Unequivocally, the preacher assures you — salvation is yours for the asking. No matter what you’ve done – or what you may yet do – by Grace you’re saved. Pretty neat, huh? Do whatever it is you do and when the reckoning comes, flash that “Get Out Of Jail Free” card. This forgiveness deal has special appeal at maximum-security prisons where serial killers, run-of-the-mill murderers, rapists and other lost souls have ample time to establish a relationship with God.  Among law-abiding citizens, however, acceptable sin is much less apparent, hidden neatly behind a veil of respectability. But the good news is you don’t sin alone. You share the lying, cheating, stealing, adultery and all manner of other failings with the entire human race. Ah, blessed relief. Not only can you stumble from time to time, but also avoid earthly judgment. Conveniently, with biblical instructions from the preacher and with his blessing, you maintain a reciprocal agreement with your peers: Let’s cut each other a lot of slack because we all lie in the same contaminated bed. It’s not your fault. Nobody’s perfect. You’re a good person a good deal of the time. And when you do slip, out of greed or lust or ambition, why, it’s to be expected – and tolerated. You’re nothing, if not tolerant. When a sitting President fouled the Oval Office and lied about it, you may have blanched a bit; but you argue he’s a red-blooded male after all, not a saint. He didn’t do anything other real men wouldn’t, given the opportunity. Now, world leaders, celebrities, media moguls and average citizens still pay him homage. In fact, his “sin” is one of his most endearing qualities.  When a Senator lies, cheats and steals, the Senate may censure him; but the people invariably re-elect him to keep his lofty post. Sports heroes deserve special dispensation and even pity, as they struggle against overwhelming temptation that comes with money and fame. How can you judge them unless you walk in their shoes? You can’t. And you don’t (as long as they win). Close to home, no matter where you turn, the Seven Deadly Sins are having a field day. You look around – family, friends, business associates — and keep your lips tightly sealed. Who are you to cast even a grain of sand? Still, you contend, there are degrees of sin. Some people are more despicable than others; some people create pain and suffering; some people destroy lives; some people deviously use power to intimidate and subjugate; some people use wealth like a club. Sure you want to exact justice in the here and now. Is that too much to ask? “Yes, pilgrim,” the preacher says. “We are sinners, all. Judgment is left to eternity.” Well, you guess, that’s that.  Meanwhile, you will continue to cooperate in the shared guilt of being human.  But all in all, you really do need to lighten up. You’re not Christ. You can’t change the world and you certainly can have no effect on human behavior. So do whatever it is you think you want to do. If it’s something wrong, you can always say: “Everybody does it.” You can worry about judgment later. Just keep that card handy.

In the course of human events, death is unacceptable. However you may wish to rationalize or intellectualize that all living things die, you’re unwilling to acknowledge the end of your own existence. You simply will not tolerate the thought of nothingness and the abject fear that comes with it. But, in the face of criticism for this silly denial, please do not berate yourself unnecessarily. Since the first day of recorded history, humans have done nothing, if not attempt to find some way to escape the utter inhumanity of death. Predictably and quite sensibly, civilizations conjured all manner of deities to cope with the calamity of life and to justify the virtue of death. Unfortunately, unlike the beasts of the field, as well as the crawling, swimming and flying things, humans have the gift, or curse, of cognition. We are obligated to apply logic to absurdity. We are condemned to contemplate the unknowable. How can we explain this exquisite cruelty – to be granted life only to be guaranteed death? Leaning heavily on Genesis, John Milton gave it a shot. He attempted to shed light on the Fall of Man while he himself fell into the abyss of blindness.  But he gave Christianity a boost by bringing Paradise down to earth, even at the expense of humanizing God and His clutch of corporate angelic lieutenants like Michael and Raphael, and characterizing Satan as a charismatic bad boy, actually reminiscent of luminaries who walk among us today.  Before and since Milton’s epic work, theologians have authored thousands of interpretations of biblical documents written by other men in other times, in an effort to validate the core tenet of all serious religions – death is not the end, but the beginning.  You can understand why millions cling to this gospel truth as an essential outcome. And you envy them. Categorically. You covet their self assuredness, their consummate certainty, their infallible knowledge – that eternity awaits. And you can find a mountain of evidence that proves the afterlife has this hypnotic appeal. Consider the 960 members of the Jewish community at Masada in AD 73 that collectively committed suicide rather than submit to Roman rule. Japan is notorious for centuries of suicide tradition, from seppuku (ceremonial self disemboweling) to kamikaze warriors plowing aircraft into Allied warships. In 1978, Jim Jones presided over 900 souls to meet their Maker (although 276 children had no option). The Heaven’s Gate mass suicide on the Left Coast was apparently necessary for 39 people intent on reaching the next plane of existence. On March 17, 2000, 778 members of a group called the Movement for the Restoration of the Ten Commandments met their demise. Billions of Muslims are doggedly secure in their spiritual rewards, some even willing to leave personal charred body parts scattered about, evidently expecting these parts to be miraculously reunited for endless bouts with a bevy of supple virgins. Yes, you can easily dismiss a romp in the heavenly hay. But can you accept the concept that the end of your life is no different than a fall leaf drifting onto the chilly ground? Logically, you must either believe in Creation or believe that this immaculately designed universe is sheer happenstance, a random cosmic accident. You must choose to believe in God because to believe otherwise is to relegate all of human existence to a sort of insane merry-go-round that eventually malfunctions for a final time. Leaving what? One impressive landfill? You must choose to believe in Salvation because to believe otherwise is to admit that justice is a sham, and that good and evil sleep in a common bed. Meanwhile, you’re also unwilling to accept the attempt to institutionalize God, to package Him, to ritualize Him, to have Him fit neatly into the business of religion. Since you have no answer to the Unknown, you may never be at peace with death. But you take solace in the fact you won’t be singled out unfairly — everyone before and after you eventually leaves town. Like Albert Brooks and Meryl Streep in Defending Your Life, you may “awake” to find yourself in Judgment City, lobbying to see if your earthy life qualifies for the “next phase of existence.” No, more than likely, you will show some reluctance to “slip the surly bonds of earth,” like one Ethan Allen, who when whispered to by his bedside attendant, “General, I fear the angels are waiting for you,” replied: “Waiting are they? Waiting are they? Well–let ’em wait.”

You gamely try to ignore the signs, blatant as they are. But your attempts are futile. You would prefer to assume America is immune to decay and inevitable decline. Surely, you suspect, the mere thought is unpatriotic, even disloyal. But in your defense, history proves the greatest civilizations eventually depreciated, often fatally. For some of these empires, the signals were conspicuous, none more manifest than, say, hordes of warriors amassed at the city gates. In other cases, less abrupt and ostentatious, the symptoms of decay revealed themselves rather subtly, like maggots casually feasting on a warm corpse. You do concede, compared to other legendary sovereignties, America is a bit youngish to fear some kind of calamitous free fall. Only 234 years old, she is but a suckling in the stalls of time. And no one can deny that she’s been tested time and again and proved her mettle, her sinew toughened by the most intense adversity. Well, you can rationalize to your heart’s content. Because, barring a reversal of cosmic proportion, our “Shining City On A Hill” more closely resembles gloomy Gotham City before Batman flew to the rescue. You remember. The hoods were in charge. The people groveled at the feet of The Joker. Sporting his dulcet tones and cunning smile, the crime lord posing as Savior promised free money and a better life. And the people genuflected like good little zombies. But the caped crusader would have none of it. And the people of Gotham lived happily ever after. In the real world, sadly, super heroes are on indefinite leave of absence. Along with them, America’s venerated culture is also missing in action. We now live in an “anti” society: anti-God, anti-music, anti-language, anti-learning, anti-truth, anti-excellence, anti-liberty. Criminals and charlatans inhabit our most sacred institutions; teachers and broadcasters rape the English language, not out of carelessness, but out of sheer ignorance. Thinking, listening and learning have succumbed to incessant gabbing, twittering and texting. Drug use by respectable citizens enriches the vast underworld, spreading misery and death. Millions fall in lock step to paint and pierce their bodies, reverting to barbaric, primitive times. Less people work and more people take. Adolescent rap masquerades as music. You must acknowledge that the majority of readers — positive thinkers and optimistic souls — resent this appraisal as exaggerated, obnoxious and totally without merit or value. And, grudgingly, in deference to all that remains bright and uplifting in the world, you might agree, except for one final revolting trend that epitomizes your nation’s rush to nowhere. That trend — television appearances by attorneys – must represent an all-time low in advertising, surpassing local car dealerships and bedding retailers. Possibly, just possibly, you could stomach a little bad taste if attorneys themselves had enough sympathy for their audiences to stay away from the cameras. But, no, their egos must be served. And their dollars must be saved by “doing it themselves.” Amazingly, these solicitors believe viewers will be impressed with facial hair and a stony-eyed stare fixated on the ubiquitous teleprompter. Throw in a jingle, appeal to universal greed, and you have the makings of world-class mediocrity. Apparently, these barrister-actors don’t consider that their appearances and messages may be repulsive; that they themselves may closely resemble felons in a sleazy police line-up. Even worse, the final blow, is the realization that these very same attorneys actually have paying clients. If that fact doesn’t strike fear for the fate of our nation, maybe it’s time to google Bruce Wayne.