Earlier this month I had the privilege of speaking for ten minutes to the Andrews Academy student body for one of their morning worships. I had actually spent an hour and a half the night before writing up a devotional for that worship.

Drip, drip, drip. There are two ways to empty a tankful of water. You can crank open the faucet and let the water flow. Or—and this method is much slower, but just as effective—you can let the faucet drip one drop at a time. Either way the tank will eventually empty. Two government disclosures this week—one from the IRS and the other from the Justice Department—are a reminder that the prized civil liberties upon which this nation was founded can also be emptied by the perennial drip, drip, drip of freedom leakage.

We’re all still shaking our heads with disbelief and joy over the headlines out of Cleveland, Ohio, this week. On Monday afternoon the 911 dispatcher heard the plea of a breathless female voice: “Help me. I’m Amanda Berry. I’ve been kidnapped, and I’ve been missing for 10 years now and I’m, I’m here, I’m free now.” Emergency responders were at the door within minutes. “They’re more in there,” the young woman pointed to the second floor of the shuttered up house.

What does the collapse of the Bangladeshi clothing factory have to do with this graduating class of our “best and brightest”? More than meets the eye. I was stunned to watch the now-arrested owner of the doomed factory in Dhaka declare on camera just hours before the collapse that there was no problem with his building—never mind the large cracks in the walls—the building is safe. In fact on the morning of the collapse, the owner and his associates were commanding hesitant workers, mainly women, to enter the factory and resume their shift work.

Twin events in the past few days have revealed the catapulted status the social media now enjoy in our society. The Boston Marathon bombings and their aftermath last week and the hacked and tweeted hoax about a White House attack this week are a sobering reminder of the power wielded by a host of cyberspace social networks. “Monday’s bombings, the first major terrorist attack on American soil in the age of smartphones, Twitter and Facebook, provided an opportunity for everyone to get involved.

We were in the middle of our staff meeting Monday afternoon, when my phone beeped a text message. It was from Karen: “Bombs at the finish line of the Boston Marathon.” Everyone around the table grabbed their phone, as with the rest of the nation we watched the first pictures from the marathon finish line. The orange explosion—twice, just a block apart. The surreal pause. Then mayhem. And now the casualty count this morning—3 dead, 183 injured, 13 amputations.

According to a recent Huffington Post/YouGov poll of Americans, 32% of us expressed our desire for Christianity to become the “official” religion of the United States. Forty-two percent of respondents opposed that notion, with 32% of them “strongly opposed.” I share their strong opposition. That’s why it really isn’t so inconsequential that a group of eleven Republican state representatives in North Carolina this past week pushed for a state resolution declaring that while the U. S.

It’s true. She was born in Pyongyang, the capital of North Korea. Only it wasn’t North Korea back then—it was simply Korea. My grandparents, Ralph and Mildred Watts, were young missionaries in Korea when Mom was born, and they ended up serving seventeen years in that country.

I’ve been amazed—on two counts—over the public reaction to the recent election of a new pontiff for the Roman Catholic Church. The global press has been awash in accolades for Pope Francis. No doubt the dramatic contrast between the personalities of this new pope and his predecessor, Benedict XVI, has fueled the news media’s complimentary, sometimes glowing, coverage of this new reign.  And Pope Francis’ publicly warm and modest persona have only heightened the fascination of the secular press.

Remember that childhood rhyme? “Every party needs a pooper, that’s why we invited you—party pooper, party pooper!” I certainly don’t want to rain on Wall Street’s parade and become the party pooper nobody wants. But in the midst of the hoopla over the Dow Jones industrial average’s new all-time high on Tuesday (14,253.77), could it be a bit premature to be singing, “Happy days are here again!”?