If the numbers hold, Kari Lake has lost her bid for Governor of Arizona. This is great news, especially since Lake is just another denier and a creepy smooth talker out of whose mouth comes pretty much nothing but snark and venom. We really don’t need more snark and venom.

Sounds like Trump might be eyeing her for a running mate. She doesn’t seem like she’d be a good running mate, a good fit. Imagine the two of them as the Republican ticket in 2024? Yeah, neither can I, and so can’t an increasing number of Republicans who have had enough of this wearied refrain about stolen elections and whatever other bile they keep spewing.

How have we put up with such inane, useless though inflammatory rhetoric for so long? It’s counterproductive, to say the very least. It doesn’t lead anywhere.

The Governor’s race may end up going to a recount, which is both predictable and infuriating, but hopefully the results of that will not change the current standings.

We had to put our dog down a few years back. She was a little mutt—a Lhasa Apso/Jack Russell Terrier mix who was with us for maybe a dozen years. It all unfolded rather suddenly and took the air out of the room for a bit. I cried some tears of regret and sadness because I felt like it was my fault- I dismissed some warning signs prior to the day we took her to the vet for the last time. The ride home from there was predictably quiet. We told our kids, who were all grown and moved out but still surprised and saddened by the news.

I had no inclination to share my feelings in any kind of public way. If it came up in conversation, I would acknowledge how surprisingly intense the feelings were over losing a pet, an animal. But in the end, it was an animal, and not a child, or a close friend. We moved on with little lingering grief or regret.

We have a tendency to project when it comes to pets—we attribute human characteristics to animals who convey loyalty mainly because we give them attention, a roof over their heads and food and water in their bowls. We want them to be magical beasts, sent from heaven at some critical moment, who offer up quizzical or knowing looks. Who seem, to many, more like seers and sages than they deserve credit for.

We buy into and support the multi-billion dollar industry that has arisen around pet food and toys and vet care and which preys on the human soft spot for something cute and furry. It’s not much of a stretch to think that dogs and cats get treated better than humans. They are the cause du jour, the focus of painfully sappy commercials, near and dear to many a heart, but I wonder why. People will say it’s because animals can’t advocate for themselves, but I think it has more to do with the fact that humans are a more complicated and unpredictable species who are just too difficult to work with, and aren’t as good at returning the love. Dogs and cats are just easier, in so many ways.

As much hate as Trump is getting at the moment from those who created the monster in the first place, would it surprise anyone if all that negativity just magically dissipates, and Trump goes ahead with his plan to announce something big in the coming days?

Wow, that was quite the run-on sentence. An homage to the man himself, I guess.

Trump isn’t going away. He’s not going anywhere, unless Republicans can grow a spine and stick to their current script, which is sounding like strong dis-ease with the blowhard from Queens.

We’ve enjoyed a stretch of mild days for the last week or so. I’m not complaining—it’s given us time to pull weeds and annuals that inevitably succumbed to a couple of frosty nights. We put things away, cleaned things up. We’ve had some days to prep for whatever kind of winter might be in store for us this time around, sort of the human equivalent of squirrels finding places to bury their food supply.

And the foliage this Fall was eye-popping for a few days. Magical, like a box of Trix. Or Fruit Loops, or whatever the current multi-colored cereal is.

I think I’ve zeroed in on what makes time go by so fast: it’s the wishing away of days leading to the monthly infusion of funds from Social Security and my pension. Those days at the end of a month can’t come fast enough, and I find myself spending a good portion of the intervening time in a maddening idleness and lament, keeping up with bills that cycle and drain the checking account too quickly, mindful of how much money we fritter away on utilities and mortgage and freaking health insurance premiums, and what, as a result, is unavailable to spend on an enjoyable day trip or overnight at the shore or meal at a place other than Wendy’s.

It’s kind of like we’re in a prison of our (my) own making, where I have no right to complain about the lack of funds, but I do anyway, as if complaining will somehow hasten some better day. Actually, I don’t complain out loud. I just feel the stress every day, sometimes mope around, angry that my vocational choices and lack of ambition haven’t magically resulted in a level of comfort beyond what feels most days like a struggle to maintain a roof over our heads and food on the table.

We’ve always, to some extent, lived beyond our means, and I am too proud or stubborn—or embarrassed—to face certain realities and make hard decisions.

Be careful what you wish for, Kevin. Something you apparently have wanted more than anything else in the world may end up not being all you thought it would be.

L seven weenie.

If Kevin McCarthy (heavy sigh) becomes Speaker of the House (heavier sigh), or regardless of whoever becomes Speaker, will we have to suffer through vengeful inquiries into members of the January 6^th Committee? Will there be an impeachment process for President Biden—for withdrawing from Afghanistan?!? For legally assuming office?

Why? Is it as simple as turnabout is fair play? Tit for tat?

So, Republicans are incensed by the work of the January 6^th Committee, then, to the point that if (and it looks like when) they take control of the House, they’re just gonna turn the tables and waste time like they think the Dems have been doing? How is it possible that we’re talking about comparable things here? Let’s see… inciting an insurrection, or bringing an end to involvement in an unwinnable, costly war?

We should all be exhausted by and mad as hornets about how much time has been diverted tending to matters that, as important as they are, are distractions from what one would think might be even more important business. It’s damned frustrating to watch this unfold, day after day, year after year—the people we elect having to waste time prosecuting the deeds of a real estate miscreant who somehow made it all the way to the Oval Office, while the country wallows in neglect and loses faith in itself.

Somehow this all comes back to Trump, the imbecilic craver of attention who cannot, is not capable of, ever doing the right thing. He’s gearing up for the Revenge Tour, perfectly okay with working out his anger issues on a public stage, and dragging America along with him.

We would have trouble surviving this round of insanity, if it were to unfold.

To hear commentators and pundits tell it, the red/blue split is rural/urban, less educated/more educated. I can’t understand for the life of me why being educated is viewed with such suspicion, as if going further in school is a bad thing, that such opportunity naturally leads to snobbery and elitism and people who, I guess, are taught to look down on those who are less educated. Ron DeSantis and Donald Trump have college educations.

I don’t think it’s that at all, at least to the extent some apparently do. It is a perception, an assumption, though. Looking at the current election maps, the blue is often concentrated in urban areas, the red in rural areas. What I see when I look at this is not educated versus less educated. I see a difference in life experience and exposure to people who may think and look and sound and believe differently. I see, to some extent, a preferred isolation and provincialism in the red areas. And there is a mix of privilege and necessity in both urban and rural living.

The lowest common denominator, I believe, is not educated versus less educated. I see things more in terms of wanting some elbow room and a say in who your neighbors are, along with having the means to make that happen.

To some extent, red has a control issue, a freedom issue. And it exudes an intentional ignorance that looks an awful lot like racism, all under the guise of some sort of dystopian “love of country.”

I recently went back, for the first time, to the congregation I last served as a full-time pastor. It had been a bit over three years since I’d seen most of the folks who were there for morning worship.

We didn’t have any trouble finding a place to sit. There were plenty of empty spots in the long, cushioned rows of pews. The choir was in good voice, that faithful remnant. The pastor had a decent sermon, though I can imagine any Bible or Fellowship church member who happened to be in attendance would have given it a 4 out of 10, maybe less, citing a lack of inspiration and passion and a dearth of good ol’ law. And probably not being long enough. It was all familiar to me, nonetheless, though I was a bit surprised to see that they’re still using the pre-packaged Communion elements and partaking from where they sit.

It was nice to be back in familiar confines, with familiar faces who seemed happy to see us. But a certain hollowness and fatigue are inescapable anymore—in the worship order itself, in the message and messaging that come across as obligatory formula. Honestly, I cannot shake the feeling that the whole enterprise is at risk of collapse.

It’s really no surprise why many mainline denominations are struggling, and for a while now. Not only is there nothing there for the kids, there’s not much for the adults, either. We’re painted into a corner by our own doctrine and traditions and old habits that die hard. I could have gotten into an animated discussion about why this congregation has lost membership and seen a stunning decrease in Sunday School activity, among other unwelcome trends, but it seemed like neither the time nor the place, ironically.

Let’s get the low-hanging fruit out of the way first: Covid-19 and peoples’ reaction to it changed things, or hastened the trends; a change in pastoral leadership can make a difference—either positively or negatively; youth and their families are simply finding other things to do, or they are migrating to churches that have “more to offer…” Not sure if this means a stronger sense of community, better music, hearing what you want to hear, being fed spiritually, or just being fed—with creature comforts and hot dogs and espresso drinks. Last but not least… I wasn’t exactly filled with the Spirit the last 3 or 4 years I was there. I wasn’t being an evangelist, firing people up, inviting others to come and see.  I didn’t do my part in leaving them with any sense of momentum.

But beyond all those reasons, there is another that I find perhaps the most troubling and most compelling: the curtain is being pulled back, for all to see, on an enterprise that has benefitted from having its origins rooted in times of superstition and ignorance.

It’s hard for me to believe anymore– for all the reasons I used to dismiss when I was in the thick of things, standing behind the altar or in the pulpit, or sitting in a one-on-one with a struggling parishioner. People looked around and saw, in the macro, staggering pain and struggle in their lives and in the world, the senseless loss of life, an untimely death that befell someone who was too young, a health issue or relationship struggle that robbed someone of joy and the ability to function normally. Hunger, famine, war, inequity– a host of scourges and reasons and situations that echoed a certain desperation and hopelessness in a world where too much time had passed without prayers and questions being answered, where much seemed arbitrary and godless, having to hold out for some “future hope…”.

And all I ever had to offer in the way of comfort were the obligatory formulas– the tired assurance that it was OK to be mad and sad, along with snippets of scripture from which I dared not stray, could never doubt and at the same time could never offer with anything approaching full confidence. The ancient edicts and promises rang ever more empty, grating against modern sensibilities, all made more acute by the passage of time in which nothing miraculous happened.

This isn’t about needing to try harder, or taking a closer look, searching for the miraculous in a baby’s smile or the growth cycle of a tree until we find God in those things. This is about wondering if we’ve been feeding ourselves a line for all these centuries, and facing the soul-crushing possibility that an enterprise that just has to have been built on solid ground is actually nothing more than a construct of the human brain seeking solace and comfort and order, simply trying to make everything fit in an attempt at reconciling the discord and the brevity of our earthly life.

I’m thinking that the best any of us can do, if we’re being honest, is to admit that we may want to believe, even try to believe– need to believe– but that most of the time it makes no sense. The data and life experience don’t support the long-held convictions anymore. Nor have they ever.

It’s a bitter pill– to think that the atheists may have been right all along.

It’s no secret that any candidate for high office, regardless of party, promises the world, tries to cover as much as possible of what he or she thinks people want to hear. To a certain extent, it’s pro forma, calculated and tiresome. What never ceases to amaze me is that there are millions of people who still think Donald Trump is the solution to this country’s ills, instead of being the most prominent symptom of them. The only planks in his platform are and only ever will be revenge and winning at all costs.

The trouble with a Trump/MTG or maybe a Trump/Lake ticket is that, as attractive as the pairing may sound to the general public or Republican strategists, these people would actually have to lead the country. And who’s going to be able to work with Trump as a VP, anyway? He wouldn’t be a President. It’d be closer to a monarch, or a dictator.

The fact that they’re good in front of a camera or play well in certain demographics means nothing if the best they can do is look Presidential, or Vice Presidential. What good is it to the country if they merely act like a couple of flippant smartasses who are capable only of uttering dumb sound bites?

If Trump runs again, and it is immensely troubling to envision that possibility, anyone he chooses as a running mate is just going to be another disciple along for the ride. Maybe a pretty face who will have to be very sure of herself, given Trump’s predatory tendencies.

Whoever gets the nod may not have much chance to actually lead, anyway. They’ll just be trying to survive and preserve their dignity, like the rest of the country.