A couple of weeks ago, I wrote a piece about Boomers, and took it in the teeth pretty good for it. Some commenters were genuinely offended, and I had a few trolls who were downright vulgar. While I care not a tuppence for trolls who cannot scribble out a simple sentence without profanity or insults, to those who were truly hurt, I am sorry. It can be difficult to portray nuance, sarcasm, or satire these days. I think that some of that is because the emotional state of the union is such that everyone is on edge. We are ready for a fight. The status quo has reached a point where we are tempted to dig foxholes, no matter who we are talking with. Not only are the two sides of the aisle on DEFCON-2 at the very least, but no matter what side you pick, there are always those who will say that you are not the right brand of whatever doctrine you favor. As the comedians say, “Tough room.”
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In short, current events are making us all crazy.
I thought about quitting. In fact, about two weeks before that column, I handed in my resignation to our managing editor, Paula Bolyard, over the company chat forum. My rationale was that I was losing my step, my work was not exactly in line with the company’s current focus, I was getting burned out, I don’t have nearly the time to write that I used to, and at last check we have 39 authors in the PJ Media stables, not counting the syndicated writers, which is a large number of people jockeying for pole position and column inches. (Okay, so technically, we don’t have column inches on the web, but you get my drift.) She asked me to stay on another two weeks. But there are moments that I look at my schedule and think to myself, if you’ll pardon the phrase, “F**k it. I don’t need this.”
Checking out is an easy, short-term solution to any problem since it nearly always works for about the first week or two. Maybe a month if you’re lucky. And there are times when a good rage-quit seems like just the thing you need, but a man ruled by his emotions, frustrations, and instincts is no man at all. Much can be done in the spur of a moment that cannot be easily undone.
Those who have read my stuff for a while know that I once studied to be an Episcopal priest, and later an Evangelical preacher. So, after years of study, both in and out of academia, I am not exactly a new convert who received his first Gideons Bible yesterday. (Fun fact: I used to be a member of the Gideons and placed a few Bibles in hotel rooms myself.) My journey from Episcopal Reject to Buddhist to Evangelical to Greek Orthodoxy was long and sometimes rough. And I don’t regret converting to Orthodoxy. I know it is not the religion of choice for many of our readers, but everyone has to take their own path, and not everyone has the same map. I love the theology of Orthodoxy and the liturgy. It’s the closest I have ever come to full communion with God.
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But I have been blowing off church lately. We have had a hectic schedule, but beyond that, I find myself not wanting to go mainly because much of the congregation seems to be made up of Democrats. And it is no secret that progressives have taken a zero-tolerance policy toward conservatives. A few of my fellow church members have seen my picture on the site and have been able to triangulate the photo and the name. I always cringe a little when I get recognized, because I never know if I am talking with a fellow conservative or someone who hates me, my writing, and my existence. I suspect at least one Democrat has discovered my “secret identity,” since she used to be very warm and cordial, and now regards me with the kind of joy normally reserved for discovering one has stepped in something that was likely dog food on the previous day. Oh well, you can’t please everyone.
The priests are great about staying out of politics and sticking to the Gospel, and I don’t go to church to discuss politics. But I have remained silent in conversations with other members who have been quite adamant in their hatred of Trump and all things conservative. I have, on a few occasions, had to clamp my jaws shut in order to keep the peace and not disrupt an otherwise jovial gathering. But I have often wondered what they would think if they ever navigated to my columns on PJ. And I have seen their social media posts excoriating Trump, conservatives, and, by extension, me, although they may not know it.
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And despite the columns I have written trying to explain the Leftist mindset from the POV of a former Democrat, even my patience is wearing paper-thin. Watching the chaos unfolding in L.A. had me doing a slow burn over the weekend. I am past the point of trying to help people understand the “why” behind the Left’s behavior in the hope of establishing some sort of détente, and simply saying, “The Left is made up of feral animals and their narcissistic, manipulative, dramatic leaders besotted with dreams of tyranny, and there is no hope for any of them. They are beyond logic, decency, and help.”
While feeding the chickens and watering the outdoor plants this morning, I was listening to Glenn Beck. He has promised to spend the next week dissecting the L.A. riots with the caveat that if the liberal in your life will not listen to reason and the facts he provides, it may be time to write them off as lost. That might work with the guy you spar with at the watercooler, or even your Keffiyeh Studies major cousin, whom you could never stand anyway. But what about church? What about the Body of Christ? What do you do when the new National Divide breaches the sanctuary doors? How are you supposed to worship with someone who thinks you are the lowest of the low, and just a year ago might have been perfectly happy if your name was given to Merrick Garland as a threat to democracy? What if you should be focusing on God, but can’t help thinking that the person a few rows over would hate your guts if they knew who you really were? How do you have communion with those people, not just communion in terms of being in a space together, but the Communion involving the Body and Blood of Christ? Church should be an exercise in transcendence. It should be neutral territory. But what if it doesn’t feel that way? At what point do you say, “I don’t need to worry if every other conversation is going to get out of hand, and someone is going to call me a SOB over a cup of church coffee and a bagel. F**k it. I don’t need this.”
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You don’t say it. As tough as it may be, you don’t say it.
First, last, and always, you go to church to worship. Fellowship, potlucks, camaraderie, and Monday Night Football with the Men’s Group are nice bonuses, but you go to church to worship God. As Michael Novak once said, “Worship is the duty owed by creatures to their Creator.” We can’t lose sight of who we are there to be with.
Second, salvation and grace are gifts, but we must be ready to receive them. Reaching transcendence requires a certain amount of effort on our part. And that is not easy. It’s a cinch to be filled with the Spirit when we hear the worship band play the latest hits, the organist launch into “A Mighty Fortress is Our God,” or even the opening strains of the Divine Liturgy. When the music fades, we need to be able to say, “God forgive them, they know not what they do,” when what we really want to say is, “God, please give those a##holes a right cross to the snot locker.”
Third, like it or not, Jesus demands of us what we demand of one another. And we will be judged on how Christ-like we have been. As the Apostle Paul said, “All have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God.”
None of this is to say that we should excuse or tolerate the chaos in L.A., the assaults by Antifa and the campus Hamas protesters, the sexualization of children by the trans movement, or the abuses of power and naked ambition of the Left. We must stand against them and be resolute in doing so. We must draw a line and brook no incursions. However, at the same time, we must bear in mind that when we fight, we are fighting for the souls of the opposition as much as we are fighting for our own safety, sanity, and livelihoods.
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