Columns
The Bark o' the Banshee
| Bark o' the Banshee Salvation? |  |
by Pat Robinson
I watched the film, listened to all the reports, and noted along with many the death of Gregory Martin on July 17, 2001. Mr. Martin lost his life in a fire at The White Rabbit Inn, his home, his dream, his stake in life. My sincerest condolences to his family and friends in Allenstown, N.H. and around the country. My prayers for the guest critically burned, but alive.
Thanks Euan Bear for the mention (July 2001 “Survival Has Been the Answer”), tit for tat.
George Dubya has gotten my Irish up again. The Sunday after “the decision” at the service, attended by the then President-elect and soon-to-be First Lady, the minister made a remark in his sermon regarding the “right God”. Shortly after the administration got underway, the list of wants and suggestions from the White House included the idea to put Headstart preschool programs under the auspices of local churches. The agenda had sailed. Its mission? Get rid of as many dollars as possible in any manner to pay the promised tax break.
My mother’s old dictionary, Random House College Edition (1968) page1164, defines salvation this way: “1. the act of saving or protecting from loss or harm. 2. the state of being saved or protected. 3. a means of being saved and protected. 4. deliverance from the power and penalty of sin; redemption.”
Just below that one lies this one: “Salvation Army: an international charitable and evangelistic Christian organization founded in England in 1865 by William Booth and organized along quasi-military lines. “
Like most people, when I walk by the tripods with the red pots hanging, the ever-present bell tolling to the passers-by, I toss money in. Who doesn’t?
Will I be so moved next year to do that? I know many people who have been helped by the Salvation Army when no one else would. I also know a woman, who, along with her husband, was called to the cloth and joined the Salvation Army. They preached the word, and did great things in communities that needed the help. I also know this woman was treated very differently after she fell in love with another woman and left her husband. It’s very difficult to reconcile the two pictures. We all immediately recall the image of the bell ringer, or the sign presented as a shield. But it seems that the Salvation Army has its role confused.
It’s God’s job to judge.
Lets go back to some definitions from page 226; “charitable: 1. generous in gifts to aid the poor. 2. kindly, lenient injudging people, acts” and on page 457: “evangelistic: 1. to be preachers of the Gospel. 2. evangelical. 3. striving to convert sinners.”
Now it seems to me, that to get people to take up your stance, you have to let them in the door. My God always let sinners in. The best way to keep an eye on the sinners was to put them all in one place. The Catholic priests in my neighborhood had most, if not all, of the wayward in the parish busy doing things. That kind of nice patriarchal scene like something out of “The Bells of St. Mary’s” that looked great but did nothing.
The Salvation Army certainly has mastered the charitable-acts part, but the lenient attitude needs some work. Speaking of forgiveness, I was saddened at the deaths of the five kids in Texas. My daughter Leah knew Andrea Yates in early 1999. Andrea had quietly reached out and no one heard.
I was on my way up to a business meeting one glorious Sunday morning and the ride took me through the center of Vermont, just north of Middlebury. I come over to the Connecticut River Valley often and I have a button on the 106.1 station, “Q 106 FM”. The morning show featured music from the San Francisco era, circa 1967 through the early 1970’s. The disc jockey was talking about some of the places on Haight Street and some of the more infamous characters hidden there. As the music reeled me back in time to a place in my life when hitch-hiking was my mode of transportation, and selling hippie newspapers was my bread and butter, I realized I had come almost full circle in my first fifty years on terra firma. The only differences now are that I own a car and can drive just about anything you put in front of me.
With Jefferson Airplane’s “White Rabbit”, 1967 started to spin out its notes and I remembered the first time I saw the band play. I had seen many eclectic artists up-close at various places in the Boston/Cambridge area, but there was something very different about them. Little did I know how profound the difference would affect the generation. Then the DJ made that sucking sound we all knew so well, made famous in the Beatles song “Girl(Rubber Soul)”.
And if the Monica Lewinski fiasco wasn’t enough, now there is much more than a dress, cigar, or office. A young woman is missing.
A Right whale has been wronged and nothing can be adjusted but the number of them left on the planet.
The threat of Hoof and Mouth disease made the folks at Sturbridge Village in Massachusetts so nervous that they have closed off the goats to protect them from the people. Very smart; you know your goats, but never really know your visitors.
No, not much is really too different for me, at this juncture (I always wanted to use that). I go over mountains and beautiful women have lunch together and try to save the world.
W ell, maybe not the world, but maybe just our little part of it.