Twenty years ago today at 9:15 a.m., I was walking across the VC-5 ramp at Cubi Point in the Philippines to my assigned aircraft. I was about to lead a flight of A-4's to Okinawa. My head was down when one of my wingmen came over pointing to the north and saying, "Look!" A massive plume of light gray ash against a pale blue sky was rising quickly into the air through about 10,000 feet. The eruption of Mt. Pinatubo had begun.
By the time I got my gear into my plane, did a quick pre-flight and lit the engine on fire, the light gray cloud was turning darker, shooting up through 20,000 feet at least and falling on the northern shores of Subic Bay. When we reached the hold short, it was so dark across the bay it looked like the blackest of night and it was coming our way. And we had to hold five minutes to wait for the wake turbulence of a DC-10 that had just taken off ahead of us to settle down.
Two months before in early March, I had launched with John "Horse" Cochrane for a Cope Thunder event. Cope Thunder was an Air Force exercise out of Clark Air Base that took place eight times a year. We flew 150 miles west to Scarborough Shoals, found a KC-10 tanker, and topped off our fuel.
We were the bombing package for an attack on the Crow Valley bomb range on the northwest side of Clark. At the commencement of the exercise, we dived down to around 100 feet and flew in across the South China Sea with an F-16 escort overhead. We skirted over the mountains on the peninsula on the west side of Subic Bay, and then headed north to cross a ridge of mountains and drop down onto the target.
As we ingressed we came into what at first we thought was a fog, which was unusual for that late in the morning, but we had to climb to 3,000 feet to maintain visibility. Then the ground under us began to look almost like it was covered with snow. Finally getting across the ridge we saw five plumes of smoke rising from the northern side of the peaks and realized what we were seeing was ash. We were the first to see the initial eruption from the air.
On June 12, we got our flight airborne and another after us just before the airfield was closed. I diverted my flight from the normal departure and turned south to circle around the ash cloud. We turned north and passed about ten miles to the east of Clark. As we climbed through 27,000 feet, I snapped a picture of the eruption. The top of the cloud was around 45,000 feet and as it grew and expanded it took on the appearance of an atomic explosion.
The Air Force had evacuated all Clark personnel to the Subic Bay Naval Station because Clark was only ten miles from the summit of the mountain. Subic was 20 miles to the south-southwest. Interestingly enough, on that morning Clark was in the sunshine while westerly winds blew the smoke and ash toward Subic Bay and the South China Sea.
The next two days saw smaller eruptions, but ash fallout was landing on Clark and Angeles City as well. Then early in the morning on June 15, the big one came. Mt. Pinatubo blew ash, dust, dirt, and stones over 90,000 feet in the air. Over one hundred earthquakes shook the ground during the day and the power went out.
Then as if the eruption wasn't enough, a typhoon rolled right over northern Luzon adding rain and wind to the mix. Great red streaks of lightning slashed horizontally across the blackened sky. Clark and Subic Bay were in total darkness for 36 hours. The ash fell with a consistency of cement collapsing thousands of buildings in Angeles, Olongapo, and other surrounding towns and villages and on the military bases. Hundreds of people were killed.
My future wife's home was 18 miles directly south of the volcano. She had been sleeping soundly when around 10 a.m. her mother woke her up. Leah sleepily wondered what was the problem in the middle of the night and was shocked to know it was the middle of the morning. And then they felt the earthquakes. On a battery powered radio they heard an announcement warning people to clean the ash off their roofs.
Their house was on a slope, and by taking a 2x12 board, they were able to place it on the high side and climb up to the roof to sweep the sand and ash off. Fortunately they did because one of the rafters in the house had already cracked.
In Manila, 60 miles away, a friend of ours, Brenda Garren, went to sleep with her window open to enjoy the cool evening breeze. When she woke in the morning her bedroom was under a two inch layer of dust.
Two hundred miles to the south in northern Palawan, missionaries Harry and Ann Rogers woke to a motor tricycle driving up the lane to their hospital. Their worker came to warn them, "It's raining milk!" The ash mixed with the rain was coming down in a milky white color.
Anticipating the fresh water supply at the naval base would be contaminated, the Navy directed a destroyer (the name of which I don't remember and I don't have my resources to look it up at the moment) to head for Subic Bay. It arrived in the middle of the eruption. The captain ordered all air vents sealed with duct tape and the ship steamed into the darkness and found its way into the bay using sonar. And fortunate it was the ship was there. It's water desalinization plant was the only source of water on the base for weeks.
Clark Air Base was a loss and the Air Force walked away no questions asked. Subic Bay, however, had something the Air Force didn't have: Seabees. The Seabees said, "We can fix this," and they went about fixing it. They cleared the mud off the roads and the airfield, repaired the water treatment plants, and in two weeks Cubi Point was open for limited operations.
The devastation was indescribable. There was an area around Mt. Pinatubo on the west and north sides that was a series of deep jungle covered ravines. Nobody lived in there and we used to call it "Prehistoric Valley" because it was so primitive it looked like a place you would find dinosaurs. The eruption filled those valleys, some of them several hundred feet deep, including the Crow Valley bombing range. The forestation was gone and flying over it, it looked like what you'd expect to see on the moon.
The rainy season usually starts in June, but the rains were late coming that year. When they finally did, they started washing all the dirt out of those valleys. Just as some people thought they were going to move back into their homes and rebuild, lahar (volcanic mud flows) swept down the valleys and carried away or buried entire towns.
Leah and I had been trying to make wedding plans, but there was a ton of red tape to go through. Mt. Pinatubo literally made it tons worse. We had to get certain documents from the Local Civil Registrars Office, but the building was destroyed and the records were lost. When the eruption was over, we had to start all over.
When we finally got married, we had planned our honeymoon in Hong Kong. But to get to Manila we had to take a Victory Liner bus, and rains had left the entire country side north of Manila under two feet of water, and the highway under several feet of mud. What was normally a two and a half hour trip took us seven hours.
A year later, almost to the day, I flew my last flight in an A-4. It was a freebie. I went out sight seeing all of my favorite places in northern Luzon, including flying down a flat river bed at 350 knots to see how bold I was and how low I could get. I had set my radar altimeter at 25 feet and it was flashing at me before I climbed out. I finished the flight going where no man had gone before.
The rains had left a lake inside the Pinatubo crater, but steam continued to rise from several vents and a strong sulfuric smell pervaded the air. On the northwest side of the crater was a wide, deep crevasse. The water from the lake flowed down through the crevasse and out into Iba Valley. I got down into the valley at 100 feet and flew up the crevasse into the crater at about 450 knots. Turbulence was so bad as I flew through the crevasse that I had to climb slightly, but then as I reached the center of the lake I pulled my nose straight up and flew out of the crater.
A few days ago, almost 20 years exactly, I went back to Mt. Pinatubo. My son, Jonathan, and I, and some friends went up to Crow Valley and took a jeep across the valley and up the ravine as far as we could go. Over the years the rains have basically washed away all the mud that had filled the bomb range, and although the target areas aren't there anymore, I recognized the spot where the old simulated airstrip, buildings, and fake planes sat waiting for the bombs to drop, and the circular target at the head of the valley.
The Philippine Air Force is still using the area where the circular target was for a weapon's range, and on our way out we had to wait 45 minutes for two OV-10's to strafe, lay smoke and shoot rockets.
As we got out of the target area and into the ravine we had to drive up the river, around boulders, across the leftover mud, and through the water. We went several miles until we reached the extent that the vehicles could go, and then we continued on foot. We still had three or so miles to traverse across very rocky, sandy, and muddy ground, and shallow water runoff so wide there was no way to avoid getting our feet wet.
The walls of the ravine were in places 200 feet high or more, and looked to be plastered with mud and volcanic ash. In places great heaps of mud had fallen to the bottom, and no doubt with every rain more of it continues to fall and wash away. We finally reached a rest area at the top of the canyon. Our guide told us that when they originally built the three pagoda like pavilions, they had been able to drive all the way up the canyon to that spot. So much mud has washed away that now they can't even get close.
We hiked on another 15 minutes until we crossed the ridge, and before us was a magnificent valley with a deep, lime green lake. At the top a little resort like area had been built with a refreshment stand, and a long, steep, stone staircase went down 169 steps to the shores of the crater lake. The water was cool and we were hot and soaked from the humidity. We had not come prepared to swim, but when we got there the temptation was too great, so stripping down to our skivvies, we jumped in.
We were in a bay on the east side of the crater. The crevasse I flew in through was around a point to the west and we couldn't see the valley from where we were. The water, although it looked beautifully clear from above, was so murky you couldn't see five feet in it. Our friend, Pastor Jihan Senina, and I swam the quarter mile or so across the bay to sheer cliffs on the other side and then back.
I couldn't help but think how beautiful, relaxing, and restful, was this place that had caused so much trouble and devastation so many years ago. And I was reminded that God will make all things beautiful in His time (Ecclesiastes 3:11).
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Remembering James Arness
In the 1950's the growing new medium of television invaded American homes and one of the most popular TV genres was the western. The first western to appear was the Hopalong Cassidy show in 1949. Many of the early programs such as The Roy Rogers Show, Gene Autry, and The Lone Ranger were oriented more toward child audiences. Plots were usually pretty simple 30-minute "shoot-em-ups" with the good guys in white hats and the bad guys in black hats.
As television grew programs became more sophisticated and westerns began to target adult audiences. By 1959 there were 26 westerns on prime time TV, and eight of the top ten rated shows were westerns.
The first hour long western, Cheyenne, premiered in September of 1956, and starred a six foot six inch hunk who could have won a Mr. America contest, Clint Walker. About a post-Civil War frontier scout wandering across the West, the program was initially popular and ran for eight seasons, but the hour long format was new and presented unique difficulties, and fewer episodes were produced. Although the lead character, Cheyenne, was a good guy, he was a drifter with no home roots, and the show eventually became monotonous and lost its appeal.
The same month Cheyenne hit the airways, another western about Marshal Matt Dillon of Dodge City, also premiered. Gunsmoke starred another tall (6 foot 7 inch), although not quite as big, actor by the name of James Arness. With a cast of steady characters, home roots, and first rate script writers, the show was a hit, finishing first in the TV ratings five years running from 1957-61.
James Arness had been wounded in the right leg in the invasion at Anzio in World War 2. In his autobiography he wrote that his favorite hymn was "Holy, Holy, Holy," and that as he lay in a field severely wounded and unable to move, that hymn went through his mind over and over through the night until he was rescued.
He spent a year in the hospital recovering and after the war got into radio broadcasting, which then led to the movies. In 1951 he met John Wayne and starred in four movies with him for Batjac, Wayne's production company, including the anti-communist film, Big Jim McClain. He and Wayne developed a great friendship, shared the same conservative values, and it was John Wayne that recommended Arness for the roll of Matt Dillon.
Gunsmoke became the longest running drama in television history, lasting for 20 years. Following Gunsmoke, Arness made several TV movies and the miniseries, How the West Was Won, one of the best things ever done on television.
During the filming of How the West Was Won, a horse riding club, the Westernaires, from Jefferson County in Colorado was used for the US cavalry in three episodes. My brother, Randall, was a member of the Westernaires and spent several days around Canon City, Colorado where they were filming. (We saw him on screen twice!)
Randall, who has spent his life in the entertainment business, was particularly interested in how the actors worked and performed. He watched Arness closely whenever he had a chance, and one day had the privilege of a long chat and having his picture taken with another great actor, Ricardo Montalban. When he had a chance to meet James Arness, Arness was very kind and personable without the least bit of Hollywood pride or arrogance.
In more recent years Arness started a website (www.jamesarness.com) in which he posted a monthly update on his activities and answered questions from his fans, mostly about Gunsmoke and his relationships with the cast. He was very generous in his remembrances about his co-stars and the entire Gunsmoke experience, and he always made a plug for the United Cerebral Palsy foundation with which he had been actively involved for years.
About four years ago he announced that he would no longer be making public appearances and I noticed in the last year or more that his updates were becoming fewer and I began to wonder about his health. Sadly today we learned of his passing away.
When I was about six years old, Friday nights at our house consisted of dinner, then moving to the living room to watch Paladin, followed by Gunsmoke. Paladin, as most of the rest of the westerns, faded into obscurity, but Gunsmoke continued on year after year. Matt Dillon bringing justice to the wild west, and promoting pro-family morality and good neighborly values was part of my upbringing.
James Arness, a real American hero, will be missed.
As television grew programs became more sophisticated and westerns began to target adult audiences. By 1959 there were 26 westerns on prime time TV, and eight of the top ten rated shows were westerns.
The first hour long western, Cheyenne, premiered in September of 1956, and starred a six foot six inch hunk who could have won a Mr. America contest, Clint Walker. About a post-Civil War frontier scout wandering across the West, the program was initially popular and ran for eight seasons, but the hour long format was new and presented unique difficulties, and fewer episodes were produced. Although the lead character, Cheyenne, was a good guy, he was a drifter with no home roots, and the show eventually became monotonous and lost its appeal.
The same month Cheyenne hit the airways, another western about Marshal Matt Dillon of Dodge City, also premiered. Gunsmoke starred another tall (6 foot 7 inch), although not quite as big, actor by the name of James Arness. With a cast of steady characters, home roots, and first rate script writers, the show was a hit, finishing first in the TV ratings five years running from 1957-61.
James Arness had been wounded in the right leg in the invasion at Anzio in World War 2. In his autobiography he wrote that his favorite hymn was "Holy, Holy, Holy," and that as he lay in a field severely wounded and unable to move, that hymn went through his mind over and over through the night until he was rescued.
He spent a year in the hospital recovering and after the war got into radio broadcasting, which then led to the movies. In 1951 he met John Wayne and starred in four movies with him for Batjac, Wayne's production company, including the anti-communist film, Big Jim McClain. He and Wayne developed a great friendship, shared the same conservative values, and it was John Wayne that recommended Arness for the roll of Matt Dillon.
Gunsmoke became the longest running drama in television history, lasting for 20 years. Following Gunsmoke, Arness made several TV movies and the miniseries, How the West Was Won, one of the best things ever done on television.
During the filming of How the West Was Won, a horse riding club, the Westernaires, from Jefferson County in Colorado was used for the US cavalry in three episodes. My brother, Randall, was a member of the Westernaires and spent several days around Canon City, Colorado where they were filming. (We saw him on screen twice!)
Randall, who has spent his life in the entertainment business, was particularly interested in how the actors worked and performed. He watched Arness closely whenever he had a chance, and one day had the privilege of a long chat and having his picture taken with another great actor, Ricardo Montalban. When he had a chance to meet James Arness, Arness was very kind and personable without the least bit of Hollywood pride or arrogance.
In more recent years Arness started a website (www.jamesarness.com) in which he posted a monthly update on his activities and answered questions from his fans, mostly about Gunsmoke and his relationships with the cast. He was very generous in his remembrances about his co-stars and the entire Gunsmoke experience, and he always made a plug for the United Cerebral Palsy foundation with which he had been actively involved for years.
About four years ago he announced that he would no longer be making public appearances and I noticed in the last year or more that his updates were becoming fewer and I began to wonder about his health. Sadly today we learned of his passing away.
When I was about six years old, Friday nights at our house consisted of dinner, then moving to the living room to watch Paladin, followed by Gunsmoke. Paladin, as most of the rest of the westerns, faded into obscurity, but Gunsmoke continued on year after year. Matt Dillon bringing justice to the wild west, and promoting pro-family morality and good neighborly values was part of my upbringing.
James Arness, a real American hero, will be missed.
Monday, May 30, 2011
Memorial Day
American Flyer salutes all who have served and are serving, and remembers those who have given the "last full measure of devotion." If it weren't for those who loved country more than life, we would have neither. God bless all of you, and God bless America.
My Country tis of Thee,
Sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing,
Land where my fathers died, land of the Pilgrim's pride,
From every mountain side let freedom ring.
My native country, thee,
Land of the noble free, thy name I love.
I love thy rocks and rills, thy woods and templed hills,
My heart with rapture thrills, like that above.
Let music swell the breeze,
And ring from all the trees, sweet freedom's song.
Let mortal tongues awake, let all that breathe partake,
Let rocks their silence break, the sound prolong.
Our father's God, to Thee,
Author of liberty, to Thee we sing.
Long may our land be bright, with freedom's holy light,
Protect us by Thy might, Great God our King.
My Country tis of Thee,
Sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing,
Land where my fathers died, land of the Pilgrim's pride,
From every mountain side let freedom ring.
My native country, thee,
Land of the noble free, thy name I love.
I love thy rocks and rills, thy woods and templed hills,
My heart with rapture thrills, like that above.
Let music swell the breeze,
And ring from all the trees, sweet freedom's song.
Let mortal tongues awake, let all that breathe partake,
Let rocks their silence break, the sound prolong.
Our father's God, to Thee,
Author of liberty, to Thee we sing.
Long may our land be bright, with freedom's holy light,
Protect us by Thy might, Great God our King.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Mr. Potato Head
Everyone was dressed in their finest formal wear, enjoying the most expensive dinner imaginable, in the extravagant, formal dining hall of Buckingham Palace. At the head table sitting to the left of the Queen of England was her husband, Prince Philip. Next to him the First Lady of the United States. At the Queen's right hand sat President Barack Obama in all his boyish splendor.
The last time they met Obama gave Queen Elizabeth II a gift worthy of a self-absorbed 12 year old, and his wife put her arms all over Her Majesty. Whether they agree with the monarchy or not, as the leader of the greatest nation on earth, proper protocol in foreign relations is a given, and anybody with half a brain would have learned what was proper to do before making a fool of himself in front of the whole world.
Not to be stopped, Obama proceeded at the state dinner last week to outdo himself. When it was his turn to speak he stood, made a few remarks from cue cards (no teleprompters were available), and asked everyone to stand for a toast to the queen. Then things began to get interesting. Headlines have announced that the Queen humiliated Obama by refusing to acknowledge his toast. But that's not really what happened.
Obama, great "orator" that he is, said, "To the Queen." The inflection in his voice dropped as if it were a final word, and he paused. The orchestra began to play the British National Anthem. Obama continued to speak, holding up his glass, and then turning to toast Elizabeth II. Only when she did not respond did he apparently realize that he was the only person in the entire hall holding up his glass. So he put it down, raised his arrogant chin, waited for the music to stop, and then when everybody including the Queen raised their glasses, he held his up to her again and she did respond.
I don't know a lot about royal protocol, but apparently when you toast the Queen, the National Anthem has to be played before completing the toast. Whether or not it is required, when it is played, everybody stands to attention in silence to honor the Queen. At least that's what everybody in the hall, including the president's wife, did, except for Obama. He kept right on babbling in his own little dream world, completely unaware of what was going on all around him.
Queen Elizabeth II humiliated no one. She followed the same protocol she has lived by for nearly 70 years, while the bumbling President of the United States didn't have enough common sense to put his glass down and shut up while the music played. The only one who humiliated Barack Obama was Barack Obama. What's worse, our buffoon of a president insulted not only the Queen, but every patriotic Brit, and every true American by his complete lack of class, and any understanding of the proper way to do anything. He is an embarrassment.
One good thing about his trip was his search for his ancestors in the potato fields of Ireland. He apparently found his roots.
The last time they met Obama gave Queen Elizabeth II a gift worthy of a self-absorbed 12 year old, and his wife put her arms all over Her Majesty. Whether they agree with the monarchy or not, as the leader of the greatest nation on earth, proper protocol in foreign relations is a given, and anybody with half a brain would have learned what was proper to do before making a fool of himself in front of the whole world.
Not to be stopped, Obama proceeded at the state dinner last week to outdo himself. When it was his turn to speak he stood, made a few remarks from cue cards (no teleprompters were available), and asked everyone to stand for a toast to the queen. Then things began to get interesting. Headlines have announced that the Queen humiliated Obama by refusing to acknowledge his toast. But that's not really what happened.
Obama, great "orator" that he is, said, "To the Queen." The inflection in his voice dropped as if it were a final word, and he paused. The orchestra began to play the British National Anthem. Obama continued to speak, holding up his glass, and then turning to toast Elizabeth II. Only when she did not respond did he apparently realize that he was the only person in the entire hall holding up his glass. So he put it down, raised his arrogant chin, waited for the music to stop, and then when everybody including the Queen raised their glasses, he held his up to her again and she did respond.
I don't know a lot about royal protocol, but apparently when you toast the Queen, the National Anthem has to be played before completing the toast. Whether or not it is required, when it is played, everybody stands to attention in silence to honor the Queen. At least that's what everybody in the hall, including the president's wife, did, except for Obama. He kept right on babbling in his own little dream world, completely unaware of what was going on all around him.
Queen Elizabeth II humiliated no one. She followed the same protocol she has lived by for nearly 70 years, while the bumbling President of the United States didn't have enough common sense to put his glass down and shut up while the music played. The only one who humiliated Barack Obama was Barack Obama. What's worse, our buffoon of a president insulted not only the Queen, but every patriotic Brit, and every true American by his complete lack of class, and any understanding of the proper way to do anything. He is an embarrassment.
One good thing about his trip was his search for his ancestors in the potato fields of Ireland. He apparently found his roots.
Monday, May 16, 2011
Crossing the River, Part 2
Stonewall Jackson's last words, "Let us cross over the river and rest under the shade of the trees," prompted me to write this continuation of the last entry, but it has nothing to do with the Civil War or Confederate heroes. When I was young I used to think those were the silliest last words ever. But as time went on they became more meaningful.
My Grandpa's favorite hymn was the gospel song, Shall We Gather at the River. It's a song about crossing over into heaven and gathering at the river of the water of life that flows from the throne of God (Rev. 22:1). There is also reference in the old Negro spirituals to crossing the Jordan, meaning to cross over into heaven. It makes sense then that Jackson would want to cross that river of death and rest in the shade on the heavenly side where there will be no more war and no more struggle, but only peace.
Years ago I was attempting to share the Gospel with a squadron mate, and he said he didn't care to go to heaven. No booze, no sex, there's nothing to do. It will be boring, he told me.
I suppose that if that's the only things that you can imagine will bring you pleasure then heaven would be a boring proposition, except that the alternative is much worse. But that's the problem with most people's vision. They only see the here and now; they have no concept of what lies ahead, of a different life in a spiritual realm that is completely unrelated to how we live now.
Paul wrote to the Corinthians, Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man the things which God hath prepared for them that love him (I Cor. 2:9). I am quite certain that regardless of what we think or suspect, heaven is going to be so much greater than anything we ever imagined, and it's not going to be boring.
To start with, the city of heaven is a cube, about 1500 miles in each direction, left, right, and up. It sits on a foundation of precious stones and has twelve gates made of pearls. There is a river, a crystal sea, and the tree of life, streets paved with gold, and the throne of God Almighty sitting somewhere in the middle. There are no light switches because Jesus Christ is the light of the city. You can read about it in the Book of Revelation, but the little glimpse that God gives us isn't even the tip of the iceberg. It's only a beginning description of a place words cannot begin to express and we cannot fathom, and it will never end throughout all eternity.
The last words of believers in Christ as they die intrigue me. In sleep, in battle and in other situations death comes suddenly and there is no chance for a last word. When my cousin's son, Zac, died, he was so weak when the end mercifully came, that all he could do was raise one finger and point to heaven.
But there are others who at the last moment have their "spiritual" eyes opened and gain a glimpse of what's on the other side. The famous preacher and evangelist, Dwight L. Moody, on his death bed in 1899, looked up and suddenly proclaimed, "It's glorious." Then he passed from this life and crossed the river. With no more description than that it makes you wonder what he saw that could elicit from him such a triumphant declaration.
My grandmother was in the ICU in a hospital in 1994 with the family gathered around. As she approached her final moments she began speaking in her native Frisian language and said, "I have always loved my family." A few moments later she said, "I must leave," and she was gone. It was a peaceful passing without a struggle. It made me wonder if at that moment the angels had come for her.
When our dear friend Gully was dying three years ago, my wife's sister told him to try and raise his arms if he saw the angels coming. Gully had suffered miserably with cancer. When the end came, he not only raised his arms, he sat up in the bed and shouted, "Praise the Lord." No doubt he saw the angels coming, and maybe a whole lot more.
My mother's best friend all the way back to their high school days was Jeannine Konnerup. Jeannine and her husband, Richard, were missionaries in Africa. Richard to this day still is. In 1985 Jeannine was dying of cancer. One evening when it appeared she was about to pass Richard touched her shoulder and spoke her name. She woke then and said, "Oh I wish you hadn't called me back. It was so beautiful." Two weeks later she went on to that beautiful place.
Is it any wonder our Founding Fathers wanted to make America a Christian nation? They themselves were Christians with the same faith and hope for a beautiful eternal future. What other faith or philosophy in the world offers anything to compare?
If you're a martyr for the cause of Islam you get 72 virgins for eternity. It has nothing for non-martyrs or women. Buddhism offers an end of physical desire and complete enlightenment. What that means nobody knows. The many versions of Hinduism offer reincarnation into lower life forms thousands of times before getting to some kind of reward that is unstated. Atheism offers nothing and no meaning for life. Existentialism is more of the same with a pessimistic view, as if atheism weren't already pessimistic enough.
Only the Christian faith, belief in Jesus Christ as an eternal Savior who gave His life in our place, offers any hope for a bright, eternal, joyful after life.
I don't know any more that I could say other than heaven is a place that I don't want to miss. And I'm not going to because on January 8, 1967, when I was twelve years old, I asked Jesus Christ to forgive my sins and come into my heart and save me. He did and I have the confidence of the testimony of the Word of God that when I come to the Valley of the Shadow, I will cross the river and join those gone before in my eternal home.
How about you?
My Grandpa's favorite hymn was the gospel song, Shall We Gather at the River. It's a song about crossing over into heaven and gathering at the river of the water of life that flows from the throne of God (Rev. 22:1). There is also reference in the old Negro spirituals to crossing the Jordan, meaning to cross over into heaven. It makes sense then that Jackson would want to cross that river of death and rest in the shade on the heavenly side where there will be no more war and no more struggle, but only peace.
Years ago I was attempting to share the Gospel with a squadron mate, and he said he didn't care to go to heaven. No booze, no sex, there's nothing to do. It will be boring, he told me.
I suppose that if that's the only things that you can imagine will bring you pleasure then heaven would be a boring proposition, except that the alternative is much worse. But that's the problem with most people's vision. They only see the here and now; they have no concept of what lies ahead, of a different life in a spiritual realm that is completely unrelated to how we live now.
Paul wrote to the Corinthians, Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man the things which God hath prepared for them that love him (I Cor. 2:9). I am quite certain that regardless of what we think or suspect, heaven is going to be so much greater than anything we ever imagined, and it's not going to be boring.
To start with, the city of heaven is a cube, about 1500 miles in each direction, left, right, and up. It sits on a foundation of precious stones and has twelve gates made of pearls. There is a river, a crystal sea, and the tree of life, streets paved with gold, and the throne of God Almighty sitting somewhere in the middle. There are no light switches because Jesus Christ is the light of the city. You can read about it in the Book of Revelation, but the little glimpse that God gives us isn't even the tip of the iceberg. It's only a beginning description of a place words cannot begin to express and we cannot fathom, and it will never end throughout all eternity.
The last words of believers in Christ as they die intrigue me. In sleep, in battle and in other situations death comes suddenly and there is no chance for a last word. When my cousin's son, Zac, died, he was so weak when the end mercifully came, that all he could do was raise one finger and point to heaven.
But there are others who at the last moment have their "spiritual" eyes opened and gain a glimpse of what's on the other side. The famous preacher and evangelist, Dwight L. Moody, on his death bed in 1899, looked up and suddenly proclaimed, "It's glorious." Then he passed from this life and crossed the river. With no more description than that it makes you wonder what he saw that could elicit from him such a triumphant declaration.
My grandmother was in the ICU in a hospital in 1994 with the family gathered around. As she approached her final moments she began speaking in her native Frisian language and said, "I have always loved my family." A few moments later she said, "I must leave," and she was gone. It was a peaceful passing without a struggle. It made me wonder if at that moment the angels had come for her.
When our dear friend Gully was dying three years ago, my wife's sister told him to try and raise his arms if he saw the angels coming. Gully had suffered miserably with cancer. When the end came, he not only raised his arms, he sat up in the bed and shouted, "Praise the Lord." No doubt he saw the angels coming, and maybe a whole lot more.
My mother's best friend all the way back to their high school days was Jeannine Konnerup. Jeannine and her husband, Richard, were missionaries in Africa. Richard to this day still is. In 1985 Jeannine was dying of cancer. One evening when it appeared she was about to pass Richard touched her shoulder and spoke her name. She woke then and said, "Oh I wish you hadn't called me back. It was so beautiful." Two weeks later she went on to that beautiful place.
Is it any wonder our Founding Fathers wanted to make America a Christian nation? They themselves were Christians with the same faith and hope for a beautiful eternal future. What other faith or philosophy in the world offers anything to compare?
If you're a martyr for the cause of Islam you get 72 virgins for eternity. It has nothing for non-martyrs or women. Buddhism offers an end of physical desire and complete enlightenment. What that means nobody knows. The many versions of Hinduism offer reincarnation into lower life forms thousands of times before getting to some kind of reward that is unstated. Atheism offers nothing and no meaning for life. Existentialism is more of the same with a pessimistic view, as if atheism weren't already pessimistic enough.
Only the Christian faith, belief in Jesus Christ as an eternal Savior who gave His life in our place, offers any hope for a bright, eternal, joyful after life.
I don't know any more that I could say other than heaven is a place that I don't want to miss. And I'm not going to because on January 8, 1967, when I was twelve years old, I asked Jesus Christ to forgive my sins and come into my heart and save me. He did and I have the confidence of the testimony of the Word of God that when I come to the Valley of the Shadow, I will cross the river and join those gone before in my eternal home.
How about you?
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Crossing the River, Part 1
On Monument Avenue, a parkway in Richmond, Virginia, on consecutive corners are monuments to three of the most revered leaders of the short-lived Confederacy, Robert E. Lee, Thomas J. Jackson, and James E.B. (JEB) Stuart. A short distance away stands the Confederate Museum, in what was the Confederate Capitol building, a testament to a time that many Southerners do not wish to forget. To many, these men were, and still are, heroes.
JEB Stuart, jaunty, happy-go-lucky, and roguish, was an outstanding horseman. Wearing a plumed hat, he was the perfect picture of the cavalier of days gone by. Bold and daring, he rode into the camp of Union General John Pope and stole his dress uniform from his tent. He earned a place in the hearts of his countrymen during the first three years of the Civil War by riding circles around the Army of the Potomac, and making the Union cavalry look inept. His troops would have ridden "to hell and back" with him.
Then, during a skirmish at an abandoned inn called Yellow Tavern on May 11, 1864, Stuart was wounded in the abdomen and died the next day in great pain, calling for his wife to be at his side. His last words were, "I am resigned, God's will be done."
Quite in contrast to Stuart, Robert E. Lee was majestic and dignified, a magnificent sculpture of manhood. An accomplished horseman himself, he was a hero of the Mexican War and superintendent of West Point before the Civil War. Refusing to go against his own state, Virginia, he joined the Confederacy and became the commander of the famed Army of Northern Virginia. A brilliant strategist, and willing to take unheard of risks, he won a dozen victories over an army often two or three times the size of his own. So beloved was he by his men, they would have charged the gates of hell itself for him, and on the third day at Gettysburg, they did.
During the war Lee never smiled. He carried the burden of the war and the weight of the entire South on his shoulders. He alone could have engineered a Southern victory with slightly different circumstances, but it was not to be. After the war another Lee emerged, one with a sense of humor, who would get on the floor to laugh and play with his grandchildren. On October 12, 1870, lying on his bed he suddenly said, "Strike the tent," and passed away at age 63.
Thomas J. Jackson was an enigma. Orphaned as a child, he struggled through school and life in poverty. Through a connected uncle he gained admission to West Point, where once again he struggled with academics. Through sheer determination and self-discipline, he made up for his weaknesses with a stubborn routine of study, and finished 16th in his graduating class.
Also a hero of the Mexican War, he was teaching artillery at the Virginia Military Institute, where students were known to call him "Tom Fool" Jackson. But when the war broke out Jackson's brilliance burst out with it and no one ever called him a fool again.
He earned his sobriquet, "Stonewall," at the first Battle of Bull Run when his brigade stood its ground while the rest of the Confederate army ran taking with it any hope of a separate nation. Jackson's stand turned the battle around and the South was for real. His valley campaign in the Shenendoah in 1862 was a textbook masterpiece still studied in war colleges today. Outnumbered four to one he raced his "foot cavalry" all over the valley defeating the Union forces by surprise at every turn, giving rise to the speculation that his troops didn't have to charge hell, they would have outflanked it and captured the Devil himself.
With the valley secured Lee called Jackson to join him on the peninsula and together, through deception and daring, they were virtually undefeatable. Jackson became a legend for his flanking movements, and the oft argued debate is whether or not if he had been at Gettysburg he would have driven the Union right flank off Culp's Hill on day one and changed the course of the battle and the entire war.
All three were devout Christian gentlemen outside the war, but in battle they were as cold and hard as steel. Jackson was the most curious. He was almost painfully shy and uncomfortable speaking to people in public, but put a uniform on and he barked orders with the command of an evangelist calling people to repentance. He always tried to avoid fighting on Sunday and would pray all night before a battle, but then challenge his troops to "give them the bayonet."
On May 2, 1863 at a whistle stop called Chancelorsville, Lee divided his army not once, but twice, and sent Jackson on a flanking movement that crushed the Union army just as it was sitting down to dinner. Jackson had made his greatest march, and Lee won his greatest battle, but late in the evening Jackson rode ahead of his lines to reconnoiter. In the darkness his own men opened fire and Jackson was wounded. He lost his left arm, but would have recovered from it except for pneumonia setting in. On Sunday, May 10, a day he saw as fitting, Stonewall Jackson passed from this life.
News spread quickly and papers reported that for the first time people in both the North and the South mourned together. Jackson's last words were, "Let us cross over the river and rest under the shade of the trees."
JEB Stuart, jaunty, happy-go-lucky, and roguish, was an outstanding horseman. Wearing a plumed hat, he was the perfect picture of the cavalier of days gone by. Bold and daring, he rode into the camp of Union General John Pope and stole his dress uniform from his tent. He earned a place in the hearts of his countrymen during the first three years of the Civil War by riding circles around the Army of the Potomac, and making the Union cavalry look inept. His troops would have ridden "to hell and back" with him.
Then, during a skirmish at an abandoned inn called Yellow Tavern on May 11, 1864, Stuart was wounded in the abdomen and died the next day in great pain, calling for his wife to be at his side. His last words were, "I am resigned, God's will be done."
Quite in contrast to Stuart, Robert E. Lee was majestic and dignified, a magnificent sculpture of manhood. An accomplished horseman himself, he was a hero of the Mexican War and superintendent of West Point before the Civil War. Refusing to go against his own state, Virginia, he joined the Confederacy and became the commander of the famed Army of Northern Virginia. A brilliant strategist, and willing to take unheard of risks, he won a dozen victories over an army often two or three times the size of his own. So beloved was he by his men, they would have charged the gates of hell itself for him, and on the third day at Gettysburg, they did.
During the war Lee never smiled. He carried the burden of the war and the weight of the entire South on his shoulders. He alone could have engineered a Southern victory with slightly different circumstances, but it was not to be. After the war another Lee emerged, one with a sense of humor, who would get on the floor to laugh and play with his grandchildren. On October 12, 1870, lying on his bed he suddenly said, "Strike the tent," and passed away at age 63.
Thomas J. Jackson was an enigma. Orphaned as a child, he struggled through school and life in poverty. Through a connected uncle he gained admission to West Point, where once again he struggled with academics. Through sheer determination and self-discipline, he made up for his weaknesses with a stubborn routine of study, and finished 16th in his graduating class.
Also a hero of the Mexican War, he was teaching artillery at the Virginia Military Institute, where students were known to call him "Tom Fool" Jackson. But when the war broke out Jackson's brilliance burst out with it and no one ever called him a fool again.
He earned his sobriquet, "Stonewall," at the first Battle of Bull Run when his brigade stood its ground while the rest of the Confederate army ran taking with it any hope of a separate nation. Jackson's stand turned the battle around and the South was for real. His valley campaign in the Shenendoah in 1862 was a textbook masterpiece still studied in war colleges today. Outnumbered four to one he raced his "foot cavalry" all over the valley defeating the Union forces by surprise at every turn, giving rise to the speculation that his troops didn't have to charge hell, they would have outflanked it and captured the Devil himself.
With the valley secured Lee called Jackson to join him on the peninsula and together, through deception and daring, they were virtually undefeatable. Jackson became a legend for his flanking movements, and the oft argued debate is whether or not if he had been at Gettysburg he would have driven the Union right flank off Culp's Hill on day one and changed the course of the battle and the entire war.
All three were devout Christian gentlemen outside the war, but in battle they were as cold and hard as steel. Jackson was the most curious. He was almost painfully shy and uncomfortable speaking to people in public, but put a uniform on and he barked orders with the command of an evangelist calling people to repentance. He always tried to avoid fighting on Sunday and would pray all night before a battle, but then challenge his troops to "give them the bayonet."
On May 2, 1863 at a whistle stop called Chancelorsville, Lee divided his army not once, but twice, and sent Jackson on a flanking movement that crushed the Union army just as it was sitting down to dinner. Jackson had made his greatest march, and Lee won his greatest battle, but late in the evening Jackson rode ahead of his lines to reconnoiter. In the darkness his own men opened fire and Jackson was wounded. He lost his left arm, but would have recovered from it except for pneumonia setting in. On Sunday, May 10, a day he saw as fitting, Stonewall Jackson passed from this life.
News spread quickly and papers reported that for the first time people in both the North and the South mourned together. Jackson's last words were, "Let us cross over the river and rest under the shade of the trees."
Saturday, April 30, 2011
The Only Real Game in the World: A Symbol of American Patriotism
In ancient times there was a game played in Egypt that included hitting a ball with a stick. The game appeared in different places in different variations through the centuries until sometime in the 1500's the first documented game of "cricket" was played in southern England. Another variant that appeared during the Tudor dynasty was called "rounders," where the players ran around four bases to score rather than back and forth as in cricket.
In America, a game similar to rounders became popular in the early 19th century. It was sometimes known as "townball" or "base." In New York City, a book seller and volunteer fireman named Alexander Cartwright, wrote a rule book and organized the New York Knickerbocker Base Ball Club. At Elysian Fields in Hoboken, New Jersey on June 19, 1846, Cartwright and the Knickerbockers lost to the New York Nine 21-1 in the first ever official game of baseball.
Baseball grew with the country. As the nation expanded baseball teams sprung up in many cities and by 1858 the National Association of Base Ball Players became the first amateur baseball league. During the Civil War baseball tournaments between regiments were popular.
In 1869 the Cincinnati Red Stockings became the first professionally paid baseball team, took on all comers and finished their first season with a perfect 65-0 record. At a time when America's industrial might was beginning to propel the United States into the envy of the world, baseball's popularity also prospered and in 1871, the National Association became the first professional baseball league.
During the westward expansion of this era came wild western towns, many founded on gold or silver strikes. Almost immediately gamblers and saloon keepers would arrive bringing with them gunslingers, prostitutes and trouble. Townspeople wanting a decent place to live would then elect a marshal or sheriff to maintain law and order, and eventually secure, thriving communities with businesses, schools, churches, and law-abiding citizens would flourish.
Meanwhile in the northeast, the National Association's original nine teams expanded to 13 by 1875, but gamblers and the sale of liquor at the games kept people away, and by 1876 the National League was founded with the teams owned by businessmen rather than the players, and rules of conduct established to police the game. Baseball was again safe for family entertainment. While the Indian wars were being fought on the western frontier, easterners from Chicago to Boston spent leisurely summer afternoons watching their favorite teams play.
In 1900 an upstart new league, the American, was founded amid much criticism from National League owners and purists. But the American League stuck and by 1903 had challenged the Nationals to a playoff to determine a national champion. The World Series was born and baseball had become America's National Pastime.
Baseball has had its share of colorful figures. In the 1880's a brash, often drunk, bandy-legged speedster named Billy Sunday, playing for the Chicago White Sox, became the first man to run the bases in under fourteen seconds. One night after a drinking spree he stumbled into the Pacific Garden Mission in Chicago, gave his life to Christ, and would give up baseball to become the most celebrated evangelist in the United States for the next forty years.
There was Big Ed Delahunty, who in the 1890's became the first player to hit four homeruns in a single game. All four were inside the park homers. One night he got drunk, walked off a bridge, fell into a river and drowned. There was Rube Waddell, a southpaw who set the standard for flakiness by running out of the ball park in the middle of an inning he was pitching to watch a fire truck go by. There was Jimmy Foxx, known as "the beast" because he hit the ball so hard, Ted Williams, the "Splendid Splinter," Mickey Mantle, the "Sweet Switcheroo," and "Mr. October," Reggie Jackson, one of the greatest clutch hitters of all time.
And how about the greatest misnomer of all, Frank "Home Run" Baker, who hit twelve in 1913. Baker earned his nickname in the 1911 World Series when he hit two homeruns in consecutive games off two of the best pitchers of the day, Rube Marquard and Christy Matthewson, while leading his Philadelphia Athletics to a 4 games to 2 victory over the New York Giants. Baker unfortunately played at a time known as the "dead-ball" era when the balls weren't wound as tight, were without cork centers and didn't travel near as far. Had he come along ten years later he might have rivaled Babe Ruth.
George Herman "Babe" Ruth was perhaps the most well known and the greatest ballplayer of all time. He started as a pitcher for Boston, but when traded to the Yankees he was placed in the outfield and singlehandedly transformed baseball from dead-ball era strategies of singles, sacrifice bunts and stolen bases into heroic home run derbies with monster shots that he routinely hit over the bleachers and clear out of stadiums.
Perhaps the draw of baseball is that while the game has grown with America, it also embodies all that is good about America. It has intense team rivalries, but the focus is on the head-to-head duels between two warriors, the pitcher and the batter. It's a picture of the pioneer spirit that went into the wilderness unafraid to face a worthy foe. Playing the Star Spangled Banner before the game became one of baseball's first traditions. The game is Americana itself; hotdogs, apple pie, mom and patriotism.
In 1918, Christy Matthewson, who invented the screwball and is arguably the greatest pitcher of all time, left baseball to serve his country in World War I. In a training accident he was gassed, developed tuberculosis, and died in 1925 at the age of 45. Many more players, including "Joltin'" Joe DiMaggio, gave up years of prime playing time to fight for freedom in World War II. Others served in Korea and Vietnam. Ted Williams, the last .400 hitter in baseball, gave up five years of his career to serve in both World War II and Korea.
Baseball led the way in civil rights. Long before Rosa Parks or the Civil Rights Act of 1964, baseball took a young black ballplayer by the name of Jackie Robinson and became the first major sport in America to integrate.
Baseball is a drama that has touched the heart strings of millions. There were no dry eyes in Yankee stadium on the day in 1939 when Lou Gehrig said farewell. Suffering from amiotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS), the disease that would forever after bear his name, Gehrig very shyly spoke to the crowd. "Some people say that I've been given a bad break, but today, I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the earth."
When he died two years later, Gary Cooper played the part of Lou Gehrig in Pride of the Yankees. A young teenage ballplayer saw the movie and from then on had only one desire, to play for the Yankees. He got his chance and in 1966 at the end of his career, Bobby Richardson had his own day at Yankee stadium where he finished his comments with, "To God be the glory."
Baseball's defining patriotic moment came on April 25, 1976 at Chavez Ravine in Los Angeles, California. The Dodgers were playing the Chicago Cubs. In the middle of the game with the Dodgers at bat, two Iranian Muslim "students" climbed over the outfield fence and ran into left-centerfield. They pulled out an American flag, doused it with lighter fluid, and tried to light it on fire. When he realized what was happening, Cubs centerfielder, Rick Monday, came racing in from his position, scooped up the flag and rescued it. As he ran toward the third base dugout, Dodger third base coach, Tommy Lasorda, charged like a raging bull to the outfield giving the two Iranians a cussing like they had never heard before and held them until security arrived to escort them out of the stadium. The fans stood and began applauding, and somewhere spontaneously it started, and then broke out around the stadium, and in a moment the entire crowd was singing God Bless America.
Rick Monday was so popular in Los Angeles that the team traded for him at the end of the season and he finished his career playing for the Dodgers. In a 2006 interview a reporter asked him if it was upsetting to him after playing 19 seasons in the Major Leagues that the only thing he is remembered for is rescuing the flag. Monday replied, "If that's all you're known for, it's not a bad thing. I think it solidifies the thought process of hundreds of thousands of people that represented this country in fine fashion. Many of them lost their lives."
Rick Monday spoke for all true patriots who love America, who have served, and who have given their lives for their country. Monday was not only a fine representative of the Great American National Pastime, he is one of those who have served America in fine fashion, and is a true American patriot.
And baseball is still the greatest game, or as Babe Ruth once said, "the only real game, I think, in the world...."
In America, a game similar to rounders became popular in the early 19th century. It was sometimes known as "townball" or "base." In New York City, a book seller and volunteer fireman named Alexander Cartwright, wrote a rule book and organized the New York Knickerbocker Base Ball Club. At Elysian Fields in Hoboken, New Jersey on June 19, 1846, Cartwright and the Knickerbockers lost to the New York Nine 21-1 in the first ever official game of baseball.
Baseball grew with the country. As the nation expanded baseball teams sprung up in many cities and by 1858 the National Association of Base Ball Players became the first amateur baseball league. During the Civil War baseball tournaments between regiments were popular.
In 1869 the Cincinnati Red Stockings became the first professionally paid baseball team, took on all comers and finished their first season with a perfect 65-0 record. At a time when America's industrial might was beginning to propel the United States into the envy of the world, baseball's popularity also prospered and in 1871, the National Association became the first professional baseball league.
During the westward expansion of this era came wild western towns, many founded on gold or silver strikes. Almost immediately gamblers and saloon keepers would arrive bringing with them gunslingers, prostitutes and trouble. Townspeople wanting a decent place to live would then elect a marshal or sheriff to maintain law and order, and eventually secure, thriving communities with businesses, schools, churches, and law-abiding citizens would flourish.
Meanwhile in the northeast, the National Association's original nine teams expanded to 13 by 1875, but gamblers and the sale of liquor at the games kept people away, and by 1876 the National League was founded with the teams owned by businessmen rather than the players, and rules of conduct established to police the game. Baseball was again safe for family entertainment. While the Indian wars were being fought on the western frontier, easterners from Chicago to Boston spent leisurely summer afternoons watching their favorite teams play.
In 1900 an upstart new league, the American, was founded amid much criticism from National League owners and purists. But the American League stuck and by 1903 had challenged the Nationals to a playoff to determine a national champion. The World Series was born and baseball had become America's National Pastime.
Baseball has had its share of colorful figures. In the 1880's a brash, often drunk, bandy-legged speedster named Billy Sunday, playing for the Chicago White Sox, became the first man to run the bases in under fourteen seconds. One night after a drinking spree he stumbled into the Pacific Garden Mission in Chicago, gave his life to Christ, and would give up baseball to become the most celebrated evangelist in the United States for the next forty years.
There was Big Ed Delahunty, who in the 1890's became the first player to hit four homeruns in a single game. All four were inside the park homers. One night he got drunk, walked off a bridge, fell into a river and drowned. There was Rube Waddell, a southpaw who set the standard for flakiness by running out of the ball park in the middle of an inning he was pitching to watch a fire truck go by. There was Jimmy Foxx, known as "the beast" because he hit the ball so hard, Ted Williams, the "Splendid Splinter," Mickey Mantle, the "Sweet Switcheroo," and "Mr. October," Reggie Jackson, one of the greatest clutch hitters of all time.
And how about the greatest misnomer of all, Frank "Home Run" Baker, who hit twelve in 1913. Baker earned his nickname in the 1911 World Series when he hit two homeruns in consecutive games off two of the best pitchers of the day, Rube Marquard and Christy Matthewson, while leading his Philadelphia Athletics to a 4 games to 2 victory over the New York Giants. Baker unfortunately played at a time known as the "dead-ball" era when the balls weren't wound as tight, were without cork centers and didn't travel near as far. Had he come along ten years later he might have rivaled Babe Ruth.
George Herman "Babe" Ruth was perhaps the most well known and the greatest ballplayer of all time. He started as a pitcher for Boston, but when traded to the Yankees he was placed in the outfield and singlehandedly transformed baseball from dead-ball era strategies of singles, sacrifice bunts and stolen bases into heroic home run derbies with monster shots that he routinely hit over the bleachers and clear out of stadiums.
Perhaps the draw of baseball is that while the game has grown with America, it also embodies all that is good about America. It has intense team rivalries, but the focus is on the head-to-head duels between two warriors, the pitcher and the batter. It's a picture of the pioneer spirit that went into the wilderness unafraid to face a worthy foe. Playing the Star Spangled Banner before the game became one of baseball's first traditions. The game is Americana itself; hotdogs, apple pie, mom and patriotism.
In 1918, Christy Matthewson, who invented the screwball and is arguably the greatest pitcher of all time, left baseball to serve his country in World War I. In a training accident he was gassed, developed tuberculosis, and died in 1925 at the age of 45. Many more players, including "Joltin'" Joe DiMaggio, gave up years of prime playing time to fight for freedom in World War II. Others served in Korea and Vietnam. Ted Williams, the last .400 hitter in baseball, gave up five years of his career to serve in both World War II and Korea.
Baseball led the way in civil rights. Long before Rosa Parks or the Civil Rights Act of 1964, baseball took a young black ballplayer by the name of Jackie Robinson and became the first major sport in America to integrate.
Baseball is a drama that has touched the heart strings of millions. There were no dry eyes in Yankee stadium on the day in 1939 when Lou Gehrig said farewell. Suffering from amiotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS), the disease that would forever after bear his name, Gehrig very shyly spoke to the crowd. "Some people say that I've been given a bad break, but today, I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the earth."
When he died two years later, Gary Cooper played the part of Lou Gehrig in Pride of the Yankees. A young teenage ballplayer saw the movie and from then on had only one desire, to play for the Yankees. He got his chance and in 1966 at the end of his career, Bobby Richardson had his own day at Yankee stadium where he finished his comments with, "To God be the glory."
Baseball's defining patriotic moment came on April 25, 1976 at Chavez Ravine in Los Angeles, California. The Dodgers were playing the Chicago Cubs. In the middle of the game with the Dodgers at bat, two Iranian Muslim "students" climbed over the outfield fence and ran into left-centerfield. They pulled out an American flag, doused it with lighter fluid, and tried to light it on fire. When he realized what was happening, Cubs centerfielder, Rick Monday, came racing in from his position, scooped up the flag and rescued it. As he ran toward the third base dugout, Dodger third base coach, Tommy Lasorda, charged like a raging bull to the outfield giving the two Iranians a cussing like they had never heard before and held them until security arrived to escort them out of the stadium. The fans stood and began applauding, and somewhere spontaneously it started, and then broke out around the stadium, and in a moment the entire crowd was singing God Bless America.
Rick Monday was so popular in Los Angeles that the team traded for him at the end of the season and he finished his career playing for the Dodgers. In a 2006 interview a reporter asked him if it was upsetting to him after playing 19 seasons in the Major Leagues that the only thing he is remembered for is rescuing the flag. Monday replied, "If that's all you're known for, it's not a bad thing. I think it solidifies the thought process of hundreds of thousands of people that represented this country in fine fashion. Many of them lost their lives."
Rick Monday spoke for all true patriots who love America, who have served, and who have given their lives for their country. Monday was not only a fine representative of the Great American National Pastime, he is one of those who have served America in fine fashion, and is a true American patriot.
And baseball is still the greatest game, or as Babe Ruth once said, "the only real game, I think, in the world...."
Friday, April 29, 2011
It's Just a Birth Certificate
Yesterday the president finally released his birth certificate to the public and followed it immediately with a press conference in which he took no questions. He just made a statement and left. It looks after all like Donald Trump has done what the Democrats didn't try to do, the liberal media didn't want to do, the Republicans didn't insist on being done, and the birthers couldn't get done no matter how loudly they protested.
CNN overseas interviewed a Democrat White House strategist named Maria something (I didn't catch her last name) who claimed the Republicans should thank Obama for releasing the birth certificate because now they can concentrate on the real issues. She said essentially that the White House would be glad to hear something from the Republicans on relevant issues rather than these distractions.
Well, first of all, most of the leading Republicans in both the House and the Senate have stated openly they believe Obama has a birth certificate from Hawaii. Even conservative talk show hosts Bill O'Reilly and Glen Beck have refused to be drawn into the argument. The Republicans in government and the radio/TV presenters that Obama hates the most have basically backed him up on this. It's the so-called "birthers" and Donald Trump that have pressed the issue.
Furthermore, the White House hasn't listened to a single word the Republicans have said on any relevant issue for the last two years. What makes her, or anybody, think they are going to listen now that the birth certificate controversy is supposedly over?
In his press conference Obama said that he has "watched with amusement" these last two and a half years and "I have been puzzled by the degree to which this thing kept on going."
I don't think it's all that amusing myself, and why should he be puzzled? He supposedly has spent nearly a million dollars in legal fees trying to prevent not only his birth certificate but every other private document in his life from being released to the public. That's why this thing has kept going on. So much for the most transparent administration in history.
"We got some enormous challenges out there," he continued. "There are a lot of folks who are still looking for work. Everybody is still suffering under high gas prices. We're going to have to make a series of very difficult decisions about how we invest in our future, but also get a hold of our deficit and our debt."
Interesting he would bring up these relevant issues. These are the very ones the Republicans are shouting in his face every day, and he is either intentionally ignoring them, or is so absolutely brain dead when it comes to sensible ideas for fixing them that he has no answers. His supposed efforts in dealing with these problems have made them exponentially worse than they were when he took office.
Obama went on to say we wouldn't be able to solve the problems "if we vilify each other." Then he went on to vilify birthers as being distracted by side shows and apparently referred to Trump as a "carnival barker." He went on to say, "We do not have time for this kind of story. I've got better stuff to do."
Uh-huh. Better stuff like ... campaigning. And do I hear the links calling? Or Oprah Winfrey?
He is right, though. With the world in the financial crisis it is in and unrest breaking out all over the Middle East, we don't have time for this chicanery. He could have taken care of this two and a half years ago, but has steadfastly refused until somebody with the guts and the bucks to stand up to him and his media lap dogs forced his hand.
The question is, why after fighting it so hard all this time does he suddenly give in now?
Two and a half years is a lot of time to find a good forger and to cover the tracks. And how about the document itself? His father's race is listed as "African." African isn't a race. I don't know how they would print it now, but in 1961 black people were still called "Negro," or their race, "Negroid." That's what you would expect to have shown up on the birth certificate. So can we be certain it is even legitimate?
Or how about this scenario? Obama intentionally held back his birth certificate in order to create this mess to distract the country from his double dealing attempts to by-pass the Constitution, and so he could make the Republicans look like fools by pulling it out at the last minute before the 2012 elections, thereby ensuring his reelection.
Unfortunately for the president, Trump trumped him by sending investigators to Hawaii to find out the truth, forcing him to divulge the information too soon.
Maybe, it's a little bit of both. Maybe Trump needs to continue his investigation.
CNN overseas interviewed a Democrat White House strategist named Maria something (I didn't catch her last name) who claimed the Republicans should thank Obama for releasing the birth certificate because now they can concentrate on the real issues. She said essentially that the White House would be glad to hear something from the Republicans on relevant issues rather than these distractions.
Well, first of all, most of the leading Republicans in both the House and the Senate have stated openly they believe Obama has a birth certificate from Hawaii. Even conservative talk show hosts Bill O'Reilly and Glen Beck have refused to be drawn into the argument. The Republicans in government and the radio/TV presenters that Obama hates the most have basically backed him up on this. It's the so-called "birthers" and Donald Trump that have pressed the issue.
Furthermore, the White House hasn't listened to a single word the Republicans have said on any relevant issue for the last two years. What makes her, or anybody, think they are going to listen now that the birth certificate controversy is supposedly over?
In his press conference Obama said that he has "watched with amusement" these last two and a half years and "I have been puzzled by the degree to which this thing kept on going."
I don't think it's all that amusing myself, and why should he be puzzled? He supposedly has spent nearly a million dollars in legal fees trying to prevent not only his birth certificate but every other private document in his life from being released to the public. That's why this thing has kept going on. So much for the most transparent administration in history.
"We got some enormous challenges out there," he continued. "There are a lot of folks who are still looking for work. Everybody is still suffering under high gas prices. We're going to have to make a series of very difficult decisions about how we invest in our future, but also get a hold of our deficit and our debt."
Interesting he would bring up these relevant issues. These are the very ones the Republicans are shouting in his face every day, and he is either intentionally ignoring them, or is so absolutely brain dead when it comes to sensible ideas for fixing them that he has no answers. His supposed efforts in dealing with these problems have made them exponentially worse than they were when he took office.
Obama went on to say we wouldn't be able to solve the problems "if we vilify each other." Then he went on to vilify birthers as being distracted by side shows and apparently referred to Trump as a "carnival barker." He went on to say, "We do not have time for this kind of story. I've got better stuff to do."
Uh-huh. Better stuff like ... campaigning. And do I hear the links calling? Or Oprah Winfrey?
He is right, though. With the world in the financial crisis it is in and unrest breaking out all over the Middle East, we don't have time for this chicanery. He could have taken care of this two and a half years ago, but has steadfastly refused until somebody with the guts and the bucks to stand up to him and his media lap dogs forced his hand.
The question is, why after fighting it so hard all this time does he suddenly give in now?
Two and a half years is a lot of time to find a good forger and to cover the tracks. And how about the document itself? His father's race is listed as "African." African isn't a race. I don't know how they would print it now, but in 1961 black people were still called "Negro," or their race, "Negroid." That's what you would expect to have shown up on the birth certificate. So can we be certain it is even legitimate?
Or how about this scenario? Obama intentionally held back his birth certificate in order to create this mess to distract the country from his double dealing attempts to by-pass the Constitution, and so he could make the Republicans look like fools by pulling it out at the last minute before the 2012 elections, thereby ensuring his reelection.
Unfortunately for the president, Trump trumped him by sending investigators to Hawaii to find out the truth, forcing him to divulge the information too soon.
Maybe, it's a little bit of both. Maybe Trump needs to continue his investigation.
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Resurrection Day
The king of the TV and radio interviewers, Larry King, was once asked who would be his choice if he could interview anybody in history, and what would he ask him. King answered, Jesus Christ, and he would ask him whether or not he really rose from the grave. Why? the dumbfounded pundit wondered. "Because," King answered, "the answer to that question makes all the difference in the world."
King's answer intrigues me and I wonder if he has thought any more about it. Having a degree in history I've often thought of events that I would like to have witnessed. Some time ago I wrote about incidents in American history that interest me, but I also have a list of Bible events that I wish I could have seen first hand as well.
For instance, I would like to have seen the creation, the black void of space when the stars were suddenly turned on (No, I don't believe in the Big Bang.) and the world in its innocence. I would like to have watched Noah taking a hundred years to build an ark in the midst of taunts and criticisms. I would like to have seen Moses leading the Children of Israel across the Red Sea, the walls of Jericho falling down, and the favorite of every young boy I've ever taught in Sunday school, including my two sons, David and Goliath. I would like to have seen David and Jonathan weeping uncontrollably when they parted for the last time. I wish I could have seen the handwriting on the wall, or been in the throne room when Esther approached the king uninvited. I would love to have been a shepherd in the field watching the flocks when the angels appeared to announce, "Peace on earth." I would like to have seen the feeding of the five thousand and Lazarus raised from the dead. As painful as it would have been, I would want to have seen the crucifixion to see exactly what Jesus suffered for me, but even more, to have been with Peter and John when they peered into the empty tomb.
But there is one story in Scripture that I wish I could have experienced more than anything else. It's found in Luke 24:13-32, and took place on Easter Sunday, a few hours after the resurrection. Cleopas and another disciple were walking down the road to Emmaus when they were joined by Jesus. Their eyes were "hidden" so that they didn't recognize Him as they talked about the rumors of Christ being alive and wondered what it all meant. Jesus asked them about their conversation, and they, thinking He must be a stranger in town, explained to Him the crucifixion and the stories going around about a resurrection.
Then Christ rebuked them for their unbelief. "Ought not Christ to have suffered these things, and to enter into His glory?" Beginning with Moses, He expounded all the Old Testament Scriptures concerning Himself to them. The Bible doesn't record what He said, but I have an idea Jesus may have said something like this:
In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth. Then He created man in His own image, called him Adam, and placed him in the Garden of Eden. Then God gave Adam a wife, Eve, and began the institution of marriage. Satan came along and tempted Eve to sin. Adam joined her in disobedience and they were cast out of the Garden, their fellowship with God broken by sin.
Before He sent them away, however, God gave them a promise recorded in Genesis 3:15, of a coming Savior who would forgive their sins and redeem their souls. The world without God's presence became an increasingly wicked place until God called out Noah and his family to build an ark and saved them from the judgment He rained on the world. As the world's population grew again, man again turned against God and at the Tower of Babel, in modern day Babylon, God confused the languages, scattered the people and created the nations. Then in Genesis 12:2, He called Abraham and promised to make of him a great nation, Israel. During a famine the Israelites moved down into Egypt, God having used Joseph to prepare a way to save the nation. There, before he died, Jacob prophesied that the coming Messiah would come from the tribe of Judah (Genesis 49:10).
The Jews were in captivity in Egypt for 430 years until Moses was called to lead them out. But Moses was afraid and questioned God's plan saying, "Whom shall I say has sent me?" God answered him in Exodus 3:14, "I AM THAT I AM." Moses led the Israelites across the Red Sea to Mt. Sinai where God gave him the Law. But the Jews rebelled and spent 40 years wandering in the Wilderness of the Sinai Peninsula until Joshua led them into their Promised Land. The Jews were ruled by a series of Judges for about 350 years until the monarchy was established, but after Solomon's rule the kingdom was divided and for 500 years lived in constant rebellion against God until Nebuchadnezzar destroyed Jerusalem.
For a thousand years following Moses God sent prophets who preached against sin, warned of judgment, and promised a coming Messiah. Daniel 9:25 gave a clue to the exact time of His birth; Micah 5:2 told of the place of His birth; Isaiah 7:14 declared it would be a virgin birth; in Isaiah 9:7 he would be heir to the throne of David; Malachi 3:1 established a forerunner (John the Baptist); Zechariah 9:9 told of the Triumphal Entry into Jerusalem; Zechariah 11:12 that He would be betrayed for 30 pieces of silver; in Psalm 35:11 He was accused by false witnesses; in Isaiah 53:3 He would be rejected by His own people; Zechariah 12:10 explained His hands and feet would be pierced; He was sentenced with criminals in Isaiah 53:12; scorned and mocked in Psalm 22:7; given vinegar and gall to drink in Psalm 69:21; and in Psalm 22:1 He cried out the lonliest words ever heard by any human ear, "My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?"
Isaiah 53:5 explains that His death was a vicarious sacrifice. God turned His back on Jesus while He died on the cross and paid the penalty for our sins. "He was wounded for our transgressions." He bore our punishment so that we might never have God turn His back on us. He suffered because He loved us. John 3:16: For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believes in Him, should not perish, but have everlasting life. Then in Psalm 16:10, His resurrection was foretold.
No doubt Christ's explanation was much more eloquent and thorough than this, but it prompts a question. Why was all this written about Jesus? Who was He? Why was He so important that 1,000 years of prophecy was written about Him and all of it was fulfilled?
In John's Gospel chapter eight, the Pharisees were once again arguing with Jesus over His credentials, and justifying themselves claimed that they were the children of Abraham. Then in verse 56 Jesus tells them that Abraham rejoiced to see His birth. The Pharisees mocked Him more; Jesus was not yet fifty years old. How could Abraham, who had lived 2,000 years before, have rejoiced at His birth? To that Jesus replied in verse 58, "Before Abraham was, I AM."
The Pharisees knew exactly what He meant. He had just told them the same thing God had told Moses from the burning bush in Exodus chapter three. He had emphatically declared that He was, and is, and forever will be God of very God.
When He finished his discourse, Jesus and the two disciples stopped to eat. They sat down and as Jesus blessed the food the disciples' eyes were opened, and they suddenly recognized Him. Jesus then vanished out of their sight. The disciples looked at each other and in Luke 24:32 said, "Did not our hearts burn within us while He talked with us by the way, and while He opened to us the Scriptures?"
This is the Gospel according to I Corinthians 15:3-4: "Christ died for our sins, according to the Scriptures; and that He was buried, and that He rose again the third day according to the Scriptures."
This is the message that needs to burn in every human heart. In the hearts of those who are lost, that is, without faith in Jesus Christ, their hearts need to burn with the conviction that they must repent of their sins and receive Jesus Christ as Savior. In the hearts of those who are saved, that is, those who have already put their faith in Christ, their hearts need to burn with the conviction that this is the message the world needs to hear, and that they need to tell it.
This is the message and the faith that our Founding Fathers believed in. This is the religion and the God that they spoke about often in their writings. This is the faith that America was built upon and needs to return to today. This is the Savior that promises to bless the nation whose God is the Lord (Psalm 33:12).
This is the true meaning of the Resurrection. Faith in Jesus Christ is the answer to life and eternity. Larry King had it right; the answer to the question of the resurrection does make all the difference in the world. Have you received Christ as your own Savior?
Happy Resurrection Day.
King's answer intrigues me and I wonder if he has thought any more about it. Having a degree in history I've often thought of events that I would like to have witnessed. Some time ago I wrote about incidents in American history that interest me, but I also have a list of Bible events that I wish I could have seen first hand as well.
For instance, I would like to have seen the creation, the black void of space when the stars were suddenly turned on (No, I don't believe in the Big Bang.) and the world in its innocence. I would like to have watched Noah taking a hundred years to build an ark in the midst of taunts and criticisms. I would like to have seen Moses leading the Children of Israel across the Red Sea, the walls of Jericho falling down, and the favorite of every young boy I've ever taught in Sunday school, including my two sons, David and Goliath. I would like to have seen David and Jonathan weeping uncontrollably when they parted for the last time. I wish I could have seen the handwriting on the wall, or been in the throne room when Esther approached the king uninvited. I would love to have been a shepherd in the field watching the flocks when the angels appeared to announce, "Peace on earth." I would like to have seen the feeding of the five thousand and Lazarus raised from the dead. As painful as it would have been, I would want to have seen the crucifixion to see exactly what Jesus suffered for me, but even more, to have been with Peter and John when they peered into the empty tomb.
But there is one story in Scripture that I wish I could have experienced more than anything else. It's found in Luke 24:13-32, and took place on Easter Sunday, a few hours after the resurrection. Cleopas and another disciple were walking down the road to Emmaus when they were joined by Jesus. Their eyes were "hidden" so that they didn't recognize Him as they talked about the rumors of Christ being alive and wondered what it all meant. Jesus asked them about their conversation, and they, thinking He must be a stranger in town, explained to Him the crucifixion and the stories going around about a resurrection.
Then Christ rebuked them for their unbelief. "Ought not Christ to have suffered these things, and to enter into His glory?" Beginning with Moses, He expounded all the Old Testament Scriptures concerning Himself to them. The Bible doesn't record what He said, but I have an idea Jesus may have said something like this:
In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth. Then He created man in His own image, called him Adam, and placed him in the Garden of Eden. Then God gave Adam a wife, Eve, and began the institution of marriage. Satan came along and tempted Eve to sin. Adam joined her in disobedience and they were cast out of the Garden, their fellowship with God broken by sin.
Before He sent them away, however, God gave them a promise recorded in Genesis 3:15, of a coming Savior who would forgive their sins and redeem their souls. The world without God's presence became an increasingly wicked place until God called out Noah and his family to build an ark and saved them from the judgment He rained on the world. As the world's population grew again, man again turned against God and at the Tower of Babel, in modern day Babylon, God confused the languages, scattered the people and created the nations. Then in Genesis 12:2, He called Abraham and promised to make of him a great nation, Israel. During a famine the Israelites moved down into Egypt, God having used Joseph to prepare a way to save the nation. There, before he died, Jacob prophesied that the coming Messiah would come from the tribe of Judah (Genesis 49:10).
The Jews were in captivity in Egypt for 430 years until Moses was called to lead them out. But Moses was afraid and questioned God's plan saying, "Whom shall I say has sent me?" God answered him in Exodus 3:14, "I AM THAT I AM." Moses led the Israelites across the Red Sea to Mt. Sinai where God gave him the Law. But the Jews rebelled and spent 40 years wandering in the Wilderness of the Sinai Peninsula until Joshua led them into their Promised Land. The Jews were ruled by a series of Judges for about 350 years until the monarchy was established, but after Solomon's rule the kingdom was divided and for 500 years lived in constant rebellion against God until Nebuchadnezzar destroyed Jerusalem.
For a thousand years following Moses God sent prophets who preached against sin, warned of judgment, and promised a coming Messiah. Daniel 9:25 gave a clue to the exact time of His birth; Micah 5:2 told of the place of His birth; Isaiah 7:14 declared it would be a virgin birth; in Isaiah 9:7 he would be heir to the throne of David; Malachi 3:1 established a forerunner (John the Baptist); Zechariah 9:9 told of the Triumphal Entry into Jerusalem; Zechariah 11:12 that He would be betrayed for 30 pieces of silver; in Psalm 35:11 He was accused by false witnesses; in Isaiah 53:3 He would be rejected by His own people; Zechariah 12:10 explained His hands and feet would be pierced; He was sentenced with criminals in Isaiah 53:12; scorned and mocked in Psalm 22:7; given vinegar and gall to drink in Psalm 69:21; and in Psalm 22:1 He cried out the lonliest words ever heard by any human ear, "My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?"
Isaiah 53:5 explains that His death was a vicarious sacrifice. God turned His back on Jesus while He died on the cross and paid the penalty for our sins. "He was wounded for our transgressions." He bore our punishment so that we might never have God turn His back on us. He suffered because He loved us. John 3:16: For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believes in Him, should not perish, but have everlasting life. Then in Psalm 16:10, His resurrection was foretold.
No doubt Christ's explanation was much more eloquent and thorough than this, but it prompts a question. Why was all this written about Jesus? Who was He? Why was He so important that 1,000 years of prophecy was written about Him and all of it was fulfilled?
In John's Gospel chapter eight, the Pharisees were once again arguing with Jesus over His credentials, and justifying themselves claimed that they were the children of Abraham. Then in verse 56 Jesus tells them that Abraham rejoiced to see His birth. The Pharisees mocked Him more; Jesus was not yet fifty years old. How could Abraham, who had lived 2,000 years before, have rejoiced at His birth? To that Jesus replied in verse 58, "Before Abraham was, I AM."
The Pharisees knew exactly what He meant. He had just told them the same thing God had told Moses from the burning bush in Exodus chapter three. He had emphatically declared that He was, and is, and forever will be God of very God.
When He finished his discourse, Jesus and the two disciples stopped to eat. They sat down and as Jesus blessed the food the disciples' eyes were opened, and they suddenly recognized Him. Jesus then vanished out of their sight. The disciples looked at each other and in Luke 24:32 said, "Did not our hearts burn within us while He talked with us by the way, and while He opened to us the Scriptures?"
This is the Gospel according to I Corinthians 15:3-4: "Christ died for our sins, according to the Scriptures; and that He was buried, and that He rose again the third day according to the Scriptures."
This is the message that needs to burn in every human heart. In the hearts of those who are lost, that is, without faith in Jesus Christ, their hearts need to burn with the conviction that they must repent of their sins and receive Jesus Christ as Savior. In the hearts of those who are saved, that is, those who have already put their faith in Christ, their hearts need to burn with the conviction that this is the message the world needs to hear, and that they need to tell it.
This is the message and the faith that our Founding Fathers believed in. This is the religion and the God that they spoke about often in their writings. This is the faith that America was built upon and needs to return to today. This is the Savior that promises to bless the nation whose God is the Lord (Psalm 33:12).
This is the true meaning of the Resurrection. Faith in Jesus Christ is the answer to life and eternity. Larry King had it right; the answer to the question of the resurrection does make all the difference in the world. Have you received Christ as your own Savior?
Happy Resurrection Day.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Listen My Children and You Shall Hear
In December 1860, as the United States stared at the prospect of Civil War, one of her greatest poets, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, put pen to paper to retell a tale of one of the events that had forged the nation. Dismayed at the prospect of his great country being torn apart, Longfellow set out to make a hero out of a minor character in the Revolution by the name of Paul Revere in order to remind his fellow citizens of their noble past.
Revere was a silversmith who lived in Boston. He was a member of the Sons of Liberty and had participated in the Boston Tea Party. Around midnight on April 18, 1775, he took his horse in a small boat across Boston Harbor to Charles Town. Secrecy was paramount as British patrols roamed the streets. The word was out, there would be a troop movement, but where and when? While Revere waited a fellow patriot climbed the steps to the steeple of the Old North Church. Finally a messenger, sneaking stealthily through the streets arrived. The movement was this night.
One if by land, and two if by sea. Revere stood by watching when out of the darkness a lantern light shown in the steeple tower. And then a second. The British were about to cross over to Charles Town and invade the interior looking to destroy a cache of arms, and to capture Samuel Adams and John Hancock. Revere leaped to the back of his steed and spurred the animal on. The fate of a nation rode that night.
Longfellow's poem brought national attention to Paul Revere, but he wasn't the only rider on the roads that night. Billy Dawes risked riding through the blockade at the neck of the Boston isthmus, and when the two riders met at Lexington, a third joined them, Dr. Samuel Prescott. As they continued on to Concord a British patrol blocked the road capturing Revere. Dawes turned to flee, but his horse stumbled and he escaped on foot. Prescott leaped a stone wall and rode on to Concord to warn the colonists.
By morning eighty Minutemen, led by Captain Jonas Parker, stood on the Lexington Green, a triangular shaped park in the center of the town, and faced 700 British Regulars. The British opened fire and eight militia men fell dead, and ten others were wounded.
The Regulars pressed on to Concord town where another poet, Ralph Waldo Emerson, immortalized the bridge in his poem, The Concord Hymn. By the rude bridge that arched the flood their flag to April's breeze unfurled, Here once the embattled farmers stood and fired the shot heard round the world. The ever growing militiaman army turned the Regulars back and chased them all the way to Boston. By the end of the day 73 British troops had been killed with 174 more wounded. The patriots lost 49 killed, and 39 more wounded.
It's a story that stirs the heart. What brave and bold men our Founders were who risked everything for freedom. Unafraid of the consequences and willing to give their all, a ragtag army of colonial militiamen went on to defeat the greatest army in the world. What an example to spur us on in our own day to cry out a warning against the enemies who would deprive us of our liberties.
Paul Revere was virtually unknown after the Revolution. He had served on the Penobscot Expedition in the war with Longfellow's maternal grandfather, Peleg Wadsworth. Young Henry probably heard the story many times. Revere was a family friend as well as a family man, having eight children with his first wife, and after her death, remarrying and having eight more. But for Longfellow's poem Revere would probably be forgotten, and what a shame that would have been.
At a time when our history is being denigrated by our phony leadership it is good to remember that there were and are heroes. There were great men and women who suffered and sacrificed for a cause greater than themselves, and there are many serving in our military today doing the same. We often think of our Founding Fathers as the great statesmen that they were, and rightfully so. Paul Revere, however, was not a politician, not an eloquent speaker or writer. He was simply an everyday man who loved his country and became an integral part of the events that built a nation out of a wilderness. He was a hero, and a great American patriot.
Revere was a silversmith who lived in Boston. He was a member of the Sons of Liberty and had participated in the Boston Tea Party. Around midnight on April 18, 1775, he took his horse in a small boat across Boston Harbor to Charles Town. Secrecy was paramount as British patrols roamed the streets. The word was out, there would be a troop movement, but where and when? While Revere waited a fellow patriot climbed the steps to the steeple of the Old North Church. Finally a messenger, sneaking stealthily through the streets arrived. The movement was this night.
One if by land, and two if by sea. Revere stood by watching when out of the darkness a lantern light shown in the steeple tower. And then a second. The British were about to cross over to Charles Town and invade the interior looking to destroy a cache of arms, and to capture Samuel Adams and John Hancock. Revere leaped to the back of his steed and spurred the animal on. The fate of a nation rode that night.
Longfellow's poem brought national attention to Paul Revere, but he wasn't the only rider on the roads that night. Billy Dawes risked riding through the blockade at the neck of the Boston isthmus, and when the two riders met at Lexington, a third joined them, Dr. Samuel Prescott. As they continued on to Concord a British patrol blocked the road capturing Revere. Dawes turned to flee, but his horse stumbled and he escaped on foot. Prescott leaped a stone wall and rode on to Concord to warn the colonists.
By morning eighty Minutemen, led by Captain Jonas Parker, stood on the Lexington Green, a triangular shaped park in the center of the town, and faced 700 British Regulars. The British opened fire and eight militia men fell dead, and ten others were wounded.
The Regulars pressed on to Concord town where another poet, Ralph Waldo Emerson, immortalized the bridge in his poem, The Concord Hymn. By the rude bridge that arched the flood their flag to April's breeze unfurled, Here once the embattled farmers stood and fired the shot heard round the world. The ever growing militiaman army turned the Regulars back and chased them all the way to Boston. By the end of the day 73 British troops had been killed with 174 more wounded. The patriots lost 49 killed, and 39 more wounded.
It's a story that stirs the heart. What brave and bold men our Founders were who risked everything for freedom. Unafraid of the consequences and willing to give their all, a ragtag army of colonial militiamen went on to defeat the greatest army in the world. What an example to spur us on in our own day to cry out a warning against the enemies who would deprive us of our liberties.
Paul Revere was virtually unknown after the Revolution. He had served on the Penobscot Expedition in the war with Longfellow's maternal grandfather, Peleg Wadsworth. Young Henry probably heard the story many times. Revere was a family friend as well as a family man, having eight children with his first wife, and after her death, remarrying and having eight more. But for Longfellow's poem Revere would probably be forgotten, and what a shame that would have been.
At a time when our history is being denigrated by our phony leadership it is good to remember that there were and are heroes. There were great men and women who suffered and sacrificed for a cause greater than themselves, and there are many serving in our military today doing the same. We often think of our Founding Fathers as the great statesmen that they were, and rightfully so. Paul Revere, however, was not a politician, not an eloquent speaker or writer. He was simply an everyday man who loved his country and became an integral part of the events that built a nation out of a wilderness. He was a hero, and a great American patriot.
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