My Head Buried in Sand

head buried in sandWe were buried with Messiah; we also rose with Messiah. Should I continue with my head buried in the sand, not paying attention to this mortal world that has me surrounded? I pose this question to myself, really. It is easy for me to ignore all that is going on about me. I read some blogs and I find myself irritated the writers speak about loving the Christian Brethren as well as loving those we don’t like. It’s clearly a way to, I said, to jump on the bandwagon of the current American protest movement and its offshoot of violence and destruction. Some bloggers are more open about their views in support of, or denouncing, this uprising. Others veil there comments in generalities and mere illusions. I’ve not been sure which is worse, actually.

Then I found myself applauding blogs that mention the things that are going on, this outcry for “justice,” but not taking sides. Christians are commanded, I thought,  to step above politics and temporal concerns to focus on the message of the Gospel as the solution to the failures of humankind. For those who cry out for “justice” have no clue what they are asking. Can the ungodly, the sinner, desire justice? Justice when delivered means a condemnation of sin. Rather than asking for justice, should we not all recognize our failures, or sins, and turn to our Creator seeking His Mercy and love? The hope for America, the hope for the world, is Jesus. This is the message of the Gospel; this is the hope for humanity.

And what of this generation of protesters that seem to want to tear down that which has been established? They seem to think they have a solution. Symbolically, this tearing down is carried out in things like removing statues, eradicating history, as if this will right the wrongs of the past. It’s been said that forgeting the pats means doing it all over agian.

Those who protest are not the first to open their mouths and fists, however. Born in the end of the 1940s, I grew up in one of the great revolutions—The American Sixties. We wanted to tear down the establishment. We didn’t—at lest most of us—have a clue what we wanted to build on its ashes. Sure, a few visionaries with ideas cropped up here ant there. Some of them went on to join the establishment themselves, making their mark on our culture, and in many cases soiling it with their excrement. Most just joined back in and lived out their lives like those generations who came before.

I expect nothing less of these current protesters. Raised fists fall. Palms once clutched tightly must open. Resignation sets in when understanding comes. There is nothing new under the sun. What has been done in the past is done again over and over. Footprints in the sand are swept away in the tidal movement of time.

The end of the matter; all has been heard. Fear G-d and keep His commandments, for this is the whole duty of man. For G-d will bring every deed into judgment, with every secret thing, whether good or evil.” (Ecclesiastes 12:13,14)

L-RD Bless, Keep, Shine. . .

3 thoughts on “My Head Buried in Sand

  1. Walk forward with confidence and give thanks for the blessing of word pictures and storytelling. Havent been here in a long time. Should come more often. Thanks for the blessing. Q

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