Cheap talk

I can’t believe I’m still writing about this. Maybe it’s immature. Maybe I’m proving myself untrue by the fact I keep ‘talking’ about bra color brandishing .

It’s still just talk, people. Talk. It is not a revolution. It is not a mass uprising of funds and action to make this the decade we defeat cancer. Nobody said that in the email. No… but we had a president set that gauntlet down about his term last winter. Something no one has thought to mention in all the debates on health care or his strength as our leader.

Funny thing is… Facebook got him elected. Through information spread across updates and constant messages reminding us to vote and call others and sing his praises loud and clear. There was a revolution. A movement. It got the message across and empowered all the skulkers to believe they could do something. They could change.

Enough to leave the computer for five minutes to check off a box. There was hope. There was joy. There was a moment... or two when we believed in the power of uniting across the country… through the internet. And, okay, yeah, that part worked. But… after the inauguration, statuses returned to sarcastic remarks and song lyrics and trivial minutiae. Our part was done towards fixing the problems. We put a new leader in the office. We clicked away and rendered opinions. And that’s all we had to do.

Now… well… our hopes aren’t being fulfilled the way we want. So… we blame the president. Because we did what we had to do. We talked. And now we talk about how it isn’t getting fixed. The economy still sucks. People are still out of work. There are still taxes. There is still a war. But we talked… so we don’t have to do anything else except talk about how we don’t like it.

Maybe I do give Facebook too much credit. Maybe it isn’t an instrument for change and improvement of the earth. Maybe it’s just a lark and a silly way to pass the time. But, it shouldn’t be an indulgence for a sweet and bonny way to heaven.

Jesus didn’t heal the sick by talking about them. He touched the lepers. With his own hands. It was the other guys who felt the need to tell someone about it. Not him.