Winter into Spring, a Little News, and an Easter Uprising
Gordon MacRae Fr. Gordon J. MacRae Gordon MacRae Fr. Gordon J. MacRae

Winter into Spring, a Little News, and an Easter Uprising

. . . I've always thought TV Newscasts had it backwards. It’s a New England tradition that polite conversations begin with the weather, then gradually descend into the gritty news at hand. But TV news does just the opposite, at least in New England. Folks up here are so interested in the weather that the newscasters hold it until last to keep viewers' attention on the news. I'll follow the more polite social tradition, however, and begin with the weather, then sneak in – here and there – the things I really want to convey. . . .

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Inherit the Wind:  Pentecost and the Breath of God
Gordon MacRae Fr. Gordon J. MacRae Gordon MacRae Fr. Gordon J. MacRae

Inherit the Wind: Pentecost and the Breath of God

. . . Most people don't know that "Inherit the Wind," - both the play and the classic 1960 Spencer Tracy film - first borrowed the title from the Book of Proverbs: "He who troubles his household will inherit the wind, and the fool will be servant to the wise." (Proverbs 11:29). It's just possible that the Book of Proverbs itself borrowed the phrase from an even more ancient source: the followers of Pazuzu, the Assyrian god of wind and pestilence. In some ancient Mesopotamian religions, "an ill wind" carried the spirits of demons, and so to inherit the wind could mean generations of suffering for one person's sin. . . .

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Pentecost in the Year of the Priest:  Spirit of Truth, Wisdom, and Understanding
Gordon MacRae Fr. Gordon J. MacRae Gordon MacRae Fr. Gordon J. MacRae

Pentecost in the Year of the Priest: Spirit of Truth, Wisdom, and Understanding

. . . Up to that point, I had no idea of a blog's potential. They didn't exist when I came to prison nearly sixteen years ago. I read about them, and heard them mentioned on the news, but I had no idea how blogs worked. I remember sitting in my cell last May, knowing that I made a commitment with a deadline, but I had no idea what to write. I thought of my first night in prison, of that maddening, foot stomping chant that went on for hours. So I wrote . . .

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