Sunday, November 30, 2014

Muh Ol' Day-ad

  Sundays are going to be different from now on. For the past couple of years I've tried to call (on the phone) my old Dad, hence the title of this C.P.E.. I wrote the title that way, because that is my usual pronunciation. No more shall I dial up "the old guy" (as my brothers and I once called him), and announce "Ola' Papa-san, this is #2 down in Cruces". That's history now, it's over. Pop died.
  It ain't like this caught us all flat-footed. We were not blindsided by a shock. It was much more like the snow arriving in due time, just about six weeks after the first morning frost is spotted in late October. He just kinda ran outta juice.
  I suppose it's inevitable that kids imprint upon their parents. I mean, what would the other option be? I imprinted as a boy, very heavily upon Carl N.M.I. Labor. By the time you hit your 30's or so, it becomes clear that you have become "more like your Dad (or Mom). . . than he is!". At minimum, such was the case with me. Now, as a side note; it is not entirely clear to me, whether in this essay to refer to the guy in the past or present tense. So there might well be some slop, category-wise herein. Anyhow, Pops was/is as much a "think" guy as you're likely to ever meet. It was all about cognitive brain action with the dude. A big word with Dad is, "to grasp"; as-in to understand a concept or idea. He loves puns, riddles, word problems, history and all things factual. A sort of one-man reality committee perhaps? Big conceptual word formats here are "realistic, unworkable, and actual" that there kind of thing. That is to say, he was informally at war with the entire schmeer of the "hold onto your dreams" school of thought; which has (until today at least) captured the imagination of the "West".
  See? It wasn't really "all about" whether (or not) you were personally all fulfilled in life, realizing goals and whatnot. That junk was for rich kids. Us blue collar types, who in fact do the WORK required to make the world go round, don't have the leisure to hang around bellyaching about some vague sense of unfulfillment. There is altogether too much work for us to be doing around here, to allow for any standing around, whining about whims not realized. . . I drank deeply at this well, so too my brothers and sisters. The whole "hip generation" thing just basically mystified him. Uhm, them there swingin' cats who are out to "get in touch with themselves", so to "tune in, turn on, and drop out" are just so many ill groomed morons to Carl.
  I think my favorite story of Dad's, was told just a year or two ago. He was really depressed, and so I just changed the topic on him. I said; "Pop, Christmas will be coming up pretty quick, what's the single most memorable Christmas you recall?". Without any hesitation, he jumped over into 1930. He was nine. He said; "You know what I got that year?. . . An orange!". It was the height of the Great Depression, and immigrant dirt-poor farmers (with a house full of kids), dug deep; and were able to outfit each one of their children with precisely one orange each! Hey, in the 30's it's not like you stroll the aisles of your friendly neighborhood grocer and pick up fresh produce gathered from across the world. Oranges were rare at that time of year! He said; "I took it upstairs with me up to bed. I peeled it carefully, and enjoyed like hell each and every slice! I saved-up the peel, and nibbled on it, until it was all gone. Best damned orange I ever had! Hell, I didn't even realize that our family was poor until I was about 14, when it dawned on me that Mom and Dad could not afford shoes for us boys.". So, the whole hip-generation thing with it's "angst, and the terror of being", or some darned thing, just was not a pressing concern for mister no middle initial. It was about work, it was about survival, and making the best that you can, of a bad situation. That's Pop.
  The one word that comes to mind when I think of the man, is "integrity". He loved using words like "honesty, common sense, and judgement". I do not recall him ever once smirking slyly that someone "got away with" something or another. He firmly believed, and said; "It will catch up with them eventually. Just you wait and see.". The very idea for instance, of seeing a coin fall out of a stranger's pocket, and keeping it himself, would be laughably improbable. Such a thing simply would not occur. . .ever. Carl was ever and always on duty, keeping guard on his own soul, on his own appetites, and passions. Order, always and ever trumped chaos, and Pop was the man who made it happen. So if his word was/is "integrity" I prefer to translate that into mike-speak as "word-oath".
  It was very difficult to anger him, (I managed it a few times only) but what surely drew his ire was "politicians", or more accurately "those dirty bastards". The entire problem here rotates upon the axis of word-oath. A man is as good as his word, and no more; and no less. Black, white, young, old, immigrant, native, educated, simple, none of that crap ever mattered a hoot. What the solitary measure was, was promise and it's fulfillment. Marriage sworn to death, was a playing of hardball on this score, and there was zero "chance" of him ever, ever "backing out, because we fell out of love". Such blather as that, was "incomprehensible bullshit", and that's him being charitable! Either you were a man. . . or you weren't, and the only working codex available so to determine that measure-by (in his book) was the "rock" of a man's word. This was Carl. "In the end you have to live with yourself, and your decisions. A man never went wrong by being honest". Oops, I appear to be channeling over here. But my point is this, "those dirty bastards" promised! Before God and man, with hand upon the Bible, they swore! They said they would uphold law, they said they would govern for the benefit of the whole community, not for the enriching of their stinking miserable cronies and goons! Dad could never forgive that. Ever.
   Pop, for the majority of his life was "outgoing", or so he imagined at least. I (for one) am convinced that somewhen in the 30's, there must have been some type of social consensus "out there" that it was fundamentally a better kind of thing to be an extrovert. See? There are only two kinds of people, givers and takers, workers and bums, contributors and parasites. If that much be granted, then extro is always the better option, and if you'll just try (!) you too can become an out-going "people person"! Let's just say that the results of that experiment are (at best) "mixed". I saw through this, even as a boy. I've always preferred to be alone. I get inspired with one or two (at most) very close friends, in a lucid and interminable all-nighter. Being shoulder to shoulder with throngs, or interacting with strangers, pretending to care is a tax to pay, and it is exhausting. Carl was that way too, but for decades, could not really center in there. This extroverted gig was "the right thing to do", best to be outward poised, and well; that settles that. And it kinda worked (in an awkward way) all those years, until it all came crashing down a few years back. "We can always hope" is Carl Labor, but when it became clear to that very visual soul, that he could never retrieve lost eyesight, he slipped into a depressive pity party that shocked even him. He was scared I think by the depth of despair, and really really did NOT want to "deal with it". His old pattern was finally cracking. The other shoe had finally dropped, and he was panicked to somehow return it to it's "rightful place". Nan and I both knew the dark side; but it surprised the heck out of him. When I said; "So you wanna die huh Pop? Well, take a number, and get in line with every other swingin' dick! You think you're the first on this page Dad? I've battled down suicide for over 30 years, and kicked it's sorry ass. But, I didn't do it alone! Your daughter Nan; you recall her? You know the one devastated in heart, over that lost son? You dig that divorce drill of hers? And you don't think that (just maybe?) that nearly tore her to pieces? Newsflash Dad, she didn't do it alone either!". It was an odd response that I got from him. It seemed to disquiet him that "somehow" he had entirely "missed" major "facts". This sort of thing (if true) breaks the Carl rule you see? The "king of the (fact) world" ought not "miss" such enormities. But, he simply discounted the entire conversation as perhaps a hallucination? I might as well have been talking to a wall. The guy could be fantastically, and wildly rude when "needed".
  Not quite two years ago, that whole "me, me, me thing"; with regard to "I just want it to end, I just want to die", slowly ever so slowly began to recede. When you feed a baby you use dinky spoons and lots of repeat efforts. Shovels are for feeding teenagers. 91 year old Pop was a baby, and so in little doses, we cover the turf over and over again, from a hundred perspectives, first close up and then from far away. But the recurring hiccup is him burping up the chow (again) because (oddly) hope "must live", and his appears to be very dead. So, simultaneously he's both right, and refuses to "go there". Hope did die! It happened on a hillside in desert country, perhaps you've heard?
  Carl is big on "letting go". For decades, we all hear; "Just let your grief go. Let that anger pass, and we've got to just let go of worry". Sounds easy huh? But the roadblock here was always hope. We needy humans need hope like we need air. We wither and die without it, and Pop simply could not "let go" of his hopelessness. "To see is to understand, to view is to know. Without sight, what am I?". But he could not ever "see" the love all around him, nor could he "see" that hopelessness itself must at some point "be let go of". At least he couldn't see it without help. Pat, not a hundred times but more, Lynn, not Pat's amount, but more-so yet; guide, aid, comfort, and counsel. The world upside down, and the child is leading the parent home? Weird world you got there pal. Slowly but slowly, the wall which was Dad, the rock which was Carl; was being breached. He no longer fought me and rudely walked off, when the topic of Jesus came up. He actually sat still to listen to how the Captain came to find me? After 30 plus years, he finally sat still for that story? Who are you, and what have you done with Carl Labor? The key to the man wasn't really integrity, in itself, but rather; "How in honking hades it turned out that me, poor wrecked Carl, somehow or another apparently ended up with more of the stuff than the Almighty? What am I to make of a god who can't even live up to simple human decency and common courtesy?". He never said that sentence to me, but he lived it, he breathed it.
  I think he finally "got it". The Great Depression, and all of those wars, the scandals and crimes, the oppression all across history isn't evidence of Him asleep at the switch. It's damning evidence against us, we collectively giving Him the one finger salute. The gifts and calling of the Great God are "without repentance"! Dad, Adam was responsible for the whole world! Care for the animals, cultivate the plants, guide the rains to their destination, raise those hills, fill these valleys! It was a vast responsibility, entrusted to him and his children. . . for all time! By virtue of him becoming a lunatic who demands to "do it his way", this of itself can never, never revoke the official and real responsibility he bears! If he becomes a worthless drunk, he yet ever remains responsible to defend the woods and seas. If he becomes a violent fraud, he is yet liable for the care of the fishes, birds, and streams. See Pop? You were dead right to demand loyal and good "public servants". You just didn't carry through the idea to it's fulfillment. There is a Real One, a True Son, the One Sane Man. . . ever!
  "Well, that's very interesting, I'll have to think that over". Oops, channeling Pops again. How much of our care sunk in? Beats me. All I know for sure, is that the man died at peace. At long-damned last, Carl No Middle Initial Labor is at peace! I look forward to a real good glass of scotch, that and a Cuban, for one heck of a lucid, and interminable all-dayer!
  Vaya con Dios Papa-san, go with God.

Sunday, November 23, 2014

Artifacts #20 (date unknown)

  Note to reader; if you note a spooky similarity between old C.P.E. # 21, and #32, it's because I goofed, and did not notice that I was "re-correcting" the same essay? Oops.

  Thinking somewhat about "artifacts" today, and I mean; by the use of that word, to indicate those things that human-kind build for themselves, that we are able to observe. As builders, as shapers, we make objects for "glory", and for "identity. Town hall is a magnificent edifice, because we are a magnificent people! Moreover, the equation of making-to-identity, of being known via observation of our hands' effort, is to be "a positive thing". We want an enormous structure, because it's better to be great, than small, or so we infer. And whether this is a valid concept on our our part or not, we are nonetheless built ourselves, such that we keep replicating the pattern. My keen observation here is not to condemn nor laud making-building per se, but to point out instead; our sleepwalking, as we do so!
  Termites (at least some species) are a "community which builds". Like us, their structures are big, and unlike us they are not self-conscious. That means then, that no individual bug steps back from the mound to survey it's grandeur, so to thereby congratulate himself; or his kind. They are building in their sleep (so to speak), and thereby remain unable to link their efforts to their identity. We, on the other hand; are all about patting ourselves on the back. But is such patting itself, not a form of work? Why do we remain unaware of seeing this particular making (back-patting I mean), and further, we never inquire as to the sleepiness itself, that chronic zonking perhaps our "greatest-thing" yet built?
  Across history, and around the world, man always has, and very likely shall continue building something called "homes". In that era, a tent serves; in this jungle we note a hut, up north we find an igloo. Whether it be building fortresses, castles or condos doesn't much matter here. The creature (us, I mean) always, and always builds "dwelling places". In this sense then, man is; "he who dwells-with. . .someone". We (apparently) cannot-not build "homes", and as sleepwalkers nor can we see this making "as us". Yes, we differentiate "who we are" from our house or hogan, and proceed to turn right around in order to brag-up our own casa! It is both, and they kinda keep on "cancelling" each other. It is that inner divorce (also which we industriously built), which "is us"! It is almost as-if there is more than one of "me" in here?
  Or think for a moment of automobiles. Flashy or ugly? It don't really matter, new or old then? Nope, not that either. Not quite magic chariots, these pesky, expensive horse-less carriages of ours continue to act as artifacts of ours. And we do link our glory (or lack thereof?) to the owning, driving, and being seen in them by others, while simultaneously rejecting that behavior in others. The argument works to defy our selves, and that "thing" is what we build, over and over again. The "invisible and unconscious" aspect here is (perhaps?) roads! Viewed from the air, the sheer number of our smoothed, flattened roads, avenues, and boulevards is shocking. Hey man, that's a whole lotta asphalt down there! Our fancy-ugly rides, ride-upon. . ."something-we-forget". Man in this case is; "the flattener-straightener of the path". That traveler, that journeyer for whom the way is made, gets the glory, and is also remaining gloriously invisible behind those custom tinted windows! I'd tend to ask; "Which is the greater doing, plunking down some greenbacks to buy a new ride, or blowing out the hillsides and filling those swamps necessary for those fragile things to roll on?".
  We build, for we must, and likewise we sleep, for we must also. When you are next summoned for a family emergency from one end of the land to the other, you go buy a ticket and fly. Swift and high we soar, roaring with the sounds of little gods as they sound their tiny thunder. That full tilt sprint across now the whole world, at nearly the speed of sound; is a "grand making" indeed. . . and yet who notices any of that? See? Grandma is real sick, and sister said we'd have to hurry, or she might not be able to recognize us! The part we consistently overlook is that the call did indeed cross oceans and continents, and successfully came through, and thus; we now know-enough to go! The fact that we can get there in four hours, instead of ten weeks is "asleep" to the reality of that mightier-yet call. In the rush to "get somewhere", that . . . "someone calling" gets overlooked. Those miles of wire, those satellite links and cell towers did not appear over-night on their own, it was they first we built, and promptly forgot. Calling determines us as "we who hear, and come at the call".
  And so, our works-made, reveal "us". And part of what we thus reveal; is that we keep consistently forgetting "something, someone and some-why". We do remember to build and we do recall the admiring of ourselves in that making, but it's a bit like using a mirror. The image is reversed, and in that mirrored gazing, we fail to recall the original device of silvered glass itself. This disavowing of glass workers and miners and manufacturers is the price paid for thinking highly of my-our, image-backward. That divide within us, this unwholesome tandem affair of remembering to admire backwards, plus forgetting to admire (or thank) forwards, is the divide we always remember to build, and in that construct, we always forget that we "did it yet-again"!
  From this perspective then, we observe that what our artifacts actually "are"; is the grounds of judgement. The actual path we build is for The One Coming. Every hill brought low, every valley raised, for "Another" to walk upon. In our perpetual forgetting, we thereby deem our own selves unfit to walk that path, and yet; build-it we must! Our very civilization, our "city of man" is a dwelling place for a. . . "Somebody" we dare not name, and in this very reluctance, we evict ourselves from that "place of rest".   Consider for example, the "gubmint", and our no-longer republic. Defacto, it has become an empire instead of a constitutional republic. And all of our "concern for the poor" builds, not assistance, but in fact; a multi-generational permanently-poor class. L.B.J.'s "War on Poverty" turns out in practice to be a device to destroy black families by. Our present day "liberal immigration reforms" emerge not as a way to integrate new citizens, but a novel way to create a permanent slave-caste by. Of course (!) it is never openly named as such, mind you. We "liberalize for the good", but never for the good of the poor, but for the glory of "our" empire. We emerge thereby, as those sleepwalking our way into becoming; "they who build and hold empire-for. . . Somebody". In that undertaking, we endorse mistreatment of them unable to defend themselves, and as the internally divorced, this makes perfectly good sense. . . to us at least.
  That "compassion which is cruelty", that miserable logic-bomb of "rights for those illegally present", is plainly and simply the expansion of federal powers into un-(anti actually) constitutional realms. As sleepwalkers, we are building "centralized power for the few over the many". Simply, we are re-inventing emperor status. Build we must! For there is indeed a lawful High King, the Emperor of Is, and His dwelling place is "here"! Our lousy, sawed off imitation of that high glad regal greatness is but more evidence against us. As oath-breakers, we construct a "house all under One Hand", as a "thing" simply, which must be built, and it shall, and surely it shall!
  Insofar thereby, that our identities are linked to our making, and also our works damning us in that process; the situation appears hopeless. Our torpedo-job done upon our own selves, is pretty darned efficient! Man thereby "is". . .  he who ain't good enough, by his own measure, and his measuring stick is broken to boot! No cure, no medicine, no remedy can possibly overthrow this, our mightiest making. We are digging our own grave, and into it go, we must! Death appears (to us at minimum) to exclude "hope", and yet it is precisely here that Hope (Himself!) shines brightest.
  The new thing in earth, is not to try-harder to fix ourselves, but to surrender to death gladly! Joined to "Another's" death, we go-gladly! And it's not because we welcome it-itself (death I mean), but to greet He on the far side of same. Central to the confessing church thus, is the resurrected Champion, Good King Jesu, the righteous. The new thing made is that our new identities now include "those welcoming-home (Some-One)", and with assistance, that remembering is already begun! We have begun to emerge from our chronic fog, to recall for-Whom we build! Further, with holy-help, we have even begun to recall that He is the actual Builder-Extraordinaire, of Whom we are but fuzzy reflections.
  Terrifyingly beautiful are His works, clothed in light, immortality, and a gladness-unkillable, He indeed, builds "something-new"! He is building an astonishing new creature, some sort of "compound individual". Billions of component-men, as one-new "freed-man" (or more accurately, freed-woman!). Building a "wife" for the Son then, none can, and none shall; halt this Mighty construct. No power available, be it in heaven, earth, or hell, or (God forbid!) all combined, can halt or derail His Making of the new-thing made. The entire "thing" is now become "Personal" to Him, and has become a matter of His own integrity and honor. So, this new-making, is the surest-thing; ever! Building thus, a new kind, we (of all people!) are being re-made to endure and enjoy that otherwise intolerable brilliance of His. He Is. . . Light. In Person!
  Now, man qua man, becomes thereby a previously unthought thing,  Never an "it", this He-They-Her, this compound-entity-everlasting, comes violently to life! And that non-ending motion is already begun.

Sunday, November 2, 2014

So Unify Already! #21 (date unknown)

  So, we can't speak for you too well over here, but in my (sad) case, whenever the theme-topic of "unity" pops up, I tend to hear the opposite, and presume we are discussing schism. . . divorce maybe? Likewise, when the chat is all about "peace", it makes me want to fight. "Safety", for example (the topic I mean); is a dangerous thing, and makes me nervous. I "hear" what is not-said more-so than what is being verbally affirmed, it appears?
  Here's an example; think for a moment of our fearless leaders in D.C., and what they know. They are completely aware and cognizant that "we must deal-with" the debt issue. . . and soon! If that be the topic here (fiscal responsibility perhaps?); what is the all too predictable result, would you guess? Well of course, we derive the forever-postponement gig, the usual foot-dragging and finger pointing drill. You know, don't you remember the "knucklehead shuffle"? It's what our leaders "do". We expect and anticipate the opposite results in this political instance, and I merely extend the system to be "more inclusive". It seems entirely reasonable to me that the imperative; "We simply-must act responsibly!", yields no single human ever, actually being held accountable. And so likewise; "We must find unity!", is pretty darned divisive stuff, it appears to me.
  Thereby I am inferring a generalized perversity of things, a futility-bomb running amok in creation; producing "undesired results, blow-back, and unintended consequence". This generally backward thing is "there", wouldn't it be better for us to take it into account, rather than being perpetually "surprised by results"? You tell me! The glory of gospel, is (in part at least) that there is a "new thing afoot", in the world. To "ignore" both of these realities, both the blow-back, and also the only working solution (!); is our norm, as survivors of the train-wreck at Eden.
  In the old model, as we intend to "build unity", we keep getting these pesky warring factions, and the old model prescribes just here; to try harder! Somewhat like realizing that you are standing in a hole, and therefore "trying to get out of it". . . by digging faster! The new thing in earth (He be; I Am. . . The Save-er) formats instead, as a desire-pursuit of Him. One of the "unanticipated products" of that hot chase, is a new kind of unity. We could name it "indirect", if that would be helpful? The idea here though is simple, "goal" is never an abstraction. The one-goal, the actual destination, ain't an "it" at all, it is He-Him, Live and in Person! To stupidly insist upon the old model then can only yield up what it always has (and must); "unfortunate, unintentional disaster(s)". Ignoring Jesus will not "make this go-away", we might as well face it. The old order is passing away, soon to be no more.
  Go tell a drunkard; "Hey, that stuff will kill ya, if you don't stop." Predictable result please? "I need a drink". "Inform" a smoker, "You know (don't you?) that those things are bad for you!". Product of the discourse? He continues to smoke like a chimney, but just not in your presence. The public aspect of your "helping" generates a "secret-private" practice. Expectable enough, but I say that the shameful aspect thereof, ain't his smoke, it is that you "should have known" it would occur. Your lousy "helping" only makes things worse. 
  The glory of gospel solves for our consistent perversity, in prescribing King Yeshua as "Goal (In Person), and further, Him as source of strength to "get there". For a track star, He (Lord Christ that is) is the starting block, the path-run, and the finish line.  In His mending of that open wound breech betwixt God and man, and then that further misery; of man versus man, peace as a topic can make sense "here", but only in that it is couched in terms of a martial victory! The old model of peace breeds some pretty cranky warring weirdos, but the new thing in reality is (instead); a victory-won, and applied by "Another, for The Other"!
  And not to start a brand new brawl over here, I'd just like to comment that; in the case of a new peace at large, that peace of man-to-man, founded upon the new peace of each man, to his Maker; this kind of thing forms the normal Christian view, I think. As such, it is about as far as we'd ordinarily care to go. But to me, this type of thing is short of the mark, in that if union, unity and all that one-ness jazz, is all there be to the topic; then we have just catapulted ourselves back into the believer's ghetto!
  See? We forgot Moe again. The founder of the muslim cult also promotes a "peace built upon one-god, and his victory". Clearly rejecting the Trinity, his moron-god, that pip-squeak crummy "mono-divine" of his, is also "all-for peace". It is merely that such peace is mainly defined by their cute little beheadings, and their "holy" blowing to bits of old ladies, with truck bombs. . . The "peace" of Islam, is very clearly of the old-model variety, but on steroids. That runt, "allah" just might "forgive" provided you are very, very good, and by "good", we mean evil here. Oh, and the idiot god in question is also absolutely arbitrary, and so it helps a whole lot if a beheading bombing "saint" is also really, really lucky! There exists no "mechanism" within this cult to influence allah's final decision upon the matter, all is fate. . . which translates as, "dig faster!". Doubtless, old Moe down in hell; wears a tee-shirt emblazoned with "Try Harder. . .dammit!". For us in the Christian barrio to restrain ourselves just here, and limit true unity, to "our kind" is what my comments are about. We keep settling for a live and let live, type of uneasy truce with our "co-religionists"? Not me. We are all about stealing-blind the mullahs, hijacking the Imam's slaves, and turning those freed into true saints. Peace is leveraged, it is bought. Always.
  John-Apostle clearly teaches the saints. "God is love", says he, with aid of the Spirit of Truth. We thereby infer that the Father loving the Son, and the Son gladly doing all of His Dad's desire; is the love spoken of here. It is the active-vital, the operative-dynamic love-for-Another, not some dumb static valuation of ours, that of "love itself". Moe's moron pervert god knows zero of love, for there is no "other"! So then in this sense, unity as in Tri-Unity, posits a "conflict"! Am I posing a conflict within God-Almighty? Some sort of "division to be overcome"? High heresy, we all shout! But, and yet. . . but and yet, something like our reality of division (never divisive!) is the foundation for all love. Deal with it already! You argue with your spouse not because you hate her, but for love of her! Even we know that much. In Him, the division might be more of roles (how would I know?), but there is a "breakthrough, a release" even, or more pointedly much-much more-so "There"! The very foundation of things, the meaning of life, is lurking; right around these-here parts, I reckon. In our sad stupid, small lives, some of the very best parts are those sweet moments of glad embrace after a snit. It's those refreshing insights of the heart, such that we re-value anew the "other" afterwards. In Him/Them, this small reality of ours; becomes a world-shaking revolution, a stealing-blind of the god of this age, a reunion, surprise party fiesta-bash like none other-ever! 
  In the Three-One, agenda number one is justice/righteousness, and is entirely non-negotiable. Our moronic revolt, that high treason against sanity itself, this cult of madness shall surely end, in space-time, by main force! The Warrior Champion shall surely surely shatter His foes, with zero "budge" available on that score. And the Son is all-for it. . . with one minor hiccup.
  Such Holy devastation as all that; kinda "conflicts" with His stated pledge-oath to save His own to the uttermost. If True Justice descends, then there are no "survivors" of that wreckage, saints included! But, what to do? If it's "opposite", Mercy wins the day, and those murdering cultists are let off scot free, then Righteouesness itself is wrecked, cleanly impossible. And the "stand-off on high" has precisely one working solution. The division, requiring reconciliation, has an outrageous price, which "Somebody" simply MUST pay. Christ the Lord thus, generates a peace between man and man, based upon a peace wrought in Blood; between man and God. But what we "forget here" is the "Reunion" betwixt Father and Son! That new-peace breaking out, descends even as low as we? Yes, and Amen. 
  The Peace, the Actual Peace, is an extravagant affair, a "going too far", on purpose! Our slim whisper of friendship-reforged (after a feud) is but a slender whisper, a numbed remembrance of the Genuine Article! Here, we run up against, not the city limits of the belief ghetto, but of language itself. In Him; "Somehow" full-tilt-bozo Justice is fully displayed, while during/and wild-madman-screaming Mercy is established. The "two" are in-Him, and are occurring "out-here". Both/And, not either/or, is the new thing in earth.
  And that, my friend; is why Moe is so blastedly wrong. . . about everything! In morbidly attempting to "homogenize" these furies into some bland "none of the above" hybrid, Moe is demanding thereby an "impersonal (arbitrary) justice" teamed pointlessly, with a "sentimental (cruel) mercy", founded squarely upon the blockhead platform of works-righteousness. And just coincidentally, Moe is supervising this mess? Predictable results please? Murder, deceit, poverty, chaos and all the other "glories" of the muslimized world; are plainly the product. Meanwhile, the new thing in earth (all in pursuit of the Son!) yields humility, friendly generosity, peaceful law abiding souls. There is no "abstract justice" any more than there is an abstractable "love". Even The Father Almighty "pursues" the Son! Abstracted justice knows nothing of a son crushed, nor brought back home after a long journey. An abstract kindness (should such even exist), is blind and deaf to the dead-One standing up again, it knows no grief, and is completely blind to loss. 
  Pursue wealth, find a hard hearted poverty of soul. Pursue the Son, find the Treasure surpassing the value of all worlds combined. Pursue unity, find that stubborn loneliness haunting the heart. Pursue The One, find an embrace, fierce, proud of you and "unnaturally glad" at your return!
  He is perpetually "higher" than we are able to aim, and aim at Him; we do! Let's face it, He is just "letting us find Him". He's being nice, but for Another's sake. In Genesis, the God fashions a "wife" for "His son"(Adam). Yes, she brings him grief, and also, and also through her; the Promised One is sent, she's "worth it". For His True Son, He fashions a Wife, now fancy that! 
  She is the new thing in earth too, and yes; you are welcome "here"!