Perhaps the most unfamiliar thing I’m going to have to get used to now that I’m a Pennsylvanian is the concept of burning trash. I never really thought about trash men and the weekly garbage pick-up system before. It just wasn’t a thing that crossed my mind that often, if at all. But now that I’m living in a location that doesn’t have access to such a benefit, I am obligated to live out whatever latent pyromaniacal tendencies might exist in my subconscious.
Our society is runs on achievement. It’s the fuel that powers our motivational motors. As long as we’re getting ahead of the next person, we’re fulfilling our purpose. Everything is a competition and this life is our playing field. I don’t think there’s a more pristine example of this than the recent phenomena of “overcrowding” on the highest point of elevation in the entire world: Mount Everest.
You have to believe me when I say that it’s not my intent to carry on eviscerating children’s television. I’m only in my late-twenties but I fear my online persona at times comes across too curmudgeonly. Nevertheless, the vocals from my 2-year-old’s favorite Disney Junior show recently assaulted my eardrums . . . and my theology.
For the past several weeks, I have been unable to escape the incredible sermon that was delivered by Washington Post columnist Michael Gerson at the National Cathedral in Washington, D.C. What caught my attention, though, was learning that Mr. Gerson delivered this sermon only a few short days after being discharged from the hospital for depression.
The rich young ruler’s inquiry to the Lord Jesus in Mark 10:17–22 (along with Matt. 19:16–22; Luke 10:25–28) remains increasingly prescient for us today. I would say that it’s most likely the hottest burning question on everyone’s tongue, even if it’s not explicitly admitted; that question being, “How do I secure a spot in heaven?”
Fatherhood has become my most cherished title. I love being a dad and watching my daughter grow and learn and play and become who she is. Fatherhood has also, though, baptized me in the waters of children’s television, which, if you’re unfamiliar, is a genre of entertainment rife with princesses, anthropomorphic animals, and, seemingly, no shortage of moral codas to clumsily tack on shallow plots.