I Sometimes Forget…

…how much faster cable internet is than DSL.

But then I try to download 150MB worth of software updates at work and it takes

all

day.

Resigning Our Commission

General George Washington Resigning His Commission (1824), by John Trumbull

Two TV shows I always enjoyed watching were Horatio Hornblower on A&E and Star Trek: The Next Generation.

These two shows didn’t exactly have a whole lot in common since one was set in 1790s Europe, while the other was set in 24th century outer space, but there was one similarity in that the main characters of both shows were basically naval officers who served on ships—a similar occupation, just separated by 600 years or so.

In the course of both shows, events occasionally transpired which led to certain characters, in dramatic fashion, offering to resign their commissions. Usually this occurred if the character felt he had performed in an unacceptable manner, or if some action had taken place or was about to take place which he didn’t approve of and wanted nothing to do with.

In the TV shows, the characters rarely went through with their resignations, but if they did, they were no longer a part of the group which had issued them the commission in the first place (whether it was the Royal Navy or Star Fleet).

Christians talk quite a bit about a commission which Jesus issued to His disciples in Matthew 28.18-20. We actually refer to it as “The Great Commission.”

“All authority has been given to Me in heaven and on earth. Go therefore and make disciples of all the nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I commanded you…”

Although we may never consciously resign the commission which Jesus bestowed upon us, all too often, we do so by our actions.

When George Washington (pictured above) resigned his commission as the Commander-in-Chief of the Continental Army, he was no longer a member of it.

If we resign our commission, where does that leave us?

Maybe He Just Forgot? I Do Sometimes…

For the past several days, ESPN has been making a big deal about revealing Miguel Tejada’s “secret past.” What, is he a former drug runner? Did he used to be a pirate? Did he used to date Paris Hilton?

No.

Apparently, Tejada is actually 33 instead of 31, and this is the earth-shattering news that ESPN is breaking.

Certainly in an industry where you sign long-term contracts for a great deal of money based on expected future performance (and age plays a large part in that), you’d like to know how old a guy is.

But really, who is surprised by this? Aside from the fact that Tejada has already lied about his past HGH usage, he’s also from the Dominican Republic, where players are notoriously bad about claiming to be younger than they actually are:

• Remember Danny Almonte, the 12-year old Little League phenom who was the media darling in 2001 until it was revealed that he was actually 14?
• Remember Rafael Furcal, who at one point set the Major League record for most stolen bases by an 18-year old, but then he turned out to be 21?
• Remember Julio Franco, who everyone thought was the oldest player in the Major Leagues and then turned out to actually be the oldest human being on the planet?

The point is, this happens all the time, so the Astros shouldn’t be too surprised or too upset.

It’s kind of like with my cousin Will, who used to severely exaggerate his intramural basketball statistics. It didn’t make me mad, I just realized eventually that if I wanted accurate numbers, I just needed to take whatever numbers he told me and divide them by three.

It’s the same way in Major League Baseball—when a ballplayer from the Dominican Republic tells you how old he is, you automatically add a couple years to it because you don’t expect him to actually give you his correct age.

As for Tejada, well he was mentioned in the Mitchell Report and has apparently lied to a Federal Grand Jury about using HGH, so has enough legitimate baggage already without trying to make a big deal about this age thing.

The picture above is from the cover of the 2005 Baltimore Orioles Media Guide. I’m sure that putting Tejada, Rafael Palmeiro and Sammy Sosa on the cover seemed like a great idea at the time.

The Ministry Of Fear

Several months ago, I started making the effort to spend more time reading and less time watching television, and then at the beginning of January, I even made it a resolution.

Since I’ve been reading more and thinking about what I’ve been reading, I decided to start blogging short reviews of some of the stuff I like. These will probably not be too detailed, and will mainly be an excuse to share some of my favorite lines.

A couple of weeks ago, I finished The Ministry of Fear by Graham Greene. Greene divided his works into “entertainments” and “novels” to distinguish between the level of literary importance he placed on them, but even his entertainments (of which The Ministry of Fear is one) tended to touch on deep themes, often of a religious nature.

The Ministry of Fear is set in the blitz of London during World War II, and centers on a guilt-plagued man named Arthur Rowe who unwittingly becomes entangled with a group of spies after he guesses the correct weight of a cake at a charity carnival.

Rowe is a sensitive man who can’t stand to see pain in others, a characteristic directly responsible for the overwhelming sense of guilt he constantly feels:

“He was filled with horror at the thought of what a child becomes, and what the dead must feel watching the change from innocence to guilt and powerless to stop it.”

“It wasn’t only evil men who did these things. Courage smashes a cathedral, endurance lets a city starve, pity kills…we are trapped and betrayed by out virtues.”

The Ministry of Fear is also a love story, as Rowe’s chance at redemption comes through a woman who knows about his past and doesn’t blame him for it.

“He listened to her with dumb astonishment. No one had ever talked to him openly about it. It was painful, but it was the sort of pain you feel when iodine is splashed on a wound—the sort of pain you can bear.”

“Like a boy, he was driven relentlessly towards inevitable suffering, loss, and despair and called it happiness.”

It’s around this part of the book that I have my only real criticism, as the sudden appearance of a love interest is unexpected and somewhat unbelievable. However, if you can manage to suspend your disbelief to accept that plot device, The Ministry of Fear is a quirky and entertaining spy thriller that will encourage you to think about deeper issues.