You’ve probably received a text similar to the one above (it’s okay, just a link to NBC news).  You immediately delete and report as junk, but if you are like me, you feel a little annoyed by the whole thing. What about those we know who don’t delete and report as junk, what about those who may be victimized by the scam? Who are these people sending bogus messages that prey on the unaware and unsuspecting?

The turnpike toll scam is just one in a trillion-dollar (don’t worry, just a link to USA Today) industry of high tech robbery.

I find myself wanting not justice, but vengeance. We don’t know if David, the Sweet Psalmist of Israel, was the victim of a phishing scam when he wrote in Psalm 35, but it sounds as if he may have been:

For without cause they hid their net for me;
without cause they dug a pit for my life.
Let destruction come upon him when he does not know it!
And let the net that he hid ensnare him;
let him fall into it—to his destruction!

Yes! May those toll fee scammers be ensnared in their own net, may they fall into their own pit!

Of course, justice is unlikely to be had, vengeance is improbable. Our cyber villains hide behind a wall of digital anonymity, their bots in China or Dubai, Russia or Iran, far from the longest arm of the law.

We live in an evil time, but much of the evil is faceless, contained in code and funded by oligarchs and billionaires who never show up at Davos or aspire to be famous as well as rich. We will never know their names and faces, but the damage they do is greater by far than any evil wrought by Jesse James or Bonnie and Clyde.

It may be that the invisibility of so many who do wrong in our evil time drives us to obsession with the few names we know. We do not recognize the evil ideologists of the left or the right, so we aim our scorn, target our venom, at Elon Musk or Oprah Winfrey. Sell your Tesla or boycott Bud Light. Surely this is 1933 or 1984, we try to convince a public that knows neither history nor literature.

Christians of a certain ilk make a sport of identifying the contemporary figure who is most certainly the Antichrist of the Apocalypse. Maybe that is why the Apostle John writes, “as you have heard that antichrist is coming, so now many antichrists have come.” (1 John 2:18). Like the Gerasene demon, evil’s name is Legion for there are many of them (Mark 5:9).

Jesus sent Legion into a herd of pigs that ran headlong into the Sea of Galilee. But he taught his disciples to love their enemies and pray for those who were persecuting them (Matthew 5:44). Paul says we are to overcome evil with good (Romans 12:21). Paul quotes Deuteronomy 32 when he reminds his readers, “Vengeance is mine, says the Lord.” (Romans 12:19.

How do we live in a world of faceless evil? We love our neighbors, even reminding them to delete and report as junk those phishing scams about their E-Z Pass accounts.  We refuse the evil ideologists left and right. We trust God. We don’t key our neighbor’s Tesla, and we don’t drink Bud Light, mostly because it is lousy beer.

I came across the problem quite accidentally. But there it was. A problem. Literally in black and white and undeniably a problem, a problem defined as a serious breach of ethical standards. Probably not illegal, but definitely unethical. Now, I was fairly certain – and all the more so now – that the breach of ethical standards was unintentional. Nevertheless, a breach it was, and it is a problem. I don’t know the perpetrator of the problem, but I know the organization under whose work the breach was committed, and I appreciate the good it does. So, I made the report, a suggestion to someone in the organization I know that something ought to be done to repair the breach. Yes, it might take some time, cost some money, and offend the unintentional culprit. He said he’d get back to me and it could be next week.

I am nervous.

At first, I questioned my integrity in even raising the issue. That’s where the mote and beam came in. The photo above is of a painting by Domenico Fetti, a baroque painter, circa 1619. Fetti was Italian and the painting is one in a series from the parables of Jesus. The English translation of each parable is typically from the King James Bible, hence the title Mote and Beam. (How wilt thou say to thy brother, Let me pull out the mote out of thine eye; and, behold, a beam is in thine own eye? Matthew 7:4 KJV) Continue reading →

Two photos taken at 6:30 and at about a mile and a quarter into my morning run.  They were taken three days apart, the photo on the left this past Saturday and the photo on the right Tuesday of this week.  In between, of course, the dawn, as it were, of daylight saving time.

On Saturday the sun rose at 7:02, so by 6:30 early light lit my morning path.  And, yes, we had a coating of snow the night before.  The sun would not make its formal Tuesday appearance until 7:58, so there was barely a hint of any light at 6:30, save that reflected by the setting moon.

All in all, I am not a daylight saving time fan, especially since we moved to Indiana.  Indiana happens to be at the far western edge of the eastern time zone.  Friends in Philadelphia, rosy-fingered dawn spreads her light across your sky 42 minutes before we have so much of a suggestion of her arrival.

I was just growing accustomed to being able to dowse my chest lamp, switch off my light vest, and listen to the singing of the songbirds (and the honking of the Canada geese) when I was plunged back into silent darkness.  Grumble. Continue reading →

I was a sucker for the challenge.  And like Narcissus gazing at his reflection in the pool of water, I was smitten by what I saw.

A writer I respect, and who, like me, is generally not inclined to support the use of artificial intelligence as an aid in writing, suggested submitting a sample of our writing to an AI program for an analysis of our style.  I never should have done it, but I gave the AI program my online URL, www.billteague.online, and asked for some comments on how I write – not so much what I write.

The program said of my style in these Observations posts, “(it) is reflective, conversational, and deeply rooted in personal observation. He blends thoughtful commentary on faith, life, and culture with a tone that feels approachable and sincere…His prose is straightforward yet carries a gentle rhythm, often punctuated by a dry wit or subtle humor that keeps it engaging. He’s not afraid to question conventional wisdom or admit uncertainty, which gives his writing a relatable, grounded feel. …Overall, it’s a style that invites readers to pause and think alongside him, rather than dictating answers—intimate, unhurried, and quietly provocative.”

Well, thank you very much!  I feel affirmed, especially since Microsoft Word often tells me my sentence structure is too complex and that I might be better off choosing a simpler word. Continue reading →

You may have read of the latest church scandal reported in the news to a church scandal loving public. It turns out that the Church of England has ruled against gluten-free bread and alcohol-free wine for use in the Eucharist, communion as we low church people call it.

My low church denomination has issued no edict on the matter, so we are free to offer gluten-free bread and a choice of alcoholic or non-alcoholic wine at our communion buffets.

It is not so much that the Church of England has some sort of animus towards the gluten-intolerant or those who for whatever reason abstain from alcohol.  It’s just that church law, the Canons of the Church of England, are pretty clear. Section B.17.2b reads concerning the elements for Holy Communion:

“The bread, whether leavened or unleavened, shall be of the best and purest wheat flour that conveniently may be gotten, and the wine the fermented juice of the grape, good and wholesome.”

The ban on gluten-free and alcohol-free elements comes right after section B.16: Of notorious offenders not to be admitted to Holy Communion. It does not say whether parishioners who sneak a gluten-free wafer or a flask of Welch’s Grape Juice into a worship service are to be considered notorious offenders. Continue reading →