We all sin. To avoid using the “s” word, we may call it by other less penetrating names; politically correct names. But sin by any other name remains what it is, sin. It is not uncommon for man to blame external causes and conditions for our troubles and sicknesses, while all the time the real trouble is sin.

One of the greatest problems we face today is that of controlling the absurd, the insane in human nature which tend to defy complete control. We observe this in acts of violence, extreme aggression, mass hysteria, and mob brutality. As capital crime violence mount, we seem to think severe legal penalties will eradicate or tame the problems. So we strengthen our police force, lengthen regulations, and extend jail sentences. But there is something peculiar under the sun. Even after we have tightened up, the results are still the same.

Who can deny that our world is suffering from a severe spiritual illness? We are living in the midst of economic paralysis and social disorder. Underneath the surface, there is sin: the sin of greed, power, contempt for human beings, and the denial of brotherhood. Our spiritual sickness can only be cured by a spiritual restoration. Peace treaties have not worked for long in the past and we have no reason to believe they will be any more effective in the future. There must be an agreement with God, with the moral and spiritual realities. We have sinned. We have made alcohol more important than

Feeling cranky about air travel? Get a grip.

Not on the arm of your passenger seat–on reality, history, and the incredible accomplishment of human flight.

We’ve just celebrated the 100th anniversary of the Wright brothers’ historic flight at Kitty Hawk, North Carolina. Although there werecertainly others who were experimenting with flying machines–most notably, Alberto Santos-Dumont, a Brazilian who is widely celebrated in his native country as being the father of aviation–the Wright Brothers are generally regarded as the first to get humans off the ground.

The fascinating thing about the Wright brothers is that they were not the idealistic dreamers you might expect them to be. They were serious, studious, and determined to figure things out. It wasn’t that they were obsessed with the dream of soaring high above the ground. They were mechanically-inclined brothers who owned a bicycle shop, and they couldn’t forget the brief but exciting flight of a cheap toy airplane they’d received as children. They were intrigued by the engineering challenge.

Let’s just say it–they were geeks. Good thing. Like geeks everywhere, they dug in, immersing themselves in their research. By following their hunch and testing the heck out of it, they found the key component that enabled them to create that first flying hunk of wood, fabric and wire capable of carrying a man and–key point here–landing without crashing.

The Wright brothers had the same access to records of tried and failed attempts at flight as all other would-be aviators of the time. They studied birds, they analyzed physics properties,

When I was 12, one of my best friends was a square dancer. Twice a week, her family would pile into the Country Squire station wagon and head to the Grange Hall, where they’d gather with their square dancing club for an evening of music, friendship and do-sa-do.

As a regular guest, I was fascinated by the form but, in the height of my coolness-conscious years, also acutely aware of the overwhelming dork factor. These people lived to square dance.

They skipped around for two or three hours at a time, twirling and smiling and dabbing at their foreheads between dances. They hunted for holiday-themed fabric months before special dances in order to whip up the perfect ruffled dress and matching shirt for each occasion. They packed their petticoats and headed to Penticton, British Columbia every summer for a regional square dancers’ convergence.

The square dance girls were just as boy-crazy as my regular friends, but they had a built-in way to hold hands with the guys they liked. As for me, I had a major crush on my friend’s older brother who, at 15, was an articulate, ambitious student body president with piercing blue eyes and blond hair to his shoulders (it was 1972, after all).

In one of our (for me, anyway) excruciating conversations involving much blushing, he told me that square dancing was like meditation. “It’s a way to forget about everything except what’s going on right now. You have to pay attention to what the caller says, and let your