’s the hardest and best thing we can ever do. {It gets easier!) and It’s pretty good, Jack Gator

1. George MacDonald