Out of the depths I cry to thee, O Lord! Lord, hear my voice! Let thy ears be attentive to the voice of my supplications! If thou, O Lord, shouldst mark iniquities, Lord, who could stand? But there is forgivenesss with thee, that thou mayest be feared. I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, and in his word I hope; my soul waits for the Lord more than watchmen for the morning, more than watchmen for the morning. O Israel, hope in the Lord! For with the Lord there is steadfast love, and with him is plenteous redemption. And he will redeem Israel from all his iniquities. Thus saith the Psalmist (Ps 130). I read these words with great depth of feeling these days. So much of what I built my life upon, which I depended upon, which I was so proud of, seems to be faltering. The United Methodist Church is the only church I have ever belonged to. I came in as an adult convert, with my eyes open, satisfied that what I found in the Articles of Religion was good and right. I have labored for over forty years as a clergyperson in that church. But The UMC is on its last legs. The compromises and clever evasions baked into it at its founding in 1968 have caught up with it. It has been torn apart by controversy, its leaders have acted in monstrous bad faith, it has proved itself to be ungovernable, and now the Covid-19 pandemic has caused its General Conference to be twice delayed -- a General Conference that was counted upon to provide at least an amicable way to separate out the irreconcilable factions from each other. Without such a Conference, we are simply imploding. People are heading for the exits. And where shall I go in such a day? Meanwhile, the Boy Scouts of America -- on the surface still one of the greatest institutions that make up one of the greatest movements the world has ever seen -- is flailing about in a reckoning with its past. In February 2020, BSA filed for bankruptcy protection, seeking to reorganize itself in order to put behind it the trickle of old lawsuits for child abuse. In doing so, the court advertised for any and all claimants against the org to come forward -- standard procedure in a case of bankruptcy -- and lawyers went digging for clients. The number of old claims that have emerged is staggering. Not all are fully credible, of course, but having called them forth they must now be dealt with. If BSA, its Local Councils, the Charter Partners, and the insurers cannot come up with a settlement that truly settles these old claims, then BSA will dissolve, and the Local Councils will go under in a wave of litigation that will probably also consume many Charter Partners. The consequences of not reaching a settlement are nothing short of apocalyptic, but as we reach what we hope is the end of the process, a full settlement acceptable to everybody is not guaranteed. Meanwhile, I continue to be a leader in Scouting, and am proud to do so, but blow after blow falls on my shoulders that has little to do with taking kids camping and helping them find their future. It is oh, so discouraging. And, of course, America has fallen on evil days as well. The lawless Obama administration was succeeded by the contentious Trump administration and now the disgraceful Biden administration. The debt keeps piling up, our adversaries lick their chops, and we demonstrate our weakness day by day. The Democrats in Congress, meanwhile, holding power by the slimmest of margins, nevertheless shoot for the moon with crazy appropriation bills that transfer massive power to the administrative state. I very much fear that the America I was born in, powerful, confident, a leader in the world, has rounded a bend from which there may be no return. I mourn for our country. I can't even read all the news anymore; I already know what it says and all that it says is about disgrace, defeat, disaster, debt, and dependence upon a ubiquitous and feckless government. The church, Scouting, the country -- the three biggest things I can say I belong to, the things I have sought to build up all my life -- are all crumbling. Or it least it seems so on too many days. I feel like somebody sitting up with the dead, but without the prospect of a funeral. No burial, no "ashes to ashes," no turning away from the grave to the restarting of life. Just perpetual mourning. So the mood of the Psalmist matches my own. I try also to match his hopeful conclusion, echoed in Paul's 2nd Letter to the Corinthians: But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, to show that the transcendent power belongs to God and not to us. We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our bodies. Ah, may it be so, Lord. May it be so.