Bloggernacle Makes Church Boring?

Does the Bloggernaccle make Church boring?

I get very little out of church nowadays. Certainly I feel spiritually refreshed when I take the sacrament, but that takes all of 10-15 minutes. Certainly, I hear a new insight shared in class every few months or so, but it doesn’t happen every week.

Sometimes I feel like, what’s the point? Why attend gospel doctrine class when all that’s going to be said is the same thing that was said four years ago? Why attend elders quorum when all that’s going to be done is the “instructor” will read from the book and ask the obligatory questions at the end of the chapter? I can go home early and get more from personal study.

At least when I was teaching the deacons each Sunday until last august, I felt like coming to Church had more purpose than taking the Sacrament. The responsibilities I have now as ward clerk certainly are not Sunday specific (except for meeting attendance).

Some might say that there’s more to Church than learning. True. Supposedly, we are supposed to find fellowship with the saints. I must be missing something, because that fellowship jut doesn’t seem to be there. Well, it is sort of.

All the young married couples are friends because they attended the YSA wards together. All the older people—the doctors, lawyers, accountants, business owners—are friends, but only because they are neighbours in upscale Tudor Estates and Park Royal. Most everyone else is a multi-generation Mormon with roots back to Utah and New England. We certainly do not fit into any of the groups here in this ward, let alone in the city.

That’s not to say we haven’t tried. We have had numerous couples and families over to our house to visit, have supper and/or to play games. Only one couple has reciprocated that gesture. Our home teachers hardly even come visit us; November was the last month.

There is no one like us here; no one with whom we feel a kinship; no one whom we can call our friends.

So, fellowship is out of the question. Which brings me back to my original question: does the Bloggernaccle make Church boring?

Has my exposure to thought-provoking dialogue spoiled me? Has my desire to answer deeper gospel questions warped my expectations of Church? Do I need something more than fluffy experiences and cookie cutter testimonies? Can I find fulfillment in repetitive Correlation materials presented without uniqueness?

Sacrament and Young Children

Why do parents feed sacrament bread and water to babies and toddlers? What purpose does it serve?

Certainly the children are too young to show that they are willing to take upon themselves the name of Jesus, willing to always remember Him and willing to always keep the commandments.

It cannot be an effort to make sure the children remember the sacrifice of Jesus. They are too young to understand who He is, let alone the sacrifice he made or what implications His sacrifice has in our individual lives.

They have not been baptized, so they cannot reflect upon the covenants they normally would have made at baptism.

So, what’s left? Perhaps the parents want to instill a habit in their children. If so, is that a good measure to take? Should we be teaching our children to take the Sacrament out of habit? Can this be detrimental when they are older.

Hiding Talents

I have had a lot of time to reflect and think and contemplate this week. A lot has gone through my mind.

I am very lucky. God has blessed me with many talents. Some people struggle to find a single talent, and I have been blessed with many. With talent comes responsibility. With lots of talent comes lots of responsibility. Or at least that’s how I see it.

I feel like both the first steward and the last steward. I feel the Lord has given me many talents but that I am burying them in the ground. At the same time, I do not want to bury them; I bury them because I do not know what else to do with them.

That is the basis of how I have been feeling for the last couple of years. That’s not all of it, but it does play a part. I want to make a big difference in this world. God has given me many talents and I have a great urge to use those many talents to do something great. I want to use the talents to touch and affect the lives of many people.

Unfortunately, I need time and money.

This past week I came to the decision that whatever it is I need to do will have to wait. I have a family to support and raise and that takes up my time and money. It is not something I am willing to sacrifice for the betterment of society. Society will just have to wait.

What does this mean for Our Thoughts? I do not know. It may be back. I am just not convinced that this is where my energy needs to be spent.

A dozen or so people commented in my last post that they wanted Our Thoughts to continue. I appreciate the support, but I really do not know if that is enough for me to keep going with Our Thoughts.

All I can say is don’t remove Our Thoughts off the RSS reader just yet.

Dreams Are Small

In land of stars the blackness rules and light is slave to dark.
A land where stars are forced to stay where night has e'er them parked.
The stars are small, their skies are broad, the space above us vast,
Yet we on earth are small as sand and brittle as the glass.

Our hopes and dreams are big to us, and joy inside us felt
When we wish upon them much and look to them for help.
But dreams get broke and hopes do shatter and wishes don't come true.
They're all br'ttle, 'cuz they're all small when they're looked in view.

Why Bother?

Why do I even bother?

Lately I have been feeling that the things I do online make no difference; they serve no purpose. What I do interests no one. None of the projects I have done (including blogs) attracted anyone.

So, Our Thoughts is gone. I did not back anything up. Everything I have said since July 2003 is now gone. I have no idea if I will ever post more than this post.

Who cares? What's the use?

P.S. Sorry

I Got Another Part

Auditions for directing projects were held last Friday. I tried out, but the whole experience was much different than last semester’s directing projects.

First, the directing class teacher paired everyone up this time. Last time, everyone paired themselves up.

Second, last time, there were nine directors in three separate rooms. This time, all nine were in a the Spinks theatre.

Third, last time, we were given some generic, one-dimensional scripts. This time, we were given the ever-popular scene eight from Angels in America.

Fourth, last time, the directors had has perform our piece several times in different ways to get a better idea of our range. This time, we simply did our piece once.

Lastly, within 24 hours I had received three requests for callback. This time I received none.

Kevin Reid—who was with me in Impromptu last semester—was one of the directors and he encouraged me on Thursday to try out. At that time, I was still unsure whether I should try out. I have a semi-busy schedule with my calling, work and family, so I was not sure if I wanted to add to that. I ended up deciding to go for it and see how it turned out.

I spoke with Kevin yesterday and he said he was greatly disappointed that he couldn’t have me. When we audition, we have to fill out an audition sheet. One of the things on the sheet is what times we are not available. All of Kevin’s rehearsals were during times I could not make it. He said I was by far his first choice, and he was a bit agitated when he couldn’t have me.

Nevertheless, I received an email last night from Andrew Torry telling me that I have been chose to be in his play. He was the playwright for Go!—the first show for this season’s University of Lethbridge theatre schedule. My co-actors are Corinne Hepher and Courtney Montgomery.

The play we are doing is Allan Stratton’s Papers. Apparently, it is about a professor “lecturing about a new novel by colleague Martin Edwards. [The professor’s] hilarious version of the love affair that inspired the novel comes to life in a compassionate comedy about two lonely and would-be lovers and their terrible inability to communicate.”

I am excited to work with Andrew, but we will see how it goes on Thursday when we get to see our rehearsal schedule.

Remembrance Day - Nov.11th

For 20 years (from ages 22 to 42) I had the privilege of visiting with my grandfather and listening to him tell me the stories of his experiences in WWI with the Fort Garry Horse. There never was a time when he shared his experiences that I didn't feel a welling up of tears in gratitude for his sacrifice, and probably more amazing to me, his attitude. The stories never got bigger or better with each retelling. He felt compassion his enemy just as much as he loved his family.

Shortly after he passed away in 1989 my relationship with my father developed. My father served in WWII with the 2nd Brigade in Italy and with other units of the Allies at various times.

I never knew my dad when I was growing up and had no real appreciation for him as a person. Soon after grandpa died my dad and I began talking and invariably the conversations would veer to his experiences in the war(usually at my insistence).

What amazed me was the similarity of attitudes these men shared, in spite of seeing some of the most gory and horrific sights that anyone can be forced to view. Neither of them was bitter. Neither of them hated the enemy. Yet one can't help but speculate on how the experiences of those wars forever altered their lives, for better or for worse. My emotions run high every time I listen to my dad tell of his experiences, just as they did with my grandfather. I honour these men and am so grateful to call them dad and grandpa and to forever have their stories to pass on to my posterity.

Just one bullet, or one piece of shrapnel in the right spot would have prevented this story from ever being told by me. It is with great honour that I share with you one of the stories that my father has recorded. I trust that you will forgive the length and find value in it.

Robert O.Bates
AS I REMEMBER ORTONA -
December 1943

(As I saw it in the OP with Captain Don Watson M.C. 77 Bty. 3rd Fid. Reg't R.C.A.)
The 2nd Brigade was designated to make the attack with the Eddies leading up the gully with Pats covering the left flank and the Seaforths on the right flank under a creeping artillery barrage. Captain Watson, Gunner Masding, and myself accompanied the officer leading the Seaforths. I was carrying an "18 set" for communications with the guns.

We received little or no counter fire as we walked up the slope, under the shells as they laddered up, but suddenly, we found we were advancing too quickly, and we were caught in our own shells and two or three of the infantry went down. Captain Watson yelled, "STOP", and I passed the order to the guns. Everything came to a halt.

Medical aid seemed to appear out of nowhere for the injured, and no further rounds were forthcoming. The officers quickly decided that "Up 200, Fire" would correct the situation. I passed the order, and everything resumed as before with little time being lost. I might add that with all the firing that had transpired from our previous barrage, we could practically step from one shallow hole to the next, made by our twenty-five pounders, all the way up the draw.

As the infantry were securing the south and west edge of town, we were told to follow the trail back along the outskirts of town and go to the Church of Santa Maria de Constantinople where "C" Company's headquarters was being established. We were unable to give covering fire to the infantry due to the density of the stone buildings. We knew they were in very close and changing proximity to the enemy, sometimes occupying different rooms and floors in the same building, but we were kept well informed by means of sitreps.

Things started to liven up as Gerry obviously knew where HQ was located and he started raining down mortars and Moaning Minnies (nebblewerfers) on the area. By this time it had become dark, and Capt. Watson asked if Masding and I would go back to the outskirts of town and locate our Bren gun carrier which Obie was bringing forward with our equipment, and guide it to the church. After finally locating the carrier, Obie said that he could not see the trail and it would not be safe to try to move it as he might drive over the bank. I finally took two sheets of white paper, one in each hand and held them over my head, and he said he could see them if I stayed about ten feet in front of the Carrier while I backed up, making sure of not running over me. About one hundred yards along the trail, we were bracketed by several rounds of shellfire, really putting the wind upon us.

We felt somewhat secure knowing that we could not be observed. I knelt down in front of the Carrier for about five minutes. No more rounds fell. We decided that it was "a shot in the dark", and we proceeded to the church and parked near the big iron gates of the surrounding stonewall.

The next day the courtyard was coming under considerably accurate mortar and Moaning Minnie fire, and also the vehicle parking area was taking quite a beating. After observing the area in the daytime, I could see the top section of a small tower about a block and a half northeast of our location. After informing my Captain, he decided we would go down the street, take a peek around the comer and see what it was all about. There stood a small tower uninhibited by any other buildings - a perfect OP for the Gerries. We quickly returned to the church where the Captain contacted the infantry and obtained an infantry Captain, a six-pounder anti-tank gun, and a crew who manhandled the gun over considerable debris and parked just short of the corner.

Capt. Watson was in seventh heaven. He informed the gun crew that they were to load the gun, push it around the comer, fire using open sights, pull the gun back, reload and carry out the same procedure until he told them to stop. I believe they carried out this operation about five or six times, thereafter the tower was no longer habitable. It was a rather exhilarating experience. However, since the enemy had already registered the coordinates for our location at the church, we continued to come under considerable fire at various time, although apparently unobserved, and movement became a little more secure.

Christmas day, Major Woolliams (Battery Commander) came forward to the church to familiarize himself with the situation. He parked his scout car outside near our carrier and, if I recall correctly, his operator was Howie Love, however I may be mistaken. Anyway, we had eaten some cold rations for breakfast and had been informed that a Christmas dinner would be served later on but we were unsure as to the time.

The Major asked me if I would go out to his scout car and get him something he could eat as he had not had any breakfast. The rations were in a 4.2 mortar box that was mounted on the front of the vehicle. I had no sooner gone through the gate than a barrage of mortar and Moaning Minnie fire landed throughout the area and I was temporarily incapacitated by the blast from a Minnie. The Minnies were designed to damage by blast more than with shrapnel and I can testify to that. After lying there for what seemed like two or three minutes and gathering my thoughts, I realized that the mortaring had stopped. I proceeded to the scout car and opened the punctured mortar box and found that nearly everything in the box had been damaged by shrapnel except for a can of tomatoes that I quickly rescued and took to the Major. He immediately opened the can and consumed the contents.

The Seaforth supply officer and his staff created a table in the shape of a large square and covered it with white sheets for a tablecloth. They then set the table for about forty to fifty men who would be seated around the perimeter of the table. We sat in the “first sitting” about noon with "C" company and it was a fabulous affair.

There was a pump organ, and someone would pump it while the Padre led the service. Carols were sung, wine and beer were served, and a delicious meal of roast pork with all the trimmings was placed before each man, served by the Officers to the men, in regular military tradition. It was almost as if there wasn't a war going on, except for the occasional explosive sound of mortars and shellfire... which reminded us.

Everyone seemed to really relax and enjoy themselves for two hours and then it was their turn to relieve their comrades in the firing line so that they could also come to the church for their Christmas treat and a two-hour respite. All this was taking place with some fighting, mostly mouse-holing, going on within about three hundred yards of the church. The meal was repeated four times and then it was night and back to the business of war as usual.

On the afternoon of December 26th, our OP crew was ordered to go forward to the main town square and occupy a floor of the hotel located on the north side of the square from which we would be able to observe the large tombstones in the cemetery behind which the enemy was reported to be digging in. Capt. Watson, having gone ahead with the infantry to reconnoiter the situation requested our presence but we were told not to bring the Carrier due to heavy debris blocking the narrow streets. We were warned that heavy sniper fire might be encountered so we should move quickly using whatever cover we could find. I carried the "18 set" on my back as we ran, zigzagging from doorway to doorway down the narrow street. Suddenly, a man carrying a movie camera stepped out from a doorway just in front of us and asked "if we would mind" going back a ways and rerun the street so that he could get it on film. He said he was a reporter from Western Canada and would like to send the pictures home with our names. I guarantee you the term "rude" would hardly cover our quick response, and we rapidly resumed our journey.

As we approached the edge of the square we passed one of our destroyed Sherman tanks that had been brought to a stand still by a large mound of stone rubble and knocked out by antitank fire. We could see the hotel and its large glass doors (still intact) across the street and decided that our best bet was to dash quickly across the square and get out of sight. It was apparent that this area could be a sniper's delight When we opened the doors we found the body of an elderly white haired lady who had been shot between the eyes, obviously by a sniper.

A flight of stairs led to the main area on the second floor and we continued on up to the third floor where we met Capt Watson. We then proceeded up to the fourth floor to a room on the north side from which we could observe the cemetery, a considerable distance away. We studied the area with our field glasses but were unable to detect any sign or movement of the enemy. Later in the afternoon our Capt. was informed that the street we had traveled down was now cleared enough that we could bring the carrier to the hotel (thanks to our remarkable Engineers). Masding and I were asked to return to the church and bring Obie and the carrier forward. As we went down stairs to the doorway, we met an obviously young Lieutenant standing there, looking out the doors. He looked kind of dumbfounded and gave us the impression that he was not sure of what was going on. We informed him that we were in a possible sniper area and standing there might be a bit dangerous, however he nodded and proceeded on the run. Our return trip to the hotel was uneventful and we parked the carrier next to the open hotel doors and about three feet from the wall in order to give us cover whenever we unloaded it. We again entered the hotel and there on the floor near the old lady, was the lieutenant with a hole in his forehead. (Some days were definitely worse than others!) Early on the 28th we were informed that Gerry had withdrawn and Ortona was ours... It was a terrible price to pay, but victory was ours.

And Ours.

Originally posted by Larry Bates.