bierkergaard

 Psalm 2:1 Why do the nations rage, and the people imagine a vain thing? I wanted to wait a couple of days before writing about the bombing in Boston. Until the echoes of the blast sunk in. A modern day Massacre. On Patriot's Day no less. Our domestic tranquility seems to more like roaring oceans these days. Isolated events of tragedy are not so isolated any more. Happening with a frequency that threatens to numb our hearts and fuse our tear ducts. How long, Lord? How long? Let us weep for the world and not just our torn corner of it. Life has tragic hues. We humans are given a world and universe of immense beauty and grandeur, and are running headlong into disaster. A ruination. The nations rage. God doesn't have to strike the earth or cause it to open us on as a devouring chasm to punish us. We are doing it to ourselves. Self-induced. It would seem a lot like God to show us where our hearts take us. Maybe we will learn no other way. I don't know. Makes me thi