Memoirs of Saint Jude

I am Jude, the patron saint of those too far gone to be saved, or those worth being saved. I am the patron saint of the down and outs that no one is willing to touch. I am the patron saint of the lost causes.1

I am a relatively new addition to the Saints. I was never needed until the days of late. You see, the United States of America is a nation founded upon Godly morals and principles of all mankind having the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. In recent years, the idea of all mankind has slipped away into ideologies of self-promotion. The down and outs are held down and pushed out. And it surprises me that the pushing is not done by the Heathens alone, but predominantly, by Almighty’s living saints, the Church of today.2

So, as previous generations create the oxymoron of pretentious, self-righteous, un-loving saints, this saint, is taking in multitudes of lost souls who can find no home in the church.3

It really saddens me because the church is the one place they should be able to find rest from this tremulous world. Instead, the ones who are supposed to take them in, dress their wounds and speak peace to them, are the very ones cutting them with judgment and tossing them back out to die. They tell them that they need to clean themselves up before they can approach the Savior.4

But they can’t. They can’t clean themselves up. No one can. That is exactly where the problem lies. They have created a Grace-less Father, in turn banning themselves from His Lovingkindness, and binding themselves to the law of their own works and deeds. They are stripping a generation of its only access to the King, nailing them in their coffins, so to speak.5

This generation, now deemed as a generation of lost causes, would be better off just to be killed now, rather than suffer the inescapable cruelty of the world and die slowly. This generation is dying, but as I watch them, I am beginning to have trouble believing that they are actually lost causes.6

They are not lost causes, in all actuality. There is hope in their cause. That hope lies in just a little guidance to point them in the right direction, and a little truth to liberate them of their present bondages. But in that being the hope, I see no hope. The only ones who can give them that guidance silently refuse.7

So, now I weep bitterly, lamenting over a nation of lost souls. I let out a cry for all to hear, from sea to sea and all that lies between. I wail, “Come unto me you lost and weary souls! Come you broken and tired! Come unto me you generation forsaken by the saints! And I will keep you under my wings.”8

And I will keep them, for there is now no one else who will. I will keep them until the day when the gallows are raised high, and we can all hang ourselves together and die.9

I am not really Jude, as I have told you. But I am one of those under his wing. I am told that I am a lost cause, Joshua of the dying generation of lost causes. I hardly believe that, and Jude is not my Patron Saint of Lost Causes, but, rather, he is Saint Jude, the Patron Saint of all of us The Abandoned Causes.10