(These are Opinion-Editorial Articles written by David Carlson and published in the Daily Journal, the newspaper of record in Franklin, Indiana)
January 11, 2022
One of the greatest challenges facing parents in the next decade will be to understand the allure of fanaticism for young people.
It wasn't that long ago that calling someone a fanatic was, if not an insult, at least a warning that such a person was dangerous. For a growing number of people now, to call someone a fanatic, whether we are talking about a religious fanatic or a political fanatic, is a compliment, signifying that the person has strong beliefs. And what, some might ask, is wrong with that?
Our current confusion about fanaticism means that we have to be clear about fanaticism's allure and danger. First, let's consider its allure. Zeal or zealousness is a powerful emotion. Zeal in its extreme form is the feeling that comes when a person is totally committed to an ideology or a person. When a group is unquestioningly committed to the same leader or set of beliefs, the feelings of strength and power increase. Put another way, it's quite a rush to be in a group where everyone is "all in" on the same belief or behind the same leader.
Second, let's turn to the danger of fanaticism. It is an accepted psychological fact that adolescent males have poorer impulse control than they'll have when they are older. Young men, then, are particularly susceptible to the allure of fanaticism. Many older men reading this column can probably remember poor and even dangerous choices made in their early years because they were urged on by others. It is hard to "think before you jump" if others whose acceptance you covet are jumping all around you.
There is another factor behind the growing fanaticism. Many young men, both in our country and elsewhere, find aspects of the modern world-multicultural diversity, the rapid rate of change, and shifting social patterns and demographics-confusing and upsetting. These same young men are easily attracted to ideologies and leaders who offer overly simplistic answers to life's complexity.
Fanaticism, then, offers a tempting shortcut to deal with the complexity of modern life. Despite fanaticism being a lazy way of thinking, however, it offers a big payoff-a powerful sense of certainty. Fanatics don't doubt or question; fanatics know.
If fanaticism is a dangerous disease that is wreaking havoc across the world, there is good news for parents and teachers. The disease of fanaticism has an antidote, and that antidote is humility.
But what is humility? Put aside all thoughts of humility as a weak emotion. Humility is a stance a person can take to deal positively with the complex issues in our country and world. Humility accepts that none of us has all the answers, but, as we seek truth, humility encourages us to be open to correction and to have our minds changed.
Think of the issues and problems our country or our world are facing as complicated "knots." There is a real cost to believing that our country, our religion, or our preferred political party offers the only way to untie those knots. If we fall into that trap, we will miss the wisdom of other cultures, cultures that might offer a better way to untie the knots that frustrate us-or even offer insight as to how we tied ourselves in knots in the first place.
Fanaticism is seductive, as it offers these feelings of power and of being in the right. But fanaticism closes the mind down, leading to an obsession with one set of beliefs or leader. Humility is the opposite of fanaticism. Humility opens the mind out. The humble person can accept life's complexity not as a problem but as that which makes life challenging.
The role of parents is to help the young find and follow the path to wisdom. There is no wisdom in fanaticism. Wisdom is found only in humility.
Merton and the New Year
December 28, 2021
There are certain people who seem to know us, and we them, even though we never met them in person. One of those people for me is the Trappist monk Thomas Merton. Although I'd heard his name, I didn't read anything written by him until 1975, seven years after his death. But once I read The Seven Storey Mountain, one of the oddest autobiographies ever written, I was hooked. Now nearly fifty years later, I am still drawn to his writings.
Usually, an autobiography is written by an older person, one who is looking back on his life. And usually, an autobiography is written by someone who has achieved fame in some area of life. After all, who would be interested in reading the autobiography of someone young and totally unknown?
By all standards of publishing, Merton's youthful autobiography shouldn't have sold well. And that's what his publisher predicted, that Merton's story wouldn't make money, but it might do well enough to break even.
Instead, The Seven Storey Mountain became a best seller when it first appeared in 1948, and the book still sells well. His later books, many of them journals of his daily life in the Trappist Abbey of Gethsemani in Kentucky, also continue to be reprinted.
Many people share a similar feeling about Merton, that he seems to know his readers and their deeper yearnings. How he manages to seem so contemporary
55 years after his death is a mystery worth thinking about.
Many authors have been described as "timeless," but eventually their words seem dated. Not so with Merton. Part of the reason for his continuing appeal is that he never offers pious or flowery spiritual platitudes. There is a bit of a wise guy, even a tough guy, that comes through in Merton's writings, even when he's describing the heights and depths of spiritual experience.
Another reason that Merton seems ever-current is that he approached monastic life like a jazz musician approaches a nightly gig. That is, Merton knew the differing paths of saints in journeying toward the Divine, but there was an improvisational streak in Merton. He broke through the barriers that are normally associated with being a monk. How else can a person explain how Merton, a monk in a monastery that prized silence, solitude, and lengthy prayer services, could correspond with people of other religions or no religion at all?
Despite never leaving the monastery in Kentucky until the final months of his life, Merton became and remains the best-known monk and monastic author of recent times. Perhaps it was Merton's willingness to improvise in the spiritual life, rather than woodenly follow the path set by others, that gives readers that same freedom to improvise.
Nowhere in the writings of Merton that I've read does he instruct others to copy his way, to take his path. Perhaps that is why Merton has so many devoted readers who don't identify as religious at all. Yet, I am sure that Merton's honesty and candor have convinced tens of thousands of readers to see the spiritual life as a life that is more human, not less; more fulfilling, not less; and more challenging, not less.
New Year's is a time of making resolutions, a time to think of improving our lives. If you have a spiritual friend who has become a guide for you, I encourage you to set aside more time in 2022 to be with that friend. Think of it as taking your soul to a spiritual gym. If you don't have a spiritual guide, you might give Merton a chance. Thomas Merton is a lot of things, but the one thing he isn't is boring.
December 20, 2021
Christmas brings thoughts of St. Francis. The reverse can also be said, St. Francis brings thoughts of Christmas. If you have a crèche set up in your home, you have St. Francis to thank for that. One of the first, if not the first, crèche scenes was set up by St. Francis in the Italian town of Greccio. He wanted the people to enter the miracle and the mystery of Christmas.
Christmas was for the saint "the feast of feasts." That is another way of saying that the incarnation, the coming into this world of the Son of God as a vulnerable baby, was for St. Francis, the most important moment in human history.
A lifetime of Christmases might make the story of Jesus, the baby born into a poor family sheltered in a stable in Bethlehem, overly familiar. But because St. Francis retained a lifelong childlikeness, Christmas was always a fresh experience, a surprise that he never got used to.
I learned a less familiar lesson about St. Francis' love of the Christmas story many years ago, when the Franciscans purchased a building across the street from Franklin College and turned it into a novitiate, a community of young men in training to become Franciscan friars or brothers.
Those of us in the philosophy and religion department enjoyed going across the street for coffee and good conversation. In one of the conversations I had with the novice master, he shared a Franciscan perspective that I had never considered before. It was also a perspective that changed my thinking from that moment forward, a surprise that I have never gotten used to.
What the novice master shared was the Franciscan belief that God always intended to become human and be with us. A kind of light went on when I realized what that belief meant. Many Christian people, including me, were raised on the belief that Jesus came to earth, lived, and died a horrible death because humans, by sinning, had totally messed everything up. Hidden in that belief was the thought that Jesus wouldn't have had to come into our world if we hadn't broken things beyond repair.
What the novice master shared was that Jesus did, in fact, come as a Savior to rescue us from our lostness and brokenness. Healing that wound was and remains our greatest need. But Franciscan thought is that, had humanity not fallen into sin, God would have sent His Son into our world to share our lives, to become a friend, and to bring peace and joy to us. That's how much God loves humanity.
This Christmastime, spare a moment to consider this thought: the baby born in Bethlehem wasn't born because we messed everything up. The baby was born because God has always desired to know and be with you and everyone else who has ever lived and will ever live.
What is the greatest Christmas present? The presence of God in our lives.
Democracy Under Fire
December 15, 2021
Twenty years ago, I spent a summer working on a log cabin in Wisconsin that was built nearly a hundred years ago. My task was to remove the old mortar from between the logs and replace that with new mortar.
In a part of one wall, I removed mortar to find old newspapers and magazines that the original owner had rolled and inserted between the logs as insulation. As someone with a lifelong interest in history, I felt I'd stumbled on a gold mine with these documents from the early 1930s.
Most of the magazines were devoted to fishing and hunting. I enjoyed seeing the old fishing tackle used in that era, but my real joy came from reading the old newspapers.
One story from a Milwaukee newspaper from the early 1930s caught my attention. It was a small article, one that many readers of the time probably overlooked. The article poked fun at a rising political figure in Germany. Reading on, I discovered that the article was describing Adolf Hitler.
What was clear from the small article was that people knew something about Hitler but did not know enough to be concerned. By the late 1930s, few people were laughing.
I have never forgotten my reaction to reading that article. I wondered then, and I continue to wonder, what ominous events in our current era we are overlooking.
I thought of that article when I heard that President Biden had hosted an online gathering of leaders of democracies. The topic was the threat facing democracies around the world. For a few days, the summit was in the news, but then the world moved on. Many people might not have taken notice that democracy is more threatened today than at any time in our lifetimes.
A common notion after the implosion of the Soviet Union in the 1980s was that democracy had defeated Communism and had won the Cold War. Eastern European countries that had been under Soviet control eagerly embraced the democratic ideal. Democracy became the dream elsewhere, as well. As recently as 14 years ago, the chance for democracy blossoming in the Middle East, during what was known as Arab Spring, looked promising.
A close look at our present world, however, demonstrates that Biden is right. Around the world, people seem to be tired of democracy and have been seduced by authoritarian leaders. From Brazil to Belarus, from Hungary to the Philippines, from India to Russia, countries are drifting away from democracy to embrace one-party rule with authoritarian rulers who control the press, arrest political opponents, target minorities, and stage corrupt elections.
How sad it is to realize that while democracy was able to defeat Communism, it might collapse under the weight of disinformation spread over the Internet by leaders who wish to destroy the best form of government that humanity has devised. Yes, it is easy to understand why Russia and China did not participate in the democracy summit. The leaders of those countries are committed to weakening democracies throughout the world.
In our own country, we have felt the reach of Vladimir Putin. He meddled in the last two presidential elections and continues to do whatever he can to create chaos and division in our country. Take as an example the results of a recent study, which found that 21 million Americans still believe, despite clear evidence, that the last presidential election was stolen. I wonder how many of those 21 million Americans who have lost faith in our democratic system know that they are contributing to Putin's long-term plans for our country. I wonder how many of the legislators who are passing bills to restrict open and accessible elections in our country in 2022, 2024, and beyond, understand that autocrats around the world are breathing a sigh of relief.
Proponents of democracy around the world, many who have been or are currently in jail, once saw our country as a beacon of light, proof that democracy is possible. What will give hope to these courageous men and women if that light goes out?
December 1, 2021
The attorney defending the three men who murdered Ahmaud Arbery looked back at the people sitting in the courtroom and saw something dangerous. No, he didn't see someone who threatened violence or disruption. He saw two figures who were scarier to him than that. He saw two Black ministers.
Ahmaud Arbery was the twenty-five-year-old Black man who was jogging through a predominantly white neighborhood in Georgia when three white men decided to interpret his presence as a crime. Chasing Ahmaud in two pickup trucks, the men shot and killed him.
Prosecutors believe the three men would likely have gotten away with murder, claiming self-defense, if one of the men hadn't filmed the killing on his cellphone.
Was recording and releasing the murder simple stupidity on the killers' part? No, it was arrogance. The three men didn't invent this scenario, a group of white men chasing and killing a lone Black man. Running down and executing Black men and women has been going on since the days of slavery, but the crime continued through Reconstruction, the Jim Crow and Civil Rights eras, and into our present day. So few of these murders have ended in convictions that it would be laughable if it weren't so horrific. The men who killed Ahmaud knew this.
Even with the damning video, the killers thought they could be acquitted by claiming they were making a "citizen's arrest," and then, when Ahmaud resisted, they could claim self-defense.
But then Kevin Gough, one of the defense attorneys, looked around the courtroom one day and spotted Rev. Al Sharpton and Rev. Jesse Jackson sitting with the Arbery family. He asked the judge to demand that the two ministers leave, claiming their presence was "intimidating."
If the three murderers were repeating the action of white predecessors, so too the ministers were repeating the action of their predecessors—Black ministers. The one institution that could be counted on to speak for justice in the face of injustice and racism, to hold the community together against all the forces that wanted to tear it apart, to rebuild fire-bombed places of worship, and to lead the fight for racial equality is the Black Church.
This is what Kevin Gough understood instinctively when he saw the two ministers sitting with the family. He wasn't worried that Rev. Sharpton or Rev. Jackson would stand up and cause a scene. He was worried that they would sit in silent witness, looking without turning away at the defendants, the attorneys, the judge, and the jury.
Martin Luther King said that the "arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice." In every era of American history, from slavery to the present, the Black Church has been on the side of the right, the side of justice. I challenge anyone to name one cause that the Black Church has embraced throughout American history that our society hasn't ultimately viewed as the right choice, the moral choice to make.
That is what was so intimidating about the two ministers sitting with the Arbery family. When the two ministers stepped into that courtroom, the moral compass of our country entered the room. The defense attorney knew in that moment that he wasn't competing against just the prosecutor. He was fighting against a moral universe that bends toward justice.
Miracle of the Local Paper
December 1, 2021
Instead of reading the newspaper this morning, imagine that this local newspaper didn't come to your house. No, I'm not talking about the newspaper failing to be delivered to your home, but I'm asking you to imagine this local newspaper not existing.
If that were the case, those of us who enjoy reading the newspaper over breakfast or later over a cup of tea or coffee would have to find something else to read. Those of us who need the sports page or the comics to start the day would have to find an alternative way to wake up and begin the day. Those of us who rely on the obituaries to let us know when a neighbor or friend has passed away would have to hope that someone would call and tell us the sad news.
I learned the power of local newspapers early, as delivering papers was my first job. The local paper in the town I grew up in was an afternoon edition, and I remember especially the faces of my elderly customers who waited for me to hand the newspaper to them. And to this day, when I am traveling, I like to read the local newspaper to gain some sense of that community.
There are many more news sources available now than when I was young, but I still find the daily local newspaper something of a miracle. Take a moment and look, page by page, at the variety of stories presented in today's paper. Think of those who wrote the stories, those who edited the stories, those who laid out the stories, those who printed the stories, and those who delivered the stories. Now imagine all those people doing those jobs every day except Sunday.
That's a testament to hard work and dedication, but it isn't the miracle that I'm referring to. The miracle I'm thinking about is what a daily local newspaper creates and what a daily local newspaper sustains.
I'm referring to a sense of community. Yes, I can find news on TV and over the Internet, and some of that is even local, but most of the stories packed into a half-hour TV news program tend to focus on the negative—crime, political friction, and other problems. Of course, those same stories can also be found in the local newspaper, but there is so much more in the local newspaper than the negative.
Without my local newspaper, I wouldn't know about a Hog Roast, a Good Cheer Fund, or a Christmas tree lighting. I wouldn't know about the compassionate work being done for Afghan refugees at nearby Camp Atterbury. I wouldn't know about the family just blocks over who has a child needing state-of-the-art medical treatment. I wouldn't know what my local elected leaders are working on. I wouldn't know what students are doing on the athletic field, on the stage of their theater, or in the classroom. I wouldn't know what artists in my community are producing. I wouldn't know what innovative work students at Franklin College are engaged in.
There is no sense of community without our knowing one another. A local newspaper introduces us to one another, helps us understand, sympathize, and care for one another, and informs us about the issues we need to address together if we wish to make our community stronger.
At this point, you might say that I'm preaching to the choir. After all, if you're reading this article, you're probably a subscriber. But as someone wisely said, every once-in-a-while even the choir needs to hear the message. Do I hear an amen?
Fishing with Jim
November 24, 2021
Jim and I had a lot in common. We were both educators, Jim at the high school level, I at the college level. We were both fathers of only boys. We both loved the Northwoods of Wisconsin and all the things we could do at the lake. We both had small sailboats, and I could set my watch by Jim going out every day at four-thirty in the afternoon.
Jim introduced me to fly-fishing by taking me out in his rowboat and showing me the basics. Fishing, especially fly-fishing, became the bedrock of our friendship. In the years that followed, each of us had our favorite spot on the lake for fishing. Jim liked to fish near some reeds, while I preferred fishing in deeper water over some rocks. Yet, many times I'd fish near Jim, as much for the conversation as for the fishing.
When we fished near one another, Jim and I would frequently talk about theology. That was Jim's choice, not mine, but I was a happy participant. I haven't known a whole lot of men who like to talk about religion, and Jim and I both liked to talk about religion and politics. Jim went faithfully with his wife to Mass, but his spirituality was seasoned with healthy questioning. He also made it quite clear that he liked short homilies and made a point of thanking priests who agreed with him on that score.
Jim was a teaser, and maybe that was why, on his porch on a summer evening, he'd invite people over who held different political views. He had a knack for raising a thorny issue and then sitting back to watch the sparks fly. Yet I don't remember Jim disliking anyone, and I know few who didn't like to be in Jim's company.
I have a lot of fishing memories with my friend Jim. One I cherish occurred one summer when I was tracking a smallmouth bass on the rocks where I fished most evenings. I say "tracking," but what I mean is that I had had the fish on my fly line a number of times, but the fish had always outsmarted me. Then one night, Jim kayaked over from his favorite spot to mine and began casting his fly.
You can probably guess what happened. On one of his first casts, Jim hooked the bass and after playing it expertly, brought it into his net. I looked at the fish that I thought was mine by right and had to laugh. To tell the truth, I didn't laugh immediately, but I eventually got around to seeing the humor in Jim holding up "my fish" for me to admire.
Over the past six years, Jim began to slowly leave us. It wasn't noticeable to everyone at first, but gradually those closest to him sensed that he was declining. He sailed, but less often, and several times I had to help him rig his small sailboat. What had once been second nature to Jim now puzzled him.
Jim still worked in his garden most mornings and especially enjoyed giving produce to everyone he knew. And Jim knew a lot of people. But the last time I saw Jim standing by his garden, he looked lost.
The last hobby that Jim hung onto was fly-fishing, always at dusk and almost always in the same spot in his last years. We didn't fish together much then. I suppose there wasn't much to talk about.
Jim's wife did all she could to preserve the Jim we knew. She'd wake him up when he nodded off in a conversation, and she was the one who made sure he took his medications on time. But then last year, his wife died, and Jim was less and less with us.
Jim died this past week. It feels inadequate to say that Jim will be missed. This summer, I plan to kayak over to the reeds and cast my fly where Jim liked to cast his. I won't be alone. As the sun begins to set, I'm sure I'll hear Jim's fly line swishing through the air, his fly landing just where he intended. And who knows, maybe it will be my turn to catch a big fish in Jim's favorite spot. If I do, I'm sure I'll hear him laughing.
November 19, 2021
Sometimes, we learn a lesson later in life that leads us to think, "Oh, how much better my life would have been if only I'd learned this lesson earlier."
One of those lessons came in my later years at Franklin College when I participated in a faculty development group. It was a great group, as no one was posturing or suggesting they had nothing to learn.
We all accepted that teaching is a craft, one that no one has totally mastered. Despite our earned degrees, we all knew that we had more to learn about teaching and motivating students. And we all wanted the same thing, to find better ways to invite students into the joys of learning.
Eventually and inevitably, our group got around to talking about the frustration that we sometimes felt in our jobs.
Frustration is one of those emotions, like confusion, that nobody wants to experience. But frustration is a part of life and is certainly a part of teaching and learning. It is equally true, though less obvious, that frustration is frequently caused by caring. We become frustrated when our favorite athletic team underperforms. We feel that way because we care about our team and know that the team could have done better.
Similarly, one of the greatest sources of frustration for teachers occurs when students who have done well in a class begin to turn in shoddy work, or fail to turn in work altogether. This was no hypothetical scenario for our faculty development group. We'd all had that experience.
The question we wrestled with was this: what is the best way for teachers to respond? The temptation is to call wayward students into the office and bawl them out. And we'd all seen the result. The students would drag themselves into our offices, their heads down as they awaited the tongue-lashing.
As teachers, we realized that shaming students wasn't achieving our overall goal, to have them experience the joy of learning. The breakthrough came when we asked what might happen in our interactions with these students if we substituted curiosity for frustration.
That led us to experiment with a different approach. Instead of venting our anger at these students, we tried different words and a far different tone. "I appreciate your coming in so we can talk about the class. As a teacher, I'm fascinated by learning. Learning is my passion, which means I think about it a lot. I'm hoping you can help me understand something."
At that point, the students tended to look up, perhaps puzzled. This approach wasn't what they expected. We continued. "For the first weeks of our class, you were turning in great work. But lately, I've noticed a change, and that makes me curious. Can you help me understand this?"
At this point, something amazing would often happen. The student's look of shame changed to relief. And with that relief came their stories of troubles at home, of bosses at their part-time jobs pressuring them to work longer hours, of relationships falling apart, or of trouble sleeping.
That was the critical moment. If our mindset as teachers was stuck in frustration, we'd likely think, and maybe even say out loud, "I'm not interested in your excuses."
Approaching the same situation with curiosity, however, led to a far different conversation. "I can see how the problem you're describing makes it hard for you to do your best work. Let's think together about what changes you can make to enjoy the class again."
What we learned in our group was that when we feel frustrated, we tend to use a lot of "you" language. "You disappoint me; you need to shape up; you need to get your priorities in order." But curiosity uses "we" language, whether that is with a wayward student, a troubled child, or a colleague at work. "What can we come up with that can turn this situation around?"
As I wrote above, I wish I'd learned this lesson decades ago. Students had told me what I remembered from my own younger years, that when they were bawled out by a teacher or by a boss, they left feeling that the teacher or boss hated them. And that feeling can last, in some cases, for years.
The good news is that the memory of being heard and understood can last even longer.
November 16, 2021
It's that time of year when holiday catalogues flood the mailbox. The majority that come to our house are unrequested and are immediately relegated to the recycle pile. But there is one that appears in our mailbox about this time every year from the charity "Heifer International" that I can't discard.
For those unfamiliar with this charity, Heifer International invites those of us living in affluent countries to sponsor an animal, from egg-laying hens to water buffaloes, that will be given to people in the developing world to raise and benefit from. People can also donate clear water systems that are so desperately needed in many countries.
As sometimes happens in life, the Heifer International catalogue appeared this year at the same time that a friend shared something as far removed from hens and water buffaloes as the earth is from Jupiter. What he shared was his recent reading about future technological advances in the most developed countries, specifically the acquisition of Artificial Intelligence or AI technology.
Artificial Intelligence is not an area that I'm particularly interested in, but then my friend said something that froze my blood. He cited a futurologist who predicts that the gap between the technologically advanced societies and the underdeveloped countries will grow so wide in the near future that humanity will split into two separate human groups, not unlike the difference in our evolutionary past between Neanderthals and Homo Sapiens.
It is not news that a gulf exists and is widening between the haves and the have-nots in the world. It is also not news that the highly developed countries are advancing so rapidly in technology that developing countries, no matter how much they try, will never catch up.
What is news is the notion that humans in the future will live in two different worlds, two different realities, all based on the accidents of birth, and that fewer and fewer connections will exist between those two realities. The evidence that this is already happening is as near as the Heifer International catalogue.
Some people, born by chance in underdeveloped countries, have to transport water, often contaminated with bacteria, in buckets carried for miles, while those of you reading this column, have, like me, turned on hot and cold-water faucets this morning without giving a second thought.
Or, we can think of the difference this way. Some people will receive gifts this holiday season of "Five G" cellphones or the latest computers, while others are hoping for a chicken to raise.
Or again, some people are born, by chance, on one side of a nation's border. Other people, again by chance, are born in Honduras or Haiti.
What I hope and pray is that the futurologist missed the place of religion in the future. All the world's religions believe that every person has sacred meaning and value. Every human being is a creation and a representation of God in our midst. Every human being. Not some, but every.
The temptation of our present and coming world is to look at those who live in developing countries and think, "Thank God, that isn't me." We come closer to the truth when we think, "That could be me."
But we come closest to the truth when we think, "That is me."
November 4, 2021
Sometimes life offers a lesson in a mere few seconds of time, but a lesson that is worth pondering for months. I received one of these lessons a few weeks ago when I was driving north on I-65. A pickup truck passed me with a variety of decals in the back window. My eye focused on the largest image on the left side of the window and then shifted to the largest image on the right side.
The decal on the left contained no words, which didn't matter, because the image was very familiar to me. Growing up the son of a minister, I have seen this image throughout my whole life, often on the front of Sunday bulletins. The image is that of two hands clasped in prayer.
But then my eyes moved to the image dominating the right side of the window. Here were huge red lips with the "Kiss my" above the lips and "Butt" below it, except it wasn't butt but another word for the human posterior.
The two images together were jarring at first. Then I realized they offered a sad commentary on what so frequently goes wrong with religion. The two images taken together reminded me of the 8th century BCE prophet Amos, whose oracles are recorded in the Hebrew Bible, or what Christians refer to as the Old Testament.
Amos is one of my favorite prophets, but that doesn't mean he doesn't disturb me as well. I call him my "Aqua Velva" prophet, which needs a bit of explanation if you, the reader, are sixty years old or younger. Back in the days of black-and-white TV, there was a commercial for the aftershave Aqua Velva that showed a man being slapped across the face. His response was to utter the famous words, "Thanks, I needed that."
When I read Amos, I often have that same "Thanks, I needed that" reaction. Amos tells it like it is, and one of the lessons he offers is about how easily religion can go astray.
In speaking for God, Amos paints a picture of people going faithfully to places of worship and offering generous tithes. The worshippers feel holy and believe that God is pleased with them. But then Amos slaps those worshippers across the face. God is not pleased, but sickened by their behavior. Why? Because God notices how when these pious worshippers exit the place of worship—after hearing the Scriptures read, after singing hymns, and after praying—they return to their normal lives where they cheat and abuse the poorest and most vulnerable.
Amos exposes the darkest temptation of religion, that being to confine religion to a person's relationship solely with God. Jesus, and many writers of the Bible, both in the Old and New Testaments, point out that saying one loves God while ignoring, hating, or abusing one's neighbor is not just religion off the rails, but one of the most dangerous sins. The danger lies in how holy a worshipper can feel when he or she limits religion to the "God and me" relationship.
Moses, prophets like Amos, Jesus, and various New Testament writers, offer the same slap in the face. Yes, the first great commandment is to love God with one's whole being, but the second is just as important to God. If we love God, we must show that by loving the neighbor as much as we love ourselves. One of the New Testament writers offers this probing thought: "We cannot love God, whom we haven't seen, if we do not love others, whom we have seen."
So, back to the pickup truck's back window. Do not those two images of the praying hands and lips paired together expose something very wrong in our country? It's pretty clear, from Amos and other writers of scripture, that a person can't truly love God while, at the same time, telling others to kiss his posterior. Yet in our society, many who spew the most anger and hatred, especially toward those who are different, are the very people who pride themselves on worshipping weekly, holding their Bibles aloft in angry protests, and saying they represent God.
If this is as uncomfortable a message to you as it is to me, don't blame me. Take your complaint up with Amos.
October 27, 2021
One of my favorite classes in middle school was geography. I enjoyed reading about countries with exotic names, learning about their histories, languages, exports, types of government, and especially religions.
One of the impressions I was left with at the time was that religions were fixed in place. Christians lived in Europe, North and South America, Russia, Australia and New Zealand. Jews lived in Israel, Europe, and North America, while Muslims lived primarily in the Middle East, North Africa, and parts of Southeast Asia. Hindus, Sikhs, and some Muslims lived in India, while Buddhists lived primarily in Tibet, China, and Japan.
As I grew up, I thought that I would have to travel to other countries to encounter different religions. In our present world, however, the geographical boundaries that once seemed to enclose religions have disappeared. We can now encounter all these religious faiths and more here in central Indiana.
As someone who has been fascinated by religion all my life, I am excited by this new reality. I know, however, that others find religious diversity disturbing. The present prime minister of India, Narendra Modi, is intent on making his country a distinctly Hindu country, limiting the rights of the Muslims, Sikhs, and members of other faiths. In Myanmar, Rohingya Muslims are being pushed out, while in China, Muslims are sent to the equivalent of concentration camps. Christians in Lebanon, Israel, and other Middle Eastern countries feel threatened, with many leaving.
Here at home, some people are so troubled by our country's growing religious diversity that they have resorted to violence. Only last April, members of the Sikh community were massacred in our backyard at the FedEx facility in Indianapolis. That was not the first time that Sikhs have been killed in central Indiana. And the Sikh community is not alone. Incidents of harassment, vandalism, and assault against religious people and places have increased steadily in our country over the last decades.
It is obvious that we all need to think about how we treat those of different faiths. Religious tolerance, long touted as a key American value, is too weak a goal. We tolerate a headache or a crying child on an airplane. Even religious understanding, if it is done at a distance by reading books or watching programs on PBS, is too low a hurdle. What we need is friendships between persons of different faith traditions.
That is why I am so excited by the second "Interfaith Understanding through the Arts and Humanities" program that will be hosted by Franklin College on November 11 at 7 pm. This virtual program, which is part of the Spirit and Place festival in central Indiana, brings two award-winning poets to Franklin College, the Muslim poet Sadiyah Bashir and the Sikh poet Preeti Kaur Rajpal. These two poets will be visiting classes virtually throughout the day and then performing their poetry that evening. The evening event is free; anyone interested can register at www.franklincollege.edu/interfaitharts.
Not that long ago, the Dalai Lama made a startling observation. Because his brother was on the faculty at Indiana University and helped found the Tibetan Mongolian Buddhist Cultural Center located in Bloomington, the Dalai Lama has visited central Indiana many times. During one of those visits, he observed that the region extending from Indianapolis to Louisville has a spiritual quality that reminds him of a particularly holy area in his native Tibet.
Whether or not the Dalai Lama is right is up to us. America's heartland can be the place where we close our doors and hearts to those with different faiths or where people of different faiths stand shoulder to shoulder, supporting one another in friendship.
October 19, 2021
In a recent NPR report, I heard the sad news that Gary Paulsen had died. Mr. Paulsen is known to many of us as the brilliant writer of young adult fiction. Much of his writing deals with young people surviving in nature when the odds are stacked against them.
Gary Paulsen knew a lot about survival, and he was forced to learn it early. When his father was serving in World War II, Mr. Paulsen lived with his alcoholic mother. Apparently knowing she couldn't cope, she put Gary, as a 5-year-old, on a train with a suitcase and $5 to live with an aunt and uncle in Northern Minnesota.
He remembered the next two years, protected by caring relatives and close to nature, as a time of light in an otherwise dark childhood. But when his father returned from the war, Mr. Paulsen was sent back to live with his parents. His earlier problems were compounded because both of his parents were alcoholics.
In looking back on those years, Gary Paulsen cited two saving graces. One was getting out in nature, which he described as his sanctuary, a place of freedom compared to the isolation and claustrophobia of an alcoholic home.
The second saving grace was discovering the local library. A librarian noticed Gary, gave him a library card, a small notebook, a pencil, and encouraged him to write. When he asked who would want to read what he would write, the librarian replied, "I will." Mr. Paulsen credits that relationship for his becoming an award-winner author.
The name of that librarian is unknown, except probably to Gary Paulsen, and it's always tricky to play the game "what if;" in this case, how would Mr. Paulsen's life have been different if that librarian hadn't given him the gifts of the library card, the notebook, the pencil, and those simple words of encouragement "I will." But we can probably all agree that the odds of an only child of two alcoholic parents achieving a fulfilled life are slim.
When I heard the story of the librarian's role in Gary Paulsen's life, I thought of the word "angel." Angels are often portrayed in art and on greeting cards as cherubs—babies with little wings on their backs. This is despite the fact that angels aren't described that way in the religions of the world. In addition, the same word for angel in the Bible can also mean "messenger," usually a messenger of God.
I like the "messenger of God" meaning for the word "angel," for it invites us to recognize that there are angels among us. No, not those with wings sprouting from their backs, but those who give wings to others, wings that help those in darkness rise into the light and those overwhelmed by despair rise into hope.
With that understanding of the word "angel," it's easy to see that the librarian who noticed young Gary Paulsen was a true angel. And she is not the only one. I suspect many readers of this column, including me, can recall people who noticed something in us that we could not see or said something that began to heal a wound we thought was beyond healing.
We live in a time in our nation's history that is dominated by angry voices, both in person and on social media. Even though not everyone is in an abusive relationship or in an abusive family, the sad truth is that we are all living within an abusive culture.
But there is hope. Now is the perfect time to keep our eyes and ears open for the angels in our midst. No, don't bother looking for chubby cherubs. Look instead for people like Gary Paulsen's angel, for they are the ones who are holding our world together.
October 15, 2021
We are living through a time when history is not just being made but a time when history itself is up for debate. What is the story we tell about the past, and who determines what story of the past we tell?
I read an article recently that described Pope Francis' requests for forgiveness from indigenous peoples in Latin America. What the pope was repenting is the part the Catholic Church played in the Spanish conquest of Latin America and the destruction of indigenous cultures.
I have no problem with Pope Francis' mea culpa offered on behalf of the Catholic Church. Conquest in the colonial period often involved genocide. The fact that Latin American countries have all achieved independence doesn't mean that the indigenous peoples in these countries don't still bear the wounds from the past.
But right-wing political groups in Spain have reacted quite differently. Refusing to follow the Pope's example, they have asserted vocally that the Spanish conquest of Latin America was a wonderful development in history. In their eyes, the Spanish conquistadors brought the superior values of Spain to Central and South America. In their eyes, colonization was a great chapter in Spanish history and a boon for the indigenous peoples of Latin America. In a sense, these groups are saying to the indigenous peoples, "Don't expect us to ask for your forgiveness. You should thank us for conquering you."
This is not a debate limited to Spain, the Catholic Church, and the indigenous peoples of Latin America. I am writing this column on Columbus Day, but for many others, this day is Indigenous Peoples Day. Which is it for you? Whatever your answer, nobody can say, "I celebrate both Columbus Day and Indigenous Peoples Day." No, October 11th is either a day celebrating the European "discovery" of the Americas or a day of grief remembering the sins of genocide and cultural extermination done in the name of "Manifest Destiny."
That an Indigenous Peoples Day even exists suggests that many Americans agree with Pope Francis in understanding that the past is not over until healing occurs. An image burned in my mind is that of General Wesley Clark kneeling before Lakota Sioux elders in 2016 and asking for forgiveness for deeds committed by the US military against native peoples. Did the General do something disgraceful, or did he crack open a door, a door to that moment that had never been opened?
The question I am posing in this column is not if you as a reader think the day will ever come when American presidents kneel before African-American leaders and ask not only for forgiveness but guarantee reparations for centuries of free labor in the form of slavery. Nor am I asking if you think the day will ever come when American presidents on trips to Japan visit not just Tokyo, Mt. Fuji, and automotive plants, but also travel to Hiroshima and Nagasaki to kneel in repentance.
I am not asking "if" you think American leaders will ever seek forgiveness for what our nation has done in the past. That is too easy a question, as it doesn't ask anything of us. I am asking if you think our nation's leaders "should" admit past sins and seek forgiveness. That is the harder question, as it asks each of us to accept our part in healing the past.
Norway and U.S.
October 5, 2021
My wife regularly talks with a cousin who lives in Norway. In a recent phone call, their conversation reverted to discussing the different responses to the coronavirus in Norway and the U.S.
At 4 PM on September 25th, all national Covid restrictions ended in Norway. People flooded the streets, celebrating in bars and shopping in stores. Hospitals in Norway, far from being stressed, are able to provide needed surgeries and services. Norway is a nation awash in joy, happy to have Norway linked to "normal."
Here in the U.S., our vaccination rate has stalled. The unvaccinated fill hospital beds, with people's last gasps refusing to believe they have the virus. Schools yo-yo between being open with no mask mandates to being forced to close. And the death toll and the anger continue to rise.
Imagine being my wife's cousin in Norway as she tries to understand our country. Both Norway and the U.S. had access to the same science, the same vaccines, and the same recommendations. Yet, one nation rolled up its sleeves while the other chose to roll the dice.
Future historians will have plenty of data to sift through to explain how two highly developed countries responded so differently to the same challenge. But two observations can already be made.
I am sure that Prime Minister Solberg of Norway and President Biden offered the same strategy to tackle the pandemic: "We will follow the science." To Norwegians, following the advice of scientists, both in accepting the vaccines and following mask and other mandates, was a no-brainer.
In our country, the response to Biden's statement "We will follow the science" has been significantly different. A sizeable percentage of Americans have rejected that advice. There is a bit of irony here. In our current crisis, many Americans prefer to "follow the Internet" rather than follow the science.
This is despite the fact that our country is dotted with scientific labs, with university departments that lead the world in groundbreaking research, and with government-funded agencies that employ thousands of scientists. We are a country brimming with scientific achievement and achievers. Yet, many Americans, unlike our Norwegian counterparts, are suspicious of science, its theories, its methods, and its authoritative and authorized spokespersons such as Dr. Fauci and the CDC (Centers for Disease Control and Prevention).
A second jarring difference between Norway and the U.S. is found in the little word "we" in "we will follow the science." When Prime Minister Solberg addressed her nation, she could count on Norway citizens putting the needs of the community over the desires of the individual. To refuse to be vaccinated in Norway would be taken not just as folly but also as a shameful and selfish act against one's neighbors.
Daily news in our country, in contrast, is filled with photos or videos of angry people brandishing placards, demanding their right to deny the reality of the virus and the right to enter any business or school without masks and without proof of vaccination. President Biden can ask Americans until he is blue in the face to be vaccinated —"do it for your neighbors"— but we are a nation where obsession with "me" has drowned out the "we."
That brings us to the second irony of our present situation. A recent study of religious practice in Norway revealed that only 2 percent of the population attends services regularly. The U.S. boasts of over 40 percent in the same category.
That would suggest that 40 percent of Americans, no matter what religion we practice, should answer the Biblical question, "Am I my brother's keeper?" with a resounding "yes." Sadly, that's the case in irreligious Norway, but not in the U.S. The loudest among us, often the most religious, don't seem interested in community and the common good.
Isn't it time for us to admit that something has gone terribly wrong in our highly religious country?
At the Feet of the Scholar
September 28, 2021
Recently, I came across an old book on my bookshelf that took me down memory lane. Judging by its poor condition, the book was one that I probably picked up for free from a library that had a better copy.
The memory that the book brought back, however, wasn't of the day when I saved the book from the scrapheap. What the book brought back was a very vivid memory of the author.
Nearly 40 years ago, I was a new and green professor at Franklin College. Like most who were beginning their careers, I wanted to distinguish myself by contributing something to my academic field. That desire led me to apply for a national grant, one that would allow me to take part in a summer seminar with a legend in my field of New Testament studies. I will never forget the night when the scholar called to tell me that I'd been selected to participate in the seminar at a major university in the South.
The 12 of us in the seminar knew that working alongside this scholar would be an honor. Although we all held academic rank at our universities and colleges, we were for those eight weeks students again, sitting at the feet of a luminary in our field.
That summer, this great scholar was coming to the end of his career. His hair was white, but, beneath his bushy white eyebrows, his eyes were bright. As the eight weeks of the seminar wore on, however, we could see that he was growing increasingly tired. Yet without fail, he met with us every morning and afternoon, four days a week.
Over the eight weeks of the seminar, we heard rumors of his absentmindedness from others at the university. Did those of us in the seminar note that his mind, so razor-sharp in the early weeks, was steadily tiring? Did he sometimes seem to nod off when listening to one of us present our research? Perhaps that happened, but whenever one of us, in reporting on our research, received his approval, along with his critique, the rest of us stepped up our efforts. We too wanted to receive his blessing.
Fast-forward to last week, when I took down the book written by this scholar from the shelf. When I picked up the book from the discarded pile years before, I'm sure I told myself that I'd read it someday.
Last week was that "someday." In reading the book, I hoped I would hear the echo of my mentor's voice, now long silenced. That hope was more than met. I discovered the book to be the rare academic work that combines two qualities, depth of research and readability.
The maturity of the thought and the beauty of the book's phrasing suggested to me that my mentor had written this book in his later years. To my surprise, I discovered that the book was published when he was in his mid-thirties, which meant he must have conducted much of the exhaustive research when he was still in late twenties.
That's when this scholar's most important lesson finally dawned on me. If he had wanted to, our mentor could have brought this giant of a book to class, revealed how much younger he was than we were when he wrote it, and by so doing, put our puny research efforts to shame.
But he didn't do that. While the reading list for the seminar was extensive, I don't remember him requiring us to read anything that he wrote.
What this great scholar embodied that summer is what the psychologist Erik Erikson termed generativity, the great gift of aging. Generativity isn't a gift that an older person receives; instead, it is a gift that an older person gives to younger generations. Generativity is what a young person who might be unsure of herself receives when an older person utters the simple but powerful words, "I believe in you. You're going to do just fine."
That summer in 1982, this legendary scholar taught the 12 of us a great deal about the New Testament. Last week, he taught me another lesson-how to age with grace.
September 28, 2021
John Donne's famous adage "No man is an island" would meet little opposition from most Americans. But by changing just one word of Donne's phrase to create "No nation is an island," we find ourselves in the thick of the immigration debate.
The debate about what our country is to do with desperate people swarming at our southern border ratchetted up this past week with the sudden appearance of another group, the Haitians, who can accurately be described as the most desperate of the desperate. They are fleeing political instability, poverty, and, as recently as last month, a devastating earthquake.
Our politicians are already weighing in on how our government should respond. Republicans might propose one solution, Democrats another, but both parties are typically American in their shared belief that we must fix, and can fix, any problem we face. Unfortunately, fixing Haiti can't be done in a year or even a decade. Most of us would consider this new immigration problem fixed if our government could make the Haitians at our border go away.
I don't have a solution to Haiti, but I do have a suggestion. Instead of jumping to solutions, I suggest that we tell ourselves something we often tell children: "Let's close our eyes and imagine . . ."
Let's first imagine, instead of being born where we were, that we were born in Haiti. That could have happened, as nobody chooses where she is born, much less deserves his birthplace. So, when we see the images of Haitians on the evening news, let's pick out one of those trying to come into our country and imagine that person is you or I.
Then let's imagine what we left behind in Haiti. Our whole lives have been spent in the poorest country in the Caribbean. Our family's average annual income is $450 dollars. That's a monthly income of $37.50 or a daily income of $1.25. Sixty percent of us are unemployed.
But there is more for us to imagine if we are to grasp how life in Haiti became even worse over this past summer. In early July, the president of our country, Jovenel Moise, was assassinated, leaving the weak Haitian government even weaker. Corruption is rampant, leaving the lives of women and children in daily peril.
But there is still more. In August, an earthquake hit Haiti that affected over a million of us, half being children.
Every human being, however, prefers hope to despair. So, as we imagine ourselves as Haitians who have watched the government fall apart and our homes be destroyed by the earthquake, wouldn't we do what humans have always done-wouldn't we dream, and when we couldn't find food for our children, wouldn't we feed them on those dreams?
How we respond to the Haitians at the border will depend on how we, who have some power, some clout, some resources, perceive the situation. If we see the Haitian refugees on the evening news as just bodies, possibly criminals, and potential carriers of disease, we will "solve" the problem by sending these people back to Haiti as quickly as possible.
But if we take that route, there is something else we must do as quickly as possible. We will have to shut down our imaginations. Because if we don't, we will watch those planes lift off and know that inside those planes, Haitian parents will be trying to comfort their sobbing children.
But what they will say will be of little comfort. "Yes, that was America, the dream place. We were there for a few hours, maybe even for a few days. But they wouldn't let us stay. They forgot that we didn't choose where we were born."
September 17, 2021
Given the divide in our country on the abortion issue, a gulf as wide as the Grand Canyon, anyone who comments on this issue is bound to anger about 50 percent of readers.
In the current debate, there seem to be only two sides-pro-choice or pro-life. But what if that is wrong? Is there another position that both sides could agree is worth bringing into the debate?
I think there is, but before I spell out that third position, let me make a startling claim. Everyone concerned about the abortion issue needs to read Ernest Hemingway's short story "Hills like White Elephants" before they say another word. (The story is available online.)
Although Hemingway's story is about abortion, that word never appears. At the heart of the story, which takes no more than five minutes to read, is a dialogue between an American man and woman. The story's setting is a bar at a train station in Spain, where the two are waiting for their train.
The man is both clever and relentless as he encourages his partner to have an "awfully simple operation" before changing his approach to say it's "not really an operation at all." Half of the time he describes an abortion as nothing more than "letting in the air" and a sure way of returning their relationship to uncomplicated bliss. The other half of the time the man keeps repeating that he doesn't want the woman to do anything she doesn't want to do.
The man's cleverness is evident in repeating the words "I don't want you to do it unless you really want to do it" so many times that the reader, along with the woman, knows it's his way of nudging her to do precisely that, to have the abortion. Hemingway leaves readers with the impression that the man talked the woman into having unprotected sex in the first place.
For me, the most important moment in the story happens when the woman says, "Would you please please please please please please please stop talking?" Even after seven "pleases," the man doesn't stop talking, and in the end it's clear that the woman has decided to go ahead and "let in the air."
There is an irony in the title of the short story-"Hills like White Elephants"-that I do doubt Hemingway had in mind. That is, the story reveals the "elephant in the room" in the current abortion debate. One side focuses on the rights of the fetus; the other side focuses on the rights of the woman. The "elephant in the room," the role neither side gives much attention to, is the role that men play in this highly charged moral choice.
I suppose it's possible that a small number of women have said to themselves before a date, "I think I'll have unprotected sex tonight and risk getting pregnant." But how would that compare with the percentage of men who have talked women into unprotected sex? And if the woman becomes pregnant, what percentage of those same men either disappear or act like the man in Hemingway's story, convincing the woman that abortion is no big deal, nothing more than "letting the air in"?
These thoughts are prompted by Texas' recently passed anti-abortion bill that offers a $10,000 reward to anyone who turns in the name of a woman who has had an abortion. I bet almost all the politicians who voted for this controversial bill are men.
I don't expect any progress on this contentious issue until men are held accountable for their role in creating this moral dilemma. Instead of paying a $10,000 reward for the names of women who have made this difficult choice, why don't we offer $50,000 for the names of the men who leave women to face this soul-wrenching choice alone?
September 9, 2021
In the early seventies, when my wife and I lived in Scotland for three years, the locals told us how they could always spot American tourists. Americans, they said, walked with longer strides and with our heads up, looking around so as to not miss anything. In addition, we tended to speak loudly with one another in public about what we were seeing or even thinking about.
In contrast, local people were more reserved in public and walked with their eyes straight ahead, even tending to look down at the pavement. Put those two patterns together, and you can see why many Europeans feel that they have to be aware of Americans who aren't looking where they're going.
After I heard this comment from my Scottish friends, I've been watching when we travel to different parts of the world and how other Americans behave. I've ended up conceding that we Americans do indeed have a distinct style of being in the world.
When our Scottish friends first shared this impression of Americans, my first thought was that these traits pointed to our curiosity or confidence as a people. But I quickly learned that the locals didn't interpret this American trait so positively (interestingly, they didn't include Canadians in their criticism). They saw the way we Americans walk through their world as expressions of our arrogance and sense of entitlement. To use their words, we carry ourselves in the world "as if we owned it."
Did my wife and I detect a bit of envy in this criticism? I'm sure that crossed our minds, but I was more interested in what might lie at the root of this difference. I concluded that Americans experienced history, and that included recent history, far differently than did Europeans. Yes, American troops had fought and died in the two world wars of the 20th century, but our troops fought and died "over there."
Except for the self-inflicted bloodshed of the Civil War, America as our homeland has been spared the trauma of war. Our towns and cities haven't been ravaged, our local leaders haven't been rounded up to be executed, and thousands of American civilians haven't been killed as innocent bystanders.
It's not surprising, then, that Americans have grown up with a sense of safety in the world that people of other countries have never known.
But all that changed twenty years ago on September 11th. When the planes hit the World Trade Center and the Pentagon, the bubble of invulnerability, which we'd lived in so comfortably, burst. For the first time, we realized that we aren't immune to the pain and suffering that others have known. We are not spectators looking down on history from some safe vantage point above the fray; instead, we too are caught in history.
Trauma doesn't have a predictable expiration date, and there are signs that we are still caught in the trauma of September 11. Our first reaction, the stage of fear, quickly gave way to the second stage, anger. We'd been hurt, and we wanted to hurt back. We invaded Afghanistan in search of Osama bin Laden and then, two years later, invaded Iraq, a country that had nothing to do with September 11. Here at home, American Muslims found themselves targets of bigotry, abuse, and physical attacks.
But if we look at our nation today, it seems that we are still caught in this stage of anger. We are angry that the war in Afghanistan against the Taliban is unwinnable; yet, many are angry that President Biden is pulling out our troops. We are angry with one another here at home. The right is angry with the left; mask-wearers are angry at anti-vaxxers who've given the Delta variant such a hold in some states; supporters of Black Lives Matter and those opposed to Critical Race Theory are angry at each other. Is it possible that all that anger is rooted in what happened twenty years ago?
Perhaps on this September 11th, the twentieth anniversary of that never-to-be forgotten day, it would be wise to ask what it will take to move our country beyond fear and hate and to enter the third stage-of healing.
September 1, 2021
"Breaking News!" Almost daily, those two words begin TV news programs. What those two words guarantee is that what will follow on the broadcast will be the very latest news of whatever is happening in our cities, states, nation, and around the world.
As a news junkie, I'm as susceptible as anyone to concluding at the end of the half-hour evening news that I've seen what's important to see. But lately, I've realized that every time a breaking news story tops the program, other news stories are forgotten.
I call the forgotten stories the "still broken news." But here is the unwelcome truth. These still broken news stories are not "over" at all. The crises that once made them breaking news are still ongoing and, in many cases, have become even worse.
So here is a review of still broken news that Hurricane Ida and the evacuation in Kabul pushed off our screens.
Haiti: It has only been weeks since the earthquake that devastated Haiti. But the damage of that event still continues. Over 2,000 Haitians died in that tragedy, with over 12,000 injured. And 52,000 homes were destroyed. Getting humanitarian aid to the neediest is being hampered by armed gangs.
Gaza: It has also been less than a month since the conflict between Israel and Hamas devastated Gaza. Hundreds of Palestinians have been killed as well as a dozen Israelis. A ceasefire appears to be still holding, but let's not be fooled. A ceasefire is not peace. The core issues between Palestinians and the Israelis remain.
Myanmar: The military junta that took over control of the country seven months ago continues to terrorize the country even as resistance groups are fighting back. Over 100 resisters have died in police custody, many tortured before they died. When the coup first took place, the people in Myanmar asked if those living in free societies cared about what was happening to them. They are still wondering.
Hong Kong: A year ago, pro-democracy riots occurred daily in Hong Kong. Every night on the news, we saw thousands protesting the Chinese government's moves to tighten restrictions on free speech in the media and in the universities. The fact that the world no longer seems to care about Hong Kong is good news to the Chinese government as it has arrested and sentenced pro-democracy leaders to long prison terms.
Syria: The tenth-year anniversary of the war in Syria has come and gone. That makes it old news, except to the Syrian people still caught up in the conflict. Over 500,000 Syrians have died since the conflict began, with over 13 million displaced. That's over half the country's population. I write those statistics wondering how long it has been since I'd given a thought or said a prayer for Syria.
My wife's family had an old Swedish friend who used to say, "Vell, I can't cry for everyone." I ponder that comment, wondering if it is a bit of wisdom or simply a copout. I know many people who agree with the old Swede choose to avoid watching the news altogether.
But I'm more troubled by those who watch the news regularly and don't cry for anybody. Is that the fault of TV newsreaders who can read the most horrific news without their voices quivering or tears coming to their eyes? Does the fault lie with the speed of the news cycle, the fact that "new" news is always breaking in and pushing the still broken news out of sight? Or is the demand of viewers for "happy news" in each news broadcast to blame?
Whatever the cause, I am haunted by these words of St. Paul: "If I have all knowledge but have not compassion, I am nothing." The good news is that all of us who feel this way can do something. Each of us can choose one still broken news story and commit to staying engaged with what is happening in that crisis, to finding out what groups are working to alleviate the suffering, and to sending money along with messages that the victims, these brothers and sisters in the human family, are not forgotten.
August 25, 2021
On my back porch, I still have a few yard signs with the message "We Stand with American Muslims." That was the slogan that we created when ISIS was on the rampage through Iraq and Syria and when many American Muslims once again became the target of hate groups.
People from around the country requested those signs, but as ISIS's influence waned, so did the demand for the signs. I kept a few of the signs as a reminder of those days, not thinking that we'd need them again.
But I am worried. With the twentieth anniversary of 9-11 approaching and especially with the Taliban takeover of Afghanistan, emotions will run high. I think of the Americans families who lost sons and daughters in this longest American conflict. I think of the veterans who lost limbs and friends in the war in Afghanistan.
There is already a discernable increase of anger as we watch the chaos in Kabul on the news. Some are directing their anger at President Biden, though no one is arguing that we could win the Afghanistan war by staying longer. Some are directing their anger at President George W. Bush, who invaded Afghanistan in 2001 for the purpose of capturing Osama bin Ladin and defeating Al-Qaeda. But Bush's goal quickly morphed into defeating the Taliban and setting up a Western-style democracy.
Future historians will find it easy to link the twenty years of bloody U.S. involvement in Afghanistan with the Soviet Union's debacle in the same country in 1979 to 1989 and the earlier nineteenth-century disaster of Britain's Afghan wars. Afghanistan is a place where stronger nations invade, pour billions in trying to enforce their will, and eventually leave in disgrace. America is just the latest country to experience this.
Did our government know this history when we invaded in 2001? Of course, but big nations with big armies and big purses tend to think they will succeed where others have failed.
As the anger in our country rises, so also does the danger that Americans will believe the propaganda of the Taliban that their takeover of Afghanistan is a victory for Islam. But the Taliban, like ISIS and Al-Qaeda, is no more a true representation of Islam than the Ku Klux Klan and Timothy McVeigh are true representatives of Christianity.
I will repeat something I stressed in my talks when Al-Qaeda and ISIS were active. Both groups used social media extensively to recruit new followers. Once they "hooked" someone through their propaganda, they made a series of demands. One of the first demands was that recruits should cut off all contact with local mosques. Recruits were told to get their religious training solely from their own online religious authorities, most without reputable religious training.
Why did Al-Qaeda and ISIS demand this? Because these groups knew that the great majority of Muslims and Muslim leaders oppose the distorted interpretation of Islam fomented by these groups. The most honored and trusted Muslim leaders around the world openly and vociferously condemn the violence and oppression of the Taliban, Al-Qaeda, and ISIS.
All this leads to the question "With the fall of Afghanistan, what can Americans do now to oppose the Taliban?" One, speak out when someone equates the Taliban with Islam. And two, support American Muslims and their mosques. Faith communities who know and teach that God blesses the peacemakers are the first and best line of defense against religious extremism.
August 19, 2021
As the Delta variant of the virus spreads, the U.S. map of vaccination rates tells a sorry story about our country. At one point last week, Texas and Florida together accounted for forty percent of new infections. The hospitals in Louisiana, Alabama, Mississippi, Georgia, and other southern states are not far behind, approaching the breaking point in health care.
As I looked at the map, I was reminded of a book I used in class more than fifteen years ago. The title, Bowling Alone by Robert Putnam, is misleading. The book isn't really about bowling, but instead is about disturbing social trends in our country that Putnam catalogs and interprets. The subtitle, The Collapse and Revival of American Community, is a more accurate clue to the book's content, although it's not as catchy a title as Bowling Alone.
At the time the book was written, Robert Putnam was a professor of public policy at Harvard. My students and I found the book to be witty, surprising, and often upsetting. Putnam's main thesis is that there has been a sharp decline in what he calls "social capital" in the U.S. since the end of the WWII.
Sounds a bit boring, right? But the book is anything but boring and offers one of the best explanations for why regions and states in our country have responded so differently to the coronavirus.
Social capital can be thought of as the glue that holds communities together. Some states in our country have high rates of social capital and other states have low rates. States with high social capital have a strong sense of "we-ness." That is, the bonds that tie citizens together and create community are strong. States with low social capital have a strong sense of "I-ness." Here, individualism rather than community is emphasized.
Of course, American life has always had a tension between "we-ness" and "I-ness," between individualism and community. Putnam found that in the early years of post-WWII America, emphasis on the community was strong. More people subscribed to newspapers, more people heard the evening news on the radio and later watched it on TV. A high percentage of Americans were part of religious communities and fraternal organizations. More people volunteered, voted and, yes, joined bowling leagues.
What is astonishing about Putnam's findings for the years prior to 2000 is that they align quite closely with our current vaccination situation. Many of the states with low vaccination rates now in 2021 are states where "I-ness" dominated over "we-ness" twenty years ago.
More parents in these states argue that vaccination requirements and mask mandates for restaurants and schools are unpatriotic and threaten their personal rights. Conversely, more parents in states where "we-ness" is stronger argue that vaccination requirements and mask mandates are a patriotic way of caring not just for ourselves but one another.
Bowling Alone remains a great read and is a book I recommend, but I believe if Putnam updated his book today, he would have to conclude, sadly, that the glue holding communities together is weaker now that it was two decades ago. There has been no great "revival of American community" as Putnam hoped his book would foster. "I-ness" is stronger all over our country, and "we-ness" is on the decline.
The second World War was a high point in social capital or "we-ness" in our country. That crisis forced our nation to pull together. What is discouraging is that our current crisis, the pandemic, has had the opposite effect. Instead of asking what "we" can do to defeat this threat, more and more Americans are going down the other road of what "I" prefer to do.
There is nothing good at the end of that road.
Read a Book
August 6, 2021
With their summer reading programs, libraries are bringing back memories of my childhood. Even when my family travelled on vacation, all of us kids brought books along to make long car trips and rainy days bearable. I suspect many readers have similar memories.
Young people might pity my generation, given that we didn't have smartphones to play movies or entertain us with games. I believe, however, that my generation was fortunate.
First and most important, movies don't hold a candle to the power of books to exercise the imagination. Movies show views of a time in history, a landscape, and characters. Books invite readers to imagine those same elements of a story.
Second, I have found it almost always disappointing to watch a movie made from a book. I read F. Scott Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby in high school, decades before Robert Redford and later Leonardo DiCaprio played the role of Jay Gatsby in film versions of the book. I'm not denying that Redford and DiCaprio are great actors, but Jay Gatsby in the book is a more shadowy figure who is much harder to picture and even harder to understand.
In other words, F. Scott Fitzgerald's Gatsby activates readers' imaginations. Great authors do that. They trigger the imagination of readers. Not just Redford or DiCaprio, but any actor, just by appearing on screen, diminishes the power of Fitzgerald's novel by showing us what Jack Clayton and Baz Luhrmann, the directors of the film versions, decided their Gatsbys would look like, sound like, and act like.
Third, not only is the film version of a book usually disappointing, but the film version ruins the experience of rereading a beloved book. If I were to read The Great Gatsby now, after having seen the film versions, I would no longer be with Fitzgerald's shadowy and elusive Gatsby figure. The faces of Redford and DiCaprio are in the way.
If you think I'm being a curmudgeon, consider the opinion of one of my favorite authors, John le Carré. Five of his early novels feature George Smiley, an officer in Great Britain's Intelligence Service. Of course, le Carré doesn't leave readers completely on their own in picturing this character. Le Carré describes Smiley as middle-aged, Oxford-educated, pudgy, slow to speak, prone to wearing dumpy clothes, and having the habit of cleaning his thick glasses with his necktie. In other words, Smiley is the opposite of James Bond.
But le Carré's descriptions give readers wide latitude in imagining George Smiley. How middle-aged? Pudgy in what way? If Smiley is Oxford-educated but slow to speak, is that because his mind works slowly or because he's careful about what he reveals?
In the late 1970s, the BBC produced a version of two of the best le Carré books featuring George Smiley: Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy and Smiley's People. Le Carré served as one of the scriptwriters of the TV series, and, in that capacity, he had a say in determining who'd play Smiley. Sir Alec Guinness was selected, and the two series were great successes. I rate both series as being the most faithful film versions of books that I've come across.
So, what was le Carré's problem? In a later interview about his novels, the interviewer asked le Carré if he would write another novel featuring George Smiley. Le Carré replied sadly that George Smiley was no longer his. Alec Guinness, by inhabiting the Smiley role so convincingly in both TV series, now "owned" George Smiley. Le Carré suggested that that any future novel featuring George Smiley would, instead, be a novel featuring Alec Guinness.
With summer winding down, there is still time to pick up a book, one not yet made into a movie, and give your imagination free rein. Booklovers know there is no pleasure like the pleasure of reading an absorbing book.
Who should get credit for this pleasure? Which makes our imaginations dance? Of course, credit must be given to the author, whose imagination produced the work. Authors are the lead partners in the dance by offering clues to characters, settings, and plot turns. But authors don't dance alone. It is the readers' imaginations-yours and mine-that complete the dance.
August 3, 2021
When I heard of Simone Biles' decision to step back from the pressures of the Olympics and the "goat" (Greatest of All Time) label, the first images that came to my mind were those of Thomas Merton and Bob Dylan.
Biles, Merton, and Dylan might seem a strange grouping, but each of them wrestled with the cost of fame and the weight of demanding fans. Each also eventually found the courage to detach themselves from all the "hype."
Imagine how you would feel if people didn't merely describe you as good at something, but as the "greatest of all time" at something. First, the claim makes no sense. A person can be called great at something, even the greatest so far, but "all time" includes the future. The weight placed on those who are labelled the greatest of all time is that they must perform not just better than their competitors and those who came before them, but better than anyone who will ever come in the future.
Second, to call someone the greatest of all times imprisons that person. The label of "goat" doesn't describe the person so much as the expectations and needs of the media and fans. Instead of accurately describing a person, the "goat" label becomes a script that this person, whether a monk, a singer, or athlete, must follow.
After Thomas Merton wrote several books that became best sellers, his numerous readers considered him to be the greatest monastic writer of not just the twentieth century, but other centuries, as well. They loved his insights into the spiritual life, and they let Merton know that they needed him to write more of the same. That's when Merton's readers put him into a box and told him to stay put.
In Bob Dylan's case, he was considered the greatest folk singer and songwriter of the folk generation. According to legend, Dylan was anointed by Woody Guthrie to be the next folksinger "goat," and that meant that fans and critics needed Dylan to stick with songs of social protest and make sure those songs were played solely on an acoustic guitar and harmonica. There was to be no electric guitar for Dylan.
If it takes courage for any of us to stand up for ourselves and say "no" to the expectations of others, imagine the emotional and spiritual courage it takes to stand up to millions of fans. Merton did that by switching focus and writing about the wisdom found in other religions and about the insanity of the Vietnam War. The reaction of his fans? "How dare you! You're supposed to write about Jesus, the saints, and life in the monastery, not politics and other religions."
Dylan broke out of the "greatest folksinger of all time" box by picking up an electric guitar at the Newport Folk Festival in 1965. The reaction of his fans? He was booed and called a Judas. One account has the patriarch of folk music, Pete Seeger, trying to cut the cord to Dylan's electric guitar. But Dylan knew that if he was to remain creative, he had to free himself from the comfortable box that his fans had put him in.
And now, even before the Olympic Games started, we labelled Simone Biles the "goat." We even made her pose with a real goat and give interviews about being labelled the "greatest of all time." Did we think we were doing her a favor? Probably. But, as Biles has now revealed, pressure from the media and fans felt like the weight of the world had been placed on her shoulders. She wouldn't just be competing with other athletes in Tokyo. She would be competing with our impossible expectations of her.
Two thousand years ago, Jesus asked a question that Merton, Dylan, and Biles have learned is as timely now as it was in the past. "What does it profit a person if she gains the whole world but loses her own soul?"
July 20, 2021
About fifteen years ago, when I saw retirement on the distant horizon, I started to wonder what my life as a retired person would be like. I suppose I was doing what is called "retirement planning," but I wasn't concerned solely with the financial aspects of retirement.
If a person's school years count as the beginning of his or her work life, I'd been working without a break since I was four years old. Whether it was school, first jobs or, finally, my career in education, all I'd known was rising each day and thinking of the work awaiting me. I couldn't imagine what life would be like without that structure.
Consequently, in the years leading up to retirement, I paid attention to friends who were not just enjoying this phase of their lives, but continuing to live active and meaningful lives. I even began to ask them questions or request advice about retirement.
One of the friends I consulted was the choir director at the little church we attended in the summer. After retiring from a career as a music teacher in high schools, my friend remained busy creating and leading community choirs for over a decade. Many of those community choir members were also retired, and they were clearly grateful to my friend for providing this outlet. In addition to that, my friend hosted a program of classical music every Tuesday morning on the local NPR station.
When I asked my friend my question-"What makes for a good retirement?"-he responded by sharing that if a person was blessed, she would have two retirements. The first retirement, he suggested, was somewhat like her life before, except that a person in first retirement can choose what to be busy with. He smiled as he said that many people in their first retirements are as busy as, if not busier, than they were when they worked full-time.
The second retirement, he said in greater seriousness, comes when health concerns prevent people from carrying on this busy first retirement. This, he let me know, was what he was approaching. And, true to his word, he soon after gave up both the radio program and the choir directing to move to a retirement community closer to his children and grandchildren.
At that point, I lost track of my friend, but I bet the musical programs in that retirement community received a big boost when he and his wife became residents.
While music isn't my passion, writing is, and so, I've consulted older authors whom I admire about what makes for a good retirement. One of the authors whom I admire the most, Norman Maclean, had passed away by the time I came asking, but I found his answer to the question by reading his writings.
Maclean is the author of A River Runs through It, a semi-autobiographical novel set in his late adolescent and early adult years. From my first reading of the novel, I realized that this was one of the finest American novels about the emotional lives of men. Later, I learned that MacClean wrote A River Runs through It when he was seventy-three, after he retired from a long teaching career at the University of Chicago.
It struck me that Maclean's busy life as a university professor had prevented him from writing this story of family tragedy earlier. No, this was a story, although set in Maclean's early years, that he couldn't tell until he was an older person-yes, until he was in retirement. Only then could Maclean see the past clearly; only then could he see the meaning that ran through his family story like a river.
My musical friend and Norman Maclean have much in common. Both understood that retirement offered not just losses, but opportunities.
From both of these mentors, I've learned that retirement at its best is the ripening of a person's passion, like the ripening of fruit, that one can share with others. My friend's love of choral music did not enhance only his life, but the lives of hundreds of singers in northern Wisconsin. And A River Runs through It did not only help Maclean make sense of his family's tragedy. The book has also helped thousands of readers find the wisdom that is buried in their own family stories.
The good news for people my age is that retirement, as is true of all the other stages of life, offers opportunities for continued growth and for greater generosity. I thank my friend and Norman Maclean for helping me see this.
July 20, 2021
Although delayed a year, the Summer Olympic Games look like they will finally happen. Although the games this time will be unusual-no fans in the stands to cheer the athletes and the cloud of Covid hanging over every contestant-I trust the athletes to create enough drama and excitement to help us focus on sport.
My chief love in the Olympics is not the medal count, as if the point of the games is to root only for one's own country. And I lament that American TV coverage will primarily, in not exclusively, focus on U.S. athletes.
The Olympic Games, for me, are a celebration of the global human family gathered for a peaceful purpose. The games provide my only opportunity to see representatives from almost every nation and region of the world all in one place. I especially love the opening and closing ceremonies, when athletes and officials from so many nations parade into the stadium.
When in those ceremonies, I see the banners and flags of Benin, Sao Tome and Principe, and Tuvalu, I realize how little I know about the world I live in. What is life like in those countries? What obstacles have their athletes overcome to become Olympians? What kind of training facilities, if any, do these smaller nations have?
Rationally, I know that few, if any, athletes from smaller nations will contend for a medal. And I know that these athletes know this, as well. So, why do these athletes look as excited to be in Tokyo as athletes from the bigger and well-funded nations? Without a chance of winning, what drives athletes from Benin, Sao Tome and Principe, and Tuvalu?
Perhaps I am wrong about these athletes knowing that they have no chance of winning. Perhaps they hold on to the hope that a miracle will happen, that they will overcome the disadvantages they have in terms of trainers and training facilities and surprise the world. Perhaps they dream of hearing their national anthem being played at the Olympic Games for the very first time.
But if that were the only motivation of these athletes from smaller nations, I don't think they'd look so delighted at the closing ceremonies. But they do. They will wave and smile to the empty stands. They will dance to the music as joyously as athletes from the bigger nations. They will relish every moment.
Unfortunately, between the opening and closing galas, we will catch only brief glimpses of these same athletes as they compete. For two or three seconds, their faces and national identities will flash across our screens as they are introduced before taking part in preliminary heats for their events. But most will disappear from our screens after they come up short in those heats. Despite years of discipline, training, and sacrifices, those seconds will mark the end of their Olympic Games.
What fascinating and inspiring stories these athletes could tell the world, but few of those stories will be featured on our TV networks. That is our loss, for these athletes remind us that there is something more important in life than winning. These athletes trained for years, perhaps in the wild hope of winning, but in reality all their work and sacrifice was for the honor of being named Olympians. And in doing this, they won their race.
And that brings us to a final thought about Olympic athletes. In one sense, the most important race is not over. We do not see what these athletes will make of the rest of their lives.
In the all-important contest of living a life that serves others, perhaps those who finish out of the limelight in Tokyo-those who train, sacrifice, and complete for the challenge rather than the glory-will cross that finish line ahead of the medal winners.
We Can Do Better
July 6, 2021
When our older son was about six years old, we met with my side of the family for a pre-Christmas get-together. I remember that occasion because it was a time when I lied to our son for what I thought was his own good.
At one point, our son went to his Mom and said, "Cousin Brett just said that there's no Santa Claus? Is that true?"
I suspect my wife put her arm around our son as she admitted that Cousin Brett was right. My son, however, decided to come to me for a second opinion. When he asked me the same question, I immediately responded with "Of course there's a Santa Claus."
I am not in the habit of lying to my children, but in that instance, I wasn't ready for our son to lose his belief in jolly old St. Nicholas.
Denial is a common reaction to coming face to face with an unwelcome reality. That is going on now with all the pushback to CRT-Critical Race Theory. Parents and politicians across the country are demanding that CRT not be taught in schools, even though I doubt if many of those opposed know what CRT is.
For the sake of clarity, let's take a look at two examples of Critical Race Theory before turning to why CRT is a hopeful sign for our country's future.
Example number one: we recently celebrated the Fourth of July. In a small-town newspaper from northern Wisconsin that I receive, a columnist wrote eloquently about the Boston Tea Party and the brave Founding Fathers who revolted against unfair taxation by the British.
That's not a lie, but it's not the whole story. Our Founding Fathers were aware that England, the mother country, was on the verge of outlawing slavery. Such a step would have affected not just England, Scotland, and Wales, but all the British colonies-including our thirteen colonies. The War of Independence had as much, if not more, to do with the Founding Fathers' intention to preserve slavery than about taxes on tea and other British goods.
Example number two: The Civil War is often taught as the war that ended slavery. But Critical Race Theory (CRT) reveals the hidden underbelly to this claim. While slavery was officially ended, it didn't take long for legislators, law enforcement, and judges in southern states to find a clever way to get around the thirteenth amendment. Men, mostly African Americans, were arrested on minor charges, incarcerated, and put to work on chain gangs. Loitering-standing on a sidewalk and talking with friends could be considered loitering-was a popular charge levied against many African American men. These men ended up chained together in the heat of the southern sun to harvest crops and build roads as part of their punishment. A rose by any other name is still a rose. So is slavery.
While Critical Race Theory reveals uncomfortable truths about our nation's past history, I'm convinced CRT has the potential to be one of the best and most hopeful developments to surface in our lifetime.
Here is the reason: CRT does not deny that there is much to admire in our nation's history. What Critical Race Theory requests, yes, demands, is that we tell our nation's whole story to ourselves and to our children.
Why is this helpful instead of depressing? Critical Race Theory is ultimately positive because it reveals the high cost our nation pays for living in denial. When we insist on glorifying our nation's past and not facing that past's underbelly, we automatically and inevitably end up believing that our nation's best days were in decades gone by. Clearly, a lot of Americans believe that, and that makes them susceptible to politicians who promise a return to our country's glorious past that wasn't, in reality, that glorious.
By insisting on telling the whole truth of our nation's past, Critical Race Theory invites us and challenges us to see that our nation's best days lie not in the past, but potentially in the future. Martin Luther King's hope that our nation will live up to the promises made by its founders has not yet been realized. The good news is that those promises can yet be fulfilled.
When you hear people railing against Critical Race Theory, consider offering them this response. Critical Race Theory is nothing more than this simple belief: "We can be better."
Teacher, Heal Thyself
July 1, 2021
"Physician, heal thyself." "Teacher, teach thyself." These two phrases came to mind last week after I finished preparing a talk that I've been invited to give a group in Indianapolis.
My talk's title, "Martin Buber's Wisdom for a Divided Country," indicates what many of us who are familiar with Martin Buber believe-that this mid-twentieth century Jewish philosopher can help heal the widening gulf between the right and the left in our country.
This gulf is felt by most, if not all, of us. How many times in the last few years have you said or thought the following: "It's no use talking with _______________. She won't change, and neither will I." "When __________ gets going, I feel myself turning away or distancing myself from him."
As the January 6th assault on the Capitol showed clearly for all the world to see, our country is splitting apart. The good news is that Martin Buber can help us close the breach.
The first bit of advice Buber offers is "This gulf is what you have to deal with, so deal with it," although Buber would express that advice more eloquently. Buber doesn't mean that we just put up with the present strain and stress. For Buber, "dealing with" our ideological gulf means leaning into it and accepting this gulf as our responsibility to face and, yes, solve.
That brings us to Buber's second insight, which is that true dialogue between differing parties is the only way to heal the breach. That might sound trite unless we accept Buber's perception that what often passes for dialogue is actually both sides offering monologues. Neither side listens to the other, and both sides only speak past each other. The more each side feels unheard, the louder they scream. The more one side screams, the more the other side turns away.
If you doubt that Buber has put his finger on an important truth, listen to what occurs on the floors of the Senate and the House of Representatives in Washington, D.C. One monologue after another with neither side really listening to the other.
For Buber, the only hope for a divided society is for some people from both sides to engage in what he calls "turning." What our country most needs is not for the right to convert the left or the left to convert those on the right, but for both conservatives and liberals to turn toward one another. Instead of screaming our set speeches at one another, Buber suggests we offer our vulnerability, our willingness to listen from the heart.
If all this sounds rosy and impractical, let me return to "Teacher, teach thyself." After I finished preparing for my talk on Buber last week, I quickly turned my attention to other things on my mind. One of those things was deciding what to do with my outrage over the fact that both Indiana senators had voted against the voting rights bill. I couldn't understand how anyone who believes in democracy could vote to limit the right of people, especially people of color, to vote.
The first senator I contacted online got both barrels from me. I threw my disgust at him and told him that he should be ashamed of himself. It was when I was halfway through using the same shaming language with the second U.S. senator that Buber's wisdom returned and hit me like a thunderbolt. My shaming message was my screaming monologue, my way of turning away from this senator. I was repeating exactly what Buber identified as the problem.
Having not yet sent my message to the second senator, I erased that message and started over, this time trying to follow Buber's advice to "turn toward" this senator with whom I disagreed. It wasn't easy, but after a few moments, I realized that the moment invited me to be real with the senator, to share my support for the voting rights bill that he'd voted against, and then to ask him to help me understand why he voted the way he did.
The first senator, or at least one of his aides, got an earful from me. I don't expect my outrage to change his thinking at all. But thanks to Buber, the second senator received my invitation for the two of us to relate to one another.
I look forward to his response and hope, even in our difference of opinion, that we can bridge the gulf between us. I commit to listening with my whole being to his view as I hope he will commit to listening to mine.
June 22, 2021
For those of us who grew up in the fifties, we were happy to hear the words "wonder drug." Certainly, the Salk vaccine was labeled a wonder drug, offering hope that the dreaded disease of polio could be eradicated. The numerous antibiotics that became available were also considered wonder drugs, particularly for those who were allergic to penicillin, another wonder drug. And for those of us fully vaccinated and able to emerge from the cocoon of the coronavirus, the various vaccines certainly qualify as wonder drugs.
But instead of writing about wonder drugs, I want to turn the words around to create the phrase "the drug of wonder." Here, we aren't referring to medicines devised by scientists, but to the power of wonder to enrich human life.
Ancient philosophers understood the experience of wonder to be the beginning of philosophy. A modern philosopher has added that wonder is not just the beginning of philosophy, but when philosophy ends, wonder remains.
It's also true to say that wonder is the beginning of both science and religion. If an apple really did land on Newton's head, his first thought after "ouch" was likely "I wonder why that happened?" And can Einstein's genius be understood without his obvious lifelong sense of wonder?
Psychologists note that children are more attuned to wonder than adults; that is, they experience wonder more easily and regularly until socialization and a sense of knowing facts diminishes it. Jesus noted that the greatest wonder of all, the wonder of God and God's reign in this world, is best grasped by children. In fact, Jesus stated that adults must become like wonder-filled children to know God.
Wonder is considered a heightened sense of consciousness by those who study the human mind. Take that memory of observing a beautiful sunset or seeing a newborn child. That pause, that involuntary "oh" that comes out of our mouths on these and other occasions is the naturally produced drug of wonder.
As I wrote in a previous column, one of my summer rituals is to read the works of the conservationist Sigurd Olson. His attraction for me isn't based on his insights into the natural world or his adventures canoeing long distances in the wilderness of northern Canada. What attracts me to Sigurd Olson is the sense of wonder that is present from his earliest works to his final writings.
Olson inspires me, when I put down his books, to look at the world around us and within us with his sense of wonder. I notice the difference in bird calls; I feel the change of seasons on my skin; I experience clouds as breathtaking.
And it is Olson who convinced me that wonder is the true "fountain of youth." In the years before he died in his eighties, Olson offered a bit of wisdom that I treasure as gold. "When you lose the power of wonder, you become old-no matter how old you are. If you have the power of wonder, you are forever young."
June 14, 2021
How would you like to be considered three-fifths of an American? From our nation's beginning until the end of the Civil War, that was the value that the U.S. Constitution gave to African American slaves.
If this issue seems so long ago and not worth raising again, let me suggest that the value of African Americans is still a debated point. Those who recognize that racism is systemic, that is that racism is built into the way our society works, see this most clearly in the numerous attempts by state legislators to restrict voting.
What is on my mind in this article, however, is not politics but sports. Everyone, no matter where they are on the political spectrum, would agree that African Americans dominate in the NBA especially, but also in the NFL and track and field.
With such high rates of participation, we might think that African American athletes fare as well as White American athletes. Certainly, the salaries suggest that. Racism, however, is like poison ivy in a garden. Just when we think we have eradicated it in one part of the garden, it crops up elsewhere.
This past week, I read an article about the NFL that reminded me that the poison ivy of racism has found another foothold. Here is the background to this new appearance of racism. For many years, NFL owners and the organization refused to recognize that football can cause severe brain injuries, with many of these brain injuries surfacing in retired athletes later in life.
Even to mention the problem of brain injuries caused by football could spell a person's professional doom. Just ask Bob Costas, once one of the premier sports broadcasters, who no longer covers football games after he challenged the sport to admit this problem. But Bob Costas had a point. Try the "Bob Costas view" of the game-instead of focusing on wide receivers and those in the backfield, focus on the massive and absurdly fast linemen who bang heads on every play. That is the view that gives us a better sense of the sport's toll on the human brain.
Finally, after dragging its heels, the NFL agreed to a billion-dollar settlement to cover brain injury claims. Problem solved, right? Think again. To determine who should receive payment for these injuries and how much they should receive, the NFL uses a system that offers less money to African American claimants than to White Americans.
Here is how this works. To be eligible, claimants have to prove that they have dementia or other brain injuries. That makes sense, but what comes next shows the pervasiveness of systemic racism. The NFL assumes that African American athletes begin with lower cognitive abilities than White American athletes.
Put another way, the NFL views African American players as less mentally gifted and agile as their White counterparts. African American football players have to exhibit more severe dementia or other brain injuries to qualify for a payout. This means that there are retired African American football players who receive no compensation for brain injuries that their White American counterparts are receiving.
Various lawsuits on behalf of African American football veterans could rectify this form of racial discrimination, but to the shame of the sport, NFL owners aren't cooperating.
Yes, many White Americans deny the existence of systemic racism. But understanding racism as systemic isn't rocket science. Systemic racism refers to the numerous ways that the game is rigged to the detriment of certain populations and to the advantage of others.
Rabid football fans would be the first to protest if they learned that their beloved game was rigged. We demand fair referees and fair application of the rules. Think how Indianapolis Colts fans protested when "Deflategate" occurred.
If we don't want the game rigged, why would we stand by when retired African American football players are treated as "three-fifths" of their full human status?
Images that Come to Mind When You Read the Word Seminary
May 31, 2021
What images come to mind when you see the word "seminary?" Do you imagine a community of people being indoctrinated, being told what to believe, being taught to be narrow minded?
I believe most who attend a seminary have the opposite experience. Instead of narrowing the mind, seminary education promotes the opposite-open-mindedness, curiosity, and wonder. Yes, there are truths to contemplate, but also an invitation to explore the diverse ways those truths can be interpreted.
For example, in my own seminary education, I read more works on evolution than I did during the college years. I still think Loren Eiseley's The Immense Journey to be one of the most important books I've ever read and recommend it to anyone who wants to spend time with a non-religious scientist who shares his deep wonder-I would go as far as to say a "sacred wonder"-at the evolutionary process.
I know I had fellow classmates who thought the theory of evolution was the enemy of faith. I also remember classmates who believed it wasn't evolution, but the notion of God that needed to be questioned. I was somewhere in the middle, wanting to bring the truths of revelation, such as Scriptures, into conversation with the truths of modern science and psychology.
I rate my three years in seminary as the best educational experience I had. I write this not only because I gained some of my closest friends during those years, but because my seminary education has never ended.
I was reminded of this recently as my wife and I watched the volcanic activity in Iceland. People are traveling to Iceland from all over the world to watch this incredible sight, but anyone with a computer can observe this amazing current event online. I highly recommend this experience.
As I watched this unfolding phenomenon in Iceland, I remembered these words from my seminary days: "Creation is not over; it's always continuing." Like most people raised on the Bible, I entered seminary thinking of creation as something that happened in the universe's beginning, something long ago and long over. What I gained in seminary was the amazing and awesome concept of creation being ongoing. The Divine Being didn't create just once. The Divine, even with human beings' mistreatment of the earth, our home, has never stopped creating. Everything on earth is in a constant state of becoming.
Volcanologists are naturally excited with events in Iceland, seeing in these volcanoes a glimpse of how our planet was formed. But the volcanoes are not just attracting scientists. Most of the people visiting the site in person or online aren't measuring or recording data but simply standing in silence.
Theologians respect the activity of the volcanologists, but they also understand and share the reaction of the majority of visitors who are standing in silence and awe before the volcanoes. Words fail as we recognize that we're looking at something more profound than flowing lava. We are looking into the force of life itself, the same force that forces a weed through a crack in a sidewalk, the same force that pumps blood at this very moment from our hearts to our veins and arteries.
At first, the volcanoes in Iceland seemed something unusual and foreign to our lives. The more we look at this awesome sight, however, the more we might realize that we are seeing something true about all of life, including our own lives.
A little over two months ago, this part of Iceland was very different than it is today. And two months ago, our own lives were different than they are today. The volcanoes in Iceland remind us that the same force is within each of us-the force of life, the force of becoming.
Throughout human history, this force has been known by a wide range of names. In the seminary I attended, we called that force "God." Other cultures have used different names for this force. Far more important than the names we assign to this force are these moments of standing in silence and awe before it.
Education and Mix Metaphors
May 25, 2021
An education expert who taught me a lot compared teaching to whitewater rafting-you never know what could be around the next bend. What the expert was referring to is those moments when a student asks a question or makes a statement that takes the teacher completely by surprise.
When that expert wrote his book, he could never have predicted the coronavirus pandemic, a far rougher patch of whitewater, one educators and students didn't see coming a year and a half ago. Now, as we begin to exit the pandemic and can imagine schools being open in the fall, we are learning about how those involved in education-students, teachers, staff, and administrators-have fared through this ordeal.
Much of what we are learning about how students have fared over the past fourteen months with online learning is sobering and sad. The most frequently used word to describe the pandemic's negative impact on learning is "stress." Connected with that term are other terms-depression, loneliness, problems concentrating, lack of ambition, and anger at the situation and oneself.
Being an educator, I read with keen interest what psychologists, teachers, parents, and students were reporting about the difficulties of online learning. But as a retired educator, I didn't experience the situation firsthand until I was offered the chance to teach a course online this past semester at Franklin College.
A gifted colleague warned me before the semester started that teaching online was significantly different from what I was used to. One of the best pieces of advice he gave me was not to expect to cover the same amount of material as I had in the past.
Another insight he shared was that while the teacher's face would be seen by all the students, students were not required to show their faces. Until I met my class the first time, I didn't realize how much I had relied over the years on seeing students' expressions to let me know if they understood what I was communicating. No wonder I couldn't cover as much material as in the past. Without that visual confirmation, I had to pause repeatedly during class sessions to ask if my students were confused.
With all these additional challenges to learning during the pandemic, it's easy to focus on what students have missed of the educational experience. I have had more than one conversation with colleagues who lament that key elements of their courses-imagine offering a science course without laboratory work or teaching a public speaking course without the student speakers seeing their audience.
But I hold onto another thought, a hope, really, and that is that many students will have gained something quite valuable during these challenging months. One of the "sermons" that I would always give my students was to remind them that the purpose of education is to become an "overcomer." Everything that a student faces-learning a new language, reading more difficult novels, playing more difficult pieces of music, or playing more talented opponents on the athletic fields-is like a mountain placed directly in their paths.
Will the student turn and run from the challenge? Will the student complain that the challenge is too hard? Those are certainly temptations, but the students who figure out how to overcome the mountains will become adults who won't run from the challenges they will face in their futures.
I doubt that any generation of students has faced a bigger challenge to learning. So consider doing the following in this month of May. Whether the students you know are graduating or simply finishing another year of school, take the opportunity to tell them how proud you are that they've faced incredible challenges, mountains, in fact, and overcame them.
May 11, 2021
There is a significant difference between those who stand by Trump and those who voted for Obama, Biden, and even George W. Bush. That difference is that this latter group-of which I'm a member as I voted for Obama and Biden-believes no president should be immune from criticism when he or she fails to live up to promises, when she or he acts in ways that harm innocent people, and certainly when the president lies to the American people and the world.
Lest you think I'm lying, I am on record for being frustrated and disappointed when Obama didn't fulfill his promise to close Guantanamo and release prisoners languishing there whom we know are innocent. Similarly, I opposed Obama's wide use of drone strikes in Afghanistan which killed innocent civilians not just once, but time and time again.
And now I disagree with President Biden's decision to withdraw all American troops from Afghanistan. I write this not because I believe, or ever believed, in what is now referred to as "America's longest war." Nor do I write this because I believe American forces could defeat the Taliban, the Islamic State, and the remnants of Al-Qaeda if we stay a month, a year, or a decade longer.
I disagree with Biden's decision because it leaves the majority of people in Afghanistan, especially women, without hope for the future.
Yes, it was a clear mistake to involve ourselves in Afghanistan without an exit strategy. Initially, we said we would leave that country once we achieved our mission of tracking down Bin-Laden (found in Pakistan and not Afghanistan). But when we did achieve that goal, the new goal became to eradicate the Taliban. That has proved impossible.
To make my point, let me borrow an example from higher education. The colleges and universities that are thriving are those where a fundamental change has occurred in decision-making. Colleges and universities are frequently in turmoil when administrators and faculty fight over which, the administration or faculty, will benefit most from a decision.
Institutions of higher education that are thriving are those where the administrators and faculty have figured out that the better question to ask is "Will this decision benefit our students?"
Which brings us back to Afghanistan. Although the military disagrees, Biden might be right in deciding that now is the time to withdraw troops. His assessment that the Afghani government is too corrupt to deserve further support is probably right on the mark. But the decision to wash our hands of the mess in Afghanistan and wave goodbye seems to be made on the basis of what's best for the U.S. The question we should be asking is "What is in the best interests of the Afghani people?"
Dare we ask Afghani women if they are comfortable with the return of the Taliban, ideologues that deny women the right to an education and imprison them in their homes? Dare we ponder the situation five years from now, after the Taliban, the Islamic State, and Al-Qaeda have trained the children of Afghanistan in hatred and terrorist tactics?
The U.S. and democratic-loving countries have another option, one that has been employed in the Balkans. The mess in the Balkans hasn't been completely resolved, but the presence of international peacekeeping forces has stopped the bleeding. If international forces can separate Bosnian Muslims, Serbs, and Croats, limiting them to their separate areas, can't such an approach he tried in Afghanistan?
I am not guaranteeing that this approach will be successful, as I have no doubt that this option has already been considered. I also don't doubt that peacekeeping forces would still be vulnerable to terrorist attacks in Afghanistan.
What I am arguing is that when we chose to enter Afghanistan by force in 2001, that decision left us with a moral duty. How can we abandon the women and children of Afghanistan now that they have tasted the joys and fundamental human rights of an education and the free exchange of ideas?
If we who live in the democracies of the world are to look at ourselves in the mirror without shame, we must find a way to protect these fellow members of the human family.
May 2, 2021
I took a bike ride in the country last week on a blustery day. I was faring quite well riding into what I thought was a headwind until I rounded a corner and met a blast of wind that nearly stopped me in my tracks. In reflecting on that feeling later, I thought a good name for that blast of air trying to stop me advancing and even pushing me back would be the "Jim Crow" wind.
I don't have to have to explain to my African-American brothers and sisters what "Jim Crow," "Jim Crow laws," and "New Jim Crow" mean. But White Americans like me, especially those of us who are males and in the middle class, might shake our heads and say, "I've heard the expression 'Jim Crow,' but I don't know where it came from or what it actually means."
There is a good reason white males like me don't know much about "Jim Crow." We've never experienced "Jim Crow," and, as a result, we might even go so far as to argue that it doesn't exist. For us, the strong wind is behind us, giving us a boost, not hitting us like a brick.
The term "Jim Crow" came from a white actor in early 19th century minstrel shows who applied blackface and offered a mocking image of African slaves as feeble-minded and laughable figures.
But the real damage of the "Jim Crow" term came when it was applied, especially after Reconstruction, to laws passed that restricted the rights of now freed African Americans. Separate restaurants, bathrooms, swimming pools, and water fountains-those were all made "legal" by Jim Crow laws. Separate units in the military, separate baseball leagues, separate neighborhoods, separate hospitals, and separate and grossly unequal schools-those too were created by "Jim Crow" rules, both written and unwritten.
I first met "Jim Crow" when I was a boy on vacation in the South and saw the signs for "colored" water fountains and "whites only" stores. But I first sensed what "Jim Crow" might be like for African-Americans when my seminary class in Los Angeles spent a few days in the neighborhood of Watts.
I will never forget one stop on our "tour" of Watts, when we were taken to the meat department in a corner grocery. Even before our leader pointed it out, we sensed something strange about the packages of meat in the cooler. Part of what was strange was that the price of the cuts of meat was higher than what we paid for meat in the suburbs.
But the real surprise came when the person leading our group asked us to notice how much redder the meat looked. He explained that the cuts of meat were all past the use-by dates of meats in our supermarkets. In fact, the meat we were looking at was meat that hadn't sold by the use-by dates in suburban stores.
And the heightened red color? That was food coloring painted on to make older meat look fresh and appetizing.
Want to know what "Jim Crow" is? Jim Crow is bad meat painted red and sold at higher prices.
I'd love to write that Jim Crow is a thing of the past. But the "New Jim Crow" is flexing its muscles right now, not in meat counters but in our voting system.
A reasonable person might think that a democracy would want every citizen to have the same ease and right of voting. But if you have the Jim Crow mindset, you can't celebrate the high number of people of color who voted in the last election. You have to label that fraud.
Trapped in a Jim Crow mindset, the right wing of the Republican Party is doing all it can to make it harder for people of color to vote as easily as voting is for Whites. Limit mail-in voting? You bet. Make it illegal for people to pass out water bottles to those waiting hours in line to vote? You bet. Limit the number of voting places in urban centers of our country? You bet.
The new Jim Crow is just an updated version of the old Jim Crow. It's embedding discrimination in our country under the guise of "perfectly legal" laws. But legal isn't the same as moral.
Let's not be fooled. Jim Crow will always be bad meat painted red and sold at higher prices.
April 15, 2021
To explain chaos theory, the writer Neil Gaiman offered this riddle: "A butterfly flaps its wings in the Amazonian jungle and subsequently a storm ravages half of Europe."
The point of this puzzling comment is that there is a connection between seemingly random events in the world. Of course, it's impossible to prove that such a connection really exists.
But we don't have to look far for a connection that we can prove. This connection might be expressed in this way: The chances that residents of central Indiana-that is, you and me-will catch a more dangerous form of the coronavirus in a year or two could depend on whether a tiny village in Latin America, Africa, or Southeast Asia receives one of the vaccines today.
We don't make this connection because we tend to view the coronavirus, which causes the illness, COVID-19, nation by nation, state by state, and sometimes even county by county. Unfortunately, what the news rarely shares with us is how few people in Guatemala or the Democratic Republic of Congo have access to the vaccine.
Experts now estimate that poorer nations will likely not be fully vaccinated until 2023. In hearing that news, we might be tempted to breathe a sigh of relief and think, "Thank God that's not us."
The sobering truth is that the coronavirus doesn't honor national borders. Different countries might have different vaccines, but we all have the same virus and now the same mutations. This virus isn't standing still; it is mutating every day. It is mutating even as you read this column.
And here is what would be funny if it weren't so sad and dangerous. The virus is ever-so-grateful that human beings are nationalistic. The virus loves the illusion that nationalism creates, that those of us in the richer countries who've been vaccinated will stay safe.
The reality is that as long as the virus is given time to mutate and become more deadly, it doesn't care if those mutations take place in Malawi, the Philippines, or San Salvador. Put another way, this virus is a frequent flyer and travels without a passport.
Knowing this, however, can be good news. For decades, religious leaders have been anticipating a positive global spiritual change in the world, one that recognizes that humanity is one family. In an odd way, the virus might be accelerating this spiritual change, but the key word here is "might."
We "might" accept that none of us are safe from the virus until we all are safe, but instead we "might" pretend that we're protected from nations that are still at high risk.
The bottom line is this: The virus, like other crises facing our world-global warming, depletion of the rain forests, and the world's exploding population-is changing by the minute and by the day. But there is a significant difference between the virus and these other problems. If we listen, we can hear our earth grieving when her climate, fragile rain forests, and population are ignored.
The virus, however, isn't grieving, but thriving. And the virus will continue to thrive as long as humans are stuck in nationalistic and short-term thinking. The virus loses when we accept that we are all neighbors of one another.
The virus is betting on humanity not changing. That leaves us with only one question: "Over the next critical months, will humanity prove the virus wrong or right?"
April 7, 2021
If our country isn't going to face up to the fact that we have a gun "out-of-control" problem, maybe we should just leave the flag flying at half-mast from now on. Men, most of them white, some mentally ill, and all with easy access to assault rifles, seem to be lining up for their fifteen minutes of fame. Their targets? Innocent men, women, grandparents, and children shopping at the grocery store, going to school, or working in the small business down the street.
Many Americans realize that there is something terribly wrong, both socially and spiritually, with a country that has more guns than people. We watch the news, wondering if the latest attack on the innocent will be the tipping point, the moment when the nation rises up and says, "enough is enough." But if the killing of children in their own school, the spraying of bullets from a hotel room window down on a crowd of people at a concert, and the killing of Bible study attendees isn't enough, what is?
Several years ago, I was a guest speaker on religious diversity at an Indiana high school. The day happened to be soon after another mass shooting at a school elsewhere in the country. Before I could start my talk, we had to listen to a message over the intercom from the principal.
The principal reminded students of the school's policy in the event of an armed intruder at the school. I watched the faces of the students as the guidelines were presented. Most of the students looked down as they were instructed, if such a crisis occurred, to turn off the lights in the room, barricade the door, and hide under their desks. I will never know how the students absorbed the principal's last piece of advice because what he said chilled me to the bone. His last piece of advice was to tell these students that if all else failed, they were to fight for their lives.
No parent or grandparent should accept that this is the best we can offer our children. And every parent knows that children, in order to learn, must feel safe. The majority of Americans, when polled, know that it's insane to have assault weapons as easy to buy as French fries. The majority of Americans want some logical gun control legislation.
Yes, we all know about the Second Amendment. Of course, most of us recognize that the Founding Fathers didn't have assault weapons or bazookas in mind when they passed that amendment. So, I want to go on record as being a "Strict Constitutionalist." Let's keep the Second Amendment, but interpret it as the Founding Fathers did-every man has the right to own a musket. You know, that cumbersome weapon that took minutes to load, fire, and reload.
A musket, at least, would give our children a fighting chance. Can anyone say that about assault weapons?
Looking Out The Car Window
March 26, 2021
When my wife and I first became engaged, I discovered that our families played the same "road games" on long car trips. Long before handheld devices with screens were available, road games were ways children could entertain themselves and pass the time.
One game was "Chevies vs. Fords," based on the two best-selling cars back in the 1950s. One child counted the Chevrolets that they saw in the oncoming lane while another child counted the Fords. Whoever got to fifty or a hundred first, won the game.
Another game was the alphabet game. Each child would silently study the highway signs and billboards, looking for an A, then a B, and so on. The winner was whoever found all the letters of the alphabet in order. Many a game was lost trying to find a word containing the letters Q, X, or Z.
Aside from the occasional disagreement between us kids, my parents appreciated these road games, as they were far preferable to hearing over and over again the "Are we there yet?" question.
The surprise I had when my wife-to-be and I compared childhood memories wasn't that her family also played "Chevies vs. Fords" and the alphabet game. The surprise came when I realized that my wife and I both entertained ourselves on road trips by playing a more philosophical game. When we would pass through a town, village, or city, one set on the prairie, in the mountains, or by an ocean, we both remember asking ourselves the question "How would my life be different if I lived here?"
Once we had our children, we shared that game with them, asking them to imagine growing up in the towns or cities we were passing through. I suspect my grandchildren will learn the game, as well.
As I reflect on the game now, I understand why it holds the attention not just of children, but also of adults. Even though the game often provides only a fleeting glimpse of a town or city, that glimpse is enough to stimulate the child's mind to take flight, to briefly leave his own place in the world and imaginatively plunk herself down in another.
Sometimes, I shivered when I sensed that growing up in a particular town or city wouldn't be easy. I remember feeling this strongly when we'd go through a small town with just a gas station or when we drove between skyscrapers in a major city.
At other times, the town or city we were passing seemed to beckon to me as a boy, promising more excitement or natural beauty than where I was growing up.
Looking back, I realize that the game "How would your life be different if I lived here?" offered something more important than just a way to pass the time in the car. As I looked down the main street of a passing town or down a country lane to a farmhouse, I realized that someone-maybe someone my own age-lived there.
Maybe that other person was having a good day, or maybe they weren't. Maybe they were reading a book I would like to read or a book I never would open. Maybe they wanted to be an astronaut when they grew up, or maybe they wanted to plant corn.
The truth that this game teaches is one that can hold our attention for the rest of our lives-if we let it. And that truth is that every person in this world is living a story, one never lived before and one never to be repeated in the future. That is true not just of ourselves but of everyone, including the brave people taking to the streets in Myanmar and the children flooding into our country from Central America.
We are surrounded by stories, once-in-the-life-of-the-universe stories. If we do not feel the sacredness of this, maybe we need to take a ride in the car and play the game "How would my life be different if I lived here?"
Fraud, Freedom and Fairness
March 22, 2021
If I begin this column by writing that our nation is heading for a showdown between "F-words," don't assume I'm referring to the frequently-used curse word.
The first "F-word" I'm referring to is fraud. In the wake of the 2020 election, many of those who were dissatisfied with the results have vowed to make voting harder next time. Some of these people are legislators, especially legislators in swing states, who are mounting campaigns to limit the number of polling places and also limit voting by absentee ballots in the future. In Indiana and other states, laws are being proposed to deny state governors and other state officials the right to change how voting is done in times of national disasters.
The second "F-word" is freedom. Freedom is what many people, especially African Americans and Hispanic Americans, experienced in the last election. Because of the coronavirus and the need to keep people from congregating, state after state permitted more people to vote early and by mail than ever before. The long lines at voting places in lower-income neighborhoods, where people in the past who wished to vote had to stand for four to six hours to vote, weren't as long this past November and consequently did not depress the voter turnout.
A few weeks ago, the underlying truth came out in an exchange between a lawyer and a Supreme Court Justice. That justice happens to have been appointed by Trump. When this justice asked the lawyer why it was necessary to limit voting in the future, the lawyer made the fatal mistake of telling the truth. Voting had to be limited, he argued, or Republicans would not be able to win elections.
I couldn't help but relate the lawyer's argument to the NCAA's March Madness. Imagine what would happen if a 16th-ranked team approached the referees before their game against a 2nd-ranked team and said, "For our team to have a chance, we demand that the other team suit up only four players, and, while you're at it, give each of our opponents three fouls before the game even starts."
Why is something so clearly absurd in sports not equally absurd in politics? What does it say about a democracy that one party, under the guise of protecting against fraud, is attacking the freedom of the country's citizens to vote?
The majority of Americans of both parties saw the January 6th assault on Congress as an assault on democracy. The current campaigns, including one in Indiana, to pass voting rules that would limit voting in the future, are perhaps an even more insidious attack on our democracy.
And that attack is racially motivated. When Trump and his devotees argue that the last election was stolen, what they mean is that Trump would have been elected if it hadn't been so easy for African Americans and Hispanic Americans to vote. In the wake of Trump's defeat, Trump's followers are doing their best to change the rules, making it more difficult for African Americans and Hispanic Americans to vote while continuing to make it easy as pie for white Americans to vote.
And that brings us to the final "F-word"-fairness. Because of the coronavirus, much of the embedded unfairness of past voting rules-the real fraud-was swept away by state officials in 2020 doing the right and fair thing-making voting easier.
To continue the March Madness analogy, in 2020, some teams were finally able to field all their players, all starting the game without a foul.
March 13, 2021
Last month, I was one of millions watching the rover landing on Mars. And like the scientists who combined their talents to achieve this feat, I cheered. Other missions had made this one possible, and this one would make others possible-other missions to Mars, but also beyond.
Part of what excites the scientists is the discoveries that will result from the data gathered by the rover. But for us non-scientists, the recent landing of the rover offers other lessons. We could all see from the landing how dusty the surface of Mars is. And we learned that the average temperature of the planet is a cool minus 81 degrees Fahrenheit.
The landing of the rover brings humanity one step closer to landing a crew there. Because of that, we can imagine another Neil Armstrong-type moment in the future, when we hear something like "One small step for a woman, one giant leap for humankind."
Exciting days, weeks, and months will follow from that moment as human beings "settle in" to their new neighborhood. Given cameras and other technology, we will all be able to accompany this first crew as they make one discovery after another. Contrary to the science fiction stories of our youth, there won't be Martians to contend with, but even finding pockets of ice or water will excite us. We will be the Martians, and Mars will be an unfolding human settlement. We will begin to live on a second planet.
All that is thrilling, but the photos and data that have been sent back from Mars reveal something equally true. Living on Mars will likely be living inside bubbles, where the temperature can be raised to livable limits. Even if humans inside the bubbles grow crops and produce the oxygen necessary to survive, we will always live on Mars on the red planet's own terms.
It isn't hard to imagine that many people, not just scientists, will want to visit Mars, but I doubt if anyone will say, "Make mine a one-way ticket. This is where I want to live and die." Because the planet is not suited to us even as we are not suited to the planet, everything about surviving on Mars will be difficult.
In my fantasy of the future, I imagine a crew that has worked on Mars for a year discussing what they are most looking forward to revisiting on earth. One will long to swim in the ocean; another will yearn to visit the rainforest; yet another will want to climb a snow-capped mountain. All will probably kiss the ground when they land on Earth, this place that the rest of us take for granted.
Perhaps seeing the blue, brown, and white hues of Earth from Mars will produce an epiphany, a startling realization that where we live is closer to Eden than any other place we know of in our galaxy.
Perhaps Mars will encourage us to treat the Earth as our planet deserves.
Perhaps Mars will make us fall in love with our natural home and respect her fragility.
Let us hope so.
Another Side of Lent
March 1, 2021
Every spring about this time, Christians enter the season of Lent. Not all Christian denominations observe the season, and those that do observe Lent often observe it differently.
Many people, and not just Christians, associate Lent with giving something up, usually something of value to a person. What is given up can be favorite foods, some forms of entertainment, or some less desirable habits such as gossip. Lent in this sense asks for a sacrifice.
There is another side to the Lent issue. Instead of taking something away, Christians are encouraged to add to their spiritual lives through more frequent worship, prayer, reading of Scripture and other sacred writings, and last, but not least, offering more compassion for others, especially those in need.
Whether people choose to sacrifice something, add something to their spiritual lives, or do both, there is another practice that our country desperately needs to embrace this Lenten season. This need is best expressed in the ancient 4th century Lenten prayer of St. Ephraim:
O Lord and Master of my life, take from me the spirit of sloth, despair, lust of power, and idle talk. But rather give me the spirit of chastity, humility, patience, and love to your servant. Grant me, O Lord and King, to see my own transgressions, and not to judge my brother (or sister), for blessed are you unto ages and ages, Amen.
Given what our country has gone through in the last year, it strikes me that all of us need to take St. Ephraim's advice to heart. Imagine the change in America if, for this forty-day period, every religious person focused solely on her or his faults rather than judging other people. No gossip, no putting another person down, no talking smack, no demonizing those whose politics are different, and no hateful postings on social media.
A pandemic of hate, a disease far worse than the coronavirus, has gripped our country to a degree we haven't seen since the Civil War. As a treatment for this disease, imagine if we all refrained for this forty-day period from hatred in all its forms.
Given the amount of judging of others and hatred of those we disagree with in our society, it would be hard to give these habits up for one day. Giving them up for forty days might seem impossible, and, in the beginning, we would likely return to those habits several times a day. But if we made a commitment to break the habits of judging others and dwelling on hateful thoughts and words, our inner lives and our relationships with others would change dramatically.
Imagine going to a doctor with a debilitating disease to which she prescribed forty days of medicine. Would we not take the medication to return to health? St. Ephraim's prayer is the right prescription for our sick culture. Much as the doctor might tell us to take a pill twice a day, maybe for full effectiveness we would need to recite St. Ephraim's prayer when we rise in the morning and when we turn in at night.
And at the end of Lent, then what? We might find, instead of returning to the old habits of demonizing and hating, that we have developed a new habit, one that has healed our hearts and can heal our nation's wounds.
March 1, 2021
There is a sad irony about white supremacy in America. Too many of us count on the victims of white supremacy-African-Americans, Hispanic-Americans, Native-Americans, and Asian-Americans-to defeat this disease on their own. That's like expecting the cancer patient to find a cure for cancer.
This sad state of affairs was in full view recently with events at the Indiana Statehouse. When African-American lawmakers were speaking about the pain of racism and discrimination, civility in the chamber went out the window. One representative walked out on them, others booed them, and afterwards African-American representatives reported being physically threatened and assaulted by two representatives, Rep. Alan Morrison of Versailles and Rep. Sean Eberhart from nearby Shelbyville.
What the African-American lawmakers are seeking is diversity and inclusion training for all members of the Indiana House and Senate. The hostility shown them on February 18th is the clearest proof why such training is needed.
One of the strategies of white supremacists is to deny the disease exists and to lash out at those who present the overwhelming evidence that it does. The strategy is reminiscent of anti-Reconstructionist forces after the Civil War who denied that slavery was the central issue of the Civil War while paradoxically also claiming that slavery wasn't all that terrible for those enslaved.
The Republican Party nationally and in states such as our own has a problem. The far right of the party of Lincoln has become the party of Confederacy flag wavers, as was evident on January 6 and on flagpoles across Indiana. The difference between the antics of the three Republican lawmakers on February 18th and that of the insurrectionists in Washington DC, on January 6th is a difference of degree, not kind.
Two years ago, I was invited to participate in diversity and inclusion training. The room of forty participants was divided evenly between whites and non-whites. The three-day training was both painful and healing.
Before the training, I would have described myself as a white liberal who conceded that he had something to learn about racism but whose heart was already in the right place. I took pride in telling people that I grew up in Springfield, Illinois, the city of Lincoln.
Until I participated in the three-day diversity and inclusion training, I was unaware of how little I knew about white supremacy. This was partly because the disease is woven so subtly and deeply throughout American life-from housing, to education, to criminal justice, to health care, to bank loans, to access to food, and, yes, to feeling welcome at the Indianapolis Museum of Art.
Another reason I was ignorant of the extent of white privilege is that I was unaware of the ways I've benefitted from that privilege. Despite living in Johnson County for forty-three years, I have never been stopped by the police, never been shadowed by staff in a place of business, and never had someone yell a slur at me out of a passing car window.
What State legislators of both parties would recognize through diversity and inclusion training is that all America lives in "a windy environment." Persons like myself-white, male, middle-class, and well-educated-don't notice the wind because the wind has almost always been at our backs, pushing us forward. Those unlike myself-African-Americans, Hispanic-Americans, Native-Americans, Asian-Americans and especially females of those communities-feel that same wind hitting them full in the face, doing its best to push them back.
No, I don't feel guilty about being white, but I am responsible for facing up to the unfair advantages that I have. And I am guilty if I blindly contend that all Americans share those same advantages.
Many have predicted that the Indiana House and Senate won't agree to participate in diversity and inclusion training. That unfortunate outcome is a certainty if we expect African-American Hoosiers to fight the battle alone.
It's time for white Hoosiers to join the campaign, to tell our representatives to take a moral stand and face up to white privilege. With diversity and inclusion training, we have everything to gain as a society and nothing to lose but our ignorance.
The Expanded Role of Motherhood During COVID-19
February 16, 2021
In a recent article in a national newspaper, a columnist observed that those who have suffered the most during this pandemic are mothers, especially single, working mothers. As a man, I had two reactions to that statement. The first reaction was "I should have realized this before." The second reaction was "Why didn't I realize this before?"
Research has shown that even in families with two parents, the mother does the majority of the housework, cooking, and childcare. This was true before the pandemic and is true now, as well. If that mother worked out of the home before the pandemic, she now either works from home or has lost her job.
True, a mother working from home is more fortunate than the mother who has lost her job, but now that mother has to juggle working online with the housework, cooking, and childcare. Oh, and that misses what happens when schools shut down because of COVID-19. Children still need to be educated, so now the working mother is likely a teacher on top of everything else.
For the single working mother, all these duties often fall on her with little or no help from other adults. As women in this predicament are sharing, they passed the breaking point long ago. But there is no time to pause at the breaking point. Now they live day to day, hour to hour, minute to minute, all the time thinking of what still has to be done-laundry, grocery shopping, finishing schoolwork with a child, and on and on. The stress is so overwhelming that working mothers would have a perfect right to question if slavery has really been outlawed in our country.
During the last surge in the coronavirus, we heard hospital workers say, "We are maxed out. We're going to have to turn sick people away or shut down." Those words were truly worrying, but imagine the panic in the world if mothers of the world said something similar -"We're maxed out. We're going to have to shut down."
Without someone keeping families going, everything in society falls apart. Everything. And it is mainly women who keep families going, despite the cost to their own heath.
This column isn't meant to be a guilt trip for men-not that this would be all bad. Rather, we need to ask the question-how can we as a society respond to a crisis that is occurring in every community?
That's why, despite being a Democrat, I am grateful for Republican senator Mitt Romney's proposal to assist families. His proposal would give a family unit $350 per month for children under five and $250 per month for children up to the age of 17. Are there faults or weaknesses in Romney's proposal? Probably. Will this money address all the stresses facing mothers? No. But Romney's proposal, though hardly an emancipation proclamation for mothers, is at least a start.
So thank you, Senator Romney, for starting this vital conversation. But more than that, thank you for encouraging us to do more than talk. It's time to act.
February 5, 2021
After I received the first of my two Covid-19 vaccinations recently, I was required to sit for fifteen minutes. That wait turned out to be a gift, as it gave me time to reflect on how we as a global community came to this moment. Just one year earlier, the world was being made aware that a new virus had appeared in Wuhan, a city in China that most of us, including me, couldn't locate on a map.
In the weeks and months that followed, we were faced with unwelcome changes and unwelcome terms: quarantine, surge, masking, business closures, PPE, online schooling, social distancing, and the dreaded daily tallies of cases and deaths. Hope for rapidly controlling the virus ebbed away as most countries experienced the virus as a dizzying rollercoaster ride of ups and downs.
But in just one year, I was sitting in a room of others my age, all of us receiving the first of two vaccines that would allow us to step off that rollercoaster and begin to think of life after COVID.
All of us in that room seemed to share the same reaction. We all felt a need to thank the medical staff-sometimes more than once-who were working the site and administering the shots.
As I did the same, I realized that there were many who deserve our thanks who weren't in the room. There are the public health officials who work with hospitals and other sites to create safe and convenient locations for the vaccinations. Then there are the hospital workers who set up these rooms and clean them over and over again to guarantee our safety. And as I looked around the room at hospital personnel wearing masks and plastic face shields, I didn't want to forget the companies that almost overnight began to produce this protective gear.
As my mind followed the trail backwards over the past year, I realized that I want to thank those truck drivers and pilots who transported the vaccines from one location in the world to another.
I continued to "back up" in my thank-yous. I am grateful for those who volunteered to participate in trials for the vaccines. I can be assured the vaccine that I received is safe because these volunteers risked their own health for the sake of the rest of us.
Behind the volunteers are the labs that produced the vaccines. Many of those labs are at least partially funded by donors who made improving public health a part of their legacy. Thank you, donors, for your life-saving gifts.
I especially want to thank the scientists who worked almost without relief to discover and create the vaccine that is now in my bloodstream. Few of us will ever know the number of trials they conducted to produce effective vaccines.
And behind the scientists, I want to thank the teachers from grade school onward who awoke in these researchers their first love of science. Little did they know, when they were explaining to nine and ten-year-olds what a molecule is or what are the parts of the cell, that some of their students would one day become lifesavers.
Finally, I want to thank parents who, by buying books about famous scientists or giving elementary chemistry sets as Christmas gifts, exposed their children to the wonders of science and research. The vaccines are also part of your legacies.
No, it is not time yet to celebrate the defeat of the coronavirus. But we can all pause and honor the heroes-parents, teachers, scientists, volunteers, transporters, hospital staffs, and public health officials-who will remain nameless but who nevertheless turned on that longed-for light at the end of the tunnel.
February 5, 2021
Before I became a professor at Franklin College, I worked as a counselor in a psychiatric facility with teenagers who struggled with a variety of issues-personal, social, and family.
I will always remember a colleague and gifted therapist who mentored me. When families would drop off a teenager at the hospital and say, "Fix my kid," my mentor encouraged me to consider this question: "Could the teenager be just the identified patient, the one who was acting out the dysfunction of the family or circle of friends?"
That question has come back to me as I have reflected more on the insurrection against the Capitol on January 6 of this year. As a democratic nation, we need to ask a similar question: "Were those rioters acting out the unhealth of others?"
In the past weeks, we have learned more about what motivated the rioters. The days of our nation tuning in nightly to hear the truth from a respected journalist such as Walter Cronkite are over. Internet sites have both aided the cause of democracy by providing accurate information and been the greatest threat to democracy by producing disinformation.
A classic example of disinformation is Pizzagate, the conspiracy theory that leaders of the Democratic Party were and are using a pizza parlor in Washington, DC, to kidnap and traffic children. Many of those who assaulted the Capitol on January 6 reportedly believe in Pizzagate.
That brings us to the second question-who benefitted from the attack on the Capitol? With more participants being arrested daily, the rioters turn out to be losing a lot. Many will spend time in jail because they allowed themselves to be so cleverly led by others.
And I don't believe that Trump benefitted from the attacks. Going down in history as the only president to be impeached twice is a stain that will remain on him forever. Trump might have pulled the trigger for the event, but someone gave him the loaded gun.
The fog begins to clear on the question of who benefitted most from the
January 6 assault when we acknowledge the destructive role Russian hackers have played over the past five years in our democracy. It is a known fact that Russian hackers have kept the Pizzagate conspiracy alive on social media sites, now President Biden instead of Hillary Clinton is accused of child trafficking. Russian hackers have also promoted the preposterous lie that the Democratic Party is intent on "outlawing God" and surrendering to a world government.
Of course, these Russian hackers are not operating on their own. On January 6, there was one person who I believe cheered and toasted the rioters with vodka as he watched the attack on our Capitol. That day was another victory in Vladimir Putin's clever campaign to divide our country and weaken America's role in the world.
I am not saying that all disinformation embraced by the rioters originated in Russia. No, Putin isn't under every bed, but his hackers have effectively increased the anger in this country. When we remember the massive security breach traced to Russian intelligence, we must admit that there is a complicated campaign to spy on and mislead our country, and Putin is orchestrating that campaign.
The good news is that knowing Putin's game plan offers us an important litmus test. When someone floats a conspiracy theory on social media about something diabolical in our country and government, all Americans should now pause and ask this question: "Will Putin and Russia benefit from me believing this conspiracy theory?"
January 21, 2021
When I was in graduate school in Scotland in the early 1970s, one of the things I missed most was seeing the sports I was familiar with on TV. I learned either to like soccer and rugby and the occasional tennis or boxing match, or I went without the joy of seeing athletic competition.
Of all those sports, soccer-called football in Great Britain-was televised the most. And yes, I did learn to love the sport that fans around the world call "the beautiful game." What impressed me was that the game was considered beautiful whether one's favorite team won or not. At that time, there were only two teams, both from Glasgow, that always topped the standings. That didn't mean that Scottish soccer fans cheered for one of those teams. No, they stayed loyal to their local team, no matter if their team won or lost.
All that led me to ask a question-what could be beautiful about losing? Slowly, I realized that the fans' love of the game wasn't based on the final score. Fans of teams at the bottom of the standing continued to pack the stadiums, continued to sing their team's songs, and continued to cheer madly.
Yes, soccer has its hooligans, those who can't abide seeing their team lose. But the true soccer fan knows that these thugs miss the beauty of the sport. I witnessed fans leaving games with smiles on their faces even if the score ended up a 0-0 tie. They spoke passionately about particular moments of the game, shots at goal that went wide or great saves by the goalie.
I thought of this as I watched America's "beautiful game"-democracy-being assaulted and desecrated on January 6. The rioters believe that they did something patriotic, showing proof that they love this country. But they are just thugs, those who proved that they hate this country, the Constitution, and what true patriots have fought and died for over the decades.
To blame Trump for his part in inciting a deadly riot is so obvious that it hardly needs to be said. He has never loved the beautiful game of democracy; in fact, he has shown repeatedly that he doesn't even understand the game.
I blame every person who took a place of rare beauty and sanctity, trashed it, and even spread their feces in offices of members of Congress. I blame everyone who watched on TV and cheered. Those people don't have the foggiest idea of the true beauty of our nation's system of government, a beauty that until January 6 was a shining example to the world.
Soccer officials in charge of preserving the honor and dignity of the sport know what to do with thugs who come to the matches to fight, those who come with no sense of the beauty of what they are witnessing. Officials ban those fans from attending matches for life.
All those who had a part in the assault on our Capital deserve the same punishment. Elected officials from the president on down to his supporters should be banned from politics for life. Participants in the riots should be arrested and imprisoned for abetting murder and desecrating our nation's sacred heart. They too should be given, as part of their punishment, a permanent ban on political life.
Democracy is either honored as our nation's most "beautiful game," or democracy won't continue to exist. We will never be able to forget what happened on January 6 at the Capitol, but we can make sure that it never happens again. It will not be tanks, guns, and armed guards that will guarantee such a riot will never happen again.
No, what will guarantee that such violence never happens again is the spiritual conversion that is taking place around the country---ordinary citizens from across the political spectrum who are falling in love again with our beautiful game.
Forgiveness in the Aftermath of Worry
January 21, 2021
In the aftermath of the January 6 assault on our nation's Capitol, I've heard several commentators compare that event to 9/11. More than one has said that we will always remember where we were when we first heard the news of each tragedy.
For people of faith, there is another connection between the two events. Both events pose the question "If God asks that I forgive my enemies, how can I possibly do that after these horrific attacks?"
That question prompted me to travel across the country in 2007 to interview monks and nuns about what we should have learned from 9/11 that we didn't. In the book that followed, Peace Be with You: Monastic Wisdom for a Terror-Filled World, I had to ask, not just monks and nuns, but also myself, what forgiveness means.
What I discovered is that forgiveness is a difficult concept to define, mainly because forgiveness is often trivialized. When we accidentally bump into someone else, we might say, "Please forgive me," which makes forgiving the same as excusing ourselves. But there is no excusing what the terrorists did on 9/11, even as many of us will never be able to excuse the rioters on January 6. Neither act was an accident; both were deliberate.
Forgiveness can also be trivialized when we have a disagreement with someone, experience a reconciliation, and say, "Let's forgive and forget." But neither 9/11 nor January 6, 2021, is an event we will ever forget, nor should we.
So what, then, is forgiveness? At the end of my interviews with monks and nuns, as I was still wrestling with this question, I came upon a book of Gandhi's quotations that my wife had given me. But it wasn't a quote from Gandhi that defined forgiveness. The forward to the book was written by Bishop Desmond Tutu, but it wasn't Bishop Tutu who defined forgiveness to my satisfaction.
The answer came from a person Bishop Tutu knew, a South African who was tortured by police during the apartheid period. As this man was being tortured, he looked into the eyes of those beating him and realized that "they will need my help to recover their humanity."
I will never forget the feeling of cool water washing over me when I first read that statement. No matter how many times I have read, spoken, and written about those words, they continue to give me the same feeling.
What this person being tortured realized was that to forgive his tormentors meant not the end of a relationship, such as "I forgive you, now leave me alone," but the beginning of a relationship. In this understanding of forgiveness, when we forgive someone, we commit to staying with them, to help them recover their humanity, even as they might need to help us when we lose our humanity.
Perhaps you are wrestling with what I had to face after encountering this view of forgiveness. Firstly, this is how God forgives. When God forgives us, God commits to being in relationship with us. Forgiveness means turning toward those who have done wrong to us, not turning away from them.
But secondly, forgiveness in this understanding is hard-very hard. Americans weren't talking about forgiveness after 9/11. We were talking about capturing and punishing. And for many of us who watched the attack on the Capitol on January 6, we are tempted to say to the attackers, "You disgust me. If you don't like democracy, leave the country and go someplace where violence and dictators are the rule."
The problem is, if that is the response of those who think like me, our country will never heal. In a time when we are tempted to turn away from one another, to say, "get out of my sight," God asks us, and our nation needs us, to turn toward one another.
It isn't only our elected leaders who need to "reach across the aisle." We all need to do some reaching.
At This Critical and Frightening Time
January 6, 2021
At this critical and frightening moment in our nation's political history, we can learn a great deal from the world of sport. When the final buzzer sounds in a football, soccer, basketball, and hockey match, there remains a few moments when the game is put into perspective. Players of both teams line up to shake hands and sometimes embrace one another. Phrases such as "good game" or "nice play" are often expressed.
Up until the final buzzer, players clawed and scraped to defeat the opponent. Especially in a close contest, the emotions are at their highest pitch, whether it is on the ice, field, or court and in the stands. But after the buzzer, the mood changes.
From one perspective, those minutes might seem anticlimactic. The game is over, and if my favorite side lost, we can feel despair. But from another perspective, these moments that follow the game are the most important, even the most beautiful. In those moments, athletes and spectators remember and honor that love of the sport is greater and more important than love of one's team.
Democracy is like that. At its best, democracy is a love affair, not ultimately a love affair with a particular candidate or political party, but with the process of governing. The danger our nation faces now is the danger every nation has faced when love of a candidate, ideology, or party is stronger than love of the "game" itself-democracy, rule of the people, by the people, and for the people.
In the foreground these past months has been our Constitution. Thank God for the Constitution, for this document is what sets the rules of the game, rules that protect democracy from being destroyed by hero-worship and demagoguery.
Consider Russia. Russia claims to be a democratic country, but for democracy to exist, there has to be more than elections. The world is full of countries that allow elections, but elections that are rigged from the beginning. Putin doesn't win elections because the Russian people choose him over other candidates, but because Putin makes sure he is the only electable candidate. Others are jailed, poisoned, or assassinated.
Our Constitution is a lengthy document because our nation's founders realized that democracy will always be an endangered species. Democracy is a tricky balance, not just of three divisions-the Executive, the Legislative, and the Judicial-but of pages and pages of other checks and balances. Our nation's founders created something messy, certainly complex, but also beautiful.
Soccer fans around the world call their sport "the beautiful game." In 2021, as is true of every four years, our nation is invited to celebrate the beautiful game of democracy. In photos of past inaugurations, we see pictures of Johnson shaking hands with Nixon, of Carter shaking hands with Reagan, of George H. W. Bush shaking hands with Bill Clinton. We should appreciate this moment as we do the moment when highly competitive athletes shake each another's hands at the end of the game.
It bears repeating-democracy is a love affair. If we can only love our constitutional system when our candidate and party wins, we are more than bad sports. We have taken a dangerous step away from our Constitution and a step toward becoming another Russia-a democracy in name only.
January 6, 2021
I awoke from a nightmare recently and couldn't get the details of the dream out of my head. In the dream, I was walking around the courthouse in Franklin when a portly man with orange hair drove by in a Cadillac convertible, horn blaring. On the side of his car was a huge sign saying, "Notre Dame: National College Football Champs, 2020-21."
Having seen me studying his car and seeing my puzzled look, he stopped the car, got out, and tried to hand me a Notre Dame flag. Now, I like Notre Dame, but like everyone else, I know that Notre Dame lost to Alabama on January 1 by the score of 31-14.
"Friend," I said, "I think you're a bit confused. This wasn't Notre Dame's year."
"Oh, but it was," he said in all seriousness. "Notre Dame won the game with Alabama. It wasn't even close."
"No, it was the score that wasn't even close. Notre Dame lost by 17 points."
The orange-haired man shook his head. "All lies; all lies. Let me explain. All of us true believers who know in our hearts that Notre Dame, blessed by God, was destined to be national champs this year, know that the game was rigged."
"Rigged? Surely not," I protested.
"Yes, rigged in many ways, and our research proves it. First of all, consider the academic eligibility of the Alabama players."
"I'm sure the NCAA keeps a close eye on that," I said.
"Ah, but we're looking far beyond the posted grades of every Alabama player. We're looking into every test every player took and every paper written. And we're having all that re-graded by our own professional team. We're positive that a good number of Alabama's key players were not eligible to play that game. Take away their contribution, the touchdowns they contributed to, and Notre Dame will have won in a landslide."
Instead of sharing with the orange-haired fan that it hardly seemed fair to have his own team re-grade the academic work of Alabama players, I said instead, "You claimed the game was rigged in many ways. What else are you accusing Alabama of?"
"Ah, yes, there is far more. What about the referees?" he said.
"What about them?"
With a wild and excited look on his face, the fan said, "Our research has uncovered that the head referee's second cousin's third wife's grandmother's sister-in-law attended the University of Alabama in the 1950s. That's irrefutable proof of bias. Now, if we reverse the ruling of the head referee on just twelve plays, Notre Dame will have won-and won easily."
"That seems pretty far-fetched," I admitted.
Not to be doubted, the fan said "Then consider this. Did you think the Fighting Irish looked a bit flat at times?"
"Yes, I did. Surely, you're not accusing Notre Dame players of throwing the game."
"Heaven forbid. No, no, not that. But what about the food they were fed for breakfast and lunch that day? Huh, huh?"
"You are talking about the caterers who supplied the food for both teams, aren't you?" I asked.
"Of course, I am, but who said the two teams were fed the same food? Our lawyers are seeking an injunction. We want not just to analyze the leftovers of those meals, but demand that all players on both teams supply blood samples."
"I'm sorry to have to say this, but surely, the suggestion of poisoning is over-the-top paranoia."
"Not at all. Horses have been poisoned before races. Why not players?"
As often happens in dreams, my legs would work. I couldn't get away from the man. In a panic, I said, "What you're proposing will end football as a sport forever. No, if every game is contested like you're doing, that's the end of sport."
The orange-haired man grabbed me by both shoulders and stared into my eyes. "What does that matter," he said, "as long as we win?"
The Wound Cheating Leaves?
December 20, 2020
My heart went out to the faculty at West Point when I heard recently that an extensive cheating scandal had been uncovered at the military academy. The saddest day a teacher has occurs when she or he catches a student cheating on an assignment or exam. It is hard for a teacher not to take the student's decision to cheat as a personal insult and a betrayal of trust.
I doubt if any teacher looks forward to the one-on-one meeting that follows the offender being caught. In some of the meetings I was part of, students broke down in tears as they related the circumstances that led them to fall for the temptation. But in a few of those meetings, the student caught cheating compounded the infraction by looking at me with a steely stare and, despite evidence to the contrary, denied that they cheated. Those meetings were the saddest.
Several decades ago, a colleague and I reviewed the research on college cheating. Much of what we discovered surprised us, and all of what we discovered saddened us.
One of the saddest stories described how students at a state university cheated to give themselves an unfair advantage. In a course that prepared students to apply for med school, students took an exam in which they approached a microscope, studied a slide, and then returned to their seats to identify what they observed. Sadly, the university had to mandate that students clasp their hands behind their backs when they approached the microscope. Why? Because some students smudged what was on the slide so that students after them couldn't make an accurate identification.
Perhaps what most surprised me was discovering that only about 12 percent to 15 percent of the cheating that occurs in college and university is detected. I realized that if I knew those odds, so did my students, and that meant that if I wanted to talk with them about cheating, I couldn't threaten them with the assurance that they'd be caught.
Instead, in my sermon to students about cheating, I admitted that they might get away with cheating, but only in the short term. The real damage of cheating is the internal message such behavior leaves with the person. Whenever people choose to cheat, they imprint this message in their minds: "I'm cheating because I can't overcome this challenge any other way." Later in their adult lives, when these people face difficult challenges, they will hear that message again and, yes, be tempted to cheat again.
Conversely, whenever people resist the temptation to cheat and face the challenge, they internalize a far different message: "Somehow, I'll overcome this challenge." In the future, when these people face a difficult challenge, they will hear that internalized vote of confidence.
The point I was trying to make is that cheating and not cheating become habits one carries into adulthood. Consequently, when I read or hear of an adult caught cheating-an athletic coach or a CEO-I suspect that person cheated before and got away with it-until they didn't.
This is why I am saddened as Mr. Trump seeks to reverse the results of the election through baseless lawsuits. Why he would continue to attack our country's greatest achievement, our democratic process, seems best explained by a lifelong habit of cheating. I recalled the $750 that we discovered that Mr. Trump, as a multi-millionaire, paid in taxes. I remembered the prostitutes he paid to keep silent. I remembered his invitation to Russia to spread disinformation during the 2016 election. I remembered the stories of business partners he duped. And I remembered
Mr. Trump's record of firing those who wouldn't prove their loyalty by cheating for him. It seems that all that matters to him is winning, no matter the cost.
Our nation is having that same sad encounter I had with those students who were caught cheating but, despite all the evidence, admitted to nothing. Yes,
Mr. Trump is mature in age, which will make it hard for him to admit he lost fairly. But life is giving him the chance to drop his obsession to win every contest, fairly or unfairly, and I hope for his sake that he embraces that chance.
Give A Gift to Hospital Workers This Holiday Season
December 20, 2020
As human beings, we don't just live through an experience. We also "frame" it; that is, we assign some meaning to it. And how we frame an experience, such as the coronavirus pandemic, depends on our backgrounds, on our peer groups, and also on our livelihoods.
If I were an economist, I would likely focus on the coronavirus' effect on employment and the stock market. If I were a chemist, my focus would likely be on understanding the science behind the coronavirus and the race for effective vaccines. But as a professor of Biblical studies, I'm inclined to frame the pandemic, especially how the U.S. is responding to the challenge, through the lens of sacred scripture.
For me, the story in the Hebrew Bible or Christian Old Testament that sheds the most light on our present experience is the very first story, the story of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden. Whether people treat the story as historical or as a parable or legend, the main point of the story remains the same. Humanity falls into difficulty whenever we misunderstand "freedom."
In the story, Adam and Eve are given almost unlimited freedom in paradise, but the key word is "almost." They are forbidden to eat of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. That is, it is not up to Adam and Eve, or to humanity, to decide what is the good and what is the evil in life. Humans are to leave that decision up to God. As the familiar story unfolds, Adam and Eve can't resist the temptation to "play God," and decide for themselves what they can and can't do in life.
How does this relate to the U.S. response to the coronavirus? For all of us modern Adams and Eves, the pandemic poses the question "How free should we be to decide what is good and what is bad?" Yes, I'm talking about wearing masks, social distancing, washing hands, and avoiding gatherings, especially during the Christmas and New Year holidays.
There is no mystery why nations as diverse as New Zealand and Senegal have controlled the virus while the U.S. sets records for new cases and deaths every day. New Zealand and Senegal have accepted that compassion for others trumps (no pun intended) the desire to do whatever I want. Early in November, U.S. health officials began warning that the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday could have dire consequences unless citizens put caring for others before their own traditions and pleasures.
Despite that warning, 50.6 million Americans traveled over the holiday to be with family and friends, and we are now reaping what we sowed. Thanksgiving 2020 will be remembered as a moment in U.S. history when many, like Adam and Eve in the Biblical story, said, "No one can tell me what's good or bad, wise or unwise." And now we have filled ICU beds and overcrowded morgues, just as the scientists warned.
Over the past week, I made two visits to a Southside hospital for tests. Knowing how vulnerable hospital workers are to the behavior of the rest of us in the pandemic, I made a point of asking every hospital worker I met how he or she was coping with the pandemic. The responses ranged from "we're trying our best" to "the virus has really hit our staff hard" to "we don't have a spare ICU bed" to my favorite: "we must be the dumbest species on the planet."
We know that frontline workers in hospitals are being traumatized daily as they treat and watch die those who insisted on having their traditional Thanksgiving. In the process, these workers are risking their own lives to treat others. We know that by the end of September of last year, 1,700 U.S. hospital workers had died from the coronavirus. Who knows how high that number will be by mid-January?
If you would like to give a gift this holiday season to our nation's health care workers, I have a simple suggestion. Skip the sweater or box of candy. Instead, follow the guidelines of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention and avoid ending up in the ICU. Hospital workers have experienced enough grief.
December 15, 2020
"This Christmas will be different" is a comment expressed repeatedly over the last few weeks. Yes, this Christmas will be different, but Christmases of the past could also be challenging. This year, I am thinking of my immigrant ancestors whose first Christmas in a new country must have been a bittersweet holiday.
Like many immigrants, my ancestors celebrated the season by baking and cooking traditional dishes and hanging decorations brought with them from the old country. For we who were their descendants, Christmastime more than any other holiday reminded us of where we came from.
Especially this year, I've been reflecting on why my ancestors came to this country. Some came for economic reasons, while others came for religious and political freedom. Whatever their motivation and wherever they came from, all immigrants had to learn what was in the U.S. Constitution and then swear allegiance to it if they wanted to become citizens.
We too have had a refresher course in "civics" this year, a course on why democracy-the rule of the people by the people-is worth holding on to. Our system of government has been challenged and is being challenged in 2020 as it hasn't been since the Civil War. Our tradition of a peaceful transition of power, which has been a shining example to the world of how democracy works at its best, is being threatened this year. But democracy will prevail despite all the fog in the air. Our ancestors would expect no less.
Lastly but most importantly this Christmas, I am remembering how this holiday provided a chance for my immigrant ancestors to deepen their religious faith. Whether my Scandinavian ancestors lived on the prairies of Kansas, in the Twin Cities of Minnesota, or in the Quad Cities of Illinois-Iowa, Christmas wasn't complete unless they attended a midnight service on Christmas Eve, or an early morning service on Christmas when they could sing carols and hear the ancient story of the faith in the "old" language.
How my ancestors would have loved the chance to use ZOOM or YouTube to magically return to their hometowns in Scandinavia for those church services. In their place and in honor of them, I plan to do that myself this Christmas. I might not understand every word of the services, but in this Christmas season of pandemic everywhere and dangerous political division here at home, it will be a blessing to know that people around the world are being comforted by the divine hope of Christmas: "Peace on earth; good will toward one another."
December 9, 2020
In previous columns, I've shared my fondness for the Netflix program "The Repair Shop." In each episode, people bring heirlooms that are in a state of brokenness to be repaired and restored by experts.
Watching the program has always left me with a sense of well-being. But more recently, I've felt a sense of the miraculous and the holy with "The Repair Shop."
To explain that, I need to share a memory from 42 years ago. When my wife was in graduate school in another state, she made a strong friendship with another student. I will refer to this person as Ann, though that is not her real name. Ann was very bright and engaging, but there was also a sadness about her.
One night toward the end of my wife's time in grad school, Ann came to our apartment for dinner. In the conversation, Ann shared something that puzzled her, that being that my wife and I attended church. Her puzzlement didn't surprise either my wife or me, as a majority of our friends at the time didn't attend religious services.
But it was a comment that Ann added that I will never forget. In a sorrowful voice, she said, "I would have to change so much of me before I could ever enter a church." Over the years, I've thought about Ann's comment many times, reflecting on how common it is, but also how wrong it is.
Ann is not alone in that feeling. It seems that many people drive past places of worship: Jewish synagogues, Islamic mosques, Hindu temples, Christian churches, Sikh gurdwaras, and Buddhist meditation centers and assume that they would have to fix what's broken in themselves before they could walk through those doors. That suggests that these folks also believe that those who do attend services of worship are whole, unbroken. Sadly, maybe we who frequent places of worship have given this impression.
The truth is that places of worship are all versions of "The Repair Shop." In the TV episodes, no one brings an heirloom to the shop in perfect condition. What is brought is always something of great personal value but in desperate need of restoration.
The same is true of those who attend religious services. We bring our lives, our joys, but also our brokenness and sorrows, in hopes that the restorers-God and others-can help heal us.
I know some people believe that those who attend religious services are hypocrites, dressing in their finest clothes to put on a show of piety. I'm sure there is some truth in that observation. But if people come to worship believing they aren't broken and have no need of repair, then they are to be pitied. They are wearing masks that hide the truth only from themselves.
After all these years, I still think of Ann and wonder if she's ever found a "Repair Shop."
Perhaps what Ann is waiting for is seeing a place of worship with this sign posted outside: "Only the broken can enter here."
The Benefits of Solitude
November 30, 2020
One of the surprises of this most surprising year has been the resurgence of older patterns and pastimes. As we have spent more time in our homes, sales of books have shot up. For those of us who love to read, this is a bit of good news in a year of little good news.
Different folks like different books, and I'm curious what bookstore managers, such as Tiffany Phillips of Wild Geese Bookshop in Franklin, will discover at the end of the year about what types of books sold well.
It would be logical for escapist literature, whether it be romances, mysteries, or historical fiction, to have been popular in these trying times. And I suspect that inspirational literature, whether poetry, biographies, and religious or self-help books, has had increased sales.
During this year of lockdowns, quarantines, and a surplus of alone time, I have found it helpful to read authors who have something unexpected to say. Thomas Merton, the most widely-read monastic writer of the twentieth century, has been a personal favorite. I have been especially drawn to the journals that he wrote toward the end of his life.
While Merton for decades had been a Trappist monk cut off in many ways from ordinary life, for much of that time he yearned for a life of even greater solitude. Despite the fact that Merton was an extrovert, he desired to be a hermit monk, experiencing God and nature in solitude.
You can probably spot the irony of reading Merton in a time of a pandemic. While people around the world are desperate for vaccines that will free them from the confines of their homes to return to packed sports stadiums, theaters, and places of worship where they can see and hug friends, here was someone who desired what most of us have had too much of in 2020-alone time.
Yet, reading authors such as Thomas Merton in a time of a pandemic might not be so counterintuitive after all. When we have too much of something that wears us down, such as alone time, we might find that's the perfect time to learn from those who mastered the experience, who knew the difference between loneliness and solitude.
Thomas Merton is not the only master of solitude. Quaker writers provide clear lessons on how to embrace silence, for they know that silence isn't the absence of noise but rather the presence of something else-something divine and potentially healing. One of the modern Quaker masters, Thomas Kelly, taught at nearby Earlham College in Richmond in the mid-twentieth century. His Testament of Devotion is a masterpiece on solitude and how to find it. Hint-Kelly believed that solitude is within all of us, waiting to be discovered.
There is also a host of contemporary Buddhist authors, such as Thich Nhat Hanh and Pema Chodran, who speak from the center of solitude and are trustworthy guides for those searching for that same center. In a bookstore, move over a few shelves from Buddhist literature and we'll find the immense wisdom of Native American authors on solitude waiting for us.
For those who don't find religious literature to their taste, David Thoreau's Walden Pond offers a timeless invitation to enter and experience solitude. John Muir, Aldo Leopold, and Sigurd Olson might be considered the step-children of Thoreau, writers who also found in nature the solitude that healed their souls.
All of these authors found hidden treasure in solitude, something that we are tempted to disparage and dismiss in this pandemic.
Yes, it will be good to experience the joys of community when we are finally on the other side of the coronavirus. But we will have failed the test of these long days if we miss what solitude can teach us.
Losing Reveals Character
November 18, 2020
Losing is hard, but losing is also revealing. If that is true, so is its opposite. Winning is easy, but winning doesn't always reveal what lies in a person's heart.
There are a variety of responses to failure, especially public failure. Some choose denial-"I don't care what you say; I didn't lose." Others go into hiding. Still others double down on winning as soon as they can to get rid of the bitter taste of defeat.
But the ones who most impress me are the rare persons who learn and grow from failure. The best example of this for me is Jimmy Carter. Jimmy Carter didn't just lose to Ronald Reagan in 1980; he was annihilated. Reagan received 489 electoral votes, while Carter managed only 49. If ever there was a candidate tempted to slink away and lick his wounds, it was Jimmy Carter.
Instead of taking that route, Carter began a public life that has achieved as much good in the world as anything he accomplished as president. Only a year after leaving the White House, the Carter Center was founded in Atlanta. The Center's mission is to promote human rights, democracy around the world, and peaceful solutions to international conflicts. When nations want elections monitored for fraud, they call on the Carter Center.
I remember a moment early in Bill Clinton's first term where Carter made a significant contribution to world peace. Tensions between the U.S. and North Korea were escalating over North Korea's nuclear weapons program. Supreme Leader Kim Il Sung, as is true of Kim Jung Il, could not afford to lose face, and neither could Bill Clinton. The situation deteriorated until Clinton agreed to let Jimmy Carter meet with the North Korean leader. Carter did so in 1994, and the tension deescalated quickly, almost magically.
Carter's secret? Instead of resorting to brinksmanship, seeing which of the two would blink first, Carter approached Kim Il Sung as one grandfather to another. The two discussed the issues from the perspective of what would be best for their grandchildren. I can't help but think that one of the advantages Carter had over Clinton was that Carter knew that there were worse things in life than a bruised ego.
Carter has taken the same perspective, that of the wise elder, in writing and speaking about the plight of the Palestinian people. His support for Palestinian human rights and property rights and his reasonable suggestions for resolving one of the world's most intransigent conflicts have so far been ignored by both Israeli and U.S. leaders. Having read Carter's book on the subject, I am convinced that any mutually-agreed upon settlement of the Palestinian-Israeli issue will include Carter's suggestions.
Perhaps the area where Carter has best shown that losing doesn't have the last word is his work with Habitat for Humanity. Most Americans have seen a photo of Carter, in his nineties, measuring and hammering at a home building site. This is not a famous person showing up for a photo op, but a man in a hardhat, working side by side with others to give a deserving family an affordable home.
One can argue that the world has benefited more from Jimmy Carter losing in 1980 than if he'd won a second term. But this outcome wasn't by accident. Carter had the same choices any of us have with losing.
Instead of hiding from sight in 1980, Carter had the humility and faith to enter into failure and come out a better person on the other side. Jimmy Carter is an incredible example of an unexpected truth-failure can be freeing.
A Thanksgiving Like No Other
November 10, 2020
In 1863, in a time of a civil war and division that threatened the United States, President Abraham Lincoln declared Thanksgiving a national holiday. How odd that the declaration must have seemed at the time. The country wasn't just coming apart; it had come apart. Most families had a relative, friend, or neighbor who'd died in battle. And no one knew when or if the Civil War would ever end.
Thanksgiving, 2020, as did that first official Thanksgiving, poses a serious question. In a time when the pandemic is again spreading like the wildfires in the West, what is there to be thankful for? Maybe we ought to cancel the holiday.
Yes, there is much that we will miss this Thanksgiving. There will be empty chairs for thousands of families who've lost parents, spouses, siblings, and children to the coronavirus.
Those who have compromised immune systems won't know the joy this year of going to the grocery store, picking up all the fixings for the Thanksgiving dinner, and greeting friends and neighbors. People in long-term care facilities, who could usually look forward to family visits on the holiday, will face that day alone.
Something I will miss is going to the airport on the Wednesday night before Thanksgiving, at least an hour before members of our family would land. I arrive early because I like to see the families who are waiting for that first glimpse of their loved ones as they come down the concourse. The embraces and tender words that follow remind me that love can heal the broken world-or broken nation. Yes, I will surely miss that scene.
Instead of focusing on what is missing this Thanksgiving, we might recall all we've learned through the pandemic-lessons that should leave us thankful. Many who pause to offer a prayer of thanks before they pass the turkey and dressing will include a prayer for the healthcare workers, who have showed up for their shifts day after day, despite their own fatigue and worry.
We should also pause to offer thanks for the scientists around the world who are producing vaccines and treatments for COVID, not just for citizens of their own countries, but for everyone in need. If the pandemic has shown us anything, it is that we are all in this together.
There is another group of people who deserve a prayer of thanks, and those are the politicians and civil servants who have withstood wilting criticism and even death threats to tell us the hard truth about the challenge that we still face.
Another group that has impressed me over the past nine months is the clergy and hospital chaplains who have stood by the sick and dying, who have comforted the grieving, who have conducted funerals, even if online, and who have found words every week to raise our spirits and rekindle hope.
And then there might be that one person who has done something that surprised and touched us. Maybe it was sending a card or calling us on the phone. For me, I'm thankful for Charlie who lives across the street and who week after week returns his neighbors' garbage containers to their houses on trash day.
Someone has described gratitude as a kind of muscle. The more we're thankful, the more we realize how much there is to be thankful for. Maybe Abraham Lincoln understood that. Thanks, Abe, for realizing that what we need in a time of sorrow and division is to pause and be grateful.
October 26, 2020
I admit it. Teachers are suckers for free books. The reason for that is the same reason committed rock hounds can't pass a gravel pit without stopping. Bookworms and rock hounds know that the next book or rock they pick up might be a hidden treasure.
Last late winter, I came across a book that I'd picked up at a library giveaway decades ago. The book was The Apostle by Sholem Asch. As the book was about St. Paul, I thought it might be good Lenten reading.
I was also attracted to the book because I knew that Sholem Asch was a prominent Jewish author of the early twentieth century. Why, I wondered, would a Jewish writer write about St. Paul?
Although St. Paul had been raised a faithful Jew and was even a rabbi, his conversion to the Christian faith and his preaching were the primary reasons for the split between Judaism and Christianity. I wondered if The Apostle was a hatchet job on St. Paul, or if Asch's goal was something different.
The Apostle is a long book, yet I found it hard to put it down. While remaining firmly Jewish, Asch wrote a book about St. Paul that treated the saint's life and work with fairness and great respect. His insights into St. Paul's mind, especially how the apostle's beliefs about God and Jesus developed over time, impressed me deeply.
When I came to the end of the book, I was astonished at Sholem Asch's conclusion. St. Paul, as Asch understood him, never truly abandoned his Jewish heritage when he became a Christian missionary.
Given that Asch was criticized by many for writing the book, I asked myself, Why had Sholem Asch bothered? What was his goal?
What I discovered after further research into Sholem Asch's life hit me like a jab to the heart. Were Asch still alive, I would make a trip, no matter what the cost, to thank him.
You see, Sholem Asch is an example of a heroic and beautiful failure. "Heroic" and "beautiful" might seem strange adjectives to use for failure, but that's because we tend to view failure as purely negative. But are there not failures, not just in history, but also in our own lives, that we wouldn't change even if we could?
What motivated Asch, a Jewish author, to write books about Jesus and St. Paul was what was happening in Germany and other European countries in the 1930s. Anti-Semitism had been a part of Christian culture in Europe since the fourth century, but in the thirties, Hitler began implementing the "final solution," his plan to eradicate Judaism-and Jews-forever.
Asch used the only weapons he had to fight Hitler-his written words. But instead of attacking Hitler directly, Asch believed that Hitler's hope of exterminating the Jews would be thwarted if Christians opposed him. His books about Jesus and St. Paul presented Judaism and Christianity not as enemies, but as faiths of the same family, Judaism the parent to the child Christianity.
Was Asch naïve to think he could defeat Hitler's anti-Semitism by writing books? Did he place too much hope in Christians worldwide whom he counted on, upon reading his books, to rise up and rescue Jews, their "relatives in faith," from annihilation?
Sadly, we know Asch's hope wasn't realized. Almost all branches of the Christian Church in Germany and in other Nazi-occupied countries cooperated with Hitler's campaign against the Jews. Elsewhere, Allied military leaders, even after they learned what was happening in Auschwitz in 1944, refused to bomb either the camp or the rail lines bringing Jews to the camp for extermination.
Yet I don't believe Sholem Asch's efforts, while failing to interrupt the Holocaust, were wasted. In fact, I question whether Sholem Asch failed at all. Do we blame a lifeboat if those drowning fail to swim to it? For a lifeboat is exactly what Asch offered the world.
In an age when success is celebrated and some will do anything-either legal or illegal-to achieve it, the world needs more heroes like Sholem Asch-people willing to risk everything, even if they fail, to confront discrimination and hatred.
October 15, 2020
Being surprised on a regular basis is one of the reasons I've enjoyed teaching religious studies for over forty years. Religions are like bottomless wells-there is always something more to learn.
Take, for example, the various religious beliefs about life after death. Not only do beliefs about the afterlife vary from religion to religion, but beliefs about the afterlife aren't all about the "after" life. They are about now.
Two descriptions of heaven and hell that I came across recently gave me an "ah-ha" moment. In the first example, hell is described as an existence in which occupants sit before a table loaded with delicious food. The problem is that everyone's arms are long; actually, they are extremely long. Each person's arms can reach all the food on the table, but the arms are too long to bring the food to one's own mouth. Hell is endless frustration.
Surprisingly, heaven is described as having the same set-up-there is a table full of delicious food. Another similarity is that occupants of heaven have the same extremely long arms with the same limitations. But in heaven, occupants realize that while their arms cannot feed themselves, they are the perfect length to feed others at the table. Others are doing the same, and everyone is fed.
The point of the story isn't really to offer a realistic description of heaven and hell. Instead, the story helps us consider how we're living now, in a world where the hungry and the homeless are within our reach to help. Hmm . . .
A second description of heaven and hell that offered me an "ah-ha" moment is found in Dostoyevsky's The Brothers Karamazov. I've tried to finish this seven-hundred-plus page book several times before and have always given up. Reading Russian literature isn't something to do in front of the TV. But this past spring and summer, I finished the book. And in one of the last chapters, I read a description of the afterlife that was worth all the effort.
Dostoyevsky describes a scene in which a woman, very selfish throughout her life, is in hell. Her guardian angel approaches God and relates that while the woman was selfish in her life, she did one good deed. She gave an onion from her garden to a beggar. In the story, God tells the guardian angel that the angel can lower the onion to lift the woman from hell to heaven.
When the angel reaches down from heaven and holds the onion above the woman, she grabs ahold of it and is slowly raised out of hell toward heaven. Unfortunately, Dostoyevsky's story doesn't end on that bright note. As the woman is ascending, others in hell grab onto her coattails and slowly rise with her. When the woman sees this, she begins kicking and screams, "Let go, this is MY onion." At that moment, she falls back into hell. Hmm . . .
The wisdom of these stories comes through even if someone doesn't believe in heaven and hell. When self-centeredness rules our lives, we experience a lonely and frustrating existence. We get a taste of hell. Conversely, if we focus on the needs of others, we experience a life of connection and relationships. In that, we are given a taste of heaven.
Where are the doors to heaven and hell? As near as the neighbor in need.
Missing The Fans
October 8, 2020
One of the adjustments that the pandemic has forced us to accept is viewing participatory events on TV where no audience is present.
Consider the NBA finals between the Los Angeles Lakers and the Miami Heat. I don't think I was the only viewer who felt I wasn't watching a real contest, but rather a pick-up game in a gym. There were still amazing plays, but without fans to celebrate them, the players' high-fives seemed hollow.
But then one of the sportscasters pointed out what I'd observed, that in some moments of the game, there was a clear lack of effort by some of the players. Was that simply a byproduct of athletes having too much time off, or was that lack of effort related to the physical absence of fans? Perhaps since middle school, every one of those athletes has heard the screams and cheers from fans. But with no fans present, maybe the silence made the contest seem surreal.
Watching the Stanley Cup finals with no fans present, I felt the same sense of unreality. There was still good hockey to watch, but also more sloppy play than I was used to seeing. And talk about anti-climax, when the Tampa Bay Islanders finally lifted the Cup, their championship celebration in an empty arena seemed like a person singing "Happy Birthday" to himself in an empty apartment.
But the strangest of all reminders of the crucial role fans play came in a recent Green Bay Packer home football game. It is a tradition in Green Bay for the player, when scoring a touchdown, to race toward the stands behind the end zone and launch himself into the waiting arms of fans.
The fans know what to do. They go crazy, screaming and slapping the athlete's back, and in that moment the distance between athlete and fan is erased. The athlete's gesture says to the fans, "I share this for you," and the fans' response is, "You've made my day."
How bizarre it was in a recent game in Green Bay to see a Packer score a touchdown and leap into empty stands. Without fans to catch the athlete and pummel him with praise, the athlete just teetered alone on the edge of the stands, like Humpty Dumpty on the wall.
I've had the same surreal feeling when "attending" Church services online. Before a limited number of parishioners was allowed to attend as long as they were masked or keeping physical distance, clergy performed the services and gave their sermons to camera lenses. The same is true of theater performances with empty seats and only cameras in attendance. Everything seems like a dress rehearsal, not the real deal.
A familiar common Zen koan is "If a tree falls in a forest and no one is there, does the tree's falling make a sound?" The coronavirus equivalent of that riddle is "If an athlete, clergy, or actor performs before an empty room, is it a real performance?"
There is a lesson to be learned from this experience. We are more connected with one another at deep levels than we might realize. What athletes, clergy, and actors are missing during the pandemic is what we, as human beings, need to live wholly.
Just as we need food, water, and shelter, so every person needs validation and encouragement. Caring parents and teachers know that children need validation every day, as long as the validation is not false praise. All of us, even children, learn quickly to see through false praise. But all of us hunger to hear a thoughtful word of encouragement, whether we are in pre-school or in a retirement community.
Knowing this universal human need offers a daily challenge to every one of us. Words of validation and encouragement are not what just you and I need today, but what the next person we meet is hungry for as well.
And that is even more true of the negative, grousing person we know, the person we want to snap at rather than encourage. As I wrote, it's a challenge. Let's make an attempt to meet that challenge today.
The Ways of a Bully
September 29, 2020
I wear a mask. I keep physical distance when I'm away from home. I voted early by mail.
All this makes me the enemy of Donald Trump. And on this point I agree with Trump. He has good reason to fear people like me.
One of the main reasons for voting early by mail is concern, given the pandemic, about the health and safety of voting places. Many of us remember the Wisconsin primary, when voters were forced by a judge's ruling to vote in person, despite the pandemic.
This means that those of us who voted early by mail because of the pandemic aren't likely to show up, unmasked, at Trump rallies. When Trump hears reports of widespread early voting, he knows those voters aren't the ones worshipping him at his rallies.
No wonder Trump is desperate to convince his followers that voting by mail is tainted by fraud. This is despite all the evidence that voting by mail is safe and secure. But wait, Trump isn't saying voting by mail will be fraudulent in all states. No, it's safe in states that will vote for him. It's only unsafe in states where he's likely to lose or where the race will be close.
Remove mail boxes and mail sorters in states where Trump could lose? No problem. We'll just say such steps are routine efforts to increase postal efficiency. Make African Americans stand up to six hours in line to vote while making it easy to vote in white affluent suburbs? No problem. African Americans should just be thankful that White America allows them to vote at all.
Punish CDC (Centers for Disease Control and Prevention) scientists who have the nerve to say that there won't be a safe vaccine until sometime mid to late 2021? No problem. Trump is smarter than all the scientists in the world combined.
In Florida, deny the legal right to vote for those who've paid for their crimes and are back leading lawful lives in society? No problem. We can't have criminals deciding elections-unless we're talking about Roger Stone and his ilk.
Not admit what foreign governments are doing to affect the election? Not necessary. Why would anyone think Russia and Saudi Arabia would want Trump in the White House, weakening NATO, insulting European allies, punishing Iran, and ignoring the ongoing plight of Syria?
Threaten to remain in the White House if he loses? Not a problem. Elections will be better decided by a conservative Supreme Court, just like in 2000. Letting the people decide who should be president is too much of a gamble. Better to rig the game before it's even played. With a straight face, we'll still wave the flag and call it a victory for democracy.
Ask voters to forget climate change, an unfair judicial system, the need for police reform, the plight of immigrants, the loss of our nation's standing in the world, and the failure to respond effectively to the coronavirus? No problem. We'll continue repeating "Keep America Great" over and over again until people no longer question what "greatness" really looks like.
For someone who tries to tell the American public that he's the tough guy in this election, Trump seems opposed to all efforts to make the election a fair fight. But we all know his type. He's the bully in junior high who cheated in every game he was in.
What Makes You Unique?
September 22, 2020
What makes you unique? What makes the person next to you unique? We might think fingerprints or DNA make each of us unique.
Twenty years ago, I stumbled on something far more important about us as human beings than fingerprints or DNA. At the time, I was intrigued by a field of study called "faith development theory." While not a science, faith development theory studied the various ways faith changes over the stages of life.
I soon discovered that my students also found this topic keenly interesting. A number of graduates have shared with me, as they look back on their college years, that they continue to think about the topic because it helps them understand themselves, their families, and their friends.
Student interest in faith development led to a videotape project in which several students and I interviewed persons in their twenties, thirties, and even early forties who were willing to share their spiritual journeys after graduating from college.
Something happened through the videotape experience that changed my life. We never interviewed so-called "famous" people, people who were used to being asked about their life stories. We chose "ordinary people," people who, perhaps for the first time, were invited to speak about the major turning points that made them who they are.
What we discovered is that there is no "ordinary" person. Every seemingly ordinary life is a "one-off," a unique story in the history of the universe. The only word to describe what those of us on both sides of the interview felt was "awe." These interviews were sacred moments.
Because these were certainly some of the most powerful moments I've ever experienced, I became hooked on the power of interviews. After 9-11, when I offered a course on "religion and violence," students asked if there was any hope for solving this global problem. I turned again to interviews, this time with Catholic and Orthodox monks and nuns from across the country, asking them what might help heal our country and world.
Someone might think that monks and nuns would offer the same advice. In my thirty-plus interviews, I heard only one comment repeated. In sharing what was in their hearts, monks and nuns revealed astonishingly different perspectives, many linked closely to their own life stories. I was struck again with the treasures hidden in "ordinary" people.
Six years later, I began another book project, this one focusing on spiritual friendships across religious lines being an antidote to religious intolerance and misunderstanding. Once again, I based the book on interviews, this time with "ordinary" Jews, Muslims, and Christians. And once again, these interviews were sacred moments, filled with surprises and awe.
I am now engaged in a third book project, again on interfaith understanding and again based on interviews. I look forward to the experience, knowing these conversations will, like the previous interviews, change my life.
It is sad to think how different our nation's history would be if we had grasped the awesome, sacred truth that every person is living a once-in-the-universe story. Slavery would have been impossible. Racial, religious, economic, and gender prejudice wouldn't exist. We wouldn't step around homeless people, wouldn't ignore those at our southern border wanting a better life for their children, and wouldn't throw away the key for those who've been incarcerated.
Closer to home, we might see the difficult colleague we work with, the person who is driving too slowly in front of us, and the person of a different political party in a different light. Each person is living out a unique story.
Unlike in TV, there are no reruns in real life. We are surrounded by never-before-lived stories that could enrich our own lives-if we only stopped to listen.
Should "Black Lives Matter" Movement Be Taught in Schools?
September 17, 2020
Recently, I came across a news report about a school system in northern Wisconsin where the principal and teachers planned to include the Black Lives Matter movement as a topic in fall history classes.
The small towns of Northern Wisconsin might seem distant from the protests that have occurred since George Floyd's death, but these towns are only a few hours away from Minneapolis where George Floyd was killed. These towns are also not that far from Kenosha, a city in the southeastern part of Wisconsin where Jacob Blake was shot seven times in the back by a police officer in August.
What made the news was the reaction of parents who objected to the topic being taught. By picketing outside the school, these parents put so much pressure on the school board that the high school was forced to withdraw the topic.
In my forty-one years teaching, I also experienced occasions when students, parents, and, in one case, a minister pressured me to stop teaching a particular topic or point of view. One friend and colleague at another university had it much worse. Some of his students tape-recorded his classes in order to turn the tapes over to parties who were trying to force the university to forbid the teaching of certain ideas.
What troubled me the most in these experiences was being accused of misusing my authority to coerce students into accepting my stance on certain sensitive topics. My response was that I agreed that I had no right to force students to think a certain way. I did have the right and responsibility, however, to make students aware of the different perspectives on an issue.
I wasn't surprised to hear the principal of the northern Wisconsin school try to make the same argument. History teachers in the high school weren't teaching one perspective on the Black Lives Matter movement, but were helping students understand the complexity of this significant moment in our nation's history.
I found the parents' argument against including a unit on Black Lives Matter to be revealing. Their position was that a history class should teach students exclusively about the past, not the present. The present, in their view, is out of bounds. Names of presidents, dates of battles, and key figures in American and world history-that's what the parents want to be taught. But not present reality.
What is curious is that my own generation, the age of these students' grandparents, argued and protested in our day for the opposite position. Sensing that our courses avoided relevant "hot topics," such as racism and war, my generation rose up, with sit-ins and teach-ins, and demanded change. My generation would have demanded that classes treat current events such as Black Lives Matter as an example of history unfolding.
Certainly, issues of race and social inequality must be dealt with sensitively in the classroom. But teachers are trained to facilitate discussions of such topics objectively. Teachers are also best able to help students practice civility when encountering divergent viewpoints.
The pressure exerted on the high school in the small northern Wisconsin town was, in the end, a form of parental censorship. The parents involved want their high schoolers to live inside a bubble. Of course, inside that bubble, the students would have a point of view on Black Lives Matter-their parents' point of view. But these high schoolers would never be exposed to the various perspectives on the Black Lives Matter issue taught by competent teachers.
And that is the greatest tragedy in this story. Ignorance is not bliss. Willful ignorance is a form of poking out one's own eyes-or, in this case, poking out the eyes of students.
Are We a Nation Of Spoiled Children?
September 1st, 2020
One of the problems in hearing daily updates on the coronavirus in the United States is that numbers can be numbing. One reason is that it's easier to hear that our country has 180,000 deaths than it is to feel the grief of families who have lost just a one loved one because of the coronavirus. Another reason numbers are so numbing is that we usually hear those numbers out of context. The media rarely compares the death rates for the U.S. with the rates of other countries.
Here is what that data show. The United States has 4 percent of the world's population, but 22 percent of the world's deaths due to the coronavirus. No nation has a higher percentage. Dig down a bit into the numbers and the situation is more shocking. The population of India is 1.3 billion, four times the population of the US, but India has a third of the coronavirus deaths that our country has.
The population of Indonesia is almost the same as that of the US, but Indonesia has experienced 6,759 deaths. New York, California, and Florida each have more deaths than this less-developed nation.
In the future, historians and statisticians will have plenty of numbers to ponder. But numbers alone don't answer the "why" question. Why is the most advanced country in the world failing this test of character and national will so badly?
Researchers at Columbia University offer part of the answer. They estimate that the U.S. would have 54,000 fewer deaths if Trump had acted just two weeks earlier. That's a lot of deaths; that's a lot of grief; that's a lot of shame.
But I agree with the Republican pundit David Brooks of The New York Times, who points out that blame for our country's miserable response to the pandemic goes far beyond the failure of government. The President forced no one to flock to large gatherings. No one in the White House prevented people from wearing masks when in public. No governor invited university and college students to return to campus early to party.
No, those are all decisions that some of our community have made and are making. The world is watching us in horror, a nation setting an example of what not to do. Sacrifice for the common good was once part of our national DNA, but the "selfish gene" now seems to be gaining control.
So far, it's all bad news. But there is potential good news if we turn our attention to what other nations are doing to defeat the virus. Like us, no nation has a magic vaccine or pill, and no nation knows a secret that has eluded us.
What, then, is the big difference between other nations and us? Nations winning this battle have a unified response and a nationwide commitment to act for the good of the whole. Put simply, nations winning the battle against the coronavirus don't have half their population wearing masks and practicing physical distancing and the other half choosing to ignore the advice of public health experts.
Last week on most major TV networks, Dr. Redfield, head of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, looked directly into the camera and warned that this fall could bring the greatest health crisis in our nation's history. Think about that-we are on the verge of the greatest health crisis in our nation's history.
What would it take for us as a nation to prove him wrong?
The Importance Of The Word "NO" In a Democracy
September 1st, 2020
Dear Vice President Pence,
I am writing to you as one Hoosier to another, one who is alarmed at a development in the past weeks. When President Trump first stated in an interview on Fox News that he wouldn't pledge to leave the office of president if he is defeated in November, I tried to dismiss the remark as yet another "off the cuff" comment that he didn't mean.
However, when he repeated the same threat in his acceptance speech, my blood ran cold. Certainly, neither you nor I have ever heard such words from a president in our lifetimes. I think it possible that no U.S. president has ever made such a threat.
Perhaps you have heard Trump make this same threat in private. I ask you as someone who believes in democracy to take this statement not as an idle joke but seriously for what it is-an unconstitutional and immoral threat to the American way of life.
One of the characteristics of American democracy, sometimes referred to as a miracle, is the peaceful transfer of power. Without violence and bloodshed, outgoing presidents turn the keys to the government over to the incumbent. To threaten not to do so is the clearest proof of a person being unpatriotic. No amount of flags waving in the background can offset the magnitude and danger of such words.
Certainly, a part of you must cringe when you've heard Trump's repeated threat. Such a statement can only come from someone who was raised without hearing the word "no." We know that children who haven't heard and accepted the word "no" become unreliable and narcissistic adults.
But democracy is both a "yes" and "no" form of government. By definition, democracy is the rule of the people. The people decide between two candidates running for the office of president. The winner hears a "yes," and the loser hears a "no."
The President's threat uses words we'd expect to hear from Vladimir Putin, Kim Jong-Un, or Narendra Modi of India-all leaders that Trump claims to respect. But these men are hardly models of who we want to lead our country.
Both Richard Nixon in 1960 and Al Gore in 2000 did the honorable thing by accepting "no" even in elections that were hotly contested. They didn't accept that "no" because they thought their opponent was more suited for the office, but because they understood the importance of the peaceful transfer of power.
Trump might claim this threat is just a joke, but his most rabid followers won't likely take it that way. Because of that, his words threaten the peace of our country. The threat is planting the seeds of further division and violence.
I assume that you and other Trump supporters believe this threat-this joke-is moot if Trump is legitimately reelected in November. Perhaps you believe Trump only repeats this threat to increase support, but isn't it more likely that he is achieving the opposite? Aren't Americans realizing that Trump's threat proves he is more interested in himself than in democracy?
I ask you, Mr. Vice President, to walk into the Oval Office and say that all-important word in our democracy-"no." No, Mr. President, you will not remain in office if we lose in November. No, Mr. President, you are not above the law. No, Mr. President, I will not accept interference from foreign governments in our election process. No, Mr. President, I will not support weakening the postal service to deny the right of citizens, especially in this pandemic, to vote by mail.
And if the President does not accept your patriotic "no," Mr. Vice President, I ask you to utter one more "no." No, Mr. President, I will not be your running mate.
The Temptation Of Power
August 13th, 2020
Because I grew up in a family where there was no greater authority than the Bible and then did graduate work in Biblical studies, I am frequently reminded of passages of Scripture by current events.
This was the case when I heard that candidate Trump promised white evangelical Christians before the 2016 election that they'd have more power if he was president. Immediately, my mind went to the passage in the gospels where Jesus was in the wilderness and the tempter offered him a deal. If Jesus were to bow down to the tempter, he could have unlimited power.
There are other stories in the life of Jesus where people, even his own disciples, tempt him with power. Peter is linked to the forces of evil when he reprimands Jesus for saying he will suffer, not rule in power. The disciples James and John approach Jesus and ask for power, which leads Jesus to make his position crystal clear. Jesus explains that following him means serving, not dominating. Later, when Jesus is arrested in the Garden of Gethsemane, he rejects the physical power that could save him.
Sadly, history shows how often Christians have fallen for the temptation of power. Soon after Constantine promoted Christianity as the religion of the Roman Empire, Christian legislators passed laws that punished Jews. One law prohibited Jews from having servants, which meant that Jewish landowners couldn't work their land and had no choice but to move to cities. Other laws denied citizenship to Jews or forced them into ghettos.
Later, Christians in Europe used their power to create the Inquisition and forcibly baptize Jews and Muslims under their control. From the 18th to the mid-20th century, Christians willingly participated in colonizing Africa, the Middle East, and Latin America, exploiting the riches of those regions for their own gain.
Of course, Christianity isn't the only religion that has misused power once it has tasted it. But Christianity is a religion whose founder rejected power and demanded that his followers do the same.
Blessedly, saints over the ages have remained loyal to Jesus' teaching. St. Francis of Assisi was offered worldly power by his father, but rejected it for a life of holy poverty. The rule he gave to his followers promoted a life in total opposition to worldly power. As if to underscore his point, he instructed his followers to live among the poorest as "lesser brothers."
A saint of our time, the Baptist minister Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., also rejected power. Was he tempted as he looked out over the millions gathered for the March on Washington to unleash that collective power against racism, to fight that evil with physical force? We'll never know, but what is clear from his words that day is that he dreamt of a time in America's future when love, not power, would rule.
History would be far different if Christians had lived by Jesus' words-"Rulers want to lord it over others. Don't let this happen to you. Instead, you are to serve one another." But history isn't over. There is still time for those of us who call ourselves Christians to reject the temptation of power and live more like Jesus and the saints.
Learning From the Life of U.S. Congressman John Lewis
August 7th, 2020
Picture yourself in an argument, but instead of acting out of your angry self, you act out of your better, loving self. Who taught you how to do that?
Each of us is a combination of virtues and bad habits, all of which we learned from someone else.
I've been reminded of this over the past weeks when Congressman John Lewis' life has been so deservedly celebrated. John Lewis was an extraordinary person who lived an extraordinary life of service to humanity and to his country. It is rare when members of both political parties call anyone "The Conscience of the Congress" as they did in speeches after John Lewis' death. In John Lewis, an uncommon human being, a moral giant, has passed our way.
John Lewis was also one who humbly acknowledged those who shaped him, starting with his sharecropping parents in Alabama. Over the past weeks as I have listened to excerpts of John Lewis' speeches, however, I heard the unmistakable echo of his greatest teacher, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.
When John Lewis told his fellow Americans not to stand by but "do something about it" whenever they witnessed an injustice, he was expressing not only his own creed, but Martin Luther King's as well. And when John Lewis said that hate cannot defeat hate, only love can, that too could have been said by Dr. King.
By our actions, good or bad, we reveal what we have been taught. By our actions, we also teach others, especially the young who are looking for an example. That is a tremendous responsibility, but the good news is that we are always free to choose which teachers we will pattern our lives after and what example we will leave.
John Lewis continues to teach us in these challenging months, if we will listen. It isn't my place to offer advice to those who are protesting in the streets, especially those who have experienced racial injustice firsthand. But I would ask those protesting to let John Lewis, who nearly lost his life in a protest at the Edmund Pettus Bridge in 1965, guide them. Ask what John Lewis would do, and do that.
Yes, John Lewis would speak forcefully now as he did at the March on Washington in 1963 about the urgency of the present moment. This is not a time for gradualism, for going slow in confronting systemic racism. Protesting in an American right, and confronting the sin of racism is long, long overdue. And I have no doubt that John Lewis was encouraged that many Caucasian, Latino, and Asian Americans have joined in these protests.
Yet, if we let John Lewis be our teacher, we cannot forget this key lesson-his lesson and
Dr. King's-that hatred destroys rather than creates. I believe John Lewis would agree with this recent caution from an NAACP leader, who lamented that those joining the protests with hate in their hearts and a desire to strike back violently for violence's sake are only hurting the cause.
As we move forward as a nation through these challenging times, let's not forget these words of John Lewis: "I believe in non-violence as a way of life, as a way of living."
John Lewis, may you rest in peace, but may your life continue to teach us.
A MOVIE FOR PAINFUL TIMES
July 27th, 2020
With summer in full swing, we should get ready for the approach of some of the most painful months in American history.
One layer of pain is our nation's mismanaging the coronavirus, a failure with catastrophic results that is likely to linger well into the new year.
A second layer of pain is the ongoing quest for social justice and racial equality. Americans continue to take to the streets in protest, but unlike protests in the Civil Rights era, when federal troops were sent in to protect the protesters, federal troops this time have been sent in to confront them. These scenes will also likely remain in the headlines for months to come.
The third layer of pain will be the buildup to the election, as TV ads will increasingly assault us with accusations that portray the candidates as criminals, addle-brained, in the pocket of foreign governments, tyrannical, abusers of women, and more.
Except in wartime, I can't recall a time in American history where watching the daily news will cut deeper and deeper into our souls. But the purpose of this op-ed is not to remind us of these layers of pain but to recommend a film that offers some healing salve.
I have to thank my filmmaker son for recommending Driveways, a film available online that earned the nearly impossible score of 100% on the reviewing site, Rotten Tomatoes. My son promised his mom and me that once we started watching, we'd watch the film to the end. He was right.
So as not to give anything away, I will settle for describing the film's setup, a bit about the actors, and my wife's and my reactions to the film. The film could have been set anywhere in the U.S., the Driveways in the title being the space between the house of a recently-deceased hoarder from Vietnam and the next-door house of an aging Korean War veteran. That image might bring back memories of Grand Torino, but Driveways quickly heads off in a different direction.
We never meet the deceased Vietnamese woman. Instead, the film opens with the arrival of the woman's younger sister and nephew, who have come to clean out the house and sell it. I was not familiar with Hong Chau, who played the sister and mother, Lucas Jaye, who played her 10-year-old son, or Andrew Ahn, the writer and director. I was familiar with the brilliant Brian Dennehy, who, in one of his last roles, played Del, the Korean War veteran.
This is a film in which silences often speak louder and more profoundly than the dialogue. The faces of the three main actors are especially expressive as the three respond subtly to one another's small gestures.
"Small gestures." Yes, Driveways is definitely a film about that, but its genius lies in exploring the feelings and decisions made behind those gestures. If some films leave my wife and me feeling we need to take showers to wash off the grittiness, Driveways left us feeling we'd been washed clean. I know my wife and I also felt Driveways challenged us to be more aware of the power of small gestures, received and given, to heal the soul.
So, in the upcoming painful months when we need food for the soul, try Driveways for the main course, and, as I shared in an earlier op-ed, watch The Repair Shop for dessert. Bon Appetit!
Art and the Pandemic
July 22nd, 2020
There will come a day when vaccines and treatments will be available and we will wave goodbye to the coronavirus. That will be a day to celebrate, but that doesn't mean that these months of isolation, fear, and contagion won't have produced some significant and positive outcomes.
Certainly, the scientific community will once again prove the truth of the adage "Necessity is the mother of invention." Not only is our understanding of viruses expanding immensely, but so is our understanding of effective national health care-testing, treatment, and hospitalization.
Education is also innovating in the pandemic. Yes, some states are mandating that schools reopen as in the past, but it will only take a small outbreak of the virus-students or teachers-to empty every classroom in that school system.
Nevertheless, educating the next generation is essential. While the pandemic won't end learning, it will bring about major changes in how we deliver that education. We should expect more online academies, virtual classrooms that will offer learning modules that are more interactive-and more addictive-than anything seen by students and teachers in the past.
Another outcome of the pandemic might surprise us, and that is the amount of art that will appear once the pandemic is over. Why? Because artists respond to times of crisis and stress by being creative, by bringing something new into the world.
I have no doubt that there are poets, writers, sculptors, painters, composers, potters, screenwriters, inventors, gardeners, and chefs who are using these unusual months to practice and hone their gifts. For artists, these months are not "lost time" or even "downtime," but rather "precious-time," time to create.
This means that when we arrive at "p.c.," post-coronavirus, we are likely to find beauty in unexpected forms awaiting us.
This might seem like an overly-optimistic prediction, a pipedream even, but history suggests otherwise. The Black Plague ravaged 14th century Europe at a level to make our pandemic seem like a picnic in comparison. Yet, what followed soon afterwards? The Renaissance, the greatest explosion of creativity-paintings, sculpture, poetry, music, literature, and architecture-in European history.
The correlation of plague and creativity is an issue worth pondering. No doubt one reason for this correlation is that pandemics offer stark reminders of our mortality. Life becomes more precious when daily existence can't be taken for granted. Crises provoke a question in all of us-"What should I be doing with my time, with my life?"
The answer that artists give to this question offers wisdom that extends far beyond the artistic community. Many of us live with an inner voice that tells us we're not creative, that we should never think of ourselves as artists. Now is a time to ignore that voice because it is wrong.
Each of us is made in the image of the Creator, and that means every one of us can do something to bring beauty into this world. No, we're not talking about masterpieces. Think of the drawing a toddler proudly gives to a parent or grandparent. Every creative effort adds enjoyment not just to our own lives, but to the lives of others.
After the pandemic is over, a harvest of poems, stories, paintings, songs, architectural designs, recipes, and inventions will appear. Will one of those fragments of beauty have your name on it?
Wisdom in a Pandemic
July 13th, 2020
What separates a wise person from someone who is intelligent, smart, or clever? One difference is that the insights of a wise person continue to prove helpful over the decades and even centuries.
Until scientists find an effective vaccine for the coronavirus, the best medicine any society has is its cherished wisdom. In a sense, this pandemic is testing every society, exposing the decisions that society is making to be based either on wisdom or on false hopes and denial.
As many places in our society seem to be failing the test presented by the pandemic, I've returned more and more to the wisdom of two elders from the early to mid-twentieth century.
Sometime in the fifties or early sixties of the twentieth century, the monk Thomas Merton made an acute observation about American culture. From his unusual vantage point in a Trappist monastery in Kentucky, Merton observed that most Americans define happiness as having a good job and having a good time.
If that was somewhat accurate in the fifties and sixties, it seems even more accurate to describe the past six months in our country. When the world sees photos of Americans celebrating shoulder to shoulder on beaches, in theme parks, at political rallies and bars, the rest of the world sees a society that thinks, "By God, no matter what anyone says, I'm going to have a good time."
Merton's observation seems all too true and timely when we compare the U.S. response to the coronavirus with that of Europe. Our constitutionally-enshrined "pursuit of happiness" has become "the pursuit of my happiness, my right to pleasure," rather than "the pursuit of the community's happiness and health." No wonder the pandemic in the U.S. is reaching the point of being out of control. It's not the pandemic that's out of control, but us.
The other elder who speaks volumes to this time of pandemic is the early twentieth-century poet T.S. Eliot. At the conclusion of his most famous poem The Wasteland, Eliot compares society members to someone in a sailboat. Through this image, Eliot asks what is the shore, the goal, that this person is trying to reach.
For the sailboat to reach the goal, the far shore, the last thing the person in the boat wants to do is lie back and relax, letting the sail and rudder be at the mercy of the wind. That boat is doomed; it will never find land but rather end up on the rocks. The only way the person in the boat will reach the distant shore is to be in control of the boat.
In a sense Merton and Eliot are articulating the same truth. "Freedom" is abused when it is defined as doing what I want, when I want, how I want, and with whom I want. To be truly free, a person, as well as a society, must accept that there is no true freedom without control of self-without "self-control."
Here's the thing about wisdom. We can either learn her lessons now or later, but eventually we will have to bow to it if we wish to survive.
Dr. Fauci's Worried Face
July 2nd, 2020
When historians look back on the first six months of 2020, what will they say about American society? I choose the word "society" instead of "country," because a country doesn't make decisions-people do.
I believe historians of the early twenty-first century will laud our society for finally owning up to what has been called America's original sin-racism. We are finally confronting a shameful past that for too long has continued to infect us. To dig down to the mucky bottom of racism will take decades, not months or years, but the days are over when someone can blithely say that racism is a thing of the past or proclaim with a straight face that members of white supremacist groups are "good people." Thank God, those ships have sailed.
Historians, however, will be far less gracious when they evaluate our society's response to the coronavirus. Instead of this pandemic becoming another experience like WWII where Americans came together in a common cause, the ugly political division in our country has infected the infection. The divide in our society has amped up the disease to a point where, to quote Dr. Fauci, the situation might be out of control.
The graphs are not difficult to read. Societies that were united in their response to the pandemic weathered the first spike and now see the virus losing its grip. For societies like the US and Brazil, where the pandemic began as a health issue but quickly morphed into a political one, the lines on the graphs are all pointing in the opposite direction. We aren't the most populous society in the world, but we will have the most cases and the most deaths. We're number one; we're number one!
If you don't believe that the situation is dire, try to buy a ticket to visit France, Spain, Italy or other countries in the EU. Canadians can visit Paris and Rome; we Americans can't. We are not wanted. And don't bother to try to visit Canada. They don't want us either.
It was once a source of pride to know that people around the world knew what was going on in our country. Put another way, the US was often in the news no matter where a person lived in the world.
The US is still in the news, but now as an example of how not to act as a society. On their news broadcasts every day, people elsewhere in the world can see something that simply doesn't make sense-Americans standing shoulder to shoulder in waterparks, on beaches, or at political rallies while nearby hospitals are running out of ICU beds.
In those same broadcasts, peoples of the world can only shake their heads when they hear that some American college students are hosting parties with a unique contest, the winner being the first partier to contract Covid 19.
People of the world know that Dr. Fauci's warnings can't be ignored, but that makes it all the more difficult for them to understand how our big theme parks are reopening in Florida-yes, the state that is being overrun by the virus.
Six months. Half a year. Not a long time, but long enough for the US to become the lepers of the world. I suppose there is good news for those who are tired of seeing Dr. Fauci's worried face. Recently, he told us that the window of opportunity is rapidly closing. Once that window is closed, we won't be able to hear him. Party on!
When the Lake Rolls Over
June 2nd, 2020
When the deaths of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery, and Rayshard Brooks brought people around the world into the streets, I recalled something my father-in-law and favorite fishing buddy shared with me years ago.
He asked if I knew that lakes "turned over." When I admitted that I didn't, he described the summer conditions of a lake when the warm water is at the surface and the cold water lies deeper. As autumn advances and temperatures drop, the water at the surface slowly cools until it is cooler than the water lying deeper. That is when the deeper and now warmer water "turns over." What was at the bottom is now at the top, and what was at the top is now at the bottom.
A final comment my father-in-law made was that this turning of the lake is disorienting for the fish. In this Black Lives Matter moment, our nation and world are experiencing such a "turning over." Even as the surface water in a lake slowly cools until one day the lake turns over, so it is not just the deaths of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery, and Rayshard Brooks that have brought on this global awareness and rejection of systemic racism. No, the waters down under have been stirring since 1619, when the first slave was brought to the colonies.
Over the past four hundred and one years, our country has seen heroes and martyrs, a civil war, movements and legislation bubble up from below the surface, but racism has shown a capacity to survive and adapt. Segregation, Jim Crow laws, the suppression of Black votes, unequal housing opportunities, and mass incarceration of Black males-all that happened after Lincoln's Emancipation Proclamation and much continues to exist long after the Voting Rights Act.
In a real sense, the "lake" representing American society has managed to avoid rolling over. But in the last decade, the bubbles of frustration and heat below the surface have risen at a rate that can't be ignored. From Ferguson (Michael Brown) to Baltimore (Freddie Gray) to Texas (Sandra Bland) to Florida (Trayvon Martin) to New York City (Eric Garner) and, in the last weeks, to Minneapolis, Louisville, and Atlanta, the protests have been growing along with the recognition that something is seriously broken in our country.
Some who enjoy life at the surface are quick to note that past protests, given time, tend to fizzle out. Yet, there are some moments in history that are tipping points, and many Americans, Black, Brown, and White believe we are in the midst of one such moment.
It's fairly clear from past op eds that songwriters for me often function as modern-day prophets. So while I could end with these lyrics by Bob Dylan-"Your old road is rapidly agin'. Get out of the new one if you can't lend a hand"-I am drawn even more to this prayerful lament from Nina Simone: "I wish I knew how it would feel to be free."
June 18th, 2020
A year ago, I attended a three-day workshop on racism that changed my life. I thought I understood the systemic racism in this country, but through the workshop, I realized I didn't understand half of the problem.
In the closing moments of the last session, the facilitator said something that surprised me. Directing her comments to the white participants in the workshop, she said, "Do not leave these three days with a plan or program to help the African-American community. Your responsibility is different. Your task is to take what you've learned and concentrate on one thing: see our society and its problems differently."
That comment has come back to mind almost daily since the George Floyd story erupted. My immediate reaction was to do something or plan some program. I wanted to add my voice to the protests.
It is essential for white Americans to join their voices with people of color to say "enough is enough." But there is an even more important role white Americans can play, and that is to listen to what people of color have to tell us and teach us.
For survival, people of color have to listen carefully to what white Americans say. How carefully do white Americans, how carefully do I, listen to our African-American sisters and brothers? What might we learn if we closed our mouths and opened our ears?
With this question in mind, I emailed three African-American friends to say that I had no words to share, but I did have ears to hear. I asked the three, who happen to be members of the clergy, to share their thoughts at this critical time in our nation's history.
The following is a sample of what I heard. One: ". . . the last words of George Floyd, he was calling out for his Momma. A forty-six year old man calling out for his Momma. A mother who'd been dead for three years."
Two: "I just left a ministry ZOOM meeting and someone brought up as a matter for prayer 'This looting and rioting has to stop.' I heard a bunch of 'amens.' I then said the following: 'I'd like to take an unscientific survey. How many of us on this ZOOM call have had the police pull a gun on us?' After seconds of silence, I slowly raised my hand. I then shared with them my experience last year of being pulled over by the Indiana State Police for no reason other than I 'looked like a drug runner.'"
Three: "[White Americans must] speak up against injustices that are happening in our society. [They must] be willing to have the uncomfortable conversation with family, friends, colleagues, etc. . . . We as African Americans don't have the luxury of being comfortable."
Four: "When a grown man cries and moans for his Momma to the point of urinating on himself, he is -at that moment of anguish - desperately reaching out for that which his original essence inherently knows is his rights; namely, "that all men are created equal and endowed by our Creator with certain inalienable rights...life, liberty and the right to breath".
Five and perhaps most poignant: "I'm tired."
In the Biblical book of Ecclesiastes, the author wrote that there is a time for everything, including "a time to speak" and "a time to keep silent." For some at this moment, it is a time to speak, to describe the pain of inequality and oppression. But those who have a right to speak need others to be silent and listen with open ears and hearts.
As Jesus said, "Those who have ears to hear, let them hear."
MISSING THAT FAVORITE RESTAURANT
June 18th, 2020
There are some eating establishments in central Indiana that are beloved for more than the food. As you read those words, perhaps a restaurant or two comes to mind, restaurants that deserve the musical refrain "where everybody knows your name."
That is what many of us are missing during the pandemic, the experience of dining in places that seem to be extensions of home and family. And when economists speculate that many small businesses won't recover, we say, "Please, not my favorite place."
For over 115 years, Shapiro's Deli on the near south-side of Indianapolis has been a favorite eating establishment for many. The food is legendary, as is the greeting "What will you have, hon?" from those serving behind the counter.
On Wednesdays or Thursdays for the past twenty years, Shapiro's has become well known for another reason. The deli has, in fact, become known world-wide, for on a Wednesday or Thursday, a group of men and women from diverse religious backgrounds gather in friendship. The majority of those who attend are Muslims and Christians, but people of other faiths have joined the group over the years.
The "Shapiro Gang" is legendary wherever interfaith dialogue is occurring in the world. When popes have invited Muslims to the Vatican for interfaith meetings, they have often called upon members of Indianapolis's "Shapiro gang."
Most patrons who walk by the table where the Shapiro gang is seated don't know of the group's legendary status. There are no set topics for discussion; there is no leader, no public display of piety. The group sits in the main room, not hidden in the back. What is experienced at the table is quite simple though extraordinary-love for one another and mutual encouragement for each of us to do the will of God on a daily basis.
A senior member of the group tells the story of a man who passed their table one lunch hour and recognized one of them. "What's this all about?" he asked. When members of the group shared that they were a gathering of men and women from different religions who get together once a week, the man pulled up a chair and said "Let's get it on." When members asked him what he meant, he replied that he assumed the group was engaged in a debate. He seemed to be disappointed when he learned that the goal of the group was friendship, not argument.
The last Thursday before the pandemic shut businesses down, I was present at Shapiro's for another notable encounter. We were doing what we do every week, talking about whatever was on our minds, when a stranger stopped and interrupted our conversation. The words tumbled out of his mouth. "You being here gives me hope," he said. He might have been referring to the interracial nature of the group, but we explained that we're also a group of men and women from different faith traditions. "Incredible, just incredible," he said, repeating again that our group offered him hope in what he described as "the mess we're in."
The man was clearly overcome, at times making me wonder if he was on the verge of tears. As the man turned to leave, one of the members invited him to join us next Thursday for lunch. Because of the pandemic, there was no next week.
After a month of not meeting because of Covid-19, the Shapiro gang has begun meeting weekly, but online. The day I wrote this op ed, we had just met. It was wonderful to see each other, to once again be together as Muslims and Christians. At the close of our online meeting, the founding member of the group said, "I hope Shapiro's is doing okay. We need to get back there."
I imagine that thousands of restaurant owners have been praying that their businesses will survive. I wonder how many owners know that there are patrons who are praying for them and their businesses. For a favorite restaurant is more than a place where the food is excellent. A favorite restaurant can become a place where a bit of the world's brokenness is being healed.
Hiccup or Birth Pangs?
June 9th, 2020
We were a divided nation before the pandemic, and any hope that the coronavirus would break down divisions and promote a united response to the crisis quickly evaporated. From the very beginning, we have been divided on how seriously to treat the pandemic.
That division led to another debate on how we should respond-should we shelter in our homes, or could we gather socially? Should we wear masks or not? Should we open businesses, beaches, and schools while the confirmed cases and deaths are still rising or should we hold off on that? Should we support the WHO or withhold support? Should our country follow the guidance of scientists, or should we let people decide how much to risk? When we finally have a vaccine, should inoculation be required, or should we let people opt out?
No matter what side of the argument you are on, we can all agree that these divisions are having a profound effect on how many businesses will fail, how many people will contract the virus, and how many people will die.
There is another division that isn't getting as much attention, but will likely gain more in the future. One side of this disagreement views the coronavirus as a "hiccup." To view the coronavirus as a hiccup is to believe that this crisis will have no real lasting effect on our country and the world. Words and phrases favored by those who view the pandemic as a hiccup are "recovery," "reopen," and "back to normal."
The hiccup point of view has followers across the political spectrum. The society and world that will exist on the other side of the pandemic is imagined to be the same society and world that we had before. For those who adopt this perspective, the history books of the future will need only a few words to cover the coronavirus. The virus will be viewed as a spike event that came, was here, and was defeated, leaving intact what came before. The mantra for these folks is "business will be as usual."
The other side of this disagreement views the coronavirus not as a hiccup but as "birth pangs." To view the coronavirus as birth pangs is to believe that something new for our society and the world is being born out of this time of challenge. Past patterns, past values, and past attitudes will be replaced by new patterns, new values, and new attitudes.
An example currently cited for the birth pangs mentality is the issue of wages. In light of what we are living through, should health care workers and teachers be paid a pittance in comparison with professional athletes, Division One college coaches, and corporation CEOs? Throughout the pandemic, we have been able to live without professional and college sports, but our survival has depended on health care workers even as our children's future lives have depended on the adaptability of teachers.
Of course, to believe the society and world will change dramatically in the future doesn't guarantee that the future will be better. What is born out of this crisis will depend on what nations and cultures decide to change based on the lessons the coronavirus is bringing us. The mantra for these folks is "get ready for a new normal."
My own observation is that countries are already taking different sides in this debate. In listening to world leaders, I've noticed that some are already communicating to their citizens that the economy, education, health care, and spending will be vastly different in their nations' futures. Other world leaders are conveying the opposite message-that the world we knew before the coronavirus will return-and will return soon.
In terms of saying which viewpoint is correct, it is tempting to say "only time will tell." I would argue that the future isn't up to fate, but rather the future will grow out of what we decide now.
Countries that view the pandemic as a hiccup will put their energy and resources into restarting the engines that ran their systems before the pandemic. In contrast, countries that view the pandemic as birth pangs will put their energy and resources into designing new engines to run new systems.
The debate is over "same old world" vs. "brave new world." Which side are you on?
George Floyd and the Liberal Arts
June 9th, 2020
One of the major joys of my life has been to teach, not just at the college level, but also within a liberal arts institution such as Franklin College. This joy has come with a challenge-how to explain what we mean by the "liberal arts."
No, the purpose of liberal arts is not to produce politically liberal students. The purpose of a liberal arts education, one that goes back to medieval times, is to "liberate" a person from being enslaved by ignorance.
Those are noble words, but what does it mean to be "liberated from ignorance?" The answer to that is threefold and each aspect of the answer offers an insight into the death of George Floyd and its aftermath.
First of all, to be liberated from ignorance is to be freed from facing a challenge with only one tool in the toolbox, one pill in the medicine cabinet. A liberal arts graduate can analyze problems from multiple perspectives-the historical, psychological, economic, and sociological backgrounds, as well as a scientific, mathematical, religious, philosophical, and artistic perspectives.
Put another way, a liberal arts graduate will understand that the death of George Floyd is not a simple problem with just one possible response-be that confronting protesters with tear gas, setting curfews, or arresting and sentencing one police officer.
Secondly, to be liberated from ignorance is to be freed from the dangerous temptation of prejudice. By definition, prejudice is "pre-judging" a person or situation, and pre-judging means to think about that person or situation in the wrong order.
As thinking beings, we are allowed and expected to make judgments, but judging and evaluating must come after understanding that situation or person. For example, after 9/11, many people had a fear, and more than a few people had a hatred, of Muslims. This was despite the fact that those fearful people couldn't pass a basic quiz on the beliefs and practices of Islam. In other words, it became easy to equate Muslims with terrorists without knowing what Islam stands for as a religion of peace.
Closer to home, pre-judging black males as prone to crime or pre-judging police officers as bullies with a badge won't help us learn the lessons of George Floyd's death.
Thirdly, to be liberated from ignorance is to be freed from a knee-jerk fear of the "Other." The question posed to Jesus, "but who is my neighbor whom I am to love?" is still one of the most important questions each of us must answer. By defining "neighbor" as the person who is like me religiously, racially, or politically, we have at the same moment created the "Other," the person who shares none of my traits and who can become a person to fear or even hate.
It is a fact that we are different politically, racially, and religiously. The questions we must answer are "Should we view our differences as a problem or a gift?" and "Do these legitimate differences make our lives more difficult or more enriched?"
No one can deny that there is a widening gulf between the African-American community and the American police-judicial system. Each side looks across a chasm and sees the "Other." But bridges can be built. Michael Tubbs, the mayor of Stockton, California, is one such bridge-builder. Under his administration, deadly shootings have decreased by forty percent. What is his secret? He has given the police a simple but challenging guideline-love the black males you encounter.
There is nothing that demands that America must remain this broken. God's words to Moses are as pertinent today as they were in ancient times. "I put before you today a choice: life or death. Choose life."
Time and the Pandemic
May 20th, 2020
Are these weeks dragging by? Do you sometimes ask yourself what day it is? If so, then the pandemic offers the perfect time to think about . . . time.
For all of us around the world who are affected by the coronavirus, these days and weeks are probably the strangest time we've ever experienced. Yet we are not the first to wonder why time seems so peculiar-in some circumstances moving at a snail's pace, but in other circumstances seeming to fly by.
The ancient Greeks had a philosophical interest in many of the big issues of life, among them fate, free will, peace, war, truth, and the nature of reality. When they turned to ponder "time," they realized the topic was too complicated to be covered by just one term.
One word the Greeks used for time was "chronos." Take a few seconds to look at a clock, whether that be a wristwatch or cell phone, and you will see what the ancient Greeks (who had neither wristwatches nor cell phones) observed. Chronos-time is time measured in seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years, and so on. Chronos-time is predictable and regular.
An unwanted five-minute exchange with a telemarketer can feel ten times longer than a short phone call from a close friend, but actually the five minutes of each experience lasts the same amount of seconds-three hundred seconds to be exact.
But the ancient Greeks would say at this point, "Ah-ha. Now you see the problem. Time might move at a standard pace by the clock or sun overhead, but in our hearts and minds, time slows down or speeds up." That feeling led the Greeks to create a second word for time--kairos. Kairos-time is time that feels different because it is filled with something that delights us-meaning.
Kairos-time is time at its best. If you've ever gone whitewater rafting or skydived for the first time, you undoubtedly experienced kairos-time. You might have been scared, exhilarated, or both, but the one thing you weren't was bored.
We endure chronos-time, but if we have too much of it, life feels flat. This is when the yawns begin. In contrast, kairos-time isn't something we endure; we relish it. Kairos-time gives us energy, so we feel more alive.
What does all this have to do with this pandemic? In this time of staying in, are we condemned to living in chronos-time? Or do we have some choice in the matter? Can we experience kairos-time even now?
I was reminded of this recently when a dear friend who has struggled with several bouts of sickness shared how much, while sheltering in, she is enjoying the birds and other signs of nature this spring. Others have told me that the pandemic has brought other surprises--unhurried meals with family members, the joy of writing a letter to a friend in longhand, and lying in bed at night with a favorite book, the alarm clock turned off.
As human beings, we can't live in kairos-time every minute. That would be truly overwhelming. But during this pandemic, we don't have to surrender to boredom and frustration.
While it might not seem so now, the pandemic offers daily opportunities to ask ourselves an important question-what gives meaning to my life? Perhaps there's a cause you've felt called to join but until now lacked the time. Maybe there's an art project you've always wanted to begin or a friend from the past whom you've wanted to write or call. Or, consider that book that's been patiently waiting for you to pick up and read.
Along with the philosophical Greeks, we might also remember a bit of wisdom from the ancient Romans. "Carpe diem" doesn't mean "endure the day" but rather "seize the day."
Let's seize today.
THE BLESSEDNESS OF THE PORCH
May 11th, 2020
My wife offered an important correction to something commonly said during the pandemic. She pointed out that what is called for is not "social distancing," but "physical distancing."
As so often happens, the change of just one word can offer a new perspective on what we are experiencing. In so many ways-through emails, phone calls, handwritten letters, and video conferencing-the pandemic has increased the connections we are making with one another.
I was reminded of this last week, when my wife and I sat on the steps of our front porch and had three friends stop in the street to chat. In terms of physical distancing, we were more than fifteen feet apart, and the conversations were mainly about everyday issues, but the time felt both wonderful and a bit out of time.
I say "out of time" because chatting with friends and neighbors from the front porch is something that I associate with my youth back in the 1950s. Porch-sitting on a warm evening and chatting to those who walked by were common until they suddenly became uncommon in the sixties.
A wise man whom I met at a party over twenty years ago explained what had brought about this abrupt change to American society. No, it wasn't a rise in crime and it wasn't the social and political divisions that resulted from the Vietnam War that spelled the end of porch socializing.
The loss of porch interaction, the wise man explained, came about when two innovations appeared. The first was air conditioning, which meant that the temperature inside our houses was something we could, for the first time, control. No longer would the heat of the summer, heat that had built up during the day in our homes, force us out to our porches in the evening for some relief. With air conditioning, it was possible to be cooler inside on warm evenings than outside.
The second innovation was television. Instead of conversations with neighbors and friends from our porches on those warm evenings, we were now inside, our eyes glued to our black-and-white sets. Instead of wondering who might pass by our houses, we wondered what we'd be missing if we didn't follow the dictates of the announcer when he commanded us to "stayed tuned."
As the wise man from the party twenty years ago pointed out, both air-conditioning and television lured us inside, away from the porch and away from our friends and neighbors. Not knowing our neighbors was something almost impossible before the sixties, but more than possible once we came home from work and school to sit in an air-conditioned room and watch "The Ed Sullivan Hour" or "Gunsmoke."
We now have air-conditioning and more options on our TVs and devices than we can manage, but what these innovations have brought us-the ability to stay inside-has, in this pandemic, lost much of its appeal. If on warm nights in the fifties, we were outside on our porches but longing to be inside, now, during this pandemic, we are inside longing to be outside. The pandemic has literally turned our everyday social world upside down.
When a vaccine for the coronavirus is found and our physical distancing is over, much of the present "upside-down" nature of our lives will end. We will rightly celebrate on that day.
When that day comes, however, one of the intriguing questions to ponder will be "what habits formed during the pandemic will we choose to retain?" I would like to think that the porch won't return to what it has been-a place to wipe our feet before we come inside-but remain that blessed place where we ask about each other's day and wish each other well.
Enjoy the Treat of a Book During this Pandemic
April 23rd, 2020
Perhaps you have made the same discovery I have during this time of sheltering in place. There are old friends in our homes that have been waiting silently and patiently for some attention. The old friends I'm referring to are the books on our shelves.
Over the past few decades, especially after the explosion of online entertainment options, authors and publishers have been fighting for survival. More and more people are staring at computer screens instead of opening books. Even libraries, those temples of books, have found in recent decades that much of their business involves checking out DVDs.
Certainly, cable stations and especially movie channels are popular during this pandemic, but many people are realizing, or realizing once again, that reading a book has pleasures found nowhere else.
Movies have their place, but there is one thing movies can't do well-they can't engage our imaginations to the degree that reading can. Take, for example, the Hound of the Baskervilles, the Sherlock Holmes novella written by Arthur Conon Doyle. What feeling do the moors in the story give us? What does the hound in the story sound like, especially as it bays at night or when it attacks and mauls someone foolish enough to be out on the moors at night?
If we watch the movie version of Hound of the Baskervilles, these questions are answered for us by the camera. We see what the director wants us to see. The director's imagination determines what is on the screen. All we have to do is take it in.
But if we read the Sherlock Holmes story, the sights and sounds have to be supplied by us, by our imaginations. What does a moor feel like on a foggy night? The reader decides. How frightening is the hound? As frightening as we can imagine. What does 221 B Baker Street, London, the abode of Holmes and his friend Watson, smell and sound like, as Holmes smokes his pipe of Turkish tobacco and plays his violin? You decide.
In this pandemic, it is natural for us to want to be outside, to experience a change in the scenery, to meet old and new friends, to leave the confines of our homes. We look out our windows and say to ourselves, "life is out there, waiting for me."
The truth may be otherwise. Through books, not only can we travel anywhere in the world but also can meet the most fascinating people, some from other centuries, cultures, or even galaxies. Some of the people we meet and places we go in books will change our lives forever.
In the future, someone might ask us, "Did you go anywhere during the pandemic back in 2020?" The saddest answer we could give is this: "I didn't go anywhere. I was stuck inside."
Wouldn't a better answer be "Where did I go? I went somewhere different every day, and let me tell you about the amazing people I met through books."
Here is the takeaway: What brain science tells us is that more of our gray matter is firing when we are reading than when we are watching.
Give your brain a treat today during the pandemic. Open a book.
The Gift Of A Single Banana
April 21st, 2020
As is true of many people our age, my wife and I are ordering groceries online and having them delivered to our porch. Almost all the aspects of this experience are new and demand an adjustment of expectations.
I miss driving to the grocery store, parking, and steering a cart through the aisles, all of them filled to capacity. I miss finding exactly what is on my list and being surprised by items not on my list. I miss passing in the aisles a neighbor or colleague from my teaching days. I miss chatting with check-out personnel about a wide assortment of topics, none of them as serious as this pandemic.
But I am also grateful for those who, in these odd weeks and maybe months, shop for us and deliver groceries to our homes. Like firefighters, EMTs, hospital staff, drug store personnel, garbage collectors, and postal workers, surrogate grocery shoppers are fighting on the frontlines of the coronavirus. I hope they are well protected and well compensated.
It took me a couple of days, however, to be grateful for what arrived in our last delivery. I requested bananas, and my wife requested lemons. What I requested was one bunch of bananas. What my wife requested was one bag of lemons. What we found when we inspected the bags was that we'd received one banana and one lemon.
Disappointed, I looked at the pitiful sight of one banana and thought, "what can I do with this?" For two days, I passed by the banana as it lay, lonely, in a bowl in the kitchen. I seemed paralyzed by two contrasting truths. One, if I didn't eat the banana soon, it would become overripe, and that isn't a taste I enjoy. But two, once I ate the banana, that would be it, the end of my enjoyment of eating bananas.
Finally, I picked up the banana and slowly peeled it. I don't know if I have ever studied a banana so thoroughly before. I wondered how far my one banana had traveled to arrive at my kitchen table. I took a knife and lovingly spread peanut butter on the banana. Looking at the whiteness of the banana now covered by the caramel-colored peanut butter, I took a small bite.
I paused. Something was happening in my mouth. The taste of the banana and the peanut butter exploded, and I thought of Plato's belief that for every thing existing in this world, there was a heavenly, perfect form of it. Had the grocery store somehow brought me not just a solitary banana, but the perfect, heavenly banana, the bananas of all bananas? Such are the strange thoughts of someone who taught in a philosophy and religion department for forty-one years.
The second bite did not disappoint, nor did the third, fourth, and fifth. To the last bit of it, the banana dominated my awareness. That was when I realized the banana tasted so amazing because it was the only one I received. Had I received a bunch of seven or eight bananas, not one of them would have tasted as delicious. They would have been normal bananas, regular bananas, run-of-the-mill bananas.
I want to publically thank whoever filled our grocery order for sending our way not one bunch of bananas, but just the one banana. I like to think that grocery store employee didn't misread our order, but thought, "I think the person I'm shopping for needs a lesson in how the extraordinary in life is hidden in the ordinary-if we just had eyes to see."
Wisdom in a Time of a Pandemic
April 13th, 2020
Wisdom is something few of us pondered just two months ago. We were looking forward to March Madness, getting ready to plant flowers in our gardens, and perhaps getting ready go away for Spring Vacation. We had a lot of fun things to think about, and wisdom might have seemed a pretty heavy concept, the kind of topic to kill a good party.
But that was two months ago, and how our lives have changed and are changing. It is likely that the human race has never experienced at the same time so much change in such a short period of time. There is no place in our entire world where we can go to get away from our fear and our grief. It seems crazy to admit it, but, at this moment, no one anywhere on our planet is having a terrific time.
Wisdom, the question of what makes for a good life, is now something we need to move from the category of "let's not worry about that now" to the category of "it's time to think about how best to live."
We are not bears who can hibernate through the winter of the coronavirus and wake up in a few months to life as normal. Life isn't something on the other side of the pandemic; life is what is happening right now.
The good news is that while the virus is new, the human quest for a meaningful life isn't. The religions and philosophies of the world are treasuries containing valuable lessons for tough times. Now is a perfect time to tap into these treasures.
In teaching religious studies for over forty years, I encountered students who'd ask if there is some common wisdom that all religions agree upon. My answer was twofold. First, I would emphasize that the differences between religions have to be respected. Buddhism, Christianity, Judaism, Islam, Sikhism, and Hinduism all offer different understandings of what is broken in us as humans and what will fix us.
Only after explaining these differences would I acknowledge that yes, there are ways of thinking, feeling, and acting, that all religions promote.
One of these ways is to live in a state of gratitude. Most of us learned about gratitude as toddlers when our parents taught us to say "thank you" when someone gave us a present or compliment. To live in a state of gratitude is to offer a silent or expressed "thank you" for all that we receive from life, from God. To live in gratitude is to wake up from taking life for granted.
If we let it, the coronavirus can strengthen our sense of gratitude. Those collecting the garbage are still doing so. Thank you. Truck drivers continue to bring supplies to stores. Thank you. Those who work in hospitals-the nurses, doctors, cleaners, and staff are reporting for duty. Thank you. Scientists and laboratory researchers are working around the clock to produce a vaccine or treatment. Thank you. Teachers are offering their classes online. Thank you. Grocery store workers are continuing to stock shelves and even deliver groceries. Thank you. The staff of this newspaper is continuing to interview, write, and publish to keep us informed. Thank you.
Gratitude, then, is a state of mind, and once we begin to practice gratitude, we find that we have so much to be grateful for. What I find fascinating is that it seems impossible to be anxious and grateful at the same time. Anxiety makes us fear what might happen; gratitude helps us acknowledge all that comes into our lives as a gift. Anxiety can paralyze the mind; gratitude opens the heart.
It is tempting to conclude, while we are sheltering in place, that our freedom has been taken away. The most important freedom we have as humans can never be taken away. That is the freedom to choose how we respond to what life gives us.
Let's choose gratitude.
THE POWER OF HOPE
April 1st, 2020
One of the constant refrains we are hearing during the coronavirus is "None of us have been through this before." This statement is both true and false. Yes, it is true that this particular virus is new, and it is also true that our country has not faced a pandemic in our lifetime.
It is not true, however, to say that human beings, some alive today, have not faced epidemics and this level of threat before. Many of our African brothers and sisters faced the Ebola epidemic over the past decade, and many others in Asia faced the SARS epidemic.
This particular crisis, however, has reminded me not only of these previous epidemics but of the work of the psychotherapist Victor Frankl (1905-1997). No, Frankl didn't live through an epidemic, but he did live through something far worse-the Nazi concentration camps.
What makes Frankl so timely for our present coronavirus epidemic is what he discovered from his time in the camps about survival. From his experiences in the camps, Frankl knew that survival couldn't be guaranteed. At any moment, a guard could, without threat of reprisal, shoot camp inmates.
Yet, Frankl also observed that those who survived the camps weren't simply the lucky ones. Those who survived had a certain mindset, and that mindset led them to act in certain ways in the camps.
The key to survival that Frankl discovered was the ability to tap into a future hope and to draw strength from that hope.
We might think that everyone has hope for the future, but Frankl is referring to a specific hope. It wasn't enough for concentration camp inmates to have a general hope, such as "I hope to survive this terrible experience." What was essential for survival was to have a future hope such as "I must survive the camp because my younger sister cannot face life alone," or "I must survive so that I can write an account of my experiences. Humanity must never allow the Holocaust to happen again."
The specific hopes for the future were as diverse as were the inmates. One future hope is not better than another, as long as people feel that only they can fulfill their specific dreams. Those who survived the camps felt that life demanded that they survive, for only through them could their future hope come to pass.
After the war and as a therapist, Frankl encountered many clients who felt that their lives lacked meaning. Frankl realized that what these men and women lacked was a sense of purpose or destiny that only they could fulfill. They weren't sure what they were living for. While Frankl couldn't tell these men and women what their purpose was, he could help them uncover and name their unique purpose for themselves.
All of this makes Victor Frankl's best-selling book Man's Search for Meaning a vitally important book at this time. Yes, we are caught in a dangerous pandemic, but how we respond is up to us. What future good, not just for yourself but for the world, has your name on it? What is your purpose or destiny?
Frankl offers a final thought. The future is not just what will happen in the weeks and months ahead. The future can be a source of strength that we can access now, even while we are hunkered down in our houses. Very likely, there is something we can do, perhaps online, via email, or over the phone to begin to make that future a reality. The future begins now.
The writer of the book of Proverbs in the Bible knew this millennia ago: "Without a vision, the people perish." Frankl suggests that the converse is also true: "With a vision, we have a chance to flourish."
The Repair Shop
March 1st, 2020
One of the companies that is doing brisk business during the coronavirus epidemic is Netflix. Apparently, some people enjoy watching films about pandemics, as a number of those have popped up in the last weeks, but my wife and I are not interested. Real life is dramatic enough.
A program that has had a healing effect on our spirits is The Repair Shop. This series from Great Britain might be best described as an unusual reality show. No, there is no competition between contestants and, in fact, there is nothing spicy at all about The Repair Shop. In each program, individuals bring family heirlooms and treasures, always in terrible condition, to a rustic barn where repairers and restorers patiently work their magic.
The more my wife and I have watched The Repair Shop, the more we've felt its soothing effect. This has been especially true since the coronavirus hit our country and forced us to stay in. Every episode in season one, and now as we have begun season two, has calmed our spirits, and we've become curious about how the program consistently achieves this.
On one level, The Repair Shop is a program built around challenging problems to solve. Individuals bring in old clocks that don't work, paintings that have been abused, wind-up toys from the early 1900s, and dolls falling apart, and leave these items to be fixed and restored.
As the head of The Repair Shop expresses it, "we live in a throwaway culture," but precious heirlooms can't be replaced. When individuals leave their treasures with The Repair Shop, the repairers and restorers say they'll do their best.
The rest of each program allows us the viewers to look over the shoulder of the repairers as they take apart, sand down, repaint, and replace. The process can't be rushed, so if you are looking for a fast-paced action drama, The Repair Shop isn't the program for you.
The Repair Shop is the program for you if you understand that love is the most powerful force in the world, a force stronger than anything-destruction, decay, and even death. Love is what brings individuals into The Repair Shop with their boxes of broken and rusty bits.
The repairers always ask the donors of the heirlooms to relate why the item is of value to the family. The answer is never what we might find on another show, Antiques Road Show. Not once has the value of the item brought to The Repair Shop been expressed in terms of money.
Those who donate heirlooms share memories of the treasures, many of those memories going back generations. The stories shared are always stories soaked in love. The clock is from a grandfather who was the beloved head of a family. This violin in pieces is from a Jewish relative who played it while being incarcerated in Auschwitz. This wind-up car that no longer winds up was a gift from a favorite uncle who recently died.
The donors leave their heirlooms to the repairers, not seeing what we are allowed to see-the loving way the heirlooms are treated by the restorers and repairers. These men and woman are true artists, but more than that, they are surgeons. It is clear very quickly in the series that these artists know they aren't simply working with broken glass, metal, wood, porcelain, canvas, and fabric. They know that they are holding in their hands beloved and irreplaceable memories.
What the artists in The Repair Shop return to the donors at each program's end is far more than a resurrected clock, painting, doll, musical instrument, or toy. Through the restored items, these artists bring back a loving relative, a favorite Christmas from an elderly person's youth, the moment when something cherished was passed down. I'd recommend having tissues nearby for the moment when the donors of the items retrieve their heirlooms.
The Repair Shop is the most therapeutic program on TV during the coronavirus pandemic. After the crisis is over, think how much of life in our communities, our country, and our world will need repair and restoration.
The Repair Shop might be viewed as an escape during the coronavirus pandemic, but I think the program is more important than that. The Repair Shop offers the best model of how best we can recover. What is broken can be healed, what has seemingly been lost can be recovered if we remember that love is the strongest glue.
•Democracy Under Fire
•Miracle of the Local Paper
•Fishing with Jim
•Norway and U.S.
•At the Feet of the Scholar
•Read a Book
•We Can Do Better
•Teacher, Heal Thyself
•Images that Come to Mind When You Read the Word Seminary
•Education and Mix Metaphors
•Fraud, Freedom and Fairness
•Another Side of Lent
•The Expanded Role of Motherhood During COVID-19
•Forgiveness in the Aftermath of Worry
•At This Critical and Frightening Time
•The Wound Cheating Leaves?
•Give A Gift to Hospital Workers This Holiday Season
•The Benefits of Solitude
•Losing Reveals Character
•The Ways of a Bully
•What Makes You Unique?
•Should "Black Lives Matter" Movement Be Taught in Schools?
•Are We a Nation Of Spoiled Children?
•The Importance Of The Word "NO" In a Democracy
•The Temptation Of Power
•Learning From the Life of U.S. Congressman John Lewis
•A MOVIE FOR PAINFUL TIMES
•Art in the Pandemic
•Wisdom in a Pandemic
•Dr. Fauci's Worried Face
•When the Lake Rolls Over
•MISSING THAT FAVORITE RESTAURANT
•Time and the Pandemic
•THE BLESSEDNESS OF THE PORCH
•Enjoy the Treat of a Book During this Pandemic
•The Gift Of A Single Banana
•Wisdom in a Time of a Pandemic