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.
Comedy is, perhaps, the most subjective of the arts. Humorous entertainment strikes some in the funny bone and whizzes over the heads of others, leaving a large no-man’s-land where factions manifest as devotees to some comedic form or another champion the cause of their realm of humor as being the purest or most “hashtag lit.”
We all know that moment’s coming — that moment in the melodramatic sports drama where the overmatched coach gives his overwhelmed players a much needed shot in the arm and morale booster with a rousing, motivational speech. It’s euphoric, the players are ecstatic, and it seems as though victory is all but guaranteed.
When does Satan attack us? When does the devil do his best work on us? When does Satan work his hardest to brings us down? Is it when we’re down and discouraged? Or is it when we’re riding high and sitting pretty, as they say? I contend that Satan works hardest on us when we’re most confident in ourselves.
Sometimes, I have no idea what’s going on. I don’t pretend to have any or all of the answers. Oftentimes, the torrent of life just seems too overwhelming to endure, too manic to manage, too chaotic to control. Sometimes, I feel as though I’m Frodo Baggins clinging to the last edge of the precipice of the Crack of Doom.