The Bishop's Candlesticks

I have included this story, The Bishop's Candlesticks, in two previous Nick's Bytes posts. I was reminded of it during an online dialogue yesterday and have decided to post it again.

The Bishop’s Candlesticks

But I say to you that listen, Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you. If anyone strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also; and from anyone who takes away your coat do not withhold even your shirt. Give to everyone who begs from you; and if anyone takes away your goods, do not ask for them again. Do to others as you would have them do to you. 

If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners love those who love them. If you do good to those who do good to you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners do the same. If you lend to those from whom you hope to receive, what credit is that to you? Even sinners lend to sinners, to receive as much again. ~ Luke 6. 27-34 (NRSV)

I still do a lot of blogging these days. Since my movement is restricted by a need for oxygen and a bum leg, much of my awake time is spent writing blogs. I suppose one could say that blogging has become my media of ministry. For example, a while back a blogger posted about an incident that had him questioning whether he had done a good deed or been scammed. That reminded me of a decision I made many years ago: not to be concerned about being conned, and so I wrote an article about it.

I have been scammed and conned by many folks, often when I knew what they were up to, but their need seemed great even though their method of seeking assistance was false. I believe that some folks do not feel they are worth asking for assistance, so they make up a story to justify the aid they are seeking. 

I made decision to give unconditionally to these folks after I read Victor Hugo’s Les Misérables and thus gained a new understanding of the 6th Chapter of Luke. The story in Les Misérables that so enlightened me I have labeled “The Bishop’s Candlesticks.” Here is that story as I remember it:

The protagonist, Jean Valjean, after being imprisoned for about 20 years for stealing bread to feed his family, is released but, as an ex-convict, can find no work and is himself on the verge of starvation when he comes upon the residence of a bishop and seeks food from the Bishop’s servants. The Bishop himself invites Valjean into his home and provides him the hospitality of dinner at his own table and a bed for the night. When it comes time to retire, the bishop sends Valjean up to his room with one of the two very expensive silver candlesticks that grace the bishop’s dining table to light his away.

The following morning the servants of the Bishop awaken him with the revelation that not only has their guest departed before breakfast, but he has taken the costly candlestick with him. Later the same morning the police arrive at the Bishops residence with Valjean in custody and inform the bishop that they found the ex-con in possession of the candlestick that was recognized as belonging to the bishop. They asked the bishop to identify the candlestick so that they may charge Valjean with the theft.

The Bishop speaks directly to Valjean rather than the police. He says that he is sorry that Valjean, his guest, departed before sharing a fine breakfast with the him. The Bishop then hands Valjean the mate to the candlestick he had stolen, saying, “You forgot this, my friend. I gave you both candlesticks. What good is one without the other?”

The police release Valjean, who at that moment is changed by forever by the Bishop’s benevolence. He leaves with both candlesticks, walks to a nearby town, sells them, and using the proceeds, becomes a wealthy factory owner, known for his honesty, generosity, and just dealings who eventually becomes mayor of the town.

Of course, there is much more to the book, but this story that I have told many times. I usually use it as a story that I tell without commenting upon it, thus allowing those who hear it glean whatever they need.

Blessed  are those who have ears to hear and faith to act. Amen.

You may be interested in my recommendations below:

October will be a very difficult month financially for my Kitty Kids and me

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In Fourteen Hundred Ninety-Two…

Christopher Columbus made a big boo-boo.

Columbus, who was as confused as anybody who has been seen for a long time, called the first people he saw “Indians.” It is not known what they call Columbus.

~ It All Started with Columbus by Richard Willard Armour 

About 50 years ago or so I read a marvelous little book entitled It All Started with Columbus. The author, Richard Willard Armour (July 15, 1906 – February 28, 1989) was an American poet and author who wrote over sixty-five books. Armour’s history is unlike any other history I had ever read—except, perhaps, William Gilkerson’s From Rocks to Rockets: Gilkerson on War Arms and Armies Through the Ages (about which I shall write in some future blog post). It is a tongue-in-cheek satire of American history: a delightful read for anyone knowledgeable enough about the subject not take take his words seriously.

Although I may be putting myself at risk of retribution from the Italian-American Anti-defamation League or perhaps the Mafia, I want to make it plain that I do not subscribe to the notion that Christopher Columbus discovered America or even that he was a "good" human being.

To begin with, what we call North and South America were never lost. Nor was the New World new. The Americas (also, misnamed) were inhabited by many peoples with advanced and divergent cultures, including for a short period visitors from Northern Europe who came to North America at least 400 years before Columbus is arrival in the Caribbean.

Second, there is much about Columbus and Columbus Day that is not known to most Americans. For example:

• Most educated Europeans in 1492 were aware that the world was round, but did not know that the Pacific Ocean existed. Thus Columbus and his contemporaries assumed that only the Atlantic lay between Europe and the riches of the East Indies
• The first Columbus Day was celebrated in 1792, when New York's Tammany Hall sponsored a celebration of the 300th Anniversary of Columbus' landing in the Bahamas.
• It was not until 1937 that President Franklin D. Roosevelt proclaimed Columbus Day a national holiday, primarily due to intense lobbying by the Knights of Columbus.
• Prior to that, Italian and Catholic communities in various parts of the country held annual religious ceremonies and parades in the honor of Columbus.
• The first major Opposition to Columbus Day began in 19th century by anti-immigrant groups who rejected the Columbus Day celebrations due to their association with Italians and especially Roman Catholicism.
• In recent years, Native Americans and other groups have protested the celebration of Columbus Day as an event that indirectly resulted in the colonization of the Americas and the death of millions of indigenous peoples. 

Today I am not celebrating Columbus Day. Not necessarily because of any of the above; rather, because I do not picture old Chris as a likable or moral historical figure.

• Endless testimonies...prove the mild and pacific temperament of the natives... But our work was to exasperate, ravage, kill, mangle and destroy; small wonder, then, if they tried to kill one of us now and then... The admiral (Columbus), it is true, was blind as those who came after him, and he was so anxious to please the King that he committed irreparable crimes against the Indians. ~  de las Casas, Bartolome (1971). History of the Indies. New York: Harper & Row.
• ...husbands and wives were together only once every eight or ten months and when they met they were so exhausted and depressed on both sides. . . they ceased to procreate. As for the newly born, they died early because their mothers, overworked and famished, had no milk to nurse them, and for this reason, while I was in Cuba, 7000 children died in three months. Some mothers even drowned their babies from sheer desperation.... In this way, husbands died in the mines, wives died at work, and children died from lack of milk . . . and in a short time this land which was so great, so powerful and fertile ... was depopulated.... My eyes have seen these acts so foreign to human nature, and now I tremble as I write. ~ de las Casas, Bartolome (1971). History of the Indies. New York: Harper & Row.
• October 12, 1492, Columbus discovered that the islands were inhabited by friendly, peaceful people called the Lucayans, Taínos and Arawaks...Columbus was so impressed with the hard work of these gentle islanders, that he immediately seized their land for Spain and enslaved them to work in his brutal gold mines. Within only two years, 125,000 (half of the population) of the original natives on the island were dead. ~ Eric Kasum

In fourteen hundred ninety-two,

Columbus sailed the oceans blue.

In fourteen and hundred and ninety-three, 

Columbus stole all that he could see.

A few of many Internet references:

• Christopher Columbus (From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia)
• Columbus Day? True Legacy: Cruelty and Slavery
• Christopher Columbus Day Is a Crock
• Christopher Columbus & His Crimes Against Humanity
• Columbus and Columbus Day

For further reading:

If every reader of Nick's Bytes donated to Sometimes Saintly Nick and his kitty kids just $1.00 a month to supplement their small pastor's pension and Social Security, we would finally be able to make our financial ends meet. Thank you.

Henry Miller's Tropic of Cancer

I have just finished rereading Henry Miller’s first published book, Tropic of Cancer. About 50 years ago, the first time I read the Tropic of Cancer I skipped around, looking for the “good parts.” Actually, there are very few “good parts” and those that exist are very tame in comparison with today’s literature.

Henry Miller, 1933

This time I read Tropic of Cancer all the way through. Henry Miller was an excellent writer, bringing to life time (late 1920s) and place (Paris) with color and remarkable insights. Today, for me, Miller’s words and remarkable insights are the “good parts.”

Henry Miller, like Jack Kerouac, writes about what he sees, what he hears, and what he experiences. He writes about the Paris where he lived for 10 years—years during which the Great Depression began. For much of that time he had no income, only what he earned from small writing assignments. For much of that time, he depended on friends to survive.

The Paris in which Miller lives is not a beautiful place. There is wretchedness and poverty with which he became well acquainted. He does not attack this wretchedness, but reports it and accepts it. Only on occasion—such as the last passage I quote in this blog post—does Henry Miller play off severe poverty with the cold-heartedness of the bourgeoisie.

So, without further words, I should like to share just a few of the remarkable insights I discovered during my second reading of Tropic of Cancer:

It is now my second full year in Paris. I was sent here for a reason I have not yet been able to fathom. I have no money, no resources. I am the happiest man alive. 

Up to that time nothing very terrible at all of me, though I had already lost all my worldly possessions and had known what it was like to walk the streets in hunger and in fear of the police. 

One can live without friends, as one can live without love, or even without money, that supposed sine qua non. One can live in Paris—I discovered that!—on just grief and anguish. A bitter nourishment—perhaps the best there is for certain people. At any rate, I had not come to the end of my rope. I was only flirting with disaster. I had time and sentiment enough to spare to peep into other people’s lives, to dally with the dead stuff of romance which, however morbid it may be, when it is wrapped between the covers of a  book, seems deliciously remote and anonymous. 

My world of human beings perished; I was utterly alone in the world and for friends I had the streets, and the street spoke to me in that sad, bitter language compounded of human misery, yearning, regret, failure, wasted effort. 

An eternal city, Paris! More eternal than Rome, more splendid than Nineveh. The varying navel of the world to which, like a blind and faltering idiot, one crawled back on hands and needs. And like a cork that has drifted to the dead center of the ocean, one floats here in this scum and the wrack of the seas, listless, hopeless, heedless even to a passing Columbus. The cradles of civilization are the putrid sinks of the world, the charnel house in which the stinking wombs can find their bloody packages of flesh and bone. 

The streets were my refuge. And no man can understand the glamour of the streets until he is obliged to take refuge in them, until he has become a straw that is tossed here and there by every specter that blows. 

… these filthy beggars lying in the rain, what purpose do they serve? What good can they do us? They make us bleed for five minutes, that’s all. Oh, well, these are night thoughts produced by walking in the rain after two thousand years of Christianity. At least now the birds are well provided for, and the cats and dogs…. At the bottom of every frozen heart there is a drop or two of love—just enough to feed the birds. 

Henry Miller. c 1958