I completed Episode 70 of Writers from the Vault yesterday. Notwithstanding that the entire enterprise features 35 hours of my waffling on, it is nevertheless an achievement to have come so far. As a fortnightly radio program, I had expected to to get to the one year mark, perhaps the two year, but now as the end of year three hoves into view, I remain astonished at my persistence.

I love it when I discover, or rediscover a poet I have forgotten about. Yesterday's program opened with two poems by Elizabeth Jennings, whose work I recall reading somewhat tangentially about forty years ago. What a find she is! She is regarded as a bit of a traditionalist, less an innovator, using the kind of simpler metre and rhyme that was the hallmark of poets like Larkin, Amis and Gunn.

Here is her little masterpiece, One Flesh.

Lying apart now, each in a separate bed,
He with a book, keeping the light on late,
She like a girl dreaming of childhood,
All men elsewhere - it is as if they wait
Some new event: the book he holds unread,
Her eyes fixed on the shadows overhead.

Tossed up like flotsam from a former passion,
How cool they lie. They hardly ever touch,
Or if they do it is like a confession
Of having little feeling - or too much.
Chastity faces them, a destination
For which their whole lives were a preparation.

Strangely apart, yet strangely close together,
Silence between them like a thread to hold
And not wind in. And time itself's a feather
Touching them gently. Do they know they're old,
These two who are my father and my mother
Whose fire from which I came, has now grown cold?

According to the Sydney Morning Herald, bets were placed in the prediction markets last week over just when the attack on Iran would begin. To be clear, people were betting on when a war would commence and therefore betting on when civilians would start dying. Yes, betting.

Folks have been talking about how 'the days are evil' since Paul first wrote to the Ephesians, and doubtless before that too. Every generation, or at least those people who care to think about it, has seen its own time as being especially bad. Wars, rumours of wars, famines, plagues, natural disasters and the like will always generate pessimistic assessments, especially if one in the the midst of something awful.

But I think the current age is a special case for the award of the most evil of times. Not just because one can place a bet on death and dying, nor the capacity to destroy all life on Earth, nor the rapacious greed that consigns many to poverty and others to obscene luxury, not even the destruction of the natural environment, nor the multitude of wars and real potential for others, not just these things. There is also a decline in human morality, of distinctions between right and wrong, of verities that, even though they were broken, nevertheless informed whole societies.

Well I could go on. And you might like to make a bet that I am wrong, though I think you might lose your money.

The joint Israeli-US attack on Iran yesterday is a colossal risk. Ideally, the regime in Iran will fall, following a battering on the battlefield and a popular uprising, and, in the fullness of time, a new moderate government will be formed. The Iran of the past 50 years, one which sponsored terrorist organisations, demanded an end to the State of Israel and repressed its own people is one which will not be missed.

On the other hand, a situation like that which emerged after the Iraq war earlier this century could create huge instability and regional wars that could go on for decades. This is another possibility. 

All manner of scenarios are possible, some leaning towards greater stability and peace, others away from it. I hope for the best, of course. 

 Another World Cup will be shortly upon us, with Australia qualifying for the 5th straight time. When I was younger and full to the brim of football madness, the game was still in its relative infancy compared to today. It also laboured by comparison to the three other football codes that were already entrenched. White Anglo-Saxon Australia found it hard to connect with the 'ethnic' nature of the game, especially as the post-war migration boom from Europe meant juggling names like Sydney Croatia, Pan Hellenic and Yugal-Prague. I throw the last one in because one of my old teachers played for the reserve team.

Qualifying for that first World Cup in 1974 (16 teams) was an extraordinary achievement in hindsight. The players were all part-timers who had day jobs to keep them afloat. Yet here they were in Germany, mixing it with the likes of Beckenbauer and Cruyff. Today's teams is composed of professionals who play all over the world. We have fewer players in the top tiers of competition (relative to the 2006 Socceroos) but enough depth and skill to make a fist of most encounters. We are competitive.

The North American World Cup this year has 48 teams competing. That is a big expansion on what used to be. Personally, I think a maximum of 32 was quite enough, but FIFA wants to up the participation rate. Increasing the number by so many may well dilute the overall quality. The World Cup should be about the very best, even if that means Australia misses out sometimes.

Much is made in certain circles of the notion that we live in a post-Christian world, particularly where it touches upon Western nations. Looking around, I realise that this has probably been the case since the 1960's and 1970's, when the first wave of 'liberations' occurred. Little by little societies have been weened off Christian values, and the application of those values. They have been replaced in the main by a cultural shift that has been aided science and technology. The contraceptive pill is a case in point.

Even so, a long sunset lingered in which secularism was practised but a generation and a half, still remembering their childhood education, maintained a veneer of  adherence. Lip service was paid, if you like. The Church was still seen as an important institution, even if the pews were filled with 'God-bothering fuddy duddy's.

It is not until Christian content is challenged, or folks raise objections to faith-based material, no matter how innocuous, that your realise how far things have gone. Apparently some members of my choir have objected to an arrangement of Psalm 23 ('The Lord is my Shepherd'). It's hard to imagine a more uplifting and comforting passage of writing in Scripture, but there you are. I fear this is but the thin end of the wedge. If kindly choristers are finding reason to baulk at Christianity, where might things be leading.

As always, be careful what you wish for.

Pride, arrogance and boastfulness get very bad press in The Bible. Pride, of course, almost always precedes a fall of some kind. Sometimes it is a huge fall. We see many examples of this in the modern world - people so puffed up with their own sense of self-importance or superiority that a reckoning of sorts is due. It may not happen for a while, but come it will.

This is not to demean the kind of pride that is proportionate to a personal achievement. The quiet pride that speaks of a job well done or the way a child is performing in some field. It doesn't shout itself out and it is in no way arrogant. I'm sure that you can tell the difference.

The opposite of (bad) pride in Scripture is humility. This is a word and concept that is entirely alien to modernity. It was once a virtue and still is a virtue. Sadly even the notion of there being such a thing as virtue has almost disappeared. The humble person can be a mighty achiever and will dodge attention and accolades if at all possible. They will be quick to point out the contribution of others and only too glad to step back into the shadows.

I have been guilty of pride (particularly intellectual) in the past and I have to scold myself whenever it arises. It is my deepest hope that in whatever time the Lord grants me in this life, I can reduce it to a number approaching zero. 

From Psalm 51.

'You do not want sacrifices, 

or I would offer them;

you are not pleased with burnt offerings,

My sacrifice is a humble spirit, O God;

you will not reject a humble and repentant heart.'

This morning I recorded another episode of 'Writers from the Vault' for 2RPH. Number 67. It was difficult to get motivated, given the circumstances, but I got through it without too much trouble.

It's important to keep doing things that are worthwhile when you feel sad. There are obvious psychological benefits, but in my case, the things I do for the station go out to people with sight impairment who cannot access printed material. I can't afford the luxury of indulging my feelings when others are relying upon me and the many volunteers at 2RPH on a daily basis.

Today's 30 minute program included poems by R.S. Thomas and Amy Lowell, an extract from a gothic horror novel called The Beetle, a feature by TNS writer Tracey Thorn, a short narrative from a 1927 edition of The New Yorker, a monologue from the Spanish playwright Gregorio Martinez Sierra and a book review. It's a mix of things, like all my episodes, to keep people listening for half an hour. Something for the ears and the mind. To pass the time.

But it is only God's Grace that keeps me going. My prayers are not in vain, I know, though His Will is hard to discern.

'For now we see though a glass, darkly; but then, face to face.'  1 Cor.13:12