There is nothing new under the sun

I’d like you to meet my friend, Herman. He’s super nice. He mows his lawn. He waves when he sees you out and about.

He watches the news, at least until it makes him want to throw a brick through the screen. He knows the world is going insane, but he doesn’t know why. His pastor tells him it’s because we’re in the End Times (and he must be right because he’s been saying it for 40 years). Apparently, this is how it must go.

Herman worked hard all his life. He sent his kids to the public school because, well, that’s what one does. That’s what they’re there for. His 2.5 children graduated hating math and reading; knowing nothing of history or the 10th Amendment; but, knowing one thing for sure: that God is irrelevant except on Sundays, and that’s why he wasn’t mentioned all week.

They’re really nice people now, though. Tolerant of every new idea. Compliant with every new law. They clock in on time every day and even get awarded occasionally for being the best cogs in the machine.

Herman taught them diligently to “obey authority,” and he thought he was doing something Christian as he did. They learned well, and now you couldn’t pay them to suspect that someone with a uniform or an office or a title might be the minion of Satan.

They all go to church, because, again, that’s what the good guys do. That’s what it’s there for. They don’t question anything. The paid man up front knows God and the Bible so that no one else has to.

They remain oddly upbeat, though. Every election cycle brings an opportunity to get all this insanity turned around. Hope springs eternal.

Herman’s head hits the pillow at night, and for a while he lays there, staring into darkness, wishing his wife would stop snoring, and he wonders how many years have been cut off of his retirement savings in the last several months of inflation.

What if the bad guys over there use a nuke? What if fentanyl gets into the water supply?

Here’s another election, another chance to get it right. But, if Herman’s honest with himself, he suspects none of those jokers on the ballot know any more than he does about how to fix any of this.

He can’t hear it now, but the dusty book on his bedstand whispers. It’s a small voice, and still. It’s not going to shout over the noise, the screaming heads that used to be called “talking heads.”

Herman, do you know how valuable you are? Did you forget, or did you just never know? Your name is engraved on my hand. You are worth more than many sparrows, more than the grass of the field, and yet I feed and clothe even them. You trouble your own mind with many thoughts as if some new thing were happening, but the one who keeps you sat enthroned at the flood and knows about all of the storms that terrify you.

You see, Herman, my friend, sometimes the quaking earth is meant to make us realize how much effort it takes to keep our idols standing.

Gordan Runyan is the pastor of Immanuel Baptist Church in Tucumcari. Contact him at:

[email protected]