To Lie in Thought

In which our hero contemplates aloud for your amusement.


What is a lie?

It's a fairly straight forward question, at its root. It is a request for the definition of a term or word used exceptionally frequently in our common parlance. Webster stirs up a mote of dust and from the confines of its now digital storehouse of definitions of words historical, nonsensical, and fictional it drudges these phrases:

1. 1a :  an assertion of something known or believed by the speaker or writer to be untrue with intent to deceive -He told a lie to avoid punishment.b :  an untrue or inaccurate statement that may or may not be believed true by the speaker or writer -the lies we tell ourselves to feel better -historical records containing numerous lies
2. 2:  something that misleads or deceives -His show of remorse was a lie.
3. 3:  a charge of lying (see lie)
4. -Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary

So then, following these, and similar phrases to be found addressing the use of this word in our vernacular, we arrive at the stab of my thoughts:

Do lies exist?

I realize, having just defined the matter and even referring to it grants it at least a hypothetical existence. But what you can see in the definitions above, is that a lie finds its existence purely through intent or circumstance, a lie has no existence beyond that it is told. This has lead to the most profound of cultural and rhetorical debates: Do lies exist.

While it is not expressed in such forthright terms, that is what the debate often boils down to. Moral relativism, higher-criticism, aesthetics, and every anti-dogmatic mood swing of our culture all have this question at there core. If the truth, in any of its interpretations such as true art, theology, or morals is subject to the cultural mores and preferences, then it follows that the inverse of the truth, a lie, must be so also subject.

But then we have to return to those definitions, we know that mankind hasn't stopped acting in ways intended to deceive, or that a mis-recorded date, place-name, or event is somehow true now, even if it was false when recorded. So how is it that lies can be objective, recognized in their intent or ignorance, and subjective, constantly under  the influence of the pervading winds of society?

This, then, is where my own foibly thought process began.

Lies don't exist

But not for the reason people like to think.

It is not that lies can't exist because all things are relative and there is n absolute truth, for this defies our very existence. If indeed we think, therefore we are, then that is an objective truth. Similarly we are going to suffer a physical death.* Oh, we may postpone it indefinitely, but the universe is ending and I'm pretty sure it would take us with it.

*Barring the end of days and the return of Jesus

Anyone who argues for absolute relativism is arguing in a circle. To state that everything is relative insists that there are things in relation, which means they hold existence of some kind, which means they are objectively real.

However, if something is true does the inverse have to hold true that there are false things?

A falsehood is a paradox, the existence of something which finds its definition in not existing

The existence of lies is the only lie. Or rather, the only lie is that there is anything other than the truth. There are no alternative facts, no probable explanations, no half-truisms, only the truth and the lie. Every lie has to contain elements of the truth, even if only minuscule fragments, in order to have any existence. A lie does not have an independent, objective existence because it can only be rendered using things that are true.

Truth does not share this quality. When you open the box the cat will either be dead or alive regardless of whether or not you know the answer. The lie of the inverse of the Truth, the possibility that only exists because we base it off of the reality. The knowledge of Good and evil did not add to man's knowledge, it only removed his ability to always see the Truth, the Good. Mankind has always had freewill, but now he cannot determine which decision is of the Good, the True, and the Helpful, but rather his will is caught in a quagmire of confused and confounded reasoning.

Or perhaps, if you prefer, if Truth is not the only objective reality, then it is all in vain. There is no point to life, love, hope, or any emotion or thought.

You may prefer that, but I will premise my life on the Corner Stone that is rejected by the constructs of the logical and regarded as foolishness by the wise.

For that Corner Stone is the Way, the Truth, and the Light. In Him is found no deceit. He exists without contradiction, without admitting a lie into His existence. True God and True Man, the only True Man, bearing the image and likeness of God perfectly, not dividing the Godhead, nor confusing the substance, for to do such would be to create a contradiction within the Truth. 

God gave His only Son, born of the Virgin, born under the Law to redeem those who were under the Law, those who cannot hold the truth in ourselves of our own will. He sent His Helper, the Spirit of Truth to guide us into all Truth. Without this Paraclete there would be no knowledge of the Truth in our world of relative truths and half-truisms. To us, who by rights belong to out father the Devil, the father of lies; with whom we joined in willful rebellion when we first allowed for anything other than the express Truth, when we decided to make for ourselves a truth. 

Every sin is the perversion of good things, the taking of something we have not been given but that has been given. There are no victimless crimes, no innocuous lies, no happy mediums for peace. Compromise is premised on disagreement and all it does is deny inconvenient truths.

Thanks be to God that he does not treat us as our falsehoods merit. That even as we tell lies to ourselves, suppressing our consciences to hide from our own guilt, the Truth within us, God's Law written on our hearts, God still clothes and feeds us. He provides us with whatever it is that we require, even though we cannot always and fully understand the good that they do us.

So, that's where those thoughts wound around to end up plastered on the screen before you. I hope you enjoyed perusing them.

Peace in our time

“Would that you, even you, had known the things that make for peace!”

These words were uttered by Our Lord as he gazed on Jerusalem, the City of Peace; the hope of a long estranged people, the harbor of faith, and the place of the mercy seat: the Temple.

Would that we, even we, should know the things that make for peace.

But we don’t.

Jesus words ring not only as a lament for His Kingdom’s namesake city, but also for all cities. Who has known the things that made for peace?

The philosophers of countless ages have sought through political, rhetorical, spiritual, and scientific inquiry to establish what made for peace. They have held up moderation, good habits (ethics), political structure, moralism, relativism, fascism, communism, democracy, republics, monarchies, empires, tribes, clans, families, and egoism, amongst any number of other ideas and tactics to achieve peace.

The substantial instigating plot element of the Avengers movie series has been a simple little mantra, perhaps only explicitly voiced in Ultron by Tony Stark: “Peace in our time”. The promise of the end of war, political prosperity; universal health, wealth, and justice for all. The films then play out the consequence of that hope, and beg audiences to debate over whose version of achieving piece, or at least pursuing the good of mankind, is more soundly premised in “Civil War”.

But I digress; this isn’t about the Avengers, but good storytelling does stab to the heart of human worries and cares.

What then can make for peace? In recent memory the internet has been flooded with news stories of violence. Whether incited by terrorists, madmen, gangs, crusaders, or those we trust to protect us, there doesn’t seem to be a time when we are not regaled with the tales of the atrocities our race can commit.

At every turn the internet rises up to combat these crises; whether it does so with despair, anger, vengeance, calls for change, or with self-righteousness depends mostly on whether or not the atrocity has the right tags or threads to incite a given group. We are informed more and more vehemently that it is not acceptable that such violence occurs, and that something must change or we will face increasing peril.

The cry rings out ‘Peace!’ and the silence echoes back ‘how?’

We all sit in consternated fury, knitting our brow and reveling in how wrong everyone is about what is wrong with our country, the world, and everyone else; all the while begging the same answer as those we disagree with. We yell, ‘No! Peace!’ and the silence greets us with a low demonic ‘ha, how?’

We, because of our ready access to a panoply of humankind and a wealth of its news and stories, see the death wreaking havoc on every hand. All of our plans and schema fall away and we see the one abiding law of this world: All things are dying.

It’s a dominant theory, expressed in the law of thermodynamics. Many renowned physicists project an inevitable end to all life in the universe, although we can’t pinpoint when. Entropy defines every creature. We want law, but we ignore the one abiding law of man: he dies. We cry for peace, but we always strive for it with swords and barbs against our own brothers. We want change, but we, given time, revert back to the same systems and corruptions, across human history.

We look to the actions of a few foolish, scared, deceived, or evil men and say “see! We can no longer trust them, one of them killed someone!” As if we expected to find a human being capable of not sowing the seeds of his own destruction. We want to make the whole only as strong as its weakest link but we fail to recognize our complicity in expecting anything more than weakness.

If only, we say, we knew the things that make for peace!

We have chosen our bed, and are laid to rest thereupon. The first death amongst mankind came not to the first man Adam, but to his son, Abel. Our race marked our path in the curse with the blood of our brothers, and we have spilled that blood ever since. The blood of our brothers screams from the ground, begging the heavens for justice.

We stagger under the weight of the guilt of tragedies of our world. Any man’s death diminishes us, because we are involved in mankind. The bell has always tolled for us and every knell calls us to our own funeral. We are dead and lost with all the world, caught up in our nature with the Devil and all his band.

But, why would Jesus even ask this of Jerusalem? Why weep for this sad and depraved creation fallen so far from His divine command?

“Would that you, even you, had known the things that make for peace!” Jesus says, standing on a hill outside the city. This is the beginning of Passiontide, and Jesus is entering the city knowing the bloodthirsty rabble waits inside for him. Knowing that they, even they who beg for deliverance from oppression, will turn on their True Brother, shedding His precious blood all the way from the Praetorium, through the streets, onto the bloody hill of Golgotha.

Jesus knows the things that make for peace. He mourns the city that would not know her God, and then enters to be the Prince of Peace. Not by bringing about a restored glorious kingdom of Israel, not by preaching a message of defiance against evil, but by offering a sprinkling of Blood that would speak better things than that of Abel. The city named peace rises up in furor and strikes the Masters heel. The hill of the temple, where people no longer sought peace, was traded for the blood-stained place of the skull.

Our Peace was suspended between earth and heaven, outside the city gates. He was forcibly removed from the place of peace; ejected from the temple mount, the very presence of God’s abiding mercy, and was left to suffer all of Hell’s torments.

Peace died on the cross, surrounded by vagabonds, scoundrels and foes, amid the deriding jeering of his enemies.

But Peace, our Peace, did not stay dead.

Our Lord, Jesus Christ, having laid down His life as a perfect peace offering, takes it back up again to reign forever as our King. Christ knew the cost of peace. It was not a brilliant philosophy; or a great war to end all wars; or even a team of supercharged altruists ready to save the day. What made, makes, and will make for our peace, is His Sacrifice. Our homes were plagued with Death, but Christ has marked the door with his Blood. Our Paschal Lamb was sacrificed for us, not so that we could strive to perfect creation, but so that we would have strength for our Exodus. This world is not our home, and these trials are fleeting.

We do not mourn as those who have no hope. We do not offer the condolences of dying men. Our death is only the gateway into life immortal.

And so we pray. Do not mock those whose only response to tragedy is prayer. They do more in their love and hope than any planning and scheming for policy or revenge. We call out for love, but the only love to bring us lasting peace is the love of Christ. It is in His Love that we trust. He knows the things that make for peace, and He offers them to us openly: Be washed, renewed and named; Hear His word; Speak the words He has given you; Take, eat and drink. Receive a meal without price, which no sower sowed and for which no laborer labored. His cup runneth over and all of the world is invited into the wedding hall, all is made ready. Here, at last, is Peace.

Knowing

In which our hero no doubt will butcher many great thoughts by many thinkers far his superiors as well as his own half baked contemplations......

I realize I have been about as regular about blogging as the Cubs have been about winning baseball games, I seldom have ideas that form themselves completely enough to put into words, and even less often do I have time to commend them to type.

Nonetheless, as I sit here, likely trapped by a cataclysmic *cough*typicalmidwest*cough* snowstorm, I find myself with necessary homework defeated and time before bed. I heard tell there was a ball game on tonight but I am not a Pathawks fan. Therefore I will strive with the dual demons of procrastination and consternation to blog, hopefully for your reading pleasure.



I have just finished reading the "Republic" by Plato. I must confess to knowing much of the content before hand, having had many a prolonged and Whimmish conversation on the material. The reading itself brought me a much stronger appreciation for the essence of the text. As well, I have been aided in the reading with the guidance of a wizened teacher who is quite adamant that he is no professor of philosophy, such a thing being, frankly, impossible.

In Plato's other writings, Socrates insists that the only thing he knows is that he knows nothing. This is a powerful statement, and defines the Socratic method of philosophy. One cannot have thesis, or antithesis, only hypothesis. Everything is a shadow of greater things. The cave, often misinterpreted in modern education as an allegory about perceptions, is all about knowledge. The life of the philosopher is to be the discovery of shapes each more startling than the last, and light sources each more striking and blinding. But at the end of the allegory,  Socrates points out that the Sun, the ultimate source of light for humanity, is still not the root source of light.

The light, which is both itself and a symbol of truth or goodness, has some other source, and philosophy then is to delve and contemplate the attributes of this source. Socrates, however, has bad news for all of us knowledge seekers: there is no finding this source. Knowledge of anything, is immortal, and like our understanding of dimensions, nothing mortal can grasp that which is immortal.

Socrates does have more to say about knowledge, however. Socrates knows the things of the flesh. He knows of erotic things, desires, hungers, fears. These things he knows. Men are intimately acquainted with the knowledge of the flesh.

It is for this reason then that he establishes all of his regimes under precepts which restrain the flesh, all of which, he says, are doomed to failure and can never succeed. He describes a healthy city, full of just men who mind their own labors and don't meddle in the labors of others, and immediately the young man say it is a boring city, without relish or comfort. They want lavishness, luxuries, and extravagances. They want the feverish city, doomed to self slavery, oligarchy, democratic license,  and finally tyranny. No amount of Music, Gymnastic, Culture, or Mathematics can prevent this slow death of the city by humanity. Socrates could not give the young men a logical reason for why they should be just. He finishes his narrative with a myth about Hades, in which Odysseus says he would rather live the life of a quiet just man. Socrates doesn't have their answer, there is no answer to their question.

Men know, they know their impulses, and more importantly, we know that we are dying. We know we shouldn't, we aren't made for it. We fight it, we strive all our lives for immortality, whether in our children, our work, or in our sciences. We seek after a life that will outlast this feeble frame that could not know anything other than the desires which we so often let rule it.

But I know this, I know that my Redeemer lives.

Man cannot grasp the immortal, he cannot reach it in his mortal weakness, but the Immortal reached down and joined humanity. He bound Himself to our desire ridden flesh, but was not subject to it.

This is the knowledge that brings immortality. There are no Socratic Christian Philosophers, because you can't start with the question 'what is justice?' when you confess the Sacrificed King. When the demands of justice were fulfilled by the only Man who has ever done His duty, and not that of any other man. For just as doctors are to be consulted for sicknesses, only the Son of God, and Him crucified could redeem His fallen world.

Christ is Risen, and there is no other knowledge, of things above the earth or things under the earth, by which men are saved.

I hope you enjoyed reading my rambles. Thanks for making it to the end.

The Conduct of the Service

In which our hero speaks in the late evening, concerning the things of his morning....


This morning, as is my joyous custom, I went to church.

Big surprise, right?

This week, Kantor is gone and thus it was necessary for me to take up the duties normally performed by the choir; that is, the chanting of the Introit, Gradual, and Alleluia. I sat in the choir loft and performed my duties in their due order.

However, herein lies the rub.
I am having serious voice trouble. I don't know what caused it, but during a rehearsal last week I felt something odd in my voice, and it has been hit and miss ever since. My voice teacher chalked it up to fatigue and stress, and, with hope, it will recover after a brief respite. If not, I will have to visit an ENT specialist and figure out what is wrong.
Either way, it may mean a bit of a change in tack concerning how and when I use my voice.

But, I digress--as usual-- for I was talking about Christ and the Church....

I was able to serve in my duties as cantor, but that was it. I had to refrain from speaking the liturgy, or singing the hymns. I was effectively mute for the entirety of the early and late services. Which is really a shame, the hymns were generally excellent today.

I had one serious bonus to my morning this morning. Because I was acting as cantor, I was in the choir loft with my God-Brother, Pendragon. Pendragon is a little guy with Down Syndrome. He doesn't talk and he communicates mostly by sign-language. And today, we spent the service together in silence.

Silent, but confessing.

Neither of us could speak the liturgy, however, as the Service progressed we went through the  rubrics. When the congregation said, "The Lord be with you" we opened our hands with the blessing. We bowed for the Sanctus, genuflected for the Creed, and crossed ourselves for the Gospel. Pendragon would chime in by saying, "Amen" in sign and I would open his hymnal to the hymns so we could read along.

And this made me reflect, as I often have, on the orderly, repeated, structured, physically active conduct of the Service. I could not speak, but I could participate in the ceremonies which I have learned and have become a part of my understanding and memory. But even more than for me, these things matter for little kids, especially little ones like Pendragon. From the youngest age they can learn to participate, to discipline their bodies in God's sanctuary, and to recognize the significance of what is going on. Then, as they grow older they learn the significance of those things that they have always had.

I have a friend who told me that that most beautiful confession they had ever witnessed had been the spontaneous, heartfelt prayer of little child asking for protection for his family.

The most beautiful confession I have ever seen, was a five-year-old with Down Syndrome, beckoning me to join him at the rail to kneel and confess...

Thanks for reading.

Lawyers And Ditches

In which our hero contemplates today's Gospel reading....


A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho. On the way, he fell among thieves and was left, beaten, bloodied, naked and dying in a ditch. He lay in the ditch, and while he lay there, a Levite came down the road, but he passed by. Later on, a priest also came near, but he passed by. The man continued dying, trapped in the ditch and unable to help himself. But then a Man came near, a Samaritan, despised of the Jews, a wayfarer and outcast in His time, He was journeying on that same road between Jerusalem and Jericho, and, seeing the man in the ditch, He had compassion for the man. He stepped into the ditch, miring Himself in the filth of that place, carrying the dying man out of there, binding his wounds and setting him on His own animal. The Man walked leading the animal with its cargo to the Place of Recovery. Therein He offered the price for the continuing care of the injured man and promised to pay for any expense he might incur. He left, continuing on His journey, leaving behind Him a promise of return.

There was a certain lawyer who had fallen among demons and sought to put the Christ to the test. He asked, "What must I do to inherit eternal life?" The Christ answered, "What is written in the Law, how do you read it?" The lawyer said, "Love God and man perfectly." The Christ answered, "Correct, do this, and you will live." The lawyer became desperate, he was bleeding, laying in a ditch, robbed of his confidence, naked before the law. He had to find a loophole, "Who, in specific, must I love perfectly?" The Christ tells him a parable about a man in a ditch, trapped unable to be helped, and then he tells of the one who did help. Christ changes the question, "Who proved neighbor to the man?" "The one who showed mercy" and then Christ says, "Go, and do likewise."

The parable Christ tells is describing the very state of the lawyer, he is on the road to Jerusalem, and he falls into a great sin. The man in the parable has left the city of peace, he has left the presence of the temple, even while the Levite and the Priest are traveling thence, likely on their way to the temple to make their sacrifices. The lawyer asks his question, the answer is too true, too close to home. The Law walks past on the other side of the road, unable to help him, lest it be rendered unclean: unlawful. The lawyer had received a just answer, if he wanted the Law, that is what he would have.

But Christ, the Samaritan comes, an outcast and despised of the people. He has compassion on the lawyer, He changes the question, He changes the actor. He tells the lawyer what the lawyer can trust in when he is in the ditch: the Man, journeying to Jerusalem, a Man who descends into the filth the lawyer lives in and pulls him out, binds his gaping wounds and provides for his well being until He returns. He gives the lawyer the promise, the Law can't save him, only the compassion of the Merciful Samaritan can save him.

Then Christ asks, who was neighbor to the man? The one who showed him mercy. Who, in all of history, has ever proven neighbor to His fellow man? Who has loved His neighbor as Himself, withheld nothing, offered up everything for the sake of love? Only He that hung naked on the cross, who, though He were King, owned nothing, and in the fullness of time, gave up even His own life for sinful men, though He was despised and rejected by the world.

Why then, why does the Christ say "Go and do likewise"?

The answer, I believe is clear. "For I desired mercy, and not sacrifice; and the knowledge of God more than burnt offerings." (Hosea 6:6) It is an exhortation to good works. Christ does not require the lawyer to make His sacrifice. But now that the lawyer knows what he has been given, he knows how he should respond. 

The lawyer has been invited by Christ to be a Christian, to follow Him. The lawyer will stumble, fall into sin and never follow His example perfectly. But Christ will be there, there to pull him out of the ditch, there to take him to the Inn of Recovery, where He offers the lawyer His Body and His Blood, promising that whatever the lawyer's soul, He has paid it. And more, for he promises to return for the lawyer.

Blessed are they, who have seen what we have seen, the risen Lord, coming with the clouds of heaven, under the Bread and the Wine given for Christians to eat and to drink until He returns.

Blessed are we, for Jesus Christ is our neighbor and our Merciful Samaritan.


Thanks for reading.

Times Gone By

In which our hero admits weeping brokenly over the sorrows of fictional characters....



Or, perhaps, weeping brokenly over the not so fictional circumstances of coincidentally fictional characters.

The musical 'Les Miserables' is an in depth study in fictional characters facing not so fictional circumstances. I love the musical. It is my favorite large scale dramatic work. I have been listening to it since I was small enough to not understand the lyrics. I knew the songs belonged to the specific characters and had, therefore, developed strong attachments to them before I started to learn that they almost all died tragic deaths....

That was a bit of a shock.

As time has passed, I have not lost these strong connections. I identify with Javert in many ways, but I am relieved by Valjean's version of the story, repentance, forgiveness. The end always makes me cry, the beautiful words accompanied by the triumphant music, in which the characters, having died, have rebelled against death and now live eternally.

Yeah, good stuff, I just teared up.

But more and more recently, I have cried more and more for 'I Dreamed a Dream' and 'On My Own'.
Both, of course, are powerful songs driven by terrible sadness. 'Little Fall of Rain' falls into the category as well, but not quite to same level. Les Miz, on the whole, is a very depressing musical. The only happy aspect, the marriage of Cosette and Marius, is mired in the sorrows surrounding it.

So then, that's the end right? Les Miz is sad, it makes poor pathetic-vocalist-blogger-person cry.
Zee end.

Not quite.

I don't know why I have thought this of late, perhaps my experiences of recent, and not so recent, times have created this ticking time bomb of thought in my head. Whatever it is, I am going to write about it and try to do it the justice it deserves... probably won't happen.

We live, in a time of 'times gone by.' The modern attitude towards women, on the part of both men and women, has chewed up our dreams, mocked our romances, and left us alone with no love, left to the shameful prostitution of fifty shades of black despair. We have been wooed by promises of enjoyment and freedom, license in licentiousness. It has left us bereft, weeping for dreams of times gone by, when men were kind, when the world was a song and the song was exciting. We were wooed by the devil, and he gave us what we wanted, freedom from romance. We gladly sing 'Pretty Ladies' with no sense of disgust or revulsion. It is the standard of the culture.

But then a Man comes, and even though the law stands and tells Him of how often we make excuses, how we are liars, deserving of death within the prison, He reaches out His hand, pulls us out of the ditch, takes us away from the docks. We still die, we are doomed to it, but we do not die in the despair of death, we die, Him at our side, promising us life for us and our children.

But I am speaking of Christ and the Church.

Thanks for reading.

Oh, Tricky Definition

In which our hero searches for answers for questions that vex him....

More specifically the answer to one question: what is love?

Now don't think that I am descending into sophistry like the of Pilate or Plato. I am not looking for the keys to the universe, just trying to assemble thoughts based on personal experience and various external references.

This question was brought to my mind by a friend asking me what my personal definition of 'love' is. I tried to express, in as few words as possible, what it is. This is one of those times that words become hard. I told my friend that I have often re-considered my definition.

There are times when I will sit and do nothing but think. If you see me sitting and staring into space, it probably means that I have something like this on my mind. I attempt to regularly re-analyze my thoughts and opinions according to new experience or data, with only a few constants that provide perspective and inform my conclusions on all other subjects. I, no doubt, often arrive at the wrong conclusion. I am blessed though to have the best sounding boards in the world, my brothers, particularly my older brother, and my mama.

But anywho, that was rambling, you are probably thinking, 'and when will he get back to his subject?'

Love, as it is used in such times as, 'in love' or, of course, "I love you." How do I even begin to think about these things?

My definition, as of right now, is based on the understanding that the model for matrimonial love is Christ's love for the church. Then why should this not apply to all love between a man and a woman? That the ultimate definition of love is sacrifice? A giving of self for the sake of your beloved. Of course no man can keep this love purely, but it is still our example. A man should love his wife, and sacrifice for her, without thought of self or reputation.

Now how anyone ever reaches that point is still well beyond my ken. I know what I think love looks like, but that doesn't mean that I can see it.

Thanks for reading my spiel.

Profusions of Word Vomit

In which our hero attempts to relax by writing *for fun*....


As finals approach, I am feeling a little tired and stressed out. Between regular peeves, difficult/annoying class work, and extra-ordinary experiences; my brain is shot. I'm always about five minutes of the wrong train of thought away from weeping brokenly. It's not that I am generally morose but if, in the course of a day, I become depressed it is difficult for me to return to the happy mean of contentment.

I walk around campus smiling; it's a policy, I smile, people smile back, and that makes me happy. This system is very nice, people recognize you, you improve their day, they improve yours, a very reciprocal relationship. I say 'good morning' including their names if I can, just so they know that I thought their names worth knowing, a small thing for me that means a lot to them.

When I sit in a group of people, I try my darnedest to make them laugh. Nothing makes me happier than to hear other people laugh at me. It often involves a more than slightly eccentric display on my part, but those happen anyway, might as well make them aimed at making them laugh.

These things make me happy. They make long days feel short. They make me feel at home.

Sometimes things like that are all I have. Sometimes the day has collapsed beneath my feet, leaving me breathless and bruised. Sometimes I feel like a fraud, a college student making feints at being a musician; making the same mistakes over and over, failing to follow simple instructions; disappointing those who I want to please the most.

On days like those, I only have three things going for me: My mama, my peeps, and my God. These three keep me sane. When I'm scared, my mama comforts me; when I'm lonely, my peeps cheer me and provide me with happy conversation; when I am lowest, beyond the reach of the aforementioned, then I have my God, comforting me with a Word sweeter than life, and a Peace greater than death.

I've shifted all over the place tonight. My mind is elsewhere. It is now December, as of three minutes before I wrote those words. The year, like men, dwindles and dies, leaving behind the memories and morose, loves and losses. The New year is no more a beginning than it is an ending. Until God sees fit to brings about the new Anno Domini the world will keep spinning much as it always has.
But Christmas is coming. Advent, where we are bold to sing such things as "Prepare the Royal Highway" and "Savior of the Nations" a time of hope and prayer as we look forward to the coming of Christ.

We do not celebrate a cute baby in a manger. We celebrate a King taking up His throne. Enthroning Himself in our flesh. We celebrate a Child that already bore the great weight of our transgression. Before He could raise His holy head, He dragged the cross to Golgatha. There was nothing that we could offer Him, so He offers us more. He leaves us His very Body and Blood, not that we would remember Him, but that His Father would remember Him for our sakes. When the crowd says, "His blood be on us and on our children" we were, by grace, granted just that. Christ marks the doors of our hearts with His Blood, God remembers His loving mercies, and the angel of death passes o'er.

But I am tired. I have been already over long in ending. You have probably been noticing this for some time, yes? But time, like depression or joy, is transitory. Life is not lived in sensations or in seconds, but by every Word that proceeds from the mouth of God.

Anywho, I am finished. Thanks for reading.

A Not at All Spontaneous Rant

In which our hero reflects on a week, a Wednesday, and weeping....

There are no words to express certain frustrations. My peers attempt, through vain repetition of powerful and vulgar words, to express that which their vocabulary cannot grasp. I pride myself, perhaps foolishly, on being able to exhibit frustrations with eloquent verbiage. I am usually successful, having a wide and varied enough base of verbose vestiges to vanquish vile vehemency.

But in some situations my words fail. Syllables trip and fall out of my mouth forming incoherent babble as I grasp at straws, searching for the words. Anger and grief, clouding my thoughts in a morass of anguish and wrathful hatred. I try to think, speak, reason, but I can't, and so I cry.

And in the end, that is all that can be done. You can prevent, or forestall, greater evils, but in the end the infection festers through humankind. In this world that would not know its God, evil prevails, men harm the weak and defenseless, people don't tell the Police, the bad guy gets away, and Entropy drags everything to its inevitable doom.
The world is breaking, broken, lost in Adam's original fall, filled with the descendants of Cain, who in wrath and jealousy murder their brothers.

To cry, that is all that I can do.

I, however, am not the hero of the story. If I were it would be a Greek tragedy, meant to forewarn future heroes from inevitable failure. The Hero comes, not like a knight, in shining armor, but as a servant, wearing the robes of a servant and a crown of thorns. Through Him, I more than conquer.

I said it was a rant didn't I?
Thank you for reading.

A Light Shining in the Darkness

In which our Hero contemplates Light.

If you have not previously heard, I will now inform you that much of Fort Wayne was, and parts still are, without power, starting from last Friday and continuing, with predictions that power will not be fully restored until this coming Friday.

My family, fortunately, had power returned to our home late Sunday evening; there was much rejoicing.

But that, is all context.


We had spent quite a bit of time on Saturday wondering about the logistics of Sunday's Divine service, with no air conditioning, lighting, organ or, most shockingly, my heart almost stopped, coffee.

By the end of the day, it had been pretty much decided by Pastor and Kantor, that the service would be lead, musically, by the skilled hand of our master trumpeter, with supplemental, violins, piano and choir.

On Sunday morning, it was hot. It was still only early morning when the temperature hit eighty-degrees Fahrenheit.

I attended the eight-o'clock service, as usual, to perform my duties as acolyte.

Between that service and the ten-thirty service later on, I was taken up with a singular idea.

Despite lack of lighting, organ, air conditioning, even, dare I say it, coffee. Nothing was different. My brother served at late service as acolyte while I sang in choir, as per usual. The whole service, from beginning to end, had not changed. There was a baptism, another child of God held safe in the ark of Christendom; the Sermon was preached, brilliantly might I add; the Body and Blood administered to the people. The forgiveness of sins, the Gospel, Christ himself, were all present. The Light shone through the darkness and illuminated the hearts of men, not because we deserved it, or had earned it by showing up despite the lack of air conditioning; but because that's what He does, that is who He Is.

The people departed the service with the words of God placed upon them in the Benediction, and went back to their own homes, whether they had electricity or not, forgiven, having received the Peace of God which passes all understanding placed upon them, the forgiveness of their sins.

Thank you for reading.
 

What Is Truth?

In which our hero grows terribly frustrated on the internet....


What is the truth worth to us? The answer to this question, like many others, hurts to think about.

As men, we have been endowed by God with a central understanding of the truth. We are liars, but not by design. Any time that we lie we violate our conscience, even if it is numbed by long abuse. We recognize ours own lies and we are deeply and often permanently hurt by the lies of others.
Men were made to know the truth, to know God and to be known.

This is where the pain comes in.... If we are so naturally inclined to recognize the truth and to abhor deceit, why do we tolerate lies?

Lies in our advertisements, lies in our politicians, lies to each other, lies to ourselves.
This, of course, is most obvious in politics. We continue to support politicians who continuously lie. They lie about themselves, they lie about each other. They lie and we continue to support them.

We learn that a politician lied about his credentials, oh well nobody's perfect; we learn that a politician lied about his residency in a state, oh well he's still better than the other guy.... And on the list goes, for every lie a political excuse.

If we do value the truth, we do not do so outwardly. Of course we need to forgive men who ask forgiveness for there sins, but reconciliation and forgiveness are different things. Just because you forgive a man for lying to you does not mean that you entrust to him those things which are most dear.

So also, we fail to do the opposite of abhorring lies, we do not support and defend those who tell the truth.

The issues in which this is evident are numerous, both inside the political spectrum and inside the church.
We don't want to offend people with the truth. We stand by while people slander those who haven't done wrong and we don't say anything. We cling to that which is socially acceptable and abhor that which offends anybody. We mince words and make the truth no truth, a half truth.

Men are made to know the truth, to know God and be known.

And we do, and we are.

Despite our utter lack of merit or worthiness, we know the truth. This is where we can rest our hope. That, chief of sinners though we are, God, the God of Truth, has loved us, given His Son for us, marked us as His own in Holy Baptism and by His Holy Spirit calls us, enlightens and sanctifies us, that we might be His own.

I suppose what I'm trying to say is, I'm frustrated by the lies of politics, my own lies, and the lies which are daily told to thousands by deceived people. But ultimately, I know the truth. God is good and his mercy endureth forever and neither things present, nor things to come can separate me from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus.

Thank you for reading my word vomit. I hope you don't feel like you wasted your time reading it.

A Brief Thought For Advent

I don't like to post theological tidbits on my blog. I feel that I am rather not the person to consult on anything beyond the most basic of doctrines. I wouldn't say I am uninformed or ignorant of these things, but there are many who are much wiser than I am.

That being said. I had an interesting thought this weekend.

Sunday's gospel was the account of Jesus' triumphal entry into Jerusalem. The Lord almighty entering his own city, lowly, sitting on a Donkey, to loud cries of Hosanna. But it goes on, not everyone was singing Hosannas, there was a great disturbance in the city, a 'stirring up' of the people. This is not a positive reaction, they are fearful and speculative.

I do not know why, but today as I was considering this gospel I thought of when Jesus is speaking to the Pharisees in Luke: 11:14-22. He speaks to them concerning the house divided, referring to their accusation of his casting out demons by Beelzebul. He speaks first concerning a house divided; then when he speaks of casting out demons by the finger of God he goes on to use the Strong man analogy. A Strong Man with his armor and his sword is comfortable and at peace, relaxing. However, One who is stronger than he overcomes him and divides his spoils, taking his armor in which he trusted.

Up til now, as you can tell, has just been referencing the gospels. Here is my exegetical thought.

We have entered Advent, Death has been reigning freely, the Devil roams like a roaring lion seeking someone to devour. They sit in their palace of hell, wearing the armor of unrepentant sin and wielding the sword of the law's condemnations.They sit comfortably, confident in the fallen nature of men doubting that God will fulfill his promise to Adam and Eve.

But then, the Christ, the Stronger man, comes lowly, with no armor, into this house of death, he overpowers Death and the Devil, claiming for himself the spoils of the souls of mankind. Even as he does so, men refuse him and allow Death and the Devil full reign once more. (Luke: 11: 23-26)

It's a thought, not particularly deep and definitely not unfamiliar. But I liked it.