NEWS FLASH - ST. HOLIDAY MISSING!

This just in from our correspondent on the scene. St. Holiday, sometimes referred to as the Dalai Lion of Show Low, has turned up missing. Nationally-known for his absolute obscurity, the quirky, aging hippie was last seen just before neighbors heard his wife scream, "Holiday, did you eat my chocolate?!" According to investigators, the so-called Lovely One discovered incriminating wrappers in the wastebasket of St. Holiday's Throne Room. These wrappers were for Hershey's Nuggets, the special dark chocolate with almonds. Since it is well-known that St. Holiday prefers the milk chocolate variety, police are wondering if perhaps someone else may have deposited those wrappers in the trash. However, the Lovely One has repeatedly employed wild and emphatic gesticulations to assure investigators that no one else would think to enter the Throne Room, unless he was either dressed in full bio-hazard apparel, completely insane, or under the influence of mind-altering drugs. The door is kept safely shut, she stated, and no one, except the Past Master himself, is permitted entrance into his "sanctuary," as he calls it. The family is rattled by this latest development. Some are already tacking missing posters to telephone poles and yellow ribbons to neighborhood trees. Authorities are combing the area with cadaver dogs. There is early suspicion that the Lovely One may have something to do with his disappearance, and it is expected that she will be hauled in for more thorough questioning later this evening. There was mention made by one confidential source of a life insurance policy, but details are sketchy at this time.

Recently, there has been mounting speculation over St. Holiday's health. It was revealed only a few days ago that he is losing his battle with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and that he had suffered a relapse into a weekend of shallow thought. The pre-Apocalyptic visionary and Pop of Kings has managed to elude commercial success with his recently-released, shocking expose of the widespread popular discontent with material insecurity, and it is thought that this new failure may have been the proverbial straw that led to present events. Or, he may just be hiding from his enraged wife, who is quite protective of her chocolates. Sweet talk, personal charm, clean jokes and reverent wit may only go so far with the Lovely One.

St. Holiday has never been known for merely flirting with disaster. No, he has a way of embracing it like a lover, kissing it full on the lips, taking it home and feeding it like a poor stray. He is the most self-unmade man to be found among anatomically-correct specimens of mankind. Over the past few months, his agent has been engaged in serious discussions with the Acquisitions Department of the Museum of Natural History concerning the eventual donation of St. Holiday's brain for scientific research and public display. Negotiations have reached an impasse over the color of the jar in which it is to be preserved. The donor has insisted upon a tinted jar, preferably in rose or chromium blue, to mask the depressing gray of his whorly organ. If St. Holiday has finally met his fate, as many hope and some few fear, this issue of tissue may be resolved rather soon.

A PRESSING RELEASE

Early today, sources close to St. Holiday announced a significant symbolic achievement by the trippy quipster so few have come to know and love. Fresh on the behind of his convincing victory in Monday's extreme breakfast competition, the man now known in private circles as Sir Real, is ending speculation by pulling himself out of the running as the Republican vice-presidential candidate. This was entirely unexpected, since he is a registered Independent. Since being passed over by Obama just as Moses was passed over by the Angel of Death, St. Holiday has been inconsolable and almost unavailable for comment. He is a victim of his own non-existant approval ratings, oddly philosophical theatrics and a botox procedure that went horribly wrong. His ragbin style has not helped him either. We hear that recovery efforts are underway. Over the weekend, our subject was spotted on one occasion, clothed in bubblewrap, hollow-eyed and unshaven, muttering, "I hate them; they killed my son." Yet, only hours later, he stood in the doorway of his humble chateau, dressed in his trademark shiny vinyl raincoat, with his palm on the very forefront of his well-informed mind, preparing, as he declared, to rush into a phone booth to change. We believe he meant, to find change, an activity he pursues on weekends to supplement his family budget. Our readers will appreciate that St. Holiday is always unpredictable, except after sunrise.

It probably has not helped his cause that he has long been under surveillance, wanted for questioning, and awaiting amnesty as the most notorious member of Show Low's fashionable underground. How he has eluded the justice system after so many years is a wonderment to all who hate him. Some might think of St. Holiday as just another shot at the buzzer that did not go in, but many recognize that at least the shot bounced around the rim a few times. However, what should we expect from one who grew up during the Great Depression, his own? The few who care for him applaud him as one who is occasionally capable of emotional depth and nuance, who keeps his phaser set on stun, his triglicerides at optimal levels, and his hands from clutching his own throat.

An anonymous source has informed this writer that St. Holiday intends to make a dramatic comeback through a computer-generated replica of himself in high resolution. This is news indeed, since he has never been known to have any resolution at all. We hear that St. Holiday has been working on this project for many years and that he has finally succeeded in constructing a completely-convincing digital doppelganger with realistic facial animation. This he intends to send to assume his new employment as Show Low's grantwriter/housing coordinator, having programmed it for high definition output. Having freed up his time, St. Holiday will download his aging corpus, made of the finest molecules known to man, onto his livingroom couch, where he will devote considerable time to the issue of how to complete the final two things he must accomplish before his own death. It is to be hoped that his digital clone will not fall into the wrong hands.

St. Holiday's name may not be widely known, but the letters of his name, every single one, are known wherever the English alphabet is acknowledged and employed. Therefore, it can be truly stated that much of the world is acquainted with him in a particular manner. Though disappointment and failure are his nightly lullaby, he has at least achieved this measure of global celebrity. One might hope that someday the world will put the pieces together and come to know the entire puzzle which is St. Holiday.

ODES OF SOLOMON, Part 3

The 42nd Ode, which we quoted in a previous post, belongs in substance to a large and greatly neglected body of ancient literature dealing with Christ's descent into Sheol, or the world of the dead, after His crucifixion. The early Christians had an answer to the question of whether the blessings of salvation in Christ are available to the billions of Father's children, who have died not having heard or known of the Gospel plan, its principles and ordinances. Blessed be the name of the Lord, the answer is affirmative.

The fundamental principles of the Gospel are faith in Jesus Christ, repentance, baptism for the remission of sins and confirmation for the reception of the Holy Spirit by the laying on of hands. Jesus taught Nicodemus that "Except a man be born of water and of the Spirit, he cannot enter into the kingdom of God." (John 3:5). That teaching raises the question, what of that super-majority of the descendants of Adam and Eve who have passed through mortality without an opportunity to receive the ordinances of baptism and confirmation, which Christ taught are a necessary precondition to one being able to enter the kingdom of God? Most who have lived upon the earth have never been acquainted with the doctrines of Christ. How does that square with our notions of the justice of God?

The early Christians believed and taught that Jesus, between the time of His death and resurrection, entered the vast world of spirits and inaugurated a great work of redemption there, preaching the good news to our ancestors and opening the way for their salvation.

The Chief Apostle Peter referred to Christ's work among the dead:

For Christ also hath once suffered for sins, the just for the unjust, that he might bring us to God, being put to death in the flesh, but quickened by the Spirit:
By which also he went and preached unto the spirits in prison;
Which sometime were disobedient, when once the longsuffering of God waited in the days of Noah, while the ark was a preparing, wherein few, that is, eight souls were saved by water. (1 Peter 3:18-20)

For for this cause was the gospel preached also to them that are dead, that they might be judged according to men in the flesh, but live according to God in the spirit. (1 Peter 4:6)

To quote from the 42nd Ode, "And I made a congregation of living men amongst his dead men, and I spake with them by living lips, because my word shall not be void." What word of Christ would not be void? The promise contained in John 5:25 and elsewhere, "Verily, verily, I say unto you, the hour is coming, and now is, when the dead shall hear the voice of the Son of God: and they that hear shall live." This is such an essential and hopeful teaching! Sadly, it has been forgotten or ignored through the ages, leading to many errors in doctrine. The Gospel of Jesus Christ reaches every generation and every nation, if not in mortality then in the realm of spirits. No one of Father's children is denied the blessings of Christ's redemption because of the time and place of their mortal lives. The Lord has and will save all who will adhere to His word, whether in this life or the next.

In a post to come, I will quote from other ancient writers on this important subject.

THE DRAMA & TRAUMA CONTINUE

Well, there's nothing like a polite conversation with a nurse around a cup of your own urine. One look, and she knew immediately that I take vitamins. Totally embarrassing! I had to wait forever for the procedure to take place. I said, "Come on; hurry up; my drugs are wearing off!" The Lovely One was doing her best to shush me up. Finally, after jumping up and down in a public and suggestive way, the nurse came running. The City is invading my privacy as a condition of employment with them. I've always tried to avoid drug testing. Well, let's put it this way: I've always tried to avoid urinalysis.

Tonight is a big night. I am performing another of my scientific experiments in the interest of expanding the knowledge of all mankind. I will be feeding baked beans to my skunks. Wish me luck.