Philgrim’s Blogress

I have never been able to understand where people got the idea that democracy was in some way opposed to tradition. It is obvious that tradition is only democracy extended through time. It is trusting to a consensus of common human voices rather than to some isolated or arbitrary record. The man who quotes some German historian against the tradition of the Catholic Church, for instance, is strictly appealing to aristocracy. He is appealing to the superiority of one expert against the awful authority of a mob. It is quite easy to see why a legend is treated, and ought to be treated, more respectfully than a book of history. The legend is generally made by the majority of people in the village, who are sane. The book is generally written by the one man in the village who is mad. Those who urge against tradition that men in the past were ignorant may go and urge it at the Carlton Club, along with the statement that voters in the slums are ignorant. It will not do for us. If we attach great importance to the opinion of ordinary men in great unanimity when we are dealing with daily matters, there is no reason why we should disregard it when we are dealing with history or fable. Tradition may be defined as an extension of the franchise. Tradition means giving votes to the most obscure of all classes, our ancestors. It is the democracy of the dead. Tradition refuses to submit to the small and arrogant oligarchy of those who merely happen to be walking about. All democrats object to men being disqualified by the accident of birth; tradition objects to their being disqualified by the accident of death. Democracy tells us not to neglect a good man’s opinion, even if he is our groom; tradition asks us not to neglect a good man’s opinion, even if he is our father. I, at any rate, cannot separate the two ideas of democracy and tradition; it seems evident to me that they are the same idea. We will have the dead at our councils. The ancient Greeks voted by stones; these shall vote by tombstones. It is all quite regular and official, for most tombstones, like most ballot papers, are marked with a cross.

G.K. Chesterton – Orthodoxy

Truly you are a God who hides himself… (Isaiah 45:15)

“I have wished a hundred times over that, if there is a God supporting nature, [nature] should unequivocally proclaim him, and that, if the signs in nature are deceptive, she should suppress them altogether” —but nature prefers to tease, so she “presents to me nothing which is not a matter of doubt” (Blaise Pascal).

For an interesting article on  faith and reason, check out the article The Skeptical Inquirer (If Only Atheists Were the Skeptics They Think They Are), in the Touchstone Magazine archives here.

Today was the first Sunday in Advent, the four weeks leading up to the day when we’ll celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ.  It was a good day at our little faith community, from the worship service (Marc spoke) through the afternoon Advent service (with songs, readings etc. from young and old), continuing on with a shared supper and a rousing game of Pictionary where the women beat the men by a narrow margin.

Something that impacted me today was this video clip that was shown during the worship service …

I’d like to think that I wouldn’t kill anyone for  Christmas bargains, as happened a couple of days ago, but I am as susceptible as the average person to the consumerism that pervades western society, and I need these reminders about where my priorities should be.

UPDATE: I realized that the YouTube clip above was the American version, so I’ve replaced it with the Canadian version (basically the same except for the amount spent on Christmas)

It being Thanksgiving Monday here in Canada, I’ll just point to this song that I stumbled across on a compilation CD.  It’s by a folkie-sounding singer-songwriter named Claire Holley, of whom I’d never heard before.

I have wandered from my home
My lips are dry, my feet are worn
My eyes are blinded by the dust clouds in the road
But I’m looking for the day
when the rain will come and pour
My hope is in the bounty of the Lord

Oh, I’ve traveled far away
Like a reckless, running train
Bound nowhere, racing in the night
Now I’m gathered in the hands
That formed the meadowed land
I am resting in the bounty of the Lord
Yeah I am resting in the bounty of the Lord

I can hear the people singing
And the sound of tambourining
Every member of my distant family
It’s the place that I believe in
Even though I’ve never seen it
I’m believing in the bounty of the Lord
I’m believing in the bounty of the Lord
My hope is in the bounty of the Lord

————

I can’t say I’ve ever heard the word “tambourining” before, but I do like the song.

A Google search turned up this YouTube clip … someone has combined the song with photos – mostly vintage black & white ones … you might think it’s a bit too sweet, but I’m a sucker for that kind of thing.

I so easily get caught up in the cares and worries of my life, so it’s good to get a kick in the pants every now and then like I did last night. We went to see the Watoto Children’s Choir. These are kids from Uganda who have been orphaned or abandoned, so my troubles pale in comparison. Their joyful presentation in song and dance reminded me to cast my burdens unto Jesus.

YouTube clip here.