It is appropriate here to summarize the theology (the worldview) that I took to college with me. Synthesizing the input from family, church, and community, my faith was (and is) in a dynamic paradigm of reality. God is real; therefore, the Creator is continually in the process of becoming as opposed to being composed of serialized static events. The Bible is a record of humankind’s discovery of this reality, and Jesus the man managed to wholly align himself with this divine process.
What in heaven’s name ever led me to think that this kind of thinking would be accepted outside of what I have affectionately come to regard as the bubble I grew up in I will never know. But true to the character of the turbulent sixties, I was unknowingly heading toward a culture clash that would change my life.
Thursday, August 31, 2006
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
Jesus Is Just Alright With Me
The “good p.k.” strategy worked well right through high school graduation. The church was popular during the sixties; made all the more so by the assassination of John F. Kennedy, and it definitely didn’t hurt my reputation any that my father was pastor of one of the most dynamic, fastest-growing churches in the Denver area. Three Sunday morning worship services (four on Easter) packed full of congregants in the “new” building completed in 1963, religious education (Sunday school) classes that required registration and had attendance standards, this was the environment I grew up in. I really had no idea how extraordinary this all was when compared to the “average” Methodist church (it became The United Methodist Church when the Evangelical United Brethren and Methodist churches merged in 1968), and I can assure you that it was a rude awakening that awaited me my freshman year at Nebraska Wesleyan University in Lincoln Nebraska (yes, a fine church-related liberal arts college—“the Harvard of the plains”—that was deemed the most sensible place to do my undergraduate work in preparation for seminary). Naïve best describes the me that headed east on I70 with my two best friends that morning in August of 1968, and included in that naiveté was my belief that all my years of being actively involved in the church while growing up were going to count for anything.
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Groomed for Success
Having admitted in hindsight to its weaknesses, I nonetheless opted for what at the time seemed the both logical and practical way of answering “the call” by developing impeccable churchmanship. “As the twig is bent” certainly applied to me as the Methodist church became the center of my worldview. From my earliest to my most recent memories the church is second only to my parents in its influence upon how I perceive and understand what and who I am. Nursery, Sunday school, worship, choir, youth groups, and committees—yes, those notorious Methodist committees—composed the milieu within which I conducted my sacred and secular lifestyle. And what’s more, having sensed “the call” caused me to take all of this quite seriously. I actually found myself paying attention to and thinking about this doctrine to which I was being introduced.
It would be misleading if this in any way causes the reader to think that mine was a saintly childhood and adolescence. Quite to the contrary—as many who are still alive will attest—I was the proverbial pain in the hind. Immersed though I was in the culture of the church, I was also quite aware that it was sometimes at odds with the society in which I was being raised. Not only did I carry the onus of being the Reverend Earl K. Hanna’s son into an outside world where it was only slightly less impressive than in the church, but the feeling that I was somehow different from my peers was compounded by this odd and difficult perception of being called. In retrospect it was, I suppose, schizophrenia of sorts, trying to be one of the kids while simultaneously trying to be obedient to this summons that daily became more real. When I earned my first perfect attendance pin from Sunday school, well…I figured that ordination wasn’t far away.
It would be misleading if this in any way causes the reader to think that mine was a saintly childhood and adolescence. Quite to the contrary—as many who are still alive will attest—I was the proverbial pain in the hind. Immersed though I was in the culture of the church, I was also quite aware that it was sometimes at odds with the society in which I was being raised. Not only did I carry the onus of being the Reverend Earl K. Hanna’s son into an outside world where it was only slightly less impressive than in the church, but the feeling that I was somehow different from my peers was compounded by this odd and difficult perception of being called. In retrospect it was, I suppose, schizophrenia of sorts, trying to be one of the kids while simultaneously trying to be obedient to this summons that daily became more real. When I earned my first perfect attendance pin from Sunday school, well…I figured that ordination wasn’t far away.
Monday, August 28, 2006
Dinner's Ready!
If one perceives a calling, what is to be done with it? A mother calls her child in from playtime to eat dinner, and the child has the choice of ignoring it or answering it (the truth be known, there are a whole variety of ways between the two extremes that the child can respond). As a rule, incorrect responses are punished one way or another while the narrowly defined correct response is usually rewarded—perhaps by getting to eat. As I said earlier, the notion of being called is scripturally based, but where does the study and interpretation of scripture take place? To answer “organized religion” doesn’t require any particular genius, and my experience of organized religion was the Methodist church into which I was born and raised. It was altogether natural that I would adopt the logical deduction that since Dad was a minister of the church, Dad must have been called; therefore, if I was being called it was to the church’s ministry. The hindsight of my fifty-six years allows me to see the weakness of such a train of thought, but for a yearling that was trying to process what that “feeling” was and what it meant, it worked! And so the die was cast, so to speak, that the appropriate way to answer my calling was to follow the path into the ordained ministry of the Methodist church.
Saturday, August 26, 2006
DefCon to Debate Religious Right
On Tuesday, August 29, at 7 p.m. EDT, DefCon advisory board member Michelle Goldberg will debate Phil Burress, the president of the religious right organization Ohio Citizens for Community Values, at Xavier University in Cincinnati, Ohio. DefCon is pleased to announce that we will be broadcasting the audio of this event live through our website:
Register here
Register here
Friday, August 25, 2006
Mary recommends...
Again, my thanks to my wonderful wife for keeping me abreast of such timely issues as Finally, Fired up over Global Warming by Bill McKibben. Isn't now the time for us to be implementing a strategy?
Thursday, August 24, 2006
Do You Hear What I Hear?
Being “called” is, to the best of my knowledge, scripturally based. Prophets, sages, and yes, even messiahs are subject to a biblical formula for verification and authentication. The formula, however, always presumes that there is One who does the calling. In the preceding article I explained the tremendous influence of my father on me, especially in the context of the church of which he was an integral part. As I gradually perceived my being called, it was only natural that I would attempt to discern whether or not it was my earthly or heavenly father’s “voice” I was hearing. Was I aspiring to nothing more than wanting to grow up to be just like Dad, or was I “hearing” from an even higher power?
Enter the equally significant influence of my mother. While my impression of Dad was how important he was, my impression from Mom was how important I am. Call it maternal nurturing, but Mom was the one who taught me everything from tying my shoelaces to skipping, from singing “Away in a Manger” to the “Lord’s Prayer.” And it was always with the encouragement and affirmation that I was capable of doing these things that Mom gradually revealed to me that there is a purpose to my life that my Creator is capable of communicating to me if I will but “be still and listen.” Mom was the one that inspired me to listen for the call that eventually became the most powerful force in my life.
Of course I didn’t know it at the time, but I was beginning to discern the subtle difference between pantheism and panentheism. Through the sophisticated tutelage of my father my theology encompassed a higher power that was more than just an old man with a white beard sitting on his throne in heaven, but through the loving affirmation of my mother my theology came to allow for the personal quality of God that makes for real dialogue instead of sterile disenfranchisement. Having pursued this path since has helped me to understand how Jesus of Nazareth was able to think of God as his Abba, his “Daddy”, without anthropomorphizing his Creator. Yes, God speaks to me when I listen, and God has called on me to share the good news that such is possible for anyone willing to do the same.
Enter the equally significant influence of my mother. While my impression of Dad was how important he was, my impression from Mom was how important I am. Call it maternal nurturing, but Mom was the one who taught me everything from tying my shoelaces to skipping, from singing “Away in a Manger” to the “Lord’s Prayer.” And it was always with the encouragement and affirmation that I was capable of doing these things that Mom gradually revealed to me that there is a purpose to my life that my Creator is capable of communicating to me if I will but “be still and listen.” Mom was the one that inspired me to listen for the call that eventually became the most powerful force in my life.
Of course I didn’t know it at the time, but I was beginning to discern the subtle difference between pantheism and panentheism. Through the sophisticated tutelage of my father my theology encompassed a higher power that was more than just an old man with a white beard sitting on his throne in heaven, but through the loving affirmation of my mother my theology came to allow for the personal quality of God that makes for real dialogue instead of sterile disenfranchisement. Having pursued this path since has helped me to understand how Jesus of Nazareth was able to think of God as his Abba, his “Daddy”, without anthropomorphizing his Creator. Yes, God speaks to me when I listen, and God has called on me to share the good news that such is possible for anyone willing to do the same.
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
Born to be Tame
I was literally born into the Methodist ministry. Perhaps under hypnosis I could recall subliminal impressions of Taylor Hall at the Iliff School of Theology in Denver, but my earliest conscious memories are of a newly installed gas stove at the parsonage in Erie, Colorado. Clearer still are the images of life in Platteville, the second of only three appointments Dad would serve (being appointed to a new parish every three years was—and still is—commonplace in the United Methodist church). Moving to Arvada in 1955, I had no way of knowing how extraordinary it would be to grow up there, attending R-1 schools from kindergarten to graduation. There were the three years at Nebraska Wesleyan and Mary’s first year of teaching in Broward County, Florida that temporarily absented me from my “hometown”, but Arvada was it until the move to Flagstaff, Arizona in 1984.
Preacher’s kids (pk’s) seem to fall into one of two categories. There are those who develop a deep disdain for anything and everything churchy, and they put as much distance between themselves and their family as they can as quickly as they can. Then there are those who apparently aren’t quite as bright as their counterparts and get caught in the trap of organized religion. I was one of the latter, although in my own defense I must explain that witnessing the devotion of my mother and others to my father made it seem only natural to want to follow in his footsteps. While some preachers fill the bill of the town bumpkin, my father was a powerful force to be reckoned with that was more than worthy of emulation. And so I’ve always identified with the prophet Jeremiah’s belief that he was called to the ministry from his mother’s womb, simply because it has been my experience that such is truly possible.
Preacher’s kids (pk’s) seem to fall into one of two categories. There are those who develop a deep disdain for anything and everything churchy, and they put as much distance between themselves and their family as they can as quickly as they can. Then there are those who apparently aren’t quite as bright as their counterparts and get caught in the trap of organized religion. I was one of the latter, although in my own defense I must explain that witnessing the devotion of my mother and others to my father made it seem only natural to want to follow in his footsteps. While some preachers fill the bill of the town bumpkin, my father was a powerful force to be reckoned with that was more than worthy of emulation. And so I’ve always identified with the prophet Jeremiah’s belief that he was called to the ministry from his mother’s womb, simply because it has been my experience that such is truly possible.
Monday, August 21, 2006
Let the Journey Begin
A coworker asked me today if I didn’t used to be a pastor. My first urge was to respond that I still am, but I must be getting better at accepting that fact that I no longer am because that’s the answer that actually came out of my mouth. I do continue to cling to the notion of “once ordained always ordained” but I realize that even that is subject to how ordination is defined by whoever does the ordaining. The truth is that the United Methodist Church that ordained me Deacon in 1992 is the same that I surrendered my credentials to in 1999, and whatever has happened since is pretty much between me and God.
Having also accepted that this blog is a virtual monologue, I’ve decided to take advantage of that fact by working through the events that filled the time between ordination and surrender for the first time in journaling form. I’ve had the opportunity to do some reconstructing “on the couch,” but I’ve not yet put pen to paper as a means to sort things out. I don’t know that it’s really appropriate to be doing this in the public forum, but then this one can hardly be considered all that public. Whatever comments I may generate will be, I’m guessing, constructive and therapeutic.
I will make an effort not to assume that a great deal is known outside the United Methodist Church about its polity (it can be argued that few within the denomination really understand it). This is definitely going to be a personal journey, but I will welcome companionship and discussion along the way.
Having also accepted that this blog is a virtual monologue, I’ve decided to take advantage of that fact by working through the events that filled the time between ordination and surrender for the first time in journaling form. I’ve had the opportunity to do some reconstructing “on the couch,” but I’ve not yet put pen to paper as a means to sort things out. I don’t know that it’s really appropriate to be doing this in the public forum, but then this one can hardly be considered all that public. Whatever comments I may generate will be, I’m guessing, constructive and therapeutic.
I will make an effort not to assume that a great deal is known outside the United Methodist Church about its polity (it can be argued that few within the denomination really understand it). This is definitely going to be a personal journey, but I will welcome companionship and discussion along the way.
Saturday, August 19, 2006
1. One book that changed your life: The Discipline of The United Methodist Church
2. One book you have read more than once: The Road Less Traveled by M. Scott Peck
3. One book you would want on a desert island: The New Interpreter’s Bible by God? (I liked Rachel’s answer better)
4. One book that made you laugh: Between the Bridge and the River by Craig Ferguson
5. One book that made you cry: Fundamental Research Statistics for the Behavioral Sciences by John T. Roscoe
6. One book you wish had been written: mine
7. One book you wish had never been written: so far its unanimous; anything by Ann Coulter
8. One book you are currently reading: Our Endangered Values: America’s Moral Crisis by Jimmy Carter
9. One book you have been meaning to read: God’s Politics by Jim Wallis
10. Now tag five people: on a really good day that many read this blog
2. One book you have read more than once: The Road Less Traveled by M. Scott Peck
3. One book you would want on a desert island: The New Interpreter’s Bible by God? (I liked Rachel’s answer better)
4. One book that made you laugh: Between the Bridge and the River by Craig Ferguson
5. One book that made you cry: Fundamental Research Statistics for the Behavioral Sciences by John T. Roscoe
6. One book you wish had been written: mine
7. One book you wish had never been written: so far its unanimous; anything by Ann Coulter
8. One book you are currently reading: Our Endangered Values: America’s Moral Crisis by Jimmy Carter
9. One book you have been meaning to read: God’s Politics by Jim Wallis
10. Now tag five people: on a really good day that many read this blog
Friday, August 18, 2006
Worth Reading
My heartfelt thanks to Mary for keeping me updated on timely articles which I pass on to you:
Love Others as Yourself by Joyce Marsel
America Struggles With Its Own Evangelical Taliban by Pierre Tristam
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
Don't You Wish You Could Be Todd?
The following letter was attached to an application for child support that I processed before lunch today. Although it about crashed the spell/grammar check program, I transcribed the correspondence from the father to the mother as faithfully as I could—of course, the names have been changed to protect the innocent:
For the past 10-11 days I haven’t bugged you or said anything about the present situation. But I feel you do owe me some insite to your thinking.
This is very hard for me to write, but my thoughts come out better this way.
I wanted you to know my honest thoughts so don’t take this wrong.
I really, really, really don’t want a 3rd kid. Both my other 2 were not planned and I’m trying to do the right thing with them. I feel I can be a father for 2 but 3 is too much. I am stretching myself way too thin. My feelings in this matter count just as much as you but I feel you don’t think that way.
It should be both parties wanting the kid. If one feels as strongly as I do and I’m not clear on what you think cause you haven’t said but I cannot for 1 second comprehend why you would not see this the same. This was a mistake by both of us, nothing more.
This part may seem cruel but I feel I owe you my honest feelings.
Please don’t make me resent you and pay for this many different ways for the rest of my life, and I will. I can get over and deal with Todd, but as God is my witness I will not on a second. I will always feel my other 2 kids will suffer for this in many different ways. I am not a realationship kind of person nor will I ever be. I can’t say where I’ll be 5 yrs. from now or 2 months. If my job moves me. (This makes me want to move) We will never be one big happy family and I can not comprehend why in the wolrd you would want a 4th child from 3 different fathers unmarried.
You should not make any comparisons with Todd. That is not fair to him and not the case.
I will never accept it if you cannot see the right thing here and will always feel you have hurt me and my other 2 kids because of it, sorry but that is my true feelings.
I realize this is hard for you but you have to see what is right. I will help out financially and anyway you like, please let me know very soon what you think as this is wearing me down fast.
You’re oh so right, King George! We need to amend the Constitution to ban homosexual marriage post haste!
For the past 10-11 days I haven’t bugged you or said anything about the present situation. But I feel you do owe me some insite to your thinking.
This is very hard for me to write, but my thoughts come out better this way.
I wanted you to know my honest thoughts so don’t take this wrong.
I really, really, really don’t want a 3rd kid. Both my other 2 were not planned and I’m trying to do the right thing with them. I feel I can be a father for 2 but 3 is too much. I am stretching myself way too thin. My feelings in this matter count just as much as you but I feel you don’t think that way.
It should be both parties wanting the kid. If one feels as strongly as I do and I’m not clear on what you think cause you haven’t said but I cannot for 1 second comprehend why you would not see this the same. This was a mistake by both of us, nothing more.
This part may seem cruel but I feel I owe you my honest feelings.
Please don’t make me resent you and pay for this many different ways for the rest of my life, and I will. I can get over and deal with Todd, but as God is my witness I will not on a second. I will always feel my other 2 kids will suffer for this in many different ways. I am not a realationship kind of person nor will I ever be. I can’t say where I’ll be 5 yrs. from now or 2 months. If my job moves me. (This makes me want to move) We will never be one big happy family and I can not comprehend why in the wolrd you would want a 4th child from 3 different fathers unmarried.
You should not make any comparisons with Todd. That is not fair to him and not the case.
I will never accept it if you cannot see the right thing here and will always feel you have hurt me and my other 2 kids because of it, sorry but that is my true feelings.
I realize this is hard for you but you have to see what is right. I will help out financially and anyway you like, please let me know very soon what you think as this is wearing me down fast.
You’re oh so right, King George! We need to amend the Constitution to ban homosexual marriage post haste!
Monday, August 14, 2006
Lunch Hour Ruminations
Today’s lunch is now history (at least the ingestion of it). I sit in the still calm of my cubicle and nibble on fresh delicacies that Mary has prepared and sent with me. I read my TIME magazine without caring who may see me doing it, and I quite take for granted the privilege of agreeing or disagreeing with what I’m reading. Intellectually I know that there’s war, drought, famine and disease out there somewhere, but experientially those things just don’t ring true.
What I also know at the intellectual level is that my tranquil existence could change in a heartbeat. History, in large part, is composed of such cataclysmic turns of events when nothing is the same thereafter. James Burke refers to them as the days when the universe changed. So what’s my role? Do I passively accept my good fortune while actively cultivating a spirit of gratitude? Am I to be preparing for an unexpected change that may subject me to the horrors that afflict so much of the rest of humankind? Is there some way that I can leverage my many blessings into happiness for those less fortunate?
These are the things I think about when I am not required to think about something else. I want to believe that these are the things that others are thinking about when they have the opportunity. I wish that there was a way to share, to encourage like-minded thought, to enter into communion with the whole. Lunch is over.
What I also know at the intellectual level is that my tranquil existence could change in a heartbeat. History, in large part, is composed of such cataclysmic turns of events when nothing is the same thereafter. James Burke refers to them as the days when the universe changed. So what’s my role? Do I passively accept my good fortune while actively cultivating a spirit of gratitude? Am I to be preparing for an unexpected change that may subject me to the horrors that afflict so much of the rest of humankind? Is there some way that I can leverage my many blessings into happiness for those less fortunate?
These are the things I think about when I am not required to think about something else. I want to believe that these are the things that others are thinking about when they have the opportunity. I wish that there was a way to share, to encourage like-minded thought, to enter into communion with the whole. Lunch is over.
Sunday, August 13, 2006
Sabbath Soliloquy
I think I’m beginning to better understand the appeal of fundamentalism. Mary and I seem to be going through our documentary phase of DVD viewing, this weekend having watched The Future of Food, Wal-Mart: The High Cost of Low Price, and Noam Chomsky: Rebel Without a Pause (may I have an amen for Netflix?). There are so many things in today’s world that are in urgent need of reform, and when that’s combined with the inverse relationship of the individual’s power to change anything to an ever-growing global population you have the recipe for despair. I don’t feel that I have a great deal of control over genetic engineering, capitalism run amok, political corruption, and so on. An infinite number of variables and vagaries create an incredibly strong desire for anything that I can perceive as absolute. Voila! Enter the concrete black-and-white security of fundamentalism.
Fundamentalism—to my great relief!—doesn’t require me to accept responsibility for an active role in the unfolding of the universe. Instead, it offers a divine plan that is already set in motion that I merely need to accept. Born-again Christianity, for example, requires of me only my belief in the inerrancy and infallibility of the Bible (and its subsequent orthodox interpretation) and the rest is automatically taken care of. Therefore, global warming is simply God’s will that is preordained to perfect resolution. The conflict in the Middle East is simply God’s will that is preordained to perfect resolution. Christian fundamentalism offers the promise of premise, the assurance that when I give my life to Christ (i.e. surrender personal responsibility) I become the beneficiary of preordained blessing rather than the damnation that awaits nonbelievers. This example is, of course, set in the context of the Christianity which is most compatible with my worldview, but the promise of premise seems to apply to any ideology to which fundamentalism is applied.
The incongruity of fundamentalism seems to me the activist concern over such issues as abortion, gun control, homosexuality and stem cell research. Is God’s divine plan not all-inclusive? Aren’t these issues just as preordained to God’s prefect resolution as is, say, the eschatological fulfillment of the second coming at Armageddon? Now I’m confused. What parts of the divine plan are to just be accepted, and which parts require my active involvement? Is God in charge of everything or just some things? How do I go about finding out? I’m regressing back to variables and ambiguities. Perhaps that’s the mistake: I’m thinking again! This is what destroys the tranquil security of fundamentalism (or anything else for that matter). Stop thinking. Accept. Believe. Thank you, God, for making life such a simple thing…but why did you send Jesus?
Fundamentalism—to my great relief!—doesn’t require me to accept responsibility for an active role in the unfolding of the universe. Instead, it offers a divine plan that is already set in motion that I merely need to accept. Born-again Christianity, for example, requires of me only my belief in the inerrancy and infallibility of the Bible (and its subsequent orthodox interpretation) and the rest is automatically taken care of. Therefore, global warming is simply God’s will that is preordained to perfect resolution. The conflict in the Middle East is simply God’s will that is preordained to perfect resolution. Christian fundamentalism offers the promise of premise, the assurance that when I give my life to Christ (i.e. surrender personal responsibility) I become the beneficiary of preordained blessing rather than the damnation that awaits nonbelievers. This example is, of course, set in the context of the Christianity which is most compatible with my worldview, but the promise of premise seems to apply to any ideology to which fundamentalism is applied.
The incongruity of fundamentalism seems to me the activist concern over such issues as abortion, gun control, homosexuality and stem cell research. Is God’s divine plan not all-inclusive? Aren’t these issues just as preordained to God’s prefect resolution as is, say, the eschatological fulfillment of the second coming at Armageddon? Now I’m confused. What parts of the divine plan are to just be accepted, and which parts require my active involvement? Is God in charge of everything or just some things? How do I go about finding out? I’m regressing back to variables and ambiguities. Perhaps that’s the mistake: I’m thinking again! This is what destroys the tranquil security of fundamentalism (or anything else for that matter). Stop thinking. Accept. Believe. Thank you, God, for making life such a simple thing…but why did you send Jesus?
Thursday, August 10, 2006
Blessed Are the Children
I honestly cannot think of any more gratifying sensation than to know that your child is genuinely happy! Rachel just called to give me the news that she’s been hired by AAA of Arizona (for details of her official title, etc, you’ll probably need to go to her blog: Anxiety) and I’m just as happy as she is. Rebecca recently called me to share that it was the happiest day in her life because Bum (you’ll have to ask her) had unexpectedly returned home from his spiritual journey in India (unfortunately because his grandmother is terminally ill). Nonetheless, both daughters brightened their father’s day with the good news that they were happy, and that made me happy.
Golda Meier was wise in many ways, but there is a special ring of truth to her saying, "There will be no peace in the Middle East until the Arabs love their children more than they hate the Jews." She must surely have known that the converse is equally true. As our planet becomes increasingly volatile people everywhere are looking for positive solutions. I can guarantee that war, hatred, violence and anger are not the answers, simply because they are all rooted in the evil ground of selfishness and greed. Anyone who resorts to such measures does so selfishly, regardless of whatever altruistic spin might be offered in their defense. It is time for humankind to learn to love rather than hate, and discovering the happiness that our children’s happiness can bring us seems like the perfect place to start.
Golda Meier was wise in many ways, but there is a special ring of truth to her saying, "There will be no peace in the Middle East until the Arabs love their children more than they hate the Jews." She must surely have known that the converse is equally true. As our planet becomes increasingly volatile people everywhere are looking for positive solutions. I can guarantee that war, hatred, violence and anger are not the answers, simply because they are all rooted in the evil ground of selfishness and greed. Anyone who resorts to such measures does so selfishly, regardless of whatever altruistic spin might be offered in their defense. It is time for humankind to learn to love rather than hate, and discovering the happiness that our children’s happiness can bring us seems like the perfect place to start.
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
Viva Las Vegas!
It’s hard to believe that we’ve been in Las Vegas for ten years. With the exception of the Denver area this is the longest we’ve stayed put. My appointment to Trinity United Methodist Church seemed surreal when it happened, while it happened, and after it happened. Sin City seemed the perfect place to share the gospel, but I had no idea just how severely the good news could be twisted and distorted by theological ignorance and immaturity. The slogan hadn’t yet been developed, but had we known then that what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, we might have taken more seriously the prospect of starting a new congregation in Omaha.
This is not to say that I don’t like it here. I do. There’s something refreshing about this city’s upfront candidness about human propensities that other cities try to sweep under the proverbial carpet or otherwise ignore. “Greed is good” isn’t subjected to some sort of euphemistic P.R. spin in Las Vegas. We like our wine, women and song, and we’re completely out in the open about it. I suppose that explains why nearly one-million visitors pass through McCarran Airport every week. You get to do things here in Las Vegas that you’d like to do at home but are afraid to.
Now that we’re empty nesters, Mary and I are giving more serious thought to where we’d like to spend our golden years. Through my ingenious career planning, that’s still a quarter-of-a-century away but it isn’t keeping us from exploring where we’re most likely to find culture, virtue, and values. Las Vegas has two out of three but that may not be the winning ticket. Wherever we settle upon, I hope that it will have an atmosphere of unabashed honesty. That’s in short supply these days, everywhere but Las Vegas.
This is not to say that I don’t like it here. I do. There’s something refreshing about this city’s upfront candidness about human propensities that other cities try to sweep under the proverbial carpet or otherwise ignore. “Greed is good” isn’t subjected to some sort of euphemistic P.R. spin in Las Vegas. We like our wine, women and song, and we’re completely out in the open about it. I suppose that explains why nearly one-million visitors pass through McCarran Airport every week. You get to do things here in Las Vegas that you’d like to do at home but are afraid to.
Now that we’re empty nesters, Mary and I are giving more serious thought to where we’d like to spend our golden years. Through my ingenious career planning, that’s still a quarter-of-a-century away but it isn’t keeping us from exploring where we’re most likely to find culture, virtue, and values. Las Vegas has two out of three but that may not be the winning ticket. Wherever we settle upon, I hope that it will have an atmosphere of unabashed honesty. That’s in short supply these days, everywhere but Las Vegas.
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
No Turning Back
The currently popular jargon, “tipping point”, must mean the same thing as the back-when term, “threshold”. Both translate “point of no return.” I cannot help but wonder how many thresholds we are crossing these days, or how many points are being irreversibly tipped. With an adolescent air of impunity we toy with everything from the geopolitical to the ecological, never believing that we may at some point cross the line from which there is no going back—even if we have second thoughts and try to “repent”.
Dad used the following illustration in one of his sermons: The town gossip habitually spread untruths and unkind remarks about other villagers behind their backs. One day, upon being on the receiving end of the same treatment, she went to her priest and confessed that she now realized how deeply she had hurt others with her gossiping. She asked if there was any way that she could take her disparaging remarks back. The priest responded by inviting her to climb up to the church’s belfry with him where he tore open a feather pillow into the wind. As the feathers scattered everywhere, the priest admonished the woman to go retrieve every single one of them. Such, he told her, was the impossible nature of taking back her myriad slanders.
Heraclitus declared that we can never step in the same river twice. A dynamic reality forever moves on, and the opportunities to do things differently quickly become captured by an irreversible past. How I wish that those who opt for violence and destruction could, just for a moment, come to their senses and realize the irreparable harm they do. How I hope that those who desire peace and prosperity will come to realize that now is the time to create it.
P.S. It’s really happening! Anyone who doubts that the Christian Right is marching toward control of our government should take the time to read Mike Allen’s article, Courting a New Coalition.
Dad used the following illustration in one of his sermons: The town gossip habitually spread untruths and unkind remarks about other villagers behind their backs. One day, upon being on the receiving end of the same treatment, she went to her priest and confessed that she now realized how deeply she had hurt others with her gossiping. She asked if there was any way that she could take her disparaging remarks back. The priest responded by inviting her to climb up to the church’s belfry with him where he tore open a feather pillow into the wind. As the feathers scattered everywhere, the priest admonished the woman to go retrieve every single one of them. Such, he told her, was the impossible nature of taking back her myriad slanders.
Heraclitus declared that we can never step in the same river twice. A dynamic reality forever moves on, and the opportunities to do things differently quickly become captured by an irreversible past. How I wish that those who opt for violence and destruction could, just for a moment, come to their senses and realize the irreparable harm they do. How I hope that those who desire peace and prosperity will come to realize that now is the time to create it.
P.S. It’s really happening! Anyone who doubts that the Christian Right is marching toward control of our government should take the time to read Mike Allen’s article, Courting a New Coalition.
Monday, August 07, 2006
What Shall We Do Now?
I consider myself a process existentialist. I’m to the point that I don’t much care whether the “experts” agree or disagree with my assessment. What I do increasingly care about is the conundrum posed by such a worldview, namely that it is terribly difficult—if not impossible—to focus on the now. I believe that it is true that we have no control over the past. It is equally true that we have no control over the future unless it is in that infinitesimally brief moment when what could be is transformed into what was. This elusive present itself becomes debatable with regard to whether or not it is actually “real”.
My musing is prompted by the documentary Orwell Rolls in His Grave that Mary and I watched over the weekend. “Filmmaker Robert Kane Pappas presents a riveting argument for his theory that America is under an Orwellian watch with the rise to prominence of the radical, right-wing Republican party, an ascent aided, unwittingly or not, by the mainstream media."
At the time, I expressed my alarm at what was happening to the very foundation of our democracy as Bush et al stole the 2000 presidential election from the people. That this happened is well-documented, as is the 9/11 conspiracy that was used to justify—to “sell”—the invasion of Iraq that had already been on the neoconservative drawing board for years.
Such chicanery is made possible by diverting the public attention to either the past or the future and by portraying either in such a realistic fashion that it dissipates any focus upon the present. The very fact that the past five years have been used to engender a palatable fear of something like 9/11 happening again instead of zeroing in on what actually happened is an example of what I’m talking about.
I’m uncertain as to how we go about better focusing our attention on the now. It is, as I have already said, an elusive reality that is easily sublimated by the apparent reality of what has already happened or what is going to happen. It is true that we must learn from our mistakes (history) in order to avoid making them again in the future, but the truth is that such education can not take place anywhere but in the perpetual now.
My musing is prompted by the documentary Orwell Rolls in His Grave that Mary and I watched over the weekend. “Filmmaker Robert Kane Pappas presents a riveting argument for his theory that America is under an Orwellian watch with the rise to prominence of the radical, right-wing Republican party, an ascent aided, unwittingly or not, by the mainstream media."
At the time, I expressed my alarm at what was happening to the very foundation of our democracy as Bush et al stole the 2000 presidential election from the people. That this happened is well-documented, as is the 9/11 conspiracy that was used to justify—to “sell”—the invasion of Iraq that had already been on the neoconservative drawing board for years.
Such chicanery is made possible by diverting the public attention to either the past or the future and by portraying either in such a realistic fashion that it dissipates any focus upon the present. The very fact that the past five years have been used to engender a palatable fear of something like 9/11 happening again instead of zeroing in on what actually happened is an example of what I’m talking about.
I’m uncertain as to how we go about better focusing our attention on the now. It is, as I have already said, an elusive reality that is easily sublimated by the apparent reality of what has already happened or what is going to happen. It is true that we must learn from our mistakes (history) in order to avoid making them again in the future, but the truth is that such education can not take place anywhere but in the perpetual now.
Friday, August 04, 2006
A Real Solution
Mary forwarded this article by Molly Ivins, Run Bill Moyers For President, Seriously. I agree with them both that this is a proposition we must seriously consider.
Be Concerned, Be Very Concerned
Dad just forwarded the following articles, The Growing Threat of Right-Wing Christians and Lobbying for Armageddon, and I pass them along to Incite readers for their edification. If we end up losing our democracy, it won’t be because we weren’t warned.
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
A Few Good Men
I saw a lot of me in Rebecca yesterday. She is beside herself over her cousin Kyler’s decision to enlist in the Marines. Rebecca’s good friend Roger did the same and endured two tours of duty in the Middle East before “graduating” to civilian life. While he was honorably discharged, Roger has very little positive to say of his military experience. Rebecca shares Kyler’s aspiration to not follow the crowd and to live life in a way that contributes to the larger good rather than selfishly taking advantage of it. This is why his decision to become a lean, mean killing machine just doesn’t compute in her searching mind.
When I chose to “enlist” in the paramilitary profession of law enforcement, my greatest quandary was the use of deadly force. I was fortunate enough to make it through six years as a cop without ever having to use it, but I have to think that a soldier doesn’t have the same degree of discretion when placed in a combat situation. With the Middle East spiraling deeper into its own ancient quagmire combined with King George’s conviction that it is any of our business, I, too, fear that Kyler may eventually face having to make the decision to take human life under less than ideal conditions.
You have to hand it to the people who have orchestrated the United States’ “war on terror.” I daily grow stronger in my belief that 9/11 was conspired by the same military industrial complex that succeeded in stealing the presidential election of 2000. The pieces of the puzzle are slowly but surely fitting together and I daresay that someday in the future Americans will be charged with the same immoral behavior that continues to haunt the legacies of Nazi Germany. But in the meantime, young men and women will continue to be recruited in the name of patriotism to a shame that will make that of the Viet Nam vets pale by comparison.
When I chose to “enlist” in the paramilitary profession of law enforcement, my greatest quandary was the use of deadly force. I was fortunate enough to make it through six years as a cop without ever having to use it, but I have to think that a soldier doesn’t have the same degree of discretion when placed in a combat situation. With the Middle East spiraling deeper into its own ancient quagmire combined with King George’s conviction that it is any of our business, I, too, fear that Kyler may eventually face having to make the decision to take human life under less than ideal conditions.
You have to hand it to the people who have orchestrated the United States’ “war on terror.” I daily grow stronger in my belief that 9/11 was conspired by the same military industrial complex that succeeded in stealing the presidential election of 2000. The pieces of the puzzle are slowly but surely fitting together and I daresay that someday in the future Americans will be charged with the same immoral behavior that continues to haunt the legacies of Nazi Germany. But in the meantime, young men and women will continue to be recruited in the name of patriotism to a shame that will make that of the Viet Nam vets pale by comparison.
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
Did You Miss Me?
Did you miss me? Being missed is a variation on the theme of being wanted, and I don’t think that I’m alone in wanting to be needed—of needing to be wanted. Human contentment and satisfaction are, so far as I can tell, universal needs. The ever-growing population of planet Earth works directly against these needs being met, eventually requiring that we be ever more diligent in expressing to those in our spheres of influence that they are wanted, that they are needed, that they belong, and that they are missed.
My absence the last several days is easily explained by Mary’s and my visit with family in Billings, Montana. It was the second leg of our “Mother of a Summer” tour. My need to be wanted was deeply satisfied in the presence of my mother and my sister, brother-in-law and nephews. The only ones that didn’t welcome my presence were the cats (I came back with Clint’s fang marks blemishing my leg, while Pooh actually hissed at me only once). Through the miracle of technology we maintained our relationships with other loved ones via e-mail and telephone.
One of the lingering lessons of 9/11 is that our ability to communicate our love and appreciation for others is finite, and we have no way of knowing for sure when the time to do so will run out. Hopefully part of the silver lining of that horribly black cloud is our realization that it’s so important to let others know that they are wanted, that they are needed, that they belong, and that when they are absent, they are missed.
My absence the last several days is easily explained by Mary’s and my visit with family in Billings, Montana. It was the second leg of our “Mother of a Summer” tour. My need to be wanted was deeply satisfied in the presence of my mother and my sister, brother-in-law and nephews. The only ones that didn’t welcome my presence were the cats (I came back with Clint’s fang marks blemishing my leg, while Pooh actually hissed at me only once). Through the miracle of technology we maintained our relationships with other loved ones via e-mail and telephone.
One of the lingering lessons of 9/11 is that our ability to communicate our love and appreciation for others is finite, and we have no way of knowing for sure when the time to do so will run out. Hopefully part of the silver lining of that horribly black cloud is our realization that it’s so important to let others know that they are wanted, that they are needed, that they belong, and that when they are absent, they are missed.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)