St. Louis. – It is hard sometimes for the little guy to keep fighting.
The little nation of Britain stood up against the great and mighty German Luftwaffe. Washington stood against the crown. Brave young resistance fighters died fighting Communist Russia. The 300 Spartans stood at the pass of Thermopile and said to the great Persian Army, “you cross these mountains over our dead bodies.”
William Wallace and his Scots battled it out fiercely with the tyrant king Edward, giving it everything they had, while being the forgotten minority left out in the cold.
The Moral Majority in America has ceased to exist; the days of the Moral Minority are here. But that is alright. Today they are getting laughed at, how many said the 300 Spartans would accomplish anything? During his time William Wallace was not seen as the great savior, today who has ever heard of Sir James of Lennox, the cowardly knight who refused to stand with him?
Politics is a marathon, not a sprint. Many people forget that. They come to the track, they look down its vast expanse, at the many that are plodding along, and they decide to take a new approach. They find the most popular track, they set themselves, and then they begin running as fast as they can. The populace thinks they are watching a sprint, but they are really watching a marathon.
The crowds love to watch men sprint, but no man can sprint for 26 miles. Once he gets past the grandstand he will collapse and the race will be over for him. Such a man will never accomplish anything great. It is the man that jogs that counts, not the man who runs on the most open lane to receive the applause of the crowds while he lives.
It is the man who jogs that wins. It is the man who receives boos for running too slowly, the man who is spit on because he will not look good to the crowd, he cares only for the final assessment as he nears the wire.
The laurel wreath of history only kisses the brow of the dead or dying hero.
We may not receive the applause in our day, but it is in the long run that the work must pay off.
Robin Hoods will always be scorned in their times, but it is the Sherriff whose grave we will all spit on. The race is long. Victory is not about the ratings. The sprinters are always forgotten, there are so many of them we could never name them. The crowds become lost in a sea of temporary wonder, and then another comes along with a different color jersey and their eyes and hearts follow him.
Victory is not in the smiles you win but in the miles you run.
It is worth getting booed if you take the gold in the end. The jogger is the man who will receive the great monuments to him, which state REMEMBERING THE GREAT MAN WHO WON THE WAR. There is no gold medal for the man that sprints, for him there is only a grave, its inscription will read He ran so fast, and looked so good, that he did nothing. The race is a lot longer than the quarter mile where the grandstand is.
We could sprint for the crowd, but what would we attain in so doing? Are accolades really worth it? Are our souls worth 30 pieces of silver? The true statesman leaves popularity to others, for him, the important thing is that he finishes the race well.
Our generation may not see a very great deal of “success” it may not be until our great grandchildren’s lifetimes that the tortes begins to catch up with the hare. The slowly plodding battle line of the moral majority however will continue to fight.
Through His Strength We Will Conquer.
Andrew C. Abbott