Life On The World Of The Cross


The soft light of the instruments shone off the large eyes of navigator Dorac. He placed the ship into low orbit, approximately over Washington, D.C.  Pilot Nandon pressed a series of actions into the ship. The first was her announcement to the entire host:

My friends, we are orbiting the World of the Cross; the tarnished shrine of our beloved Creator Son whom the natives of this world put to death.  We are now over the capital city of the federation of states known as the United States of America.

You are all familiar with the past and recent history of this nation, and the approaching crossroads this blighted world faces.  The political life of the planet is today struggling to achieve a new recognition of the fundamental understanding of brotherhood, which will bring a new willingness to cooperate— without the historic antagonisms and hostility so pervasive in their dealings with each other.  Perhaps too, a renewed dedication to make fearless and trustworthy commitments to support the collective will of the progressive and united nations of the world.

The parochial fears of a sizable portion of a poorly educated electorate and its unusually immature philosophy have been largely quelled by a more or less increasingly unified and universal majority of progressive humans for whom peace is their passion, and goodwill among all men their creed.  Their growing insistence that their elected representatives respect their will has resulted in dramatic and rapid changes within the body politic, and has brought the dawning of a new day of hope and achievement in planetary sanity.

One such example: only recently, an elected governor of a state participated in the aerial hunting of animal life;  but a more enlightened national majority is seeking to enact a strict moratorium on the hunting of all forms of animal life not critical to their food supplies, during a worsening of their planet-wide ecological crisis and the increasing possibility of atmospheric catastrophe.  They argue astutely that all species will need the full resourcefulness of its collective genetic power to evolve through the coming decades of global atmospheric adversity.

At long last, the respective races and nations seem to have finally grasped a partial significance of the inherent absurdity in ascribing the appearance of the uniform and dependable laws of the cosmos to random chance;  increasingly they recognize that a vast universe of mathematics simply cannot exist without a Master Mathematician.

Puzzling to report however, a majority of their religious leaders continue to make the great mistake of calling their modern communities to spiritual awareness with the discordant trumpet blasts of their Middle Ages. They still assume democracy can take the place of spiritual progress.  And they do not yet comprehend that world peace could be promoted far more effectively by international trade organizations, than by all their supposed visionary peace planning.

I would  admonish all who participate in surface explorations to be ever mindful that this world, Urantia, is still a quarantined world— and that our prime directive admonishes us not to interfere with their normal evolutionary progress. Thus:  avoiding the siting of your craft, or encounters of any sort with the native peoples is your chief concern, after personal safety.

Finally, I urge everyone to enjoy your visit to this World of the Cross;  our days are short here, due to the great interest in this singular world of Nebadon, the bestowal world of the Son of God.  Enjoy your time.

As the sundry creatures of a thousand different worlds witnessed their first dawn of Urantia’s pale little sun from the comfort of the main observation lounge, their excitement in seeing this storied, but backward, blue world of the rebellion-torn system of Satania, evoked strong emotions.  And many wondered aloud if the precious populations in the cities and towns twinkling below in the growing light of a new day, entertained any real idea of how eternally fortunate they were.

The human race must become reconciled
to a procession of changes, adjustments, and readjustments.
Mankind is on the march toward a new and unrevealed planetary destiny.

The Urantia Book

(Original image)

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