“No matter how much time one devotes towards separateness of purpose the pure volume of secular intake overwhelms distinctiveness of thought.”
The time has come to smash meaningless patterns—the ones you hated in youth when you had passion, a spark for living, when you believed in something—promising never to get trapped in the mundane life of mom and dad. Life is but a repetitious course without the creative purpose of God’s calling moving us ever higher. God’s calling can only be answered by a heart made spiritually hungry. I believe that a deep spiritual hunger has been forged in every newborn life, an inbred longing to know the Creator.
Fasting will empty the shell of meaningless living, forcing you to face the hollowness of your life. Drinking from your own cup of spiritual depravity will stir a hunger for God. And without spiritual hunger we are all but dead. For how much meaninglessness can a spiritual being stomach before its very nature is irreparably damaged?
Just recently I read about research being done in the development of a powerful new advertising tool called Nero-Marketing. Scientists, using a standard MRI machine, are able to measure people’s subconscious responses to a particular advertisement. The information will then enable marketers to create a subconscious little push toward a buying decision. Physiologists are worried this new technology borders on manipulation. The companies sponsoring the project are remaining anonymous.
Like it or not, we are what we watch. No matter how much time one devotes towards separateness of purpose the pure volume of secular intake overwhelms distinctiveness of thought. And whom can we blame? Not Hollywood, or the disintegrating morals of the Nation. Who buys the TV, enthrones it in the most predominate spot in the house, and like an altar, surrounds its black face with the finest furniture? Who cranks up the Rolling Stones in the car, songs laced with perverse subtle messages? The acts of our own will empower the media-message with spiritual legal ground directly into our wills. Uniqueness is displaced by a thousand voices until thinking no longer represents our hearts but a weary pledging allegiance to meaningless status quo.
Through repetitious mass media, Satan has invested a great deal of energy towards controlling the subconscious patterns of humans. Co-operative efforts by the major television networks to shape the Nation’s attitudes on political, moral, and social issues, is no secret. Control people’s attitudes and you control behavior. Dummy down the media and keep the masses stupid and asleep. Satan would be appalled if you turn off the TV and attempt a fast. Withdrawals of an unplugged brain will expose the depth of his dominion into the very thinking and destiny of your life.
The influence of friends and family can take our lives far away from destiny, if permitted. A few years ago, I decided to go on a mission and do something constructive about the typical family Christmas. I heard duty call while watching a World Vision broadcast one autumn Sunday afternoon, trying to escape endless fishing shows. Nothing else on the tube, I reluctantly stopped and watched the heinous face of starvation in the form of tiny children. Thin, dusty faces came and went, some with names, others anonymous, all highlighting the savage cruelty of man’s selfishness. On the coffee table sat my hateful Christmas list. Buy for those who have it all. Underwear, socks—no I bought that last Christmas—money in a card. No, they give me money. A tool for dad—candles are good. A trinket for $19.95 at Wal-Mart. No, I would curse the thing every time I saw it in dad’s china cabinet, where all misfit gifts ended up.
On a moment of impulse, I called my sister. Hey, what do you think? Instead of buying each other stupid gifts this year, why don’t we send the money to World Vision in honor of the true Christmas spirit. She agreed, but was concerned what the others would think. One by one I phoned my family, and they agreed but were worried what the others would think.
This just might fly, until we got together for Thanksgiving dinner. Oh no, we cannot have Christmas without gifts. Christmas without, ‘oh really, you shouldn’t have.’ Christmas without wrapping and bows strung all over the floor in the aftermath of a ripping frenzy. Christmas, the family sitting around a barren tree, hands empty, hearts full of the knowledge that some children would go to bed tonight with food in their bellies. Not this Christmas, I caved! Could not look into the eyes of my younger brother knowing he was feeling the same way, hoping I would have the guts to do something real.
Mission dead! What happened?
When together, the pressure of fearing what others were thinking allowed status quo to take over. If I had been stronger that Thanksgiving, I am sure I could have convinced them to go with their hearts, but the flame flickered under the pressure, and I caved. What a shame. How many times do we miss the opportunity to do something unique and courageous because of status quo? You know it. It afflicts us all the time. There is no freedom unless we break ranks.
During a fast there is the sensation of disconnection to the outside world. A refreshing feeling. The invisible world of thought, emotion and connection with God clarifies. In this quieted state, Status Quo becomes foolish. The question is not what they are thinking but what is God thinking?
Today you have decided to fast. “Excuse me everyone. I would love to walk with you, but I must be off.” To everyone’s astonishment, you turn aside from the common road onto a dusty path. From behind, voices call you back to companionship, some kindly, others angry and resentful. Nonetheless, you continue alone and cold, striding out new territory, new ground strangely familiar. Calls fade into stillness as the subtle whispers of dreams and ideas grow. The inner world merges with the surrounding landscape, a surreal place with hints of lost things everywhere. The strange familiarity is nothing less than the bits of your essential self, thrown carelessly away over the years. Discarded in the name of conformity.
Related Article: Waking The Dead