Take one person, marinade for years in a culture of entitlement, consumption, and violence.

Remove transcendent moral values.

Add emotional instability.

Let simmer until ready…

Occasionally on my travels I’ll listen to the news, but not much anymore because it grows more and more like an excercise in futility with truth as the first casualty.

But the news seems to be teaching one thing. The generation leading us now is a generation of style over substance, emotion over intellect, and selfishness over the common good. They are locked in a permanent childhood and have yet to, and probably never will, transcend themselves. And we’re stuck with them.

Until the time the generation that came of age in the 60’s passes this Earth and sanity returns we cannot depend on them to morally or spiritually lead us and should not trust thier opinions on anything of substance, and a lot of other stuff as well. The best, perhaps, we can do is pray they will not do so much damage that the years of repair will seem overwhelming.

For now we have to begin to build a new order of life rooted in the very things the hippies turned senators reject, the idea of transcendent truth and unchanging goodness. It will be hard at first because the amoral but powerful have no problem with using force to achieve thier ends when people refuse to bow to thier gods. We’ll have to be second class citizens for a while, absorb thier fury, and quietly build behind the scenes and wait.

The demographics are on our side. And so is truth. Already we see the absurdity of a philosophy (if it can be called that) rooted only in the satisfaction of urges. As time goes on the disastrous results we already see will become more acute and the emptiness of people’s lives will bear stark witness to the failure of an idea.

When that time comes, and it appears to be soon, there will be something there, deeply defined and already in practice to breathe new life into the corpse of our culture. And it will be beyond mere politics or economics or any of the ways power is manipulated, even thought it will transform them all, because it will be a revolution of the spirit, a reconnection with the wisdom of faith over time, a change in the very heart of people and not just thier environment.

Already every painful headline shouts out the death of an old way of being and a call to something, to Someone who will make all things new.

Take a minute to turn off your TV and you’ll understand.

Occasionally I will get a person or two coming in to my office to talk about the recent loss of my brother. Invariably it’s a very awkward conversation.

First there’s the initial expression of condolences and a pause followed by whatever seems to be on the top of the comforter’s head about death. They had an uncle who died just like my brother, they may say, or they want a detailed report on all of the events. I stare blankly ahead, thank them for thier thoughts and just wait for the spool to unwind.

They mean well but what can they really say? It’s the tragic part of dying suddenly and young, the loss of the usual comforting words. They want to help, to make it all go away, but how? It’s done, there is no going back and nothing of what brought us to this point can be changed.

Yet the awkward words, the tales of how death touched them, or the need to know all the small details has within its rough shell a seed of good will, of kinship in the face of the mystery of death, and a desire for connection. Even the most eloquent among us are left stammering at the reality of it all so why expect more from the regular folks?

So please don’t be disappointed if I don’t react to your words in any way you think I should, or in any way at all. Truthfully I’ve heard it all before so the words themselves are meaningless, the voice of Charlie Brown’s teacher. But I will remember that you thought enough to drop in, and that is what matters most. It’s so precious to me that I’ll even try to pay attention to the story of how your cousin died so you’ll know that beyond the words I’m trying to share something with you as well.

Whenever you manage to get the carrot there will always be another, on a longer stick.

Count on it.

An article from Terry Mattingly about a campus rebellion still mostly under the radar; young women, Christian and others, speaking out against the party til you puke then hook up realities of college life.

It’s well worth the reading.

Here

Everyone has a thing or two that make them wonder.

Recently, and that means within the past few years, something has stuck in my thoughts like a missed fish bone. Something about the finite nature of humanity and the infinity of God.

The world has always been a kind of insanity and the present is certainly no less than the past. Its what you get when limited beings, and the longer I live the more limited people (myself included) seem, are in charge of anything. In the cosmic state of things we are, even the best of us, amoebas swimming about in a sea of emotion, sin, illogic, and animal instincts while charged with the task of caring for this blue dot in space and finding a way to share a common existence.

Frankly, we’ve screwed it up and the whole of human history is a chain of mistakes strung together with a moment or two of where the soulish beauty of our design shines through. All the poetry on the exalted state of man is a dream at best, a dream that tortures us with the reality of our actual state, and a deceit at worst.

And God knows it.

The Psalmist says of God “He knows our frame, he remembers that we are dust…” (Psalm 103). And it is there that I wonder about things.

I wonder why we humans, who are the scourge of this planet and so very mortal and limited, have been allowed to sink this far this fast. Our leaders and all who follow seem demented on a primal level. We are violent and brutish and given to things that even the animals, who are often our moral superiors, cannot comprehend. What kind of being decapitates another on television or builds a bomb capable of snuffing out all existence?

And I wonder why God doesn’t stop all of this, an act requiring a twitch of his will. We need to be protected from ourselves, from the cesspool of our imaginations and the will to evil that pervades our lives. We tiny, finite, beings, so small and yet so filled with darkness are helpless in the face of ourselves. Why does God not choose to keep us from that in the same way a humane person seeks to ease the suffering of an incomprehending animal?

They say it is all about choice and freedom, the desire of God to be in loving relationship with beings capable of deciding for that union. But when is it enough? When will this power, this freedom, have done so much damage that God has to intervene in the same way a parent tries to keep thier addled child from continuously pulling the boiling water on the stove over thier head?

Sometimes I wonder.

There is a place, when your journeys take you into northern Minnesota, where it feels like you’ve really made the break with the ant hill world of cities and arrived safely on a shore beautiful and foreign because it is so unlike the world you inhabit for most of your days.

Its not a geographical marker, like a dot on the map, but rather a moment when you realize the quality of things have changed, that which is around you and that which is in your heart and soul. Perhaps its putting the suburban mess in your rear view mirror. Maybe its just passing through a small town in that sweet place between farm and lake. A bird in the sky may mark the spot, but so may the first real clump of flaming birches. You just know it when you feel it.

And when we arrive there are moments when time seems to stop and all we know is the sun and sky and the sound of the water and the wind blowing through the trees. A silence is there even if we are surrounded by people, a silence inside rooted in all things properly alligned. It is like a moment of Eden.

What pushes us to leave such a place, to abandon such a state for something we know deep inside is less? The whirling world where all is competition and the beginnings of ulcers. What drags us from the simplicity, the silence, the sounds of wind and water, the voices of children, and the calls of birds unanswered?

Perhaps the angel of that first Eden, the one with a flaming sword guarding its gates and keeping the guilty away from paradise, is also within us. So we feel compelled, by some force, to leave the beautiful, the sublime, the holy, and those moments when all things seem one for the world of cars and sirens and mindless scurrying, and things for the sake of things.

And we hardly ever ask why.

Can be found here.

It just may be possible that in a world where politicians and clerics seem engaged in a perverse contest to see who can bow the lowest before the latest self appointed Sultan the strongest man in the world could be the one in a white cassock and armed only with faith, conviction, and a keen intellect.

Love him, hate him, or somewhere in between, one thing is certain. Pope Benedict has more courage than any leader in the western world at the moment, more than spineless western politicians deluded with utopian political correctness, and certainly more than any of the screaming fanatics burning his effigy.

How I wish we had his like among the Orthodox!