My best friend when I was small was a Friend. Her parents were birthright Quakers active in prison reform and nuclear disarmament. As a child I saw the homelier side of Quaker practice - the silent meetings, the delicious treats at the annual bazaar and an early introduction to the three-fold sieve.
THE THREE SIEVES
A LITTLE boy one day ran indoors from school and called out eagerly: "Oh, mother, what do you think of Tom Jones? I have just heard that ——"
"Wait a minute, my boy. Have you put what you have heard through the three sieves before you tell it to me?"
"Sieves, mother! What do you mean?"
"Well, the first sieve is called Truth. Is it true?"
"Well, I don't really know, but Bob Brown said that Charlie told him that Tom ——"
"That's very roundabout. What about the second sieve — Kindness. Is it kind?"
"Kind! No, I can't say it is kind."
"Now the third sieve — Necessity. Will it go through that? Must you tell this tale?"
"No, mother, I need not repeat it."
"Well, then, my boy, if it is not necessary, not kind, and perhaps not true, let the story die."
I really don't care if Newt Gingrich is a male slut and a serial adulterer, born again Catholic etc.
All I know is that he, more than any other living American, had more to do, in the nineties, with debasing the level of civility in the American Town Square. And all that loss of civility marked up as the cost of power, to make him Speaker of the House.
I don't care about the Christian myth of sin and forgiveness. If he is a new man, wonderful.
Newt's blowjobs in adultery in the past apparently are now less despicable than Clinton's blowjobs in adultery.
Typical mean spirited GOP Family Values.
And for the GOP audience to stand in applause at the perfect angry man. What you see is what you get.
Only one article from 2009 shows up on this year’s Best of 2010, which is Death of Civility in America – MSM.
It should be noted that last year’s Best Of List was chosen per my own personal tastes.
This year’s listing of the past year’s Best has been chosen in numerical order and per tastes of readers, assembled from Stats on Google’s Blogger table.
At Notre Dame, belief in the sanctity of life, a Sacred, a genuine heartfelt belief by many, would seem by the very nature of the modern age to has been corrupted, co-mingled, marshaled to champion politics, the Profane.
More so than the death of innocents through abortion is the death of Civility in the American Town Square, once real and now virtual. It would seem that there is a culture of death of sorts on both sides of this matter.
Dies Irae as a hymn is part of the ancient pre-Vatican II Mass for the dead.
On these matters that I would prefer not to touch with a ten foot pole, I turn to art, music, poetry...
I choose this very modern poetic translation of Dies Irae from the very dead language of Latin.
The day of wrath, that day which will reduce the world to ashes, as foretold by David and the Sybil.
What terror there will be, when the Lord will come to judge all rigorously!
The trumpet, scattering a wondrous sound among the graves of all the lands, will assemble all before the Throne.
Death and Nature will be astounded when they see a creature rise again to answer to the Judge.
The book will be brought forth in which all deeds are noted, for which humanity will answer.
When the judge will be seated, all that is hidden will appear, and nothing will go unpunished.
Alas, what will I then say? To what advocate shall I appeal, when even the just tremble?
O king of redoutable majesty, who freely saves the elect, save me, o fount of piety!
Remember, merciful Jesus, that I am the cause of your journey, do not lose me on that day.
You wearied yourself in finding me. You have redeemed me through the cross. Let not such great efforts be in vain.
O judge of vengeance, justly make a gift of your forgiveness before the day of reckoning.
I lament like a guilty one. My faults cause me to blush, I beg you, spare me.
You who have absolved Mary, and have heard the thief's prayer, have also given me hope.
My prayers are not worthy, but you, o Good One, please grant freely that I do not burn in the eternal fire.
Give me a place among the sheep, separate me from the goats by placing me at your right.
Having destroyed the accursed, condemned them to the fierce flames, Count me among the blessed.
I prostrate myself, supplicating, my heart in ashes, repentant; take good care of my last moment!
That tearful day, when from the ashes shall rise again sinful man to be judged.
Therefore pardon him, o God. Merciful Lord Jesus, give them rest.
