The problem with the story Modernism keeps trying to tell us is that you can only live and die for yourself. The characters in this story must necessarily kill off one another in pursuit of their own cherished loneliness.
There is no glory in this story. Glory, by necessity, turns outward.
God’s glory is seen because, in his glory, he creates a world where his glory can be treasured; his glory is seen in his sharing.
Jesus is the glory of God because his entire life & death was a display of defiance against inward self service; his life was marked by glorious stooping.
The church is the glory of Christ as she brings peace and healing to the nations of the world by motherly service (i.e. – “Mother Kirk”). Likewise, a woman is the glory of her husband in her service to him.
Glory is outward.
Modernism is inward.
Glory blinds the eyes of us Moderns in the same way the sun hurts the eyes of teenage boys who spend the days of summer in their basements instead of outdoors.
Modernism scorns the sacrifice of glory because the sacrificial lamb is the dreams of self. The dreams we Moderns have been taught to dream since grade school. The dreams that we have always told we should never sacrifice for anyone or anything. Glory calls us to take these dreams and pour them out as an oblation upon the altar.
The sacrificing of these dreams for such lowly service to family and church produces more glory than the vast quantity of loneliness found in the heights of Bieberdom.
Modernism is tragedy.
Glory is comedy.
The story of Modernism ends with an empty table. The story of Modernism is a family arguing where to go to dinner, they go the food court and each choose their own plate of loneliness.
The story of glory is a family reunion. The wine is well aged, the fat has not been trimmed from the meat, the toast is met with a heartfelt “CHEERS!”. The story of glory is communion. The many brought to one table.
Modernism is a storyline built on self.
Glory is a storyline built on death to self.