There was an adept businessman who had accumulated many of the things associated with what passes for modern success. And he was generally good and kind and vaguely grateful for, but mostly proud of, what he had accomplished. Nevertheless, he became wearied by (fearful of, really) what he saw as the slow decay of civilization as he knew it to be. In his view things like: courtesy, thoughtfulness, respect for another just because they are another, life with direction and purpose, virtue, common recognition of
what is right and what is wrong, considerate, honesty–the ingredients that make living wholesome, gratifying, vigorous, and pleasing now were generally considered contemptible by many others.
Dispirited, he decided to return to the homestead of his family which he had visited often both as a boy
and a young man but had not seen in more than 50 years. His recollection was of graceful mountains,
cool crisp streams, friendly neighbors, laughter, ease… joy. The memory of that place made him both
content and excited. Content because it gave him a sense of security (he came from a solid family who
had many good-natured, supportive friends) and, therefore, confidence. Excitement because there,
when he was young, he had dreamed big- very big. Back then he could make mistakes, some of which were a bit embarrassing but not corrosive, and so provided the direction and opportunity to become better.
As he approached the turn that took him off the main road and led up the hollow to the mountainside perch of his ancestors, everything looked the same. But as he went further along, he saw that the homesteads, barns, and fencing were now faded and broken. The charred remains of what had been his grandparents’ home deflated him. He recognized very few of the names on the mailboxes he passed. It was a lonely, despondent place. He decided not to climb the mountain to see again the ground he had loved and had often traversed decades ago, but instead to see the little church his family attended when he was a child.
He was glad that it was still standing. It was a mission church seventy years prior. It was closed now but he found the door unlocked- probably an oversight, he thought. That place too was old and worn, yet it felt… holy. He had forgotten what holiness felt like. He entered slowly, knelt at the railing, and paused (for what he was not sure) and was unexpectedly struck by the deep comfort and peace that came over him. He was surprised by the fun memories of parish friends that came to mind.
He began to pray. That part was not comfortable. He hadn’t bothered to talk to God in a very long time. But as he stumbled along it became more like reconnecting with an old friend. The concern and confusion brought on by current events dissipated, falling lightly to the ground like autumn leaves. He began to remember fragments of Psalms he had last heard as an altar boy:
The law of the LORD is perfect, refreshing the soul;
the decree of the LORD is trustworthy, giving wisdom to the simple.
The fear of the LORD is pure, enduring forever;
the ordinances of the LORD are true, all of them just.
With a distinct, refreshing sense of order and certitude, he returned home confident in his old Friend.