Persecution

 Among other things turned topsy-turvy these days is the message of the eighth blessing pronounced by the Galilean in his most famous sermon as reported by the Gospel writer Matthew. Looking over a group of people who very well might be persecuted for following him, he said,

 “Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” (Matthew 5:10 NIV)

 He was talking to a group of people who very well might have been persecuted for practicing his particular brand of righteousness. Certainly, followers within a century or so would know persecution when they became sources of entertainment for coliseum crowds. Yes, even today in some third-world countries, we hear of followers being murdered or tortured.

It has gotten to where in America, though, a self-proclaimed follower of the Galilean claims persecution when receiving a card in the mail that says, “Happy Holidays,” instead of “Merry Christmas.” That is hardly a measurable equivalent to being fed to hungry lions before a crowd.

Maybe we should work on our definition of righteousness. The Galilean mentioned it twice in his pronouncement of blessings. He first said for us to hunger and thirst for it. (Matthew 5:6) Then, as stated, he intimated that we might be persecuted for doing so. Evidently, he thought highly of it.

What is righteousness? Gosh. Who knows? Some self-proclaimed followers say it is the accumulation of money. There aren’t many things in more direct contradiction to the Galilean’s recorded words.

Some self-proclaimed followers say it consists of being born with the right physiological structure, that is to say one exactly like theirs. A person can sell a lot of chicken sandwiches by preaching that.

Some self-proclaimed followers say it consists of following the proper political candidate, even one who violates most of the strictures of our famous sermon each day before lunch. Of course, that candidate must hate the same people that the self-proclaimed follower does.

Some self-proclaimed followers simply say, “It is what it is. Trust us.” If the Galilean had listed naked honesty as a beatitude, that would tend to work, particularly if one’s father had been a famous follower.

Probably, if we read the sermon carefully, we will know what it is, at least what the speaker meant by it. Then we might come to realize that, in our modern country, the self-proclaimed followers of the Galilean are performing the bulk of the persecutions.

Yes, verily I say, our world is topsy-turvy right now.

The Flavor of Life

It would be most difficult to live by the words of The Sermon on the Mount. Perhaps that is why so many don’t attempt it. Some of the words, as we are told of them, form particularly trying strictures. Take, for example:

“Ye are the salt of the earth: but if the salt have lost his savour, wherewith shall it be salted? it is thenceforth good for nothing, but to be cast out, and to be trodden under foot of men.” (Matthew 5:13 KJV)

The Galilean seems to be speaking to his disciples here. But most followers would claim to be his disciples, so he must be speaking to all. The words are a little confusing. As far as one can tell, salt doesn’t lose its “savour” as long as it retains its basic chemical form of NaCl, representing a 1:1 ratio of sodium and chloride ions.

Being vastly cognizant of chemistry, the Galilean must have been alluding to a more devastating downfall than simply becoming tasteless in our representation of righteousness. He is warning us that we can become a completely different spiritual species if we depart from the true makeup of righteousness.

That’s scary. Maybe it is what produces television evangelists who preach the godliness of loving money and what it can buy.

Interpretations

If one cares to read The Sermon On The Mount, and few do these days, it can be daunting. Many so-called “Christians” avoid it completely, particularly the silk-shirted TV evangelists and the fundamentalist crowd. They prefer the hard-bitten pronouncements of the Old Testament that instruct them on whom to hate. They also dwell at length upon the writings of the Apostle (and the writings ascribed to him) for their multi-layered interpretations. And, of course, they wallow in the mystifying ramblings of last book of the Bible as it sets for, for them, if interpreted properly, the end of what they see as a world totally inconsistent with their primal beliefs. It also prescribes a horrible end for those who aren’t like them. What could be more gratifying?

The words the Galilean, delivered, we are told, on that Judean hillside so many years ago, do not appear to us as multi-layered. According to the reports of people who weren’t there and whose accounts survived countless translations—even interpretations—over the last 2,000 years, his words formed a narrow path to righteousness. When a man says, “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called the sons of God,” there isn’t much that we can do to assign multiple meanings to that.

But we try. That’s why our study of The Sermon tends to sound like the parable of the blind men describing an elephant by feel alone.

To the ethical humanist, the man may have been crazy, certainly not the “Son of God,” but he had some fine ethics.

To the followers of the pirate band that has captured America, the sayings in The Sermon weren’t rules but guidelines.

To the so-called “Prosperity Gospel” evangelists, the whole sermon is taken out of context. We should be happy to be poor in spirit for it means the preachers are getting rich.

To the average person seeking righteousness, the sermon presents laudable but unachievable standards that can cause pain instead of joy.

To our modern “pharisees” like Billy Graham’s son Franklin, the Sermon on the Mount is a terrifying indictment that delivers much the same effect to his crowd and him as a crucifix to a vampire. In other words, you could chase them with a copy.

To a man with two ex-wives, a history of fornication, and a deeply embedded penchant for hatred of his opponents, the Sermon isn’t something for fit conversation. Had he been on the hill, he could have come up with something better, much better.

To the mental wanderer and obsessive seeker, The Sermon is a magnet for contemplation, at times what we might call a “brain-worm.”

So what was the Galilean up to on that lonely hill?

I still am not sure. That’s why I spend time with you once a week thinking about it. I think it makes me a better person and I know it makes me smile.

Irony

There’s a delicious irony surrounding the Sermon on The Mount. On the one hand, many humanists and some non-religion-based writers praise it for its sheer beauty of expression and the soaring simplicity of its message. One other hand, evangelical Christians, by and large, ignore this passage from Matthew as they pound upon the strict and cruel dictates of their Old Testament god. The whole sermon seems to embarrass them. In fact, some 46.1% of the voters in the last presidential election, many of them avowed proponents of state-supported religion (theirs), voted for a man whose life could be used as a contra-comparison to the entirety of The Sermon. Go figure.

What is it about The Sermon that universalizes it so? It’s difficult to tell. Purportedly, from the writer of the Book of Matthew, the words came from the mouth of a man who called himself, “The Son of God.” Some believe that without question.

Others think perhaps there was a man who lived and preached, but the words writers attribute to him may have suffered the dimming ravages of time. Think about the task of writing a speech delivered in 1945, documented not by recording devices but only with the aged memories of those present, or more realistically, the second or third-hand accounts of some who claimed to have heard the words.

Some will say that it didn’t matter who heard or didn’t hear the sermon in person, a holy mandate caused the words to appear, in Matthew’s writings, exactly as the Galilean spoke them.

Then there are those who aren’t sure the sermon ever happened, but flowed instead from the creative mind of a later follower.

No matter what, careful reading and thought can create difficulties. Matthew reportedly wrote the account of The Sermon in Greek, but there is no hint of who translated the original Aramaic for his use or how many times it had been translated. Of particular difficulty for modern Americans, some who are neither well-educated nor particularly bright, is the commonly accepted translation of the word we know as “blessed” into “happy.”

That one has created some doozies among the “out of context crowd.” There are those who say, “Yes, we should be happy because we mourn. It will make us appreciate Heaven with greater rapture.” One translator, an expert in Aramaic, even translates into freedom from judgmental thought, i.e. improper spirits. Other, more modern pundits point out that money, more money, and more money, will chase away any blues creating a poverty of spirit. Send Joel Osteen money and be blessed accordingly.

That’s not what the Galilean said. If that is what we believe, perhaps it’s time to remove the plank from our own eye and think about what the Galilean did say. That’s the assignment for next week.

Blessings

Sometimes when I think of Christmas back when I was a youth, I think of the first Beatitude: “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” It could be a cruel season when I was young, never worse than the day we each had to stand and tell our classmates in grade school what “Santa” brought us for Christmas.

There were lots of bikes. Some kids claimed roller skates, some electric trains. One kid got a new deer rifle.

There was a catch, though. I attended a school on the south of town where a bunch of rich kids lived. They also bussed kids there from out in the country. They didn’t get bicycles or deer rifles for Christmas.

The luckier one got clothes. Not fancy sweaters and such, but new blue jeans or socks.

Move down and notch they would start to mention fruit and nuts.

Then candy.

Once a kid just sat on his hands and cried.

“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.”

I’d like to believe that is true. It’s not, or so the modern TV evangelists say. They preach that you are rich because you are blessed and chosen. They include those who earned their riches by having the doctor slap them on their butt. In fact, they don't put many limitations on how the riches got there. I think the Galilean may have been talking about the child in the Arkansas Delta sitting on a cold, filthy floor with a bloated stomach and dirty diapers. Franklin Graham, from a warm room on a full stomach, is talking about the Trump kids.

Sometimes a person just doesn’t know whom to believe.

Nah. Just kidding. Merry Christmas.

Codes

People love to put words into the mouth of the Galilean. Some say, after reading the Sermon on the Mount, that he “couldn’t have meant all those things he said. Others say, “well it’s all taken out of context these days.” Still others claim some metaphorical existentialism that shouldn’t be taken literally but maybe as a guide, particularly if you aren’t a Jew.

But anyone would agree that strict adherence to the message of The Sermon would, as they say in the South, be a tough row to hoe.”

So much has been written about what the Galilean said, or meant on that hilltop, that our paltry efforts couldn’t add a scintilla of light on the matter. It may be of interest, though, to note a few things he didn’t mention.

He didn’t say a thing about a man holding hands with another man.

He didn’t say a word about the blessing of hating the same people he hated, nor did he even hint at who that might be.

He didn’t mention any sin associated with caring for others. In fact, he seemed to sanction it.

He didn’t say a thing about blessings that might accrue to those in the crowd if they gave him a denarius or two.

A new jet with which to tool around Judea? Nope

A mansion or two?

Some thousand-denarii suits and matching ties? Nope.

Access to the Emperor? Nope

Well then there now. Which of those modern evangelicals deserves to put words into His Mouth?

Joel Osteen's House.
Better than the Galilean's?

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Decisions

As our public schools crumble, our planet fries, our poor sleep on the streets, our children are trained (once again) to hide beneath their school desks, and our country becomes increasingly aligned with the most wicked institutions of the planet, do we pause to wonder? Why do those with the most unworthy intents possess the most wealth to carry out those intents. Why are the truly righteous silent? Why do the godly perish while the wicked run free?

We have, over the years, printed untold tons of literature aimed at answering the simple question of why bad things happen to good people. Each time we bury someone who died of cancer too early in life, or see the newsreel shot of a casket bearing a young child slaughtered at her school, or witness an innocent neighborhood destroyed by drugs or a tornado, we ask why a merciful deity allowed it.

“His ways ain’t our ways,” a film character answers. The Galilean phrased it more eloquently in the Gospel of Matthew 5:45 as the spoke it from the sermon on the Mount.

“[Be] the children of your Father which is in heaven: for he maketh his sun to rise on the evil and on the good, and sendeth rain on the just and on the unjust.” (KJV)

Well there you have it. A city in Texas receives more than 40 inches of rain while people die of thirst and hunger in Asia. “His ways ain’t our ways,” say those from dry, clean rooms on full stomachs. What then, was the Galilean doing from that immortal spot in Judea? Was he just fooling with us? His ways, after all, ain’t our ways, are they? Don’t we identify more with the voice from Proverbs 11:10, where the elders say, “When it goeth well with the righteous, the city rejoiceth; and when the wicked perish, there is shouting?”

Sometimes, these days, all we have to do is turn on the TV and we can watch portions of America shouting with unrestrained joy when things go well with the wicked while the righteous, along with our beloved planet, face perishing.

Maybe the Galilean wasn’t simply saying, “his ways ain’t our ways.” Perhaps the most famous sermon ever uttered was all about decisions.

Yes, it might have been about making up our minds to do right. There are what we tend to call “decision points” all through the sermon. Some are transcendent in their pure beauty, like when he tells is who is blessed. Some make us uneasy, like the expanded definition of adultery, broadened to include our very thoughts. (So long, Scarlett.) Some are fairly simple: “That except your righteousness shall exceed the righteousness of the scribes and Pharisees, ye shall in no case enter into the kingdom of heaven.” (5:20) Yes, it would be nigh onto impossible not to exceed the righteousness of a Joel Osteen, wouldn’t it?

It goes on and on, this sermon, exhorting us at each step to face and make decisions some of which include, in equal portions, discomfort and righteousness. Perhaps we might better understand if we included one last phrase. How about the following?

“His ways ain’t easy, are they?”

“The day when rain falls is as great

 as he day on which heaven and

earth were created” – The Talmud

On Being Poor

For Theology Time this week, imagine that on November 19, 1863, shorthand writing had not been perfected and paper was scarce. Imagine further that individual reporters had been free to quote from memory. Might one have quoted President Lincoln as wishing that “ … government of the landed, white, male people, some who own slaves, shall not perish from the earth?”

That’s the predicament we find ourselves in when we try to compare the “Sermon on the Mount,” in the Gospel of Matthew with the “Sermon on the Plain,” as presented in the Gospel of Luke.” Heck, they couldn’t even agree on where he was.

Oh don’t worry, I’m no person to join in the countless volumes written by serious scholars, sincere Christians, charlatans, the wise, and the sinful trying to explain things. They only confuse us more. After all, mine is, Theology by a Heathen.

We all know the basics. In Matthew, Jesus speaks eight blessings, (some say nine) but in Luke he speaks only four, which are then followed by a series of “woes” in which he effectively curses people who are the opposite of those he has just declared blessed (Luke 6:24-26). Thus, “Blessed are you who are poor” is accompanied by “Woe to you who are rich.”

Say what?

Some say that Matthew’s beatitudes are more spiritual, while Luke’s are more down to earth. In Luke, Jesus blesses the poor, but in Matthew he blesses the poor in spirit; in Luke, Jesus blesses people who are hungry; in Matthew, he blesses those who hunger for righteousness.

Some claim the differences between texts to be on account of theological considerations of the Gospel authors.

Some say, and I drift toward this thesis, that mischievous scribes, devious popes, and malicious bishops, changed the wording to conform to their personal predilections and social needs.

That doesn’t explain some major differences between these four beatitudes. Consider that Luke writes in second person plural “yours” and Matthew in third person plural “theirs”.

Some say that Matthew tightened up Luke’s blessings After all, he had to pass the collection plate too. Some scholars have drawn links between the woes and the Matthean sermon, which suggests that Matthew knew the woes and decided against using them. Perhaps he saw that later preachers would have to take into account the existence of hyper-wealthy patrons.

Consider that we will never hear the likes of Joel Olsteen, Kenneth Copeland, or Jesse Duplantis employ Luke’s “Blessed are the poor,” preferring instead, “Blessed are the poor in spirit.” Actually, we probably won’t hear them speak of this moment in the Galilean’s life at all. As I say, you could probably chase a diehard evangelical with a copy of The Beatitudes, whichever version you chose. They would certainly act like a crucifix to a vampire when waved at Franklin Graham and his pals.

Could it be that, although his mission is first to the Jews, Luke's theology includes the Galilean’s  concern for social outcasts, such as immoral women, tax collectors, Samaritans and the poor. Someone once pointed out that it is especially clear from the Gospel of Luke that the author has a special concern for the economic poor of his world and much of the content of the beatitudes and the Gospel at large reflects this.

Perhaps, above all, as someone once suggested, the beatitudes teach us that we have both privilege and responsibility and for these, we must suffer, living out humility, meekness, hunger, thirst, mercy, purity and peacemaking in a world which will reject and revile us for the name of the Galilean.

Remember that the next time someone calls you a Libtard.

Deserving poor? or
Spiritually poor?

Don't get me started ... Theology Time

Theology Time brings me great trouble this week. I have seen many of those close to me, related in myriad ways, suffering in great and varied degrees. The idea of a Divine Plan is not one I wish either to discuss or dwell upon. A passage from Conrad’s short story Youth best describes my feelings this morning toward a “holy interventionist.” The story unfolds about a young man on a ship transporting coal to the Orient. The coal catches fire and the ship explodes beneath the feet of the crew members. Intervention arrives in the form of Malay sailors who don’t seem overly interested in the surviving sailors. The youth gives voice to a primal plea that could have been hurled from high mountains at the multitude of gods that humans have chosen to follow.

He said, "I thought people who had been blown up deserved more attention."

Anyway, back to the Sermon on the Mount, specifically the Beatitudes, specifically the third one ascribed to Matthew, according to whom, Jesus said, “Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.” Now that’s going to come as a hell of a surprise to the billionaires that walk amongst us. Doormats are for walking on. They don’t inherit “jack-diddly.” Give them an inch, and they’ll want a mile. Provide them a full stomach and a warm room and they’ll want public education and health care next.

Anyway. What did Jesus mean when he mentioned the “meek?”

First, we must understand that there is no contemporary mention in recorded and reliable documents that the figure of Jesus, (I prefer to call him “The Galilean” for the regional implications) ever existed. The first mention of him in official history was by Josephus, a Jewish historian who mentioned the death of the rebellious rabbi some 150 years after his assumed death.

Nor, do we stand assured that we are reading the exact words the Galilean spoke them. Matthew relied upon, we are told, original material supplied by an anonymous source called “Q.”

Further, the crowd to which the Galilean spoke wasn’t homogeneous by any stretch of the imagination. First, there were the disciples, who maybe weren’t the most trustworthy critics and may have considered themselves as above the common folk. Then there were the right-wing fundamentalists of the day, the priests and Sadducees who hated the upstart and had the power of the Romans behind them—the ones with the weapons. That brings us to the military rulers who surely had spies in the crowd. Finally, there were the common folk, some of which probably listened only to state-supported news for information. Who is left? The meek of course.

What, then, in the hell does it mean to be meek? Who knows? Maybe the best thing to do is look at the Speaker himself. What was there about him that might fefine meekness?

He eschewed worldly goods, that’s for sure. That’s for dang sure. He didn’t preach from some converted sports stadium, arriving in a Rolls wearing suits worth tens of thousands and ties worth thousands. A simple robe and some sandals. Perhaps they were made from automobile tires. Perhaps not.

He didn’t bluster like some professional wrestler or reality TV star. In fact, other than the time he got pissed over businessmen obtaining loans in the Temple, he was extremely mild-mannered, certainly not timid, but polite and well-spoken.

He seemed to be truth-oriented, a trait among leaders that fades out of sight more each year.

He was non-judgmental, even toward immigrants and those who, for reasons of genetics, might be ill or differently-turned. We’ll leave that one there and pick it up when we get to Saul of Tarsus.

He was humble to say the least. Picture Donald Trump or one of this spawn washing someone’s feet. Go ahead. I dare you. Thought so.

My advice du jour? If you want to pattern your life as you think the Galilean would want you to, “Q” is a better source than Sean Hannity.

A state of grace, or of confusion?

Those who know me can tell you that I stay confused about half the time. This state of being stems from ignorance, of course. I don’t seek ignorance. It simply floats down and covers me like a soft spring mist.

No wonder then that I find myself particularly confused early Sunday mornings when I set aside time for contemplation of the Christian scriptures. These allegedly set forth the prescription for a better life beyond the travesties of our earthly wanderings. Nowadays, though, among so-called Christians, we find the scriptures, particularly the words of the Galilean, mostly unused, or, at a minimum, heavily redacted.

I’ve mentioned this to the Galilean more than once. He says I think too much and should practice, as he puts it, “allowing the mind to drift along the current, as if, “… being carried toward internal peace by the River Jordan itself.” He still has the gift of speech, doesn’t he?

Once, I responded by asking him why he preached the Sermon on the Mount if he didn’t intend to hold his people to it. It is, I pointed out to him, considered by many to be the most beautiful passage of the New Testament, perhaps of any words over spoken. Why does he allow that wondrous wisdom to lie un-worshiped, while so many hijack his teachings and concentrate on their opposite?

He simply shrugged and said, “My ways ain’t your ways.” He knows that upsets me.

This morning I selected a single passage, one that experts (of which I’m not) call “The Beatitudes.” The word is from the Latin beatus, meaning “blessed.” Ahhh. Therein lies the root of my confusion.

I chose the first of the Beatitudes for closer inspection. Two of the gospels state it thusly:

“Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” – Matthew 5-3 (KJV)

“Blessed be ye poor: for yours is the kingdom of God.” - Luke 6:20 (KJV)

Yes, I’ve chosen the King James version since those in the “flag-decal crowd” don’t trust the scriptures unless they are presented in the original American.

Anyway,

“Why,” I asked the Galilean, “would you teach that we are blessed if we are poor in spirit or, worse, just plain poor? Aren’t your followers supposed to enjoy riches untold?”

“Idiot,” he explained.

“I didn’t say it,” Joel Osteen did.”

“Don’t aggravate me this morning,” he said. “I’m not in the mood for it. Next thing I know you’ll be quoting …uh, … what’s his name? Oh yes, Franklin Graham. He’s a real hoot, ain’t he?”

“Can we get back on topic?”

“Surely,” he said. Now tell me, what did the word ‘blessed’ mean back in my day?”

I thought. “I suppose it meant ‘favored,’ or something like that.”

“Idiot.”

“Was I wrong?”

“It meant ‘happy.’ You know what it means to be happy, don’t you?”

“I think so.”

“Don’t you remember my saying that my ways ain’t … .?”

“Our ways,” I said. “I remember.”

“Well then,” he said. “If my ways ain’t your ways, did you ever consider that it’s because my world is not your world?”

I stopped to think about that.

He said, “Haven’t you ever had to endure some pain in order to arrive at a higher state of pleasure?”

“Yes.”

“I mean a genuine, five-star, gut-busting state of pleasure, nothing like normal “feel-good days.”

“Does military service count?”

“Bingo,” he said.

“You’re telling me then that enduring poverty, or the poverty of spirit, might just be preparing one for a higher state of grace down the line somewhere?”

“Bingo,” he said.

“But what about those who only seek the wealth of the moment? What about those who seek false riches? What about those who deprive the poor in order to enrich themselves, their children, or their friends? What about those who worship such people and put them in charge of the common folks? What happens to them?”

“You don’t want to know.” He said. With that, he disappeared.

I wish he would have stayed. I had so many things to ask him. He had planted a seed. Why didn’t he stay and help it grow? Was he just teasing me? Why don’t more people live by what he taught on that rocky mountain top so many years ago? Why does he always leave me confused?

Well, I guess his ways ain’t my ways.

Been confused for a long time.

Growing Up Southern: August 31, 2017

Folks from different places see life differently. Take storms. Inland, they are like redneck sex, over in seconds and “Let’s eat!” That’s assuming the kitchen is still standing. On or near the sea, they are like being forced to ride the entire length of Interstate 40 with Donald Trump talking all the way. It seems the agony will never end.

I’ve been in a few fair blows, nothing labeled a hurricane. One reached the status of “tropical storm,” and if it wasn’t a hurricane, I never want to be in one. And we sailed through a storm at sea in the old USS Hunley, out in what they call “The Bermuda Triangle.” I thought that was kind of neat, for Jimmy Huddleston, Sidney Bussey, Carl Ferguson and I pretty much had the fantail to ourselves before it got too bad. Everyone else was inside hugging a “head” if they could find one vacant. We were eating kipper snacks and channeling old John Paul himself.

The old girl was seaworthy, but she had a pronounced fondness for rolling. Men who had bounced across the Pacific in seagoing tugs or LSTs grew ashen at times when it seemed like she wouldn’t stop on a particularly bad roll. But, she always did. She’d shudder like a drunk with the DTs and start back the other way. Port to starboard. After decks up. Starboard to port. After decks down. Port to starboard. After decks up. Starboard to port. After decks down. Get the picture? Oh, go ahead. I don’t mind waiting.

They finally chased us inboard and closed the decks. It went on like that for two days. Imagine trying to sleep in conditions like that.

Out in the heartland, we deal with tornadoes. They are swift, deadly, and totally capricious. When one hit our community in the 1940s, it obliterated the houses on either side of our store/home. Our only damage, and it was minor, resulted from a large oak tree blown over in the back yard.

A religious person might assign some spiritual hand to all this. From our undamaged grocery store, my father gave away goods to whomever needed it and never asked for payment. Oddly, he didn’t wait for the city to tell him he needed to. He just did it, and bankrupted himself in the process. A headline praising his actions carried the subheading, “George [von Tungeln] said, ‘If you need it come and get it.’” I guess those were different times, sort of the “prosperity gospel” in reverse.

Later, I recall a man relating his story to a group gathered around the old pot-bellied stove my dad had in the store. The man had gotten his family to safety, and returned alone after the storm had passed. His home, barn, and other buildings had completely disappeared. He described walking around where they had once stood and finding the only undamaged thing still standing. It was a large board resting on brick supports, a make-believe cookstove his daughters had set up to “play kitchen.”

The storm had not even disturbed the inverted jar lids the kids had used to make mud pies.

Yes, storms can be capricious. For 32 people in our community, that particular one was also deadly.

Carl Ferguson and and the author.
Shipmates tried and true.