All Hallow Seven

 

 

666 Skull deep orange  halloween-skull-om1
cross skull DEEPER orange  halloween-skull-alph-omega1

October 31st is a night to celebrate – to celebrate Absolute Truth.
It is a night to grasp the sinister magnitude of the predicament fallen humanity is in.
It is also a night to recall one’s childhood with truly sepulchral melancholy and nostalgia.

I have noted, in my years of this earthly pilgrimage, the degeneration of Halloween from what it was in childhood. I recall less commercial pressure to consume. There was more child-friendly fantasy when I was growing up. The culture had not yet begun to harden into a crassly consumerist rigor mortis yet – or maybe I didn’t notice that part of it so much. Am I  just idealizing a vanished past? Possibly, yes… but the push to turn Halloween into a cannibalistic slasher-film is a real phenomenon and also a discernible symptom.

I am disgusted with the spectacle of Halloween in the USA. But I hold a grudging respect for what looks like a passing victory for death and the grave every year on the last gasp of October. Which brings me to Reformation Day:

In honor of St. Martin Luther, St. John Calvin and  St. John Knox, I proclaim the ongoing triumph of the Reformation. October 31, Reformation Day, is a national day of celebration in Germany, Slovenia, Chile, and Scandinavia – and it should be here as well.

The wages of sin is death (the bitter) but the gift of God is eternal life (the sweet).


The night is still, and the frost it bites my face
I wear my silence like a mask and murmur like a ghost

Trick or Treat – Trick or Treat: the bitter and the sweet

The carefree days are distant now / I wear my memories like a shroud
I try to speak but words collapse, echoing, echoing….

Trick or Treat – Trick or Treat: the bitter and the sweet

I wander though your sadness
Gazing at you with scorpion eyes: Halloween, Halloween…

A sweet reminder in the ice-blue nursery
Of a childish murder / of hidden luster – and she cries:

Trick or Treat – Trick or Treat: the bitter and the sweet

I wander through your sadness
Gazing at you with scorpion eyes: Halloween, Halloween…

Hallows Eve Pumpkin

 

School of Soft Knox

By way of closure to my recent Abyssinian musings, I offer my loyal connectees this doctrinally reformed limerick for their elect delectation.
(Of course, no Presbyterian has to ask what millenarian means…)

A sober and staid Presbyterian
was distrustful of thoughts millenarian.
After smoking some bud,
He awoke with a thud;
in his sleep he’d become Rastafarian.

L of J  rasta icon  presbyterian shirt

Psalm 68

Martin Luther WHO ?

HAPPY REFORMATION DAY 2012!

ALL SAINTS ALL !  OCTOBER 31 (1517)

95 THESES on the WITTENBERG WALL !

LONG LIVE St. Martin LUTHER,

    St. John CALVIN

& St. John KNOX too !

Disputation on the Power and Efficacy of Indulgences
by Dr. Martin Luther (1517)

Out of love for the truth and the desire to bring it to light,
the following propositions will be discussed at Wittenberg,
under the presidency of the Reverend Father Martin Luther,
Master of Arts and of Sacred Theology, and Lecturer in Ordinary on the same at that place. Wherefore he requests that those who are unable to be present and debate orally with us, may do so by letter.

Luther walks forth in yon majestic frame,
Bright beam of heaven, and heir of endless fame,
Born, like thyself, thro toils and griefs to wind,
From slavery’s chains to free the captive mind,
Brave adverse crowns, control the pontiff sway,
And bring benighted nations into day.

Remark what crowds his name around him brings,
Schools, synods, prelates, potentates and kings,
All gaining knowledge from his boundless store,
And join’d to shield him from the papal power.
First of his friends, see Frederic’s princely form
Ward from the sage divine the gathering storm,
In learned Wittemburgh secure his seat,
High throne of thought, religion’s safe retreat.
There sits Melancthon, mild as morning light,
And feuds, tho sacred, soften in his sight;
In terms so gentle flows his tuneful tongue,
Even cloister’d bigots join the pupil throng;
By all sectarian chiefs he lives approved,
By monarchs courted and by men beloved…

from: The Columbiad, Book IV by Joel Barlow

Ralph Erskine Throws Down

And when he does,
the Elect get off  SCOT-FREE
like an antinomian Presbyterian, baby.

Ask your MAMA to look it up…


  Gots the lyrics for y’all from the free KIRK of Caledonia,
so CHILL – cause when Li’l JOHN KNOX,
you KNOW the door  be swinging right off the HINGES!

Ralph Erskine was OG, cold-rhymin’ Calvinist paradigmin’ the Scottish Reformation to every nation  –
so GET DOWN, DON’T MOVE –
AND AINT NOBODY GON’ GIT HURT , YO…


Yesiree , my beloved hepcats and boogie-woogie enthusiasts –
get swell to this syncopated theophany,

only to be found HERE
@ Connect/Hook:

Ralph Erskine (1685-1752)


Earth Despicable—Heaven Desirable


There’s nothing round the spacious earth
       To suit my vast desires;
To more refined and solid mirth
       My boundless thought aspires.

Fain would I leave this mournful place,
       This music dull, where none
But heavy notes have any grace,
       And mirth accents the moan:

Where troubles tread upon reliefs,
       New woes with older blend;
Where rolling storms and circling griefs
       Run round without an end:

Where waters wrestling with the stones,
       Do fight themselves to foam,
And hollow clouds, with thund’ring groans,
       Discharge their pregnant womb:

Where eagles mounting meet with rubs
       That dash them from the sky;
And cedars, shrinking into shrubs,
       In ruin prostrate lie:

Where sin the author of turmoils,
       The cause of death and hell;
The one thing foul that all things foils,
       Does most befriended dwell.

The purchaser of night and woe,
       The forfeiter of day,
The debt that ev’ry man did owe,
       But only God could pay.

Bewitching ill, indors’d with hope,
       Subscribed with despair:
Ugly in death when eyes are ope,
       Though life may paint it fair.

Small wonder that I droop alone
       In such a doleful place;
When lo! my dearest friend is gone,
       My Father hides his face.

And though in words I seem to show
       The fawning poets style,
Yet is my plaint no feigned woe;
       I languish in exile.

I long to share the happiness
       Of that triumphant throne,
That swim in seas of boundless bliss
       Eternity along.

When but in drops here by the way
       Free love distils itself,
I pour contempt on hills of prey,
       And heaps of wordly pelf.

To be amidst my little joys,
       Thrones, sceptres, crowns, and kings,
Are nothing else but little toys,
       And despicable things.

Down with disdain earth’s pomp I thrust,
       Put tempting wealth away;
Heav’n is not made of yellow dust,
       Nor bliss of glittering clay.

Sweet was the hour I freedom felt
       To call my Jesus mine;
To see his smiling face, and melt
       In pleasures all divine.

Let fools an heav’n of shades pursue,
       But I for substance am:
The heav’n I seek is likeness to,
       And vision of the Lamb.

The worthy Lamb with glory crown’d
       In his august abode;
Enthron’d sublime, and deck’d around
       With all the pomp of God.

I long to join the saints above,
       Who crown’d with glorious bays,
Through radiant files of angels move,
       And rival them in praise:

In praise to JAH, the God of love,
       The fair incarnate Son,
The holy co-eternal Dove,
       The good, the great Three-one.

In hope to sing without a sob
       The anthem ever new,
I gladly bid the dusty globe,
       And vain delights, Adieu.

Download all of Ralph’s lyrics HERE

Credit and thanks to:
http://involutedgenealogies.wordpress.com/2011/08/03/law-death-and-gospel-life-ralph-erskine/