The next day, the human experience riding on the heels of tragedy, affords critical downtime before the onslaught of cleansing grief and its restoration to a different kind of wholeness. Such had been the pattern in our country until last spring’s onset of Covid-19 with its continuing scourge and moans from the populace. Pestilence, the Fourth Horseman in the book of Revelation, still gallops his pale steed among us and shows no signs of fatigue.

And to compound matters, January 7, 2021, is yet another next day following Wednesday’s breaching of the Capitol and its desecration, but there’s little evidence of downtime. Steeped in angst, it feels like the warp and woof of our identity as a nation has been ripped asunder. Beneath the egregious tear festers additional sores of greed, pride, and anger; of them all, half-truths appear the most misleading and divisive. At the bottom of the nation’s wound lays the great switch that keeps many unconscious, on fast-forward, with little quiet for reflection and significant action to benefit others.

More feverishness, rather than accustomed downtime, infects this next day with its imperatives to do this, to do that: More anger, pride, and exhaustion induce skewed reasoning. We need help. On our own, we are powerless.

Would that Dolly Parton’s mother could again make a coat of many colors to cover our nation’s nakedness, adroit as she was in piecing together disparate patches to make a whole. Then, perhaps God will do this if we let Him. Sounds absurd, but it’s not …