Codicil

Codicil: (n) an addition or supplement that explains, modifies, or revokes a will or part of one.

It was probably a Saturday morning, and the young fellow was perched in his tiny office in the back of the sanctuary, wondering what in the hell he was gonna talk about the following morning during his sermon at the church.

Although he wanted to be a minister, he forgot how terrifying it could be, to try to come up with a twenty-one minute homily once a week which would both appease and inspire. (Unfortunately, those two words–“appease” and “inspire”–often tend to contradict each other.)

So imagine his glee when he came up with the thought that God’s love–which he had taught about many times–was unconditional.

How good that was going to make everybody feel! The classic warm-and-fuzzy and oh-so-cuddly. He certainly had enough Bible verses to back up his contention.

So when he shared it the following morning it became so popular that it spread across the town, the Internet and eventually became a phrase that evoked tears and deep-rooted reflection from everyone who uttered it: unconditional love.

Unfortunately, the young minister who began this tumbling dice of good feeling failed to remind his congregation that there are codicils.

If love is the will of God, then we must sit down like good attorneys and read over the “will” a bit more carefully to understand how it is executed.

Just as grace demands that we be gracious and mercy is obtained by being merciful, God’s love is possessed by expressing affection and concern for those we deem to be “the least.”

If we fail to do this–in other words, be gracious–He resists our pride.

No mercy? Well–no mercy.

And if our love is not extended to those whom we psychologically view as untouchable, then God is completely willing to view us as equally uninteresting.

If I were to sum up the Bible in one word, it would be “if:”

  • If you want love, give love.
  • If you want mercy, share mercy.
  • If you want grace, be gracious.
  • And if you want understanding, try to understand something that you pretend is completely unacceptable.

 

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Clump

Clump: (v) to form into a clump or mass.

There is an unwritten command to never challenge contradictions–especially if they are well-populated or in some way garner profit.

Yet it is what maintains the presence of a universal ignorance, which on occasion, rears its head and growls at humanity because we refuse to rectify the obvious.

The objection should be simple.

For instance, we maintain that human beings are individuals unto themselves while insisting that we have a predilection to “clump together.” Our excuse for this anomaly is that there are times when we want to be autonomous, and other occasions when being part of a group is essential to our well-being.

This paradox is supported all over our society, from religion to politics, entertainment to business, simply because there are so many adherents and it allows us to make a lot of money from lifting up one culture above another.

No one stops to ask if clumping is good for people, or under what auspices linking together is positive, and when it is running for the corner of the room to avoid responsibility.

When should I clump?

Should I clump because I’m in a room with people of German descent?

Should I clump because I’m around a congregation of believers who favor my view of the Eternal?

Should I clump because I have a penis instead of a vagina and find those who share that appendage?

Should I clump because I like romantic comedies better than adventure films?

And once I decide on clumps I want to pursue, how do I escape them to gain my own uniqueness and flavor?

Maybe there’s only one clump–the human race. And we escape the human race by temporarily splitting off to our own thoughts, which prepares us to come back and be more gracious to one another.

 

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