It's Still a Jail

Pretty Jails:

I'm privileged to periodically minister at the regional jail in my town.  I remember when it was built.  It replaced an old facility that had housed prisoners who had failed to get away on horses rather than cars.  Since the new facility looked so much nicer than the old one, and cost tax-payers so much to build, there were lots of comments about the "country club prison."  While it is a modern facility, it is bottom-line a jail.  The court puts you in, and you can't get out until they let you out. That is the essence of prison.  No matter how nice it may be it is designed to keep the prisoner in. In his book, Transforming Culture, A Challenge for Christian Mission, Sherwood Lingenfelter, talks about the prison of culture.  Sometimes those prisons are very nice, like the "Palace of the Secret Garden," where he 19th Century King of Korea lived.  "Because of his extremely high status, custom declared that the king could not leave the palace grounds; he was in fact a prisoner in his palace. . . . He enjoyed the most beautifully furnished, heated, and decorated living quarters in Korea. He had household servants to care for every need. He enjoyed a beautiful garden and pond where the finest scholars, poets, and artists in Korea came to do their work. The only catch: he was a political prisoner."  (Kindle Locations 219-222)  Josh Harris speaks of an even more perverse prison.  A noble named Edward led a revolt against his older brother Raynald, who was commonly called "Crassus," Latin for fat.  Edward built a room around his brother, with a door that a normal person could easily pass through.  Raynald was told he could leave whenever he wanted, but Edward made sure that his brother, with the uncontrolled appetite, had all the rich food he wanted.  Years later, Raynald, faithfully guarded by his own lust, died, having never left his prison. I know some people who were once in jail, who now live free and productive lives.  Sure someone opened their cell and let them out, and the court gave them a paper indicating that their debt to society was paid, but that is not the key to their ongoing freedom.  They remain free because they are changed.  Only the Gospel of Christ has the ability to free us from the jails of culture and lust.  If you listen carefully you can hear the keys jangling. It’s STTA. The link above will take you to an archive of things to think about.  This one will take you to one that I add to less often.  It tends to be a bit more serious. You can read about the liberating Good News  here.

Freedom of (& on) the Road:

FOURTH on the road:

As I sit here typing, the words of an old folk ballad, "I'll be gone five-hundred miles when the day is done."  Actually, if plans go as I hope, it'll be considerably more than that.  I had breakfast with some folk out enjoying our Independence Day on their motorcycles.  Their conversation was full of route numbers and "I'll catch up."  As near as I could tell they have no where they really need to go, and they're enjoying it immensely. Part of the time I live in a nation where I'd have to drive every road in the country several times to go as far as I'll go before I go to bed tonight.  Other places I've been on the road the road is so rough that if you went five-hundred miles your back would be done.  I recall traveling a couple of hundred miles in one nation, and being flagged down every forty or fifty miles.  It's just routine there for police to check papers, question the driver, and inspect the car's contents if they choose. My big-bike riding breakfast companions have it right.  The freedom of America's open roads is worth celebrating.  It is something that we ought not take for granted.  It is a resource that God has granted.  When my DAY is done, what will I have done with it.  It’s STTA.

The Death-Masher:

Right now, three women must be rejoicing. The house where Ariel Castro held Amanda Berry, Gina DeJesus, and Michelle Knight as prisoners for ten years, inflicting great suffering on them, is being torn down.  As I type various members of the families are taking turns at the controls of a backhoe smashing the house of horrors to the ground.  

I nominate the judge in this case, Michael Russo, for the "Solomon Award, 2013" for making the destruction of this plain looking house part of Castro's sentence.  Not only did the judge decree the destruction of the structure, but he ordered Castro to pay for it. 

Of course not all prisons can be torn down with machines.  People all around us live in jails constructed of  walls and bars in their minds.  Look around, and you'll see the blank, hopeless look of those who are trapped and have ceased trying to escape.  

 

"Therefore, since the children share in flesh and blood, He Himself likewise also partook of the same, that through death He might render powerless him who had the power of death, that is, the devil,  and might free those who through fear of death were subject to slavery all their lives."  

(Hebrews 2:14-15)

 

 We still live in the house ruled by death, but, BUT, BUT the death sentence has been decreed for death itself.  Though death is the last enemy that will be destroyed the great destroyer will be put down.  In faith, looking forward to this day the Apostle Paul exults,

 

"Death is swallowed up in victory.  O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?"  The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law; but thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ." 

(1 Corinthians 15:55-57)

 

That's better than a turn at the controls of the house-masher.  This freedom will last forever.

 

 It's STTA

FREEDOM!

I still haven't watched the fireworks.
The local display was delayed because of threatening weather. I plan to watch tonight.

I did spend part of the American holiday celebrating freedom doing something I didn't want to do.
Wait. I thought I was free from that.
I do have liberty, but I can't absolve myself of having to deal with the consequences of my choices.

Yesterday morning, my lovely wife decided that it would be a good investment of part of our day off to clean the garage. Any of you who have a "box for cars (That's what a Russian guy with limited English called a horseless-carriage house.) know the routine. Garages seem to magically attract an eclectic accumulation of stuff--otherwise known as junk. In my case there were tools that haven't been put away, leftover construction and decorating materials--not to mention materials for projects yet to come--sporting goods, toys for the grandkids, and a few "what-in-the-world-is-that"s. To complete the picture sprinkle liberally with leaves and debri that blow in the door, a liberal helping of dust and dirt from refinishing projects, and you'll kinda-sorta get the picture. I figured both cars would still fit in, so what's the big deal? Kathy can explain the BIG-DEAL.

So, in the interest of domestic tranquility, I helped her clean the garage. (By the way, be watching, a yard sale is coming.) Though I admit I am pleased with the result, and I did find some stuff that I haven't been able to locate for months, at the time I didn't really want to spend my Fourth toting junk and pushing a broom.

My better half--and she is a blessedly better half--was operating from a superior understanding of freedom. I was thinking about what I have the freedom to do--or in this case not do. She was wisely considering what no amount of freedom can prevent--eventual suffocation by the accumulation of stuff. She is right. Freedom always brings responsibility.
Let me change the picture for a moment. Your metabolism might be different than mine, but concerning me: I have the freedom to eat sugar, french-fries, and ice-cream three times a day, but if I do, I am not free from the consequence of becoming so big that I can't fit into the newly cleaned garage.

When we cry "Freedom!" the inevitable echo says "responsibility and consequences." We can't have the first without the latter.

While Liberty is on our minds, it's STTA.