So Help Me God

Here is my latest op-ed offering.  It appears in this morning's Greene County Dailies.

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"So help me God."  In January, Barack Obama put his right hand on a Bible and completed a solemn oath by calling on God for help.  This week's political theatre of Sonia Sotomayor's confirmation hearings has put the judicial oath of office in the spotlight and it has received considerable commentary.  Interestingly, it concludes with the same call on God for assistance, which makes it endlessly clear that the supposed wall of separation between Church and State is messy and has some self-serving interpretations.

As a nation we are publically and officially religious when it suits our purpose; we play linguistic games to placate the idolatry of relativism, and then beseech God for his favor in the Public Square on our terms, thank you very much.

This societal schizophrenia is reflective of how individuals approach faith.  We want all the trappings of the sacred without any of the obedience.  We compartmentalize religious expression and in doing so, we demand that God remain inside a box of our making.  Politicians legislate with a self-aggrandizing sense of importance as though they actually possess the authority to regulate truth.  Having systematically deconstructed the Divine, we routinely summon God at our convenience, as though he were the Robin Williams-voiced Genie in the animated movie, Aladdin. 

At certain signposts along the way we give a nodding acknowledgment to our need for a Supreme Being's approval.  We expect God's blessing when we are born; we order his blessing when we come of age; we assume his blessing when we marry; we presume his blessing on our children; we claim his blessing and acceptance when we die.  Between those highpoints we're quite happy not to be bothered by God's pesky requirements to worship and glorify him with our lives. 

It is the absolute extreme of arrogance for us to reduce the Creator of the universe to a celestial waiter at our beck and call, even if we occasionally do leave large tips in the collection plate.  Contrary to the continual whine of our self-absorbed perspective, we are not at the main table or on center stage for this infinite drama.  The story of history is God's story of redemption.  We are part of the story, but it is most definitely God's story.  All of life on this planet is about God; it is not about us.

Our capacity for understanding the supernatural is limited; our finite grasp on what occurs in the heavenlies comes with the territory of being human.  God's designed plans are far greater than we can possibly fathom.  Through the apparent random chances and within all the meaningless minutia of our lives, God is busy working out his eternal purposes in history.  What he is actively engaged in to bring all things to their appointed consummation in Christ is utterly beyond our ability to comprehend.

With that actual worldview in mind, doesn't it make sense for us to do more than just push God to the fringe?  We go through intense motions to keep God at arm's length, but given his everlasting love, should we not invite him to be a part of every moment he allows us?  Instead of our casual dismissal of the transcendent dimension of our lives, we should recognize that relying on God is an option we jettison at our own peril. 

Our intellectual effort to capture and tame God has detrimental consequences.  The progressive culturalization of Christianity has banished Scriptural principles in the name of expediency and political-correctness, creating an entity that a brilliant first-century leader referred to as "having a form of godliness but denying its power."  Token adherence to ritual or ceremony doesn't quite cut it.  Faith meets reality when the pretensions of religiosity are given the heave-ho and replaced by authentic humility.

Jesus of Nazareth is our ultimate example.  For him there was no separation or difference between the secular and sacred.  All of life was a matter of where God wanted him and what God wanted him to be doing.  We ought to endeavor to emulate his reliance on God.  For that to begin, we must confess our complete dependence on God for everything as we seek to deepen intimacy with him by living prayerfully.  "So help me God" cannot be reduced to a mere tagline or magic incantation; it must be our desperate plea for the grace to live in a manner that genuinely honors him.

June Op-ed

Below is my latest op-ed piece. It appears in this morning's Greene County Dailies, under the headline, Where Faith Meets Reality.
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A long time ago in a century far, far away some things were just not acceptable. In the black and white world of “Father Knows Best”, moral certainty was dependable. That television show, along with others like “Leave It To Beaver” may have been overly simplistic in their rosy portrayal of life, but at least right was right and wrong was wrong; there was a definite difference that everyone understood.

Right was good and wrong was evil. That primitive sounding concept was drilled into us. The expected response to any given dilemma was to do right, regardless of the cost. Doing right was encouraged in the home, in the schoolhouse, at church and even in the media. Remember the wisdom of Sheriff Andy Taylor explaining the consequences of some troublesome issue to his son Opie? Every authority figure delivered a consistent message that doing wrong always had serious repercussions.

In those bygone days, people would actually convey disapproval and castigate those who violated propriety. The word shame had a meaning that carried some weight, but not anymore. Now the distance between right and wrong is an indistinguishable line. We’ve grown immune to the disintegrating culture crumbling all around us. Nothing is an outrage and evidently, the concept of sin has long since ceased to carry any stigma. What used to shock is now taken in stride; wrong has been dismantled and then systematically rebuilt and reconditioned as right. Even a cursory perusal of the headlines reveals that we’ve slid to the edge of a stinking abyss that is belching its stench in our faces.

Consider our descent: Elvis Presley’s swiveling hips were banned from TV screens in the nineteen fifties, but welcome to 2009 where simulated sex and sexual innuendo are staples of prime time entertainment. We live in an age when promiscuity is the acceptable pattern of behavior from adolescence through to the nursing home; it’s like the human race is out rutting in the streets. Self-gratification and self-fulfillment have become the primary fixations that motivate us, leading to an obsessive pursuit of excess in the sexual arena.

Our dismissal of time-honored mores has drastically altered the societal landscape. According to the latest census information, nuclear families have been relegated to the fringe. The trend on the upswing is multi-dimensional families with optional mommies and daddies. Two-parent households are completely out of fashion. Thanks to a rampart spirit of permissiveness, any imaginable number of mix or match variations are routinely glorified in pop-culture and hyped as benchmarks.

Buoyed up by pseudo-scientific proclamations, the self-appointed guardians of the new moral order have elevated disgraceful lifestyle choices to celebrity status, where once upon a time, the word shame would have been applied. Oh, but I forgot; shame has no frame of reference for a society anesthetized by Hollywood’s moral ambiguity.

Woe to anyone who raises any protest; woe to anyone who suggests that normalcy has been given the heave-ho; woe to anyone who even thinks there is an objective standard of right and wrong; woe to anyone who speaks in defense of common sense decency and personal responsibility. When concerns are expressed or appeals are made to traditional Judeo-Christian virtues, campaigns are launched to silence those voices; they are pilloried as bigots, right-wing extremists, Neanderthals or much worse. After all, we are no longer straitjacketed by rigid moral codes. We’re enlightened, don’t you know?

Here ends the rant: Venting comes easy, however, cursing the darkness accomplishes nothing. Like it or not, these are the times in which we live; these times, with their varying shades of gray, are where believers in Jesus Christ are supposed to be shining brightly. In my understandings, we are commanded and ought to be compelled to be beacons of hope because by Divine design, the church is to be an instrument of transformational change, but all too often it is known only for its sanctimonious condemnation, which is tragic. Jesus of Nazareth said: “For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life. For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through him.”

Dispensing grace to a world whose morality is merely yesteryear’s immorality dressed up in glad-rags is the hard place where faith meets reality.

Thoughts On Pride

"Pride goes before destruction, a haughty spirit before a fall."
~Solomon of Israel~

When one puts faith into a box of their own experience, they refuse to open their minds to the possibility that there is something new for them to learn; when that occurs we can quite easily take on the characteristics of a sophomore.

Sophomore is a great word. It comes from two Greek words sophos & moros; sophos means to be wise; moros is the root from which we get the word moron; moros means stupid, blockhead or fool.

So the word sophomore means wise-fool. Unfortunately, we humans have this great capacity to think that we are wise & when that mindset settles in, we actually become foolish because we think there is nothing left for us to learn. We think we got God & faith all figured out & there is nothing else to learn.

This is where we must be humble & take on the attributes of a child: A child marvels at the mystery of the world; wise-fools do not even recognize the mystery. A child is amazed by the miracle of life; wise-fools grind along in ruts & are blind to the miracle of life. A child sees the multitude of wonders around them & wants to explore & learn more about every one; wise-fools see all the wonders & dismiss them as ordinary.

Faith meets reality in that place where we embrace the possibility that there are things no one has figured out yet; faith meets reality when humility allows for new insights into who God is & who we are; faith meets reality when, in the words of the old hymn, we understand that this is our Father’s world & though the wrong seems oft so strong, God is the Ruler yet…

Throwing Stones

Here is my latest op-ed.  It appears in this morning's Greene County Dailies.

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Ever notice our capacity to be snide when we disagree on an issue?  Whether it is a local matter or a national one, we can rapidly get downright nasty.  For example, letters to the editor of Greene County Dailies are usually quite informative, but all too often descend into disparaging remarks that are not at all helpful.

Or consider Keith Olberman and Bill O'Reilly, the poster boys for the hyperbolic push and shove that has eliminated civility from the public square.  Their shows are platforms for ideological warfare that has no recognized rules or boundaries.  Name-calling and personal attacks are routine.  On any given weekday evening, switch between MSNBC and FOX News to get polar opposite social commentary that is sadly humorous in its predictability.  The nightly vitriol is sickening, but we keep watching because it is entertaining, so what does that say about us?

Those inbred tribal instincts displayed on the airwaves are snapshots of our mindset and behavior.  Our virtuous rhetoric about desiring to find common ground to heal the fissures that divide us is betrayed by the fact that it is so easy for us to see the fallacy of the other person's viewpoint, along with their faults and failures.  In that hypocritical mode we can cause considerable harm by launching words like fast bullets that fly straight to the heart, and our accuracy is usually quite good.  All of which got me thinking about the truth in a line from an old blues song:  "Before you accuse me, take a look at yourself…"

The dilemma is that no one ever achieves perfection in this lifetime.  We are all works in progress.  Some are undergoing demolition and restructuring, while others are being remodeled or redecorated.  We are all at various stages of the process.  Our interpersonal exchanges would be so much sweeter if we'd all give each other the latitude we desire to receive.  The decency of our discussions and debates would also be cranked up a notch.

Instead of admitting our humanity, we generally ignore our blind-spots.  We possess an ability to look past the face reflecting back at us in the mirror, so we proceed in constant denial, claiming to be above the fray.  Others may have difficulties, but not us.  We will not slam up against the stress-points of life.  There will be none of that for us.  We've got life and all the world's problems figured out.  We are self-sufficient and self-contained, thank you very much.  Anyone buying that load of horse manure?

If honesty prevailed in a self-evaluation exercise, we would each admit to being overwhelmed by our foibles and contradictions.  We frequently pinpoint the flaws and false presumptions in others that we most dislike within ourselves.  Since it is easier to cast stones than invest the effort necessary to make adjustments or changes in our personal lives, we become adept at rock throwing.  Differences need not result in demonization, but in today's climate that is the norm.

 
A first-century fisherman named John recorded a fascinating account about Jesus of Nazareth being asked to pass judgment on a woman engaged in sexual promiscuity.  The religious elite of Israel were anxious to make a case against Jesus.  They brought a woman "caught in adultery" to him and in accordance with the Law of Moses, demanded that he condemn her to death.

It was a trick to trap Jesus.  If he released her he would be in violation of the Law; if he blessed the execution, bhe could be turned over to the Roman authorities.  Jesus stooped down and wrote on the ground with his finger.  Did he itemize the dark secrets of those clamoring for the woman's death?  We do not know, but when he stood up, Jesus said:  "if any one of you is without sin, let him be the first to throw a stone at her."

The mob was primed to stone her.  Eyes darted furtively back and forth.  One by one, those surrounding the woman gleaned glimpses of their inner self.  Without acknowledging their shortfalls or errors, the crowd dispersed.  The woman was left alone to receive the full measure of Christ's verdict of mercy.  If we developed that kind of grace in all our day to day encounters, then perhaps the discourse could be elevated to a somewhat civilized level.  

Here's where faith meets reality: Before you accuse anyone, take a look at yourself.

 ~The End~ 

Traveler - Episode Two

What follows is the second installment of the Traveler Series. More to come, dependant on inspiration & time.

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~Messy Affairs~

She screamed so loud it hurt my ears. I had just arrived and was still scoping the territory, trying to figure my whereabouts and bearings when a woman's screech punctured the moment. Whenever a jump occurs it is truly a crapshoot; no one actually controls the forces involved or has any knowledge of what the swirling currents along the time-space continuum are capable of accomplishing.

It was nighttime, of that I could be sure, and there was a definite chill in the air. Another cat-like scream shocked the stillness, sending a sliver of gooseflesh up my spine. Every instinct in me wanted to run in its direction, but the darkness could be playing tricks with the sounds, so I took a deep breath and concentrated on ascertaining my position in the universe. The blue-black sky was a cascade of stars. I studied them for a moment and concluded that I had landed on planet earth; and if my reading of the constellations was correct it was the continent known as North America. Not quite my birthplace, but pretty close considering the infinitely vast distances I'd traveled. The where part of the equation was settled, but the when remained a mystery.

There it was again; another drawn out scream that slashed at the night like a razor. If the darkness could bleed I'd be drenched in blood. Whoever it was, she was in immense pain. Was she being interrogated or tortured; did she need to be rescued? To not immediately involve myself in whatever was happening hurt me to my core, and I was desperate to leap in but exercised restraint and kept looking for clues.

I was in a narrow pasture surrounded by towering trees, and off to the east was the soft melody of a spring or slow moving river. To the best of my ability I discerned that it was somewhere over in that area that the shrieks originated. I took several tentative steps, my eyes constantly probing the deepest shadows until the outline of a manmade structure could be distinguished. I crept quietly forward. It was a tented lean-to, using a combination of animal hides and evergreen boughs. Low moans were emanating from it, and I was about to rush right in when I was stopped by the presence of a man suddenly directly in front of me.

"Friend?" he asked, sweeping his right hand across his heart. I replayed the last several minutes in my mind, wanting to know how he could have gotten so close without me detecting him. He stood less than five feet away, an intense look creasing his brow. "Or foe?"

I recovered my senses, carefully considering my next move. In my line of work, making initial contact can be a dicey proposition, and what has been said about first impressions is no cliché; empires can change hands or the slow tides of history can shift based on those introductory moments. I held my hands together in prayer-posture, bowed my head slightly and lowered my eyes. "Friend. Name's Jedediah Jodat."

A smile filled his eyes as he mimicked my greeting. "I am called Pucksinwah. You have come on a night blessed by the Great Spirit. My woman is suffering trouble. Come; sit with me, smoke with me."

"What is this place?" I asked, walking alongside him.

A guttural laugh rolled off his tongue. "Land of the devil wind."

It triggered a memory in me so I knew it meant something, but my brain was having difficulty accessing the relevant file. "You live here?"

"We were going to big tribal council at Chalahgawtha," he gestured off toward the northwest, "when the pains came on strong."

We settled easily on a log situated beside the lean-to. There were two women inside; one was coaxing and comforting the other, whose voice was a steady groan. Pucksinwah's woman was pregnant and the travail of labor was heavy on her. I had some training in birthing a baby, but instinctively surmised that an invitation to help was required in this situation. Sometimes even an out of this world interventionist like me has enough sense to respect certain boundaries; sometimes, but not all that often. Just then a lone coyote howled in the woods close-by and as the echo dispersed, I scrutinized my newfound friend.

Pucksinwah was a noble man. He was dressed in buckskins and a colorful bandana wreathed his head like a crown. He unfolded his kit on his lap with reverence; he murmured a litany of sacred words, handling the long-stemmed pipe and strong-smelling tobacco with a ceremonial flourish. I was happy to be seated near him, and hoped that we could journey together for a stretch of time.

The fervency inside the lean-to was becoming increasingly urgent and agonizing. Pucksinwah appeared distracted by it. He cautiously set the smoking paraphernalia down, and then held his hands before him, palms turned upward. His woman shouted a loud, straining grunt. At that exact moment, straight above us, an extraordinary path of fire sliced its way across the starry sky; it was clear and magnificent, lighting up the pasture like a mighty torch had been ignited in our midst. As the fiery streak flamed itself out, a baby wailed its first cry.

Pucksinwah's eyes enlarged into awe-filled circles. He hurried into the lean-to. When he came out, a newborn soaked with gooey slime and tiny flecks of blood, was gently cradled in his left arm. "Friend Jedediah, meet my son. Tecumseh, meaning Shooting Star."

My memory files came into alignment. It was the mid-eighteenth century. Irony was personified; this child born in the glory of heaven's invocation would achieve greatness and tragedy. He was destined to die in a meaningless battle of a long forgotten war, never knowing if God was on his side or if he was on God's side. Apparently, the universal lesson to be learned is that births and deaths are messy affairs.

~The End~

Traveler - Episode One

What follows is a piece of short fiction. It is the first installment in the ongoing story of a character whose life will be told in snapshots. It is presently referred to as the Traveler Series. More to come, dependent on inspiration & time.

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~Interiors~

He didn't move. He was big and ugly, and he didn't move. There was no telltale rising or falling of his chest. I kept looking at him, waiting for a sign of breathing, but there was none. He had a flattened out nose that'd fractured his face long before I ever landed an overhand right, but now, with his neck twisted at an impossible angle, blood and mucous flowed from the mashed nostrils.

Barroom mix-ups are guaranteed to keep hangers-on satisfied, and this one proved true to form. The gathered crowd was mostly humanoid, but there were a few freaks and geeks masquerading as intelligent life. I'd been here before; it was a basement gin-mill off the Grand Concourse, but things had changed and the time factor was all wrong. Whether it was reverse or fast-forward worried my mind. I surveyed the room, and though I did not know when I was, I knew exactly what planet I was on, and it was clear I had no friends amongst the gawkers.

The trouble had started because of a woman. Isn't that the norm? Look at most fights or jackpots and one soon discovers a woman right in the thick of it all. This one was still standing near the bar, acting as if none of the brouhaha had anything to do with her as she sipped a drink with one of those stupid umbrellas in it. She was black-eyed and all circles; circles that curved so perfectly that males of any species had difficulty focusing on anything except her top or bottom, depending on whether she was coming or going. I could feel her eyes zeroed in on me as I sucked in a lungful and tried to surmise my next move.

"What's this all about?" a snaggle-toothed Pandorian asked, bulling through the crowd. Pandorians have their own look and charm; this one could have been the poster-boy for the regime's eugenics movement. Tall and rail-thin, he had a crane-like neck topped off by a huge head covered with clumpy vines of hair that climbed up and all around bulgy reptilian eyes. There was a bit of bad luck news for me in his appearance; he was a Pandora Patroller, wearing the weaponry and regalia that signified a high rank. I wanted to jump, but did not control that function, so there would be no escaping this without some bureaucratic crappola. There'd been no illegal activities lately, but the possibility of something from the past tracking me down was an ever-present reality.

"That one," the bartender jabbed a stubby finger at me, "punched the ugly guy on the floor and kilt him dead."

Nice guy; like he couldn't have sugarcoated it a little.

The Patroller eyeballed me: "Is that right?"

Who's asking, pal?" I queried, somewhat snidely. My innocuous question was punctuated by an audible gasp from the onlookers.

The snaggle-toothed Pandorian's shallow chest swelled to its full volume of authority. "Constable Cade," he growled, hands resting on the butts of the tied-down guns holstered on his hips. "You got ID papers?"

"None that'd be helpful at this time," I replied, giving him a shrug.

His head tilted and the bushy thatch of hair above his eyes crept into a quizzical expression. "What happened here?"

"The joker on the floor was hassling the lady," I said, jerking a thumb at the classy broad. "I simply came to her defense."

It was then that Cade noticed her. His attention riveted on that sweet spot between the top circles, lingering long enough to be obvious, and then he recovered and his eyes leveled on her face. "Is that right?"

"If he says so," she answered in a voice all soft and husky.

Cade turned to me. "You got a name?"

"Officer, I'm just passing through on my way to someplace else."

He stepped closer, towering over me. "You got a name, mister?"

There was no sense dodging the inevitable, so hoping against hope, I hitched in air and released it with a hiss. "Jodat. Jedediah Jodat."

A murmur buzzed through the room as whispers turned into little gasps of gossipy recognition. Tension cranked up in the joint when all of a sudden Constable Cade had one of his SW Lasers aimed at my belly. Now a reputation is a helluva thing; it can get distorted and have little resemblance to the facts of one's character. I'm one of the good guys; I happen to have a propensity for intervening in situations that are none of my business, and that flaw often results in misunderstandings.

"You are under arrest, Mr. Jodat," Constable Cade declared loudly.

"On what charge?" asked the dame with the pretty circles.

I nodded. "That's a fair question. All I did was help the lady."

"There's Intergalactic Fliers on you up to ying yang," Cade replied, keeping the pistol pointed at my gut. "I could select a charge out of the blue and make it stick, so let's move along before anyone else gets hurt."

"Hang on a minute," I said, wanting to jawbone. "There was that incident on Delancey Street awhile back, but I'm completely innocent."

"Incident on Delancey Street? Is that what you call murder?"

"Murder is such a nasty word, Constable Cade."

"Truth sometimes has that quality."

"Any charges from the Delancey Street incident are bogus," I said flatly. "All I was doing was helping a lady out of jam."

"You do have your own particular pattern, don'tcha?"

I shrugged and resigned myself to the present circumstances. It'd all be history soon; there was no rhyme or rhythm to it, but sure enough, I'd jump someplace else. Constable Cade escorted me out, and quick as quick can be, I'd been processed, and was sitting inside a concrete walled box on Pandora. It's a funny thing. No matter when or where one is misunderstood, the interiors of jail cells are always the same.

~The End~

Let It Rain

"I want to know, have you ever seen the rain?
Comin down on a sunny day?"

~John Fogerty~

 

So I was plugging away minding my own business when this old Credence Clearwater Revival song came over the airwaves, taking me somewhat by surprise.  A couple old friends used to cover it at a place called Beans, Books & Beliefs in the wilds of Illinois.

 

Just for purely nostalgic reasons it gets rated as a great tune, but metaphorically speaking, it makes me think.  Rain on a sunny day can be a picture of troubles coming out of the blue to knock one off-track, which is the way I have often considered the lyrics.

 

However, then a guy named Todd Agnew wrote some words that puts the concept of rain on a sunny day into a whole new light:  "Hallelujah, grace like rain falls down on me..."

 

All of a sudden Fogerty's imagery is transformed & instead of being something to avoid, seeing rain on a sunny day is great good news.  Have you ever seen the rain comin down on a sunny day?  Hallelujah, grace like rain falls down on me!

 

Let it rain.  Amen.  And amen. 

Bye & Bye

"I'm rollin' slow - I'm doing all I know

I'm tellin' myself I found true happiness

That I've still got a dream that hasn't been repossessed

I'm rollin' slow, goin' where the wild roses grow..."

~Bob Dylan~

 

Dreams get repossessed or die all the time; in my experience & observation that is the norm on planet earth; in a corrupt & sin-racked world dreams die hard.  Tragedy kills a dream; heartbreaking circumstances repossesses a dream & no one ever chooses tragedy or heartaches or dream-killing circumstances.

 

Life never turns out as we plan because sooner or later something we have no control over hits us.  The death of a loved one; job loss; a doctor's diagnosis; a family member drops a bombshell; a broken relationship; an accident.  Sooner or later, something comes out of nowhere to knock us off the plan & repossess our dream.  Life is not fair; sometimes the hardness of life can hit us like a frieght train.

 

Here's the thing:  It is in the wreckage of those times of trial & testing that our character is shaped.  How we sort through the debris is our choice & there's always a place of blue skies because no matter what, as long as we're breathing the sun will come out tomorrow.

 

Life goes on.  Bye & bye, dreams are reborn, reinvigorated or reshaped where the wild roses grow.  And so the journey goes.

Crossroads

"Go to the busiest crossroads you know, and try to notice everything: all the people, the cars, the buses, the colours, the noises, the clouds, the birds, the spaces. Notice the impatience. Now picture the cross on which Jesus died as a crossroads of people, time and place; a physical crossroads through which at some time all people pass. Understand the cross as a meeting-place of all history with God, the source of all love, forgiveness and peace."

~Aidan Clarke~

The above quote is culled from Celtic Daily Prayer; it was one of this morning's readings. A profound idea that is worthy of meditation.

May the cross of Calvary be the crossroads of your life; may you be blessed & encouraged standing at the crossroads doing what the prophet Jeremiah recommended: This is what the LORD says: "Stand at the crossroads and look; ask for the ancient paths, ask where the good way is, and walk in it, and you will find rest for your souls. But you said, 'We will not walk in it.'

Lord, help us to walk in the good ways where we will find rest for our souls. Amen. And amen.

Together Through Life

"Some people they tell me
I got the blood of the land in my voice..."
~Bob Dylan~

Ain't that the truth. Maybe always has been, though I admit my bias up front. I discovered him in 1969 when I was not quite fourteen & have never stopped listening.

Together Through Life, Dylan's 33rd solo album arrived in my mail-box today. I presently have it cranked up loud & am in the process of playing its grooves off. The lyrics above are cut from a song called I Feel A Change Comin' On.

His voice is world weary & ravaged, grumbling & cutting its way through brilliant lyrics that carry weight; his voice has become the battered growl of a master bluesman. When the lyrics require it, he can still deliver lines with an audible sneer. There are no apocalyptic musings on this gem, but rather, carefully crafted story songs about ordinary people's lusts & heartaches.

Very bluesy stuff, with rollicking bar-band guitar licks accentuating snickering accordion riffs on most songs.

It's a four-star piece of artistic genius. And so the journey goes.

Working Theory

Here's a working theory:

Teddy Roosevelt was an extremely gifted politician. He cultivated & had the support of what today would be termed the "far-right". In his presidency he took them on & managed to keep them reasonably placated while he governed from the center; in doing so he had some accomplishments that greatly benefited the regular folks.

Barack Obama cultivated & has the support of the "far-left". If he has the stones to take them on while managing to keep them reasonably placated as he governs from the center, he actually has an opportunity to deal effectively with some of the big issues in a way that may actually result in genuine change in a positive direction.

So far I have not seen him demonstrate a willingness or the political backbone to stand up to Pelosi or Reid or the far-left loons.

But what do I know?

Did God Really Say?

"Desperado apostates set fire to every holy word we've heard

Silence billows from the burning book and offers prayer without words..."

~Mary Gauthier~

We were created for a dual purpose: To love and worship God; to love and serve each other. The ancient Hebrew prophet Micah wrote: “What does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.” Doing justice must be a benchmark for the conduct of our lives. At its foundation, justice compels us to seriously apply the Golden Rule to all our relationships: “Do to others as you would have them do to you.”

Yet, when push comes to shove or when the cost is too high, it seems we are always back in the garden asking a variation of the same question: "Did God really say?" And we let ourselves off the hook of God's Word far too easily. The standard Jesus of Nazareth set is extremely high, but rather than dismiss it or do linguistic dances around common sense language, with God being our helper, we are to press on, striving to live our lives as prayers without words.