Tuesday, May 13, 2014

Strike up the band, Beefy Levinson's back in town

My buddy the youth minister got married this last weekend. May he and his lovely bride enjoy many happy years and many beautiful children together. The wedding took place at Sacramento's cathedral, spared wreckovation in the 1970s by being declared a historical landmark. Who'd have thought the California legislature would ever be a friend to Tradition? He made it a black tie affair as well. Good on him I say. None of this outdoor wedding stuff with people in Hawaiian shirts and shorts. I, of course, had to go all out: tuxedo, top hat, monocle, white gloves, black cape, sword cane, spats, gold cigarette case, snuff box, revolver, and pocket watch. That's how Beefy Levinson rolls.

Regis Martin asks if anyone will end up in hell:
In Robert Speaight’s The Unbroken Heart, a novel sadly neglected in the long years following its publication in 1939, a character named Arnaldo has just been told of his beloved wife’s untimely death.  His reaction, by today’s standards, seems very strange indeed.  “It does not really interest me,” he confesses, “to know by what accident Rhoda died.  All our lives are an accident and we must all die somehow.”So what does interest him?  The answer, to his interlocutor at least, sounds almost incomprehensible.  “I want to know how she died, what was in her mind, what her soul said to God when she fell from the rampart.  Nothing else is of the least importance whatsoever.  Our life is directed to that moment when we fall from the rampart, and our eternal destiny is decided by that.  But I see that you don’t believe that.”
Nor, would it appear, does anyone else.  Certainly not anyone these days, i.e., people anxious to appear hip and stylish, their opinions plugged into the usual circuits of secularity.  People for whom the parameters of life are far more plausibly found between the covers of, say, Time or Newsweek or People Magazine, are not interested in tracing the soul’s trajectory at the moment of death.   A huge eruption in sensibility having taken place in recent years, the traditional eschatological landscape remains largely unrecognizable.
We bloggers are particularly susceptible to this. There's nothing intrinsically wrong about being well informed about worldly events, but we must take care that it doesn't become a consuming passion. How we die is in a sense even more important than how we live. One unconfessed mortal sin on our conscience at the moment of death will send us to hell even after a lifetime of doing good. The Godless heathen thinks that this is insane, as if God is not the Lord God of Hosts but the Egyptian death god Anubis who will weigh us in the scales to judge our eternal destiny. Mortal sin is insane to a degree. It requires full knowledge that what we're doing is wrong and the consent of the will in performing it. Our subjective guilt can be mitigated by any number of circumstances, but we still do it in too many cases. Following the path of Christ is necessary for our own spiritual sanity.

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