The Good Doctor is describing what ails us:
There was, at the first, the video: a teenage girl, lured into a trap, then brutally beaten by six other girls her age for thirty minutes continually, carefully recorded on video for upload to YouTube.
Then came the Yale “artist”
who repeatedly impregnated herself by artificial insemination, then
aborted the fetus with drugs, carefully saving the results for display
wrapped in plastic and Vaseline for her senior art exhibit.
Then this morning, in the local paper: a man — a school bus driver — convicted for sexually assaulting a 4-year-old girl left alone on his bus.
One could multiply such incidents, ad nauseum, on almost any given
day, in any part of the world — beheadings and genocide, ghoulish
scenes of body parts and bloodied walls from yet another heroic martyr
seeking virgins through hyperviolence. Yet these events, small on such
a savage scale, in some way troubled me more than most.
One wants to rail at a society gone mad, at a civilization which has
lost its bearings and moral compass, at a decadence fed by materialism
and secularism, force-fed with the rotgut wine of postmodern
relativism, drunk with the notion that ideas have no consequence and
idols worshiped bring no destruction.
Yet the time for such anguished mourning seems long past, its
passing but a point in a pitiful past history. We have, it seems,
entered the post-human age.
Our secular prophets have heralded the Good News: there is no God;
we are but accidental apes. We have been liberated from the bondage of
religion and morals; we are, at last, in this twenty-first century, at
the pinnacle of human achievement and potential. The shackles of
superstition are broken, the potential of man unbounded, his glory
unlimited but by the constraints of his imagination.
Yet as we celebrate our exalted humanity, the technology we worship
brings glimpses of a darker reality, flashed in some subliminal message
quickly dismissed as aberration or sideshow.
We may reflexly think of those who partake in such ghastly
exhibitionism to be but beasts– but to think thus insults the animal,
whose nobility far exceeds our own. For the animal kingdom is violent,
brutish, and predatory — but it is so with purpose, its violence
constrained by the drive to survive, or mate, or protect its territory.
It is only the human animal who ventures into the subhuman, in
glorification and gleeful pursuit of perversion for pleasure, of
violence as theater. It is this theatrics of barbarism so prevalent in
our age which bespeaks something far darker, more sinister, more
terrifying. For to be human is to share the beautiful and the good with
the hideous and evil; it has been so since the dawn of history. But to celebrate perdition,
to promulgate a pornography of barbarism, to cast it abroad over media
and message seems the unique and chilling characteristic of our current
reckless age.
Civilization has always withstood the barbarians with low walls
lightly guarded. It has depended far less on strength of force than
strength of character, a consensus among the civilized that certain
behavior and unrestrained license threaten its very existence. Laws and
the power of enforcement cannot long resist the dark demons of
depravity unleashed from within; the power of Rome proved feeble when
there became no difference between the citizens within and the
barbarians without. The Dark Ages which thus ensued seem now long
forgotten, even as we arrogate the privileges of freedom while
destroying the self-control and restraint on which it depends.
There is more, written beautifully by someone who is so obviously touched by God's spirit and who manifests that touching in his posts.
There's a prophetic warning in the message, akin to that put out by G. K. Chesterton when he spoke of our need to understand the purpose for fences before removing them.
We are in need of an awakening. We are in need of those who would remind us, with substantiating integrity, that there's An Anchor out there, A Tether, who offers not the kind of freedom we have too much of today, a freedom that in reality is as binding, but A Freedom that frees us truly.
The holes in our soul, holes which lead us to every kind of barbarity, depravity and immorality while we search for an in-filling, are what I believe to be holes that can be filled only by the substance and person of Christ.
Yet, as I believe I've learned in the last number of years, it's a hole filled full for only moments. Somehow, that hole leaks, and our yearning for yet another filling returns once more and again we must seek not that substitutionary filling offered by the things of this world but the substitutionary filling offered by God the Father through Christ His Son.
How that infilling is proven to have taken place will be the source of much angst within Christendom and it has certainly driven me bonkers over the years. I'm of a place now where I worry less about the how and more about the when.
My prayer is that The Fence too many have worked to dismantle will be mended and that you and I will be used, in small ways and bigger ways, to be His menders.
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