The Biggest Little Farm: Evicted from Santa Monica

The Biggest Little Farm (2019)

Directed by John Chester

Neon Films, 92 minutes, PG.

★★★

I think Emily and I may have been the last two people in the Connecticut River Valley to have seen this film. If you live outside of the region, it’s a feel-good documentary about one couple’s decision to leave the L.A. rat race and dive head first into organic farming.

It could have been subtitled “Evicted from Santa Monica.” John Chester is an accomplished figure in the greater Hollywood film industry. In 2011, he and his wife Molly, a private chef, adopted a rescue dog named Todd. Todd was a “barker,” a talent unpopular with neighbors. The Chesters were eventually evicted from their apartment and decided to tap into their savings to pursue Molly’s dream of living on an organic farm. The Biggest Little Farm documents their 7-year struggle to bring Molly’s dream to realization on Apricot Lane Farms, a 230-acre mixed-use holding in Moorpark, California, about 40 miles from Los Angeles.

Before I interject skeptical notes, let me say that I liked this film and I understand why it is so beloved. I admire what the Chesters did and they are right that among the things we must do to save the planet is discover ways to live in harmony with Mother Nature. Bolivian president Evo Morales put it best, “What mankind must know is that human beings cannot live without Mother Earth, but the planet can live without humans.” A lot of young folks here in Western Massachusetts are deeply interested in sustainable farming and distrust the industrial agriculture complex that rapes the land, relies upon toxic chemicals, and is more concerned with shelf life, scale, and profit than resource management, product taste, or consumer safety. I find those youthful values admirable and their efforts heroic.

If you want to make a film like Biggest Little Farm, it helps to have a filmmaker, cameraman, and cinematographer on board, which is what John Chester was before he also became a farmer. He knows how to build drama, wring emotion from an audience, and cut and sequence raw footage. What we see on the screen took 16 months to edit and assemble. If you think you can’t get nervous about a pig giving birth, shed tears over a scraggly rooster, or get excited by a hand full of worms, see this film and get back to me.

What the film does best is drive home the message that living in harmony with nature is both an act of surrender and one of balance. Life and death are integral to farming; when a coyote kills sheep, you slice away the pelts and move on. Do not get overly attached to that ever-so-cute calf that you will one day butcher and consume. Sustainability also requires a rewiring of standard operating procedure. What’s the first thing most farmers do when coyotes kill livestock? Easy: Load the guns and set out poison bait traps. Problem: Kill all the coyotes and you have a rabbit problem. Solution: Accept that a balanced number of mutton- and poultry- eating coyotes are necessary. Love fruit? So do snails if the trees aren’t sprayed. But there’s an answer; snails are like crack cocaine for free-waddling ducks. Are gophers undermining root structures? Build owl houses.

Once we get past the drama, herculean labor, and ingenuity, different sorts of balance conundra emerge that highlight the gap between what we wish to see and what is left unexplained. First, there are a few internal personnel issues. The Chesters’ role model was the late Alan York, who may have been wise and prescient about all things biodiversity, but comes across as beloved but also like a blissed-out cross between a hippie and a guru. Maybe you have to be from California to get him, but to this Easterner he seemed more flake than prophet. Second, the farm was Molly’s dream, but the movie quickly places John at its center and reduces Molly to the often-peripheral role of worrier and Earth Mother. Finally, there is only an oblique reference to the fact that Apricot Lane Farms has a staff of 60. This makes it a small big farm, not a big small one.

One should also acknowledge that John Chester so skillfully assembled the film that it takes a sharp eye to recognize its Edenic qualities. There really isn’t any drama as to whether the farm will succeed. It is telegraphed in part by the drone shots of the lush concentric circle orchards. It is even more overtly presaged with an early establishing shot of a green pasture in which sheep and other farm animals lie contently in the grass as a venomous snake slithers among them. Check out Edward Hicks’ famed painting “Peaceable Kingdom” and you can infer divine sanction of the experiment.

Here’s the biggest little lie of the film. What you really need to replicate what the Chesters did are deep-pocketed investors. The land wasn’t really as barren as the documentary implies. Yes, the soil needed revitalization, but most of the property was run-down, not dead. Conspicuously absent from the film are specifics about money. Those who’ve looked into this say that the farm’s purchase price was a cool $10.5 million. I would imagine it also cost quite a sum to build the state of the art composting facility that led to soil replenishment. How much more to buy animals, farm machinery, seedlings, feed, fencing, and miscellaneous supplies? There is a reference to crowd sourcing, but that could not have paid the bills. Who are the mysterious “investors” who are merely mentioned? I’d like to know, because we need thousands more of their like before Apricot Lane Farms can be replicated on a significant scale*.

Let me reiterate that I admired John and Molly. I also admired the film. It is an inspiration, but let no one blindly see it as a blueprint. It is where we should go, but not where most can go at this moment in time**.

Rob Weir

*The investors must be in for a really long haul. The farm’s classification is that it makes less than $250,000 revenue per year.

**Here’s something that’s more immediately attainable. As we strolled through the fields of our CSA farm share in late August, every step among the cherry tomatoes raised dozens of birds. Clouds of butterflies and bees were busy amidst the flowers in the adjacent field. Hawks soared above the mountain ridge on the other side of the road. If you build habitats, Mother Nature’s creatures will come.

Small Towns: Chester, Vermont

Have you ever spent time in a big city where absolutely nothing makes you wish to linger? Chester, Vermont is its opposite–a wee place where you drive in, begin to wander, and before you know it you've wiled away most of the day. That's fancy sleight of hand for a place with just a tick over 3,100 people that are pretty well dispersed.

It helps that this Windsor County village lies in a valley in the shadow of Okemo and Mount Snow, to which skiers flock when the white stuff is on the ground. In the winter Chester is a popular après-ski destination, which helps explain why it has an outsized number of inns and motels. The village's small shop row spreads like wings from the Fullerton Inn, which dates to 1885 and replaced an even older building. The nearby Inn Victoria serves high tea for those who want elegance with their crumpets. It's easy to imagine after hours thick-sweatered mogul hoppers stretched out before a fire and recapping adventures. But this doesn’t explain how Chester manages to be both quiet and vibrant during the Dog Days of August when we visited.

Architecture lovers tend to drive toward Chester Depot to see the Stone Village Historic District. As advertised, it's a collection of homes constructed of local granite. This was something of an "ooookay" ho-hum experience for me. (Would anyone break out the camera if they were made of brick?) I much preferred the old railway station. During what Vermonters call Leaf-Peeping Season, the ironically named Green Mountain Flyer crawls between Chester and Rockingham, but in the summer only the odd freight train rolls past. There's a time machine feel to standing by the station and looking across to a well-worn 1849 market. That's about all the commercial activity there is in Chester Depot, but it's more authentic than the Vermont Country Store in nearby Rockingham.

We made our way back to the village proper and admired the graceful historic homes along Route 103, many of which have been lovingly restored. There are several stunning Victorians with fancy woodwork and frills and there's even what some claim to be Vermont's oldest Georgian home. The vest pocket downtown has galleries, gift shops, eateries, and one-of-a-kind specialty stores that make you understand why locals fought so hard to keep the Dollar General Store out of the village limits. Don't forget to cross the street and saunter among the old stones in the cemetery. You'll be amazed by the longevity of Colonial and Early American residents. I always like to search for unusual gravestone carvings.  

Chester enjoys a reputation for being a pretty good food town. We gather that The Free Range is superb for dinner, but we weren't there in the evening. Instead, we treated ourselves to a hearty lunch at MacLaomainn's Scottish Pub. How often do you get a chance to quench your thirst with Scottish beers on tap? The pub grub is good and, yes, I did order haggis, neeps, and tatties. I enjoyed every bite. The owner is indeed Scottish and there's a modest Clan Hall for functions in the rear of the pub.   

If you wish to take an excursion to nearby Ludlow, a very easy stroll to Buttermilk Falls takes you to a popular summer swimming hole and a photogenic cascade. We then made our way back to Chester and headed for I-91 via the village of Rockingham. Its biggest draw is the aforementioned Vermont Country Store, where we had decent-but-not-transcendent soft serve ice cream. In the store you'll find all manner of candy, foodstuff, clothing, and toys–much of it things you've not seen in decades. That's deservedly so in some cases, but it's nonetheless a hoot. There's also an old mill on the property with a working waterwheel. Do detour to the 18^th century Rockingham Meetinghouse, a former Congregational Church and town hall that's a National Historic Landmark. It's a tranquil and picturesque spot.

 

We were amazed by how much we absorbed in such a small area. Back in Northampton we learned that two friends whom we assumed married in California where they used to live actually tied the knot at the Fullerton Inn. Small town. Small world.

Rob Weir

Gems from the Strong: Click image for bigger size

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Note the 'wholesome' imagery

Strange fish in tank.

Mr. Trump in the White House with a stilleto

When I was a kid, we used real potatoes!

Steady hand needed. Abandoned MD dreams!

Wish I had this one!

Love me tender, love me true...

This one looks like the goal is to emasculate the cop

Note the connection between play and propaganda

Here's why St. Louis Univ. teams are the Billikens

Early board game

Just love the name!

As a matter of fact, there WAS a Google before Google!

If you didn't know, "yellow journalism" derives from this. Thought to be the first cartoon. NOT an Asian, rather a barefooted Irish kid, Mickey Dugan.https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=6304832159039712637#editor/target=post;postID=8182208674137985645;onPublishedMenu=allposts;onClosedMenu=allposts;postNum=0;src=postname

Strong Museum is a Great Excuse to Visit Rochester

The Strong Museum of Play

Rochester, New York

Rochester seldom appears on lists of great tourist destinations. In the eyes of many, it’s just another small played-out postindustrial city with oversized urban problems. In truth, it’s well worth a visit. In late August I posted a piece on the delightful George Eastman House and Museum. Rochester also has tranquil walks along the water-filled Erie Canal, beaches along Lake Ontario, a sweet minor league baseball stadium, a Frederick Douglass monument, and the Susan B. Anthony House. But if that doesn’t convince you, try this: the Strong Museum of Play.

I haven’t had this much youthful fun since I actually was a youth. The museum began life as a monetary and collection donation from philanthropist Margaret Woodbury Strong in 1969. It has grown since then, an understatement if ever there was one. These days we are talking mega big–as in 13.5 acres and over 285,000 square feet of buildings. It’s been so successful that new parking garages and exhibition spaces are in the works that will double the existing size.

It is as advertised, a museum devoted to how Americans, especially children, have played. You name it and it’s there. First of all, it houses both the National Toy Hall of Fame and the National Video Game Hall of Fame. They work like any other Hall of Fame, which is to say there are committees whose members mull over nominations and vote on which toys are worthy of inclusion. You can find the complete list online and you’ll notice it includes everything from Barbie to Mr. Potato Head, the Teddy Bear, Checkers, Big Wheels, Silly Putty, and the cardboard box. All of the winners are displayed in cases within the Hall of Fame area. There’s a separate hall for video games, plus the International Center for the History of Electronic Games.

As the saying goes, but wait, there’s more. There’s also a butterfly garden, an exhibit devoted to D.C. Superheroes, and archives should you tire of fun and decide you positively must do academic research! Okay, I’m being snarky on the last one. Actually, this place takes play seriously and even publishes the Journal of Play. And why not? Why on earth should work be treated more seriously than play and recreation–especially in a postindustrial city? If you want to get philosophical, in a saner society the very point of work would be to secure time and resources to play.

If my previous comment strikes you as trite or naïve, reserve judgment until you’ve strolled among the cases of America at Play. It is the heart of the museum. It is a time capsule of how Americans have entertained themselves from time immemorial. You cannot help overhearing remarks such as, “I had that toy!” and “Oh my, I haven’t thought about that game for years.” Chances are good you will be among those making such exclamations. It’s all there: board games, improvised toys, dolls, sporting goods, model airplanes, novelty banks, sleds, bicycles, and so on. I instantly time warped upon seeing Lionel trains, Operation, and Rock 'em Sock 'em robots. There are more than half a million items overall, including fads that soared like the Hula Hoop and those that bombed such as the oh-so-lame attempt at making an electric football game. The goal of the last, insofar I could ever determine, was to waste time lining up 11 players on each side, flipping a switch that made the board vibrate, and watching the figures fall over. On the other hand, I saw a medieval knights and castle set that I had when I was in first grade that sparked my earliest love of history.

The Strong is also loaded with interactive kiosks and oversized sites where you can do activities such as engage a Rube Goldberg machine, play Twister, send Hot Wheels down a chute and maze, or allow a large Etch-a-Sketch to draw your profile. It’s not just children who squeal with delight at these attractions. If anything, adults need to be self-disciplined enough not to bogart the play stations.

Some might be bothered by the overt commercialism on display at the Strong. The most distressing of these is a Wegman’s where youngsters push carts through aisles and place plastic groceries in a cart before “checking out” and getting their “bill.” This one raised my hackles, but I lowered them while perambulating the America at Play section. The truth is that play has long been commercialized, as you can see in board games that were gendered and class-based. “The Dating Game” should have made Phyllis Schlafly into a feminist, but there have long been games that subtly indoctrinated some children to become tycoons and others to pursue a career as an office boy.

But enough of that. As I remarked to my wife and my friend Tim several times while smiling and laughing my way through the Strong: “It’s impossible to be cynical about this place.” If I’m wrong about that, I shall insist that I don’t know you!

If you want to see more images from this museum, go to the photo file marked "Gems from the Strong Museum"

Rob Weir  

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Washington Black Earns its Praise

Washington Black

By Esi Edugyan

Knopf, 352 pages

* * * * *

This fascinating novel from Canadian Ghanian writer Esi Edugyan is up for consideration for the Man Booker Prize. Although my vote would go Michael Ondaatje’s Warlight, it certainly wouldn’t make me upset were Ms. Edugyan to win.

Washington Black is about searching, dreaming, and the elusiveness of freedom. Its namesake narrator is a slave on a sugar plantation in British Barbados in the 1830s. Britain abolished the slave trade in 1807 and slavery itself was illegal after August of 1834, though such ‘technicalities’ took a bit longer to go into effect. In 1830, the year this novel opens, young Washington Black has no thoughts of freedom other than those put into his head by Big Kit, a slave who teaches Washington the ins and outs of getting by and plants the idea that if worst comes to worst, they could commit suicide and allow their souls to fly back to Dahomey,

where she claims to be of royal blood. All of this is so much gibberish to Washington, who is uneducated, without known parents, and has never been off  Faith Plantation.

Several things disrupt Washington’s life, the first of which occurs when Faith Plantation’s laissez-faire master dies and his son Erasmus Wilde takes over. Erasmus vows to take a Simon Legree-like iron-fisted approach toward slaves, a regimen built upon equal parts drive system and humiliation. There were few places on earth where it was worse to be a slave than in the Caribbean, where most in bondage died within 7-9 years. That might have been Washington’s fate, had it not been for the arrival of Christopher “Titch” Wilde, Erasmus’ eccentric younger brother.

Titch is equal parts scientist and mad inventor and he chooses Washington as his personal assistant. Edugyan pulls a page or two from Uncle Tom’s Cabin to show the myriad cultural disconnections between black slaves and whites, even those with good intentions. Put simply, they lived in different worlds in both a literal and symbolic sense. One of the many virtues of Edugyan’s work is that she does not sermonize. If anything, Washington is the most distrustful character in the book and he’s not always right in ascribing motives. He proves a not-very-good student when it comes to book learning, but displays an innate talent for drawing precise renderings of the specimens in Titch’s makeshift lab. When Wilde cousin Peter arrives, Washington will also come to learn that Titch’s family dynamics are no more enviable than his own.

But what adventures Washington is destined to have. Let me tantalize you by saying that plots and subplots revolve around an unstable hot air balloon, a ship bound for the Arctic, the capture of an octopus, flight from slave catcher, dwelling among the Inuit people, life Nova Scotia, and then London with side trips to the Midlands, Amsterdam, Paris, and Morocco. Washington will grow up, meet famed marine zoologist Geoffrey Michael Goff, and have an affair with his mixed race daughter Tanna. Can Washington trust any of them? What happened when Titch disappeared in the Arctic? What did Titch mean when he told Washington that he treated him “like family?” Is that a compliment, a delusion, or an insult? Is Titch even sane?

Several things make Washington Black more than another novel about the horrors of slavery. First, it is beautifully written. It’s not just the elegance of the prose; Edugyan also embeds metaphors throughout the book that lend gravitas to her words. Nearly everything in this novel has a double meaning: family, flight, captivity, scars, illustrations…. Second, Edugyan has little time for pat answers. Uppercase Truth is in short supply in Washington Black. Instead there are real deceptions, apparent deceptions, half-truths, gross misunderstandings, deserved skepticism, and flat-out wrongheadedness. This means that Washington Black is ultimately a book that’s about more than how one “sees” the world; on a deeper level it’s about how we “see” and fail to “see” others. To introduce still another of the book’s metaphors, it’s a work about the differences between surface and depth.

As I implied earlier, Washington Black is a flawed hero. His vision is often clouded and don’t assume for a moment that Edugyan intends an Arctic whiteout or a dessert windstorm to mean just snow or sand. Washington’s troubled soul is often the source of chaos. At one point Tanna says to him, “You are like an interruption in a novel, Wash. The agent that sets things off course. Like a hailstorm. Or a wedding.”

This is a smart book that goes beyond simplistic right/wrong scenarios. If you think you’ve read enough about slavery to skip this book, you’re just wrong. Washington Black has something so many other novels lack: nuance.

Rob Weir

THAD, Welty, More, Ramsey: The Mysteries of Indie Rock

Welcome to the "Indie Rock" edition of Off-Center Views. Indie rock used to mean that a performer was unsigned. These days it's a label that bleeds into Americana and is just as ambiguous. For sake of discussion, let's acknowledge that the borders are porous but that Americana tends to be encompass music from the folk, blues, and roots spectrum whereas indie music borrows more from rock, pop, and other electric-based sounds. Its trademarks are to start soft, and cut to a moment where a bunch of instruments jump in suddenly. Often there is also a lot of "whoa-oooo-ahh-ah" vocal filler.

We will revisit the what-do-you-want-to-call-it question many more times on this blog, but for now here are four for thought.

Let's start with THAD and his West Coast EP. THAD is Thad Cockerell, who used to front a Nashville rock band called League. If you want to know how that's worked out so far, listen to "Fill My Cup": I've been walking to the city/ I cannot see… I am tired/And I am lonely/It's hard to keep on doing this… I am you child in need. He sings it with earnestness, smoothness, and the soft to loud format mentioned above. I can't even imagine how many musicians can relate to that sentiment! "All I Want" has the rapid beats per minute urgency of 80s' New Wave music. This one is about self-examination, a different kind of urgency. "Susie From the West Coast" is a love song that is his answer to the previous song's longing of All I want is you. It's a tender and quieter counterpoint to the other two pieces and perhaps a lesson that indie performers do best when they mix things up.     

San Diego-based Steve Welty views indie rock from a perspective occasionally spiced with hints of reggae. He has two EPs recorded in 2018 on offer–26 Black and Fly With Me–that are tantalizing come-ons for several new singles and an LP I've heard is in progress. You can definitely hear the reggae influence on "Done Drinkin'." These come through in both solo and studio versions. In case you don't get it, there are references to "kick drums" and "reggae grooves" in the lyrics, some "ba-ba-ba-ba" riffs, and accents that skirt the edge of cultural appropriation. Good song, though, if you can leave your PC on the shelf. The reggae influences are more subtle in the wonderfully named "I Never Dreamed to Be Employed." 26 Black also sports folk/folk rock offerings. In fact,  "Floating in Space" has a few New Age ameliorative adornments. It's a love song, but one in which the main point–I need you in my life–comes about through the enlightenment that comes from floating in space in ways that are only partially metaphorical. Things get a bit confusing as this song is also the title track on Fly With Me. Welty's hardly the first musician to rename a song, but I wanted to warn you so you don't think you're having a senior moment. Staying in the celestial mood, you'll hear more reggae-influenced grooves on "Falling Star."  Reverberating electric guitar also spice "Little Steps" with interstellar suggestiveness. Then it's back to acoustic reggae for "Stronger As One." Welty's light tenor voice and a repertoire that plays well with or without a band begs the question as to whether he's a folk or an indie rock artist but like I said, these days boundaries are in the eyes of the beholder.

Peter More takes a Tex-Mex approach to indie rock. This EP has smoother production, as one might expect given that Donald Fagen (Steely Dan's producer) is at the helm. The EP is several songs left off of his recent album Beautiful Disrepair and is thus titled Shoulder, wordplay on the definition of shoulder that means to push something out of the way. (The EP also has a few songs from the album.) More has a high tenor voice that he shouts out when he goes electric. You can hear that when he goes big on the title track. These days, though, he's been working with Spanish flamenco guitarist Jose Juan Poyato and More's music has gotten quieter and more introspective. A fine example of this is "Caddis Moon," which is a searching-for-wisdom song tinged with an ambience of melancholy. "What We Used to Be" is plenty energetic, but it has a shinier bluegrass/honky tonk/rock vibe. Pay attention to the small echoes of horn (trombone?) in the background. I actually like More's music best when he lowers the noise level. If that's also your taste, try "Marlene," his sweet find-you-someday song backed by Amy Helm.

Tyler Ramsey is a performer who gets tagged with just about everything: folk, folk rock, Southern, indie.... If his name sounds familiar to you, that's because he was for years the lead guitarist for Band of Horses. His Candler Sessions EP is named for the woodsy town 20 minutes outside of Asheville where he and his family now live. The EP is a sampler of songs from his new album For the Morning. You need listen to approximately 20 seconds of "A Dream of Home" to both feel his nostalgic rootedness and think, "Neil Young," especially Young's early days with Crazy Horse. Replace Young's lyrics of "Everybody Knows This is Nowhere" (Everybody seems to wonder/What It's like down there/I gotta get away/From this day-to-day/Running around…) with Ramsey's There's a dream of home/For those that work out on the road/And there's a vision of the road for all the others… There'll be a time you wish you could trade your life for another and you know you're on homage turf. "Your Whole Life" has a few more mountain inflections in Ramsey's voice, but you will also hear plaintive vocal colorings that characterize Young. Mind, I am not saying that Ramsey is in any sense derivative. Call it a fortunate evocation. I enjoyed every song on this EP, especially "The Valley Wind." You can also find the title track of his new album on YouTube. It, like all of Ramsey's songs, begs our central question. Is it indie rock, Americana, folk, or something else? How 'bout we just call it good music?

Rob Weir

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Christians Supporting Trump are Blasphemers

If you are irreligious, maybe you don't need to read this. Then again, maybe you do!

Nothing much seems to faze Trump zealots, so here's a call to those who call themselves Christians. If you support Trump, you are a blasphemer. I don't mean this metaphorically; I mean it literally. If you are pro-Trump, you mock the very foundations of your purported faith.   

I will not delve into Trump's politics, his appalling personal immorality, his incivility, and the daily doses of mean-spirited nastiness he doles out. Instead I call attention to a remark he made at the end of August. In the midst of defending his trade war with China Trump suddenly declared, "I am the chosen one." It was an unprompted comment from which he backpedaled days later. He claimed it was just a "joke," and resorted to his usual script of claiming it was "fake news" cooked up by the media. But then again, he has also said that any Jew voting against him is "disloyal." He hasn't repudiated that.

Whoa! If you are the slightest bit Christian, these are not joking matters. Check out the first three Commandments! What I'm about to say is Biblical, not political. I dislike Trump intensely, but I'm going to cite chapter and verse. Not many people know this, but I once contemplated going to seminary. I had no interest in being a minister; I simply wanted to study theology. I was working on an M.A. in medieval history and grew fascinated with how Christianity evolved as both a spiritual and philosophical system. I didn't go to seminary, but I did read a lot of theological and philosophical treatises, and the Bible twice. I may be rusty, but I know my way around Scriptures and theological discourse well enough to say that Trump's words and behaviors are suggestive of those of Satan and the Antichrist.

It bears noting that it's likely that the images you hold of Satan are probably those that came from the Middle Ages. They are more out of paintings by Albrecht Durer and Hieronymus Bosch than Biblical text. The word Satan translates "adversary," though the Old Testament uses Lucifer more often, which means, "light bringer." In Hebrew it translates "shining one" or "morning star." In other words, the Devil isn't a burnt, behorned, pitchfork carrier; he's an attractive deceiver. Generally, Satan is viewed as the "ruler of this world." (John 12:31, II Corinthians 4:4)*

Check out some of the things the New Testament has to say. Bear in mind that Trump has uttered more than 12,000 falsehoods since taking office. John 8:44 relates that Satan "has nothing to do with the truth because there is no truth in him. When he lies he speaks according to his own nature, for he is the father of lies." As the "ruler of this world," Satan tempted Jesus with riches and control of over worldly things: "To you I will give all this authority and their glory; for it has been delivered to me." (Luke 4:6) Contrast Trump's "I am the chosen one" to Luke 9:35, when Jesus is anointed: "And a voice came out the cloud, saying, 'This is my son, my chosen one.'" In the Middle Ages Trump could have been burned at the stake for his remark. Again, I mean this literally.

Now a dose of Matthew 24:4-5: Jesus remarked, "Take heed no one leads you astray. For many will come in my name, saying, 'I am the Christ,' and they will lead many astray. In verse 24 Jesus is more explicit: "For false Christs and false prophets will arise and show many signs and wonder, so as to lead astray…." II Corinthians  11:13-15 reemphasizes this: "For such men are false apostles, deceitful workmen disguising themselves as apostles of Christ. And no wonder, for even Satan disguises himself as an angel of light. So it is not strange if his servants also disguise themselves as servants of righteousness."

II Thessalonians takes it to the next level. For those Christians thinking of the end times, Trump should be an alarm: "… for that day will not come, unless rebellion comes first, and the man of lawlessness is revealed, the son of perdition, who opposes and exalts himself against every so-called god or object of worship, so that he takes his seat in the temple of God, proclaiming himself to be God." (2:1-2) Later there is a passage  ascribed to the doings of the Antichrist: "The coming of the lawless one by the activity of Satan will be all power and with pretended signs and wonders, and with all wicked deception for those who are to perish…." (2:9-10)

The Book of Revelations rather graphically yet cryptically discusses two beasts that herald the Apocalypse. The first has been interpreted as Satan, the second as the Antichrist. The second "makes the earth and its inhabitants worship the first beast." (13:1-10) The writer–generally thought to be the Apostle John–goes on to speak of the blasphemy and the war against the saints that the second beast will foment.

This is the time to note that one of the dominant characteristics of the Antichrist is that he attempts to place himself in Christ's place. Is it merely a "joke" when Trump utters, "I am the chosen one." If you call yourself a Christian, it cannot be. He has also said, "I play to people's fantasies. People may not always think big themselves, but they can get excited by those who do…. People want to believe something is the biggest, greatest and most spectacular." Maybe that's good psychology, or maybe it sounds a lot like the temptation of Christ. Trump now says he's not the Messiah, but isn't that what you'd expect from a false apostle?

* Some theologians see Satan, Lucifer, and Beelzebub as separate demons; some see them as different expressions of the same evil, fallen angel.