Level Ground

Can an infinite number of chimps on an infinite number of keyboards pound out a post that doesn’t accuse everyone else of being a $&#%-ing Nazi?

Probably not.

The problem with social media is that it isn’t.

…social.

Whoever you know online, you don’t know. And whoever knows you only online, you don’t want to know.

An essential ingredient missing from any community is communication. Oh, sure… everyone’s talking. And talking at once. But no one’s listening.

Another is unity.

Back in the day, some found evil lurking in the analog grooves of long playing vinyl. And everyone laughed.

Today, evil has evolved into digital hashtags. Cultural vandals hide behind anonymous screen handles and fake profiles to taunt, terrorize, and torch the world around them into either conforming cliques or fractured factions. But no one’s laughing.

There’s a price to be paid for distant socializing.

Even before the zombie apocalypse, the anti-social skipped out on everyday life with their fellow man – content to virtually exist in the very unreal community of online shopping, contactless banking, and app’d pizza.

…leaving everyone else to foot the bill for their hostility and incivility. Yeah, keep the change.

Or maybe our modern evil is air conditioning.

Dead to the world in our flat screens and palm idols, the neighbors could be beamed-up by wayward aliens and no one would even notice the gathering pile of unforwardable mail.

Not that anyone really has neighbors anymore – just people who live next door. And the rest of the world is just …there. Don’t have to talk to them, don’t have to listen, and don’t have to care.

From our climate controlled bubble mobiles, we cuss out other lane cutting idiots in terms we’d never confess face to face.

We bless the Father and give the finger to our fellow man, then wonder why Dial A Prayer goes straight to voicemail.

And when Sunday dawns, off we go to worship with our fellow man.

…sorta.

Rather than community gatherings, too many services have gone tribal – segregating believers from their neighbors by dialect, hue, or flavor of Gospel.

Everyone else is sleepin’ in.

Or gettin’ down at The Mega Mall of Religious Convenience with this week’s Imax message, free mega-watt concert, and (of course) the Bagel Hour of Power – dutifully totin’ that source of light and inspiration for all mankind…

iPhone preloaded with iBible: $1500.
Red-letter’d Hardcopy backup [option not selected]: $15.
Forgetting to remove iPhone before getting iBaptized: Priceless

Yeah, you may own the phone but Apple owns the app. And when the ‘net nannies sanitize your portal “to save your soul”, God’s Word is… Gone with the Wind.

Perhaps the Gospel’d be better served if all these churchy monopolies were busted-up like Ma Bell.

…into smaller community assemblies, where everybody knows your name: White clapboard framed stained glass, the fragrance of hardwood, and King James.

…and they’re always glad you came.

Because there’s warmth in a man’s hand and truth in his reflection. And you take him at his word, because… long before the country thought bandanas were cool “Do unto others…” was the rule.

Take a good look around – this is what “unity” looks like in a Fruity Pebble’d utopia.

Racial arsonists preach diversity and sing of rainbows, but their hearts are purely monochromatic. And like Pringles tumbling from a can, pitchforks and bullhorns in hand, they set out to destroy everything that offends them – everything that is not them: Columbus Day, Chik-fil-A, The Dukes of Hazzard… .

Robespierre preached unity through revolution. And he used the French Lives Matter mob to destroy non-believers …in the name of unity. In the end, the mob destroyed Robespierre.

Some lives matter. Some lives matter more than others. Yeah… welcome to the farm, animals.

Diversity doesn’t make us stronger. Just different.

Strength is found on level ground: Balls and Strikes, Stars and Stripes, The Flintstones… .

But there will no unity until the closed fist is replaced by an open hand. And no peace until the unrepentant pardon the unforgiven.

The ground is level at the foot of the cross.

Gathered beneath the steeple, everyone has a neighbor. And y’know… it’s hard to feud with folk who share your hymnbook.

Cowboy boots and sandals
Tailored suits and pony tails

…but there’s a baggage check at the altar.

Come as you are. Don’t leave the way you came.


West of Dodge
“No matter where people go, sooner or later there’s the law. And sooner or later they find God’s already been there.”

Sons of Liberty
We rebelled against the King’s unelected unaccountable governors, to be governed by our unelected unaccountable neighbors. Apparently we lost.