The Theistic Bulldog

In The Sadist's Basement

2011-05-23T01:22:00.000-07:00

I have come to realize that there are moments in life, sometimes seasons, that defy one's sense of endurance and long-suffering. Sometimes it is an aggravation that sticks around too long, others a disease that attacks at random, crippling and debilitating someone you love so dearly. But more times than not it is simply the slow burning agony of dead time, that dimension in which you feel as though you have so much to do and yet never enough time to make it happen; sitting in a chair helpless as though paralyzed, you feel the fire creeping up your leg, burning your flesh and using your fat as fuel to continue the slow trek toward you face, knowing full well that the glowing flame will not stop until it has consumed you thoroughly and left nothing but a charred corpse to be gawked at by morbid on-lookers who are too self-involved to realize that their grotesque fascination is at the expense of actual human life. Sometimes it happens over a span of months, others in a fraction of a second, not that duration leaves one any less scarred.

Parents especially know this sensation as they watch their children grow and suddenly realize that the time they thought they had when the baby was born is now gone, maybe even wasted on trivial and worthless matters that can never be rectified or amended. That day when your work project took precedence over playing catch with your son, or the afternoon you spent trying to recover from a long week and in the process neglected a sunny day that would have been better spent in the backyard with your family. Those moments are lost in a moment, unrecoverable and held hostage in the back of your brain until one day those lost shards of time come together, attack you, and leave you weeping on the floor, certain that your are damned as the worst parent ever to trod the earth. This can be a debilitating experience, spiraling one into the slavery of depression, the bondage of a self-created hell, or an insurmountable stage of purgatory for which you know no penance can ever atone even as you perpetually try. It doesn't take much, and this one slip is like a trap door at the entrance of an eerie house on Elm Street, or by Crystal Lake, the destination of which is a chain-laden cell where the Promethean eagle eternally devours your liver without the savory aroma of death to rescue you. It is the cell of one's mind where ten thousand tortures are concocted for our every failing, and the sneering face of your accuser is hidden, but always known. Scattered about the room are countless eyes watching from the shadows, faceless and heartless, cackling at the misery they behold, malevolence filling their souls manifested as joyful apathy, entertainment for their dreary existence, never satisfied. To cross the floor and escape is pain, but to remain is agony. Standing in this place, one never feels so alone, even when surrounded by the best of friends and loved ones.

Without question, there are many responses to this inevitable state. Some give up and ride the bullet out of this life, others medicate with their own special, individualized version of Soma, and even more rationalize the whole thing away and never truly deal with the dark, terrible place before them. The oft-heard cry of the fool, "I have no regrets" is a maxim held by these delusionals who fail to recognize that the untreated wounds will rot the limb, and eventually the body, no matter how dutifully it is denied and claimed contrary. Just as ignoring a gangrenous appendage is final condemnation for the body, so also the failure to traverse the course of lost or wasted time is fatal to the soul. Worse yet, it is a contagious fatality that spreads with untreated sorrow, no matter how well it has been glossed over with a painted smiley face.

For certain, many responses are available, but only two options truly exist: stand still and hope to avoid further pain, a process described in the preceding paragraph, or move across the mined floor for the exit, knowing that scars and wounds will be inflicted before the voyage is through. While the former is easy, warm and comfortable, it is also stagnant and void of growth or maturation. Those choosing it live perpetually in the torture room, even while closing their eyes and speaking over the peering malefactors, accepting fantasy as reality so that they might avoid the hard truths before them. To leave, the room must be crossed no matter the cost. One must accept the pain about to be lashed upon them and carry forth nevertheless, undaunted and unyielding.

As with every necessary task, the hardest step is the first: forgiveness. Forgiveness is not forgetfulness, despite popular theory. Forgiveness is a choice to pass over the reckoning, it is a releasing from bonds that can never be reforged once unleashed. Forgiveness has no "but," nor condition. Forgiveness does not say, "I forgive, but if it happens again...." such a statement is contradictory at its core. One forgives or one does not, there is no middle ground and if one fails to give forgiveness one ought to never expect forgiveness to be levied in their favor. As an angry Shylock found in the court of Venice, the demand of vengeance, even disguised as justice, often brings forth more self-destruction than satisfaction. This alone testifies to the other-worldliness of its ontology, for the heart of most humanity is to that end! Indeed there is rarely a person who, without having been taught the concept, would seek forgiveness over retribution. Consider your child abused, your spouse violated, or your brother murdered and query whether forgiveness would be your heart's desire! I confess my weakness, for my wrath would be great, my rage boiling, and the most excruciating vengeance devised in moments and executed swiftly if left unchecked by the divine gift of forgiveness. For even if extracting my pound of flesh, or perhaps so much more, as much as desire would allow, when the matter was settled, nothing would be changed. The abuse, violation, or murder would still stand, my life would still be unchangeably altered, and the broken pieces would still need mending, a task my finite mind is unable to accomplish alone.

Forgiveness only truly exists as a gift from God, for it can only have value if given by One outside of creation, otherwise its value is subjective to each person, meaning no value actually exists. Having been given by God, it would need to be explained to humanity in a manner comprehensible to such limited minds, and what better explanation is there than example? And what better example is there than paying the debt of others who never could have met the bond of their own accord? Was not this ultimate example provided in Christ Jesus? Who else has offered to pay for your sins and take your leashing? Not Muhammad. Not Buddha. No krishnas, Wiccans, or new age priests have allowed themselves abused by those they created to save the souls of mankind. There is only one who does not demand you to pay, but to receive forgiveness from the Creator of all things.

For all, but especially those of the Faith, it is a great irony that forgiveness is the only way to silence the sadists who mock the time that has been lost by our own stupidity and foolishness. Left alone and untreated, one's mind and conscience will drive them into a straight-jacket as the never-ending replay of past failures circles about in a loop of devastation. We humans are eager to punish ourselves, as long as no one else seeks to bring us to justice, for in that moment we find every reason to defend, only to anguish in private at what we know to be true. We can hide all we want, convince ourselves with therapies, drugs, and abuses, but the truth is inescapable and always before us in those lonely dark moments not known about by even the closest of friends. Those seconds of hell that seem like an eternity when we look in the mirror and cannot escape the depraved and withering state of our souls.

There is only One who can heal a mortally infected soul. There is only One who can resurrect the feelings of creative worth the world so desperately seeks to steal from us. The door is open before us, we simply must walk through it on our knees, recognizing our own complete inability to rectify the sins we have done and endured in this life. There is no other path, no other escape. He is the only stairway out of the Sadist's basement. You simply need to exit the world of pain to which you have grown accustomed and find that, what you thought was a world of color, was little more than a drab, gray city filled with assailants and discouragers who would rather see your misery continued than accept the enlightenment of truth that can bring you peace. Misery loves company. The only question left is for which side of the field will you play? Misery or forgiveness?

Macabre Ramblings on the Bulk of Society

2011-02-10T22:34:00.000-08:00

Some lives are utterly wasted, spent on the frivolity and living by one’s wants and desires. With almost no exception, these people are unredeemable, either by society’s standards or God’s, for their heart is so consumed with self that they can rationalize any action, as long as they are the benefactors. The most extreme cases we call sociopaths. Others we call actors, politicians, neighbor, or even friend. The fact is that you have no idea who you can rely on until the world has turned to excrement and the fires of hell are breathing down your neck with a mortal threat that seems insurmountable. Forget about the chips being down, this is when you’re missing chips are a debt owed to a loan shark who is anxious to square the books, and does not care that the marker was placed in your name by someone else. When there’s blood in the water and only sharks are circling, the only help you can hope for is a passing dolphin feeling a bit philanthropic.

But in this life, the dolphins typically are not around, and the friends you thought you had run like hell for their own lives at the first sign of a dorsal fine breaking through the surf, forgetting the bond they claimed, for their blood is more important to them than yours. When you’re at the bottom, most people pick up a shovel to finish the burial, not dig you out.

From time to time these realities strike me as more real and heavy than others. Sometimes it’s a particular incident that incites this retrospection, others it just comes upon me, but no matter the reason, depression envelopes my mind and heart because I know the truth: most people are the swimmers, the majority of the rest are the sharks, and very few are dolphins or true friends. Human beings are not good people in and of themselves. Never have been.

I know where I stand. I have faced down overwhelming odds and thrown caution to the wind when it comes to standing up for what is right, including defending a friend. I have hedged my bets, telling others to accept me with a person I thought was a kindred spirit, or reject us both. I have thrown down the gauntlet when others have spoken ill of those I care for, prepared to throw fists at a moment’s notice to defend their honor. I have no hesitation. Even when they screw up, even when they make it hard to love them, my heart simply will not quit. I would rather die at the defense of a friend than live at his funeral, if it’s in my power. This is a conviction from which I will not retreat, even when they themselves have picked up a shovel and began tossing dirt on my broken and beaten body, mind, or spirit.

That’s not to say I don’t get angry, or wish for justice to play its cold, brutal hand. On the contrary, I know revenge, and she is one sexy, scantily clad broad who is always anxious to take you back to her place, and she never says no. A siren whose song pierces the bravest and noblest of hearts. Give her but a moment to fester in your mind and find yourself infected with her honey-poison lips, a potion you can’t quit drinking once you’ve sipped. So sweet, but with a bitter aftertaste that cannot be shaken. And, if given the chance along with a free moral pass, I might be tempted to drink from that goblet the blood of those who have scarred my heart, and do so with a beaming grin worthy of damnation. But I often find myself daring to hope where others have surrendered. Give me but the slightest inclination of repentance and I’m hungry to see it come to fruition, and will put my heart on the knife’s edge once more just for the chance of reconciliation.

This might seem like a great disposition to have, but it too becomes a tart flavor when you come to realize that those shimmering moments are the closest many come to truly regretting and relenting their foul actions. Humans have a vast capacity for rationalization. We can justify just about any immoral act, and, if given the opportunity to see a “moral” reason for conducting “immoral” actions, we will take hold of it with both hands, even with all the signs warning us of immanent death.

I am not as special as all that might sound. There are more of us out there, but we are a minority, and the truth is that we typically are not seen for who we are until the dogs have been unleashed and are desperately searching for the blood of one we love. In that moment, we lay waste to anything that might keep us from doing what is right, including the coward running away as fast as he can.

I don’t know what good saying any of this might do, which is why I’m not announcing this blog to anyone or anything. But I had to say it. Some will scoff. Some will see this as self-aggrandizement….with their shovels in their hands, of course. But I don’t really care. I have grown tired of concerning myself with the emotions and dispositions of the vultures of life; those passing scavengers who have little to say to or about you until there is some sign of weakness for them to peck and devour. They are the ones who decry judgment when it is directed at them, but bathe in it when given the chance to take down another. To hell with them. Literally.

Call me cold and uncaring, or even unforgiving, if it makes you feel better to tear that bit of meat from my bones, but never call me disloyal, nor cowardly, for those concepts are not in my being. I might be consumed, in the end, but only at the cost of another’s soul.

This is nothing. Not a warning, not a declaration, just simply some rambling thoughts as I sit here late at night reflecting on the society around me, and the experiences of my life. This is the dark side of our reality, the back-alley slum we seek to avoid at all costs, even when it’s rotting our souls from within, devouring our children at random, and desecrating those things which we call holy. I would rather be torn asunder by the mob of raging societal sycophants than fail to speak the truth that has been placed on my heart and in my mind. Do not do with this what you will, but only what is right. Leave the rest to be hashed out in my own mind, and, ultimately, at the judgment seat of the Savior Christ.

On the Anniversary of Pearl Harbor: In Defense of Honor

2010-12-07T00:26:00.000-08:00

Just under seven years ago, I stood on the deck of the USS Arizona Memorial in Hawaii, looking into the sea, watching the droplets of oil still rising from a wound that one day will stop bleeding, but never truly heal. A moment later I looked out another side of the memorial, across Ford Island to where the USS Detroit was docked, the ship my grandfather was aboard at the time of the attack. All day we had toured the city, and I wondered what it must have been like for him, a young man not yet married, to roam the streets of Hawaii, seeing it for the first time after growing up in Texas. Similar questions emerged as I gazed across the island. Had he been asleep? Maybe tired and a bit hungover? How quickly did all of that haze evaporate as he hurried to his gun. Did he see any of his friends floating in the water, or burned beyond recognition? Above all, how did he push through the situation to do his duty?

All of these questions continue to dog me, and the worst part is that the better ones occurred to me far too late in life to ask, as he had passed many years before. Fortunately, during my sophomore year I had the privilege of interviewing him about his experience during the war and still recall the strong sense of duty and honor he carried throughout his time in the war. Some of the things he said will never leave me, continuing to resonate in my soul until it finally departs this corporeal form.

Yet he never spoke of pain. Whether from injury, grief, or trauma, not a word was mentioned. It was as if he knew I could never fully understand, nor could anyone else, so why expose me to that kind of confusion? Although a part of that might be the case, I sincerely believe that he didn't mention the pain because it never occurred to him. That's not to say he never felt it, or that he was not impacted by what happened. What fool could go unscathed through an experience like that? Rather, I believe that he simply accepted that, in this life, we will experience pain, and you can either choose to wallow in it and let it be an excuse for dishonorable conduct, or you can work through it, maintaining one's duty to something greater than themselves. As a lasting legacy, he chose the latter.

As I sit here, considering these things once again, as I always do on December 7th, I am saddened by the world around me, in which his sacrifice, and that made by those of his generation, has been pissed away by a generation composed largely of weak, cowardly, dishonorable spoiled rotten brats who find nothing greater than themselves to motivate their lives. Men of honor have become a marked minority, often made fun of and ridiculed by those who haven't the faintest understanding of what it means to have honor, or to live a life worthy of such a description. Unwilling to strive for anything but the bland mediocrity or gross immorality that tends to mark their existence, they scoff at those who ascend beyond the murk and mir of this temporal realm, their disdain forcing them to mock what they choose not to be, in order to disguise the shame and guilt buried within their frail hearts. Unfortunately, far too many in the mindless masses of morons are quick to obediently follow their lead like lemmings to the death. They know nothing about sacrifice, duty, devotion, or honor, because they are too weak and lazy to do what is right and necessary.

And do not mistake my meaning. Those who stayed behind and worked to support the troops bear the badge of honor just as those who put their lives directly in harms way. For certain, there were cowards among them, but back then, the weak were the minority, not the strong, and were shamed into silence. Today they are celebrated as though spinelessness is not a disease, but a condition to be valued. And yet we foolishly wring our thumbs in wonder at the escalation in crime, as well as the depth of depravity that seems increasingly prevalent in our society. They survived disasters and tribulations that we cannot even begin to fathom, and did so without selling out the soul of who they were in the process. How could we let such a beautifully horrific sacrifice fall so far in our system of value?

The blood that was shed during World War II, and the symbolic oil that still drizzles from the corpse of the Arizona, ought to remind us not only to be thankful, but to live a life that is grateful to those willing to make such sacrifices. Believe it or not, this post is less about being a patriot and far more about being a person of honor, and more directly, a man of honor. If we cannot somehow step back for the ledge of oblivion at which our society so closely dances, we are doomed to relegate what happened so many years ago, and the lives that were lost in the pursuit of freedom and justice, hollow, meaningless and void of purpose. As long as I live, I will not let it happen, at least not in my family. So too I encourage you: stand up. Be counted as one of the few willing to stand for integrity, and pass this disposition along to your children. Remember Pearl Harbor, not as a grudge, but as a lesson in what it means to be a man of honor.

Disonnect Yourself

2010-10-14T01:13:00.000-07:00

In the eyes of many, I am going through a devastating tragedy that might be near impossible to overcome: my cell phone is dying. Yes, that handy gadget that clutters my pocket and allows any person on the planet with a phone to contact me randomly at any given moment, in just about any given location, is steadily slipping away. It began with the battery life slowly shortening, and has now advanced to taking less of a charge, in part because the connection to the charger has loosened. Indeed, my phone might only have six weeks to live. Maybe less if it really upsets me in the mean time, forcing me to shatter it against a concrete wall, euthanizing it out of frustration and misery.

As I have begun a search to replace my mortally wounded electronic leash, I have found that cell phone companies are passing me by. While I love technology, I am not always willing to pay for it, and with "3G" networks and other variations on such coverage schemes growing ever more popular, I am finding that good, old fashioned, simple cell phones are hard to come by. My own carrier seems to have maybe a dozen, most of which are cheap flip phones that will not hold up to the abuse I deliver, and the ones designed to endure my beatings are nearly the size of the first brick cell phones designed in the early 90s. So now I face a dilemma: do I pay an extra $20.00 per month to have a good phone, or find a way to circumvent the system so that I can remain true to myself, and my budget?

Yet something much deeper has occurred to me, as you might imagine. Considering for a moment all the "convenient" things that modern phones "do," I have to wonder how that is negatively impacting my interaction with people, or theirs with me. More than once I have hosted friends who, at the first break in conversation or pause in a movie, glue their eyes to a multi-tasking cell phone to make sure they aren't falling behind on their emails, text messages, or Facebook or Twitter accounts. Indeed, I have seen rooms of people all sitting with their eyes fixated on some individualized LCD screen, ignoring the life that is immediately around them for the sake of a digital existence that is distant, cold, and often little more than entertainment. What sacrifices are made in those moments that will never be atoned for, and what message are we sending to our fellow human beings, especially those we claim to love, when we are just as moved to play with our gadget as we are to talking with them? How dehumanizing has our gluttonous appetite for technology become, that we forfeit true relationships with flesh and blood to satisfy our addiction to circuits and electrodes?

As is my custom, I have decided not to conform. I will rebel against the tides that seek to tear from my heart the blessed opportunities I have each day to interact with people. I will not waste my money on excessive features that do little but bind my mind and money further to the electronic god who demands our blind allegiance, as expressed through the sacrifice of time, but rather I will strive to value true, one-on-one relationships over or even equal to that which is delivered only through the frozen heart of the electronic matrix. I'm not casting off technology, just its power over me, and in so doing, freeing and treating myself to a healthy devotion to the human beings in my life rather than the machines. I do not need access to the internet at any given moment. I do not need to have music privately pumped into my ears when there could be a conversation in which I might engage, and I certainly do not need to be ignored by those I love so that they can do those things.

If I am to say that I love my friends, I will not demote them to a secondary role to my cell phone, or any other device that might seek to master my time. I will live in the moment, and show my affection by paying attention to those around me rather than the beeping toy that bids my loyalty split. No, I will rise above the technological deity for the sake of love, and I would encourage you to do the same.

A Reflection on Waiting

2010-04-14T23:49:00.000-07:00

I have never been a patient man. Those who know me well do not find this a major revelation, and may even laugh at how absurdly obvious such a statement is. Yet as I consider our society, I find that I am less the oddity and more the norm. The question has become, for me, how can anyone escape this in the fast-paced, fast food culture that surrounds us? Pretty much anything a person could want is available in some “instant” formula, whether it is hot breakfast cereal or random entertainment. The unfortunate result of this transition into the modern, light speed, instant-access age has been a loss of civility and kindness toward people in general. If that gal at the coffee shop so much as takes a second too long with the customer right before us, we curse her in our minds or even out loud; and when we push a button on our television, game system, DVD player, or other electronic gadget of choice and it does not do what we want in half the blink of an eye, we are disgusting with the shoddy craftsmanship and begin looking to consume a replacement.

Lurking in the mire of this trend is an elementary pulse rooted in vanity, pride, and self-centeredness. We cannot be bothered to wait because what we have to do is so much more important than anything else going on in anyone else’s life. Nevermind that the waitress at the local diner might have a kid that just started chemo, or that the man in front of us at the drive-up teller might still be reeling from a wife walking out on him, and don’t even bother to consider that the stupid person wearing the red shirt or blue vest at your local warehouse mega-store might have problems of their own, because nothing, not even death, can overshadow our sense of urgency at making that meeting for work or getting back in time to watch some television program, or simply being where we want to be when we want to be there. In the instant that our patience is tried, nothing, absolutely nothing, compares to our perceived need.

So we treat people like the plebes we know they truly are. We remind them that their roll in society is insignificant to whatever we are up to at that very moment. We want what we want and we want it now, and no smock-wearing dimwit is going to keep us from that ultra-mega-once-in-a-lifetime deal on the most advanced piece of machinery, or most fashionable thread of clothing ever devised by another human being. If they go home and weep at how poorly they have been treated, it shows their weakness. They ought to either toughen up or go into a different line of work. Their feelings have no meaning.

Make no mistake, I am not pointing at you any more or less than I am pointing at myself. I get road rage, I hate waiting, and I frequently forget that the human beings I encounter throughout my daily life are just as valuable as I am before God’s thrown, and that they, like me, are made in His image. I sometimes set bad examples for my children when I drive, and often times wish I had free reign to do as I like to those who cannot seem to locate a gas pedal faster than five seconds after a light turns green. As I said when I started, I have never been a patient man, and this blog does not instantly change my nature, even as I wish it would.

But I have become tired of the anxiety, I am tired of the unnecessary hostility and malice. Perhaps what I have grown most impatient with is my own agitation and discontentment. The burden of impatience is beginning to weigh more than the time set-aside for me simply to wait. It never occurs to me that the light just might have turned yellow right when I got to it because I needed that extra sixty seconds to relax my mind. Consequently, my short-sightedness has caused me to squander that silent moment by taking what was given for good and treating it as evil. I fail to graspe the possibility that I may have just missed an accident that otherwise would have taken place, or avoided something far worse than the wasted seconds that I feel tick by with every pounding beat of my pulse. In my failure to see beyond my own temporally bound station, I profane something God has given me.

Now do not misunderstand me. I am not one who buys into the idea that God is some divine puppetmaster who needs to pull the strings on every strand of the fabric of the universe just to keep it ticking. I believe God is far more competent a creator than that, what He commands happens. So when He created all things, they did and continue to do what He designed them to do. This will continue indefinitely until He directs them to behave otherwise. At the same time, I know that God does intervene, often in the small things, seeking to aid us either in gaining perspective on a situation or controlling ourselves. More times than I care to remember, those cursed moments at a red light have been a saving grace that allowed my temper to realign with the actual facts of reality, giving me a perspective otherwise lost. I cannot count how many times this has kept me from violence or saying something that would have hurt another person, or even myself. I admit, I’m still not all that thankful for those “wasted” moments, but I am learning. I am growing. I am seeing beyond myself.

Right now, I am impatiently waiting for God to show me if I am going to get a job or not. I have had two interviews at two schools that I believe would be a great fit for my family and me. Unfortunately, those making these decisions have to wait for certain data before they can tell me if employment with them is a possibility. I hate this process. I detest not knowing if my family will be moving, and if so, to where. I loathe the variables that seem to stand endlessly before more, mocking my desires for some normalcy and stability. Even so, I cannot help but see there is some benefit in this process, even if my blurry vision cannot apprehend it in the here and now. In the midst of the action, I have no idea what that might be; but what I have learned is that when people take the time to look back, they often can see that God’s designs were for our benefit, one way or another.

Over time, I have found that God has granted some measure of patience, allowing me to start seeing that there are actual people - living, breathing, human beings – behind all of those counters and in everyone of those stores, and, yes, even in the slow-moving vehicles that I wish to detonate off of the road. Whether or not they are competent is less my concern, all I lose is a few wasted moments anyway; what is my concern is how they see me, and by extension, the God whom I serve. Considering this each day, I find a greater need for and reliance upon the strength of Christ, for my own abilities are weak and easily depleted. In doing this, I am finding a new way to praise and glorify God that indeed is not new at all, but one given to Elijah in 1 Kings 19: shut up, and in the silence, listen, for that is where God most often will speak to you. May Yahweh remind me to shut my mouth before Him and listen to His message as given through the Cross of Christ Jesus. Grace and peace to you all.

Alone in the Dark, Part 2

2009-11-12T09:06:00.000-08:00

In the blackened alley of his heart, he grew as is the custom and destiny of every man. The world changed little to him. The rain still fell, the sun hid, and the eyes of others always seemed to sink away from him, disengaged and uninterested, laying brick and mortar around an already stoney heart. To kill them would have been great pleasure. To torture them a delight of the senses. Yet to show them the pain he had born was a fantasy that could not come true, even in the deepest, darkest medieval dungeon with the screams held as silent prisoners by the thick stone walls with no windows and no salvation. Once a shunned child, now a broken and wrathful man, there was nothing he could inflict or afflict that would alleviate the agony of the vacancy so hollow in his heart and mind.

It was a rainy day, like any other. The humming mass of lemmings scurried to and fro with a hurried pace, dodging the downpour in the streets, but failing to quell the active loss of affection to which they clung every day. The hustle and bustle of business and life and even fleeting laughter came and went with the winds that they allowed to carry them about without asking to which end they were being pushed and pulled. Gray and black clouds grinned down upon them, and him, knowing that they were all subjects of the natural forces that held them in gloom and despair, even as they falsified and faked the forms of friendship and fellowship.

Suddenly the sadistic gleam of the clouds turned to distress. They clung tightly together, unwilling to let anything break their bonds, fighting so hard that the rain fell harder, faster, turning to hail then back to drops and back again and forth until there was nothing to hold them together. Their bonds were broken and a small split divided into an opening of blue and brilliant yellow that shone, not upon the masses who could still feel the bitter rain, but the boy-turned-man who felt the ice within him begin to melt, even as he fought the feelings he had dismissed so long ago. The sun's light was gentle and relentless, and when his squinting eyes could finally gaze, he saw her before him, beautiful and wise, glowing as an angel from heaven, with a smile and a gleam that called like a siren's song for his affections to emerge from their cave and into the light of day. The mortar melted, the rocks softened, and as his eyes lifted up to meet hers, a sense of peace and love came to know him for the first time in truth.

In her was a wondrous heart that loved him as no other had, dedicated and devoted, confident and sure, ever-affectionate and unfettered by anything but the bounds of love itself. Without a second thought, he took her extended hand and poured his heart upon her, surrendering himself without reservation or condition, never looking back or forward, simply enjoying every minute that she would indulge him with her presence. They walked the street with sun gleaming upon them, warming their hearts, blinding them to all but one another as true love often does. Even after the vows passed one from another, they found a passion that burned as an inferno that could not be tamed, contained, or diminished by the nay-sayers or enemies that would seek to tear them apart. Neither calamity nor conflict could oppose them, and it seemed as though joy had been found both unexpectedly and irreversibly, indivisible by the soulless eyes that looked upon them with envy masked as loathing and malice.

Yet what neither man nor circumstances could dampen, time patiently chipped away with the busy-ness of life, the stress of living, and the clouds returned, slow but sure. The inferno could not be quenched all at once, but a steady dose of dampener would methodically decrease the coals until the final flames flickered desperately, but helplessly in the downpour, leaving little but a few embers that occasionally glowed bright enough to warm a night or two, but kept the day cold and damp. The love that had been so holistic and true eroded, as all things do, until the passion, affection, and devotion vacated, leaving only a commitment, which was the one thing that neither storms nor time could take from them. Thus love was redefined and foolishly reduced to mere commitment, which was expressed in deeds and hollow words that carried little emotion or meaning. Every "I love you," had become a statement of satire that was well meant, but neither given nor received with the resonating verve that once chased the demons back to the shadows and thawed the frozen nights. No blankets could warm the bed in which they slept. No fire could heat their frost-bitten hands that were no longer clasped. Their lips, which had once been irresistibly drawn to one another, now met more as a matter of protocol than expression. Feelings of comfort and warmth would visit, but they were nothing more than fickle flights of nostalgia, reminding them of how they once felt, recalling the love they once had, and the people and lovers they had once been, flipped through with a smile like a picture album, and just as quickly put back on the shelf to collect dust. The actuality of love had been replaced by deeds of duty that were overshadowed by the underlying truth of disconnection and apathy. And when time had passed, and the the day of death finally came for one or the other, a single tear would trickle down a tightly clenched jaw in mourning for the loss of a human life, and the epitaph would honestly read in true past-tense, "I LOVED YOU."

Thus the sun retreated once more, the reinvigorated clouds rejoined, and the rain fell, harder and colder than before.

Alone in the Dark, Part 1

2009-10-20T00:19:00.000-07:00

Gray clouds loomed over the vacant city street, menacing and cruel, pressing rain harder and faster onto the pavement below. The silence of midnight had swallowed the sleepy citizens who rested cozily in soft beds, with gentle fires flickering in the distance, warming their bodies and hearts. Fat drops of rain repeatedly pelted all that it could, sending every sound from the lightest splash to the deepest sploosh into the cold air, dissipating aimlessly in every direction, never heard by the people who would awaken to a clear sky for a new day. A peal of solitary thunder in the distance rumbled through the vacant walkways unnoticed like the faded plea of a beggar. Darkness had come quickly, but it always did, even if no one else took interest. Not a glimmer of light shone from the blackened windows that kept safe the security of the day-dwellers, who dared not tread the shadowy streets, fearful of the unknown. A single street light illuminated the cobbled roads that carried on into oblivion, oblivious of the soft earth now so trodden and bleak beneath the stoney path.

At the base of the light there was a dirty and ragged child, hunched and huddled down to find in his jacket a warmth that was not found in the hearts of those who passed him by day after day. Business, you see. Yes, always a job to do, a chore to fulfill, a trip to take, a percieved responsibility to uphold, or even a ministry to fulfill, too much to do to fulfill themselves, no time to waste dispensing cold cups of water to a singular ruffian whose clothes were too dirty, whose eyes were too dark, and whose heart could not be seen, even when placed right before them. For years he had hidden from the masses, detesting their illusions and delusions and the facade they forced each time one passed another, tipping a hat like a revolver and wishing a "good day" while clenching a dagger desperately behind their backs in wait. He rejected them and they him, and what a lovely relationship forged between the two that hardened hearts and heated the hallways of hell with each whispered malice echoing in their brains. When light would come, the boy retreated to his alley, to his blankets, to cover from the sunlight soon arriving.

There was a time, you must understand, when the boy smiled as the solar rays lit upon his face and the happy cheers of the children would run in his ears gleefully, inciting imagination and magic and wonder in the world ever before him. With other children he would endlessly play, laughing, full of joy and care, and when one would fall the others were quick to lift them back up where tears would turn to toys and night never fell. Even now, the memories harkened him back to those simple afternoons and lazy lunch hours where friends shared more than funny stories and sliced apples, where intangible truth was a pleasure taken for granted as the never-ending days drove them into a life-long youth that was happy and healthy, and in which no pal was ever alone for long, if at all.

Like a wisp of smoke from grandfather's pipe, the aroma that seemed to last forever was now gone, irretrievably absent. Whether by blood or burial, no one could tell for sure, but the epitaph read clearly: DEAD AND GONE, BORROWED AND BANISHED, ALONE YOU ARE FOREVER. At the final breath, now that all was gone the child fled the light of day seeking the solace of the night, a comfort not woven with a gentle embrace nor pressed with a tender kisses, but in the loss of feeling that had caused him so much grief and pain. The children that once laughed with him now laughed at him, although he endured the affliction like a good stoic in silence, with a busy mind that vowed vengeance without remorse, a boiling bane raged beneath that he would one day spill upon them, scalding their souls, leaving them scared and broken. Fleeing, he took to the alley, sleeping through the quaking terrors that stalked him as prey, until fear, like love, was vanquished, turned into a wisp of smoke and gone. Hate his tool and wrath his rule, suffering not the tormented voices placed before him to reawaken the heart that still beat faintly within his hollow chest.

Divided to Be Conquered

2009-09-28T08:53:00.000-07:00

One of the concerns that is consistently at the soul of the writings of the Apostolic and Patristic fathers is regarding the unity of the Church. Consistently, Tertullian, Irenaeus, and others of that first generation after the Apostles rail against schisms, divisions, and any group that would segment itself from the rest of the Body of Christ. Indeed, so repugnant was the concept of division to them that it is almost always associated with a heresy within the Church. As I have gone through the works of these early theologians, because of whom we have such keen understanding of fundamental theological concepts, I found myself convicted and angry as I looked at the present state of Protestantism with the endlessly dividing factionalism and the refusal for local bodies within the same small towns and even big cities to come together for any reason, except maybe an anti-abortion protest or to disparage certain politicians. After all, politics is so much more important than the service Christians are actually called to, isn't it?

I recall when I was younger, more idealistic, and new in the Lord coming up with the idea for a unified Christmas Eve service in which all the orthodox churches of my home town would come together, worship the Lord together, draw closer together, and hopefully draw people closer to the Lord as we obey the emphatic commands of Christ in John 13:34, 15:12, 17 that believers are to love one another. I imagined how great it would be to see all of those who follow Christ in that small area coming together, setting aside some of the unimportant and non-essential differences that place us in different buildings on Sunday to declare the majesty of our Lord and the miracle of His incarnation. Sadly, I found no one interested. Even after speaking with three different pastors, I was basically shooed aside and dismissed as though I was trying to bring about a pagan revolution in the church. I quickly had all my hopes dashed and learned my first lesson in Protestant church division: they don't want unity, they want their own little group. Through this, I have come to agree with Irenaeus that those involved in dividing the Body of Christ most frequently do so on account of, "false self importance, or pride, or blindness and perversity."

You see, we live in a culture that permeates our minds with the idea that the individual is of paramount importance over the group. Disgustingly, this anti-Biblical concept has infected the church, leaving too many people more concerned that THEIR preference is appeased, that THEIR needs are met, that THEIR hearts feel a certain way, and that THEIR hearts are considered above anyone else's. If you think I'm over-reacting, open a phone book and look at how many different churches presently exist in a city like Portland, or a small town like McMinnville. Ask yourself why so many different local bodies are necessary in radical disproportion to the population of believers in such an area. Consider in your mind whether or not this is a healthy representation of the Body of Christ to the non-believing community in those areas, or an adequate and healthy way for the church to run. If you are honest with yourself and the facts, both will be answered in the negative.

Unfortunately, too many Christians have found a convenient invention to convince themselves that this division is "normal" and "healthy." By creating a difference between the "local" church and the "universal" church, it gives most the illusion that there is some unity among local houses of worship, even when all facts available clearly disagree. Indeed, this division is a later invention that is not found in the earliest church fathers, at least not in the convoluted way it presently exists. Indeed, the local church was an integral part of the universal church, and all were quick to unite PHYSICALLY, not just in some ethereal, metaphysical realm of ideas that has no visible manifestation. They were not perfect, nor without mistakes, but silent division on the basis of secondary issues was NOT one of the problem with which they battled. Consequently, their Gospel message and message of love was much better received, because they SHOWED it among themselves and in the world at large. Today, we're too busy whining about those noisy Pentecostals, or those stodgy secessionists; we would rather whine about how "boring" liturgy is or that the worship team didn't play our favorite short, simple, overly repetitive praise chorus. None of this glorifies Christ, none of this exalts the church, and none of this is healthy for the Body of Christ, nor for the members of it. On the contrary, it is a disease that is rotting the Body from the inside out.

This disease is not restricted to the church. We have so failed in our call to unity that even Christian educational institutions are suffering from this disease and struggle to maintain as a result. Consider what would happen if all the Christian grade schools, middle schools, and high schools came together to form one, solid, strong school rather than maintaining divisions. Consider what kind of Christian university could be built if the smaller Christian colleges and seminaries united to form one, solid institution from which theology could be taught from diverse, orthodox points of view. Would not such institutions be stronger, healthier, and more beneficial to the body than the smaller sub-divisions that presently exist? The answer is an obvious yes.

And let me make this clear: a good portion of this revelation was made to me as I was actively involved in doing the very thing I am now speaking against. I have approached the Church from a consumerist point of view, I was once part of a church-plant team, I have my own preferences and ideas about the what constitutes a "good" church service. What makes me difference is that I have come to see that they are all WORTHLESS! What good is MY preference if it does not benefit the Body of Christ? What use is another church planted in an area already saturated with churches that are barely half full? Of what value are MY ideas if they do not serve the entire Church, including local congregations already in existence? None. None whatsoever. They are selfish whims, ego-centric desires, and dust in the wind. They are the act of a rebel who wishes his own will imposed on the local church community rather than submitting to it as we are called to do.

Lest I be misunderstood, let this be clear: I am not calling for universalist unity. There are clear and decisive doctrines that cannot be compromised, such as the triune nature of God, the dual nature of Christ, His sinless life, atoning death on the cross, physical resurrection, just to name a few. We cannot compromise those, nor tolerate those who do. With this, neither am I saying that secondary issues ought to be ignored or danced around. On the contrary, healthy, mature discussion on such issues is healthy and beneficial and should be conducted with the love and grace we are called to show one another. Moreover, I am not saying that all believers ought to return to the Church of Rome, as some my mistakenly think. However, it would be prudent to recall that Luther himself was not seeking a division, but a reformation WITHIN the Church. He himself said that a return to the church was the ultimate goal, not a continued splintering that became an absurdity unto itself.

So what is the solution, you are probably wondering? Pack up all the churches in an area and try to combine them down into one? As nice as that might be, the problem is in the hearts of men, which is then reflected in the behavior. It needs to start with pastors coming together consistently, enjoying one another's company, discussing theology, and helping one another rather than competing. Those pastors must then relay this unity to their congregations, emphasize it by having joint ventures with other churches, and never allowing a schismatic point of view to alter this course of actions. At the same time, Christian congregates need to quit acting like whiny children, bouncing from church to church whenever something doesn't go their way. The laity must learn to shed the selfish individualism that has polluted the church not see the diversity of local bodies as a way to run away from problems and conflict like a coward, but rather to turn and deal with such things like a grown up adult. In short, the church members need to put aside the old man, and put on Christ Jesus; they need to set aside their own pride and value the Body over the body part. Even shorter, they need to quit worshipping themselves and be devoted to honoring Christ. Until this is done, the schismatic church will continue to dissipate, rot, and utterly fail at adequately reflecting the heart and purpose of our Lord and Savior, Christ Jesus.

The Plight of Rifqa Bary

2009-08-26T21:30:00.000-07:00

As I have read a few article written by liberal writers dealing with the situation surrounding Rifqa Bary's conversion from Islam to Christianity, and following flight from her parents, I have been disgusted at the unlimited amount of baseless empathy and benefit of the doubt given to Miss Bary's father and mother. Some try to make Miss Bary out to be nothing more than a rebellious teen trying to secure some "fame;" others consider her a pawn of certain Christians who are "using" her to "slander" Islam and other Muslims. They conveniently ignore that, according to numerous reports Mr. Bary had randomly dissolved his business that made more than $200,000 annually. They gloss over the fact that the Bary family were so piously Muslim that, despite such a large annual income, they rented rather than owned because devout Muslims are not allowed to take on mortgages. In fact, they do everything they possibly can to discredit this girl, dismissing her claims of being beaten as lacking evidence, and nearly laughing at her claims that her father had prepared to take her to Sri Lanka to conduct an honor killing, or possibly imprison her at an "asylum." I cannot help but wonder if such scrutiny would be leveled on a potential "abuse" of victim if the parents were Christian? I also cannot help but wonder why the liberal media is so passionate in attacking this girl's story?

One thing has been made clear since the 9-11-2001 attack on the United States by Muslim radicals and that is that liberals are adamant in their support of anything Islamic, and equally passionate in leaching onto and bleeding any story that they consider "damning" to Christianity. Consider the contrast in coverage given to Islamic-based bombings and attacks in Europe or other Arabic countries, including murdering homosexuals and women who "dare" to think for themselves with the coverage offered to disgraced "pastor" Ted Haggard. A quick bi-line might be offered as a sub-story about Islamic attacks, but Mr. Haggard's moral failings spawn a small series of stories that are nearly front page news. It is a hypocritical irony that Christians are degraded as "homophobic" because they believe a certain practice is morally wrong, but Islam is a "loving" and "tolerant" religions despite the trail of violence and murder that IS IN AGREEMENT with their "holy" texts. Sure, some moron will be quick to pull an Old Testament passage OUT OF CONTEXT and try to make the two faiths equal, but anyone who is even remotely educated in Christian or Jewish theology knows better and would not make such a bogus and idiotic comparison. One thing is clear: if this were a Christian couple accused of beating their child, there would be no defense offered for their actions, even if no evidence existed. The lack of evidence, in fact, would be summarily dismissed as the artful guile of skillful abusers who were well-versed in disguising and hiding the violent truth. Indeed, every facet of their lives would be torn apart in an effort to paint them as true villains, and the little girls as a freedom fighter on the same plane as Martin Luther King Jr. and Mahatma Ghandi. As it is, the the Bary's are Muslim and under the sanctity of liberal media protection, so they can do no wrong and no evidence can be presented that will dissuade their crusade.

Exactly why the media is dedicated to portraying Islam as a "peaceful" and "honorable" religions is left to speculation. Some might be cowards, afraid of speaking against Islam for fear of being murdered, a threat that certain European writers presently lives under. Perhaps other are so dedicated to impugning Christianity that "replacing" it with Islam is their ultimate goal. Regardless of the myriad of reasons these mindless sycophants might have for distorting the facts about what Islam teaches, nothing can justify the character assassination that is presently being orchestrated by the media upon Rifqa Bary. Such an attack would not be performed or tolerated were this girl a Muslim convert seeking to escape Christian parents. Indeed, the ancient battle cry that the "seriousness of the charge" warrants such unilateral and blind support for the alleged abused would be hoisted once again and a wall of protection would be built around such a "brave" young woman. As it is, Rifqa converted to Christianity, which makes her anathema, a curse, a plight on the face of Islam that the liberal media has tried so hard to disguise with prosthetic information and the false make up of ignoring any facts contrary to their disposition.

Rifqa Bary may well be sent back to her Muslim parents. She may well be forced to go to Sri Lanka. She may well be the victim of an "honor" killing, or she may be imprisoned in an "asylum." If those things happen, don't look for reports of it in the leftist media, because such damning truth would violate their myth that Islam is a religion of peace, despite all evidence to the contrary.

Racial Profiling and the Question of Morality

2009-07-23T11:50:00.000-07:00

Our president has recently come to the aid of a friend of his by insulting a police officer, even though the president admitted to not having all the facts in the case at hand. In doing this, he made comments about racial profiling intended to paint the police officer as a racist and, effectively, to put all white police officers in a corner where, if they stop "black and hispanics" (who were singled out by the president, not me) they could be labeled as racist and their work could be construed as racial profiling. Personally, I am uncomfortable with this attempt to kneecap law enforcement officials.

Aside for denigrating the work of police officers through subtle erosion of public confidence, the president utterly failed to consider a question that is far more important than if racial profiling exists. In his comments the president spoke of black and hispanics being stopped/profiled by police "disproportionately" to other races. The question that ought to be initiated from this statistic (assuming it is accurate) is not if profiling exists, but if it is well founded. If, for instance, statistics show that blacks and hispanics are more likely to be involved in gangs and criminal activities, then profiling those races in areas where this statistic is true makes sense, the same way that profiling people who look Muslim (no matter their skin color) at airports makes more sense than randomly searching people who almost certainly are not a threat. IF statistics show that blacks and hispanics are disproportionately likely to be involved in gangs and criminal activities, that issue ought to be treated as significantly more important rather than the question of profiling. Once such hypothetical data has been leveled out, then profiling should be considered an issue.

Two things need to be added. First, I AM NOT SAYING that blacks and hispanics are disproportionately likely to be involved in gangs and crime. I would argue that the media and the entertainment industries have successfully created, nurtured, and propagated the idea that blacks and hispanics are more likely to be involved in such activities, and if that is to be reversed, people need to quit embracing and accepting those derogatory stereotypes as portrayed in movies, television and music. Not only does such entertainment encourage the propagation of such lifestyles, but it sits in the minds of people who do not know otherwise and therefore have no immediate way of being educated to the contrary. They are certainly wrong for their ignorant beliefs, but if one is inundated with a certain perspective, and have no experience to counter-act the media message, how are they expected to learn the truth? Education is a key, but such education has to start with the portrayals commonly made in the news media as well as the entertainment industry.

Secondly, there is a certain reality that people seem unwilling to accept, and that is that police profile whenever they investigate a crime or potential crime. In fact, we pay them to profile criminals, which is why I am inclined to trust (although not blindly) their assessment. They track and study criminals ALL DAY, we do not! How would you like someone randomly showing up at your work, telling you how to do your job when they don't have the first clue as to what is going on day-in and day-out, nor do they possess any experience to warrant their attempt to control your job? I would wager most of us would be quite angry, resentful, and perhaps come to detest such a person. It is no wonder, then, that many police officers don't care to associate with too many people outside of other officers!

My argument is not that cops are always right, nor that there is no racism among the police force in American, but rather that society is too quick to use race to discredit police officers even when they are right, and this incident with the president's buddy is a prime example. This wasn't even a case of profiling because a neighbor called the police because they saw someone breaking into the house! This cop is doing his job and the president of the United States calls him stupid on national TV because his buddy was involved? How childish can a person be?

The final solution, and the only one that I believe is ultimately effective, is the return of objective morality. Our society has ignorantly and blindly accepted the idea of moral relativity, often without even realizing the danger of the path we are on. This is expressed in such idiotic phrases as, "that may be right to you, but...." and "what's right to one person...." or even, "who are you to judge?" In making these self-refuting comments, we fail to understand the logical conclusion of this mentality, which is that no one can ever say that anything is "wrong" since "wrong" will only exist in the mind of the individual or in the agreement of the masses, neither of which are objective standards. It is because of moral relativity that the Columbine boys felt fine with killing so many people; it is because of moral relativity that gangbangers can rationalize crime and become apathetic toward those they abuse, victimize, and murder; it is because of moral relativity that organizations like NAMBLA can argue that having sexual relations with children is morally permissible. Consider next time you are about to tell someone that their ideas or actions are "wrong" or "bad" exactly what you mean by those words and what objective basis or example you are pointing to in order to establish such a claim. If moral relativity is correct, there is none and you are doing nothing more than stating a personal preference that is as equally valid as that of Jefferey Dahmer or any member of NAMBLA.

The greater irony is that moral relativity must be an accurate assessment of societal morals if there is no God, because objective morals cannot come from humanity. It's impossible! Mankind lives for 70 plus years, sometimes longer, but never long enough. Humanity is arbitrary and capricious, quick to bend or alter the rules when they don't comply with their selfish desires and wishes. The only way for morality to be objective is if it is imposed from outside of mankind by a higher intelligence who has the authority and capability to make such an imposition. "God" is the only word that qualifies to describe such a being. God would have to be infinite, omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent, omnibenevolent, and completely just. Such a being is found ONLY in the Holy Scriptures known as the Old and New Testament.

The simple reality is that one cannot divorce any of the questionable activities addressed in this text from the question of morality. Even if this police officer was acting as a racist, who are you to tell him that he is "wrong" when you have no basis for saying so other than your personal preference? And if the president is acting like a fool in blindly defending his friend despite not knowing the facts, how could such an action be wrong if there is no standard for right and wrong? And if people (of any color) are getting involved in criminal gangs and brazenly committing crimes, how can anyone say their actions are wrong if wrong is simply a matter of personal preference? It's impossible. Objective morality must exist, or no morality, the choice is subjectively yours.

In Christ,

Jesse

The Fall of a Titan: Steve McNair's Failure as a Man

2009-07-07T11:33:00.000-07:00

Two things must be said from the outset: 1) What is about to be written is direct, aggressive, and in some areas it might be a bit crude for some; 2) I stand by every word, no matter how insensitive. You have been warned.

I used to enjoy watching Steve McNair play. He played through injuries, he wasn't a trash talker, and knew how to throw the ball well. He always came across as a classy guy who was a good teammate and leader, who did charity work, and who cared for his community. When I first heard about his murder this past weekend, I was shocked and a bit dismayed thinking that one of the high quality men from the NFL had been taken away. Now, having read some of the salacious truths about his life, that is all gone. It means nothing, has no value, it's all bullcrap, nothing more. And that saddens me.

You see, for a man to be real man, for a man to be a true leader, a true friend, or to truly have a heart, he must first love his wife and kids above everything, except God. A man must be dedicated and devoted no matter the circumstance, setting a good example for his children of how men ought to act, he must have honor and integrity, two things that are utterly lacking in any man who takes part in adultery. I realize that it is popular in modern American cultures for "men" to act as perpetual adolescents, neglecting true responsibility for "fun" and "self-fulfillment" and the illusions of happiness; I recognize that too many American men are devoid of any true understanding of what it means to be a man, either because they grew up without a good dad at home, or because they rely too much on pop-culture for their sense of reality; I acknowledge that selfishness and cowardice are typical qualities of far to men so-called men; but what I will not accept is the idea that this is a correct representation of manhood. A man loves his family more than himself; a man defends the honor of his wife and family to the death; a man stands up for what is right no matter the cost and guards his honor, knowing that his children are watching for their que as to what a man truly is. What a man DOES NOT DO is squander time with his wife and children while wasting time and money with some whore simply because it makes him "feel" good, or young, or alive, or anything else. So, finding out that McNair had a hot, young dish on the side, with whom he spent vacations while his family was at home, pretty much eliminates any lamentation for his loss, because the damage he inflicted on his wife and children through idiotic, selfish and childish activity is far greater than any bullet could render.

What makes the situation more sickening is to see Jeff Fischer on the television encouraging people to focus on the "positives" of McNair's life. What positives? That he could throw a football? That he gave time and money to charity? That his teammates really liked him? Are those things really valuable compared to his bankruptcy as a leader and teammate for his family? Is society so void of morality that we treasure a man because he can play a child's sport, even though his private life shows a lack of honor and integrity? I love football as much as anyone else, but compared to the responsibility of a husband and/or father, it's utterly meaningless.

Someone might say, "Hey, this doesn't define his entire life, it was a mistake he made toward the end," and such an excuse has some merit when it comes to putting the man's life in perspective for those who did not call him "husband" or "father", however the simple truth remains that the damage this one "mistake" has done is much greater than most people want to acknowledge. Had he not been whoring himself around with a Dave and Buster's skank waitress, had he been home with his family where he belonged, had he been doing the right things, none of this would be an issue. His children would not have lost their father so tragically, nor would they be stuck in the quagmire of trying to figure out how a man truly ought to behave when the primary man in their lives, who should have set a solid example, failed so miserably. Leadership starts at home. Integrity and honor starts at home. A man who fails his wife and children is not a man, nor should he be looked up to by anyone for anything.

Let me make one more thing clear: I'm not talking just about Steve McNair. I am directly attacking and assaulting any so-called man who wantonly and brazen fails in this way. I don't care who you can beat up, how many people you killed, how long you can survive in the wilderness, how well you can fix an engine, whether your a UFC champion, or even what branch of the military you have served in: if you embrace the modern, American concept of "masculinity" that holds perpetually adolescence as a virtue, you have failed to achieve manhood.

Perfection is not what is desired, although I have never been opposed to a person seeking to get as close as possible. It might well be said that, had McNair not been a professional athlete, the whole matter may have never been known outside of Nashville. However true this might be, it does not change the moral connotations for someone who has been elevated by society. Their actions are magnified by their position and if they do not desire to be scrutinized, they ought not seek such positions. Moreover, such reasoning is often an attempt to avoid the facts rather than deal with them. In or out of the spotlight, however, is irrelevant to the cardinal point intended by this writing, namely that a man who engages in adulterous activity is no man at all and no exterior activity can mask that lack of honor and integrity in their hearts and souls.

Aside from the broken legacy left to his family, perhaps the greatest tragedy is that, because of his poor choice, McNair can never fix what he broke. You see one of the great blessings given by God is the second chance. Of such grace and power is Yahweh that even something as cowardly and disgusting as adultery can be repaired by those strong enough and courageous enough to fight through the hard times. Someone who fails to be a true man can attain to manhood once more when he recognizes the absurdity of his child-like behavior and turns away from it. God's hand of mercy can restore anything that humanity can break, if humans are willing to forgive and work through the difficulties. Unfortunately, far too many people lack this intestinal fortitude, and they surrender rather than fight through. This is why divorce rates are so high even among Christians who ought to know better, and it is why families are fractured and destroyed. Regrettably, McNair no longer has this option and his wife and kids now have to find a way to heal this wound alone.

It is past time for real men to stand up for what is right. Rather than being silenced by a society that will hypocritically judge a person for judging another (no matter how right the judgment might be), men need to face the fire and do what is right, no matter the cost. Let your name be cursed by an amoral society and take pride in the scorn of those who lack honor and integrity. Fear no man, but rather fear God and do what is right before His eyes, for anything else is vanity and foolishness. May God's grace and peace be with you all!

In Christ,

Jesse

New York Massacre: Why Are We Shocked?

2009-04-04T14:27:00.000-07:00

I need to begin by saying that the questions I am about to pose are not as callus as they might seem. I am always taken back by loss of innocent life, especially so pointlessly, and this shooting (or any of the other recent mass shootings) is no different. However, I do feel the situation(s) warrants deeper questions that ought to tell us something about who we are and, above this, what the logical consequences of ideas can be.

We live in a culture that almost uniformly shoves the idea down our throat that every lifestyle is equally valid. For the most part, our society says that, "As long as you don't hurt anyone, go ahead and do it," always failing to see the insufficient evidence for the condition in that clause. I have repeatedly asked people who recite this inane mantra why it's wrong to hurt people and without exception, I have yet to hear a substantial answer, mostly because, we ASSUME certain moral absolutes in our culture, even while we vocally deny the existence of moral absolutes in general! In philosophy that amounts to pure hypocrisy, we assume the absolute right to our own lives, or even the lives of our children, but are quick to question the right to life of unborn children; we assume that stealing is inherently wrong, but rarely consider lifting someone's internet signal or stealing extra time from our employers as unjust.

So when we read or hear from news sources that a mass murder has taken place, we gasp and wonder why it happened, failing to identify our own lack of reason as the chief culprit. For instance, in a society whose public educational institutions routinely teach children that we are nothing more than a meaningless byproduct of random natural events, and that survival of the fittest is the ultimate rule of nature (even though no ultimate rule can exist), we wonder why this next generation does not respect and revere life! In a time when millions of unborn babies are slaughtered brutally to maintain the personal preferences of the vast majority of those seeking to take such action, how can we look at anyone else to not see life as disposable when its convenient for us? If we can let a comatose wife who is no longer wanted to starve to death, why can't we do the same to a child we no longer want? If personal happiness is the ultimate goal of life, why should anyone else stand in the way of obtaining it?

As a people, we have lost the soul of our being and strove with all our strength to suppress the truth that we find smacking us in the face whenever an atrocity happens to others, or a minor one inflicts us for a moment. As C.S. Lewis wisely points out, we use logic like, "I gave you a bit of my orange, you should share yours as well," which ontologically ASSUMES an over-arching moral code to which our friends and neighbors ought to adhere. Of course, when we wish to break that code, we work our hardest to downplay its importance. To what then can we point when we wish to see injustice rectified? In fact, the very idea of justice ASSUMES an objective truth that should be enforced, for if justice is left to personal definition, revenge and torture thereby become valid means of expressing justice!

As I have said before, a world that denies moral absolutes is a world that makes Hitler equal to Mother Theresa, Stalin equal to Ghandi, and the murderer in New York equal with the EMT's and doctors who sought to save lives. Moral absolutes MUST exist, unless we simply accept that life is random and absurd and that no one's actions are "good" or "evil" or "right" or "wrong" by any other standard. If survival of the fittest is natures only rule, then the fittest will survive, whether through murder, genocide, rape, incest, or mass murder, and we have no basis to stand against it.

People have died in the New York massacre, and other mass-shootings elsewhere, and we feel sad at the life lost. But the simple fact remains that the act of murder is wrong if and only if there is an absolute moral code incumbent upon all humanity that makes murder wrong, otherwise it is just another legitimate means to the end sought by the person murdering. Even as we see on the nightly news the natural consequences of the moral relativism our culture has so passionately embraced and clung to, we still spout the mindless platitudes that support a system that has no movement but a downward descent into anarchy and meaninglessness. This is the indefensible logical consequences of holding the only true moral system to be no moral system, and just as every great society, empire, and culture in history has collapsed and been destroyed by its own zeal for a secular, amoral body politic, so shall we trod the beaten path to meaninglessness if we do not relent of these unreasonable worldviews, assuming of course, it's not already too late.

Broken Body

2009-03-24T00:19:00.000-07:00

Mere moments before Jesus was delivered into the hand of the Pharisees, John 17 tells us how He sat praying in Gethsemane, considering the unknowable shame and agony of the cross. Amidst His anticipation and anxiety, His thoughts turned to His disciples and what they would face after He was gone. In His mind was not only the twelve who He had lived with and trained for the past three years, but also every believer down through the ages who would face the tribulations of the world and overcome them. Just two chapter prior Jesus issued a command that underscores the section of His prayer I am going to discuss, namely, "This is My commandment, that you love one another just as I have loved you" (John 15:12). Of such importance was this commandment that He repeated it in the seventeenth verse, "This I command you, that you love one another." Later, as He waited for Judas to arrive and hand Him over to the Jewish authorities, He offers a simple and beautiful prayer, "The glory which You have given Me, I have given to them that they may be one, just as We are one; I in them and You in Me, that they may be perfected in unity, so that the world may know that You sent Me, and loved them, even as You have loved Me."

Last week while working on my translation of John 17 for class, I was struck by this verse, and stopped to consider the ramification, and found my heart unable to bear the sadness. As we approach another ecclesiastical holiday, the first of the new year in fact, I cannot help but wonder how disgusted Jesus must be with the pathetic and shattered state of the Church, especially in the Western world. Here, in one of the richest nations in the world, where we are free to pursue Christ without any real hindrance or considerable tribulation, where maintaining communication between fellow believers of all persuasions is as easy as an email or phone call....here we stand, divided and weak. Oh, we offer a smorgasbord of church styles, worship styles, ethnic groupings, denominational styles (including the non-denominational denominations), and a whole host of methods to cater to ever sub-cultural group imaginable....but we have lost our unity, which is a considerable proof that we have also lost our love, and in this, we stand in definite disobedience to the commands of Christ.

While most people attending a local church are certain to give lip service to the concept of a universal Church, one has to wonder exactly what they mean when speaking of it. Unity goes beyond the small walls of our favorite house of worship, and it transcends the multitude of style preferences and secondary doctrines that often hinder us from engaging one another on a level deeper than the thinest top-layer of skin. When was the last time your church linked up with an DIFFERENT denomination and enjoyed fellowship together? Do you ever recall lighting Christmas Eve candles with fellow believers that cross denominational lines in an effort to realize that the incarnation is something that every orthodox believer can and should celebrate together? Does your pastor enjoy the company of pastors from other denominations, and not only the company, but reasonable discussions on theology and ways to bring the body of Christ closer together? Do you? Unfortunately, I cannot say that I have been aware of any of these things, and my exposure to alternate denominations has been limited. I would wager the same is true for many of us, much to our shame.

It is ironic how quick we are to send our money to distant missionaries who we meet maybe once a year, and yet the church members down the street are complete strangers to us. It is disheartening to see local church bodies competing against rather than complementing one another, all the while failing to fulfill this command given to us by our King of kings and Lord of lords. It is no wonder that our claim of Christian love rings hollow the world around us since we cannot even truly love one another as our King commanded! Indeed, how can we hope to complete the task we have been assigned when we fail to adhere to what should be the easiest command to obey?! In fact, Christ's words smack us in the face with our failure, because our unity is not merely a feel-good proposition that He suggested but a mandate with a purpose and a consequence. Why does He pray for us to be unified? " . . . so that the world may know that You sent me, and loved them, even as You have loved me." You see, our unity is a testimony to the world around us. It declares the love of God that we have been granted through Jesus, and ought to act as illumination to all the darkness easily found in this depraved world. If then we are failing to achieve the unity to which we have been called, it necessarily follows that we are equally failing to glorify Christ and His love the surrounding world, which is the very purpose for our salvation. "If salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again?" When we see the childish divisions and sectarianism in the Body of Christ, it is no wonder that our salt tastes like poison on the lips of the lost, and it is clear why our voices and message has been marginalized and rendered useless.

The glorious reality is, however, that it is never too late to fix the problem. If only we would take up the Augustinian mantra, "In essentials unity, in non-essentials liberty, and in all things liberty," our eyes might be opened and our minds expanded beyond the tiny Christian sub-culture to which we have too frequently sold our minds and theological biases. When we finally wake up and realize that Calvinists and Arminians are still Christians who are to love one another, and that dispensationalists and covenantals are brothers and sisters indeed, and that one's view of eschatology is far less important than the simple belief that Christ will physically return to judge the righteous and unrighteous, and that our tiny little segment is but a miniscule fraction of what the Church truly and really is, and when we lay aside the denominational (and non-denominational) discord that has been ingrained in us through years of wrong thinking, when these things are finally acceptable and good in our eyes and we simply love our brothers and sisters as 1 Corinthians 13 describes, and we are not afraid to draw near and even discuss the hard issues of theology, when these things take place, then we will truly manifest the love of Christ to the fallen and lost world that so desperately needs Him.

It starts each day with me and you and how we decide to proceed. If we are mere pew-sitters, unwilling to make a difference, we are to be trampled underfoot like the worthless salt Jesus described, but when we truly love our local church, and expand that love to other local churches, and expand that love to churches in our state, our nation, our continent, our hemisphere, and eventually the all the brothers and sisters across the world, when we are willing to individually step up and live in accordance with the commands and desires of Jesus, then we start to change things, and the message will spread.

You might say to me, "Jesse, this sounds kind of hippieish for you," and maybe it is, but I cannot deny what Scripture says, nor can I get past the agonizing dagger thrust in my heart by the Spirit when I read these words and know we are in violation of our King's edict. And let's be clear, I am not advocating universalism, or even a blind unity that disregards significant issues. Without question we should fight against cults like Mormonism, Jehovah's Witnesses, Oneness Pentecostalism, and false religions like Hinduism, Buddhism, Islam, and the rest. We ought not tolerate heresy in our churches, nor those who walk in intentional disobedience to Biblical standards, but we must be aware of the difference between Biblical standards and cultural preference, and we must educate ourselves on the essentials of the Christian faith, handed down by our patriarchs, so that we may stand and fulfill the command of 1 Peter 3:15 to always have an answer to those who ask about the hope that lies within you. We must unite around the core doctrines of the faith and realize that the secondary issues, while important, are not valid points of division.

There is much detail to be ironed out in all of this, I know. My point is not to elevate myself as one who knows better than others, nor to degrade you, the reader, as a transgressor. On the contrary, I have failed in this, as have you, and we need to grow up and get past the adolescence of our faith and mature into the well-informed, servants of Christ that we have been called to be. Since we are a single, organic body of believers, the healing must begin within the body, bringing the pieces back together with love, respect, and understanding. One way or another, the church will be cleansed by God, for He will not tolerate a luke warm body, nor one that is so busy dissecting itself that it fails to do what it was designed to do. My prayer and reason for putting this forth is because I have grown sick of my own complacency and the laziness I see in the Western church. If we are to stand up and do what we have been called to do, we must refocus our eyes on Christ and realize that His order to love one another applies even to those weird Pentecostals down the street, or the overly stodgy Baptist church a couple blocks away. When we pay more than lip service to this truth, and only then, will we be ready to stand in the unity for which our King prayed, and glorify Him to this world so steeped in darkness, and then the light of Christ will shine as it was intended.

I wish you grace and peace.

When A Baby is Treated Like Garbage....Literally

2009-02-06T09:13:00.000-08:00

http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,488644,00.html

This link is to a story about a Florida abortion worker who murdered a baby that was actually born, and may not face charges. This was a botched abortion, you see. The doctor showed up late, the baby was birthed alive, and rather than preserving the human life that had a slim but real chance of living even at 23 weeks, the abortion nurse put it in a garbage bag and then in the garbage can.

What is ironic is how some abortion supporters are outraged at this. Had the baby remained inside, they would find its murder perfectly acceptable (and profitable), but, to them, somehow the birth canal is a magical tunnel that conveys "life" to the child, which makes no logical sense whatsoever. Were they logically consistent with their own feeble position on human life, they would only be outraged that others are outraged and call for people to accept this as part of the legally allowed "medical" procedure.

Is the really acceptable in our society? Are we so patently idiotic as people that we do not see that such callus treatment of an innocent, helpless child is a natural consequence of the errant teaching that unborn human life has no value unless it is "wanted" by the mother? This is classic desensitization, and it has been used throughout history. Hitler desensitized the German people with propaganda teaching that Jews were "lesser" Germans, which carries the ever-so-subtle idea that they were also lesser human being! 19th century Western culture taught that Africans were "less human" than caucasions, and for some time "social Darwinism" "proved" this idea! It is the standard of every group of people who wish to abuse and treat as a possession another group of people: to dehumanize them through every means possible.

In another ironic twist, even the mother who desired the abortion, when she came "face to face" with the baby realized that it was a living being. How sad is it that our culture had not ingrained in her a value for human life that did not require seeing to believe? Yet in a empirical culture that demands everything be presented before their eyes, as if we can fully comprehend the mysteries of life and creation, there is no basis for believing what we cannot see. Thus, an unborn child can be manipulated to be anything that one wants it to be, even less than human when the facts of the matter are rather clear to the contrary!

One might say, "Jesse, why are you attacking this girl who suffered this tragedy?" Let me make it clear that I am not. While her decision is lamentable, the trauma she will endure for the remainder of her life is tragic. My attack is directed specifically at the hard-hearted and abhorrent culture in which we live that teaches such practice as normative and acceptable. My verbal attack is aimed like a .50 caliber sniper rifle directly at the skulls of academics and politicians that destroy our sense of humanity and human treatment by actively supporting such practices that terrorize the most helpless and innocent among us. This young woman was scared and turned to a group who seek to profit from her fear by encouraging prenatal homicide rather than offering sound medical advice. These vultures are like a virus seeking to decimate the hearts and minds of whoever they might in order to earn a buck, and they are the criminals.

If there is a God, as I maintain there is, our fallen and depraved culture is passed due for judgment, and this story is but another example of why. Children are a gift. To hold such a blessed gift as a burden, or to dismiss it as less valuable than it truly is, is an abasement and a wound that is now infected and will proceed until it has weakened the body to such a degree that it falls and cannot rise again. It is in times like these that I am grateful that my hope is not in the workings or governments of mankind, but rather in the King of kings and His perfect and just administration. If only our culture would turn from its steady march to intellectual and moral suicide, it would rise as a standard of virtue and justice, rather than twitching and defecating on itself while hanging from the gallows.

Cain's Mirror

2009-01-20T02:20:00.001-08:00

blood flows from the mountains

as I stand in rage

over murdered brother mine,

prideful endeavors shook my soul

dragging me to depths unknown

separated from love Divine.

laying in wait, my enemy

soft, subtle, and oh so sensible!

reminds me of "rights" and wrongs

inflicted by Divinity and indefensible

....ah, He tells me to master my wrath

to avoid the sinful slope on which I slide

yet hurt and spurned, with hate I burn

self-submerged beneath malicious tide;

looking now for time the first

in the glass at sinful self

from whom I have fled and grown

I cannot help but see so clear

that apart from Christ my dirt is deep

and in Cain's eyes are my own.

Self-Loathing and the Battle for My Soul

2008-12-29T12:30:00.000-08:00

Many who think they know me, have no idea who I am. And others who think they knew me, never saw beyond the facade I wore every day for far too long. These facts often make it difficult for people to come to terms with who I truly am, as the seek a way to reconcile their preconceptions with the facts before them. This is especially true for those who thought they knew me before I became a true and devout Christian. In truth, I have little left from the life I lived without Christ Jesus. Some things needed to be weeded out, some were naturally discarded like shedding skin, and others, mostly "friends" who should have been so close, abandoned ship at the first signs of the effects the cross of Christ had on my life. Some times these truths are hard to accept, most often they are of little concern, like dust shaken from dirty sandals, but I can safely say that none haunt me or linger in the corners of my mind. Yet there is one parasite that clings to my body for dear life that I find myself utterly unable to discard or erase. He is the one enemy that is inescapable, and most frequently utilized by the enemy of mankind: Me.

I find the claws of the old man are sunk far deeper into my flesh than I ever believed, and see the negative influences he has on my disposition and attitude. There are mindsets so engraved in my being thateven when I think I have them mastered, they return when I am stripped down to the base of who I am. Indeed, I find disturbing patterns of corruption in my self, especially in the realm of rage and wrath, that would consume me and darken my eyes to the point of murder were I to let that aspect of my being to run rampant, as I often did in my youth. Even facing such daunting foes, the worst part of me is something I can never change, and that is the fact of who I once was.

We all have done things of which we are not proud, or for which we experience great shame. Most people find a way to either forgive themselves or get past the ugly truths they wish to blot from history, but I fail to achieve this. Having repeatedly prayed for relief, the response has been an onslaught of enemy bombardment that remind me of what a disgusting and putrid being I was, not just in action or word, but in my heart, in my mind, and in those states of mind in which I relished and nurtured darkness within me. Would that I had my former self before me, I would slit his throat and be done with it once and for all, a final sacrifice in a pursuit to purify all of my heart, soul, mind, and will. Unfortunately, until death, I am trapped with memories that cannot be erased and effects that must be lived with. In moments of weakness, they stab my weak heart and would slay the core of my being were I not strengthened to overcome such persistent and violent attacks.

Some people do their best to bury such things, using toy phrases steeped in myopic philosophy such as, "I have no regrets," or "My mistakes have made me who I am today." It never occurs to them that who they are today may not be the best them they could have been, and fool themselves into a delusion of peace that can be easily shattered when their weaknesses are exposed by the flaming arrows of the enemy. Others indulge their perversions as far as they can and find no relief even there. They convince themselves that their malady or persuasion was unavoidable for whatever reason and that there was no choice but to do the things they knew in their hearts was wrong. On the other hand, some, like myself, find their weakness in a pool of bane from which they cannot escape, and in which they often nearly drown. The hand of the enemy reaches in only to shove under the mire one more time, hoping that you will take that final, irrevocable breath and die in the realm that would most destroy who you are. All of these extremes are suicidal in at least one aspect of one's life, and works so hard to convince the person in question of his or her lack of need for Yahweh.

C.S. Lewis once wisely wrote of how the enemy seeks to desecrate our regenerated selves by dragging us back to who we once were, attempting to deceive us into accepting the former self as who we truly are when all is laid bear. When this strategy works, the infected patient is quick to dismiss anything that would remedy their illness, but rather insists that they are cured by living in the farthest fathoms of their debased nature, failing to recognize the imago dei with which they were formed. Each time I am forced to look upon that repugnant sinner, I have nothing to say or do but hang my head and weep for the wrongs, their effects, and all I gave up and missed on account of my foolish heart. In that moment, I hate myself and can hardly understand why I should be allowed to continue living. What good could I possibly accomplished as scarred and filthy as my soul truly is? Within myself and in this corporeal world, there is no positive answer. By humanistic standards, I should execute myself in the most brutal and barbaric manner possible, and even this does not recompense my crimes. On my own two hands are the stains of blood, rot, and filth that my mind will never fully escape, and I can only wonder what use I might serve.

But this.......this is the grace of Yahweh. Turning my rags and failures in the myrrh and gold; revitalizing a weak, wrathful heart to finally understand and see love and what love truly is as it was designed by the Creator of all things; lifting my eyes and wiping the tears away to be replaced by joy; taking my dead, worthless soul and resurrecting it to a life never before imagined; erasing the transgressions that should be paid in blood, and indeed was paid in blood, namely that of Christ Jesus, who endured to make sinners right before The Father, something they could never accomplish of their own volition and works. And this is where I come to understand just why I am so often allowed to be tormented by the dead deeds of fallen, former flesh....because just like the Apostle Paul, Christ's grace is sufficient for me, and I ought not seek anything to rely on but Christ alone for my strength and justification. So prone to pride am I that often is the frequency with which I must be laid low and brought back to the feet of my King and Savior for a lesson in the true source of my strength, wisdom, and will.

The past is a strong, unshakable force that can serve to destroy us when left unfettered. Indeed, many a man has allowed himself to be driven into vile acts of self and personal betrayal by relying so heavily on the most untrustworthy of human thieves, liars, and sellers of illusions: himself! (And this is equally true for women!) The question is not if our past contains sin, but rather since it does how shall we be cleanse? It is not a question of if those regrets will attack, but who or what we rely on when such bombs are penetrating our hearts. Existentially, empirically, or philosophically, I have found no answer that satisfies the human condition and capacity for emotion and reason as fully and completely as that of Christ Jesus. Every alternate answer, every deception with which we would blind ourselves, is found lacking in one of those key departments, except the one that leads to the cross and empty tomb of Jesus the Christ. So then, I see that my battles, my self-loathing and all the times that I feel like an annulment of my being is in order, they serve to remind me that my finite efforts are of little value before the infinite Creator of the universe, and that because of His Son, the sacrifice of Christ Jesus that paid for my sins, and His resurrection which showed His command over death, hell, and the grave, these things are but moonless shadows compared to the boundless light found in Yahweh through Christ Jesus, which is manifested so beautifully and unequivocally as the mercy, forgiveness, hope, and love only realized in a life lived in service to the King of kings.

Grace and peace to you!

The Downward Spiral

2008-10-04T23:48:00.000-07:00

It does not matter how many times I read stories about people being cruel and abusive to children, I am appalled and outraged every time. Such was the case this morning when I opened up my browser and saw on the front page of Fox News' web site a story about some idiot 16 year old punk in Georgia who thought it would be funny to launch an infant off of an inflatable pillow. The story reported that the dirtbag was being charged with felony child cruelty, but with the pathetic state of our (in)justice system, that will likely be plea bargained down to some irrelevant charge and the punk will go free with no real consequences. What he should get is a sentence of 30 minutes locked in a room with me, where he would learn the true meaning of abuse. As far as I am concerned, people who abuse babies are unworthy of mercy from the justice system. That sounds harsh, but when you consider how degenerate our society has become when it comes to its treatment of children, harsh consequences are necessary to set an example and deter further activity.

Then again, the abuse of children should not really be a shock to any of us. In a society that has relegated ethics and morality to personal preference, how is it logical for anyone to expect degenerates and morons not to follow their debased passions? How can we expect young people to grow up seeing babies as precious when our culture disposes of them by the millions before they are ever born? There is a price to pay for the flawed and self-refuting idea of moral relativity, and we see it in the news, and we bemoan it, and then we do a whole lot of nothing about it. We are a cowardly society that lacks the intestinal fortitude and moral courage to stand up for the innocent and helpless ones, and their blood is on our hands. The old cliche is true: all it takes for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing. And that is exactly what we have done: NOTHING!

Which brings me to the second part of my rant: where ARE all the men? What happened to valiant defenders of justice, virtue, and all that is right in this world? It seems to me that there are largely two type of men prevalent in our culture today: the idiot, degenerate, porn addicted, alcohol and/or drug abusing adolescent wannabe who refuses to develop past the early stages of puberty into REAL manhood, or the emasculated, weak-spined, effeminate girly-men who have been so beaten down by the feminization of our culture that they passively stand by and do nothing while women are raped, babies are murdered, and society quietly crumbles around them. Both extremes disgust me, and both are diseases that need to be eradicated if there is any hope for salvaging our once great culture.

Observations....

2008-10-04T23:41:00.000-07:00

I have come to detest the consumerism that has devoured the hearts and minds of most Americans as we seemingly live for the sole purpose of making money to buy more stuff. I once heard George Carlin do a beautiful stand-up piece on how dumb we are about our stuff, buying stuff, storing stuff, taking stuff with us, acquiring more and more stuff until we die and all the stuff is either sold, or handed down to the next generation of blind consumers who repeat the cycle.

I'm tired of people trying to sell me stuff. I'm tired of commercial after commercial trying to delve into the collective psyche of the masses and issue some sort of subtle message that will make us think that it is our idea to mindlessly consume, when, in reality, it was nothing more than their marketing team and crew of psychologists that used their knowledge to screw our heads into thinking we need something we really don't.

Interestingly, Scripture is clear that the love of money and the love of this world is at odds with the Kingdom of God. We cannot serve God and money. But we sure try! Imagine what our local communities would be like if we bought less useless crap and invested in the people and institutions around us. Consider the repercussions of what it means to love Yahweh your God with all year heart, strength, soul, and mind and its companion truth: loving your neighbor as yourself. But even this starts in a very easy place: the home. We spend so much time in front of machines and gadgets that we often fail to connect with the family in our very homes. As parents, we neglect our children and as children we ignore our parents. If we just got off our butts in the evenings, turned off the TV and spent time with our family, we would foster a sense of love and community that would spread, slowly at first, but once it had rooted, take off like a wildfire!

Unfortunately, we are lazy. We prefer to sit and do nothing, or rely on the bloated bureaucracy of the government to do on our behalves what we are too lazy and to heartless to do ourselves. Such a mind will rot and fail to receive the blessings God has granted each of us when we just stop thinking about ourselves and expand our minds to consider those around us as greater than us. For we know that the first will be last, and the last will be first.

Grace and peace!