I am currently reading December 1941 by Craig Shirley. (Among other things). It is to this point a fascinating account of the American consciousness during the days leading up to and immediately following the dastardly attack on Pearl Harbor. His accounts are taken from various newspaper articles extant from those days. It is amazing how things change. It is amazing how some things never do. In an article discussing the lack of literacy among the young people “today,” a professor from the university of South Carolina, Dr. Reed Smith wrote,
“The old principle … that you can’t sharpen an axe on a velvet grindstone has given place to the view that if pupils don’t like it, they shouldn’t be required to do it…the underlying assumption seems to be…that students will write clearly and correctly by some sort of blessed intuition if only the teacher does not depress them with such inconvenient and unprofitable matters as spelling, paragraphing, punctuation sentence structure, grammar and the choice of and order of words.”
One can only imagine what he would think of today’s students who are often made to live up to low expectations and are trained in the art of communication with text abbreviations and social media.
This Thanksgiving Holiday was a wonderful one for my family. We had the opportunity to visit on various occasions with almost all of our family. I am thankful for my family.
The saddest moment of Thanksgiving occurred on the drive home on Thursday night from dinner. The kids were quiet (it was the movie, not the Turkey induced coma, which came later). The route that I travel home is mostly rural, and mostly without street lights, so it was difficult to miss the flashing arrow sign pointing to a local “beer joint” in the middle of nowhere. As bad as it bothers me that such a place exists, what was on the sign bothered me even more. The message on the sign read, “Thanksgiving Potluck, 11/27/14.” I was almost moved to tears. My thoughts immediately turned to the body of Christ.
How far have we fallen, that those who are down and out, those who are hopeless and alone must find their sense of community and belonging underneath a neon sign rather than in the homes of those who name the name of “Christ”? I was broken-hearted and convicted. It is my prayer that the body of Christ(including myself) will do a better job of being the hands and feet of Christ in the coming months and years of offering God’s hope, mercy, grace, and forgiveness to everyone. That way they will find their comfort, home and community in the the Gospel, and not the bottle.