Parson Hedges has been touring the sinecured hideaways of the vaunted US Left, writing up the deep and profound conversation he encounters, since at least the Peter Paul and Mary days. The last one, with Tariq Ali, was about one-part “Get off My Lawn, Kids!” to one-part humble chastisement of the New Rebels on the Block, wherever they might be in competition with the great and glorious corporate-sponsored days of Rage circa 1967 and half.
Now, if you love some good old-timey religion, musty classics propped up by your hair shirt, sex only for baby-making, pedantry ’round the dinner table with hardtack, chasing war to find the Shakespeare within, and witless (go ahead, find one moment of humor across the Weemsian ouevre of our former Timesman) pontification about the follies of atheists and liberals, then you will follow Parson Hedges on his endless Martyr Tour. You may even invite him for a post-prandial if he deigns to choose you as the next successive Spokesbore of All Matters Obvious, but as you get on bended knee to relay your epic phrases back and forth with the pastor, even if yours was the clumsily formulated “inverted totalitarianism,” there may be a world you both are missing.
Let him go to some other house, the one with all the ghosts.