The Things that Remain

The downward slide of the global economy continues to result in sobering and alarming headlines. The horrifying story yesterday of the man who took the lives of his five children, his wife, and himself after losing his job leaves us all speechless.

When I taught high school, I used to read a book with my students called Alas, Babylon! The premise was a nuclear attack that took out a number of major military bases in Florida, which, at the time the book was written, included Jacksonville, Orlando, Pensacola, and Tampa. The story focused on the survivors in the north central area of Florida who were instantly transported to primitive living. Suddenly, an entirely new value was place on things formerly ignored or easily discarded like books, rowboats, bicycles, salt, or even rain. The discovery of an old Victrola and the accompanying records was a luxury beyond belief. Much had been lost, but the best things, the things that mattered—like family, friends, and community—remained and were, ironically, strengthened.

Today, a friend who works at a coffee shop, said that one of her customers came in with the worries of the day's headlines weighing heavily on her. “What are we going to do?” she asked. My friend replied, “I guess we’re just going to have to help each other out more.”

Indeed. The age of greed and rampant consumerism is dead.

We also cannot anchor our hope in careers or governments or even in hope itself. We must, instead, anchor our hope in the things that remain when everything else is stripped away.

And now these three remain: faith, hope and love.
But the greatest of these is love.

1 Corinthians 13:13