Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
The flying cloud, the frosty light:
The year is dying in the night;
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

Ring out the old, ring in the new,
Ring, happy bells, across the snow:
The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.

Ring out the grief that saps the mind,
For those that here we see no more;
Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
Ring in redress to all mankind.

Ring out a slowly dying cause,
And ancient forms of party strife;
Ring in the nobler modes of life,
With sweeter manners, purer laws.

Ring out the want, the care, the sin,
The faithless coldness of the times;
Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes,
But ring the fuller minstrel in.

Ring out false pride in place and blood,
The civic slander and the spite;
Ring in the love of truth and right,
Ring in the common love of good.

Ring out old shapes of foul disease;
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
Ring out the thousand wars of old,
Ring in the thousand years of peace.

Ring in the valiant man and free,
The larger heart, the kindlier hand;
Ring out the darkness of the land,
Ring in the Christ that is to be.

In Memoriam Section CVI — Alfred Lord Tennyson

Trying to smoke brisket for the first time. We’ll see how this goes

It is a serious thing to live in a society of possible gods and goddesses, to remember that the dullest and most uninteresting person you talk to may one day be a creature which, if you saw it now, you would be strongly tempted to worship, or else a horror and a corruption such as you now meet, if at all, only in a nightmare. All day long we are, in some degree, helping each other to one or other of these destinations. It is in the light of these overwhelming possibilities, it is with the awe and then circumspection proper to them, that we should conduct all our dealings with one another, all friendships, all loves, all play, all politics. There are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal. Nations, cultures, arts, civilization—these are mortal, and their life is to ours as the life of a gnat. But it is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub, and exploit— immortal horrors or everlasting splendours.

Re-reading The Weight of Glory – probably the single most influential piece of writing on how I view the world.

Beyond the left-right binary, it’s a profoundly localist film. Bedford Falls is a place where people aren’t just widgets, but names and faces. The bonds of genuine community help to soften the hard edges of life. Most of us want that for ourselves. (It’s also a film about accepting the limitations that community imposes, something we, like George Bailey, tend to find harder). What we see in the film that so many of are looking for is a sense that an ordinary life is worthy of honor, that money and power aren’t everything, that all of us are in it together. In other words, it’s a movie with a profound sense of the importance of solidarity.

Reflecting on the difficulties and joys of community a lot lately, and enjoyed this twitter thread about why “It’s A Wonderful Life” still resonates.

Exploring a personal blog for the first time in forever – we’ll see how this goes 🤔