The Inundated Calvinist

Some weeks are like that, I suppose.

On Tuesday, friends in the north part of the county narrowly missed having their home destroyed by a tornado that churned through their neighborhood. Several other friends were spared from the six tornadoes which traveled between Clayton and Wilson that afternoon.

On Wednesday, my son’s college reported they are treating seven confirmed cases of swine flu. John Calvin’s illness was diagnosed as allergies.

This morning, we were awakened by a thunderstorm which quickly dissipated in Smithfield. About thirty minutes earlier and fifteen miles south, though, my former employer’s plant was struck by lightning, causing a fire which shut down the facility.

This afternoon, the weather radio has gone off over and over, as thunderstorm cells formed just across I-95 from our home, hurling inch-diameter hail and generating several tornado warnings, about ten miles away but all of them moving eastward.

My, what a busy midweek …

The hymn concludes one verse,

His chariots of wrath, the deep thunderclouds form,
And dark is His path on the wings of the storm.

We had one of those moments last night — a friend of ours posted on her Facebook page that she and the children had just missed the experience of a tornado plowing through the neighborhood, destroying two homes just up the street from theirs (which remained untouched) and bringing down power lines and trees. The storm drew a line through the townships of at least a dozen of our friends between Clayton and Wilson, so I had to run a quick inventory as I prayed for them all. Thankfully, from all reports so far, none of our acquaintance have had any loss.

Seen today in Smithfield — the first lightning bug.

Heading for my second conference in two weeks, and looking for reading material without too much mental fiber to chew on, first my eye and then my hand lit upon P. G. Wodehouse’s Very Good, Jeeves.  Even as pure entertainment, though, there were a few bon mot moments I had to document.

‘The modern young man,’ said Aunt Dahlia, ‘is a congenital idiot and wants a nurse to lead him by the hand and some strong attendant to kick him regularly at intervals of a quarter of an hour.’

“Jeeves and the Song of Songs”

A truncated conversation with a friend in distress:

I pondered. It was a tough problem.
‘How would it be — ?’ I said.
‘That’s no good.’
‘Only a suggestion,’ I said.

“The Inferiority Complex of Old Sippy”

Finally, when Bertie protests Jeeves’ concern over his dress “at a time like this”, Jeeves replies,

‘There is no time, sir, at which ties do not matter.’

“Jeeves and the Impending Doom”

Yesterday (Saturday May 2) I was part of a panel to discuss “The Future of Education” at the N.C. Coastal Conservative Leadership Conference”.  This is the first year for the event, which was similar to the Conservative Leadership Conference sponsored by the Civitas Institute in Raleigh.  Thanks to Curtis Wright and Russ Hauptmann, plus everyone else involved, for the invitation and hospitality.  Turnout was good for the Saturday events I was able to see.

One interesting side note, the moderator of the session was Baker Mitchell of Roger Bacon Academy, the subject of the story just published in School Reform News.  I learned when I arrived that Baker had been scheduled to speak at the dinner on Friday night, but was struck with laryngitis and couldn’t say a word.  Instead, he had another member of the group read the SRN article verbatim in place of his prepared remarks — an unexpected use of my article!  Thanks for the publicity, and I’m glad I could help.

The Heartland Institute has published a version of an earlier story I did for Carolina Journal on Roger Bacon Academy.  This is a pair of charter schools in coastal North Carolina which are seeing significant student achievement using Direct Instruction techniques – and less funding than other public schools in the area.  The latest version of the story appears in the May 2009 edition of School Reform News.

While Carolina Journal  publishes some of my articles online and the Heartland Institute indexes others through their PolicyBot, my book and movie reviews are only available in the print edition of CJ. This is less than convenient when I want to refer an editor or publisher to that line of my work, so I have begun posting my reviews on this website, some slightly revised and most re-titled. I’ll try to flag them in the main blog as well as on the reviews page as I go forward.

A brilliant 98-second video demonstrates that $100 million isn’t really that much, after all.

In the course of devotions this week I was reading Mark 5, when Jesus raised the daughter of Jairus from the dead. It occurred to me there are several incidents in Scripture where the act of eating is used to underscore the essential humanness — or non-humanness — of the person in view.

Then He took the child by the hand, and said to her, “Talitha, cumi,” which is translated, “Little girl, I say to you, arise.” Immediately the girl arose and walked, for she was twelve years [of age]. And they were overcome with great amazement. But He commanded them strictly that no one should know it, and said that [something] should be given her to eat. (Mark 5:41-43)

What a strange afterthought — here, Jairus, your daughter lives … and she needs something to eat.
I think Jesus was giving the parents an immediate testimony that their daughter was truly restored to life, not rising as a spirit. Jesus did a similar thing when God raised Him from the dead:

Now as they said these things, Jesus Himself stood in the midst of them, and said to them, “Peace to you.” But they were terrified and frightened, and supposed they had seen a spirit.

And He said to them, “Why are you troubled? And why do doubts arise in your hearts? Behold My hands and My feet, that it is I Myself. Handle Me and see, for a spirit does not have flesh and bones as you see I have.”

When He had said this, He showed them His hands and His feet. But while they still did not believe for joy, and marveled, He said to them, “Have you any food here?” So they gave Him a piece of a broiled fish and some honeycomb. And He took [it] and ate in their presence. (Luke 24:36-43)

I wonder if this is more significant because, just before this meeting with the disciples, Jesus had joined with the men He met on the road to Emmaus for supper. While He opened their eyes to recognize Him as He blessed the bread and gave it to them, it seems that He did not eat on that occasion, and in a very spirit-like manner disappeared from their sight (Luke 24:30-31). That may have been the cause of speculation when they reported their encounter to the other disciples.

Both the Old and New Testaments speak of feasting in heaven (Isaiah 25:6 and Revelation 19:9 come to mind), which underscores the actual, bodily resurrection of the saints.

On the other hand, the Angel of the Lord made the opposite point to Manoah, the father of Samson:

Then Manoah said to the Angel of the LORD, “Please let us detain You, and we will prepare a young goat for You.” And the Angel of the LORD said to Manoah, “Though you detain Me, I will not eat your food. But if you offer a burnt offering, you must offer it to the LORD.” (For Manoah did not know He [was] the Angel of the LORD.) (Judges 13:15-16)

While the Angel speaks of a burnt offering, it is clear that he considered Manoah’s invitation to be offering dinner, not worship. Gideon, on the other hand, plainly called the meal he brought an offering, and knew that he was addressing an angel (Judges 6:17-22).

However, there is one incident which doesn’t follow the pattern. When Abraham was visited by the Lord in the plains of Mamre (Genesis 18), the three men who appeared to him accepted his offer of food:

And he took butter, and milk, and the calf which he had dressed, and set [it] before them; and he stood by them under the tree, and they did eat. (Genesis 18:8)

So, as usually the case with really interesting little discoveries in Scripture, it probably is best not to read more than an occasional correlation from this one.

I spent the day driving up to Lexington, Virginia, to retrieve my eldest son from Washington & Lee University when he finished his finals. If I’d had more time I would have driven through Appomattox, which is only about a twenty-minute detour from our usual route. It was the anniversary of the surrender that took place 144 years ago. I recall reading it was a beautiful Palm Sunday in 1865; this year it was a Thursday, but it was still a beautiful drive. I took a different route than usual, going up past Petersburg and Richmond, which brought other historic events to mind.

The thought occurred to me that this is one of the only times in history that I can be fairly definite of the whereabouts of my ancestors. Conscription in the South was nearly universal, so there is documentary evidence for many of our forebears:

John Wesley Young was a trooper in the 7th S.C. Cavalry, one of the last units to leave Richmond. He was surrendered with the Army of Northern Virginia that morning.

Thomas E. Flowers was presumably making his way back to Sumter, S.C. A member of Garden’s Battery, Palmetto Light Artillery, he had served the last several months outside Petersburg but disappeared from the record between Petersburg and Appomattox. Many in Lee’s army slipped away that week, thinking to join with Gen. Joseph Johnston in North Carolina and continue fighting, rather than be surrendered and paroled with no opportunity to continue the war.

Thomas A. Crowder, 17th S.C. Regiment, was in a hospital in Richmond, recuperating from a head wound suffered in the battle of Fort Steadman outside Petersburg two weeks earlier. He was surrendered, too, as part of the invalid corps around Richmond. It occurs to me today that because of a Providential hospitalization he had in July and August 1864, he was probably not present when the Federals blew up much his regiment with the famous Petersburg mine; his brother was killed during the subsequent battle. If Thomas had been healthier then, I might not be here today.

Jacob Powell, formerly of the 7th S.C. Battalion, was probably still getting used to his artifical leg back home. He had been wounded at Drewry’s Bluff several months earlier and invalided out after an amputation at Richmond’s Chimborazo Hospital.

Andrew Jackson Miles had long been invalided out of the 29th N.C. Infantry for “pulmonary phthalsis”, which I understand to be tuberculosis. No telling what he was up to, but he and John K. Sluder, who was still too young to be in the service, were probably attending church with their families. Of the Sluders, one brother had died of disease while serving in eastern Tennessee, and another had come home after losing a leg. While Andrew Miles made it home early in the war, his uncles Lewis and Humprey were captured at the battle of Peachtree Creek, on the edge of Atlanta, in July 1864. Humprey died a prisoner and is buried at Camp Chase, Columbus, Ohio; Lewis was still a POW on April 9 and was returned home after the surrender.

I have a few others in the family tree that I haven’t researched completely, and this leaves out some really fascinating characters on my wife’s side. Still, it’s an interesting thought.