In church this past Sunday, the Psalm reading came from Psalm 90. One line of it struck me: Make us glad according to the days wherein thou hast afflicted us. The bit that struck me was in the idea that God afflicts us.

I read and enjoyed a book recently, recommended to me by my church rector: The Will of God by Leslie D. Weatherhead. The basis of it is to critique those that might, in the midst of suffering, say that it is God's will; that it is never God's will for us to suffer, but that in our liberty, we are not restrained from acts of which the natural consequence is suffering.

While I think this view has a lot to commend itself and affords us a concept of a loving God better aligned with our earthly definition of love, it replaces a God who would intentionally injure us with One who merely lets us be injured. I think both have downsides.

Either way, the verse in question leaves no doubt in a straightforward reading that God does not just let us be afflicted, He afflicts us.

It might be splitting hairs, but I personally favor a God who, seeing me running into traffic would snatch and beat me rather than watch on, determined to let me learn my lesson naturally, even if the injuries were equal in either scenario.

I don't know why I felt compelled to write about this, but I did, and in doing, went to review the Psalm in full and was struck further by how the line that had first caught my attention actually ranks pretty low in the litany of active cruelties described.

Thou turnest man to destruction; and sayest, Return, ye children of men... (read: An older sibling: "stop hitting yourself!")

I was struck too by Before the mountains were brought forth, or ever thou hadst formed the earth and the world, even from everlasting to everlasting, thou art God. but for no reason other than that it brough to mind Job; God demanding of him Where wast thou when I laid the foundations of the earth?

So it seemed especially interesting that Psalm 90 is, by tradition, the only Psalm attributed to Moses, making it the earliest, which again parallels Job, as that book is similarly cited as being the earliest written book of scripture.

What does it mean that the earliest question posed by man was why we suffer? And what does it mean that both Job and Moses, who had direct interactions with the Almighty, understood the answer to be that He willed it so?

Beats me.

But it has gotten me thinking about how dismissively I approach the Psalms, which I don't think is unusual among thoughtful Christians. They plead for God to torture enemies, they lament our unjust sufferings; all of which seems wrong through the prism of Christ's teaching. But I think it suggests that I ought to find a way to adjust my thinking rather than to somehow find clever contextualizations that bring it into alignment with how I think it ought to be.

I'm planning on trying to actively read through them with a mind for how I can genuinely pray them. I have a copy of C.S. Lewis' Reflections on the Psalms which I've never read past the introduction, but which might be a useful guide.

Fun at Spirit Halloween.

On June 26th, 1777, an officer of the Continental Line, Captain Ephraim Anderson, was killed in the Battle of Short Hills. Three days later, Colonel Israel Sheve wrote in his journal "Col. Rhea Returned with the Body of Capt. Anderson is now Gone to Westfield to Bury him with the honours of war which he Deserves as he fought Brave, and fell in a Glorious Cause." Two hundred and forty-one years later, as a living relative, I got elected to his seat in the Society of the Cincinnati, which a healthy percentage of the people I know are aware of, since I tend to talk about it a lot...

Every October, the Society meets in Washington for a series of meetings and dinners.

One of the memorable highlights of this past weekend was the election of a new representative of Captain Jonathan Phillips by General David Petraeus. As the registrar, I had the honor of introducing him at the formal dinner, and got to visit a bit, (his ancestor, coincidentally, was the executor of the will of mine, the both of them having served in the same regiment), but had more time to speak with his wife since we were seated next to each other at a dinner.

Whenever I get the chance to talk to a notable public figure, I always enjoy asking about the experience. When I asked her to pinpoint when he became known, she mentioned Tom Brokaw referring to a successful "young general" in Mosul in 2003. I said sort of blithely that I find it appealing to have people always wanting to tell you how great you are. She mentioned the security issues, how he had been the only person in Bin Laden's recovered hard drive as a target.

I'd like to apologize to Sam Rockwell. You are an actor I have a lot of respect for, and in passing you on 12th Street this evening, you deserved better than to have "Pete & Pete!" shouted in your face, regardless of my fondness for your turn as Endless Mike on that show.

In other news, today I learned that Endless Mike was portrayed by an actor named Rick Gomez, and Sam Rockwell did not, in fact, ever appear on the show.

I practically never sit in the car to wait out the street-cleaning-no-parking period, but I happened upon the closest possible spot to my apartment coming home Sunday night, and with street cleaning suspended for Rosh Hashanah Thursday and Friday, I won't have to move until next Monday night!

Weekend fragments: duck bacon, billiards, pastry.

Highlight of the weekend was a post-church garden social. Proud of Sammy for hopping into a pick-up soccer match with the choir boys. Disappointed in my head seeming disproportionately massive in an otherwise nice photo...

A stressful fourteen-hour workday, but grateful for a challenging job. And for the ability to run across the street for a great lunch at Le Fournil.

Glad to have finally visited the Russian & Turkish Baths tonight. I've walked past a million times over many years, and never without thinking what a glorious old relic it seems to be and how I ought to visit.

Funny enough, when I walked up the steps tonight, a cheery old Russian sitting on the stoop greeted me playfully: "You're finally here!"

Walking in, the proprietor was incredibly friendly and welcoming as I said it was my first visit. He took my wallet and watch and put them in a lockbox to which he gave me the key. Along with the key, on a broad rubber bracelet, was a larger key to a locker in the changing room, and a medallion with the number 13: the number of both lockbox and locker, and to which I would charge any services.

On the ground floor is a small restaurant. I got a salmon and mashed potatoes that were quite good, along with a pot of oolong green tea and a Perrier. After, I went back to the counter to order a slice of cake. Also quite good, and all of it very reasonable. Less than $50, including a tip.

Then, changed into my swimsuit and tried the steam sauna, then the dry sauna, both of which were more comfortable than I'd worried they would be; and I stayed happily in each for quite awhile. Then I hopped into the cold plunge pool which lived up to its name and I only managed for about ten seconds. Then a visit to the hottest sauna, "The Russian Room". There is a small well in the center with a bucket floating over the surface of the cold water. Along the benches as well are a number of faucets streaming cold water into other buckets.

People will grab a bucket and dump the water over their head.

Wrapped up the evening on the upstairs veranda where a pair of old Russians had a spread of fruit and crackers on a picnic table. They offered me a slice of pineapple. I turned it down, politely, and nursed another Perrier from the restaurant.

All in all, the place exceeded my expectations. I think I'll make it a weekly ritual.

Day 3 of a routine centered around waking up at 5:50 and going for a run. The first day where I didn't wake up exhausted, having got to bed at a decent time; woke up before the alarm, in fact.

But still wondered what the point of it was.

I've also had a ritual of a morning shot of apple cider vinegar mixed with turmeric and cayenne and ginger syrup. Why? They're supposed to be beneficial. They upset my stomach.

Why do anything? My genuine desire in the mornings is to lie in bed and play Two Dots until my morning meeting, then work until the day ends, then lie back down. Sure, it feels like a waste of a day, but do a couple of pre-dawn laps around Tompkins Square Park magically elevate it? What is comfort worth?