A Plea

Dear God,

It's me, Harold.

You know, from Chicago?

No, the other Harold from Chicago. The displaced Southern boy.

Yeah, that one. Good! Now we're on the same page!

I hope you and the family are well. Tell Jesus I said, "Yo!"

As you might have guessed, there's a reason I'm communicating with you today via blog. (The internet is great. Thank you for sending us Al Gore so he could invent it. That was sweet.) What is that reason, I guess you're asking, as if you don't already know, but want to play along with my little delusion regardless of your omnipotence? That reason is I'm a little scared.

That's right. Scared.

Of what? Lately, most everything. I'm a little nervous down here on my own. There's not a lot of support structure around me, and I guess I'm just beginning to get a little edgy about that. Sure I have family and friends, but unfortunately most of them are 500 miles away or more.

Oh, and this whole career thing? That's a little painful right now. It sure would be nice to get an easy answer just every once in a while. Is that really too much to ask for?

I'm also scared because it's been really cold lately, and I keep passing people on the streets who don't have any place to go when it gets cold. Really cold. Ass cold. Freeze your 'nads off cold.

I'm also scared for Jessie. I don't know where he is -- he's probably in Iraq. I try to check the paper every day for the names of the latest casualties. I also check the web once a month or so. I'm so scared I'm going to see his name staring me in the face. Even though I haven't seen his name yet, I keep seeing the names of men and women who I don't know. They've all died in this awful war. I notice that most of them are younger than I am. Some of them are much younger than I am, and let's face it -- I'm not that freakin' old! I'm scared for everyone who's still there, and the folks in Afghanistan. I'm really scared that the non-military folks running this fight don't know what in the Hell they're doing, and that they're allowing folks to get slaughtered because they want to run a war on the cheap.

I'm scared for the Iraqis who are getting incinerated by white phosphorous, caught in the crossfire of insurgent/coalition battles, and killed by our smartest bombs. I'm scared for the people who've been kidnapped. I'm scared for the military prisoners (who aren't really military prisoners but "enemy combatants") we're torturing (who aren't really being tortured but being "interrogated") and who have died at our hands (who haven't really . . . oh, yeah, I guess they have died, haven't they. No way to loophole out of that one.)

I'm scared that we're not living in Christ's image. I'm scared that He died for nothing.

In the bible, Isaiah tells us, "Comfort, comfort my people, says your God." Do you still say that? Because we need comfort. Is our warfare truly ended? Doesn't seem that way from down here. How about our iniquities? We seem to be committing so many on all sides these days. Are they still being pardoned?

On this, the second Sunday of Advent, your people wait in the wilderness for the arrival of your Holy Son.

Comfort, comfort your people. Comfort me.