Have You Seen Any Christian Films Recently?

This was inspired by a YouTuber I like, Ready to Harvest, who frequently creates polls. I like him because he’s informational more than apologetic in nature. He describes Christian denominations and sects in a neutral tone. He rarely passes judgment. He’s an information and data collector, who then passes on what he’s collected for the benefit of his audience. I’m sure he has his own beliefs, but they aren’t the purpose of his channel. In a poll that just scrolled through my feed, he asked his audience if they had seen a Christian film in the last year, and there were various answering options.

The question gave me pause. Had I? Yes. And I had seen more than a few if it was a year from last May. For example, I watched Fr. Stu in the theater last spring. I also watched For Greater Glory at home. Those are movies with a clear intent of being Christian. Another that was Christian by default rather than intent was The Perfect Game. All were Catholic. All were based off of true stories. All left an impression on me, with The Perfect Game being my favorite. I’m pretty sure I wrote a blog post about that last one, as that kind of film is my personal crack. True. Inspirational. A story of the underdog prevailing. A sports theme. A dedicated priest, and kids with relentless faith in God. Yep. Make a film like that, and I will be there, and I will probably be wiping away the tears sliding down my cheeks.

I also watched some films that had a darker edge (For Greater Glory was heartbreaking and dark, but in a different way), such as Deliver Us From Evil, which is a horror movie based off the true story of a New York cop who becomes an exorcist. It didn’t get great reviews from horror fans because it was truly redemptive in its conclusion, the power of God overcoming evil. I’m not much for horror; I don’t like being terrified. I can’t stand jump scares, but this is a film worth seeing if you want to reinvigorate your belief in the spirit world. Of course, you have to believe that it’s a true story for that to happen. Belief is the sticky wicket, isn’t it?

Overall, I haven’t watched many movies this past year. I don’t have time for movies and shows, though I do admit sometimes I just want to recline on the couch on Saturday and do nothing but watch video entertainment. The problem is good films are difficult to find. There aren’t many stories like The Perfect Game out there. Most of the films I watched last year were Christian or inspirational in nature — true stories, though. There’s something about inspirational fiction that’s a bit too thick for me.

My original question stands: have you seen any Christian films recently? If yes, did you like them?

Being Wanted

The one argument coming from the pro-abortion crowd that repels me deeply is the one that says human life is valuable based on whether it’s wanted or not. When you grow up as the awkward, bullied reject, you understand deeply how much your presence is unwanted by the people around you. You can’t help but to exist, and on some level, you might believe that God wants you or you wouldn’t be here. But there is the sense that, given an amoral and lawless society, you would be deemed expendable and taken out.

I’ve heard it numerous times from the mouths of pro-abortion activists; when asked what the difference is between a human baby and a fetus that can be flushed or ripped violently from the womb, the answer is when the mother wants it, it’s a baby who needs protection. Otherwise, it’s a clump of cells with no personhood rights. These are virtually direct quotes from any number of abortion supporters.

I’ve discussed before that we humans are not logical creatures. This is, to be honest, the way God created us. He created us to be primarily emotional and instinctive; that is our first response to any given situation. Our instincts are intriguing, as they can be very basic, as in, I’m starving; I must have instant sugar, and they can conversely be very complex, instant decisions made based off years of inputs that work together in the background to aid us in this process. Logic is a secondary, learned skill, but it is solipsistic, processed through our filters. The conclusions are only as good as the premises, as well, so it’s possible to have flawless logic and still be completely wrong.

Most people have not learned logic and don’t understand cause and effect very deeply, especially when they want or don’t want something very badly. I don’t think I need to explain why the concept of only wanted people should be allowed personhood status will have a very bad logical outcome. But it’s going to be difficult to get around the initial instinct and emotional drive of a human that simply wants to escape consequences. They won’t understand the logic. They will turn it into a moralistic argument about the bad ethics of forcing a woman to go through an unwanted pregnancy. This is, of course, a false input, but most won’t perceive why. Even professors, who are supposed to be above-average, will refuse to accept that their conclusions are wrong.

You might recognize that I have an emotional response to the argument that only wanted people have value. Yes, it does make me emotional. Very emotional. My life experiences have taught me on an emotional level to be sensitive to the maltreatment of underdogs whom nobody likes. We know what happens when we devalue certain people; history has left humanity with those emotional wounds. And if you consider that a pre born child isn’t unwanted for any particular reason, it’s even more emotionally devastating. I was and am a scrawny, awkward person. It’s easy to dislike me. I’m obnoxious. But a mother who doesn’t have any personal grudges against a tiny being who has done nothing offensive because they haven’t had the chance to yet…just tears me up inside. It’s so cold. It’s so wrong, like the neighborhood boy who unaccountably pulls the wings off insects. He can; that’s the only reason. Well, she can, too, except those aren’t wings she’s ripping off a fly. They are the arms and legs of her own child.

This battle will never be won by pitting logic against emotions, anyway. What it really comes down is spiritual oppression. That is why you often find pro-abort protestors screaming obscenities and hail Satan. They do this ostensibly to rattle Christians, but it rather becomes an outpouring of their souls. These people are not emotional wrecks; they are spiritual wrecks.

Therefore, praying and preaching the gospel are the only answers. Too simple? I don’t care. My state’s a mess, with some of the most liberal abortion laws in the world. It is overwhelming to live here sometimes. What can I do? Sign a few petitions? Carry banners? Jesus is better. He is always the answer.

Being Punk Rock

I find the music almost intolerable, but I have to admit that my anti-authoritarian nature closely resembles those now old youths from the late seventies and early eighties. I never could manage to force my hair to stand on end. In high school, I asked a punk rock friend how I could shape my hair into a mohawk like he had. He looked distinctly uncomfortable and told me it would wreck my beautiful hair but gave me a recipe nonetheless.

My hatred for authority figures is not as shallow as spiky hair. It comes from a lifetime of observation, watching what petty tyrants are capable of because most people make no hue and cry over their overreaches. Being institutionalized from kindergarten up allows most to be right in line with injustice and overreach; it’s simply what they’re used to. A handful of us freaks never adapt, however. We might have very low or very high IQs–we might not fit in for whatever reason–but we never can fall into line. We are belligerent with every unconstitutional traffic stop, we don’t wear our masks, we just don’t. One year, I refused to acknowledge DST, completely confusing everyone who has been deluded by the government into thinking the sun is directly overhead at 11 AM. Guess what? It is not.

I am more punk rock than I wish to be at this time of year. What gets to me about DST is that it’s completely arbitrary. There’s no reason to do it. It never did save energy, and the evidence is conclusive that it’s bad for the health. It makes me excessively angry, only I never know who to take out my aggressions on. This week is, therefore, like every time change before it: running off no sleep and desperately wanting to hurt someone in the government, anyone will do. Use torture until the forces relent and go back to standard time. God’s time–when noon means the sun is directly overhead, and we are allowed the healthy properties of early morning sunlight.

Today my mentality is better. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I’m still punk rock about the issue. But I rose this morning and plodded through my exercise as exhausted as the other days, and felt less angry. The problem is it’s just as life-sucking to be constantly angry as it is to be forced into enacting ridiculous nonsense. The government and its nanny state doesn’t care two wits about me or you, and neither do I care for them. They can strip us naked, search our luggage and homes and cars, interrogate us for no reason, shut our churches down and force us to pay over twenty percent of our income to them in taxes so that they can continue being tyrants, but what they can’t do is steal my soul or my joy.

Tomorrow is St. Patrick’s Day, and I will wear my green (green stands for being Catholic, btw, but my ethnicity is also Irish). In fact, I purchased a green shirt with a norteño style accordion on it, and I will wear it to work tomorrow. It says “Air Accordion” at the top, which is a bit ridiculous, as I would be playing my own ribcage. Just the thought of being that ridiculous brings me further joy. I think I might die laughing while I pretend to play the accordion at work.

I happen to work in an office that sits under the Vatican flag, and it makes me consider how young this nation is; it’s tyranny is childlike compared to older authority systems. And despite the mixed history Rome has as an authority figure, to me it’s quite a bit more valid than the US government. It has reformed itself throughout many centuries. I don’t see the US government reforming itself. I could be wrong, though. I’ve been known to be on at least three occasions.

I hope you enjoy your corned beef, if you do that on St. Patty’s Day. As for me, I will eat my American-Irish cuisine and pretend I’m a San Patricio, playing my Mexican songs on the accordion. My excuse is never learning Irish songs…because, why would I when I can learn perfectly good polkas and cumbias to sing along with? I’m a woman obsessed, a woman on a mission. Please do not get in my way, unless you are playing punk rock Irish rebel songs. Those are almost tolerable.

Lent Update

I gave up drinking alcohol two weeks ago. I often want to give up alcohol for Lent, but until this year, it hasn’t happened. It doesn’t help that people like me better when I drink because it helps me relax and get a few hours of sleep per night. I didn’t start immediately; it took me until the 26th to decide I no longer wanted to rely on an addictive substance to relax my central nervous system and block the negative thoughts that inevitably emerge when I lie awake most of each night. I’ve had chronic insomnia since childhood. I don’t know what causes it, but it isn’t simple. It doesn’t stem from anxiety or the spiral of negative thoughts themselves. I rarely feel the former, and the latter is a result of being awake for hours and not the cause of it.

The cause is probably related to an overstimulated nervous system, which is why ordinary fixes for insomnia don’t help, e.g., spending time in nature, exercising intensely, etc. Both are far too stimulating–although, the last time I spent several hours in Carlsbad Caverns, I slept an unprecedented nine hours straight. Walking slowly through a dark cave might actually be the nature and exercise level I need! That not being a regular option, however, means that alcohol is the most useful medicine I have at my disposal. But I’d still rather not be addicted to it.

There is a purpose to giving up our worldly addictions during Lent; for a start, we simply have too much of everything in our modern day. Suffering can bring us closer to God. That is the goal, anyway. We are preparing our hearts for Jesus and the suffering he endured for our sake. It’s supposed to bring about the renewal of our hearts as is promised in the Advent season, which starts off the church calendar. Did you know that the church calendar ends in November instead of December, as the solar calendar does? Advent brings joy because it’s a reminder that God sent his son to be savior of the world. But Lent brings sorrow because Jesus and his act on the cross remind us that we are desperate sinners in need of a savior. Lent is a time to prepare our hearts for Him.

Has depriving myself of alcohol helped to prepare my heart? In the ironic sense that I’ve suffered from depression and excruciatingly negative thoughts, sure. I know that underneath the veil of alcohol and my endless pursuits lies hopelessness. I can’t see my way out of that hopelessness, not on my own. I can only cover it up. Maybe I should have given up writing and music in this season, too. I gave up writing once–it was the longest Lent season I ever experienced. I prayed that God would show me whether I should continue pursuing that dream. I have a difficult time discerning God’s voice. I heard no clear answer, and so eventually carried on with it, albeit, certainly not as a priority, which explains why I have published only four books since 2013. Again, this Lent I’m asking God for answers. But I already know that unless he speaks in a loud voice, I won’t hear it. Meanwhile, I know what sin is. God makes that clear enough. And so I have a clear path forward regardless. We all do; we know what sin is. None of us has an excuse.

How to Evangelize to Catholics

Don’t. That’s the simplest possible answer. This subject came up the other night at the adult education class held in the library of my parish. We were discussing the story of Clovis, a Frankish king, who famously promised God that he would convert to his wife’s Catholic faith if he was victorious in battle against the Alemanni army. God granted him this petition, and Clovis followed through by being baptized. In response, several thousand of his troops followed him in baptism.

One of the class’s skeptics asked how real the conversions were for these several thousand men. Did they understand Christianity? Were they given any kind of catechesis? These are worthy questions, as even Billy Graham stated that only a certain percentage of people who went to the “altar” to be saved at his revivals retained the faith they’d experienced that day. There is a shared social contagion at such events, and if you add in the loyal nature of military men to their leaders, the social contagion might very well be even stronger than the average group emotional response.

The day before, I had watched (through a YouTube prompt) a Ray Comfort video, in which he preaches the gospel to Catholics and, in fact, I believe the video is called How to Evangelize to Catholics. I brought this up and got a few snorts of derision from the room full of cradle Catholics. But I gave them the sad truth: the Catholics whom Ray Comfort had evangelized seemed to know nothing of their faith. They couldn’t even tell him the meaning of the word Gospel. To this ignorant Catholic couple, the Gospel was something read at Mass. While this is true–the reading of one of the four testaments to the gospel happens at every Mass–the word means “good news.” This good news, obviously, refers to Christ coming to the world and laying down his life for mankind, and subsequently defeating death by rising again.

“Many Catholics are ignorant of their faith, even with ‘good catechesis’,” I said, as that was my only point in bringing up the video.

Several hands shot up around the room. At least three of these cradle Catholics had experienced the same kind of ignorance before they’d made the effort to defeat it through education they’d chosen to pursue of their own free will. While I’ve long honored the notion of catechism, as its aim is to ensure that young people (or old people) understand what it is they are saying “yes” to at their confirmation, too often it is done simply because parents or grandparents are putting the pressure on. I would guess that the vast majority of Catholic young people don’t attend religious education classes because they want to; they are going because their families expect them to. This leads to a situation where whatever education gained is lost through disinterest and no further seeking out of knowledge…until faced with a charismatic Protestant force like Ray Comfort.

On the other hand, it must be remembered that Protestants and Catholics speak a different language, and I don’t mean Latin vs English. I mean that they understand the gospel in a different way. You don’t have to understand that the word “gospel” is the good news of Christ coming to earth to save mankind; you simply have to understand that Christ did this. And I’m still willing to bet that most Catholics do indeed understand this. It’s hard to tell what Catholics do or don’t understand due to the fact that the Catholic spirit is so very different from the Protestant spirit. Protestants will wrangle over doctrine and argue every last syllable in their Bibles; most Catholics won’t do this. They are taught to respect their church authorities, and even if they do at some point decide to engage in their own studies of the Bible, learning about the apologists, Greek, Hebrew, and Aramaic (e.g., the students in this adult education class), they will most likely still not argue with you. Therefore, when faced with a man such as Ray Comfort who has his own script down to a T, Catholics might appear ignorant and in need of true salvation. The way he talks to people reminds me of a lawyer in court who wants specific answers so that he can then continue with his script. In a courtroom, this is to subvert actual truth from emerging because it might interfere with the goal (conviction or acquittal). That might not be Mr. Comfort’s goal, but it is the inevitable result. Nobody watching the video will ever know what those Catholics actually know because they aren’t allowed to speak using their own language and understanding of Christianity. They are only allowed to answer Ray’s pointed questions.

The responses in the comments section revealed what Protestants believe about Catholics. I do shared ministry with Catholics, and it’s as if they don’t even open their Bibles… The comments like this are rife under Comfort’s videos when they are of his evangelizing Catholics. Of course, it might never occur to these people that Catholics are involved in ministries because they actually take their faith very seriously, but it’s a faith invested in ministry instead of arguments. And they might very well be trying to keep the peace with the Protestants they work alongside. They also might very well might be telling you in a nonconfrontational way to leave them alone. Truth be told, it’s actually galling to be literally living out your Christianity in the world and then to have other Christians try to evangelize you as if you weren’t.

That’s a real gripe, though, isn’t it–that Protestants believe they own the term “Christian”? It’s gotten to the point where Catholics won’t use the term at all, as they might come across as being Protestant instead of Catholic. The other week, we had a confirmation retreat in our parish hall. One of our volunteers, who has a learning disability but is always curious and earnest, reported to me that one of the young teenage students at the confirmation retreat had written on the question board: “What is the difference between a Catholic and a Christian?”

This volunteer asked me, “So what is the difference, she who knows everything?” (Yes, he does call me that. I’m good at fooling people.)

However, I did have an answer for him: “None. There is no difference. Catholics are the original Christians.” You might argue with that, and I encourage you to go right ahead. At the very least, I hope you’ll admit that Catholics called themselves Christians long, long before the Protestant Reformation came around.

I stick to my original answer above. It’s arrogance to believe that Catholics aren’t Christians and need to be evangelized. So, if you were looking for the simple answer to that question, you’ve come to the wrong place. As with any group of people who grow up in a traditional faith, there will be those who will reject their faith when they are at an age of accountability. It’s the reality of the seeds of the gospel scattered on different soils and landing places. Some fall on rocky ground. Some, surprisingly, lay fallow for years before the soil is ready for a little bud to emerge from the dirt. For the soil that is simply lying fallow, God will provide the means for its new growth. You might very well be the means for another person, whether they grew up Lutheran, Catholic, Quaker, or Southern Baptist, or even outside the church entirely. But I would encourage you not to assume without any knowledge that Catholics aren’t Christians and need you to bring them the Gospel. After all, they do indeed hear it weekly at Mass, and I don’t just mean the reading from one of the four testaments about Jesus. I mean they hear the entire gospel message spoken through the liturgy at every Mass.

Spanish, Dalí, & a Little Lorca

Christ of St. John of the Cross

Imitations or reproductions of Dalí’s famous painting are rife in the Catholic world, with an imitation in the office where I work. It takes me back to high school, when I loved Dalí’s artwork. Also, I had just started taking Spanish in school and therefore believed I could read my dad’s battered paperback of Federico Garcia Lorca’s poetry. These are related subjects, I promise, and not simply because I’m discussing Spaniards who, obviously, spoke Spanish.

We had to study a language; it was mandatory in high school. It doesn’t make much sense at that point, however. Learning a second language should have been mandatory from kindergarten onwards. I have an elderly friend at my parish who attended a private American school where they spoke Polish in classes. She still understands and speaks Polish to this day because of her early exposure to it, despite living in an English-only culture. I will never understand the English-only cultural philosophy. It’s not just xenophobic; it’s an example of my least favorite personality trait in individuals, let alone entire cultures: proud ignorance. Generally, I call this the Cult of Stupid. You can spot members because they roll their eyes and complain if you use words with more than two syllables. They think it’s snooty or some such, without recognizing the irony that syllables has three.

Could I actually read the Lorca book? Sure. It had English translations on the right hand-pages. My dad is not a Spanish speaker, after all. I loved learning the pretty vocabulary in the book, as it set me apart from other first-year learners of Spanish. I’ve always had a big vocabulary, and even though I failed pretty badly at English classes in school, I do have the ability to dissect words to determine what they mean. This gives me an even further edge regarding an intellectual grasp of a second language. It’s too bad this process often confuses words for me rather than making them clear. I ran into a funny example this morning. The word equivocarse and its various forms are related to the verb in English to equivocate. By the way, this might not be a commonly used word in English, but it is a common word in Spanish — like so many Latin words that have more than two syllables. In English, this word takes on the meaning of obscuring the truth. To equivocate is either for the purpose of being circumspect or being deceptive. In Spanish, it has the connotation of simply being wrong. I came across a video with the title, Estos policias se metieron con la chica equivocada… It took me a pretty minute, being in an English frame of mind, to realize a correct translation would be “The police messed with the wrong girl…!” My mind wanted it to be deceptive instead of wrong, but it was clear from the context of the video that the girl was innocent, and the police were the deceptive ones. Context is the best guide to learning a language, and so much for my intellectual, dissecting approach. In fact, although this is a bit of a digression, the only way to understand someone speaking Spanish to me is not to be myself, and to listen without focusing on any one word, picking up the sense from the context. If I stop to pick apart words, I have already lost the rest of the conversation. And unlike a language test in school, I’m not going to earn points for translating a few words correctly.

Lorca and Dalí were close friends, albeit I didn’t know this when I was in high school. I only knew I liked reading through my dad’s books, which also included art books featuring Dalí. I’ve loved Spanish ever since I was first introduced to it; that’s all I want to say about that. This post was meant to be about Dalí. But there is a point of overlap with my previous discussion that is much greater than my dad’s bookcases, as it’s clear from reading about Dalí and studying his artwork that he also took the analytical approach to life. He studied the master artists and picked apart the elements in them in order to understand them, and then he spent some time imitating them. Because of this, he’s known as a master of craft. When he created surreal art, he was playing with ideas that intrigued him. For much of his young years, Freudian psychoanalysis was a large part of what intrigued him. He met Freud; Freud didn’t like the surrealists and couldn’t understand why they were fascinated with him. He liked Dalí, though. He liked his genuine fanaticism.

Dalí was also intrigued by the physics of time and space. This in turn intrigued me as a young person. Beauty is timeless, and I will never cease to appreciate landscapes and portraits that capture the personalities inherent to people and places. But playing with ideas perhaps appeals to me even more. Another artist I appreciate for this is M.C. Escher. They both clearly loved playing with what is possible in flat geometric spaces. These two artists have a number of similarities in thinking, to be honest. They both loved the ideas they were representing and loathed politics. Neither wished to be pinned down politically, during a time when being a surrealist artist meant something political. Dalí was actually voted out of the surrealists because he eschewed Marxism and, especially as he grew older, defended Catholicism, eventually returning to his nation’s historical faith (he even had his longtime civil marriage “convalidated” in the church.) Escher was apparently part of a Christian religious order, as well, but he was as quiet about that subject as he was about politics. Dalí enjoyed creating controversy; Escher did not. There are other artists I love because they have an absurdist, intellectual approach — William Hogarth is one that long predates surrealism.

What about Lorca, though? I don’t know; for me, he was simply the first Spanish poet I read. He and Dalí were artistic friends, but Lorca’s approach was different than Dalí’s. He was a gay socialist, fitting neatly into the world of the avant garde. Dalí never fit in, and nor did he want to. He lived to a ripe old age, changing his psychoanalytic approach over the years to bizarre perspectives of Jesus on the cross. Meanwhile, Lorca was assassinated under a fascist regime (though there is some controversy regarding why and by whom).

Like Dalí, ideas are really what drive me forward. Because of that, I will probably never arrive at a place where I’m an artist at storytelling or making music, or a natural with language and communication. But every time I see Dalí’s crosses in my environment, I’m reminded that there are famous artists who don’t approach the world with a traditional artistic temperament. So, perhaps, I still have a fighting chance. By the way, I have tried to subvert the intellectual approach in learning the accordion, but mostly because I don’t have time to give it an extensive study. I want to live in the magic of the instrument and play the songs I love. However, I’ve determined that taking a more intellectual approach will work better for me, having the emotional artistic state of a gnat. So, I’ve stepped back to think through music theory. In Spanish. The problem with my accordion playing is that it’s always been in Spanish. Switching to English would not be a great idea now that I’m used to Do Re Mi Fa Sol La Si, mi acordeon en tono de Fa, and hearing ahora, tocamos la escala de Sibemol en terceras. I know what that is and can play it. If someone switched to now we’ll play the scale of B flat in thirds, I’d probably panic. Intellectuals just do not switch gears with ease, I’m sorry to say. That’s why we’re often labelled fanatics (see Freud on Dalí above). We get obsessed and taken with an idea and must hammer it out to its conclusion.

Always Seeking Goodness

I’ve been attending the 8 a.m. Mass at another parish in town; the earliest Mass at my parish is 9. When you are an early waker, as I am, you tend to get impatient before 9 a.m. Mass. I wait until after Mass to drink my coffee and eat my breakfast. This is certainly not required by the church; I simply prefer it. Also, there is the ever-present problem of being a parish secretary who is already at my parish forty-plus hours a week. Sometimes, I need a break. Maybe next Sunday, I will go to 7:15 a.m. at the Poor Clare’s.

What can I do before Mass if I wait until 9? Read? I suppose. Recently, I discovered an author, Veronica Heley, whose books I would read any time because they are my special crack: they are cozy mysteries that don’t shy away from the darkness of evil. I’m partial to mysteries; most are cerebral and character-focused and use detection to bring about justice. Yet so many have sleazy main characters who are essentially nihilists hopping into bed with whomever, who don’t understand their own drive for godly justice. Heley’s books, while not having an American preachy quality (the author is English), feature protags who aren’t nihilists, albeit they aren’t perfect, either. The author clearly has Christian faith. That was a long diatribe to say that most books I have no desire to read before Mass. So, yes, the earlier the Mass, the better — before I’m distracted by worldly thoughts and cares. By the way, when I say they are crack, I mean it. I read the first four in her Abbot series back to back in about a week’s time. Then I gave myself a break. I will come back to them soon and read more.

Now it’s noon, and I’ve been to Mass and eaten and had my coffee and….watched a Lawrence Welk documentary that Color Storm linked to in my previous post’s comments. It’s an A&E Biography, and it’s worth an hour of your time (less, if you pay for YouTube and don’t have to watch the ads.) Aside from British mysteries and Mexican music, I have a general affinity for all accordion music except perhaps Tango. Tango* is just too pretentious for me. I’m like Lawrence Welk: I like to keep things light, goofy, and joyful. Life is full of darkness and evil with war and rumors of war — the evil one is always crouching at the door. But you know what? Goodness is also part of reality. It is True reality with a capital T, as that is what God represents. If anything, it is the evil one who usurped reality and turned it into a dark and terrible place, right outside the Garden where weeds consume healthy plants and blot out the fruit. And we humans fall for it. We’ve been falling for this illusory reality from the beginning. Yes, of course, I understand that weeds are very real in our world, but the purer reality is that when a garden is nurtured properly, it will produce fruit. And that is a true metaphor, both for inside our souls and outside in the physical world we must currently live in.

Lawrence Welk represents goodness to me, as far as humans can. He had a very public image and no real controversies that I’m aware of. Even his widow said he was an honest man of integrity, and she was the one who had to suffer for his music career that kept him away from his family for great lengths of time. She could have had mixed feelings or bitterness towards him, done a “tell-all, nitty-gritty, shocking bio” about living with a musician, but she did not. Yes, I’m obsessed with the accordion and want to make the case that the accordion is part and parcel with Welk’s desire for goodness. That’s not it, though, is it? If you want to like Mr. Welk, watch the biography, but please be aware that the A&E producers completely left out the reason for Welk’s staunchness about who he was and what his show would be pushing. That doesn’t surprise me — does it you? Lawrence Welk was a very devout Catholic Christian, who grew up in a German settlement of Catholic Christians. The ever-popular Lennon sisters were also from a devout Catholic Christian family. The intriguing part about the Lennon sisters is they are quintessentially American, with a genetic makeup of German, Irish, and Mexican. I understand that in many cases wholesomeness is just a put-on for the camera, especially if it comes from Hollywood. This show was not Hollywood, though. It was Lawrence Welk to a T. He wouldn’t do the show the way the network wanted to, and by God’s grace the network capitulated to him.

*Ja ja ja, sorry, I didn’t mean to imply that Tango is dark and evil. I don’t like it because it’s too serious for my tastes. The accordion is romantic and happy and magical to me, and I play it with all seriousness, but I want it to remain light to my soul…like bubbles in wine.