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Glenn's Show Prep

Glenn: Don't be THAT church person

June 30, 2015
Staff

WRITER

Ok, don’t just read the headline and freak out!

On radio Tuesday, Glenn delivered a passionate monologue on the difference between people who just go to church, and people who really bring the church with them and live their testimony in all of their actions. For too long, Americans have failed to take a stand on the issues that matter. In the words of Thomas Paine, “these are the times that try men’s souls” - will we have the strength to endure them?

Listen to Glenn’s powerful message from the opening of today's radio show below:

Below is a rush transcript of this segment, it mat contain errors:

It was December 23rd, 1776. We were six months into the Revolution. We had lost every single battle. George Washington was on the southern side of -- of the Delaware. And he needed to turn his troops around and cross the Delaware and go up and fight the Hessians. They were the Navy SEALs of the day.

Everyone was saying that George Washington was a failure, and we had gone from 20,000 troops. And we were down to less than 2,000 troops. And nobody wanted to get into the boat and go across the river. Somewhere in the countryside, Thomas Paine, a guy who later became an atheist, was marching in the mud. And he was marching next to a drum.

And a few words kept pounding through his head, and he finally asked the drummer for the head of his trust me, because he didn't have any paper on him. He wrote a few words down. Rolled them up. Gave them to a writer. And said, get this to Philadelphia. Have them print it. And then find George Washington, he needs these words.

They arrived at the side of George Washington on December 24th, 1776. He read them. He wept. He went to his troops. And he read them.

Out loud, he said, these are the times that try men's souls. The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will in this crisis shrink from the service of their country. But he that stands by it now deserves the love and thanks of many men and women. Tyranny, like hell, isn't easily conquered, yet we have the consolidation with us that the harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph. What we obtain to cheap, we esteem too lightly. It is dearness only that gives everything its value. Heaven knows how to put a proper price upon its goods, and it would be strange indeed if so celestial an article as freedom should not be highly rated.

Whether we should have started this movement long ago or we started too soon, I'm not going to enter the argument. I had my own simple opinion. We didn't use the proper use of the time that we have had. However, the fault, if there be one, is our own. We have no one to blame, but ourselves.

As I read this this morning, I thought to myself, how true that is. Why are we so surprised? We went along to get along. We went along because we didn't want any trouble. I don't want any trouble, and it doesn't matter anyway. Whatever they say, that's fine. It's not going to change anything.

I don't want to hurt anybody's feelings. I'll just be quiet. Don't talk about religion. Don't talk about politics in public. I'm going on to see that movie anyway because I really -- I mean, I know -- my kids know the difference.

It's our failure. It's our failure to stand. Should we have started this long ago? Yeah, probably. But why debate that now?

The only one we have to blame on any of this is us.

How many of us just stopped going to church, and we stopped going to church for a couple of reasons. One, lazy. It's not going to be make a difference. I'm not really sure God exists. Whatever. I'm tired. I'm working all the time.

Or some good reasons. They're not teaching me anything. There's no relevance there. It really doesn't make a difference. Because I go into church and then by the time I hit the parking lot, everybody is honking at each other. Nobody knows each other.

It doesn't make an impact in my life at all. Why am I going to church? That's a failure, not only of the pulpit, but, again, of us. Because we didn't demand that our pulpits would stand. How many of us -- how many of us go to a church right now that isn't talking about things? And have we thought, they're not talking about things because they're afraid. They're afraid that you're going to say something.

Have you thought about getting a bunch of the people that you go to church with and signing a petition and saying, we want you to talk about these things, pastor, priest, rabbi. We want a few things addressed. And all of us are going to stand behind you if you do. Don't worry about what comes. This storm, we will be the shelter from your storm. Because we need to hear the truth on these things.

How many of us went to church and we never talked about -- we never talked about the traditional family. We never talked about abortion. We never talked about euthanasia. We're not talking about the Christians being killed now overseas. We're not talking about the four homosexuals that were thrown off the roof Friday in celebration that love always wins.

We can argue about when we should have started it. What we should have done. We can have that discussion. But why? It's worthless. How about we start right now. How about we start standing right now.

I had to give a talk at church, a youth conference on Saturday. They were about 1500 kids. And I think I took their breath away because I walked up in front of them and I said, you know what, I have to tell you, I don't really like church people. There's kind of a nervous laughter, but they knew that I was serious.

I don't like church people. I don't like church people in most churches because church people are the most judgmental people I've ever met in my life. Church people will tell me their testimony. Oh, that's fantastic. Thank you very much for sharing that.

Here's what I like: I like people who live their testimony. I don't have to ask you for your testimony because I see it in your life.

I don't have to ask you if you go to church because you bring church with you everywhere you go. Everywhere you go is a sacred place.

You live those principles. Not on Sunday when you go. Not on Saturday. But you live them all the time. I don't like church people because church people understand that church is a place that I go on Sunday, and testimony is something that I share occasionally when asked or I have the opportunity to change someone's heart, so I'll share my testimony. I like the people that understand that church is wherever you are and testimony is exactly how I live my life.

I like people that happen to look at church as a hospital. Because that's what it is for me. It's a hospital for my soul. Because I'm on the verge of losing my soul every day. I don't know about you. And if you don't think that you're going to come under attack because these are the times that try men's souls, if you don't think you're going to come under attack with your soul, and everything that, you know, you're fooling yourself.

I need to get in there because I'm so badly wounded, by the time I get to Sunday, I need some medicine. I need some help. I need to be able to make it the next seven days. I don't like church people generally because they worry so much about everybody else's soul. And that's nice. And I appreciate that. And I appreciate their prayers. I really do. But church people generally worry about everybody else's soul so much more than theirs. Because they've accepted Jesus Christ, and that's all they have to do. I'm good. No, no, no, I accepted him. What?

I'm sorry. But I don't buy that. I buy that if you have accepted him, that -- people can spot you a million miles away. When you walk into a room, the room changes. You're different. Because you've accepted him, you've changed. You're not like everybody else. You're quieter. You're more gentle. You understand what your citizenship means, and you're concerned about your citizenship in the kingdom.

See, we've all been so concerned about this kingdom. We've been so concerned about this country. And our citizenship in this country. TIME Magazine said we're exiles in our own land. That's TIME Magazine over the weekend. We're exiles in our own land. We've lost our citizenship, gang. Why? Because we've been quiet.

And we haven't trusted the power of God. We say a bunch of stuff, but I don't think we even believe that stuff. Why are we so defeated? Do you not -- tell me that everything that you don't understand and you don't believe, that everything is according to his will. That everything will be used for the good of those who love him.

I do. So why are we defeated? We're defeated because we worry about everybody else. We're defeated because we see what's happening on television. We see what people are like in colleges. We see what people are like in our own business. We see what people are posting. But we don't see what he's doing. Because we're not taking any time to be quiet enough, humble enough, to listen to what he's doing. To find out what he's doing. And what he's doing right now, I'm convinced, is he's preparing his people. Gird up your loins.

Do you know what that means? Gird up your loins. It's when those guys used to wear those -- I don't know -- what do you call those -- dress things. And they didn't have pants. So what you had to do was you reached down from behind your legs and you grabbed the skirt thing that you were wearing -- your tunic, and you pulled it up behind you. Then you took each end of it and you tied it in front of you so it became almost like a diaper. Why? Because you were about to go into battle. You needed to move quickly. You couldn't be tripping on your tunic.

Gird up your loins. That's what he's telling his people right now. Gird them up. Get ready. You haven't seen anything yet. You haven't seen evil yet. You don't even know what's coming your way. But have faith in me because evil doesn't have any idea what's coming its way.

We lost our first citizenship. I'm not going to lose my second citizenship. And that's the only one I care about. And, yes, I care about your citizenship, and I will pray for you. My family and I pray for you every day. And I hope you pray for me every day. And I will worry about others. And I will talk to them about the truth at any time that I can. But I will live my testimony. So I don't have to talk to everybody because there's too many people to talk to.

Hopefully they will see it, and they will say, I want to be more like that guy. Because that's the way I learned. My friend, Pat, I wanted to be more like that guy. He could weather the storms that I couldn't. Why?

Because he knew what the truth was.

Now is the time. You let him and his word be your sword. You let him be your shield. But we must be gentle. We must be loving. We must clothe ourselves in humility. We must be bold, yet humble. Bold, yet kind. Bold, yet loving.

That's hard. We've never done that before.

There's a lot coming. Thomas Paine said, I once felt that kind of anger which men ought to feel. But I was standing at the door of a tavern with a man who had a pretty child at his hand, about eight or nine years old. And after speaking his mind as freely as he thought was prudent, he said, just give me peace in my day.

But if there be trouble, let it be in my day, that my child should have peace.

He said, I thank God that I fear not, for I see no real cause for fear. I'm going to quit this class of men. Men who are smarter, perhaps than I. Or wealthier than I. I turn with warm ardor of a friend, those who have nobly stood and are yet determined to stand the matter out. I call not upon a few, but upon all. Not on this state or that state, but on every state to help us. Lay your shoulder to the wheel. It's better to have too much force than too little.

Let it be told to the future world, that in the depth of winter, when nothing, but hope and virtue could possibly survive, that the city in the country alarmed at one common danger, came forth to meet it and repulse it. Say not that thousands were gone. Turn out your tens of thousands. Throw not the burden on the day to Providence, but show your faith by your works that God may bless us.

It matters not where you live or what rank of life you hold. The evil or the blessing will reach you all. The far and the near. The home counties and the back. The rich and the poor. Will suffer or rejoice alike. That heart that feels it not right now is dead. And the blood of his children will curse his cowardice. The man who shrinks back at a time when a little might might have saved the whole and made them happy. I love the man that can smile in trouble, that can gather strength from distress, and that can grow brave by reflection.

Trump v. Slaughter: The Deep State on trial

JIM WATSON / Contributor | Getty Images

The administrative state has long operated as an unelected super-government. Trump v. Slaughter may be the moment voters reclaim authority over their own institutions.

Washington is watching and worrying about a U.S. Supreme Court case that could very well define the future of American self-government. And I don’t say that lightly. At the center of Trump v. Slaughter is a deceptively simple question: Can the president — the one official chosen by the entire nation — remove the administrators and “experts” who wield enormous, unaccountable power inside the executive branch?

This isn’t a technical fight. It’s not a paperwork dispute. It’s a turning point. Because if the answer is no, then the American people no longer control their own government. Elections become ceremonial. The bureaucracy becomes permanent. And the Constitution becomes a suggestion rather than the law of the land.

A government run by experts instead of elected leaders is not a republic. It’s a bureaucracy with a voting booth bolted onto the front to make us feel better.

That simply cannot be. Justice Neil Gorsuch summed it up perfectly during oral arguments on Monday: “There is no such thing in our constitutional order as a fourth branch of government that’s quasi-judicial and quasi-legislative.”

Yet for more than a century, the administrative state has grown like kudzu — quietly, relentlessly, and always in one direction. Today we have a fourth branch of government: unelected, unaccountable, insulated from consequence. Congress hands off lawmaking to agencies. Presidents arrive with agendas, but the bureaucrats remain, and they decide what actually gets done.

If the Supreme Court decides that presidents cannot fire the very people who execute federal power, they are not just rearranging an org chart. The justices are rewriting the structure of the republic. They are confirming what we’ve long feared: Here, the experts rule, not the voters.

A government run by experts instead of elected leaders is not a republic. It’s a bureaucracy with a voting booth bolted onto the front to make us feel better.

The founders warned us

The men who wrote the Constitution saw this temptation coming. Alexander Hamilton and James Madison in the Federalist Papers hammered home the same principle again and again: Power must remain traceable to the people. They understood human nature far too well. They knew that once administrators are protected from accountability, they will accumulate power endlessly. It is what humans do.

That’s why the Constitution vests the executive power in a single president — someone the entire nation elects and can unelect. They did not want a managerial council. They did not want a permanent priesthood of experts. They wanted responsibility and authority to live in one place so the people could reward or replace it.

So this case will answer a simple question: Do the people still govern this country, or does a protected class of bureaucrats now run the show?

Not-so-expert advice

Look around. The experts insisted they could manage the economy — and produced historic debt and inflation.

The experts insisted they could run public health — and left millions of Americans sick, injured, and dead while avoiding accountability.

The experts insisted they could steer foreign policy — and delivered endless conflict with no measurable benefit to our citizens.

And through it all, they stayed. Untouched, unelected, and utterly unapologetic.

If a president cannot fire these people, then you — the voter — have no ability to change the direction of your own government. You can vote for reform, but you will get the same insiders making the same decisions in the same agencies.

That is not self-government. That is inertia disguised as expertise.

A republic no more?

A monarchy can survive a permanent bureaucracy. A dictatorship can survive a permanent bureaucracy. A constitutional republic cannot. Not for long anyway.

We are supposed to live in a system where the people set the course, Congress writes the laws, and the president carries them out. When agencies write their own rules, judges shield them from oversight, and presidents are forbidden from removing them, we no longer live in that system. We live in something else — something the founders warned us about.

And the people become spectators of their own government.

JIM WATSON / Contributor | Getty Images

The path forward

Restoring the separation of powers does not mean rejecting expertise. It means returning expertise to its proper role: advisory, not sovereign.

No expert should hold power that voters cannot revoke. No agency should drift beyond the reach of the executive. No bureaucracy should be allowed to grow branches the Constitution never gave it.

The Supreme Court now faces a choice that will shape American life for a generation. It can reinforce the Constitution, or it can allow the administrative state to wander even farther from democratic control.

This case isn’t about President Trump. It isn’t about Rebecca Slaughter, the former Federal Trade Commission official suing to get her job back. It’s about whether elections still mean anything — whether the American people still hold the reins of their own government.

That is what is at stake: not procedure, not technicalities, but the survival of a system built on the revolutionary idea that the citizens — not the experts — are the ones who rule.

This article originally appeared on TheBlaze.com.

1 in 20 Canadians die by MAID—Is this 'compassion'?

Vaughn Ridley / Stringer | Getty Images

Medical assistance in dying isn’t health care. It’s the moment a Western democracy decided some lives aren’t worth saving, and it’s a warning sign we can’t ignore.

Canada loves to lecture America about compassion. Every time a shooting makes the headlines, Canadian commentators cannot wait to discuss how the United States has a “culture of death” because we refuse to regulate guns the way enlightened nations supposedly do.

But north of our border, a very different crisis is unfolding — one that is harder to moralize because it exposes a deeper cultural failure.

A society that no longer recognizes the value of life will not long defend freedom, dignity, or moral order.

The Canadian government is not only permitting death, but it’s also administering, expanding, and redefining it as “medical care.” Medical assistance in dying is no longer a rare, tragic exception. It has become one of the country’s leading causes of death, offered to people whose problems are treatable, whose conditions are survivable, and whose value should never have been in question.

In Canada, MAID is now responsible for nearly 5% of all deaths — 1 out of every 20 citizens. And this is happening in a country that claims the moral high ground over American gun violence. Canada now records more deaths per capita from doctors administering lethal drugs than America records from firearms. Their number is 37.9 deaths per 100,000 people. Ours is 13.7. Yet we are the country supposedly drowning in a “culture of death.”

No lecture from abroad can paper over this fact: Canada has built a system where eliminating suffering increasingly means eliminating the sufferer.

Choosing death over care

One example of what Canada now calls “compassion” is the case of Jolene Bond, a woman suffering from a painful but treatable thyroid condition that causes dangerously high calcium levels, bone deterioration, soft-tissue damage, nausea, and unrelenting pain. Her condition is severe, but it is not terminal. Surgery could help her. And in a functioning medical system, she would have it.

But Jolene lives under socialized medicine. The specialists she needs are either unavailable, overrun with patients, or blocked behind bureaucratic requirements she cannot meet. She cannot get a referral. She cannot get an appointment. She cannot reach the doctor in another province who is qualified to perform the operation. Every pathway to treatment is jammed by paperwork, shortages, and waitlists that stretch into the horizon and beyond.

Yet the Canadian government had something else ready for her — something immediate.

They offered her MAID.

Not help, not relief, not a doctor willing to drive across a provincial line and simply examine her. Instead, Canada offered Jolene a state-approved death. A lethal injection is easier to obtain than a medical referral. Killing her would be easier than treating her. And the system calls that compassion.

Bureaucracy replaces medicine

Jolene’s story is not an outlier. It is the logical outcome of a system that cannot keep its promises. When the machinery of socialized medicine breaks down, the state simply replaces care with a final, irreversible “solution.” A bureaucratic checkbox becomes the last decision of a person’s life.

Canada insists its process is rigorous, humane, and safeguarded. Yet the bureaucracy now reviewing Jolene’s case is not asking how she can receive treatment; it is asking whether she has enough signatures to qualify for a lethal injection. And the debate among Canadian officials is not how to preserve life, but whether she has met the paperwork threshold to end it.

This is the dark inversion that always emerges when the state claims the power to decide when life is no longer worth living. Bureaucracy replaces conscience. Eligibility criteria replace compassion. A panel of physicians replaces the family gathered at a bedside. And eventually, the “right” to die becomes an expectation — especially for those who are poor, elderly, or alone.

Joe Raedle / Staff | Getty Images

The logical end of a broken system

We ignore this lesson at our own peril. Canada’s health care system is collapsing under demographic pressure, uncontrolled migration, and the unavoidable math of government-run medicine.

When the system breaks, someone must bear the cost. MAID has become the release valve.

The ideology behind this system is already drifting south. In American medical journals and bioethics conferences, you will hear this same rhetoric. The argument is always dressed in compassion. But underneath, it reduces the value of human life to a calculation: Are you useful? Are you affordable? Are you too much of a burden?

The West was built on a conviction that every human life has inherent value. That truth gave us hospitals before it gave us universities. It gave us charity before it gave us science. It is written into the Declaration of Independence.

Canada’s MAID program reveals what happens when a country lets that foundation erode. Life becomes negotiable, and suffering becomes a justification for elimination.

A society that no longer recognizes the value of life will not long defend freedom, dignity, or moral order. If compassion becomes indistinguishable from convenience, and if medicine becomes indistinguishable from euthanasia, the West will have abandoned the very principles that built it. That is the lesson from our northern neighbor — a warning, not a blueprint.

This article originally appeared on TheBlaze.com.

A Sharia enclave is quietly taking root in America. It's time to wake up.

NOVA SAFO / Staff | Getty Images

Sharia-based projects like the Meadow in Texas show how political Islam grows quietly, counting on Americans to stay silent while an incompatible legal system takes root.

Apolitical system completely incompatible with the Constitution is gaining ground in the United States, and we are pretending it is not happening.

Sharia — the legal and political framework of Islam — is being woven into developments, institutions, and neighborhoods, including a massive project in Texas. And the consequences will be enormous if we continue to look the other way.

This is the contradiction at the heart of political Islam: It claims universal authority while insisting its harshest rules will never be enforced here. That promise does not stand up to scrutiny. It never has.

Before we can have an honest debate, we’d better understand what Sharia represents. Sharia is not simply a set of religious rules about prayer or diet. It is a comprehensive legal and political structure that governs marriage, finance, criminal penalties, and civic life. It is a parallel system that claims supremacy wherever it takes hold.

This is where the distinction matters. Many Muslims in America want nothing to do with Sharia governance. They came here precisely because they lived under it. But political Islam — the movement that seeks to implement Sharia as law — is not the same as personal religious belief.

It is a political ideology with global ambitions, much like communism. Secretary of State Marco Rubio recently warned that Islamist movements do not seek peaceful coexistence with the West. They seek dominance. History backs him up.

How Sharia arrives

Political Islam does not begin with dramatic declarations. It starts quietly, through enclaves that operate by their own rules. That is why the development once called EPIC City — now rebranded as the Meadow — is so concerning. Early plans framed it as a Muslim-only community built around a mega-mosque and governed by Sharia-compliant financing. After state investigations were conducted, the branding changed, but the underlying intent remained the same.

Developers have openly described practices designed to keep non-Muslims out, using fees and ownership structures to create de facto religious exclusivity. This is not assimilation. It is the construction of a parallel society within a constitutional republic.

The warning from those who have lived under it

Years ago, local imams in Texas told me, without hesitation, that certain Sharia punishments “just work.” They spoke about cutting off hands for theft, stoning adulterers, and maintaining separate standards of testimony for men and women. They insisted it was logical and effective while insisting they would never attempt to implement it in Texas.

But when pressed, they could not explain why a system they consider divinely mandated would suddenly stop applying once someone crossed a border.

This is the contradiction at the heart of political Islam: It claims universal authority while insisting its harshest rules will never be enforced here. That promise does not stand up to scrutiny. It never has.

AASHISH KIPHAYET / Contributor | Getty Images

America is vulnerable

Europe is already showing us where this road leads. No-go zones, parallel courts, political intimidation, and clerics preaching supremacy have taken root across major cities.

America’s strength has always come from its melting pot, but assimilation requires boundaries. It requires insisting that the Constitution, not religious law, is the supreme authority on this soil.

Yet we are becoming complacent, even fearful, about saying so. We mistake silence for tolerance. We mistake avoidance for fairness. Meanwhile, political Islam views this hesitation as weakness.

Religious freedom is one of America’s greatest gifts. Muslims may worship freely here, as they should. But political Islam must not be permitted to plant a flag on American soil. The Constitution cannot coexist with a system that denies equal rights, restricts speech, subordinates women, and places clerical authority above civil law.

Wake up before it is too late

Projects like the Meadow are not isolated. They are test runs, footholds, proofs of concept. Political Islam operates with patience. It advances through demographic growth, legal ambiguity, and cultural hesitation — and it counts on Americans being too polite, too distracted, or too afraid to confront it.

We cannot afford that luxury. If we fail to defend the principles that make this country free, we will one day find ourselves asking how a parallel system gained power right in front of us. The answer will be simple: We looked away.

The time to draw boundaries and to speak honestly is now. The time to defend the Constitution as the supreme law of the land is now. Act while there is still time.

This article originally appeared on TheBlaze.com.

Why do Americans feel so empty?

Mario Tama / Staff | Getty Images

Anxiety, anger, and chronic dissatisfaction signal a country searching for meaning. Without truth and purpose, politics becomes a dangerous substitute for identity.

We have built a world overflowing with noise, convenience, and endless choice, yet something essential has slipped out of reach. You can sense it in the restless mood of the country, the anxiety among young people who cannot explain why they feel empty, in the angry confusion that dominates our politics.

We have more wealth than any nation in history, but the heart of the culture feels strangely malnourished. Before we can debate debt or elections, we must confront the reality that we created a world of things, but not a world of purpose.

You cannot survive a crisis you refuse to name, and you cannot rebuild a world whose foundations you no longer understand.

What we are living through is not just economic or political dysfunction. It is the vacuum that appears when a civilization mistakes abundance for meaning.

Modern life is stuffed with everything except what the human soul actually needs. We built systems to make life faster, easier, and more efficient — and then wondered why those systems cannot teach our children who they are, why they matter, or what is worth living for.

We tell the next generation to chase success, influence, and wealth, turning childhood into branding. We ask kids what they want to do, not who they want to be. We build a world wired for dopamine rather than dignity, and then we wonder why so many people feel unmoored.

When everything is curated, optimized, and delivered at the push of a button, the question “what is my life for?” gets lost in the static.

The crisis beneath the headlines

It is not just the young who feel this crisis. Every part of our society is straining under the weight of meaninglessness.

Look at the debt cycle — the mathematical fate no civilization has ever escaped once it crosses a threshold that we seem to have already blown by. While ordinary families feel the pressure, our leaders respond with distraction, with denial, or by rewriting the very history that could have warned us.

You cannot survive a crisis you refuse to name, and you cannot rebuild a world whose foundations you no longer understand.

We have entered a cultural moment where the noise is so loud that it drowns out the simplest truths. We are living in a country that no longer knows how to hear itself think.

So people go searching. Some drift toward the false promise of socialism, some toward the empty thrill of rebellion. Some simply check out. When a culture forgets what gives life meaning, it becomes vulnerable to every ideology that offers a quick answer.

The quiet return of meaning

And yet, quietly, something else is happening. Beneath the frustration and cynicism, many Americans are recognizing that meaning does not come from what we own, but from what we honor. It does not rise from success, but from virtue. It does not emerge from noise, but from the small, sacred things that modern life has pushed to the margins — the home, the table, the duty you fulfill, the person you help when no one is watching.

The danger is assuming that this rediscovery happens on its own. It does not.

Reorientation requires intention. It requires rebuilding the habits and virtues that once held us together. It requires telling the truth about our history instead of rewriting it to fit today’s narratives. And it requires acknowledging what has been erased: that meaning is inseparable from God’s presence in a nation’s life.

Harold M. Lambert / Contributor | Getty Images

Where renewal begins

We have built a world without stillness, and then we wondered why no one can hear the questions that matter. Those questions remain, whether we acknowledge them or not. They do not disappear just because we drown them in entertainment or noise. They wait for us, and the longer we ignore them, the more disoriented we become.

Meaning is still available. It is found in rebuilding the smallest, most human spaces — the places that cannot be digitized, globalized, or automated. The home. The family. The community.

These are the daily virtues that do not trend on social media, but that hold a civilization upright. If we want to repair this country, we begin there, exactly where every durable civilization has always begun: one virtue at a time, one tradition at a time, one generation at a time.

This article originally appeared on TheBlaze.com.