When is kidnapping kidnapping?

Sometimes zealousness for journalistic objectivity becomes a kind of subjectivity of its own.

Matt Wells writes: Comment is free: Israeli soldier kidnapped? Not on the BBC

Of Gilad, Wells writes, "Patently, he is being held as a kind of hostage. It looks like a kidnap and feels like a kidnap. Therefore, surely, it should be called a kidnap."

U.S. Supreme Court blocks Guantanamo war crimes trials

This is a big news story I almost missed: it is an interesting (and from my perspective, welcome) development, but I had not thought the Supreme Court would go this way.

globeandmail.com : U.S. Supreme Court blocks Guantanamo war crimes trials

An act of War

Imagine, if you will, this scenario.

One country's ruling political party sends para-military forces to spend months digging a tunnel under the country's border with another country. Upon completion, they are to kill two of that country's soldiers, and kidnap a third, removing him from the sovereign territory of the neighbouring country.

This would be an act of war, unquestionably, right?

Herald Sun: Israel rejects hostage deal [28jun06]

I ache for the Palestinian citizens, I really do. But at some point, this is a population that's really going to have to smarten up and put the boots to some of these leaders of theirs, because they always end up paying dearly for all these extremists that fester in their midst.

Ca ne marche pas!

Recently, the Government of France got upset that French citizens might come to rely on the American search engine Google when it comes to learning about French geography.

So they spent a cool twelve million and built Geoportail, a homegrown alternative. Twelve million dollars later..... to paraphrase Pac-Man... Eeeeeeeeeeehrhhh WUH-WUH!!!

Je suppose qu'on aura besoin de Google quand meme... zut alors!

French Google Earth rival crashes and burns | The Register

'Venture philanthropy' creating a buzz - Forbes.com - MSNBC.com

What a great way for those who make more money than they'll ever need to get rid of some of it:

'Venture philanthropy' creating a buzz - Forbes.com - MSNBC.com

The Gates foundation may well defeat malaria, at the rate things are going. Lives are being saved because of the business-like approach they take to philanthropy.

Superman

When I was a young boy, I desperately wanted a Superman action figure (not doll, y'hear?) For some puzzling reason, my parents refused to get me one. So my grandmother knitted me a G.I. Joe sized Superman suit that I could put on my other "action figures."

Superman is far from the coolest superhero. When I was little, a boy would rather have had a bat cave lair, or been able to shoot spider webs from his wrists. But Superman is who we actually wanted to be when we grew up, Superman the way Christoper Reeve embodied him: strong and gentle; all-powerful, but self-restrained; always facing tough choices, but always making the right ones.

The world needs Superman. The last time he came to rescue us on the big screen in 1978, there had been a decade of war, terrorism, high oil prices, crooked politicians, and social upheavel. Funny he should be showing up again.

Toughening up

I used to think that that old Nietzsche-ism “what does not kill you makes you stronger” was a crock.

When I was young, I was not only tormented mercilessly by bullies, I was ignored and excluded by almost everyone else. I suppose that is an experience I share with anyone who has been the polar opposite of the alpha male. When we had to pair up into teams at swimming lessons, I was always the odd one who ended up without a partner. Whenever there was a birthday party, I was always the one – the only one – who never got an invitation to it. I had some friends, and one particularly good one, but nobody ever mistook me for popular. I certainly never did.

As I got older this happened less, but when it did, Nietzsche was nowhere to be found. I remember when I was fifteen, all my friends were invited to a party held by a new person to our school named Karen. I had thought I got along with her, but in the end, I was the one and only person I knew who was not invited. It stung bitterly, worse than it had as a young boy.

The leader of my singing group at church is getting married tomorrow. When it originally became clear to me that I probably wasn't going to get an invitation, I can't say I was hurt. Weddings are like that – the guest list can be as expansive as a continent or as small as a sesame seed. You can't take it personally.

But two weeks ago one of our singers told my wife that the group was singing for the wedding. I was stung immediately, for I knew what that had to mean. The group is singing: the group, that is, without me in it. My wife cautioned me that it was just something someone had said - might not be accurate, my singing colleague might be quoting an earlier idea that my group's leader tossed around and abandoned.

But it felt true, and I was stung in that moment. For five years now, I had been at his right hand, making him sound better by interweaving blues and melodic accompaniments over top of his strumming. If it were true I was being singled out for exclusion from a group I thought I was an important part of, there was no way I could avoid facing the implications of that – I did not know you disliked me. And I know now I don't have your trust. But really, all this adds up to little more than a grown up veneer over the same stabbing pain I felt as a boy- the twist of betrayal's razor sharp shiv.

I swore in the car-ride home I was going to quit the group, if it was true.

“Don't take my word for it,” My wife told me, “It's only something somebody said, and you don't know if it is the case; don't make any rash decisions.”

I told her slowly and carefully that it was not vanity, and I reminded her about how I had spent an entire childhood excluded from so much. She understood, but still thought I was rash.

“I shouldn't have said anything,” She replied.

And it bothered me for about half an hour more.

Today, I don't care. I realize that I don't sing in church to make friends. I don't add guitar licks to please people. I do it for Him, and I do it because I can. Many people do not have these gifts, and I have been given something wonderful – the ability to actually move people with music. Picking up my marbles and going home is not the right response to a puzzling exclusion; a renewed sense of charity is. As Henri Nouwen might say, affection for people and hospitality for them does not have to express itself in proximity to them.

My friend is getting married tomorrow. And he is my friend. I do not know if I am his, though I do think in some way I am. But that does not matter. I consider him friend, and he is marrying the woman he loves. May God bless and keep them.

As for me, I will redouble my efforts with everyone – to be a friend, and to make a difference. It does not matter whether they see it or perceive it. It is the thing itself, and not what people see, that counts. I don't have to waste time in stinging pain. Nietzsche was right in that – I am stronger. Strong enough to wish everyone well, no matter how they regard me. :-)

If the chickens had only known

I found this on a page of vintage Americana postcards. Check out the postcard labeled "Sander's Court - Corbin, KY" - this is the original Kentucky Fried Chicken, which was a motel and cafe back then.

Motel Americana - Postcards

Here is what it looks like today.

My finger hurts!

I hurt my left index finger on the weekend. Don't know how - and this was right before having to go do the music for Mass, which only made it worse. I think I've done real damage to the tendon, since this isn't like that carpal tunnel ache.

It has made everything harder, from work to chores here at home. You have no idea how often you use it! Tis why there has not been much blogging. And I'm supposed to give my nephew guitar lessons tonight!

Someone's been eating my porridge!!

Goldilocks and the three humans?

BBC NEWS | World | Americas | Bear visit mirrors nursery tale

Flypaper theory

I watched a bit of the surprise debate yesterday on the Iraq War (often conflated with the War on Terror), and my stomach churned at some of the nauseous pro-war arguments. The most inhuman goes like this:

"We're fighting them over there in Iraq so we don't have to fight them here."

This is called the "flypaper theory." It goes like this: invading Iraq attracted the terrorists, like a bug light. They come here, we kill them. Sounds sensible, right?

It is monstrous. The alliance of Sunni insurgents, foreign fighters, and former Baath party officials isn't always targeting the Americans with their truck bombs. They've been targeting Shiites.

In short, the "Flypaper Theory" is about using Shiite Iraqis as "bait" to lure terrorists. They are human worms or minnows. And that is absolutely monstrous.

My daughter is asleep on the couch

...and a slightly saddened father realizes she is approaching that age - the age when teenagers crash on the couch all night. Why must they get older?

Nuke the whales

Ontario, Canada announced today that it will meet the increasing power demands of consumers by building new nuclear reactors.
Nuclear way of future, Ontario decides

In related news, U.N. Ambassador John Bolton declared a new policy of regime change: "Ontario must cease all enrichment activities, and all options are on the table."

Men: have a beer, sober up on coffee

Seems that age old formula of teenage boys is good for you. Drinking beer (see side article) will save your prostate when you're older, and the coffee you drink to get sober will save your liver.

Coffee found to shield liver

There's Something about Mary!

It took the controversy generated by "The Passion of the Christ" for Hollywood to realize there was an untapped market of millions of people who in some way had been demographically overlooked when studios thought up new movies. Of course, some had tapped into it before, they just never knew it - there had been major successes for "The Prince of Egypt" and even "Bruce Almighty" on the big screen and/or in video sales. But when hundreds of millions in film proceeds were earned from ticket stubs sold to people who rarely darkened the theatre doors, the studios wondered if there were stories this group held dear, for which they might enter the Cineplex again.

There is a film in the works called simply "Nativity", starring Keisha Castle-Hughes ("Whale Rider"), and it is coming out in December this year. As a bookend to the Passion narrative, with all of its violence, the Nativity narrative is one that concludes in a serene moment of peace. I'll explain what I mean.

My favourite moment with Mary is in the Gospel of Luke, chapter two, when an absolute cacophany of events has taken place. Angels have come and heralded Jesus' birth to fearful shepherds. The angels start singing. So the shepherds drop everything, leave their sheep and go running to the manger where Jesus is born. The shepherds tell everyone there about what they had seen.

And while everyone is running around, singing, floating in the sky, heralding... what does Mary do?

"And Mary pondered all these things, treasuring them up in her heart." (Luke 2:19)

This serene and peaceful woman, one who knew the trajectory of her life, who knew the roads she would have to take, simply - as she always did - surrendered to the mystery of the events as they unfolded, and accepted them for what they were. She meditated on them.

I've always taken that as my model of how to be in awe. "And she treasured them up in her heart."

Why?

At Auschwitz recently, many expected Pope Benedict was there to represent Germany, or perhaps the church - which itself failed in some ways some pretty important tests of the Second World War.

Instead he represented himself, asking a profoundly personal question we've all wondered at times.

"To speak in this place of horror, in this place where unprecedented mass crimes were committed against God and man, is almost impossible -- and it is particularly difficult and troubling for a Christian, for a Pope from Germany. In a place like this, words fail; in the end, there can only be a dread silence -- a silence which is itself a heartfelt cry to God: Why, Lord, did you remain silent? How could you tolerate all this?"

This is a question we all must ask. Nor will we get an easy answer. In the Bible's famous work on sorrow, the Book of Job, Job wondered why he suffered. His friends wondered whether Job's sins had caused it. But God rebuked these men. To Job, he refused to explain himself, telling him only, "Where were you when I laid the foundations of the Earth? Tell me if you have understanding!"

But still we must ask - to be human is to ask, and God likely would not have it any other way.

Someone wrote the following words and put them in this week's church bulletin. I don't know who wrote it, but this is how I see it, too.

"There will never come a day when a human can look on Auschwitz without asking 'Why?'
It may be that this question is what keeps us human. We ask why god would tolerate genocide, but we also ask why humanity tolerated it, and tolerates it still. If a day comes when millions die and no one asks why, there will be no need for religion or philosophy, because humanity will have lost is soul."

Death of a Terrorist Leader

Hell's newest resident:

Death of a Terrorist Leader

I don't understand what even the extremists would have seen in this guy. He killed many more Muslims than he ever did any Americans.

For Phillip

In the 4th century, St. Ambrose wrote this about baptism and chrismation (the word that was used at the time for confirmation.)

Recall then that you have received the spiritual seal, the spirit of wisdom and understanding, the spirit of right judgment and courage, the spirit of knowledge and reverence, the spirit of holy fear in God's presence. Guard what you have received. God the Father has marked you with his sign; Christ the Lord has confirmed you and has placed his pledge, the Spirit, in your hearts.

We don’t always guard what we have received. We usually don’t. That is the gist of the parable of the Prodigal Son, which begins:

And he said, A certain man had two sons: and the younger of them said to his father, Father, give me the portion of goods that falls to me. And he divided unto them his living. (Luke 15:11-12)

Confirmation is perhaps the rite or sacrament that most symbolizes this moment - it is when we ask for, and receive, our adult inheritance, such as we will have it in this world. The fullness of our baptismal grace is given to us. Ownership of our faith is given to us. Of confirmation, the Catechism of the Catholic Church teaches in much the same way all the others do:

By this anointing the confirmand receives the "mark," the seal of the Holy Spirit. A seal is a symbol of a person, a sign of personal authority, or ownership of an object. Hence soldiers were marked with their leader's seal and slaves with their master's. A seal authenticates a juridical act or document and occasionally makes it secret. (1295)

Just as with the prodigal son, we’re given ownership of our faith in confirmation. It is no longer our parents’ faith, in which we participate. We are now custodians of it. But sadly, the prodigal son, having become the custodian of his estate, runs off to a life of “dissolute living” and squanders it all.

But the estate granted by Confirmation is an estate whose riches have no end. I myself have run off and “squandered it all” many times in my life - I can’t tell you how many times, even in little ways. But as with baptism, Confirmation “too imprints on the soul an indelible spiritual mark, the ‘character,’ which is the sign that Jesus Christ has marked a Christian with the seal of his Spirit by clothing him with power from on high so that he may be his witness.” (1304) You cannot spend it all. For each time you return to the Father genuinely saying, “Father I have sinned”, He rejoices saying, “...for this my child was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found.”

I’ve seen kids show up for confirmation who then never darken the doors of a church again. It is depressing - one such kid was my own daughter. After Bishop Colli anointed her and laid hands on her, we got about six more months of church out of her. Then she was too cool, unconvinced of the reality of our faith... eventually wouldn’t even talk about it.


But it is an “indelible spiritual mark.” Something has happened - not by our power, but by God’s power. We are his, and can do nothing about it. Things happen in peoples’ lives, profound things, and when these events are encountered with only the vaguest memory of the God who was with them at Confirmation, people remember that emptiness is not all such moments need bring. And they do come to realize that they have an inheritance they never even knew about, one they thought they had spent.

I always felt guilty about the results of my daughter’s confirmation. I was a skeptic when I was younger, and I occasionally made disparaging remarks about the hymns my wife and daughter sang around the house - hymns that (quite ironically) it is now my job to sing every Sunday. I finally came around to appreciating what this was for them only as my daughter’s Confirmation came and went, and when my daughter fell away, I was doubly disappointed - more in me than in her; I worried that my prior faithlessness was responsible for hers. Had I ruined my daughter’s own treasure in Heaven?

I needn’t have worried. God’s insistent voice is always there when the really big things happen in life. At the Easter Vigil this year, I sat in the pews beside my very pregnant daughter and her lad as we watched a dozen adults being confirmed. She leaned over and whispered to me, “Dad.... when do you think would be the best time to have the baby baptized?”

All-powerful God, Father of our Lord Jesus Christ,
by water and the Holy Spirit
you freed your sons and daughters from sin
and gave them new life.
Send your Holy Spirit upon them
to be their helper and guide.
Give them the spirit of wisdom and understanding,
the spirit of right judgment and courage,
the spirit of knowledge and reverence.
Fill them with the spirit of wonder and awe in your presence.
We ask this through Christ our Lord. (The Latin Rite prayer of confirmation.)

The Devil's Hard Drive

While I haven't seen the birth of Satan's spawn today (yes, for the humourless, my tongue is in my cheek), something unusual did happen to me today. While downloading a huge help file for a software development kit, I started to get nervous about disk space. I went to check the available space on my C drive - 6.66 gigabytes.

So if you hear one of those "weird news" items today in which an evil computer is responsible for its owner's beheading, maybe it was me.

I've never done this in ten minutes!

After struggling to move lattice and lumber into my daughter's apartment yesterday evening, we got en route to church quite late. As we crossed in front of Our Lady of Fatima, I looked furtively down at my watch.

"He's not going to not let you play, you know," My wife said.

"We have a policy. You have to be in the nursery, ready to practice, fifteen minutes before Mass."

"Well why are we even going? We went to the ordination yesterday, so if you're not going to play, we don't have to be there."

I sighed. She was right of course. But I wanted to play, and as much as my wife tells I am anally retentive about following rules, watching the group from the pews would be an awful feeling. We barreled down Carling, through Bronson, down Glebe and hurled over to the church. As I dashed down into the nursery it was 7:46. There was nobody there.

I ran upstairs, my guitar, mandolin, and gig bag dancing all over beside me. As I hurried up the stairs the caretaker said, "Not to worry; he's still in the backyard. I'll get the mikes."

"No ****?" I said, referring to our folk group leader.

"Nope," She said, and went into the rectory. Somewhere at home, I thought, is a message on the answering machine telling me about this. But I hadn't been home.

I raced over to the filing cabinet and started pulling every vaguely Pentecost-themed hymn I could find. She came out with the mikes as I raced to get my guitar and gear plugged in. I knew I wouldn't need my mandolin.    

"I've never done this in ten minutes," I've said, gesturing at all the mike stands that were not set up. "Maybe we'll just throw up one mike, I'm the only one here."

"It will be fine," She said, "Everything will be alright." She started threading the microphone clip.

"Thank you," I said, believing her for a moment.

Two singers emerged, one from the pews, the other from the nursery stairs. Going to need the other mike, I thought. Sensing this, the caretaker started threading another mike clip. Quite helpfully, she offered, "I guess you have nobody for overheads, hmmm?"

"No, no," I said.

"Just make sure they are in order," she said by way of offering to do them.

Two more singers emerged. The priest, deacon, and monk were just outside the sanctuary ready to process. Our caretaker was still threading the last microphone as we sang, "How Great Thou Art."

It worked out. It always does. Thanks to angels - who come in more varieties than just the seraphim and cherubim. Sometimes they look just like the caretaker.

Pentecost

Tomorrow is Pentecost - actually it began this evening, and I attended a Pentecost ordination today. Pentecost is one of my favourite feast days in the church, because it is basically the birthday of the church.

What many people think of when they think of Pentecost are the charisms and special graces of that day - speaking in tongues and other spirit filled activities. But the one grace that came that day - the grace that impresses me - is courage. Courage is what the church was built on, and what sets a saint apart. Faith can give people the strength and the steadfastness to walk where angels fear to tread. This is the true "moving of mountains" that Jesus spoke of.

I was reading today of Cassie Barnall, one of the teens murdered in the Columbine massacre. A story surfaced after the shootings that one of the killers had asked her if she believed in God. When she answered, "Yes, I believe" (the story goes), she was shot. One of my favourite singers, Michael W Smith, wrote a song about this girl, called "This is Your Time. In it he asks what the listener would answer if asked "Do you believe?" in Cassie's place.

What if tomorrow, and what if today,
Faced with the question,
Oh what would you say?

Now did the incident in question happen? Did Harris or Klebold ask Cassie Barnall if she believed in God? The girl sitting next to her under a table did not remember hearing her asking this - she only remembers her praying, which drew the attention of one of the killers. One website, positiveatheism.com positively crows about this different rendering of the tale, as if the whole spiritual experience of the human race rests on the accuracy of this story.

But the fact remains, the girl was praying, right til the end. Faced with death, she turned to the one strength there is that lets us face death - the strength given to us by God. Does it really matter what her words were? She spent those last few minutes in the best way it is possible to spend them. She spent them with God.

Whether Cassie Barnall faced this question in her last minutes or not, we all face this question at some point in our lives. "Do you believe?" any of us is asked to testify, usually in a circumstance when it is at least socially safer to answer, "No I do not," or failing that, to answer with a polite demurral where we only admit to being "spiritual", or simply mention our affiliation - Catholic, Methodist, Jewish, Muslim.

What will you say? Whatever you believe, Christian or not, will you stand up for it? Even with your life?

What if tomorrow, and what if today,
Faced with the question,
Oh what would you say?

Red Rain

A strange red rain that scientists investigated may actually be alien bacteria.

I hope they don't do what the alien bacteria in Evolution did!

hexakosioihexekontahexaphobia

Did you know that fear of the number 666 actually has a name? I didn't - but it does, and it is a rather unwieldy name: hexakosioihexekontahexaphobia.

I found that out in this article about the forthcoming June 6, 2006, a date which will produce naught but cheesy movies.

General Orders Ethics Training In Iraq, Command Comes Amid Allegations Marines Murdered Civilians In Haditha - CBS News

Does one really have to teach, "Don't shoot four year olds in the head"?

General Orders Ethics Training In Iraq, Command Comes Amid Allegations Marines Murdered Civilians In Haditha - CBS News