The Fallen World

I cringe whenever I read some do-gooder express hope that we will wipe out hunger, disease or crime because of some technological or medical advance.

As a journalist for nearly 30 years, I’ve seen way too much depravity to view the future through rose-colored glasses. When I compare the world now to that of my childhood, there’s no question that evil has taken a great leap forward.

The world will never overcome evil because the heart of humans is wicked. Thank God for all the benevolent programs around to feed the hungry, shelter the homeless and clothe the naked. But the fact remains that, overall, we’re regressing in the way we act toward our fellow human beings.

In reality, selfishness, greed and mistreatment of others is rampant. Sexual, physical and emotional abuse is at epidemic proportions around the globe in various forms. The warlord would rather hijack donated food and sell it for a profit than to see starving children eat it. The drug dealer wants to keep users from getting well. The sex trafficker abducts young women and robs them of their purity and souls.

The church is the antidote to this coarsening and exploitation. But make no mistake: the opposition is on a roll.

A Relatively New Experience

Last Saturday my Aunt Mary was buried after succumbing quickly to cancer. Although she had lived in California nearly all my life, the burial took place in Springfield, Mo., where she grew up and where I now live.

I hardly knew anybody at the funeral except my Uncle Harold, my dad’s youngest brother and Mary’s husband of 66 years. Uncle Ralph, the only other of five sons to survive, also was there, pictured on the far right, next to Harold.

When I got to the cemetery I saw Harold and Ralph talking to a couple I didn’t know. It turns out this was my first cousin Mary, Ralph’s only child, and her husband Gary. Mary’s mother died when she was three, the year after my birth. At age 52, I had never met my cousin from Virginia.

That seemed odd, because I visit with her dad every year or two. And I’ve spent time with all four of Harold’s sons, even though they all live on the West Coast. But cousin Mary’s and my paths had never crossed. In the few moments we had together, we discovered we both have been married 32 years and have three sons in their 20s.

After the service we said goodbye. Mary and Gary soon flew back home. The brief experience of meeting a long-lost cousin left me yearning to find out more.
Mary invited my wife and me to visit them and we urged them to come spend time with us. I hope it doesn’t take another half century to get better acquainted.

Save Me from Callous Remarks

Sitting at a gate waiting for my connecting plane last week in Chicago’s O’Hare International Airport I couldn’t help but hearing a disturbing conversation between a couple of other passengers. A white woman in her 60s loudly moaned to a white man in his 60s about the futility of Obamacare and how much she hates the president.

It became apparent, in listening to her babble on, that her real target for wrath is anyone who doesn’t work as hard as she does. The irate female, a Tennessee nurse, told of how she had assisted in a surgery of a 15-year-old boy who had been shot by a police officer after a run-in with the law. She matter-of-factly mentioned that, because the intubation tube had been erroneously inserted into the boy’s lung instead of stomach, it left him brain dead.

That medical mistake didn’t upset this woman. No, she lamented that the boy’s parents had wrangled from the hospital and insurers not only a settlement for lifetime care but the loss of $10 million in potential lifetime earnings.

“You know that obese kid was just going to keep getting into trouble,” she declared. “He would have been dead by 18 anyway.”

I wanted to go engage the woman in conversation, but I figured I wouldn’t change her opinions on the insurance industry, non-whites or chubby kids. I just hope before I go off on some group of people I stop to check that my attitude isn’t so callous. No matter how worthless a life may seem to me, everyone has value in God’s eyes. There can’t be a dollar value placed on the loss of that life.

Sign of the Times

In the span of a week, two men have approached me begging for gas money. That people are desperate for a few bucks shows that the recession is real and we’re not out of it.

Of course beggars have been around before the economy went sour. But the occasional fellow at a street corner or interstate off ramp is passive. The guys who approached me, one as I pumped gas and the other as I went into a drug store, both had an aggressive urgency in their pleas.

The cynic in me could have denied them any help. The skeptic in me could have doubted the excuses both gave me — that their wives had the debit card — as a scam. Perhaps their wives really did have the card because they were in such financial straits.

In any regard, I gave each guy a few bucks. The fact that they expressed gratitude rather than greed convinced me I had done the right thing. And it made me appreciate the fact that the Lord has provided me with a good job with a good salary. I shouldn’t begrudge giving a few dollars to someone in need.

Easter Renewal

Center City Church moved into its “new” facilities on Easter. New as in remodeled. Parts of the building are 136 years old, and most of the rest is 109 years old.

Many Center City attendees have had a hand in whipping the building into shape in the past month. Under the capable leadership of volunteer coordinator Jeremy Coursen (pictured with his family), crews nightly painted, cleaned and rebuilt. The building has a new children’s area, nursery and pastor’s office. The sanctuary has a fresh look on the walls and floor to accompany the stained-glass windows that have been around a long time.

Or course as Pastor Richard Yasinski has been preaching, the church isn’t a building; it’s the people. And while having our own place to worship after a six-month nomadic existence at Cook’s Kettle, a restaurant operated by Victory Mission — which generously allowed us to assemble after we lost the lease at our last location — is satisfying, it’s not a place for comfort.

Our new location is in a part of the city where few pastors, other than Rich, are excited to locate. Only a block away from a street where the homeless hang out, Rich is eager for our church to offer Christ-like compassion in the new neighborhood.