The statistics are familiar. In 1970, 85.2 percent of children under 18 lived in a two-parent family. In 2005, it was 68.3 percent and dropping. Forty percent of births in America are to unwed parents. Broken down by ethnic group, the figures are 30 percent among whites, 50 percent for Hispanics and 70 percent for blacks.
Friday Mumford and Sons…
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Sign of the Times…
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They'll look at us…
probably rushing in at the last moment, and we’ll look at them. We both know they have to do this before they roll the cots out for the night, Plug in, sound check, ready to go.
It’s amazing how young some of them are. What could you have possibly done to get cut loose so quickly? The old guys will be there too, a trail of lost people and jobs and homes behind them. Wine in the morning Jesus at night before bed. While there’s breath there’s hope, even if the breath smells like Night Train.
Our little band is part of the parade too. The preachers, the singers, the good, the bad, the ugly, the fervent, the shouters, and the people who pretend we know what its like to have to listen to us. Every Wednesday, just before bed, we descend on the Gospel Mission to have our say. Treasures in clay vessels all of us with a captive audience that just wants to go to bed.
Yet no matter how badly we do it, or how well, it still is true, even if we look stupid up there. Jesus saves. Whether we have a home tonight or not. Whether we’ve bounced along the surface of life or sunk through the waters. Regardless of which side of the pulpit we stand. Jesus saves.
We know going in that we’ll mostly be ignored. We understand and we’ll try not to stink the place up too bad before the folks go to bed. Yet as we play and our lead singer says a few words understand that we, I suppose, have better things to do as well except for the fact that we know one thing. Jesus saves.Even if you’re the skinny guy with the pink hair or the man who hasn’t much time yet before the liver just plain quits or the guy up on stage with the bass who somehow got out of it all before the worst could happen.
Jesus saves, and if just one figures that out tonight, or even starts to figure it out, we’ll play until our fingers bleed. It, and they, are worth it.
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A Poem for Tuesday…
The Parson’s Son by Robert William Service
This is the song of the parson’s son, as he squats in his shack alone,
On the wild, weird nights, when the Northern Lights shoot up from the frozen zone,
And it’s sixty below, and couched in the snow the hungry huskies moan:
On the wild, weird nights, when the Northern Lights shoot up from the frozen zone,
And it’s sixty below, and couched in the snow the hungry huskies moan:
“I’m one of the Arctic brotherhood, I’m an old-time pioneer.
I came with the first — O God! how I’ve cursed this Yukon — but still I’m here.
I’ve sweated athirst in its summer heat, I’ve frozen and starved in its cold;
I’ve followed my dreams by its thousand streams, I’ve toiled and moiled for its gold.
“Look at my eyes — been snow-blind twice; look where my foot’s half gone;
And that gruesome scar on my left cheek, where the frost-fiend bit to the bone.
Each one a brand of this devil’s land, where I’ve played and I’ve lost the game,
A broken wreck with a craze for `hooch’, and never a cent to my name.
“This mining is only a gamble; the worst is as good as the best;
I was in with the bunch and I might have come out right on top with the rest;
With Cormack, Ladue and Macdonald — O God! but it’s hell to think
Of the thousands and thousands I’ve squandered on cards and women and drink.
“In the early days we were just a few, and we hunted and fished around,
Nor dreamt by our lonely camp-fires of the wealth that lay under the ground.
We traded in skins and whiskey, and I’ve often slept under the shade
Of that lone birch tree on Bonanza, where the first big find was made.
“We were just like a great big family, and every man had his squaw,
And we lived such a wild, free, fearless life beyond the pale of the law;
Till sudden there came a whisper, and it maddened us every man,
And I got in on Bonanza before the big rush began.
“Oh, those Dawson days, and the sin and the blaze, and the town all open wide!
(If God made me in His likeness, sure He let the devil inside.)
But we all were mad, both the good and the bad, and as for the women, well —
No spot on the map in so short a space has hustled more souls to hell.
“Money was just like dirt there, easy to get and to spend.
I was all caked in on a dance-hall jade, but she shook me in the end.
It put me queer, and for near a year I never drew sober breath,
Till I found myself in the bughouse ward with a claim staked out on death.
“Twenty years in the Yukon, struggling along its creeks;
Roaming its giant valleys, scaling its god-like peaks;
Bathed in its fiery sunsets, fighting its fiendish cold —
Twenty years in the Yukon . . . twenty years — and I’m old.
“Old and weak, but no matter, there’s `hooch’ in the bottle still.
I’ll hitch up the dogs to-morrow, and mush down the trail to Bill.
It’s so long dark, and I’m lonesome — I’ll just lay down on the bed;
To-morrow I’ll go . . . to-morrow . . . I guess I’ll play on the red.
“. . . Come, Kit, your pony is saddled. I’m waiting, dear, in the court . . .
. . . Minnie, you devil, I’ll kill you if you skip with that flossy sport . . .
. . . How much does it go to the pan, Bill? . . . play up, School, and play the game . . .
. . . Our Father, which art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name . . .”
This was the song of the parson’s son, as he lay in his bunk alone,
Ere the fire went out and the cold crept in, and his blue lips ceased to moan,
And the hunger-maddened malamutes had torn him flesh from bone.
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Some times…
I just walk outside saying nothing, looking around, going where I want. No problem. I’m just pondering. I like pondering.
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It was good…
to be in church this morning. There wasn’t much I could do, my sinus infection is just now beginning to break, but being present with holy things is a good kind of medicine. At times in the history of the Church people would actually sleep on the grounds or in the buildings of a parish when they were ill, now people seem to get a sniffle or two and stay away. I guess my experience is different, to be anywhere Christ is, is always better than staying at home in bed.
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FYI…
Been under the weather for some days. I’m making the Kleenex company profitable one day at a time. Oh well.
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Worth Considering…
The Church, Vertical and Horizontal
Father Vladimir Berzonsky – Word Magazine, May 1967
“Now when Jesus was at Bethany in the house of Simon the leper, a woman came up to him with . . . ointment, and she poured it on his head as he sat at table. But when the disciple saw it, (they said) “Why this waste? This ointment might have been sold for a large sum and given to the poor. Jesus said … ‘She has done a beautiful thing to me. For the poor you always have with you, but you will not always have me.’” (Matt. 26:6)
Generally, there are two types of critics of the Church, both of whom see the Church imperfectly.
On the one side, there are the activists, whose idea of Christianity is almost exclusively that of social welfare. They see the need for action and reform at every level of society. Salvation as a goal is replaced by human improvement. Christianity is to witness to the world its concern for humanity.
The Church for the activists fails because it concerns itself with dogmatic Truths that are not “relevant” for “modern man.” The Church as an institution no longer “relates” to society; therefore, it must redeem itself.
At the other extreme are the contemplatives, who see everything in the light of eternity. This world is sinful and corrupt; it has always been so, and will be this way until the Second Coming. All this will pass, so there is no need to be concerned about world conditions… “God will provide” is their motto, so we waste our time getting involved in the world.
These people see no relation between the Holy Altar and the beggar at the church steps. For them, society is irrelevant. Even the care and provision for the Church’s welfare is not their concern. If we have Faith, we will endure until the end.
Neither the activists nor the contemplatives are right. Each without the other distorts the meaning of Christianity.
We must remind the activists that Christ came not just to improve the world, but to change it radically from within. He calls for a transformation, a total death and rebirth. We agree that He identifies Himself with the poor, the sick, the thirsty, those in prison, and “the least of these, my brethren;” (Matt. 26:45). Yet, this is not enough. Charity and concern are Christian virtues, but they do not exhaust the meaning of God’s Plan for redemption in Jesus Christ.
In His every act and word, Jesus Christ was presenting the Kingdoms of God. Those with eyes and ears open could contrast that Kingdom with this world. The impact of His coming can never be reduced to social welfare.
On the other hand, the implications of the Incarnation make us aware that God is concerned for every atom of His universe. This world is worth saving and helping. Everything matters. To love God is to love His world, and every living thing in it. We have to be concerned, because He is crucially concerned.
The Church is vertical, looking to God and waiting on His mercy, and at the same time it is horizontal, sharing the gracious gifts of God with those who share our world. The Church must always reach out in both dimensions.
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We have this thing…
in Minnesota we call a “gawker’s block”. It’s about what happens on the commute when an accident occurs and everyone slows down or stops to take a look. The police are there, the ambulance is present, the fire department is on scene but somehow we feel that our own presence is needed to make everything better.
There are more and more sites on the www dedicated to the various troubles in various Orthodox jurisdictions here in the US. To the extent they may be the first ones to dial 911 at the scene they probably provide a service. But after that I think they rapidly become more like “Gawker’s Block”, just a bunch of people staring at the wreckage and slowing up traffic in the process.
Yes, sometimes I’m bothered by what I see and I want to do what I can to help. I speak. I write. I pray. Yet slowing down and staring at the scene, I’m not sure how helpful that is. God knows what’s going on, there is nothing hidden that will not be revealed matter how long or short your title may be.
Just pray, and drive on.
