What man hath molded in his image...

To look at the world, we must see in context. See cultures, colours, ages, generations all mingled in a panoply of life. But what is the use of even trying to have context for anything? Admittedly things are easier to understand in context, or so we are taught, but humor rears its ugly head most often when context is absent. Perhaps even in the absence of context we see how absurdly amusing daily life can be: that language is a half trained dog that pees on our laundry piles when we least expect, and symbolic gestures are merely warm air being moved about for the benefit of conscience soothing.

Context is a mockery of truth, in some sense. We hope that by shrouding context about our lives, that we won't have to explain our follies quite so much. We can sit and sip our tea from fine bone china, and excuse ourselves for being mass murderers.

Over the top, I hear you roar from the pews, shaking your well manicured fist at my teasing jocularity!

Perhaps. I merely point you to the irony of your indignation.

One cannot simply say that context defines our lives, and thus "...let he who is without sin throw the first stone..." Judge me not kind sir, your opinion is of no proper context for my life. But I beg to differ most sharply.

Either I am a fool for saying this, or we are all in need of shaping up. Either murder is murder, or the human race is in need of a redefinition of what everything is.

How does context fix atrocity in another culture? If that man's conscience is not pricked, mine is certainly outraged.

A murder is a murder, a spade is a spade, and apples are apples, no matter where one is from. Context does not save us, it only obfuscates the truth of the situation. Let us call our apples apples, our murderers murderers, and our sins sins.

Let me not hide behind context. Let the Judge of the Earth, who is just, see me for who I am, and by His infinite Grace, shower me with His Love.