The Waiting is the Hardest Part

Pause Button Alert

To say the Republic is in trouble I think is to now say that “the sky is blue”.  In fact, the two sides of the political spectrum seem to both know something is wrong yet residing in the fact that it is not them, but instead: the other guy.  Conventional modern knowledge from the “party of science” would bid us to simply understand one another and now come together right now, even though it has not been in their playbook since Methuselah roamed the earth.  But if it were not so and the cancer of a nation was not hanging in at Stage 4, that particular rhetoric would certainly have its place in what was once our public square.  However, the real wisdom that comes only from God might ask for a pregnant pause on that strategy, in what is now a nation’s Issachar moment.  In fact, it’s a pause that for the longest time has not been tried, and now it seems the lack thereof has been found sorely wanting.  So, what I am therefore asserting is that not only is this pause in order, but that what is now needed is a shared wisdom from the sons of Issachar in all of us who love not only the ancient paths, but also the old-fashioned thing once called logic and reason employed as to what to now “do” about it.  I say this because, as I said at the outset, the Republic is now in jeopardy!  The sky is indeed falling. And I know that the chicken little in at least half of us know this should be front page in a paper we once also participated in writing.

History Lessons

Part of the reason for this stark analysis is because the rules have changed in the Republic, in that even though most of us “domestic terrorists” have been nominal Christians at best, there was once a secret code we all knew and adhered to.  The code was one of an essential goodness and a standard morality most at least strived for, but for which now has been thrown out with the baby and the bathwater.  The new morality is instead one with no prospect of heaven or religion too.  It is defined only by science, that as one often forgets, though having brought much to change the world for the better, left unchecked and unchallenged has brought stark-raving madness and brutality such as the world has ever known.  And if not learning from history means we are destined to somehow and often repeat it, then get ready for most unwelcome reruns in the new TV guide.  And to be sure, you won’t hear this trumpet sounded across the land for all the villagers to hear anymore, since deplorable trumpets have now been deemed “hate speech” and thus melted in the fire before their very eyes as the new trumpeters guide us to our re-education.

The Waiting Line

And so, we’re waiting and waiting.  And it’s really the hardest part as Tom Petty once told us.  Waiting for both what we know and what we do not yet know.  Half of a republic will now glory in a victory taken by stealth, while the other wonders if the victory procession will not include the whole lot of us paraded on the losing team.  Marching to the very public death of their freedom and ideas, while a Brave New World has now taken center stage with a bully pulpit and a microphone that even the losers will not be lucky enough to ever have again. 

And the church waits also.  Though not nearly as vigilantly as it could be or should be.  Many of us are still waiting for QAnon to jump out of the birthday cake like Gomer Pyle and say “Surprise, Surprise, Donald Trump is the 46th President of the United States”.  Others await the vast line of prophets for hire to tell us our best days are still ahead, that victory will be ours, along with even fatter bank accounts just around the corner. While still others mask-up in their domicile’s, frantically doomsday prepping while occasionally streaming in their favorite court jester preacher, biding their time until the roll is called up yonder. And then there are at last a few who are watching and waiting for perhaps something both them and others are not yet ready for, and that waiting is indeed the very hardest part.

Where are the Sons of Issachar?

This of course brings up an interesting point to ponder: Where are the Sons of Issachar now?  Those who that ancient and outdated book once said were those who, “discerned the times and knew what to do about it”.  Where are they in the mountains of influence out in the public square, and where are they now in the church once again in the unfamiliar terrain just outside of Constantine’s edict?  Or were we all so busy getting “fat and sassy” that we slept when we were to be watching and waiting?  Were we at ease in Zion while we were building our treasures in the earthly heaven now being imagined for us, rather than the one that though we cannot yet see we are told robbers are unable to ever steal it from us?  And perhaps the real question to answer is, “Did we really believe those comfortable nursery rhymes anyway”? 

The answer to this question is one at this very hour we must properly and matter-of-factly discern, both as a nation friendly to the thought of it, and to a church that for two-millennia convinced them of its truthfulness.  For if we do not stand up in the body and national collective regardless of our brand which will inevitably be cancelled when we do, our mutual curtain will have now been called.  And should we refuse to “not go gently into that good night” before the torches for Nero’s garden are once again beckoned for and the lions are released for nightly entertainment, it will then be a time when we had wished we had something worthwhile to say.

Money for Nothing, Lobotomies for Free

On January the 6th, 2021 I said my final goodbyes at the graveside to my dear brother who was also my hero in so many respects.  We carried each other through different facets and phases of our lives, and even so, the heaviness of the weight was never felt for either of us.  Then, just two days later, Mike would have been 64. And though I won’t be feeding him as I and others did at times in the last stages of the dreadful demon of cancer that latched ahold of him without rhyme, reason or prejudice; in my heart of hearts, I will forever be needing him, and I will miss him far more than I can yet imagine.

Demons; Where?

In irony of ironies, on that same day of January the 6th, 2021, disenchanted and perhaps misdirected patriots (so we’re told) others often called deplorable, stormed a state capitol signifying they had enough!  As we now wait for the truth of the episode to weigh in, those in attendance believed (what seemed to be rightfully) that their election had been stolen and thus should be given its day in court.  They also stoically adhered to the belief that the Republic they celebrated as their birthright was on the fringe of dying, much like my dear brother.  Riddled likewise with a cancer that had taken over and was now merely hanging on by morphine drip. 

Now to be sure, many caught up in the twice-baked spirit of the age would read such sentiment as credulous; unthinkable; misguided; and perhaps even seeing demons under a bush that do not exist.  However, in the minds and hearts of over half of the American populace, the depth of the demonic cesspool in a swamp called Washington, D.C. seems to be obvious to inquiring minds who actually wanted to know.  Equally are those who believe that now, to deny the existence of these sea monsters and their lobbying gods in the netherworld called the U.S. capitol, and to merely acquiesce; is equivalent to, as Winston Churchill once opined, “trying to negotiate with a Tiger while our neck is sitting conveniently in its mouth”.

A Republic to Which It Stood

As we watched the skirmish of mostly concerned patriots amidst the current narrative of the misdirected few who gave our cause a bad name (at least to the tech giants that control the information), it resulted swiftly in a successful “spin” of a broad pronouncement of domestic terrorism to the whole “kit and kaboodle”.   We then watched as genteel and spineless senators and house members condemned in front of their “back room dealmakers” this brief hiccup of violence.  They did so devoid of any contrast with the litany of riots, looting and mayhem from the other side of the room that lasted forever and a day, and the final dye is now cast seemingly in their convenient favor.  And as this room full of entitled, cultured and totally irrelevant swamp creatures on each side of the pond slithered their empty rhetoric; the rest of us settled back into our easy chair, biding our time until Big Brother suddenly becomes a work of non-fiction.  Everyone is crying “Peace, Peace” when there seems to be no Peace; especially when there is not a willing prophet among them except “Orange Man Bad” who will soon (quite possibly) exit stage left.  All the while everyone now gleefully lobbies for “reaching across the aisle” and “bipartisanship” in a once known Republic, whose desired goodness Gentle Ben once told us was the only glue that would help us keep it in what is now a generation of a Mayflower-paradise now lost.  Meanwhile, if you listen closely, one can hear the “Happy Days are Here Again” warm up, when the order of the day is a song of woeful lament.

Asleep in the Light

We also now live in an era of the church where pastoral psychologists and CEO’s for a generation or more have agreed with those who call the evil good and good evil, attracting all the itching ears to their lair of homilies pregnant with irrelevance, balderdash and God-mockery.  And if you listen closely, you can still hear God opine through the weeping Jeremiah, “the prophets prophesy lies, the priests exercise power by their own authority, and my people love to have it this way”.  And even so, at the sound of those haunting words, there is much more than a remnant who have not yet bowed the knee to Baal.  There are many rightly dividing the word of truth, and those whose knees are battle worn with prayers both for the victory, and equally for the strength to accept a larger God operation we are as of yet not privy to.  Somewhere in between are those who sleep while a battle rages for the soul of a nation, somehow certain that neutrality, prophetic indifference and settling for the new masters of our destiny has a “chapter and verse” ignored by the gullible MAGA masses.  Yet perhaps the truth is that we won’t know who’s right until “it’s all over but the crying”, somewhere over the rainbow in a soon to be forgotten national idea, that once sang about stars and stripes forever

Free Money and Lobotomies Anyone?

One thing is certain however, and that is that the next 8 days of this once great Republic will be waited on with bated breath.  Will the so-called patriots have their day to be heard, only to find that their hopeful and colorful hero couldn’t get the job done?  Or, will the once genitalia-grabbing, twitter ‘n’ chief ride in on a white horse with Sydney Powell with the enemy’s head on a Supreme Court verdict platter; proving in one fell-swoop an election was in fact stolen behind closed doors?  And will a nation of free men and women exercise their right to stand up and let their voice be counted ready to fight with a once beloved Common Sense voice and pen? Or will the ones who own the information emerge victorious by shutting down the dissent before the tea is again thrown in the harbor, quietly escorting us to our lobotomization, forever to become loyal subjects to the new Father-Kings who always knew what was best for us?  Somewhere where we’ll all at once get our money ration for nothing, and the lobotomies; well, they’re also for free.