To comfort myself and provide some much-needed perspective during this time of personal/ecclesiastical crisis, I’ve been reading several books on General George S. Patton, Jr. simultaneously. Here are just a few excerpts that made me reach for pen and pad…
“On the thirty-first, I inspected and made a talk to the 761st Tank Battalion. A good many of the lieutenents and some of the captains had been my sergeants in the 9th and 10th Cavalry. Individually then were good soldiers, but I expressed my belief at that time, and have never found the necessity of changing it, that a colored solider cannot think fast enough to fight in armor.” (from Patton’s memoir, War As I Knew It)
“A leadership that takes on a defense mentality is dooming its own people to extinction.” (from Before the Colors Fade: Portrait of a Soldier, written by Patton’s nephew, Fred Ayer, Jr.)
The following words are not Patton’s; they are about the general, written by the Hungarian Jew named Ladislas Farago, who wrote two books about Patton. The section is taken from his “The Last Days of Patton:
“Was not the duty of every Communist to give aid and comfort to the Soviet Union? Was it not the ‘excrable Jew’ whose insidious influence and propoganda dragged America into the war against the Germans? In Patton’s mind, the Jew was no longer just a scapegoat. Now he made the Jews responsible for all the troubles of the world…as his hatred and contempt for them were growing, so mounted his love and admiration of the Germans.”
It’s amusing to note Farago’s florid descriptions of Patton’s so-called “antisemitism.” What he misses, of course, is that Patton was experiencing a genuine racial awakening. The ferocious general had seen what cannot be unseen. He saw the Jew for what he is, and he was not going to be silent.
Sadly, the “accident” that claimed Patton’s life managed to silence him. But the example of his leadership and his personal courage live on.
Back in the spring, record numbers of viewers watched the miniseries “Hatfields and McCoys.” A friend recorded it for us, and we watched it last week. As watchable television goes, it was right up there with “Lonesome Dove,” especially in terms of story tautness and soundtrack. The day after we concluded our week-long viewing of the miniseries (we only took in an hour or 90 minutes at a time), I met a woman who is a descendant of the McCoys. Her pale blue eyes, peering into me with the most unnerving of gazes, would have been perfect adornment for the producers of that show.
Violence and tawdriness aside, a 21st-century man has to look on such a feud with wonder and perhaps a little shame. What would cause us to take a point of personal honor to such extremes? Not much, I fear. I fear the postmodern man, de-racinated and de-gonaded by his pastors, would look on feuds (and duels, etc.) with as much distaste as he looks on expecting his daughters to honor the Fifth Commandment.
Speaking of the destructiveness of postmodern pastors, we drove through the Mt.Pisgah Forest recently. Some of the historical info gleaned from this trip mentioned a certain reverend named George Newton, who named Mt.Pisgah (after the biblical landmark). Newton, a Presbyterian minister in the 18th-19th centuries, was reportedly a fierce Indian fighter. Why wasn’t he tearfully “sharing the gospel” with these scalp-collecting, farm-burning, murderous rapists?
Sit back in your chair now and try to imagine any pastor you know fighting for anything. Except perhaps racial “equality” and “social justice.”
On the topic of racial equality, I was stunned when listening to Harold Covington’s most recent Radio Free Northwest podcast. His sober, respectful eulogizing of the infamous and recently deceased Rodney King was noteworthy. Browse around over there and give it a listen.
Back to “pastors.” A fellow who makes deliveries to my office preaches on Sundays at a small church. To his credit, he is a “tentmaker,” meaning that he earns his living in the real world and doesn’t drain a tithe from his small, low-income flock. But he also loves to tell everyone he meets that he’s a minster. He works this fact into conversations in the most awkward, unseemly ways:
[One of my co-workers]: “Hey, there. Is it gettin’ hot outside yet? They say it’ll hit a hundred tomorrow.”
[The Minister]: “Yeah, it’s hot. But not as hot as I get when I’m preaching. As a minister, I always wear a suit in the pulpit, and I get really baked by the end of my sermon. Speaking of which, have you been saved…?”
I watch people (mostly women) fawn over him as if he’s some sort of Authority Figure, and it makes me very sad. Especially since he has an Obama bumper sticker on his little Kia.
My friend Roger has been in considerable pain recently, and the doctors (read: Bureaucratic Medical Professionals. See also their pulpiteering equivalents, the seminary-trained Religious Professionals) had at him for a while and accomplished exactly nothing. After listening to their dire-but-vague diagnoses, Roger went to a chiropractor. Had an adjustment. Voila...speedy relief.
I’ve had chiropractor experiences myself, and have always been pleased with them (except for their greedy little “You need to come back for weekly adjustments for the next six months!” routine). Any of y’all have any chiropractor stories to tell?
I deeply appreciate all those who have emailed me with questions and concerns about my upcoming church trial for my “heretical, satanic, racist” beliefs. Because I’m deep in preparations, and because I don’t want to expend my emotional/spiritual energy on explanations right now, I’ll delay answering until I have something notable to report. At that time, I’ll post something here. Please forgive me if I seem dismissive; this is not my intent. I just need to have my “war face” on these days, and it’s draining.
May our Father bless and keep each of you, and may He draw you to a place of greater obedience tomorrow.