Showing posts with label Alice C. Linsley. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Alice C. Linsley. Show all posts

Thursday, July 13, 2023

The First Lords of the Earth: An Anthropological Study

 



Dear Readers,

My book The First Lords of the Earth: An Anthropological Study is now available to purchase on Amazon. Purchase options include Kindle, paperback, and hardcopy. All are priced for the book lover on a tight budget.

The book identifies the social structure and religious beliefs of the early Hebrew ruler-priest caste (6200-4000 years ago), their dispersion out of Africa, their territorial expansion, trade routes, and their influence on the populations of the Fertile Crescent and Ancient Near East.

Readers say this book brings the figures of the Old Testament to life. You will learn how it is that these early Hebrew ruler-priests took seriously God's command to be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth. 

My book is about the early Hebrew, long before the time of the Exodus of Jacob's clan called the "Israelites". It involves tracing the Hebrew dispersion out of the Nile Valley into many parts of the Ancient Near East. These were kingdom builders, and their marriage and ascendancy pattern drove their dispersion through the practice of sending away non-ascendant sons.

Analysis of the kinship pattern of the early Hebrew, beginning with the historical Adam and his contemporary Enoch, reveals that they had the same marriage and ascendancy pattern as Abraham and Moses.

The research took 40 years, but I was able to make a rather complex subject easy to understand. I hope you will buy the book and discover answers to some perennial questions, such as:

  • Who were the Horite Hebrew and the Sethite Hebrew?
  • Where is the oldest known site of Horite Hebrew worship?
  • Why did so many Hebrew men have two wives?
  • What was the difference in status between wives and concubines?
  • What types of authority did the biblical Hebrew?
  • How did they determine which son would rule over the father's territory?
  • How did their acute observation of the patterns in Nature inform their reasoning?
  • If Judaism is NOT the Faith of the early Hebrew, what did they believe?

It is ancient history, anthropology, and Biblical studies wrapped into one fascinating read. I hope you will find it helpful and informative.


Best wishes to you all,

Alice C. Linsley

Saturday, August 27, 2022

A Call to Anglican Catholicism






Hearing the Echo

Speech delivered by Alice C. Linsley at the International Catholic Congress of Anglicans

Fort Worth, Texas

16 July 2015



Thank you for that lovely introduction, Bishop Hewett. Of all the introductions I have received, that is by far the most recent.

I would like to begin by expressing our thanks to those who served us this meal. Mr. Ernesto Perez and his wait staff have served us well all week. Thank you, ladies and gentlemen.

Isn’t it amazing that about 300 of us Anglicans had dinner together and we agreed on only two choices?

When it comes to food, I’m in favor of dual integrities!


I wish to express gratitude to our patrons: Bishop Michael Nazir-Ali and Bishop Keith Ackerman, two faithful leaders in whom Christ’s light shines. They, and many others here who faithfully serve Christ in His Church, are a great inspiration.

It is a pleasure to be at this gathering of Christ-followers in the Anglican Way. I am thankful for the thoughtful and stimulating engagement we have found here this week. May our conversations continue beyond this Congress. May they be edifying, and may we find ways to strengthen our bonds of affection.

I am humbled to have been asked to speak, though I do so with some apprehension. You see, the last time I spoke at a Forward in Faith sponsored conference I was in Melbourne, Australia and shortly thereafter that Forward in Faith chapter folded.
 

Many of the Forward in Faith Australia leaders went to the Ordinariate, leaving a leadership vacuum. Perhaps we can take a lesson from that turn of events that will enable us to strengthen the witness of Forward in Faith in our home regions. Ideally, there must be no more draining away of Anglican Traditionalists. Catholicity is salt that preserves and enhances our Anglican flavor. More catholic Anglicans are needed, though our perspective is often misunderstood and not always welcome.

Frankly, I do not understand the disdain some hold for Anglo-Catholicism and Anglican Traditionalists. Do they do not recognize how many Traditionalist Anglicans were the first to oppose the radical changes and have continued to fight the good fight for more than half a century? Anglican Traditionalists have been telling the truth about the Gospel and the priesthood because you care for people and you love the Church. I for one, thank you from the bottom of my heart. I am living proof that your witness bears fruit.

In seminary my Anglican Polity professor was Dr. Jeffrey Steenson, now Monsignor Steenson, and the first ordinary of the Personal Ordinariate of the Chair of Saint Peter, which provides for former Anglicans who have become Roman Catholics. At that time, he was at the Anglo-Catholic parish of Good Shepherd in Rosemont, Pennsylvania.

Dr. Steenson planted a seed of doubt about women priests in my mind when he challenged me to show him one example of a woman priest in the Bible. Of course, I couldn't. The best I could do was to trot out the casuistry of feminist theologians, and even then I recognized the poverty of their scholarship.

Dear Dr. Steenson was persona non grata in the Episcopal Diocese of Pennsylvania where I was ordained in 1988. That is the same diocese that put forward Barbara Harris, the first African American female bishop, Geralyn Wolf, the first female bishop to have converted from Judaism, and Mary Glasspool, the first partnered lesbian bishop. I knew them all and had conversed with them on more than one occasion. Their perspectives on the priesthood were informed by feminism and Process Theology. Our paths diverged dramatically once I began to consider questions about the origin and nature of the priesthood from the perspective of anthropology.

It is remarkable that the Diocese of Pennsylvania even considered me for the priesthood since I was far more a traditionalist than the other women. In retrospect, I see that it happened exactly because of ECUSA's on-going radicalization and growing intolerance. The parish that put me forward for ordination was the Church of the Good Samaritan in Paoli, Pennsylvania. It was the evangelical flagship at that time and the Episcopal Diocese of Pennsylvania was glad to have that parish contribute a woman for its latest celebrated cause. Besides that, Good Samaritan was the mission founded by Good Shepherd, Rosemont, and my approval was a slap in the face to Fr. Steenson and all that he represented.

All the more wonder then that Dr. Steenson should have been so patient with this sinner, inviting me to a service of the Blessed Benediction, and helping me to understand some of the deeper mysteries of our Eucharistic faith.

My sympathies were always with the Anglican Traditionalists, even as an Episcopal priest. However, in those early years I didn't understand how my being at the altar caused confusion, nor did I recognize the inherent dangers of this innovation. Bishop Nazir-Ali touched on some of those dangers in this excellent talk on “The Necessity of Unity in Truth for the Church’s Mission.”

Jesus Christ, the Son of God, is our Great High Priest. The Church is His bride. One day there will be a great wedding feast and our Lord and King will then be enthroned forever and His Queen, the Church, will also be exalted. Christ is the head of the Church. He is kephalē, the master and the husband in relation to the Church. To speak of Jesus Christ and the Church in any other terms is to set forth an errant Christology. We do so when we place females at the altar.

If that is not explicit enough, we should remember that the word ke-phalē is related to the Greek word phallōs, a reference to the male reproductive organ.

During my six years in the Antiochian Orthodox Church I came to appreciate the power of images. To those who ask me about women’s ordination, I pose this question: “Were we to contemplate the Blessed Mother of Christ and the Incarnation, would we place before our eyes a masculine image? Why then would we place before us a feminine image in the contemplation of Christ our Great High Priest giving Himself to us and for us?

As Anglicans in the Catholic Faith, we recognize the distinction between adoration as worship and veneration as giving honor where honor is due, especially to the Blessed Theotokos. This distinction between worship and veneration is one that I understand as an anthropologist. However, this distinction is not widely recognized among Protestants who have a tendency to iconoclasm. Yet they understand the value of images in social media, in stained glass, in the image of the Cross, and in textbooks. Veneration is something that Anglicans must learn if we are to experience the fullness of the communion of saints. Further, we will be blessed in showing the proper honor to the Blessed Woman of Genesis 3:15, the Mother of Christ our God.

I wonder if some Anglicans accept women at the altar as a sort of compensation for the lack of female imagery in the churches. Would this be corrected were Anglican churches to have a central icon of the Blessed Theotokos, as is done in the Orthodox churches? What if we too were to celebrate the “holy myhrr-bearing women” who were the first witnesses to the Resurrection? Have the women of our parishes heard that the Bible is essentially the story of the Woman who would conceive and bring forth the Seed who would crush the serpent's head? Are they aware that the Prayer of Humble Access alludes to a woman who Christ commended for her faith?

Catholic Anglicans uphold the faith once delivered, and the integrity of the all-male priesthood. We value the historic liturgical tradition of the Anglican Way. We understand that Anglican orders are valid and of greater antiquity than generally recognized. The apostolic order of priests was already established in Britain by 44 A.D and there is much archaeological, anthropological and linguistic evidence linking its founding to the Christ-following members of the Sanhedrin who alone were qualified to ordain priests.

Catholic Anglicans are not afraid to face reality and speak against the lies of our time. In his recent Pastoral letter, Bishop Paul Hewett made is profound observation: “It is an illusion to believe that same sex marriage or ordination of women or abortion or divorce on demand can in any way promote justice or freedom or equality for victim groups. Illusion, as with addictive behaviors, solves nothing, but is in fact a slippery slope to infinite unraveling, infinite unreality, infinite unlife, and ever less being.”

Our primary obligation is to uphold and defend the whole of that sacred deposit and sacred order that has been delivered to us by our faithful ancestors who gave their lives, often as martyrs, to preserve the unity of the Church in Truth.

Catholic Anglicans have a special role to play in the revitalization of Anglicanism worldwide. We have a responsibility to oppose feminism, process theology, reductionism, fundamentalism, and iconoclasm. Fundamentalist readings of sacred texts such as the Torah, the New Testament, or the Quran tend to result in iconoclasm. In the past year we have seen tragic examples of this with Islamic fundamentalist smashing statues and destroying icons in Iraq and Syria.

Anglican catholics are duty-bound to stand at the crossroads and direct others to the ancient paths. The Prophet Jeremiah received this message from God: This is what the LORD says: "Stand at the crossroads and look; ask for the ancient paths, ask where the good way is, and walk in it, and you will find rest for your souls." (Jer. 6:16)

But the people said, "We will not walk in it."



In refusing to walk in the ancient paths, people have become lost. The disorientation is so great that they no longer know good from evil, truth from falsehood. People have no idea how far they have wandered from their Creator's boundless love.

If there is one concern that I hope we all share it is that the Anglican Way be God’s way; that Anglicans walk along the tried and true paths, and that our Bishops exercise true spiritual authority in leading us. One threat to this is the temptation to create a designer church or to seek to reproduce the late great Episcopal Church. No new ground can be won by facing backward. We have entered upon a great adventure as pioneers on a new frontier.

I come from Kentucky, the land of Daniel Boone, a trail-blazing frontiersman. It was through the Kentucky wilderness that the explorers Lewis and Clark journeyed on their way to the Pacific. Just as the frontiersmen of Kentucky followed the ancient trails shown to them by the native Americans, so let us pioneer a path that corresponds to the old way. Let us walk the trail that is well known by the natives of our catholic Faith.

We have the road map within us by virtue of our baptism into Jesus Christ. Baptism marks the beginning of our Christian profession and provides the structure and framework for the whole of our common life as disciples and disciple-makers.

So We yield thee hearty thanks most merciful Father, that it hath pleased thee to regenerate us with thy Holy Spirit, to receive us for thy own children by adoption, and to incorporate us into thy holy Church.

In Baptism, we are buried into Christ, receiving the seed of immortality. This enables us to hear the Gospel and see the reality of God in our lives. St. Cyril of Jerusalem said:

"See, I pray you, how great a dignity Jesus bestows on you. You were called a Catechumen, while the word echoed round you from without; hearing of hope, and knowing it not; hearing mysteries, and not understanding them; hearing Scriptures, and not knowing their depth. The echo is no longer around you, but within you; for the indwelling Spirit (Romans 8:9, 11) henceforth makes your mind a house of God. When you have heard what is written concerning the mysteries, then you will understand things which you knew not." (From the Catechetical Lectures)

Consider the physics of sound waves. If you shout in a large canyon the sound will reflect off of the solid canyon walls and you will hear an echo. If the canyon wall is more than about 56 feet or 17 meters from where you are standing, the sound wave will take more than 0.1 seconds to reflect and return to you. The echo is proof that something is there of substance and solidity. The echo is proof also that something massive is at a distance from us. The echo of which St. Cyril speaks is proof of the substance of the Gospel or more accurately, proof of the Word Incarnate, who is the very heart of the Christian faith which we have a duty to preserve.

On the other hand, if you are near the wall, as for example, in a shower stall, when you shout no echo is heard. The echo in the canyon tells us that we are still a distance away from God, but God is there and very real. Writing to the Ephesians, St. Paul explains: “But now in Christ Jesus you who once were far away have been brought near by the blood of Christ.” St Cyril tells us that the Baptized receive the echo within them. The echo is heard inwardly and “then you will understand things which you knew not.”

The echo confirms absolutely the existence of Christ our God, but it cannot tell us His Nature, for that is a matter of revealed truth and we find that in the Scriptures by which God has superintended the preservation of the oldest known religious hope, what we call Messianic expectation; the Gospel of Jesus Christ. From of old, long before the time of Abraham, there was expectation in the ancient world of a Righteous Ruler who would overcome death and lead his people to immortality. The American mythologist, Joseph Campbell, calls this the "Monomyth" and anthropological studies of the widely dispersed peoples in the R1 Haplogroup confirms the spread of this expectation.

There is an important principle in anthropological investigation. That principle states: The more widely dispersed globally a culture trait, a practice or a belief, the older it is. So how old is Messianic expectation? It was already well established among the widely dispersed ruler-priests by 3500 B.C. This means that the core of our Christian Faith is the oldest known religion in the world.

Today the Church is the single entity that preserves the hope of bodily resurrection through the agency of the Righteous Ruler, the Son of God, Jesus Christ.

And humbly we beseech thee to grant, that we being dead to sin, and living to righteousness, and being buried with Christ in his death, may crucify the old man, and utterly abolish the whole body of sin; and that we be made partakers of his resurrection; so that finally, with the residue of thy holy Church, we may be inheritors of thine everlasting kingdom; Through Jesus Christ our Lord.

The Church's mission is to baptize into this hope, nurture in this hope, and equip disciple-making disciples to share this hope. We need well trained clergy for that mission. We need well catechized laity for that mission. That means exploring creative means of theological education for all who seek it. And there is something more that needs to be done, something that the Church did very well in the past, but which it has failed to do in modern times. We must help people learn to discern truth from falsehood. We are bombarded by lies daily. The Church is the single entity that is able to identify lies and speak against the often subtle and sophisticated falsehoods that confront us.

I see a great deal of pseudo-science and half-truths among anthropologists who disdain religion in general and Christianity in particular. Their scholarship is like a map out of which numerous holes have been cut. Is it any wonder that so few anthropologists are people of faith? In the universities they are never shown the whole map. They miss the trails that lead to verification of the core of Christian belief and the veracity of Scripture.

The Church can help seekers to discern distinctions, to think critically and constructively, and to recognize and honor God-established boundaries because these are real. Spiritual purity is distinct from spiritual impurity. The Son did not die to make us semi-pure. There is a realness to this distinction that the world cannot grasp.

Likewise, God did not create a gender continuum. Male and female is a real distinction.



God is real. By virtue of our baptism we recognize God's realness as an echo. In our confirmation, we make a mature commitment to our baptismal covenant, and by the laying on of the bishop’s hands with prayer, God strengthens the work of the Holy Spirit in us for the daily increase of divine grace in our lives and ministries.

The echo to which St. Cyril refers confirms absolutely the existence of Christ our God, but it cannot tell us His Nature, for that is a matter of divine revelation and we find that in the Scriptures by which God has superintended the preservation of the oldest known religious hope that the Divine One would come to our aid and deliver us from sin and death.

I’ve been told that Process Theology ruled the day at Lambeth 2008 under the guise of indaba. As an anthropologist I have studied many African cultural practices, and I know that indaba could never work at Lambeth. Indaba pertains to problem resolution in a village where everyone is a blood relative and where the first priority of all involved is the preservation of the oneness of the community. It is quite evident that Lambeth failed to preserve the oneness of the Anglican worldwide community. Certainly right-believing Anglicans were not fooled by the controlled conversations that directed people away from resolution. The “endless conversation” was designed to obfuscate, not clarify, the real issues. The reflections revealed “elasticity” of doctrine, driven by a desire to accommodate secular culture.

Colin Johnson, Bishop of Toronto, while at Lambeth said that he comes from a community with "a very large lesbian, gay, transgender, bisexual population” and he was determined through Indaba to keep that in the conversation. Frustration was high as it was evident that no progress was being made, despite the window dressing to make it seem that there was progress.

Bishop Mouneer Anis described Lambeth as a "great wall being put up by the revisionists" and said that the Communion's divisions over homosexuality are symptomatic of "a much deeper illness." The Church has become infected with a deadly cancer, and as is often the case with cancer, the disease is not recognized until in the later stages. People just go on as if there were nothing wrong. That is what happened in the Episcopal Church.

Upon his return from Lambeth, M. Thomas Shaw, Bishop of the Episcopal Diocese of Massachusetts, said that he would continue to ordain gay clergy, and gave the nod to the clergy of his diocese to continue to bless same-sex partnerships. Nothing that happened at Lambeth made him aware of his terminal illness.

We should not be discouraged by this depressing tale from our recent past. From the beginning, the Church has been "sore oppressed, by schisms rent asunder, by heresies distressed." This Congress is modeled on the great Anglo-Catholic Congresses in England in the early 20th century. It is to be a prophetic call to return to the Fathers, with renewed commitment to the Gospel, the extension of the Kingdom, and the cure of souls, ministering to rich and poor alike, throughout the world. It is hoped that we might let our Lord form His mind in His Church, so that we as Anglicans overcome our ecclesiastical deficits and grow in the mind of Christ.



There are some who look back with yearning to a time when the Church was undivided. With apologies, especially to my Eastern Orthodox sisters and brothers, if we are honest, we must admit that the church has never been undivided. St. Paul warned the churches about factions based on personalities.

St. Basil the Great, in his treatise On the Holy Spirit, directed these words against the Arians:

“Just as a hunter hides his traps, or an ambush of soldiers camouflages itself, so these questioners spew forth elaborately constructed inquiries, not really hoping to learn anything useful from them, because unless you agree with them and give them the answer they want, they imagine that they are fully entitled to stir up a raging controversy.”

Blessed Basil also wrote: “Every man is a theologian; it does not matter that his soul is covered with more blemishes than can be counted. The result is that these innovators find an abundance of men to join their factions. So ambitious, self-elected men divide the government of the churches among themselves, and reject the authority of the Holy Spirit. The ordinances of the Gospel have been thrown into confusion everywhere for lack of discipline; the jostling for high positions is incredible, as every ambitious man tries to thrust himself into high office. The result of this lust for power is that wild anarchy prevails among the people; the exhortations of those in authority are rendered utterly void and unprofitable, since every man in his arrogant delusion thinks that it is more his business to give orders to others than to obey anyone himself.”

In Letter 90, St. Basil wrote: “The dogmas of the Fathers are held in contempt, the Apostolic traditions are disdained, the churches are subject to the novelties of innovators.” This he wrote to “To the Most Holy Brethren and Bishops Found in the West” whose authority he recognized.

Though there always have been divisions in the church, there is unity in our future. Our spiritual unity is in Christ and will be fully evident in the eschaton, and this is of the Lord’s doing. Our mission is to be the Church in love with her Lord and Master. Now the Church suffers, but the mystery hidden for the ages is being made manifest for all the world to witness. Our suffering is his suffering. “Yet saints their watch are keeping. Their cry goes up ‘How long?’ And soon the night of weeping shall be the morn of song.”

Until that day, C. S. Lewis reminds us what needs to be done. In "God in the Dock", He wrote:

“We are to defend Christianity itself — the faith preached by the apostles, attested by the Martyrs, embodied in the Creeds, expounded by the Fathers. This must be clearly distinguished from the whole of what any one of us may think about God and Man. Each of us has his individual emphasis: each holds, in addition to the Faith, many opinions which seem to him to be consistent with it and true and important. And so perhaps they are. But as apologists it is not our business to defend them. We are defending Christianity; not my religion.”



Innovators love to talk about God as if God were mutable. One of the errors of Process Theology, as expounded by Whitehead and Charles Hartshorne, is that God is affected by temporal processes and is "becoming" alongside humanity. What bunk! The very order of Creation makes it evident that there is a distinction between the Creator and the creation, between God and Man, between heaven and earth. That is why the Lord taught us to pray that the Father's will be done on earth as in heaven.

Talking God into our own image is to lose our identity, our very being. God is not what we imagine or want God to be. We have no power to make God in our image. Nor can we make ourselves anything other than what God created us. It is arrogant self-delusion to think otherwise. Such spiritual hubris plays out to its logical end in the tragic lives of Bruce Jenner, a man who styles himself as a woman, and Rachel Dolezal, a white woman who styles herself as a black woman.

I spoke before about how my research in Biblical Anthropology helped me detect the deficiencies and falsehoods of Feminism and Process Theology. It also helped me to see the inadequacies of reductionism. Anthropology is the enemy of reductionism. The danger of reductionism is that it always misleads us. There are many examples of reductionism among Christians: Luther's interpretation of 1 Peter 2:9 by which he concludes that all baptized people are priests; the Protestant theory of Sola Scriptura, Young Earth Creationism, etc.

Secular reductionists attribute religious beliefs to non-religious causes. Some view religious faith as a by-product of human evolution. In this view religion enhances survivability for members of a group and so is reinforced by natural selection. Others reduce the religious impulse to superstition, as a way to explain the inexplicable. Religious reductionism views divine law as merely Man's attempt to determine conceptions of right and wrong.

There is also the psychological view that religion is a way to cope with our anxieties. This view actually has some basis in Scripture because all the evidence suggests that the priesthood emerged among Abraham's ancestors out of a need to address blood guilt. The primitive principle is one we recognize as animal sacrifice; blood for blood. And the sacred law that already existed among Abraham's ancestors pertained in large part to blood; for life is in the blood. In the Biblical worldview, blood both pollutes and makes clean. Ancient law codes, such as the Code of Ani and the Law of Tehut which existed long before the code of Hammurabi, addressed transgressions of boundaries between God and Man and between the individual and his neighbor, and between the individual and his community.


At the June ACNA conference Archbishop Foley Beach called for Anglicans to be a repentant, reconciling, reproducing, and compassionate. To this list, I would add conciliar catholicity, because this is the glue that holds us together.

Recently an Anglican theologian noted that, "C.S. Lewis and Dorothy Sayers were closer to the Anglo-Catholic end of things than the Evangelical wing." That statement implies a spectrum within Anglicanism. However, this theological range has definite boundaries at both ends. Anyone who crosses the boundary on either side, abandons the Apostolic Faith and cannot rightly claim to be Anglican.

Anglican ritual does not make one catholic, as Bishop Hensley Henson makes clear in his Cui bono? (1899) against Anglican ritualists. Henson viewed the "doctrinal incoherence" of Anglicanism to have "roots in something far more respectable than an indolent acquiescence in undiscipline or a reprehensible indifference to truth. It reflects the reluctance of considering and responsible English Churchmen to thrust the rough hand of authority into the sphere of religious opinion."

And see to what state of disarray we have come because of this!

Samuel Taylor Coleridge said, "Christianity without a Church exercising spiritual authority is vanity and dissolution."

Bishop Hensen posed this significant and probing question to Lord Halifax: “Apart from all questions of ecclesiastical theory, and considering only the practical worth of that authority of the ‘undivided Church’ to which High Churchman so frequently and so confidently appeal, can it be denied that we are little helped by an authority… which is wholly silent on many subjects of modern perplexity?”



Beloved of Christ, the Church must engage the lost world. The Church can no longer afford to remain silent as the world spirals into madness. This means that bishops must deliberate and they must act. Bishops who exercise true spiritual authority always lead the people in the catholic way, a way that needs no reforming, and no course adjustment as attempted by Protestant interpreters of the 39 Articles.

To what advantage do some insist that the Articles of Religion are our Anglican confession? The Articles went through a number of revisions before 1571 and were appreciated by the Catholic minded because of the strength of their arguments against Anabaptists. The 1571 Canon requiring subscription to the Articles instructs the clergy “not to teach anything except what is agreeable to the doctrine of the Old and New Testament, and what the Catholic Fathers and the ancient Bishops have collected from the same doctrine.”

The Articles alone have never served to stiffen the resolve of Anglican bishops to “trust the rough hand of authority” when it came to confronting heresy and dangerous innovations. That resolve comes from commitment to the Apostolic Faith, expressed in the Creeds, contained in Scripture, and delineated by the Church Fathers. We are to interpret the Articles of Religion according to the ancient Fathers and not vice versa. Using the 39 Articles as a confession taken out of the context of the Patristic Consensus produces a distortion of The Anglican Way.

In this day when those in the pews look to our Bishops for clear and unambiguous leadership in the face of heresy and apostasy, catholicity must we understood as natural to the Church. The true Church is always and everywhere repentant, reconciling, reproducing, compassionate, conciliar and catholic. These qualities make the Church effective in a world gone mad.

I am reminded of something G.K. Chesterton wrote in The Ball and the Cross:

"Christianity is always out of fashion because it is always sane; and all fashions are mild insanities... The Church always seems to be behind the times, when it is really beyond the times; it is waiting till the last fad shall have seen its last summer. It keeps the key of a permanent virtue."


As the realignment and revitalization of Anglicans worldwide continues there is less stench of death and decay. We find common ground in a permanent virtue: the changeless Truth revealed in Jesus Christ. Through the transforming work of the Holy Spirit we are becoming the fragrance of Christ's resurrection, a testament to the power of the Lord, the Giver of Life, who makes a sick body whole and raises the dead to life.

My brothers and sisters in the Lord, be encouraged! A marvelous day is coming when the Church will be presented to the Divine Bridegroom wholesome, pure, and adorned in glory.

Even so, come, Lord Jesus!



The Rt. Rev. Eric Menees, Bishop of San Joachin, closed with this prayer of Archbishop William Laud:


O gracious Father,

we humbly beseech thee for thy holy Catholic Church;

that thou wouldest be pleased to fill it with all truth, in all peace.

Where it is corrupt, purify it;

where it is in error, direct it;

where in any thing it is amiss, reform it.

Where it is right, establish it;

where it is in want, provide for it;

where it is divided, reunite it;

for the sake of him who died and rose again,

and ever liveth to make intercession for us,

Jesus Christ, thy Son, our Lord.

Amen.



Tuesday, November 30, 2021

Blogger Receives an Honorary Doctorate

 

Alice C. Linsley (2018) at a conference in North Carolina.


Alice C. Linsley

I recently was awarded an honorary Doctor of Humane Letters from St. Andrew's Theological College and Seminary in Poquoson, Virginia. This is an acknowledgement of my 37 years of research in the science of Biblical Anthropology, and an expression of gratitude for my contribution to understanding the antecedents of the all-male priesthood.

This is an honor for me, a lowly blogger who loves the Bible and enjoys detailed research. I have been blogging for 14 years. According to this 2006 report, the average lifespan of the top U.S. blogs is 33.8 months. Perseverance pays!

Please look at these Indices to gain a sense of my commitment to this work. 

INDEX at Biblical Anthropology

INDEX at Just Genesis

INDEX at Ethics Forum

INDEX at Philosophers' Corner

INDEX at Reflections on the Writing Life

I also write for this science blog, and I edit the work that appears at the Distinctive Discipleship blog. Additionally, my research is published at Academia.edu

I write every day, and I am proof that 14 years of blogging can be influential and fruitful. I hope this encourages other bloggers to keep writing and posting your work.


Related reading: Understanding the Science of Biblical Anthropology; Thoughts on Blogging; The Apostle Paul: Rules for Blogging; Blogging to Communicate the GospelReflections on the Writing Life: INDEX of Topics

Wednesday, September 2, 2020

Stimulate the Imagination!




Alice C. Linsley

Years of teaching creative writing to intermediate and high school students showed me that they are hindered by lack of imagination and limited vocabularies. I designed an activity that stimulates the imagination and expands their vocabularies. This is an example.


Random Word Exercise to build vocabulary and stimulate the imagination. Look up the meaning(s) of unfamiliar words before you try to use them in a poem.

 

Group 1: Use all 15 words and create a poem of at least 15 lines.

caged

pink

fevered brain

glimpse

warp

unfailing

endurance

spreading silence

peaceful

tortuous path

dry

derailed hope

corrosive

benign

bones


Additionally, students are to consider the importance of word choice and the value of devices such as alliteration. 

Why is "spreading silence" more ominous than "silence" alone? 

I invite readers to try this exercise. I'd like to see the results. You may submit your poem at aproeditor-at-gmail-dot-com. Include some information about yourself!


Related reading: Random Word Contests


Monday, April 18, 2016

The Challenges Writing Teachers Face



"A great teacher makes hard things easy." - Ralph Waldo Emerson
 
 
Well-crafted written communication is one the hardest things to teach. Consider the complexity of the task.
 
Many students are uninterested in learning to write well. They do not consider this a necessary skill for life.
 
Good writing takes time. There is a process of writing and revision. Students are not rewarded by immediate gratification.
 
There is the matter of recognition of good writing which comes through reading well-written material. Many students lack good reading skills. Those who like to read often fail to distinguish mediocre work from truly great literature.
 
There is the problem of distraction so that students have difficulty organizing their thoughts.
 
There is the additional challenge of logical order and sequence of ideas. Students often lack the critical thinking that this requires.
 
Good writing also requires grasp of grammar and syntax. Writing teachers spend a great deal of time teaching and re-teaching grammar.
 
Students tend to stay in their comfort zones when it comes to vocabulary. They do not stretch themselves by employing more sophisticated language unless they are challenged.
 
Teaching students how to write well is no simple task. Writing teachers who can do this should receive special honors. In some cases, the honor comes years later when a former student's work is published in a prestigious magazine. Sometimes, the former student takes the time to write a lovely letter to his writing teacher in which he acknowledges her influence and thanks her.
 
That happened this week for me. Thankful! Very thankful!
 
Alice C. Linsley
 
 
 


Wednesday, March 18, 2015

Solitary


This story is based on my experiences in Iran as a helicopter pre-flight instructor in Isfahan, Iran. The persons and events described are entirely fictitious. However, the Iranian trainees I taught were flesh and blood personalities, many of whom died in the 8 year Iran-Iraq war, even with Iran's superior helicopter force (738 against Iraq's 112.)

The story was first published in Buffalo Spree Magazine, the Twenty-fifth Anniversary Issue, Winter 1992.



SOLITARY
Alice C. Linsley


We were all miserable the day that Sergeant Rahmani was caged outside in the hot sun, visible from the airless staff room where the instructors gathered to drink stale coffee. There were no trees or shrubs, just an endless stretch of dusty earth and the dejected Rahmani slumped in the sweltering heat.

Company policy said that the Americans were to keep their noses out of the Iranian Army's business, and the barbed wired enclosure, 7 by 7 by 7 feet, had the strategic effect of reinforcing policy.

The Iranian government's contract with Regent Helicopter Company was concise and unambiguous. We were to teach the Iranians how to fly helicopters, to read the manuals in English, and to maintain their aircraft. We were to be respectful toward all nationals and their traditions, especially careful not to tread on any Islamic sensibilities. No boozing, no provocative dress, no public display of affection, and no public disturbances that might reflect poorly on the company when it came time to renew the contract.

I poured a second cup of coffee and turned my back to the window. I liked Sergeant Rahmani. He was one of the smart ones who had trained on fixed wing in Texas, spoke good English and kept physically fit. I was willing to bet that he didn't steal the eggs from the mess hall supply. More than likely he'd been framed. It was a game the Iranian trainees played to see who could get away with what, and it was more fun when it involved humiliating one of their betters.

“Linsley!”

The call came from the adjoining conference room where we were to be briefed about the Shah's inspection team, arriving in 3 days. Everyone was feeling the pressure from company headquarters in Tehran.

I dropped the stir stick onto the cigarette scarred table and headed to the briefing. Nick still wasn't there, which wouldn't score him any points with the boss man. He had forgotten about the meeting and I'd reminded him more than once, that very morning posting a hastily scrawled note to his locker.

Nick and I shared a Persian style house in the oldest section of Isfahan, away from where most Westerners lived. We did this to save money. Nick was sending most of his money back to his wife in Texas and figured that they'd have their mortgage paid in another year. I was buying Persian carpets for family and most of the remaining money went directly into an investment account managed by my brother, a financial genius.

I had vague ideas about what to do with the money once my contract was up with Regents. One thing for sure, I was getting out of Iran. Anti-American sentiment was on the rise.  There were rumors that the Ayatolla Khomeni, in exile in France, was rallying supporters inside the country with hopes of returning.

Besides, the flying business was getting on my nerves, and more and more I hated my image in the mirror. There was no way to look feminine in a blue flight suit and boots. I thought I'd like to do something, well . . . more normal, more ladylike.

The briefing room was stuffy, even with the windows open. It smelled of cigarettes, though the smokers had stubbed their smokes as soon as Colonel Diggert began the briefing. Most of the instructors were Vietnam vets with many flight hours and gunner training. Joe Blake could shoot his initials on the desert floor. I had watched him do it. For the most part they were all good guys. I was the only female instructor.

There was a shuffling of chairs when Nick slipped in and took a seat. Colonel Diggert thanked him for the courtesy of showing up. The others snickered. Nick shrugged his shoulders, muttered an apology and when no one was looking, winked at me. I rolled my eyes. The guy was such a loser! Still, I felt sorry for him. He really needed to go home and be with his family.

I wondered how Rahmani was doing in solitary. I considered what I would do when I got off work. I thought I'd head over to the Pahlavi Hotel for a few drinks with the other guys. For some reason I wasn't in a hurry to go home.

My mind wandered back to the briefing. Colonel D was explaining the reason for this unscheduled visit from Tehran.

“There's concern about the increase in washouts. The rate was 8% in the first group, then 12%, then 22%, and it looks as if it will go higher with this next cycle of trainees. Most of them are shepherds who haven’t even driven a car. No cause and effect reasoning. You know the deal... the Army lands a copter on the edge of a village and all the hopefuls are recruited to become pilots. Just sign on the dotted line, a 15 year enlistment. Then when they wash out of flight training, they move them to infantry.”

“Another concern is the problem of parts. Right now we aren't getting what we need to make repairs and the fleet is only 48% operational. Apparently the parts are in country, sitting on the docks in Abadan. That's not our problem to fix, but we'll still take it on the chin.”

“The good part of this story is that we have a great safety record, and you guys are to thank for that. We keep that good record and address some of these other concerns, and Regents has a good shot at being renewed.”

“The inspectors will arrive here at 1400 hours and be escorted to the flight line to review operations there. We've been told to expect about 15 people, including Regent's top people from Texas. I'll post the duty roster in the staff room. Everyone needs to look sharp!”

“When the briefing was over, I headed to my locker, slipped into my flight suit and collected my helmet and clipboard. My next student was Sergeant Yahbib, recently graduated from ground school. I recognized him as the fat one. There was only one explanation for his getting into the program: family connections. When I asked him about it, he sheepishly replied, “I have uncle.” I said, “Okay, sergeant. Let's make him proud.”

We climbed aboard and put on our helmets. I asked him, "What's the first thing you're going to do?”

“First I do checklist.”

“Roger that.”

I watched as he tested instruments, rotors and pedals.

“Good. Always do the checklist. It could save your life one day.”

“Yes, sir,” he replied, his eyes growing wide in his corpulent cheeks.

“That's okay, Sergeant. 'Sir' or 'Lieutenant.' Whatever stirs your fancy.”

He looked at me blankly, not understanding the colloquialism.

“Okay, everything checks out. What’s next?”

“I get clearance.”

“Nope. Not before you secure your safety belt.”

“Too tight,” he said, his brown face creased by a toady grin.

That’s when I knew it was going to be a long day.

* * *


I returned to the house before dark, escaping the raunchy jokes invariably circulated after the guys had consumed a few too many beers. I swung open the huge metal gate and parked my motorcycle in the courtyard. The house was surrounded by a high mud wall topped with shards of broken glass. I took off my New York Yankees cap. I always wore my blonde hair tucked up when I was in public. Honestly, at times I would have preferred to wear a chador, but it wasn't practical on a motorcycle, and it was against company policy.

I entered the house, tossed my keys and some Iranian coins on the table, and went into the kitchen. The refrigerator held 3 beers, a container of bluish milk which I had mixed from powder, and two eggs. I fried the eggs, and gobbled them while I sorted through the cassettes looking for my favorite music. After I slipped the cassette into the player, I headed for the shower, and then to bed where I was asleep almost instantly.

Nick came back after midnight. I heard the metal gates rattle and then the sound of water running in the bathroom. Then came a loud tap on my door.

“What is it?" I asked.

“Can I talk to you?”

I looked at the clock by my bed. “It's already after midnight. Go to bed!”

“I just wanna talk for a minute,” he whined.

Against my better judgment, I tossed aside the sheet and got up. I slipped on my jeans and adjusted my tank top which was clinging to my sweaty breasts. Then I opened the door a crack.

“So what's so important that it can't wait until tomorrow?”

“Why didn't you stay for the celebration?”

He smelled of beer and sweat as he pushed himself into the room and flopped into the chair next to my bed. That's when I suddenly remembered that it was his birthday. Geez! The guy just turned forty and I hadn't even remembered.

“I wish you had stayed. Ya know I been feeling real lonely for my family and...”

“I'm sorry, Nick. I should have baked you a cake.”

“Nah. I wouldn't ask that.” He hung his head. “But I wouldn't mind a birthday kiss.”

“Maybe tomorrow. Right now, you need to go to bed.”

Nick rose and lost his balance as he reached for me.

“I thought maybe you were lonely too.”

“Get going, cowboy!” I opened the door wide. “Out, before you do something you'll regret.”

“You're always so high and mighty! You know you want it ...”

I shoved him out the door and heard him swear as he stumbled down the hall to his room. I dragged the chair over and wedged it under the handle. It wouldn't keep him out if he really wanted in, but I was pretty sure that he was too drunk to make a good effort.

Back into bed, I couldn't sleep. I thought about Nick, about the upcoming inspection, about Sergeants Rahmani and Yahbib. It was time for a change. I decided right then to put in for a vacation. I had been saving my days and it was time to get away. With that thought, I finally slept.

I welcomed the hectic pace of the days that followed, crossing each off my wall calendar. Nick, usually subdued, never spoke of that night. A badly sunburned Rahmani was greeted back at the barracks with much hilarity, and Yahbib washed out of the program and was transferred to artillery.

The inspection set off a chain of events that none had foreseen. The Iranian commander was demoted and replaced by a harsh critic of Americans. We could do nothing right in his eyes. Crates of rusted parts began to appear. A fresh batch of trainees arrived, all unskilled laborers, but glad to have 3 meals a day and starched uniforms. With all that was going on, Colonel D ignored my request for leave until he knew he could do without me for 2 weeks.

I’d worked twenty-three months straight, with only 1 week off. According to the terms of my contract I could take 4 weeks leave with pay. In this job one didn’t get much emergency leave, so I opted to take only 2 weeks and bought a ticket to Athens.

I slept during most of the flight and when I arrived it was late afternoon. From my window seat I could see the sun glinting off the Aegean Sea. The landing was smooth and with only one suitcase I easily made my way to the airport entrance where I hailed an eager cabbie.

“You from America?”

“Yes. From New York”

“I know New York. The Yankees, right?”

I nodded since he was watching me in his mirror.

“You have boyfriend?”

“Yes,” I fibbed. “I’m going to meet him at the hotel.”

“Hotel Syntagma very nice hotel,” he said, and thankfully that seemed to be the end of his interest in me.

The Syntagma was a luxury hotel in the heart of the city. I paid the cab driver as the bellhop took my suitcase to the front desk. My room was on the fifth floor with a view of Syntagma Square and the Parliament building. After a shower, I changed into a sundress and slipped on sandals. My first objective was to buy some drachmas and find a place to eat. The man at the front desk took care of the money exchange and recommended a traditional taverna within walking distance of the hotel.

I could smell the sea as I walked toward Plaka, the ancient city. As I made my way to the restaurant, I peeked into the shop windows. There were ceramics, textiles and beautiful glass creations. I stopped to look at a display of gold jewelry, admiring a pair of delicate gold loops. I imagined wearing them with my hair up, but I passed them by. Company policy prohibited jewelry, except for chains that could be hidden under clothing.

The taverna had café tables on the sidewalk. I sat with my back to the front door, watching people pass. Greek matrons, dressed in black, tottered by carrying parcels and grocery sacks made of plastic netting. A young couple pushed a child in a stroller. An Orthodox priest in black robes hurried by, his heavy gold cross swinging as he walked. None of the passersby seemed interested in the diners, but I found them interesting.

There was a noisy group of German tourists drinking and chatting at one of the tables farthest from me, and closer were two men who I felt certain were South Africans. One of the men wore an eye patch.

Surrounding us were the sounds of the city and the aroma of grilled lamb. I ordered lamb kebab which came with rice and fresh sprigs of rosemary. The lamb was perfectly braised so that the outside was crispy and the inside tender and juicy. The waiter also delivered a garden salad drizzled with olive oil and fresh squeezed lemon juice. The salad was topped with crumbed feta and a few briny black olives. I decided to try the house wine, which was chilled Retsina. At first, I wasn’t sure that I liked it, but its pine aroma was the perfect companion to the lamb.

After dinner I walked back to the hotel, stopping once more to look at the gold earrings. I fell asleep quickly, exhausted from my travels, and I dreamt of Nick. He was riding my motorcycle down the narrow alley to our house and waving a cowboy hat over his head. Nick had offered to buy the bike, joking that I’d probably meet a Greek lover and never return. We’d had a good laugh about that.

Then I dreamt of Sergeant Rahmani. I was feeding him kebab through the wires of his cage. He smiled and took the kebab and offered it back to me. I woke with tears in my eyes and felt a strange resolve.

I ordered breakfast and ate at the small table overlooking the balcony. When I finished eating, I cleared away the dishes and took out 2 sheets of hotel stationary. The first letter was to Nick, telling him that he could keep the motorcycle, and the second letter was to Colonel D telling him that I quit. I could have called him, but I didn’t want to deal with his attempts to talk me out of my decision.

Then I took a leisurely bath and put on a red sundress. I clipped my hair up, put on some makeup, and went downstairs to mail the letters. After mailing the letters, I cashed a few traveler’s checks and headed back to the jewelry shop for the earrings I had admired. The saleswoman held up a large hand mirror for me to see my reflection. I pulled a strand of loose hair from my face and swung my head, making the gold loops dance.

Leaving the shop, I felt free. I stood on the sidewalk watching all the activity in the square before heading to the shops on Ermou Street. I purchased a few sacks made of plastic netting that I had seen the Greek women carrying, and I continued on to the flea market, moving from vendor to vendor. Their tented stalls were packed closely together and the market was crowded with morning shoppers. The sun was already warm on my shoulders, but the fresh sea breeze kept me cool. I turned toward the largest section of the outdoor market. I smiled at the children, and contentedly lost myself in the crowd.

END



Tuesday, July 15, 2014

Divorce Episcopal Style


Divorce Episcopal Style
by Alice C. Linsley

Attempts have been made to save our marriage, but pleading, reasoning, counseling, rebuking, threatening, tantrums, time outs, interventions and fervent prayer have not mended what was once a lovely and meaningful relationship. One partner wants to stay in the orthodox house and the other has moved out.

Having gone through divorce I recognize the painful slugging through another day, wondering when will this finally be over? I know from experience that recovery is long and never fully realized since there are reminders that prick the heart and make you long for what has been lost. We won't sit in the same pew anymore. We won't plan activities together. We won't sing praises under the same vaulted ceiling and admire the same stained glass windows. Passing that sign at the edge of town makes me angry because The Episcopal Church doesn't welcome me ... anymore.
 
I try to understand how this came to pass. I think back and begin to see the little signs that we were growing apart. I thought we were speaking the same language. Now I realize that familiar old words in your mouth took on unfamiliar meanings.

I listened while you told me of your dreams and plans and gradually it dawned on me that I wasn't included. And when I pointed this out to you, your response was to make me doubt myself, as if there were something seriously wrong with me.

The arguments became more frequent and unkind words were spoken. Even with wise counsel we grew farther apart and dreaded meeting. Why rehash it all again? Here I stand, I can do no other than uphold what has been revealed. There you stand, upholding your dream of a new church, your new theology. There is no ability to dialogue now, only sullen silence.

At night I cry on my bed, hoping that the children won't hear me. They have been hurt enough. I pray that you will not succeed in your attempts to take them from this orthodox house.

You told me that you needed space and time to think, but you spend all your time with your trashy mistress. She loves it when you talk dirty. She thinks I'm a loser. You buy costly gifts for that "Jezebel, who calls herself a prophetess. By her teaching she misleads my servants into sexual immorality." (Rev. 2:20)

Why weren't you honest? Why not admit that you were unfaithful and wanted to go with her instead of me? At least then I would have some reason to respect you. You tell me this isn't about sex but about freedom. You are correct. You have the freedom to choose, but once the divorce papers are signed it will be final.

My attorney tells me that the papers are in the mail.

 

Sunday, July 1, 2012

On Vain and Shallow Women


There are dainty woman who exhibit strength of character and depth and there are others who, though ladylike, are weak, shallow, vain and often manipulative. Here are two poems about the latter.


Epitaph for a Darling Lady

All her hours were yellow sands,
Blown in foolish whorls and tassels;
Slipping warmly through her hands;
Patted into little castles.

Shiny day on shiny day
Tumbled in a rainbow clutter,
As she flipped them all away,
Sent them spinning down the gutter.

Leave for her a red young rose,
Go your way, and save your pity;
She is happy, for she knows
That her dust is very pretty.

--Dorothy Parker



Hard to Love

Her world is tightly laced,
her house, a flawless nest,
her god, packed neatly on display
among the dusted china cups.
Nothing jagged,
nothing marred,
no ambiguities distress
her tea time pleasantries.
She smiles at my reply,
holding back a spearmint yawn
with her tissued hand.
I sip the fragile porcelain edge
and ask for grace to love my perfect neighbor.

--Alice C. Linsley
(Originally appeared in The Living Church, 1995)



Saturday, September 4, 2010

A Day in My Life

I spent the morning in the garden. I transplanted, pruned, weeded, mulched and watered.  We have had very high temperatures this past month and the ground is dry.  I'm praying for rain soon.

I'm also praying for my children, all grown now.  As I approach my 61st birthday, I realize that there isn't anything more I can say or do to nurture them to adulthood.  They are there! 

Likewise, there is little more for me to do in the garden until spring, so I will begin the next task: splitting and stacking wood for the winter. I heat my cottage with wood.

I took my dog for a walk this afternoon. We walk around the lake next to my cottage.  She and I have been doing this for more than 4 years and I realized today that both of us are slowing down.  It has been a cool day so I can't use heat as the excuse. In fact, today has been the first pleasant day in at least 6 weeks.  It is so dry here that several counties have declared a bann on burning.

Just in time for the World Equestrian Games in 19 days!  Instead of Kentucky bluegrass, our guests from around the world will find brown grass.

I've also been praying for a friend of mine who has been on pilgrimage to the holy Orthodox places in England.  There she has been richly blessed and I am awaiting her emailed reports of the pilgrimage. 

Another person I'm praying for is in prison in Peru.  Her name is Lori Berenson and if you read Spanish, you can learn about her trials and tribulations here

I continue the research in Biblical Anthropology.  There are a few detractors and some faithful supporters, but most people simply ignore the research.  Still, I press on.

Thursday, August 5, 2010

The First Ruler, Part 3

Alice C. Linsley
(Part 1 is here and Part 2 is here.)


     It was cool when Ra left his cave but it grew warmer as he descended to the spring-fed lake. He stood on the bank of the lake facing the east and began his prayers as the sun rose over the horizon. Using the half of the sacred ostrich egg, Ra scooped up water and poured the water on the ground, forming a straight line from west to east, between where he stood and the bank of the lake. He prayed:

“Father, I greet you as you come from your house in the east and begin your daily journey to your abode in the west.”

Ra then poured water in a line perpendicular to the first line, this one running north to south to form a cross. Then he prayed again:

“I have but one dwelling place as I am but dust and will return to dust. Father, grant that my territory might extend from the north to the south for as far as the eye can see.”

Then Ra stood at the center of the lines he had made with the water, at the center of the cross, and he poured the last of the water over his head and prayed:

“May I not give offense, since you see all things. Make me clean with this water as the rains wash away the dust. As the water brings life and sustains life, make me and my house to live before you. Shower me with blessings from above. Make my house into a great house. Grant that my son may have a territory like you have, with two houses, that he too may go forth like a bright light.”

When he had finished his prayers, Ra turned to hide the ostrich egg in the tree of life and was startled to see Ha's mother standing under the tree. She was watching him. He was sure that he was seeing a ghost and he started to run away but stopped when she called him by name.

"Ra, It is I. Don't be afraid."

Ra turned to face the woman.

"But I thought you were dead.  You didn't want to live. You..."

The woman stepped toward Ra and smiled.

"The Southlanders found me and took me to one of their villages. I'm alive and I've come to tell you.  It is time to make friends with the Southlanders. They are strong and know many things. They know how to read the stars and they count days by the Moon. They have work cycles for the men and for the women - 6 moon cycles for the women during which they plant and harvest and store grain.  That's the time when they bring forth their young. And there are 6 for the men when they hunt, make war and sit in council. Their numbers increase because they have food and good shelter. They have good water and they take blood from the earth."

"What do you mean 'they take blood from the earth'? How is that possible?"

"They have made great caves in the high mountains and they bring red stones out of them. Then they pound the stones to a powder and use it to make images on the walls of their caves and to bury their chiefs and their ruling women. They believe that life is in the blood as we believe that life is in the water."

"But how can I make friends with them? They will surely kill me and take Ha and my sons."

"Sons?  You have sons? Why didn't you tell me?  Take me to see them. Let's go now!"

So Ra and Ha's mother climbed to the cliff where Ra's family lived and as they climbed higher, both began to call out to Ha so that she would not be frightened as Ra had been.  When they reached the cave, Ha threw her arms around her mother and cried for joy and the two women embraced each other and wept and laughed. Ra watched his wife and her mother, noticing how much they looked alike with their eyes the color of roasted coffee beans and their long black hair framing their wide faces. They had the same high cheek bones. The older woman was almost as beautiful as the younger.

"I would have come sooner," Ha's mother said. "But I was very weak.  The wife of the chief cared for me until I was strong enough to return. She wanted me to stay and serve her, but I slipped away.  The chief will not be angry because I told him that I would return with a gift for him. If we make friends with the Southlander chief we can live more securely as neighbors."

"But won't the chief's wife be angry that you ran away?"

"Not if I bring her something of value when I return."

"What do we have of value that the Southlanders don't already have?"

Ha's mother frowned and shook her head. 

"It is something we must think about. But now, let me see these fine sons."

She sat down and took the youngest grandson into her arms. Ha sat beside her mother and smiled. 

"Let's talk about this later, " Ha said to her husband.  "Now is time to celebrate.  My mother is alive!  She is here."

Later that night Ra, Ha and Ha's mother considered how they might make friends with the Southlander chief who had saved Ha's mother. 

"We can give them ostrich eggs," Ha suggested.

"No. They have many ostriches wehre they live and the villagers use them as we do."

"Perhaps they would like our horde of turtle shells. Our's are very large and make excellent vessels for gathering seeds and berries. and for storing grain."

"No. They have turtles there," Ha's mother explained.  "We must think of something truely special to offer them, soemthing that they do not have. I know!  The tree that throbs with life.  They don't have a tree like our's.  Their sacred tree is the opposite. The branches look like serpents, all twisted about and they say the tree serpents speak to them when they eat a certain plant. Whereas with our tree, it is the roots that look like serpents going down into the ground, not trying to climb up to the heavesns. It is as if the 2 trees were reversed. Isn't that strange?"

"But we can't take the tree to them," Ra protested.  "It can't be moved, and if we cut it down it will no longer live and we will no longer have the tree wo mark the holy place." 

"Then we must bring the chief to the tree and offer it to him here."

Ra didn't like that idea. It frightened him and made his face turn down.  What would happen when the Southlanders knew about the tree?  Why should he invite them to come here where he and his family lived in peace?  What Ha's mother was asking of them was not good.  It smelled of great danger.  There had to be another way to make friends with the Southlander chief who saved Ha's mother from death and let her come home to them. There had to be a way to offer friendship without surrendering his holding, the place that he needed to build a territory for his son Ka.

Sunday, July 11, 2010

The First Ruler: Part 2

Alice C. Linsley

(To read Part One, go here.)


Ra's Morning at the Tree of Life

Ra was a tall man with black hair and reddish brown skin. His eyes were like chunks of agate, a dark honey color. His hands were strong. Once he had killed a giant cobra with his bare hands.  He also was adept at weaving rope from grasses and making baskets from reeds. His large hands were capable of gentle handling of precious things like his son Ka and the fragile ostrich egg that he used for his daily prayers.

Ra said his prayers every morning. He came down from his cave in the hills to the edge of the lake and stood under an ancient tree with large grey roots only half buried under the ground. The roots were twisted so that from certain angles they looked like snakes rising up from the earth. Ra often sat on one of these roots while he waited for the first rays of light to flicker across the horizon. The great roots were like an elephant’s trunk, sucking water from the lake.  Ra thought that this explained the thrumming that he sometimes felt when he sat on the roots. It seemed that the ancient tree pulsed with life from the tips of its boughs to the tips of its deepest roots.

Ra stood under the tree facing the east. It was early and the Sun had not begun to show its first rays upon the horizon. The pale pre-dawn light made the water appear darker than usual and all was quiet, the way it is when the night sounds have ceased but the morning sounds haven’t yet begun.

Ra’s stomach grumbled but it didn’t concern him. His wife would have something for him to eat when he returned to the cave. He never ate until he had completed his prayers to the Father who lived above. It was a small thing but it was the right way to show honor to the Father whose territory stretched in all directions. One day Ra hoped to give his son a kingdom, though it would be a small one, since Ra and his wife never ventured far from the cave and the water near the great tree. Perhaps from this small piece of land, there would come a bigger kingdom.  It was something that Ra wanted, but what price would he have to pay for his ambition?

When the Sun began to rise it cast a lavender glow across the water and birds began to chirp and chatter in the tree branches over Ra’s head. That was when he stepped out from under the tree and walked to the water’s edge. He was carrying half of an ostrich egg and now he stooped down and used the egg shell to scoop up water. Then he stood very erect, his dark face radiant in the Sun’s light. When the Sun had risen so that he could see the full orb, Ra poured some of the water onto the ground in a straight line from west to east, between where he stood and the bank of the lake. He prayed:

“Father, I greet you as you come from your house in the east and begin your daily journey to your abode in the west.”

Ra then poured water in a line perpendicular to the first line, this one running north to south to form a cross. Then he prayed again:

“I have but one dwelling place as I am but dust and will return to dust. Father, grant that my territory might extend from the north to the south for as far as the eye can see.”

Then Ra stood at the center of the lines he had made with the water, at the center of the cross, and he poured the last of the water over his head and prayed:

“May I not give offense, since you see all things. Make me clean and shower me with blessings from the highest heaven. Make my house into a great house. Grant that my son may have a territory like you have, with two houses, that he too may go forth like a bright light.”

When Ra finished his prayers he returned to the great tree and gently wrapped to ostrich egg in a large leaf. He reached up and placed the bundle in the V formed by two large branches. Then he headed home for his breakfast, feeling content with his life and eager to see his young son.

When Ra arrived the fire was cold and he could not find his wife. A sick feeling in the pit of his stomach told him that something was wrong. He crouched toward the entrance of the cave and looked in but there was no sign of his wife and infant son. He heard a muffled sound above him and looked up. His wife was motioning to him from a cliff above the cave where she was laying flat against the stone. He could see fear in her eyes and before he could scramble up to her, he heard the angry roar of a lion. Ra braced himself for the attack, but the lion turned and leapt into the forest as if pursued. Then Ra heard voices. He signaled for his wife to put her head down and he moved behind a tree at the edge of the clearing. From there he could watch the approaching hunting party. He could hear them moving through the forest and knew that unless they picked up the animal’s tracks further up, they would surely come into his clearing.

You see, Ra was a Firstling but he was not the only Firstling. There were others and they now outnumbered his small family. It was best to avoid confrontation, if he could. So he hid himself, hoping that the strangers would not discover his cave. He waited until the hunting party had passed and then he climbed to where his wife was crouching. His son lay asleep in her lap, unaware of the dangers he faced in that time and place so long ago when his father prayed for blessings from heaven and a territory for his son.

Now Ra sat beside his wife and stroked the tender face of his son.  He looked up to see that his wife was watching him. Then she smiled.  Ra smiled back. That's when Ha told her husband that she was going to have another child. Ra laughed. Wasn't he blessed to have Ka? And now there would be another! They would wait until the child was 6 moon cycles old to name him.  Ra was certain it would be another man child though Ha was hoping for a girl. Either way, a name could be given only once so they would wait to be sure that the baby lived. In those days many babies didn't live very long.

You've probably noticed that all the names in Ra's family are single syllable names.  That's because Ra, Ha and Ka spoke a language with one and two syllable words.  That is a trait of the languages still spoken in the place where they struggled to survive. Today we would consider their language a precursor of the Chadic languages.  If you look on a map of Africa you will be able to find a country called Chad.  But you must remember that there were no countries in Ra's time. That is why it is so remarkable that Ra imagined controlling a territory for his son. 

If you are a boy, you probably think it is only natural that he'd want to control a piece of land. It would make it easier for him to protect Ha and Ka and the new baby. Girls don't think much about controlling land. Maybe because they have their hands full trying to control situations and relationships. But Ra was a man of vision and he always remembered the thoughts he had while he intended the tree where he prayed at the very center of his territory.  Just as the roots of the great tree radiated from the tree's trunk, so his territory would stretch in all directions from the ancient tree that thrummed with life. He would find a way because the Creator wanted his clan to increase and to spread out. He was sure of that, and he was sure that the Creator would him him do it.

That's all for now.

Your loving Grandmother


Part 3


Tuesday, June 29, 2010

The First Ruler: Part 1

Alice C. Linsley



Dear Grandchildren,

I promised to tell you the story of the first ruler and so I shall. It is a strange tale about a time so far in the past that there may be parts that can’t be told, at least not until we learn more about the Firstlings. You mustn’t think that I actually lived in those days. Really I’m not THAT old, though doubtless I seem ancient to you.

One day you’ll recognize that this story is more than a great adventure. It is a window through which you will glimpse a world that only the best science – the study of Mankind – is capable of describing. That study is called Anthropology and perhaps one day you will take it up and make a great contribution to our store of knowledge. Until then, let us simply enjoy looking through the window at the Firstling who was called Ra, the father of the first ruler.

You probably are wondering where he lived. It wasn’t a place like where you live. It was more like a very big garden. There were trees of many kinds and flowers such as we’ve never seen with huge fragrant blossoms. There were lakes, rivers, streams, marshlands, ponds, springs and salt water inlets. The mountains were very high in those days and the peaks were covered with snow and often wreathed with swirling fog.

Ra lived not far from the sea, well above the inlet since he knew that water ways overflow their banks after heavy rains. A craggy mountain towered over his pleasant valley, but he never ventured there. That was a place of great mystery and too close to the high heaven, a place where one might intrude upon the High God, and Ra was a cautious man. That is not to say that he was a coward or a fearful man. When faced with danger he had shown himself quite capable of self-defense. He had killed cobras and driven away lions. He had explored unknown lands beyond his valley,  even land belonging to the Southlanders. He had saved himself from the great river beast with sharp teeth. He had even fought and won in combat against a man who had entered his cave to steal his wife.

Ra was very protective of his wife. Her name was Ha. She was also his half-sister and the only remaining member of their family. Their father and his two wives had been attacked by Firstlings from Southland. Ra and his wife had scarcely escaped. They ran and ran until they reached the cave where they now lived and they hid themselves there for days. The Southlanders had never come after them.

When Ra returned to where his family had lived, he found his father dead with his face in the dirt. One of his wives, Ha’s mother, sat beside her dead husband. Her eyes were blank as if she were dead too, but she was alive. Ra spoke to her, urging her to get up. He would take her to live with him, but she never moved and never spoke. He brought her water, but she never drank. Finally, he left her alone and buried his father.

When he had finished with that sad job, he returned to Ha’s mother and lifted her from the ground. He began to carry her to a safer place, away from the scent of blood which was attracting the fierce beasts. Ra could see that she didn’t want to go on living and he didn’t know what to say to her, so he prayed:

“Father, here sits the wife of my father and she will not move. Breathe your life into her so she will return to the land of the living. If not, I will have to abandon her for I can’t leave Ha alone now that her time is near.”

Then Ra sat down and waited. He knew that just because he asked for something to be done that didn’t mean that the High God would do it just like that. No, Ra knew that the High God did everything the right way, and Ra didn’t always know what was the right way to do things. So he waited, and while he waited he spoke to Ha’s mother, telling her how Ha was soon to have a child. This would surely rouse the woman, but it did not. So Ra began to build a small platform in one of the trees close to the nearby cliffs. The cliff gave protection from the wind and rain. Then he gathered fruits, berries and roots and wrapped them in leaves. He found an ostrich egg and placed it on the platform with the fruit. He wove banana leaves together to create a pouch and filled the pouch with water. Then he lifted Ha’s mother and put her on the platform. That’s were he left her. Two days had passed and he could wait no more.

“Goodbye, wife of my father. May the High God be with you. I must go back to Ha. She is going to have a child.”

So it was that Ra returned to his wife with news of her mother. When Ha heard how her mother had not spoken, eaten or taken any water, she told her husband that her mother’s spirit was going to leave. Then she cried and after she cried, she thanked her husband for making her mother safe until the time when she would die.

Now Ra had a son and he was determined that his son would help him to re-establish his people in this very valley which Ra and his father believed had been given to them by the High God. Ra’s son was named Ka and he would become the first ruler. He’s the one I’m going to tell you about, and you must think long and hard about what I’m going to tell you. There are many good lessons here that are never taught in school.

Your loving Grandmother


Part 2

Sunday, May 25, 2008

My Perfect Neighbor

Alice C. Linsley

Her tightly laced world chokes me.
Her flawless nest ensnares my spirit.
Her dusted god, neatly on display
glares at me from the china cabinet.
Order is her mask,
her grand show.
No ambiguities distress
her tea time pleasantries.
She smiles at my reply
holding back a spearmint yawn
with her tissued hand.
I am here sipping tea from the fragile lip
of this smooth porcelain cup.
I want to flee, but pray for grace
to love my perfect neighbor.

Tuesday, May 20, 2008

On the Isle of Patmos


Mystic Exile
by Alice C. Linsley


An island is no broad earth and yet
a universe of stones
where sands deny the foot firm ground
and wave hot fingers at the shade.

Here St. John in curling dunes
with mystic sight beheld
the wick of faith sputter and dim
the kingdoms roar and crash.

His prayer-trained ears heard trumpets blast
and pounding hooves gave way
to shouts of joy and glad refrains
across the watery stage.


(Published in Ancient Paths, Issue 13, 2005)

Saturday, February 2, 2008

Response to Sayers’ “Lost Tools of Learning”


Alice C. Linsley


I have been fond of Dorothy Sayers’ writing for over twenty years. It was while reading her Lord Peter Whimsey novels that I came to appreciate the power of literary fiction and I began to write fiction. I consider Sayers’ Nine Tailors and Gaudy Night to be the most finely crafted English mystery novels ever written. They reveal her exceptional eye for detail in story telling, her remarkable vocabulary and grasp of syntax, and her spiritual insights.

Sayers' facility with the English language rests on her exceptionally good classical training. In “The Lost Tools of Learning” Sayers begins by criticizing the modern tendency to regard specialized talking heads as “authorities” on everything from morals to DNA. She opines that the greatest authorities on the failure of modern education are those who learned nothing. We can imagine chuckles coming from some in her audience and frowns on the faces of self-important academics.

While Sayers is correct that we can’t “turn back the wheel” to the late Middle Ages when metaphysical exploration was still regarded as an objective of education, she nevertheless urges that we consider patterning education along those lines in order to restore the lost tools of learning. Sayers draws on her extensive knowledge of the medieval period to help us understand which tools are essential if students are to be life-long learners. She lays the groundwork by asking her audience to consider some “disquieting thoughts” about the direction of English society in the mid-twentieth century and identifies the following concerns:

Irresponsible prolongation of intellectual childhood to justify teaching less in more subjects

Confusion of fact and opinion, or the proven and the plausible, in the media.

Sophistry in public debate, rather than logical rhetoric.

Committees addressing mostly irrelevant matters expected to form public policy.

Failure to define terms and intentional abuse of language, making words mean whatever one wants them to mean.

A society of adults who don’t know how to discern legitimate expertise from popular pulp and who can’t use the library.

The tendency of some people to become so specialized that they can’t make connections between the disciplines.

Scientists who fail to adhere to the basic principles of Aristotelian logic, thus presenting speculation as facts.

Sayers’ critique of the society in which she lived is relevant today, as these problems have become more pronounced in our time. In 35 years of teaching I have seen the materialist worldview come to dominate public education and inch by inch erode the more balanced offering of private schools, parochial schools and even Christian schools. This is the disastrous outcome of Pragmatism's hold on American public education. Once metaphysics is excised from education, we are left with a mechanistic, materialistic, and blatantly false view of reality. And we wonder why our students are not learning? Why they seem unmotivated, and lack skills for intelligent living?

What does Dorothy Sayers recommend? She suggests restoration of the two part syllabus of the Trivium and the Quadrivium, which together provide “one coherent scheme of mental training.” Sayers illustrates how modern intellectuals misrepresent medieval metaphysical education by pointing to how one such intellectual confuses location and extension, something that a classically trained high school sophomore would hardly stumble over, having learned the principles of Aristotelian logic.

Sayers provides quotations from the Times Literary Supplement to demonstrate the widespread ignorance of good reasoning. I’d like to provide an illustration from contemporary life. I teach a college class on Philosophical Ethics. Students were asked to read Jonathan Rauch’s “Case for Gay Marriage” in the required text. They were to assess his argument using syllogistic reasoning. Out of 18 adult students, not one was able to identify Rauch’s premises or identify his conclusion. Finally, I had to do the assessment for them. Here is what I showed them:

J. Rauch’s Fallacious Argument

First Premise:
Marriage is necessary to providing reliable caregivers. (This assumption is not true. It is, in fact, verifiable false since we are able to observe that reliable caregivers exist who are not married to the people to whom they provide care. In fact, some paid caregivers are superior in their reliability than some spouses.)

Second Premise:
Marriage is necessary to tame men. (This assumption is hypothetical and unverifiable. Who says that men need “taming”? What does “taming” mean? Does it mean to make men more effeminate or to teach them to cook and clean? Are all unmarried men untamed? Are all married men tamed?)

Conclusion:
Therefore, marriage is equally necessary for heterosexual and homosexual couples. (His conclusion is not valid as it does not necessarily follow from the premises.)

Rauch’s premises are not verifiably true, so this is not a sound argument. Further, his conclusion does not logically follow from his premises, so this argument is not valid. Lacking true premises and a valid conclusion, Rauch’s argument is said to be “fallacious” or logically false.

It is indeed “disquieting” that an entire class of students, mostly already in the work force, was unable to logically assess Rauch’s argument. American students are unprepared to defend truth and are therefore prey to panderers and false authorities. Without the classical methodology, modern education is proving to be a futile enterprise. The “intellectual capital” of past ages is entirely spent.

Sayers is spot on in suggesting that the time to tackle such argumentation is when students are at their most argumentative, that is, during the first 3 years of high school. This is the perfect time to teach them to identify invalid inference and to debate the merits of an argument. As she reminds us, children are “born casuists” and can be taught to appreciate a “well-turned argument.”

When students begin to recognize the limitations of logic and human reason, it is time to turn to Rhetoric, which “will tend to show them that all knowledge is one.” Here we find ourselves on solid metaphysical ground where we quickly discover that there is absolute truth or there is nothing, and it is impossible to be a nihilist and be well-educated.


Related reading:  Pragmatism and American Education; The Lost Tools of LearningDorothy Sayers: A Mind of Her OwnThe Wisdom of Dorothy Sayers; D. Sayers' Last Morning in Oxford