In “Keepers of History,” Joanna Lotta asks the question: Who holds your history? Lotta describes the “griots” who have amazing memories and whose role it is within their West African society to recite long histories and genealogies as well as songs of praise.
We can ask this question of our own lives. When we came into this world, we already possessed a history; one going back in time to all our fore-bearers. We held recorded in our genes, if not our memories, our mother and our father, our grandparents and great grand-parents; add to that as many greats as it takes to take us back to the very beginning of human beginnings. Even for one so small as each of us was in our zygotic beginnings, that’s a weighty argument for the worth of our being. From the beginning, you and I are not a nothing, nor a nobody, nor a blob of substance. Each of us is one in the line of the order of Adam called into existence by the breathe of God and cooperation of our human nature.
So now, for the unborn, I ask, “Who holds their history?” Further, I ask, “Who holds their destiny?” Will industries such as Planned Parenthood, abortion mills, research institutes, and unethical fertilization plants, manipulate the Present and the Future by abrogating our mortal and moral Past. Our souls, as well as our genes, tell a story; one that will be sung one day before our Creator as a song of praise or profanation. Eternity waits on an answer.
Neely Tucker writes in the Washington Post: “Science is closing in on humanoids and their seedy necessity to lie about almost everything, but don’t worry. We’ve had tens of thousands of years of practice at it, and until you stick your head inside a machine that plays with the protons in your brain so that it can film the neurons firing in your pre-frontal cortex, you can probably get away with it.”
Tucker quotes Maureen O’Sullivan, a professor of psychology at the University of San Francisco, who says, as most of us would, “I want things to be nice.” And this is the problem, she notes: Things are often not nice, and yet people who should know better ignore or look past the unpleasantness of the facts to see a happier version of reality to keep things, you know, nice.”
I say, all this sounds like the state of the nation, swallowing lie after lie, looking for sunshine on a cloudy day.
From the Anchoress for a laugh here’s some of our politicians and then this:
I am nailed to myself. In mercy, Lord, pick up this cross and carry me to Calvary.
I’m thinking about Jonah, the reluctant prophet. He usually pops up in the readings of the Liturgy of the Word during Lent. He made his appearance yesterday and has been wondering in the back of my mind giving his prophetic word, “Repent!”
Jonah needed to be hurled into the sea (a place of chaos) before he realized there was no escaping his responsibility before God. Jonah needed a second chance to get it right. Fortunately, for the people of Nineveh (the worldly city of sinners), having gotten Jonah’s attention, God called the prophet a second time. God was not going to fix things without his servant’s cooperation.
How like Jonah I am. I need to be carried kicking and screaming to the Lord’s will. How slow I am to remember that the only sign I’m going to get is the Now of my life. I do want Resurrection without the Crucifixion. So, here I sit in the belly of the whale, my only sign, the sign of the Cross. As Jonah spent three days in the belly of the great fish (a sign for Christ ) so Jesus spent three days in the tomb, and I must be there with Him waiting with faith. Maybe, my Now says I have to do something. Maybe it says I have to change. Three days with Jesus in the tomb will prepare me for both mission and mercy.
“Who knows, God may relent and forgive, and withhold his blazing wrath,
so that we shall not perish.”
When God saw by their actions how they turned from their evil way,
he repented of the evil that he had threatened to do to them;
he did not carry it out. Jonah 3: 10
These are days that pull me in directions I don’t want to go. My day starts with prayer and reflection. That sets a tone I want to preserve. You probably know how things go from there. The world tries to be the boss of me.
The best I can come up with as an image to sustain my wholeness is that of an oil lamp, full and lit, sitting on a stand. The world changes around it, winds blow, it’s light burns brightly at times; at other times it’s flame flickers and it needs it’s wick lengthened or trimmed; depending. What I see is that there’s no confusion about it’s being. It is not the world and it is not the turmoil. It is a light on a lamp stand. If it could feel, it might feel threatened, inflamed, dampened. The reality is, it remains a lamp on a stand with one reason for being.
So here I sit on my stand (pc at hand), resolute and responsive to the day, unconquered and unyielding. Whether darkness prevails around me, in some small way, does depend on me and others like me.
So everybody, how about it? In chorus now! “This little light of mine…..”
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