Keep The Light Burning

As the last light of Channukah burns let us never forget those who -- deprived of social justice -- continue to live in darkness.
And as the festival of dedication ends let us each dedicate ourselves to keeping the light of justice so bright that it can never be ignored.

Now This Is What I'm Talkin' About

Interestingly this piece of the oratorio has nothing to do with the birth of Jesus but, instead, with his death and is based on passages from the Book of Revelation in the Christian New Testament.
Go figure.
Did the cough drop fly out of my mouth? Hang onto the visual because I'm not telling.

Lessons Learned From The Messiah

#1 - Words Matter
For example, last night we did not see the Messiah at the Disney Concert Hall. The event we attended was not a personal appearance. Had it been, they probably would have given us those nifty seats at the rear of the stage that I requested when I ordered our concert series because the place would have been full. But, no. The Messiah did not personally appear. Here's what happened. We attended a performance of The Messiah by George Frideric Handel. You see, words do matter.
#2 - Two hours and forty-five minutes is a really long time to sit listening to anything. I suspect that in 1743 people's attention spans had not been destroyed by television and twitter and, dare I say, blogs.
#3 - When sitting in the front row of the top balcony at the Disney Concert Hall it's important to try and not sneeze -- especially if you happen to have a cough drop in your mouth at the time of the sneeze. Such events really distract the guy on the stage playing the kettle drums.
#4 - It's hard to hold your cough until the short pauses between the sections of oratorio but you have to on account of the amazing acoustics at the Disney. If you can't hold the cough, trust me. Everyone in the concert hall will hear you including the counter tenor just beginning to sing about behold a virgin shall conceive.
#5 - It is possible to pull out of a deep depression and compose a chorus so moving people stand and weep when they hear it. And if you don't believe me, listen to the most famous piece in this very long composition. The Hallelujah chorus is not, I assure you, at all depressing. So one trick to managing depression, it seems, is to create. Especially if you happen to be named Handel.

I Have No Excuse

It's true. I'm reading yet another Patricia Cornwell novel in which the central character is Kay Scarpetta. I've tried to avoid these books because, well, for one thing they are so badly written I'm ashamed to admit that I read them. But come on. Kay Scarpetta needs me.
Perhaps I can find a Twelve Step group to help me move beyond this pathetic pleasure. Or if I wait awhile longer I'm sure I can take a medication to ease if not wipe out my unquenchable desire to follow the exploits of the good doctor.
In the meantime, when you speak of this -- and you will -- try to be kind.

Happy Chanukah

The brisket is in the oven, the cousins are on their way, and ten pounds of potatoes are waiting to be turned into latkes . It's cold and rainy, perfect Chanukah weather. In this moment, I am grateful for a warm home, plenty of food and loved ones to share the holiday. Wishing everyone else the same.

G'mar Chatima Tova

The traditional Jewish greeting between Rosh HaShannah (Jewish New Year) and Yom Kippur (Day of Atonement) is G'mar Chatima Tova -- May the final writing be for good.
The day after Los Angeles Police Department Officer Kenneth Aragon -- a nineteen year department veteran -- died from injuries sustained in an early morning December third motorcycle accident, the Los Angeles Times devoted less than a dozen lines of print to his life and death. Those few words presented the barest of information about this life lost.
This morning's Los Angeles Times devoted far more space to Officer Aragon and even a bold face large type headline: Officer killed in crash had been drinking at Police Academy bar. The caption under the photograph of Officer Aragon states that his blood alcohol level was over the legal limit. Nowhere in this four column article replete with references of careless karaoke and ninety minute disappearances and drunken debauchery is there any mention of a life well lived in the service of family and community. And certainly in the few sparse words the day after his death was there any mention of Officer Aragon as former marine and constant mentor.
The day before he died, Kenneth Aragon participated in a toy drive to help children in need have holiday gifts to open. He was an integral part of the explorer program at the Northeast Police Station where he helped with events and fund raisers to benefit under privileged children. He helped children and adolescents achieve physical fitness. He coached a girls' softball team. And he adored his five children.
Was he a flawed person? Of course. But then, aren't we all flawed in one way or another? Of course.
And yet the Times made no mention of the gaping hole this death leaves in lives and communities and chose, instead, to make its final writing of him focused on a flaw. Those who never knew him will remember him not for the life he lived but for the death he died. And those who did know him must wrestle with the words the Times chose for its summation of his life.
G'mar Chatima Tova. May the final writing be for good.
Ordinarily this greeting speaks of the final writings of our own lives and our hope that the words of those writings will be if not completely positive at least fair.
The Los Angeles Times teaches us a new meaning of that ancient phrase. When we speak of our fellow travellers on this narrow bridge of life, may we speak not only of flawed moments but of lives lived remarkably and well.
That is certainly the least we can do for those who spend their lives standing between us and danger.
May the memory of Officer Kenneth Aragon be for his family, his friends, and for the community he served a blessing.

A Calf Named Moses

Last week a Jersey Holstein calf with a cross shaped patch of white on it head was born on a Connecticut farm. The farmer, Brad Davis, sees this as a definite sign of something but he can't put his finger on what, exactly, that definite sign might be. At first the farmer didn't notice the unusual markings but a few hours after its birth, he saw them and decided immediately that the calf had a cross on its head. Hopefully crosses are easier to bear there. At any rate, later that same night Davis witnessed something that made him even more convinced that the calf had a thing or two to tell him.
"The moon was out that night and there was a little bit of the moonlight coming in through the windows and his cross was the only thing that showed," he said.
Hmmm.
Until he deciphers the exact divine message, Davis hopes the calf's cross will bring attention to the plight of struggling dairy farmers.
"I think he may be here to open people's eyes and get a message across," Davis told Fox 11 News.
While Farmer Davis was scratching his head trying to conjure up cross messages and meanings, neighborhood children named the calf Moses.
The name stuck.
Moses?
The kids have more problems than the calf, it seems to me.
In the JudeoChristian narrative, I just can't see Moses getting too involved with crosses and if he did I can't imagine they had much meaning for him. I mean, let's face it, crosses didn't have much meaning for anyone until Christianity came on the scene many, many years after Moses died on the wrong side of the Jordan River.
I hope once the bovine cross code is broken Farmer Davis can take a moment to consider that his cross headed calf should be named Matthew or Mark or Luke or even, God forbid, Jesus.