We live in frightening times.

That’s not a new thought for me, but it struck me with fresh force today, while listening to Michael Medved’s radio program.

He was discussing the Matthew Shepard and James Byrd, Jr. Hate Crimes Prevention Act, which would, according to many conservatives, place anyone who publicly expressed opposition to the homosexual agenda in jeopardy of prosecution, in the case that some unbalanced listener should commit an act of violence against a homosexual (or transgender, to keep up with changes in the law) afterwards.

Anyone who says that’s alarmist talk wasn’t listening to Medved’s callers today. Most of them believed that it was right to punish people for their thoughts, if those thoughts incited them to crimes.

But one caller in particular, a young lesbian who said she’d been raised by a lesbian couple, went farther. She stated matter-of-factly that, of course, people who disapproved of homosexuality should be prosecuted just for their opinion. “Because that’s bad.”

Doubtless she’s the product of a public school, as she knows no history. She doesn’t realize that her view is identical—not in detail but in principle—to that of medieval popes and 17th Century Puritans. She’s missed entirely the great compromise that was reached by people who were (then) known as “liberals” in the 18th Century—that people should not be punished for their opinions. If you hold or express an opinion the government doesn’t like, it cannot touch you. If, however, that opinion drives you to commit a crime, you are punished, but not for the thought. For the action alone. The government has an interest in what you do. Your soul is a matter between you and God.

It was a compromise Christians came to love, because it rendered unto Caesar what was Caesar’s, and to God what was God’s.

That compromise may be broken soon.

There was snow on the ground when I got up on Sunday, and more snow this morning. It hasn’t completely disappeared as of posting time, and will probably last the night. Is this the beginning of a long, long winter? Probably not, but it could happen. This is Minnesota.

My cold is much better, thanks for asking, though not entirely gone. The swelling has receded on my hand and the bruising has lightened, but I still have a substantial goose-egg on the back, and only about 70% use of it. That will take a while to come back, I expect.

I would have liked to have spent the weekend recuperating, but I was pretty booked. Friday night was a Sons of Norway meeting, which I’d promised to attend (can’t remember why).

Saturday morning my dance card was clear, so I was able to buy a few shirts I’d been meaning to buy. I also called in to two local radio talk shows, both times in connection with the general hilarity surrounding Nobel Peace Prize award. I told the David Strom Show my theory about the reason for the award—that Oslo is a B List city socially, and they just wanted the world’s greatest celebrity to visit so they could get his autograph. I called the First Team of the Northern Alliance Radio Network to explain how to pronounce “ø.” (Answer: Say “er,” but quit before you get to the hard “r” on the end.)

At noon, I had the annual meeting of the Georg Sverdrup Society, at which I was scheduled to read my new translation of one of Sverdrup’s articles. It went pretty well, as far as I could tell. Then there was the business meeting, and then the board meeting, and eventually I got home to wash my clothes.

Sunday I treated like a sick day, even though I wasn’t all that sick anymore. I figured I had a rest day coming. You know, the Bible never actually says you have to go to church on the sabbath. What it does say is you have to rest. It’s one of those points where I enjoy being legalistic.

It’s Friday (in case you haven’t been paying attention), and I made it through the week. My cold is getting better, as is my hand (but more slowly).

I have a meeting tonight, and a meeting tomorrow. All in all, I’d far rather lie on the couch.

From an anonymous source: The Omnificent English Dictionary in Limerick Form. I don’t see how that can possibly be improved on.

Made contact today (through Facebook), for the first time in about forty years, with a former college roommate, now a retired military chaplain. He says he still tells the story of how I helped him find assurance of salvation (he’d been one of those who kept going back to the altar to be converted, again and again) by taking him through 1 Peter 1:3-12.

I’d forgotten about the incident entirely. As with most of my relationships, I’d remembered mainly the mistakes I’d made and dumb things I’d said.

If I weren’t me, I’d probably feel some satisfaction in that. I’m grateful to him for telling me about it, in any case.