You know what it's like. There's a brief lull in the relentless War on the Weather and you decide to take advantage by going fishing. Relax, behold the mighty Brazos, cast a line, reflect on Sunday's message, aka homily. For us who follow the annoying, complex and new-fangled Lectionary it's all about the Gospel of the Wheat and Tares, or "weeds" because no one in 2026 is supposedly literate enough to know what a tare is.
Perhaps they're not, perhaps the written word's falling into abeyance because screens have cancelled out actual books, producing a whole generation of functionally illiterate people destined to serf class under the literate boss class. Kinda medieval, and I recall an old buddy telling my two gamer sons, we were fishing for bass, "Boys, the Boss Class reads, do you want to be part of that?"
They chanted "Yes!" and then proceeded to shout out, "We caught a fish!" Their first, a mighty, no kidding, bass. Good work kids and thanks GWB, their first fish, which is no small thing, especially a leaping, fighting, large as you like bass.
What a lot of fun, but do those boys read? They do, but mostly via screens. This isn't the same as opening an actual book with literal pages, made out of paper and all of that. No. That in mind, are we descending into illiterate barbarism? Yes, we probably are. Behold the devolution of our culture in even the last few decades, and it's accelerating. That in mind, did I catch any fish today?
No, I did not, they were lying low under a surface screen of turtles, massive algae and heat shock. Undaunted, I cast off, trying piscine luck. No bites not even one, and then the rain sheeted down and I drove for home, back to the security of the Compound and the shelter of its porch. Don't worry, fish, we'll be back.
Tight Lines,
LSP
