An Announcement

There is a certain type of guy who spreads rumors about a girl who won’t have him. The old-fashioned rumor mill eats it up, and the girl’s reputation is ruined.

That type of guy, well, what can I say. I can’t make you ashamed. You are not even a man. You have no honor. You have no compassion, for what you have done to the girl’s future, and that of her family. You have no integrity, no warm-heartedness, no kindness, no blood, no breath. Only cold, cowardly, calculated spite.

I would tell you to burn in hell.

But even the Devil’s company is too good for you.

You little slinky impotent slime-creature.


God is giving me a present

So here I am, feeling all moody about racism, and who should decide to sit down right in front of me at the coffeeshop but a biracial family with little babies. Right in front of me, kids swinging their legs and happily eating their treats. It’s too cute to behold.

Today of all days, I feel like God is giving me a present. ❤

Life, Biology, Race and such things

I ran across a website that was arguing for honest-to-God 1800s-era racial theories.

It shook me up a little. I was wondering…is it possible that the World Wars, those 6 million Jewish human lives going up in flames, that costly and terrible Holocaust, only staved off Racial Theories for what…. seventy years? Six million lives bought us only seventy years of delay, before the dragon returns again, with his worshippers in thrall? That is it?

Not to mention the tens of millions of soldier’s lives, bright-faced young boys given a rifle and a uniform, and thrown into that bloody grist mill that is war, a great and costly terrible human sacrifice, in order to stop that Racialist Ideology as it swallowed half the world. And the sacrifice succeeded, though in the aftermath a third of the world lost their freedom behind an iron curtain, and their suffering still has not been told in full. But all that, all that, was the oblation to stop it. And even for the lucky….for the survivors in the first free world, they paid a certain price — the PTSD, the recovery, the three-generational impact of grandaddy’s drinking problem on the family, the reactions and counter-reactions, the family dysfunctions and miscommunications like ripple effects… And then….when the old horrors have faded into dim memories of your dying grandparents, people return….. to the very same racial ideologies again. The young are fresh and eager, and run after it again, feeling edgy and brilliant, unaware of just how dangerous it is….the cost that was paid to stop it.  Is that really it?

I finally went to church today. The pastor is from Africa, the assistant pastor has Latin American heritage, the pews are full of people from every single populated continent and subcontinent, (except Australia). The kids all go up together, for the children’s message. There are fresh yellow forsythia’s on the altar, the altar is framed by some old wooden carvings — carved by German immigrant craftsmen well over a hundred years ago, long before all the horrors of the 20th century were committed and endured. We kneel and drink the bloodwine of God, shed for all of our sins from times past and future, the whole human race.  The priests came down the aisle in their white robes, we sing of Christ’s victory.

Christ will save us all. The oppressed and the despised of the world shall be glorified by Him, and He will heal us all.

What do you love?

We talk alot about what we think is wrong, what we dislike, what we think should change, what we piously hate. But when do we talk about what we love? What we really, really love?

I asked a friend why, as university teachers, we teach history as a story of one crime after another, powergrab on powergrab on war on war on genocide on genocide, one after another. Why don’t we, as the ill-fitting clumsy bards of the 21st century, sing of the things that were good and true and lovely?

“It’s easier for us to agree on what is bad, then what is good,” he explained. If we tried to remember heroes, scholars will conflict too much about which one was actually good. Much better to teach another genocide, where we can all agree it was bad.

But what do we love?

Love brings life. Pious hatred does not. My own pious hatred, well-intentioned and all, makes my siblings cry. I hurt people.

It’s love that brings life. I mean real love, for an actual person, place, or thing. Not what is often called love, just pious hatred repackaged, or vague loyalty to another damned ——ism or ——tion. That isn’t love. Love is something you can taste and breathe, something real. Real love must love something. Something you can touch, or remember, or sing of, or carry in your heart.

When our vague love has no object, but our pious hatred does…. what does that say about us?

I’m someone who resorts to pious hatred alot. For things that are bad, of course — oppression of the weak, neglect of the vulnerable, objectification of women, mockery of the fragile, contempt for humanity, injustice, abuse, the sex trade, nihilism. The list can go on. But see, that is still me with my pious hatred.

And I do believe that God himself was killed, by a group that did it for the sake of pious hatred. They thought he was a blasphemer. They thought they were right. It was pious hatred that condemned him before the Sanhedrin, and nailed him to the stake of wood.

Love, love, love. What does it mean? If it is just the antidote to pious hatred, with the latter all spelled out and the former all vague…. then what?

Love means nothing but a chemical state, if it lacks an object. Love must love something. 

I am going to sit in silence, and ask, what do I love? Duty and pretensions and moralisms aside, what do I love?

What do you love?


I watched “A Quiet Place” last night. It’s marketted as a horror film, but it is really a survival film. Oh I was on the edge of my seat terrified, but there are no thrills of evil here. It’s a film that really doesn’t have a villain. The baddies are faceless, mindless monsters. They might as well be forces of nature, or impersonal lions and tigers and wolves. This isn’t a movie about the baddies, who don’t make much sense as villains. That is the point. This isn’t a villain versus hero movie — those only work by contrasts and intrigue, where there would be no good without evil (disturbing implications, if you think about it). No, this is a bare story. Simple and plain: it’s about what you really, really love.

So it made me think. So much of our identity, our worldview, our ‘let me tell you what i think about current events’, is all about the (according to us) baddies. I drove past a car this morning with about four renditions of Donald Trump plastered to the bumper. The woman driving the car appeared to not like him….and yet, she (like myself!) derives her identity, her sense of purpose from her own pious hatred. I do this too — what I piously hate (for all the right reasons!) is, nevertheless, what defines me. I think most of us do. 

Let’s not do this any more. Let’s remember what we love.

Full of Tears

Usually when I’m feeling bitter and grumpy it’s really a sort of flash-frozen deep disappointment in the universe. Then at some point, another’s kindness starts to thaw it out, and then comes hope and with it, tears. Tears tend to accompany hope, because hope brings both pain and fear. Hope always hurts, it hurts even as much as love.

Well, here is to the tears and to the hope. We could make this world so beautiful, if we all but chose it. Divinity is within each of us, like a child waiting to be born. The Uncreated Light is only one step away.

And I saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. 

And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God. 

He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.”

And he who was seated on the throne said, “Behold, I am making all things new.” Also he said, “Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true.” And he said to me, “It is done! I am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end. To the thirsty I will give from the spring of the water of life without payment.

Binky on the Culture War

Reposted From Binky’s Desk

False Dichotomy

“I know it’s hard to accept the Facts, but the Truth is that there is no god.”

The crumpled logo on his T-shirt moves as he waves his arms about. It tells a very funny joke if you happen to watch the tv shows he watches and believe the things he believes and studied Science as much as he has.

He has a beautiful face; pale but intense, with articulate, sensitive eyes. It’s too bad that he doesn’t believe he’s beautiful. He doesn’t believe in Beauty. Secretly, he wishes he were a knight in 12th century Europe with a sword in his hand and his eyes hardened behind the slit of his great helm as he faces off alone against a pillaging army of rapacious mercenaries. But he’s born in the 21st century, and he’s been taught to know better. The internet and some movie writers in Hollywood have explained to him that there were no righteous knights.


“You may not like it, but what the Bible is teaching is clearly my point of view, where God just made sinners to burn in Hell because they didn’t cognitively assess their eternal options and pick the most beneficial and profitable choice like I did.”He tries to look serious, maybe a little grim but also passionate. It’s hard to look grim or passionate in a pair of (ironed) khaki slacks, with a little white collar poking out of the top of your (monochrome, earth toned and expensive) woolen sweater.

He’s leaning forward, which does help you look engaged, if you are leaning forward to thump your fist on a battle map and affix your generals with a zealous eye. We’re all awkwardly leaning forward to see each other’s faces because we’ve placed our folding chairs in a loose circle, with large gaps in between us to fit our purses, coffee cups, and sense of security because we don’t actually know each other that well.

How boring it must be to fit the entire universe into a cramped white-walled office-space lit by a florescent light. To be able to collar God with a necktie and use it as a leash, ask Him to show some respect and keep quiet while you review your church’s financial quarter.


How tiring too, to eat of the Forbidden Fruit, only to discover that Rebellion means living a virgin in a basement somewhere watching videos of fake women pretend to love men with more muscles than you, unless by some lucky chance you manage to enter a 3-month marriage to some girl with daddy issues who’s willing to exchange (safe) sex for emotional support. (The exchange rate is typically about 8-12 hours of listening for 1 3-second rush of Dopamine. Endorphines and depression reduction varies on how much self-worth you put on your genitals.)


Aren’t we tired of this yet? Aren’t we all sick, ready to vomit all over our leather-bound study bibles we open once a week?We’re all marching in step to the booming loudspeakers that tell us which side we’re on and which side to hate, two identical armies bleeding red human blood for control of a world as colorless and claustrophobic as a tomb.

But stop listening to the loudspeaker for a minute. For one second, stop taking this war seriously. Because its purpose was never to motivate you, but to block out the music we’ve been hearing since we were born.

Do you hear it now? The winds of heaven, blowing down off the slopes of the mountains of God? Those roaring, buffeting winds that strike a frequency in our hearts, causing them to sing?

Can you hear it now? the pattering and thundering of God’s rain on the roofs we’ve constructed to keep it out, the slashing monsoons to this thirsty world?

Can you taste it yet? The brine from that crashing, endless sea? The grey, aching horizon that calls you to leave all behind?

I’ll be damned if God isn’t actually bigger than the fortresses we’ve created to wall ourselves off from the world. Maybe the reason it’s gotten so dull in sunday school is because we couldn’t fit God in our newly purchased youth building.

And if the Facts point to a meaningless universe where we drift aimlessly to our deaths, then try and stop me from wandering to every corner of it, play-acting at being a hero for my invisible God.

Because if there’s one thing I do know, is that this world we’ve constructed is one huge cattle-schute, to funnel us, heirs to the Infinite Kingdom, away from our destiny. And I choose to believe that our destinies will find us the day we stop being controlled by our fears and false desires.

I’m just one little boy-man with gossip issues who inspects his biceps in the mirror and finds them wanting. But from this day forward I don’t want to keep accepting the role of a gagged wooden puppet, pretending to be perfect and have all the answers.

Since all men die, I’d rather die gripping my King’s banner in the free air than lie embalmed in a flowery casket. If I’m going to live for God’s love, than it’s real love, all the way. The love that gives this world color and and breaks down our strongholds and chains and sets us free from the suffocating identities the devil tells us is our destiny.