The Pledge of Allegiance was written in August 1892 by Francis Bellamy. Bellamy, a Baptist minister who believed in the absolute separation of church and state, had hoped that the pledge would be used by citizens in any country.
Original version:
“I pledge allegiance to my Flag and the Republic for which it stands, one nation, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.”
In 1923, the words, “the Flag of the United States of America” were added.
“I pledge allegiance to the Flag of the United States of America and to the Republic for which it stands, one nation, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.”
In 1954, in response to the unwarranted fear of communism, Congress added the words “under God.”
“I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the republic for which it stands, one nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.”
Suggestion:
Change the Pledge to: “I pledge allegiance to the Constitution and the Republic for which it stands, one nation, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.”
Some right-wingers say they love Jesus, seeing him as their personal savior and claim they want to re-make the U.S. into a “Christian” nation. However, when one reads the New Testament, one wonders which texts they’re reading.
Suggestions:
Read the gospels in the New Testament from the beginning to the end.
College basketball legend Bob Knight passed away this past week. His impact on the sport is undeniable, both good and bad. For more than a decade, he and his teams were quite a force in college sports locally, nationally, and even internationally. The news brought up a few Knight-related memories:
1. On the evening of the 1976 national championship, my newly minted wife and I decided to go over to the downtown Bloomington bars to join in the big celebration. We felt that parking would be hard to find if everyone came out, so we found a spot in the campus main library lot, approximately four blocks from the center of town.
There was quite a fete. The whole campus and town populations it seemed had turned out. Beer and spirits were flying liberally about, poured down gullets, on heads, on shoulders, on pavement, and so on. Naked streakers proliferated mixing and dancing maniacally with students and faculty on the streets amidst dozens of stalled, honking and flashing cars and pickups.
Once we had our fill of the crazed festivities, we turned back towards our car to return home. As we approached, we unhappily discovered that the party had spilled over to the lot. Drunken students were racing and leaping about among the parked vehicles, AND on top. Some were jumping up and down on and crossing over to the hoods, including ours!
Fortunately, this had a happy ending. A friend of a neighbor who worked in a body shop worked out the depressed hood for little charge – a kindness in response to our victory celebration plight.
Welcome to Hoosier Basketball!
2. We were attending the Cream & Crimson Scrimmage, to which faculty and staff are invited to watch the last full-court practice before the start of the 1981-1982 season. My wife, daughter, and I sat on an aisle one row up from the court, on the opposite side from the team bench and coaches. We were closer to one basket, but still had a great view. In March, IU had won its second national championship in Coach Knight’s tenure, and there was naturally great anticipation and much attention being paid by the devoted audience to the prospects for the new season. For the scrimmage, the players were as usual divided into two squads – one sporting Cream-colored jerseys and the other Crimson – the school’s colors. The squads were putting on a good show, not letting up steam. Of course, they were being prodded on by the master himself, the revered Coach Knight, who fully orchestrated the performance, continually barking out commands from the opposite side of the court.
Although it was not a regular season contest, the scene looked and sounded real. It was very noisy, both from the cheers of the crowd and from the action on the court. As the squads thundered toward our direction, there was a sonic boom created by the pounding of feet and the screeching of shoes. The collective sounds roared and oscillated like ocean waves. The din would subsequently subside as the players reversed and drove themselves back down the court. My barely one-year-old daughter was caught up in all the commotion, seemingly entranced by the rhythmic tide. She would stand up as high as she could on my lap whenever the squads approached our area and then let out a small roar of her own. This pattern continued for several minutes.
I sat there fixed, eyes focused on the flow, observing and examining how the players maneuvered for each attack on the basket, or how then raced back into position on defense. Over time as the action continued intensely on court, I started to sense something odd. I briefly spied a small blur in the distance. At first, I paid only passing notice. Next, I detected some movement on the upper periphery of my vision. A figure or sorts began moving slowly towards the left; then picked up pace. Again, I did not make much of it and continued to turn most of my attention to the action on court. But the blur or figure kept getting larger and larger as it continued to the left. But then I lost track, pulled back by a great layup. But there was something that I found strange, no more barking from Coach Knight AND he was no longer standing on the opposite side. Did I miss something?
Suddenly a large looming person appeared out of nowhere. He thundered out, “Get that kid out of here!”
It was Coach Knight towering above us in our seats.
“What what did you say?” I asked, stunned by moment. “What’s going on, Coach?” I tried to laugh, or giggle, or something, but could barely get anything out.
“I want that kid out of here,” he shouted again.
I was blown away. Incredulous. My wife sat dumb-founded.
“What had we, our daughter done to merit this treatment?” I thought.
We were not given much time to think or react. A coaching assistant who had accompanied Knight into the stands said, “Sorry, you’ll have to leave.”
“But why?”
“Coach says you’re disturbing our practice and have to leave.”
We reluctantly packed up, grabbed my daughter, and exited. It made little sense. Surely, he and the team encounter great volumes of noise and disruption during a game; and we were on the opposite side of the court. I wonder to this day how one small infant could so profoundly disturb the great Coach Knight.
Of course, my daughter has no memory of this incident, and it did not at all affect her love of playing basketball.
3. One afternoon, my wife and I were playing tennis on the university’s varsity courts when were joined in the next court by Coach Knight and another person. Seeing who it was, we did not bother to stop our play, We still held a grudge from the time he had kicked us out of the stadium six years earlier because our year-old daughter’s impassioned yells were apparently too much for the coach’s ears.
As continued our play, we began to hear the Coach raise his voice in discussion with his partner. We couldn’t discern what he was talking about, but soon several of their balls started ending up on our court. This is very normal for action on adjacent courts, so we had no issue about hitting their balls back whenever there’s the need. However, the heated talk turned to yelling, louder and louder; and the stray balls, particularly those off the coach’s racket, grew more and more frequent.
In the past, I had seen Knight play tennis. He was a decent player, so I didn’t understand the lack of control. His opponent did not seem to be extraordinarily formidable. I paused and approached my wife to whisper a question.
“What’s going on with Knight?”
“Who cares. He’s a jerk and probably a sore loser.”
“Perhaps, but it still seems odd. He has some bee in his bonnet.”
Soon we wrapped up our play. As we exited, Knight continued fuming on court.
The next day, we got the answer. It was reported in Herald-Times, Bloomington’s local paper, that Knight had been approached by one of the paper’s reporters on a downtown street. As the reporter was trying to pose a question, Knight had allegedly pushed the hapless fellow back through a hedgerow. Well, what can you say?
******
Dear Hoosierland,
I must remind you that according to our contract if you had wanted to continue to have championships in Indiana, you needed to provide Ken’s family the necessary financial support. They held up their end of the bargain through their major family events: 1) When they got hitched in 1976, Indiana went undefeated and won its first championship right after they had arrived on campus. 2) In 1981, when their daughter was born, Indiana achieved its second national championship. 3) In the year that their son was born, Indiana again attained the championship; however, you subsequently stopped giving them financial aid support. A contract is a contract. With no more support, they of course consequently stopped producing offspring – resulting, as you very well know, in no further championships for you (even for the major pro sports), even if you cried about it.
BTW: As a signing bonus, I did throw in Mike Pence. Oh, he just dropped out, you say. Well, tant pis!
Some right-wingers say they love Jesus, seeing him as their personal savior and claim they want to re-make the U.S. into a “Christian” nation. However, when one reads the New Testament, one wonders which texts they’re reading. (quotes from KJV).
Here are prominent quotes from the liberal Jesus they eschew:
“Ye also ought to wash one another’s feet.” [J 13:14]
“Judge not, that ye be not judged.” [MT 7:1]
“Why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother’s eye, but perceivest not the beam that is in thine own eye?” [L 6:41]
“Blessed are the peacemakers” [MT 5:9]
“Behold the fowls … they sow not, … yet your heavenly Father feedeth them.” [MT 6:26]
“He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her.” [J 8:7]
“But whoever has this world’s goods, and sees his brother in need, and shuts up his heart from him, how does the love of God abide in him?” [J 3:17]
“Then Jesus went about all the cities and villages … healing every sickness and every disease among the people.” [MT 9:35]
“Even so ye also outwardly appear righteous unto men, but within ye are full of hypocrisy and iniquity.” [MT 23:28]
“Make not my Father’s house an house of merchandise.” [J 2:16]
“It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God.” [MT 19:24]
“Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.” [MT 22:39]
“When thou prayest, thou shalt not be as the hypocrites are: for they love to pray standing in the synagogues and in the corners of the streets, that they may be seen of men.” [MT 6:5]
“I will have mercy, and not sacrifice, ye would not have condemned the guiltless.” [MT 12:7]
“They need not depart; give ye them to eat.” [MT 14:16]
“Woe unto you also, ye lawyers! For ye lade men with burdens grievous to be borne, and ye yourselves touch not the burdens with one of your fingers.” [L 11:46]
“For unto whomsoever much is given, of him shall be much required: and to whom men have committed much, of him they will ask the more.” [L 12:48]
“All ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” [MT 11:28]
“Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.” [MT 11:28]
“Depart from me, ye cursed … for I was an hungred, and ye gave me no meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me no drink …” [MT 25:41]
“Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! for ye are like unto whited sepulchres, which indeed appear beautiful outward, but are within full of dead men’s bones, and of all uncleanness. Even so ye also outwardly appear righteous unto men, but within ye are full of hypocrisy and iniquity.” [MT 23:27-28]
They can’t have tea or take whiskey; Love thrusts they do not dare. They consume no meat in summer; With fibbing there’s no care. And some find a harem fine, While sporting odd underwear. I even heard with Elders they must agree.
Missionaries they can’t swim, And their devotion’s surreal. They can only play half-court b-ball; Two yearly calls home unreal. Teens must pass purity tests, And oral sex’s no deal. These folks are not a usual assembly.
I’d like to say a word, a cordial spin. The Mormons… make me…grin.
How do you grasp a tenet like the Mormons’? How do you get a creed so strange to acquaint? How do you find the way to close the commons? Talk with a Josephite! A Latter-Day Saint! How quaint!
Many a thing you know you’d like to ask them, Many a thing you want to understand, But how do you make them hear That their credo’s not so clear? How do you still maintain an even hand?
Oh, how do you grasp a tenet like the Mormons’? How do you treat their faith with open mind?
Bicycle wheels whirl and crunch furiously on the pavement, accompanied by an increasing staccato.
“Huff puff, huff puff, huff puff.”
His focus on the road ahead narrows and becomes fuzzy. A car passes quickly on the left. On the right pedestrians walk along a sidewalk. A dull thump, thump, thump pumping sound emerges and continues unevenly for several long seconds.
“Ugh…!”
A sharp crashing sound and stinging pain are followed by a dizzying blur, then blackout and profound silence. After an indeterminable while, soft strains of Allegri’s Miserere invade an immensely indiscernible space, infused with enveloping and whirling vapors. The hazy murkiness begins to lighten up, gradually, very gradually intensifying until it reaches a full glare. Two shadowy figures materialize from the obscurity and approach an opening in the clouds, perhaps a gate with a side post. A figure with an elongated headpiece calls from inside.
“Michael! You’re late again! It is almost time to wrap up my shift.”
“Sorry, Peter, last minute congestion and an Expedia reservation screw up with Charon on the River Styx. You know the result of all those Novel Coronavirus variants, everybody’s just dying to get across…”
“Okay, okay. Let’s get this thing rolling.”
Michael hands him a document while Peter directs a question to the other shadow now fully emerged from the chaotic vapors.
“First name?”
“My what? What? My first name?” the second figure responds groggily.
“Come on, yes, your first name. It says here your first name is Tom. Is that right?”
“Yes, it’s Tom, but what is going on?”
“Just processing.”
“Processing what?”
“I’m verifying your eligibility.”
“Eligibility for what?”
“Eligibility to enter.”
“Enter what?”
“The Celestial Gates, of course!”
“Celestial? Gates? Am I dreaming? What’s all this fog? What the hell is going on?”
“I’m sorry, but you aren’t allowed to use that term here.”
Tom still looks mystified.
Peter then turns back to Michael. “Michael, you know the drill. Why haven’t you told him?”
“Sorry, Peter. I only received notice of Tom for my recruitment list at the last second, but he looked like a promising candidate.”
“Arrgh! Now let’s get going here. I’ve got to finish my daily report to the Old Man.”
He speaks to Tom. “I see you have the same last name as one of my favorite novelists.”
“Novel…? What ARE you talking about? Who ARE you? What am I doing here?”
Michael sticks his elbow in Tom’s ribs and whispers, “Not a good Idea to rile Saint Peter. You may end up in the last row of the heavenly choir.”
Tom is still hazily taking in the situation.
“You seem to be a smart guy. You’ll figure it out soon enough.”
Peter ignores Tom’s confusion and then begins reviewing the document.
“Ah, I see that you’ve made good use of your time down there. Put your education and experience to good use helping others. Performed your military and civic duties with honor, frequently assisted and offered to help many, many others. Quite good there. There have been the numerous venial sins. But that of course can be expected for such a long and commendable life. I see you also make an extra effort to help with maintenance at your church and you can handle yourself well with other sometimes difficult parishioners. Very commendable!”
“This must be a MISTAKE! Something is wrong!”
“No, no, I can assure you, my man. No.”
Saint Peter’s face speaks frustration. He has seen this reaction a million times before. It gets a bit old. He states what he has said a million times before, “The Old Man NEVER makes a mistake.”
“Nor do you, Mr. Infallible,” Michael giggles.
“Now Michael, that is only in terms of doctrine. Otherwise, I’m as fallible as the next guy, even more so. Remember my big screw up at Gethsemane?”
“Yeah, bigly. Tee-hee.”
“You don’t have to rub it in.”
Suddenly a small note appears out of nowhere. Michael calls Peter’s attention.
“Look, Peter, at the end of the document.”
Peter looks down at a pink post-it note and reads it.
“Oh boy, Oh boy. How did this slip through?”
“What’s it say?”
“It’s a note from one of our guardians watching over the Grinders, that chatty, filibustering group. I’ve been purposely ignoring them lately after they stopped patronizing my favorite coffee chain. Hmm, nevertheless, it says here that… uh… Tom that YOU recently admitted, in fact, proudly proclaimed in public to be a life-long, card-carrying REPUBLICAN!”
“Of my, that means no Heaven for you buddy.”
Instantaneously out of the misty vagueness a second gate flings wide open with searing flames bursting out. Peter gestures for Tom move toward that gate.
“Now just wait a minute here. I CAN’T go there. This is some colossal mistake!”
“Oh no it’s not. Jesus the man himself said it is more difficult for a rich man to enter the Kingdom, than for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle.”
“Yes, but I am not a rich man!”
“Well, many less well-off than than you have been assigned to the eternal brimstone vacation. Besides the Old Man just released Bible 2.0 on Amazon. What old Joe would call a BFD update.”
Bible 2.0?!? BFD? What the F…
The Old Man finally saw the light so to speak after seeing the Donald’s amazing media success. He saw that he needed more impactful, simplified messages to the masses too busy to read more than a few lines of text. He dropped the Old Testament almost entirely, keeping only a few sections like Psalms, Ecclesiastes, etc., because it is mostly too old. He made the Golden Rule the sole commandment and made sure to emphasize the Beatitudes. The New Testament is now simply ‘A Testament,’ because how can a book written over two thousand years ago be called ‘New.’ He tossed out the Book of Revelations for all its false advertising. And because he felt that Gingrich had just gone too far, he decided to have Jesus update and rerecord the phrase about the rich man and the camel to ‘a rich person or Republican.’“
“Peter, you’re getting carried away again with all your sermonizing. Let’s get back to Tom’s case.”
“In light of this new revelation and the Old Man’s preference, it is quite clear where you should go.”
“Now wait a minute, wait JUST A MINUTE! You can’t send me there! In fact, don’t send me anywhere. My time is not up yet! Though I know I’ve been getting a little winded lately.”
“OK, Mister big stuff. Let’s just verify that.”
Peter starts to take a second look at Tom’s resume and realizes he had inadvertently skipped the health portion because of the repartees.
“Well, yes, Tom, you ARE correct. It says here you could go a few more rounds. There must have been some slip up in creating your list, Michael. Perhaps it’s because of all that Great Resignation we have been hearing about. I have been noticing it getting harder to get competent help.”
“That’s it! I think you’ve hit upon something, Peter, when you bring up competent help. The Old Man wants to expand the choir section, make Charon’s boat can handle more passengers, enhance the River Styx’s flow, improve dynamics of angel wings, and find a way, in his own words, for “that damned Gabriel’s horn” to stop scaring off the Holy Ghost’s doves. Savants like Archimedes, Da Vinci, and Tesla keep coming up with impractical, costly designs. He knows he will not be able to recruit Elon. In short, he needs someone competent to perform quality control. Tom here could be just the ticket.”
“Bright boy! And you know how breezy it gets near the gate, sometimes knocks my mitre right off. I did see some juicy tidbits in his resume. Perhaps he could do something for my gate.”
“Tom worked with procurement and quality control while he did his service using his astute powers of observation and respect for the data to save money and effort. His resume shows he received a patent on “the method and apparatus for enhancing gas turbo machinery flow.”
Peter turns to Tom, “I see Tom, you were still working on your pipe dream up until the last second.”
“Ah, yes sir. Turbo acoustics.”
“Do you think, Peter, that we could do something for him?”
“Well perhaps so and necessity is the mother of invention. Jesus has a new burr in his spur, what he calls his Hail Mary Program. He’s been testing out a conversion therapy with likes of Mitt and Lynn. It is intended to help them amend their wayward ways. Perhaps our Tom here could just qualify.”
“He would need a helper. I could do it.”
“But, Michael, I think you’re too close to his case. You’d have to recuse yourself.”
Recusal. Peter suddenly laughed to himself thinking about that one uppity, duppity Supreme Court justice who refused to recuse himself and of course ended up the eternal hot seat.
“Let’s see now, there’s old Clarence our usual go-to journey-angel looking to win his permanent wings; but he’s currently tied up with working on that clueless banker George. And then there’s Mr. Jordan, but he’s dealing with Aaron Rodgers…”
“How about using our potential intern, Van?” Michael gleefully injected.
“You mean the ornery socialist, the one with that silly faux last name?”
“Yes, yes, I think he would be the perfect choice. Our informant says he and Tom are sometimes at loggerheads over certain pertinent issues.”
“I also noticed that true to form he manages with calm insistence to inject some realism and sound data points into their wide-eyed notions of solving social and environmental problems.”
“And if Van succeeds with the conversion, it could confer on him the route to beatification. It would be an interesting two-fer!”
“Okay then. I will compose and send up to the Old Man a quick Pontifical appeal for Tom and send him back so he can live out his truly allotted time with a very good dose of Our Fathers so that Tom may soon see the error of his political ways and successfully convert. Of course, I need to add our usual disclaimer: Unbiased treatment, no predetermination, individuals are solely responsible for consequences, yada, yada, yada, all results are final. Oh, yes he better get his ticker checked.
Gabriel’s horn sounds a loud, long bellowing blow.
“Break time!”
A blaring braking noise comes to a quick halt with a grating skid. Tom rights himself skillfully from the near tumble but feels a bit wobbly. He shakes it off and straightens his bicycle. That was weird, he tells himself, better get that checked. He then proceeds toward the café patio where the Grinders camp, parks, and removes his helmet.
I met Jawdat just as I entered by way of the Damascus Gate. “Welcome to Jerusalem, the Holy City. Are you looking for a guide?” he asked. A quick glance discomfited me, For he looked no older than I myself. But he expertly continued, “This Gate is The Center of the World. It is an excellent type of Islamic building, and do you know what its sign means? There is no God but God and Muhammed is His Prophet.” What convenient luck for me, I thought, as he offered to guide me for the next few days. “There is the immovable ladder of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. Someone put it against that wall, and no one dares disturb the status quo.” “Make sure you cover your elbows when tucking prayers in the Wailing Wall.” “Remember remove shoes in al-Aqsa, so you can see the wonderful decorations.” He offered little personal insights To spice up our series of walks. “Let me treat you to some Turkish coffee along with a delicious slice of kanafa.” “The sabbath, the busiest day of the week, is when Arabs and Israeli teens eye the miniskirts.” And “Someday I will go to your country to study and get an American wife.” Also, “My family is originally from Jaffa but was thrown out the Day of the Nakba.” Once when we dined late after curfew, he vanished after helping me enter my hostel. For four days there was no sign of him, though I enquired from shop to shop. At the market there was a wary silence until my last day his familiar figure re-emerged. Jawdat approached and pulled up his shirt to show me the IDF’s purple marks.
One of my earliest recollections of childhood was that of a dream, and I remember it quite vividly. I was four going on five. At the time my mother worked half time in the morning and my father full time from four until midnight. I would take a nap from around one to three.
According to my mother, I always wanted to say goodbye to my father before he left for work. I would wake up crying if I realized I had missed the opportunity. In addition, there is something about our practicing Catholic family which impressed a very young me.
I remember one day worrying again that I would miss seeing my father off to work. I told my mother expressly, “Mom, wake me up BEFORE Daddy goes to work.” “Of course, of course, Kenny, I will,” my mother assured me. “Now go to sleep.” I sensed I was drifting off…
A frantic knock on our door startled me up.
Groggy from my slumber, I heard a voice yelling, “Can’t find it!” My mother echoed anxiously, “Can’t find it!?!” “Yes,” a man replied. It was a neighbor.
My mother took me by the hand and led me outside. It seemed very gray and gloomy. The clouds hung down as curtains. There were lots of people there outside with us. They were all looking up.
Floating high in the clouds was Mother Mary. She was just like the image I had seen on my Busia’s prayer card, only very much alive. She boomed, “I have lost a butterfly.” “A butterfly, oh my,” the crowd responded. “Go find it,” she commanded. “Otherwise, there would be no sun.”
The people around looked startled and frightened. “What will we do?” they asked. Then they started looking down the street, behind their houses, looking all around. It was quite frenzied.
After a while, I heard someone call out, “Gene! Gene!” They were pointing at my Daddy. He had suddenly popped out from behind a bush wearing a big grin.
Out from his hand rose a butterfly. I watched it ascend. We all looked up; and Mary, too, was smiling.
The sun came out… and I woke from my nap. My father was still home.
