Collect for Palm Sunday
The replacement of a true Palm Sunday with the current Sunday of the Passion is a Vatican II tomfoolery. To make things more confusing for your average human, the collect for the day is a jumble word-salad of reliance on the wrong grammarians.
Jesus knows! He loves us all!
But this week at SP815.org we will be praying this Collect for Palm Sunday:
Everlasting Father, in steadfast lovingkindness you sent Jesus Christ in triumph to the cross. May we rely on Him, as He relied on you, so that we walk boldly in the way, certain of the Kingdom, even in Jesus Christ, your Son, our Lord, who lives and reigns with You and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever.
SOS Discipline - Daily Proverb and Red Letter Reader
The hard hearted man doesn’t know how to ask for the right things. cf Pr. 28:10
Lex meditandi, lex credendi, lex orandi. cf Mt. 6:22
A fool who leads puts out the eyes of those who follow. cf Sun Tzu 3:21B
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From Today’s Stack
on Mass Formation Psychosis
It does not matter what you call it, if you refuse to believe in it than you will become part of it. The hivemind power of suggestive influence via media-message manipulation is brainwashing and enslavement by any honest measure.
The concepts of Fifth Generation Warfare are well established in online literatures tracking the current zeitgeist. In the current epoch:
• 5GWar is perception. Narrative is the weapon of control.
• 5GWar knows no defined space/time/combatant limitations.
• 5GWar is targeting baseline social cohesions with terrorism.
• 5GWar demoralizes a populace into attacking itself.
The following is the first part of an unfinsihed short story tentatively titled
Dark as a Half-Moon Night
Josiah stooped as he ran, scanning the street for any sign. He didn’t even know what he was looking for, but he know his brother came this way.
I heard him call for me, he said to himself. Who was he running from? Why would he leave the Mainway?
He hesitated. There was still time to get back to the others. Frozen, the panic set in. Pressing hard. Closing down. Like a window shutting so that you can no longer see.
I can’t. I can’t. Arrghhh!
With a groan too deep for words he dashed across the abandoned cross street and took cover in an old stairwell on the far side. Looking back, he could see the central park descending into a hot mix of light and shadow as the sun set behind the hills. He stared at the near-blinding orange sky and let it fill his eyes with tears. It had been so long….
What was that!?
On the horizon, against the sun.
Must have been nothing.
At that same moment an unexpected Clang! came from the alley beyond the building. Metal on Metal.
Josiah stiffened. There was another noise. Like a snarling, shuffling, pained sound, but not quite. Just out of reach.
Ferals.
Just as unexpected, a shotgun blast went off, sending a flock of pigeons scattered from a nearby gutter, muffling all other sound in the battering whip of their wings as they scattered, the exception being the blast of the second barrel in short succession.
Dear God, Josiah thought. Could I even get back if I tried?
He sprang forward, taking the corner at full turn and loosing the slightly oversized, classic, builders’ hammer he carried at his waste.
A wailing cry went up to the sky. A third blast cut it off.
Silence.
Josiah slowed his steps, easing up to the alley corner to peer into its shadowy recesses. It was dark as a half-moon night. If his brother wasn’t here, it wouldn’t matter anyway.
Taking a deep breath and raising the hammer to the ready, he took three practiced steps deep into the alley, readying himself for the fight at an instant.
Orick was less than twenty paces in. The older boy leaned against the wall, the discharged firearm across his lap, a box of spilt slugs on the cracked pavement beside him. The bodies of the two ferals were blown to rotting hunks, but Josiah could see that it was too late for Orick.
“It won’t be long now,” Orick said, opening his eyes. A bloodied set of fingers gripped Josiah at the collar. “Your brother…” he gasped, blood catching in his spit.
“What about Adam?” Josiah asked.
“They’ve taken him. I tried to stop them, and now I paid the price.”
His head swiveled and began to droop as he lost partial consciousness.
“Who took him?” Josiah growled, shaking the older boy as he spoke. “The ferals don’t take anyone anywhere!”
But now Orick’s eyes gazed far and away.
Josiah stepped away. Orick was not only one of the eldest, but by far the most knowledgable of the crew when it came tot survivalism. Now, even should Josiah find his brother and somehow manage to get back, the odds of survival for everyone just got a whole lot worse.
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