Grace, Love, and Living

The paragraphs below are from a post I started writing in February.  It was my last effort on the blog for months.  It still represents a big part of what has gone on in my life since that time.  There were other things going on in my life that I wanted to write about in February.  A few days after this, a series of events began to snowball that changed the path that I thought I had been on.  I was working slowly and steadily on getting my house in order, as described below. And then the world became aware of the pandemic.  Within a month of writing the words below, universities were closing, businesses were closing, and well...you know.  I'll put a few more words from today at the end.

February 7, 2020

I want to take a break from heartache, drive away from all the tears I’ve cried.
I’m a wasteland down inside.
In the crawlspace under heaven,
in the landscape of a wounded heart, I don’t know where to start.
But the wild geese of Mary pierce the darkness with a song
and a light that I’ve been running from and running for so long.
As their feathers spin their stories, I can still cling to my fears,
or I can run, but they come along and we both disappear
just like all…
All these broken angels, all these tattered wings, all these things
come alive in me....
All these broken angels, all these scary things, all these dreams
are alive in me. ("Broken Angels," Over the Rhine)

I'm basking in the joy of a visit from David, my son of 33 years.  He has watched me struggle to deal with my boxed up life that goes back for a decade. Some of it got packed up at the end of our children's public school years, at the time we moved to Texas.  Other parts of it come from those years in Texas, which were interrupted by the time of Everly's illness and death.  Some of it is what I packed up there to move back to North Carolina in 2014.  When I moved to NC, I had an initial burst of energy to sort and organize all the gathered fragments of a life that had drifted away.  But it didn't last, and I eventually found myself walking the maze of boxes, bins, and bags that I could not face.  It has been my hidden shame as I closed myself behind the doors and walls of my house.

God's grace of children comes in many ways, and in this time, it is David looking on his dad and realizing that the parent sometimes can't cope without a loving, helping hand.  So at Christmas break, he cleaned the house, rearranged the living room, got rid of empty boxes stacked in the dining room, and began to scheme what it would take to get Dad on his feet in a home, not just a storage building.  Then he planned a trip to spend a week with me going through boxes, getting things sorted for giving away, throwing away, recycling, and as a last resort, for keeping.  We've been working on that for a few days now. 

As I started writing last summer (2019), I had arrived at a moment when it seemed it was time for something new to happen.  I could see glimpses of living a life that I had put on hold for almost ten years.  There was a book project that had stalled when Everly's cancer took center stage for all of us.  I had not seen a path forward, but took a big step in 2018 by working on the missing parts to give as a lecture series at Hong Kong Baptist Theological Seminary.  A friend helped me get the book project moving by giving me access to a time share for a week last summer, and I produced a fully organized book proposal.  I took other opportunities to work on the project, and will soon be able to send a proposal with several sample chapters for consideration by publishers.

Another part of David's visit has been several very helpful conversations.  I had already begun talking with a therapist about my mental and emotional block when it came to the boxes in my house.  I had made tiny steps of progress, three or four boxes now and then.  But David's wisdom and love is blessing me in ways I could not have anticipated.  He commented about the things I was saying, "That sounds like a lot of negative self-talk going on."  Dang!  That's kind of what a Dad might say to his kid.  Of course, it was right on.

The next day I remembered an experience with my own dad.  In 1985, W.D. had landed his dream job.  Always a good fund-raising pastor, he was hired to work for his alma mater, Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary, in the development office.  His duties were to work the Houston area, with special attention to the SWBTS satellite campus there.  He was loving the work, but his health was not responding well.  Finally, his doctor told him that the pollution in Houston was making him sick, and he was on the verge of a serious respiratory condition.  The doctor advised him to quit the job if it required him to be in Houston.  It broke his heart.  I went to visit, only to have him pour out his heart about the sadness he felt about both the health danger and about giving up the job he had wanted for so long.  He was 55 when that happened.  Now David is helping me through my challenges at age 62.  The leveling that comes with maturity has allowed a kind of give and take that I would not have imagined a few years ago.  The gratitude in my heart runs deep.

As my regular readers know, I often call on the poetry of song lyrics in these blog posts.  I'm not alone in being a person who often finds a soundtrack for my life in the songs of my favorite artists.  Anyone who has read my blog knows that Bruce Cockburn, Kate Campbell, Michael Card, Kyle Matthews, Darrell Adams, and Carrie Newcomer have been favorite poets of mine.  But in the past few months, the music of Over the Rhine has been on repeat.

A couple of years ago, I think I arrived at the conclusion that Bruce Cockburn's song, "Pacing the Cage" had become the best interpretation of my life.

Sometimes you feel like you've lived too long--
Days drip slowly on the page.
You catch yourself
Pacing the cage. 

I didn't see much left for me in life.  There were many things I had not accomplished, and I doubted I would ever have the energy to change that.  I still hoped there was more life ahead, but I just couldn't see it. I could still get energy in bursts and feel the old drive to work on issues and tasks that I had cared about for many years. I could be happy to be with my family and friends, so don't take this to mean that I hoped to die. But where my life was headed and what it might take to get started on a visionary path were seeming to be out of my reach.

At that point in the blog post, I was trying to find words to describe something new in my life.  I thought I had stumbled onto some changes that were revealing a sense of what could be unfolding. One voice had planted a seed in my mind and heart, "Mike, you are good enough." My next step in writing this piece was going to be to explain that I was thinking about how another song from Over the Rhine, "Days Like This," might speak to who I am beginning to imagine myself to be: "Days like this, you think about the ones that love you. All I want to do is live my life honestly....Every regret I have, I will go set it free, and it will be good for me." Six months later, I think it still speaks to my hopes, dreams, and possibilities.

But I was not seeing clearly how things would go and would have soon had to change my assessment of what was coming next. At least I wasn't alone in that. No one was seeing ahead clearly in the budding Ronaworld. Within a few days, my world had turned upside down in so many ways. 

As March progressed, I began planning to uproot and go to Texas to care for my Dad, who turned 90 years old in July, so that I could help keep him safe during the pandemic.  I thought I would stay two months--so many of us fooled ourselves to think it would be over by summer.  I ended up staying three months.  I never came back to this blog post until today. I did quite a bit of writing, filling up a blank book with handwritten nearly daily reflections for several months.  I had a lot of magical thinking to talk myself out of.  Then I stopped that.  I spent about a month back at my house in Durham in July, making much more progress on cleaning out old boxes and making the house livable.  I didn't finish, but the changes are already dramatic. One person asked me the obvious question during that time, "When do you think you will get back to your writing?" I'm sure I mumbled out some uncertain answer.

Now I'm in Texas in the middle of a planned two month stay.  And I'm like lots of people dealing with COVID-19: wondering how this transformative crisis should change the way I expect to live the rest of my life.  I know that when and if Rona ever winds down, it's not going to be the same world I was imagining before. It's about time I started writing again.

Emotions Stirring on Election Day 2016

Yesterday was very busy by my standards.  I was doing communications work for church and community organizing most of the morning.  I had a meeting that lasted an hour and one-half at noon.  Then I had to drive to Raleigh for another meeting at Shaw.  I stayed in my office after that to do some email catching up and get some preparation work done for the faculty retreat.  The next thing I knew, it was after 5:00 pm, dark outside, and the security officer was locking up the building now that all classes were over for the day.

I went on to the car and started the drive home.  The traffic fates had mercy on me, and there were only a few slowdowns with red brake lights shining, so I made good progress.  It's always tempting just to pick a restaurant and buy dinner on the way home, but nobody can afford that all the time.  On the other hand, going to a restaurant by myself gets pretty old.  I had made a plan for supper, and I knew Naomi would need to eat, too.  So I went straight home and started getting dinner on the table:  baked potatoes with Brown & Brummel's yogurt/butter spread and cheese, fresh snow peas, and corn on the cob.  I have to admit, we needed another potato to fill out the meal, so before long I was turning to the "Little Debbie food group" to reach complete satiety.

On that drive home I found myself in a roller coaster of emotions.  Listening to music or listening to news, everything was setting my thoughts off into deep reflections.  Suddenly, without any clear reason, tears welled up, and sent my investigative mind searching for "why?"  Rather than hiding, buried down deep as usual, my feelings stayed thick in my consciousness all the rest of the evening.  I did some more work on a project I'm trying to finish.  I read more up-to-the-minute analysis at the FiveThirtyEight and RealClearPolitics websites.  I listened to the song I am supposed to sing lead on this Sunday at Mt. Level.  I read and meditated on lectionary texts from the past few weeks, especially the Prophets.  I chatted with a friend who helps hold me up.  I got a report of one of Everly's cousins' having passed away in hospice.  I listened to more music, finally getting back to one of my fall back artists, Bruce Cockburn.  And this morning, the mood remains.

Identifying why moods come and go is never as easy as I would wish.  If I could find the simple cause and effect, I guess I imagine that I could take charge of this embodied self and put me back on an even keel.  Hanging around long enough, knowing Everly for so long and her far greater familiarity with the stirrings and proddings of emotion, has taught me enough that I don't tend to react with an overwhelming effort to suppress.  My upbringing taught me to own the feelings as mine and stop looking for ways to blame them on something or someone outside of me, and I think I do a fair job of avoiding that.

A situation like this one really comes with a complex set of events and changes going on.  Naomi is in the final lap of finishing her dual masters degrees, and I feel the pressure she is under.  I'm at that point of the semester when all my unfinished work is piling up on me, with deadlines I hope I can meet.  As has often been the case, I puzzle in such times about whether what I am doing now is the best I could be doing for my calling to follow Jesus.  Naomi will be job hunting, and she may soon need to move out of the house we share to take up her calling.  W.D. is living far from all of us in Salado, and I wish there were a simple solution to his not being isolated.  It's quite a few things, and not any one of them.

The uncertainty, volatility, and hatefulness of the election season also takes a toll on me, and I can't help being afraid of what some results might lead to.  I have no delusions of American exceptionalism or divine destiny being fulfilled as the USA becomes the Kingdom of God.  I believe the opposite.  The sins of this nation, piled up, reach to the sky like a tower of Babel.  Trust in false gods of violence and wealth, oppression on every side while most of us enjoy such ease--"Woe to those who are at ease in Zion."  Almost all of the hope I can muster looks to the local possibilities of working for the common good.  At the national and state level, it too often seems like our work is defending people from the worst that leaders can do, holding off the extremes of greed, violence, and indifference.  I've cast my vote toward not stepping deeper into a cesspool of hatred for so many whom God loves, regardless of where they were born or how they pray.  One election can't transform this world into something it has no desire to be, and comparing options for least bad outcomes takes a toll on our hearts if we long for justice and beloved community.  That's my discouragement talking today.

As I write, I realize that four years ago, Everly was able to vote in the election, there in Salado, Texas.  So much has changed since then, and as months pass, the cumulative effects continue to unfold.  My beautiful David, Naomi, and Lydia keep progressing through their adult lives, passing through challenges and victories, and I wish she could touch them and tell them how proud she is and give them little trinkets of her affection.  She can't do that, and she couldn't go to her cousin's bedside, as he did for her in 2013.  His classically Southern name, Ben Tom, to distinguish him from uncles named Ben and Tom and another cousin named Ben, matched perfectly with a gentle, loving Southern way of caring for and encouraging others.  May God receive him in glory and love, and may the family know the presence of God in these days.  I am a witness--God will never leave you or forsake you!

Election days, if we can get ourselves out of the boxing ring and the horse race long enough, are days on which we think about the world that is coming: weeks, months, years ahead.  How do our choices, made in anger and rage or in lust and greed, shape the future lives of child workers in Bangladesh, fast-food workers who have to apply for welfare, and young men and women who will be sent to die for someone's profit margin and vacation home?  May we face this day with appropriate sobriety, and may our hope rest somewhere beyond the battle of Demicans and Republicrats whose record of caring for the poor and outcast, the marginalized and the worker, has been dismal at best.  May those elected catch a glimpse of the grace in which they stand, and may their endurance produce character, and may character give rise to a hope that does not disappoint.  Is it too much to ask?

Isaiah and Economic Justice 4: Misleaders

Isaiah 3:12b-15

O my people, your leaders mislead you,

….and confuse the course of your paths.

The Lord rises to argue his case;

….he stands to judge the peoples.

The Lord enters into judgment

….with the elders and princes of his people:

It is you who have devoured the vineyard;

….the spoil of the poor is in your houses.

What do you mean by crushing my people,

….by grinding the face of the poor? says the Lord God of hosts.

Isaiah 3:18-24

In that day the Lord will take away the finery of the anklets, the headbands, and the crescents; the pendants, the bracelets, and the scarfs; the headdresses, the armlets, the sashes, the perfume boxes, and the amulets; the signet rings and nose rings; the festal robes, the mantles, the cloaks, and the handbags; the garments of gauze, the linen garments, the turbans, and the veils.

Instead of perfume there will be a stench;

….and instead of a sash, a rope;

….and instead of well-set hair, baldness;

….and instead of a rich robe, a binding of sackcloth;

….instead of beauty, shame.

Isaiah 3 continues to point out the instability of the conspicuous wealth of the powerful in Israel. One part of the chapter comments on the wealthy women who love to show off their finery while constantly shopping for more. But this is not strictly a criticism of women. It is about one of the visible features of a system in which the wealth of has grown so far beyond the level of human need that it becomes primarily a measuring rod within a competitive structure of status and power.

In this text, it is the most powerful, the same ones who by social delegation should be most responsible, who receive the greatest attention. The leaders have brought about this problem. The elders and princes have brought the nation to this desperate economic situation, yet they do not even see the problem. They lie to themselves and to everyone else to justify a system organized around fulfilling their insatiable greed. Of course, what they are doing is right since it is working for them; moreover, if what they are doing is right, it is by their logic good for all.

At the heart of their sin is deception. They mislead the people, and ultimately come to believe their own deceptions. They foment confusion about economic matters which anyone should be able to understand. They create technical language and lengthy regulations full of caveats and qualifications in order to conceal their intentions. They work in backrooms to strategize the path to their self-interest, then dress it in empty platitudes of the common good. We might recognize this in the marketing of subprime mortgages. We might hear echoes of their deceptions in the cunning secrecy of credit default swaps. We may know of what they speak in the hidden fees and traps of consumer credit. We may continue to hear the deception in the claim that capping interest rates will make it impossible to loan money to lower-income people, as if high interest rates are transforming them into becoming more creditworthy.

The prophet does not mince words. The vineyard image bears rich significance here. First, it is a symbol of a prosperous and good life. To have a thriving vineyard is to be blessed with wine at one’s table as well and with a valuable product for trade. But equally importantly, a vineyard is an image of Israel as the Lord’s planting and cultivation of a people (5:1ff). God has tenderly and conscientiously cared for the vineyard. But rather than Israel blossoming and bearing rich fruit as a people, the ones who should have cared for the vineyard have stripped it bare and left it in ruins.

The image gives way to a very concrete indictment. After saying they have devoured the vineyard, the prophet explicates the symbolic language. Their fullness and fatness comes from despoiling the poor. Their wealth is the product of oppression. Their mansions are framed and decorated by the rightful possessions of the poor. Their wealth is not derived from their virtue. Their only expertise is in being good criminals and hiding their crimes. This is what God despises.

Ultimately, the prophet claims that their appearance of greatness is ephemeral. They will lose it, and this oracle spares no detail. Perfume, sash, hairdo, robe, and all other trappings of beauty will soon be gone. In their place will come a stench, a raggedy piece of rope, a hairless head, sackcloth for clothing, and shame. This kind of economic system cannot sustain itself. Moreover, God demands justice. A prophet must rise up to speak the truth.

One last quotation from the Bruce Cockburn song, “Call It Democracy,” may help us see.

See the paid-off local bottom-feeders

Passing themselves off as leaders.

Kiss the ladies. Shake hands with the fellows:

Open for business like a cheap bordello,

And they call it democracy.

Isaiah and Economic Justice 3: Oppression and Idolatry

Isaiah 2:7-9, 18, 20-21

Their land is filled with silver and gold,

....and there is no end to their treasures;

their land is filled with horses,

....and there is no end to their chariots.

Their land is filled with idols;

....they bow down to the work of their hands,

....to what their own fingers have made.

And so people are humbled,

....and everyone is brought low—

....do not forgive them!

The haughtiness of people shall be humbled,

....and the pride of everyone shall be brought low;

and the Lord alone will be exalted on that day.

On that day people will throw away

....to the moles and to the bats

their idols of silver and their idols of gold,

....which they made for themselves to worship,

to enter the caverns of the rocks

....and the clefts in the crags,

from the terror of the Lord,

....and from the glory of his majesty,

....when he rises to terrify the earth.

Isaiah 2 links together the sins of idolatry and economic oppression. A major theme of prophetic literature is the distinction between the Lord and the gods of the nations. The people of Israel are called to be a sign of God’s purpose for humanity throughout the world. They are blessed so that through them, all nations will be blessed. At the heart of such blessing is to know that the Lord is a good and just God. Therefore, the prophets often write that God will act “for the sake of my name.” “Name” is not strictly an arbitrary label applied to an object here. It is more like the idiomatic English use in the phrase “my good name.” God has a reputation to uphold, and if God’s people display to the world a society built on social oppression and violence, then it seems that the Lord is just one more prejudiced tribal deity looking to help out some cronies.

One aspect, then, of idolatry is the devotion to gods who one hopes to manipulate for personal favor or gain. The idolatry of Israel involved worshiping gods who might deliver protection from a worker’s uprising or a competitor’s advantage. Such gods might offer an exchange or a deal—in return for worship and obedience, a bumper crop to be sold for unjust gain. These gods might offer to increase the landholdings of their devotees, giving tacit blessing to driving the poor from their lands through sharecropping and usurious practices. The Lord is not willing to be known as the god of this kind of people. The Lord will not be tossed in with the gods of oppressors. The Lord will not be manipulated.

Another aspect of idolatry is its link with self-centeredness and pride. One criticism of the idols in this oracle is that they are themselves the creations of human hands. People are bowing down to worship products of their own making. What they are worshiping is not a god in any traditional sense. They are, as Adam and Eve, longing to become gods themselves and usurp the place of the Lord. Having plenty of gold or silver allows them to commission and purpose beautiful sculptures of deities. It is a reminder of the way that the people at Mt. Sinai brought their wealth to Aaron to shape for them a god of their own making.

This oracle cites their haughtiness and pride as the seed of their downfall. They rationalize their self-idolatry on the basis of their treasures and military might. They believe that their appearance of wealth and power means that they are in charge of their own destinies. But soon, these illusions, so perfectly visible in the mansions and idols of silver and gold, will become useless. Instead, they will flee to the caves and cliffs, finding their delusions of deity have become worthless.

Those who believe their ill-gotten gain is salvation have much to learn about the Lord, who is just, holy, and good.

Again, a few lines from Bruce Cockburn, “Call It Democracy,” offer a contrapuntal melodic line.

Sinister cynical instrument

Who makes the gun into a sacrament—

The only response to the deification

Of tyranny by so-called "developed" nations'

Idolatry of ideology.

North, South, East, West—

Kill the best and buy the rest.

It's just spend a buck to make a buck.

You don't really give a flying f---

About the people in misery.

IMF (dirty MF)

Takes away everything it can get,

Always making certain that there's one thing left:

Keep them on the hook with insupportable debt.

Isaiah and Economic Justice 2: The Blood of the Poor

Isaiah 1:12-18

When you come to appear before me,

....who asked this from your hand?

Trample my courts no more;

....bringing offerings is futile;

....incense is an abomination to me.

New moon and sabbath and calling of convocation—

....I cannot endure solemn assemblies with iniquity.

Your new moons and your appointed festivals my soul hates;

....they have become a burden to me,

....I am weary of bearing them.

When you stretch out your hands,

....I will hide my eyes from you;

even though you make many prayers,

....I will not listen;

....your hands are full of blood.

Wash yourselves;

....make yourselves clean;

remove the evil of your doings from before my eyes;

....cease to do evil,

....learn to do good;

seek justice,

....rescue the oppressed,

defend the orphan,

....plead for the widow.

Come now, let us argue it out,

....says the Lord:

though your sins are like scarlet,

....they shall be like snow;

though they are red like crimson,

....they shall become like wool.

Isaiah 1 functions literarily as an introduction and a preview. It provides insight into the complaint that the Lord has against Israel. Unlike the Former Prophets’ focus on temple loyalty, this oracle challenges the whole practice of temple worship. Temple worship is pointless and useless in the eyes of God if it is not accompanied with a life worthy of God.

Much of the language is general, speaking about sin and evildoings, yet there are a few specific indications of what these sins consist in. The first example comes in describing their posture of prayer, with hands stretched out to God. God will not look upon them or listen to their prayers because their “hands are full of blood.” Whose blood does is on their hands? Where have they found to drench their hands in blood? It is the blood of the poor.

The powerful and wealthy who frequent the temple with displays of public piety are the ones who are oppressing the poor. They come to the temple convinced that their prosperity comes from God’s favor. They are so mixed up about who God is that they want “the day of the Lord” to come quickly (see 5:18-19). They are sure that whatever God is about to reveal will be for their benefit. They completely misunderstand what it is to be the people of God.

How can we be sure it is these people and this evil that Isaiah is addressing? A few lines further the oracle gets specific again. After telling the audience of this oracle to wash and cease to do evil, a list of actions makes the message very clear. “Seek justice. Rescue the oppressed. Defend the orphan. Plead for the widow.” This first chapter draws attention to the evil that is making God detest temple worship. The people with bloody hands are unjust. They are oppressing their sisters and brothers, or benefiting from oppression and standing by while the weak and marginalized go hungry, are beaten, lose their homes and possessions, fall sick, and die. In a well-recognized trope, the orphan and widow are held up as the “poster children” of the vulnerable among Israel. Isaiah is confronting the violent system of economic oppression.

A few lines from a contemporary prophetic text by Bruce Cockburn, “Call It Democracy,” may help to elucidate what is at stake in this passage.

Padded with power, here they come—

International loan sharks backed by the guns

Of market-hungry military profiteers,

Whose word is a swamp, and whose brow is smeared

With the blood of the poor;

Who rob life of its quality;

Who render rage a necessity

By turning countries into labour camps,

Modern slavers in drag as champions of freedom.

Central and South America have endured much "aid" from the U. S., often resulting in coups-de-tat, civil wars, counter-insurgency campaigns, wars against the poor and the indigenous, and the rise of leaders who in the words of Bruce Cockburn "kiss the ladies, shake hands with the fellows, and open for business like a cheap bordello; and they call it democracy." Two specific aspects of this imperialist, exploitative relationship with our southern neighbors came up for policy review this week.

One was the restructuring of aid to Colombia. For many years, Columbia has been under attack with U. S. support, destroying the crops of the poor, poisoning their water, filling their bodies with toxins, destroying their villages in the name of the "War on Drugs." The powerful drug cartels have been a formidable foe, and the U. S. corporations who want to exploit Colombian resources have been pressing for military solutions. This week, military aid was drastically cut and humanitarian aid was correspondingly increased. This was an effort supported by Witness for Peace and many others. Find out how your Congressional representatives voted and contact them about it.

The second was the vote to cut funding for the SOA/WHINSEC, where the U. S. trains most of the terrorists who have committed atrocities in Latin America. By six votes, the funding was continued. It was close, but the time had come for this to happen. The new legislature should have listened to the call from the people to stop training torturers and terrorists. The terrible disclosures about torture in Abu Ghraib and in Europe and elsewhere through extraordinary rendition should have opened their eyes. The hoopla over Alberto Gonzales, who wrote the position papers justifying torture, should have made them act. Again, check on your representatives and let them know what you think of their votes.