There are just a few people, and just a few of those being Christian, that have read the Bible and believe that not only are we called to be good stewards of the Earth, but that we are to pay attention, that we are to REMEMBER, that we are to learn from the past and not make the same mistakes, over and over and over again. That we are to speak the Truth, and live the Truth, and not accept paltry immitations of the Truth. And yet Christian after Christian gladly accept weak, watered-down versions of the Gospel, that have absolutely nothing to do with Jesus. Where are the watchmen on the walls? The walls are empty, and the watchers are staring at the clouds -- isn't that a nice clown right there, right next to the silent elephant in the corner of the room? What's this world coming to, is what I'd like to know.
A Distant View.
Redberry the Guff peered into his high-powered binoculars, a massive occular device, as big as a well-fed cow, which was mounted upon a swivel, which in turn was mounted upon a great stainless steel spring, and the whole shebang was housed inside a slowly revolving turret at the top of a two-hundred-foot stainless steel tower. Redberry the Guff reached the binocular device every day by trudging like a soldier up a winding stainless-steel staircase. The tower itself was mounted upon the fifth story roof of an ancient monastery that in the far, far past had originated as a fort. The five-story monastery perched upon a massive boulder, a rock bastion 100 times the size of the monastery itself, and the massive boulder, named St. Craghead by the monks a long, long time ago, crowned the top of a tallest mountain in a range of very tall mountains, and the massive boulder sitting on top of the tallest mountain appeared no more than a pebble seated upon its very tip.
In short (actually, in tall), Redberry the Guff spent his days perched on top of the world, and his vision was open to the world, and through the massive high-powered binocular device he could see things that other men could only imagine. Redberry the Guff was chosen as the Visionary because his eyesight was the best of all the young men in twelve surrounding villages. On absolutely clear days Redberry the Guff could see farther than any man had ever seen before, and on certain rare but seemingly magical days when he was feeling especially perky, he could see further than even he had ever seen before.
He watched for the distant movement of raiders. He watched for approaching storms. He watched for friendly ships on the far-away sea. And he watched for the approach of both friend and enemy through the winding valleys which lead to the open plains of the Twelve Villages. Redberry the Guff was the eyes of the Twelve Villages. He was the prime counselor in steering the planning and protection of the plains upon which the Twelve Villages existed.
One thing that every villager knew, was that if Redberry the Guff said something was going to happen, it would happen, every single time. As far as anyone knew, Redberry the Guff had never been wrong. If he predicted the arrival of Viking raiders sneaking up the one tributary wide enough to pilot a Viking dragon boat, those raiding Vikings would surely appear. If he predicted the mighty mass of cycling storms, building in volume, the villages would batten down the hatches in preparation for the storm which would surely arrive. If Redberry the Guff said that the donkey trading party was returning with ten extra donkies, the villagers planned their prosperity accordingly. And if Redberry the Guff observed that the grasses near the seacoast were slow to turn green, the village elders knew a drought was in store, and thus increase store, because hard times were just around the bend.
The word of Redberry the Guff is as good as gold, the Mayor of the sixth village declared, and the saying became an instant maxim for the wise to repeat, and they repeated it often, even those deemed less than wise said it and said it often, and everyone and all that heard it said, that the word of Redberry the Guff was as good as gold, they nodded their head in agreement, pursing their lips and smiling.
But Redberry the Guff often overstepped his responsibilities. He peered through his massive binocular device and things became clear to his watching eyes, and he watched the streams joining the rivers and he watched the rivers joining with the sea, and soon Redberry the Guff knew that what was done at the top of a river, in the long run affected what happened at the bottom of a river. That what the villagers did here high in the mountains, always affected the very sea itself, and people who lived there at the edge of the sea, though the mighty waters were far, far away from where the villagers lived. And observing this connection, Redberry the Guff would tell the people to stop dumping their factory wastes into the rivers, and that the engineers needed to pipe the wastes of the villagers away from the rivers.
The villagers did not wish to hear what Redberry the Guff said about things here in the 12 Villages, high in the mountains, because the far-seeing binocular device was of little use here close-up.
Stick to the far away, they assured him, that is where you are expert. Leave the dirtying of waters to us.
Many peoples live far, far away, Redberry the Guff told the villagers, because he had seen them, and he knew that the far away peoples were becoming angry, and even militant due to the wastes which flowed down the rivers. Through his massive binocular device Redberry the Guff saw that animals were dying due to the polluted waters, he saw that children were sick, and that the plants watered by the rivers withered, and died, and that the peoples far, far away -- once a happy, bositerous lot -- were thin, and gray, and they smiled no longer, and Redberry the Guff saw how they shaded their eyes when they looked toward the mountains, their hard and grim eyes and mouths severe, and he saw the soldiers marching and practicing with their bows and swords, and he saw that they built great machines of war.
Are armies marching against us? the people asked.
No, there are no enemies approaching, Redberry the Guff reassured the villagers. The villagers were reassured. BUT, he warned, if you continue in your greedy, selfish ways, the armies will march, the enemies will approach, and times will not be good. You must take action now, and behave yourselves, and think about others instead of just about yourselves, and you must think about tomorrow and not just about today.
Do not say this, the villagers said. Your word is as good as gold, Redberry the Guff, but we do not want to hear your imaginings. Do not say things that are not happening, even that they might happen, because by speaking you might encourage them to happen. Leave things as they are, as they always have been, which we want, and do not talk about things that have not happened, are not happening, and can never happen. That is the way it has been and the way it always has been, and always will be.
Redberry the Guff attempted to reason with the villagers. He attempted to explain how all things were connected, how he had observed that things done up here always resulted in consequences down there. That distance is nothing. That bad seeds planted up high here in the mountains will reap a bitter harvest in the coastal peoples below, and that consequence would follow action. That action set things in motion, that action produces consequence, and that mere words of good intention most assuredly blow away in the wind and count for nothing.
Only words resulting from good action mean anything.
You have reported no troubles coming here, the villagers returned, confident that Redberry the Guff's vision was as good as ever. Thus, there is no danger. Tell us when you see it coming, and we will listen. But if there is no danger, do not speak. Shut thy face, Redberry the Guff.
Redberry the Guff rubbed his head in vexation. He rolled his eyes. He barked laughter. He burned red in the face with anger. He stomped his boots in frustration. Seemingly, he could not reach the villagers. He could not impart the knowledge he had accumulated by observing the conditions of far, far away. And he did not like nor appreciate the people saying that his word was as good as gold, as he only reported what he observed, and what they said did not match what they did, because they would not listen to his word unless it matched what they wanted it to say, and he was as sucseptible to mistake as was any other man, but now the people were twisting his whole purpose of observation into something it was never meant to be.
Many villagers worried. They believed that Redberry the Guff's words were as good as gold, and they had heard him say that bad things were in progress. Others argued just the opposite, that their visionary servant high in the turreted tower had said that there was no danger, that no enemy approached, and they swore oaths that Redberry the Guff's words were as good as gold.
And as the villagers argued, they doubled their wrong-doing in polluting the rivers and streams. Many felt that their very prosperity depended upon destroying the river and streams, as it seemed that Redberry the Guff had said that danger could come from the rivers and streams.
The villagers who believed that they should harken to the advice of Redberry the Guff and take good care of the waters began to argue with the villagers who purposefully contaminated the waters. But other than arguing these villagers did nothing. But they judged that since they spoke rightly, and their neighbors spoke wrongly, that they -- the right speakers -- were morally superior to the wrong speakers. And the villagers who scoffed at the idea of there being any harm in dumping their foul wastes into the waters finally began to resent their neighbors' attitude of moral superiority.
But both sets of neighboring villagers did all the same things. They just said things differently. Same actions, different opinions.
The neighbors who fouled the waters and said it was good, perceived their opposition as idiotic nincompoops.
The neighbors who fouled the waters and said it was bad and that they should stop the insanity, perceived their opposition as morally inferior liberals.
Fearing the outbreak of civil war, an assembly meeting was called, all the villagers flocked to hear words from their shepherds, and the twelve mayors of the Twelve Villages bunched together before the gathering to form committees, agree upon agendas and distribute a table of contents.
Then they commenced to argue.
They yelled. And they calmed themselves and spoke softly, rationally. Then they took another spell of squealing and quacking, mooing and neighing and honking until every single villager was pooped. It was time for something more productive.
They set into their feasting. And they ate a lot. Great barrels of wine almost magically found themselves dry. Chickens vanished, feathers puffing into the wind. Cows tipped and throats were slit and barbecues fired up and burgers were dispersed.
Then, finally, when the villagers and mayors felt they had accomplished quite a lot, and that they were well on the way to both addressing and solving all their problems, and were also halfway through their table of contents, and were stuffed to the point of retching into the waters to foul them even more fully, and, finally, finally, the villagers condescended to summon Redberry the Guff down from his tall and stainless-steel tower.
Redberry the Guff had a lot to answer for. Redberry the Guff had started much trouble. Redberry the Guff had with premeditation, and some thought with great malice, set out to bring the villagers into contention one with another.
Go, the mayors commanded, with great grace, go back into your stainless steel towers, but from henceforth issue no more projections of your own vain imaginings. Report to us only what you see, stupid man, and do your job well, and have a burger.
Redberry the Guff made no reply. He turned and walked away from the Twelve Villages and headed into the mountains, climbing, climbing higher and higher, and climbing until he had ascended to where no man had previously ascended. And none from the Twelve Villages ever heard from Redberry the Guff again.
The Twelve Mayors did visit the high perch in the revolving turret, they each one of them did look through the binocular device, but unfortunately they each peered into the wrong end of the great and majestic device, and each mayor perceived that the world was very small, and very far away, and thus would never present any problem that they could not contain or manage or at the worst, defeat. Thus the tall tower was sealed, and no watchman sat again upon the high pinnacle.
None observed the great gathering of Viking dragon boats on the coastline far, far away. None observed the great meeting between the coastal peoples and giant Viking raiders, and feasting that followed, and the table of contents that was never created and yet swiftly decided upon. None observed the dragon boats paddling upstream followed on either side by the gathered armies of all the coastal peoples who had finally had enough with the filthy people of the mountains, those despicable miscreants. None were in the towering stainless-steel tower, none were peering through the massive binocular device, non observed the angry faces, none observed the resolute determination of the oncoming soldiers.
And soon, there was fire, and plunder, and screams, many, many screams, and there was little grace that long night, a full bellies were split and spilled, and haughty mayors were dragged from beds and plunged into the filthy waters that they themselves had recently fouled. But soon again, the fires abated, the smoke cleared in the winds, and the many, many bones returned to dust, and again the waters ran clean, and happy peoples on the coast soon imagined living high in the mountains, and a new civilization appeared where the old one had vanished, and the ruins of a monastery sitting upon a massive boulder atop the highest mountain was once again refurbished, and a tower was stationed high upon the monastery, higher than any previous tower had stood before.
It was a better tower. A stronger tower. None could imagine it ever falling.
And, of course, the peoples forgot. This new civilization did not remember, any better than the previous civilization had remembered. Because the last one, the civilization when Redberry the Guff was the visionary watcher -- why, it was just one in a long line of gathered villages, huddled against superstition and stupidity, imagined hubris and great worth in a vast universe. And this new civilization was no smarter than any of the previous ones. No greater, no smarter, no more advanced, no more immortal than any gathering of people had ever been before.
A woman in this new civilization, high up in a stainless steel tower, turned her great binocular device in the opposite direction from which it usually watched the coastlines and the valleys in between the mountains and the sea, and she turned the device upon the marching-away mountain range, and she wondered at the vast mountains that seemingly went on forever. And then she wondered even more, because it appeared she saw a man, far, far away, marching, marching, ever climbing, and this woman in this new civilization could not imagine what man was climbing there where no man had ever climbed before. Was it an old man, with long white hair, and long white beard, with strong, squared shoulders, marching up, soldiering on?
This woman high in this new tower, much more technologically advanced than any previous tower, shrugged her shoulders. Perhaps it was just an insect crawling upon the outer lense of the great binocular device. She returned to observing the coast, and the strange peculiarity of the faces there frowning, and turning what appeared to be angry faces up at the mountains where this new woman in this tower watched.
Should she tell the villagers below of these angry faces? Of the apparent sickness among the coastal peoples? And the apparent problem with the streams and rivers?
Somehow, through intuition, she knew they would not listen. So she hummed a song and turned the massive binocular device upon the clouds. Such strange shapes there. Twisting spirals, like storms far away, cycling and whirling. And the prismatic splitting of light, the vast rainbows, ah, she could watch them forever. She smiled. The great aerial storms were calming to watch. Calming. Peaceful.
Yes. Peace. Peace.
And, surely, peace.
* * *
Doesn't it make sense, that if God entrusts an entire planet to mankind, that He expects them to take care of that responsibility? People love to say things like: "When God gave the Ten Commandments, He didn't call them the Ten Suggestions." And then they turn around and try to explain to you, with a Bible (gasp, they should be ashamed) in their grimy hands, WHY we don't have to keep the Ten Commandments, and why we SHOULD destroy this world (because in Revelation when it says that Jesus is returning to this planet to destroy those that are destroying the Earth, He wasn't talking about US, was He? No way, He was just talking about THEM, you know, the ones that do the same things as us but just say things a little bit differently, yeah, that's who God wants to kill, can I get an amen?).
I recently heard a "Christian" say that it because of the stupid liberals that we can't dig up Yosemite, and Sequoia, and Yellowstone, and all the national parks, those preserves (do they KNOW what preserve means?) where God's handiwork is yet visible, so that we can get the oil deep under there, you know, so that we can drive big cars on the Fourth of July, and roar our internal combusion engines to the glory of God Almighty -- I mean, God sure doesn't want us driving around in electric cars, come on! Those sucker are way, way too quiet.
God loves noise, don't He? Ain't that why Christianity has become a bloody circus?
It's something, about sense, you know? It pretty much makes sense. Anyone can do it -- THINK, I mean. You just have to make an effort, to see through the propaganda, the slogans, buzz words, "thinkless" speech, knee-jerk reactions and angry, bitter rhetoric.
Try it, thinking, what have you got to lose in a crazy, crazy world?
What's this world coming to, anyway, is what I'd like to know.
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...Just Trying to Make Sense in a Crazy, Crazy, Loony-Tunes World.
Just give Thinking a chance.
THINK. Think your own thoughts.
Use the MIND that God Himself gave you, the thing that makes you unique, the thing that encompasses YOU, your mind, your noodle, your "heart" as the Bible calls it. Think with it, it's what God wants you to do. If you only think the thoughts of other people, you are not doing what you were designed to do. THINK. Or at least think about thinking, that would be a good start.
Sense is not evil. Common sense is a good thing, and perhaps not as "common" as the cliche. You think you can't figure it out, but that is because you haven't ever tried. God gave you a brain for a reason, and it is your responsibility to USE it.
Is tradition more important than what the Bible actually says?
Why do people who say "God is love" believe He is more monstrous than any serial killer that ever lived?
Why do people equate "justice" with endless torture -- and yet they wince when they hear of military men torturing their prisoners?
When God says He is coming back to destroy those who are destroying the Earth, is He just bluffing?
Why do those on the left, who don't believe in God, say we should protect the planet? And those on the right, who claim to believe in God, say the world isn't important?
Society is robbing you of thought. Ads and gurus and the very worst of "teachers" are right now sapping your very soul. Aspartame and sucralose and Acesulfame K and splenda and MSG and high-fructose corn syrup and perpetual bombardment by cellular phone rays and the worst of nutrition-free diet is all adding up to rob you of your very ability to THINK. But you can yet do it. Exercise your gray matter.
Society is robbing you of thought. Ads and gurus and the very worst of "teachers" are right now sapping your very soul. Aspartame and sucralose and Acesulfame K and splenda and MSG and high-fructose corn syrup and perpetual bombardment by cellular phone rays and the worst of nutrition-free diet is all adding up to rob you of your very ability to THINK. But you can yet do it. Exercise your gray matter.
In short (actually, in tall), Redberry the Guff spent his days perched on top of the world, and his vision was open to the world, and through the massive high-powered binocular device he could see things that other men could only imagine. Redberry the Guff was chosen as the Visionary because his eyesight was the best of all the young men in twelve surrounding villages. On absolutely clear days Redberry the Guff could see farther than any man had ever seen before, and on certain rare but seemingly magical days when he was feeling especially perky, he could see further than even he had ever seen before.
