Confessional Lutheran theology, hagiography, philosophy, music, culture, sports, education,
and whatever else is on the fevered mind of Orycteropus Afer
06 June 2005
A Dispatch from Fort Courage
In the spirit of the slapstick 1960s sitcom, the Aardvark shares a letter that recently fell into his claws and considers the possibility that F Troop prophesied current events in Christendom (at least in the LCMS).
Or maybe it was just a TV show. ¶ 23:01 |
My dear Orycteropus,
I pray you remember the trepidation with which I approached entering the service and the terrors I experienced when finding out that I was being sent to an outpost in the Great American Desert.
I can now reveal I have been detailed as a watchman and my duty station is the singularly ill-named "Fort Courage." Truly, it appears overrun with the faint of heart and the sick of spirit. Those in command seem completely oblivious to both the needs and the actions of the troops. TheCEO, I mean CO, possesses the intellectual capacity of a half-empty pouch of chewing tobacco. His social skills are considerable when dealing with those of equal or superior rank but disappear like a desert rain before those unfortunates in the lower ranks. I must commend his devotion to his special lady, but speculators offer poor odds that she isn't the true brains of this operation.
Meanwhile, the venality of some of the lesser officers constantly reaches new depths. In the name of peace (and for the sake of comfortable duty assignments and the lining of pockets) they willingly sell of or give away most anything of value within the confines of the fort. Indeed, were it not established on such a secure foundation, I imagine that Fort Courage itself would already be an abode of the pagan savages who surround us. All the while, the troops remain generally oblivious to conditions within and without, pausing only rarely to consider the plight of their comrades-in-arms and, even more seldomly, to do anything about it.
Perhaps I was over-harsh: No, not about those on "our" side, but concerning the aforementioned savages. It seems that the barbarians are not at our gates but within. Everywhere men sleep on the guard. The bugler, assigned to raise a ruckus at the first sign of trouble, couldn't get a note from his instrument if his life depended upon it . . . and I fear it does.
I don't want to be here, yet here appears to be I must be. Both those for whom I answered the call and those outside both fort and faith similarly suffer the defects of the age. Yes, I shall remain faithful to my assigned watch. The close-by "savages" are perceived by many to be the enemy, yet they are as weak and foolish as any in the service. No, it's the clouds on the horizon that give pause: They gather and deepen, the dust of many strong foes marching upon us. I pray the troops awake from their stupor as I give the cry: "Wake, awake! Night flies and doom is at hand!" Such fools don't realize how well-fortified they are, nor that they are well schooled in the art of this terrible war. May they see the light, answer the call, and stand firm in the ranks.
Y'r ob'd't s'v't,
Ben L. O'Heem
Or maybe it was just a TV show. ¶ 23:01 |
