“Fun” Before The (Expected) Oblivion

The United Kingdom is a heathenish, Christless Country. People's concerns are largely material. When they call themselves “spiritual”, they usually mean how beautiful and profound they feel they are. There are exceptions, but what I have described is the norm.

This heathenish thinking extends to the time before death. Every now and then you read of “brave” people who, once told they are going to prematurely kick the bucket, decide to “do something”. Normally, this something is linked with “fun” (the Paris alcohol binge), or with something “they wanted to do” (the exotic travel) or with someone “they wanted to meet” (a spiritual giant of our time like, say, an actor).

It is as if their spiritual (and otherwise) dumbness would want to cling to them until death, not even the announcement of the end to come being enough for a much-needed realignment of priorities. It is, in fact, fair to say that in an age in which fun and self-centredness are a religion, people who focus on those on their last stretch are considered examples worthy of following, as if they were the pious faithful of our time. A great waste of immortal souls, sadly, as the announcement of his impending demise is the last massive opportunity for, say, an atheist to send his brains into overdrive and (with God's grace) start working on his salvation until there's time.

Nor is there any warning, anywhere, of the judgment to come. People who die positively unable to think – and to publicly say they do – about their judgment are called “courageous”, when all generations before ours would have called them foolish. But hey, they launched a hashtag that made an awful lot of people of every conceivable degree of stupidity feel good with themselves. Isn't it wonderful?

And by the way: is it surprising? Nowadays even the Pope tries to make you march to your death without thinking of judgment; unless he suggest that you become a member of the Communist Party perhaps, because Jesus was kinda lika sorta Lenin, no?

The way we die is a very good indication of the rest of our – infinitely long – existence.

In a heathenish time, you see these indications all the time, whilst the press applauds.



Posted on July 25, 2017, in Catholicism, Conservative Catholicism, Traditional Catholicism and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink. 2 Comments.

  1. Mundabor, I AGREE. I just attended a funeral of a person who committed suicide, may God have mercy on his soul. He was a tortured person, and left a grieving family and two small children. Heartbreaking. No Mass, no church service, not even a religious person to ask a prayer for his soul, as far as I know. His little Memorial card had his picture on it, certainly not a saint’s picture, and the verse made no mention of God at all, but the fact we are stardust. No one is likely to pray for him, after all, he is just “waiting” somewhere, and we will all see him again, wherever he is. Right? Of course we don’t know, and neither does his family. You would think that would worry people. But no, it doesn’t. If God is to these people, He is a soft and squishy god who would never, ever be so heartless as to put somebody in Hell. But He’s not there anyway (so many seem to think) so what’s the difference.

    I note with sadness that dying children are treated to celebrity status and typically encouraged to “be strong” or worse “kick cancer’s butt”. To put that kind of responsibility on a child is to me a terrible thing. If they fail, and begin to die, does that mean they weren’t “tough enough”?? And one of the ugliest demonstrations of how confused we are, is when children are encouraged to “send their photo around the world and become FAMOUS”, before they die. Children meeting famous people, I have mixed feelings about.

    We are an almost thoroughly lost and struggling humanity. It would be a great time to have a pope et al that sees the fix we are in and swings into action, bringing the Good News of the Gospel and promise of salvation, to a desperately hopeless world. But that is not what we have. Poor souls.

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