Sunday, November 6, 2011

What’s wrong with us?

Since I got my first AARP card in the mail this week, I figure I’ve finally taken the first steps to becoming elderly. I’m excited about this, because one of the chief virtues people assign to the elderly is their wisdom. Older people know things. It must be because of all the miles they have logged, but the older a person gets, the more he or she understands life — even if the conclusion is that life cannot easily be understood.

I’m also excited to tell you that this older person = sage thing obviously worked. Because, less than a day after the card arrived, I woke up this morning understanding what is causing most of the problems in the world. It’s them.


You know who them is. In the realm of U.S. politics, for example, if you are a Democrat, it’s a Republican. Conversely, if you’re a Republican, it’s the Democrats. All of the world’s problems would disappear and the earth would be  a garden if we could just lock up all the Democrats, or all the Republicans. Simple as that.


While we’re at it, we have to get rid of the conservatives and the liberals. A lot of Republicans use Liberal as another label for Democrat, so we can probably kill two birds with one stone there, and conversely, Republican must equal Conservative, so that’s another two-for-one special out of the way.


So that’s my solution: If we just figure out who they are and take them out of the equation (non-violently, of course), surely whoever’s left will be free to enact their plans on how to fix America, and we’ll finally get that paradise we’re all wanting.


The only problem is people have tried that before: politically parties have taken over legislatures, or indeed, whole governments, when they saw other groups causing all the problems. For example, in 1930s Germany, they went by the name of Social Democrats. Once the opposition was eliminated, then Germany was free to usher in the “paradise” that was the Third Reich. And since so many men and women of my parent’s generation suffered and died to rid the world of that “paradise,” I think we can rule out mass bans of the opposition as a way of settling debate.


Our founding fathers were much wiser men than we seem to be. They built into our government a system of checks and balances, so a man like Adolph Hitler wouldn’t turn the country into a dictatorship — or, to be fair to their perspective, a monarchy. There are sophisticated controls to allow one branch, when pushed, to push back. The problem is, I don’t think they foresaw just how much of a role money and power would come to play in our governments. And I don’t think they knew to what extent pushing would become the rule, not the exception.


Washington today has become a joke. Were he to go to Washington today, Mr. Smith wouldn’t last five minutes before he was swallowed up by special interests and partisan politics. That’s simply the coin of the realm these days. Quite apart from their individual selfish interests, the various and sundry Republicans and Democrats have dropped any pretense of seeing the other side as “the loyal opposition,” and instead, have become the political equivalent of that old married couple down the street — the only way they can communicate is to argue. They belittle, they ridicule, they accuse, they demean, and the seek only the other side’s destruction. When a man goes to Washington these days, he’s often much more interested in hurting them and doing good for his own side than in doing what’s best for the people that sent him there. I know — that’s a generalization. But it is far too often true.


So in retrospect, I guess age does not automatically equate to wisdom. Mostly because I really have no clue how to fix what’s wrong in Washington, but also because so many of the people who are causing the problems in Washington could and perhaps do belong to AARP.


Be that as it may, I remain convinced that the United States has thrown aside the greatness of an us in favor of a lot of shrieking, divisive thems


When I was a young man, and even more idealistic than I am now, I watched the presidential election night results at a friend’s house. I won’t say which election, and I won’t say which party to which he and his mother belonged. But as the night fell irrevocably to them, one of them said to the other, with a wrathful relish I’ll not soon forget, “Now we’ll show them!”


I’ve thought of that every election night since then. At first, I thought that tone was simply the province of that particular party — proof that they were, themselves a them to be opposed. But now, I realize that both parties come to power, or return to it, with that battle cry on their lips. As a result, I have long since dismissed politics as an insolvable mess. As them against them. Oh, I voted every year — my duty as a citizen. But I tried to stay aloof; to not get involved. I had no desire to wade into somebody else’s fight. And besides, I really didn’t have any answers either, so why muddy the waters with my own amateurish and unschooled opinions.


Now, the “wisdom” of my years have made me realize that this was a mistake. I’ve sat on the sidelines for far too long. And, all kidding aside, I don’t know how many years I have left. I think perhaps the time has come for me to make some sort of difference with the time I have remaining.


The battle is out there. But it is also inside of us. The thems aren’t conservatives, liberals, Republicans, Democrats, or any of the various and traditional opposing forces. The thems are ignorance, poverty, greed, corruption, scorn, contempt, pride, arrogance, abuse of a dozen different kinds, prejudice, bigotry, waste, and hundreds of other sins of commission and omission. They are all around us. They are non-partisan. And they will never be stopped until the Lord returns. But they must always, always, be fought.


I am a small man, of small means, and there is little that I can do of myself. But starting today, and in my own small way, I mean to try.

Wednesday, October 5, 2011

Requiem


Steve Jobs, former CEO of my favorite technology company, died today. There are going to be a lot of people eulogizing Mr. Jobs, or Steve, as we Apple fanboys frequently called him.

Virtually any of these people are going to be far better qualified than I am to wax poetic about what he was like, or how his life mattered in ways we still don’t fully know the scope of.

I never knew Steve; never wrote to him, never even saw him from afar. I suspect that had I known him as a person, there’s a chance I might not have liked him. None of that matters right now, anyway.

I only want to tell one story about Steve, and its not really about him. It’s about me. 

When I was a young man in the mid-eighties, I loved music above practically all else. It consumed me. I wanted to spend the rest of my life making it, listening to it, and sharing it with other people. I was going to be the next Geddy Lee, or John Lennon, or any one of a handful of the talented men I idolized in my early twenties. Music was, in a word, sacred to me.

Flash forward roughly twenty years. By this time I have failed at becoming a musician, in more ways than one. I had burned out on studying trumpet (a very long story), which left a music education degree unfinished. I had subsequently left that to become a bass player with my best friend. That, too, came to naught, and eventually, the part of me that used to love music was a empty, dead place. Poke it a little with a memory, or somesuch thing, and the pain of my failure would come roaring back. So mostly, I avoided music for years at a time.

What changed that feeling for me was an iPod photo, which my wife, in her infinite wisdom, encouraged me to buy when she saw how much I wanted one. And make no mistake, it was enormously expensive compared to other devices — $500, at a time when portable CD players were $100. But it gave me the ability to carry around my music collection with me wherever I went. It let me sit, still and quiet in a chair, getting lost in pieces of music I hadn’t listened to for years. The ability to access whatever you wanted, whenever you wanted, was a complete game-changer for me. And before much time had passed, I was able to fall in love with music again.

Oh, not to the same level I had before; I was young, then, and full of the passions of youth. Music will never be like that for me again. But thanks to that iPod, and the ones that came after it, I was able to become excited about music again, which for me is by no means a small thing.

The company that made that iPod is named Apple. The man who oversaw the many, many people in that company who designed and built that iPod is named Steve Jobs. He died today.

A lot of people are going to remember Steve for what he built. I’m going to remember him for what he, indirectly, gave back to me. As it turns out, the iPod was just the tip of the iceberg for me — there were Macs and iPhones and iPads in my future. But I still, still feel a soft spot in my heart for the simple genius of that first iPod. And it is altogether fitting that, when I heard the news of Steve’s death, I was tinkering with the playlists on my iPhone — still enjoying the world of digital music that he helped make happen.

Rest in peace, Steve. And, from the bottom of my heart, my deepest thanks.

Friday, September 9, 2011

Down, not out

This is a bit of a first. My Internet is down at home, so I'm resorting to my newly acquired Blogger app on my phone to post this. Typing on a 3.5-inch piece of glass is tricky — even trickier when you consider it's in portrait mode. But with patience and the right tools, anything is possible.

I have little to say this outing; only that I am in the end game of a long-overdue week off. Life is good right now. I hope to have more content in the future. For now, I think I'll use the absence of the World Wide Web as a chance to unplug for the rest of the weekend — at least from the Internet.

See you soon.

Sunday, August 21, 2011

Imperfect present tense

I had a Facebook “conversation” not too long ago where I confessed to getting old. A friend of mine responded with “it beats being dead,” to which I replied, without thinking, that it did, for a fact.

Another friend immediately (and accurately) pointed out that we actually didn’t know that for a fact. The instant I read his post, I felt a bit like Peter when the rooster crowed for the third time. And I was instantly ashamed.

I was ashamed because I am a Christian. And as such, I’m supposed to know better.

Of course, everyone knows that Christians believe in an afterlife. We believe that what is waiting for us after death is so much better than what we have here that we can’t even imagine it. 

Often, this idea gets over-simplified (or more accurately, derided) by some as “pie-in-the-sky-when-you-die” — an unspecified and intangible reward you get in return for a lifetime of denial, sacrifice and doing what you’re told. And I’m sorry to say that it is the sum total of what some people think Christianity means.

I think it’s more accurate to say that Christians believe that death is the moment that we cease looking at the world through a dirty mirror, as Paul the Apostle famously wrote to the Church at Corinth, and get a look at the way things really are. It’s not just life after death — it’s life as it really is. 

For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then we will see face to face. Now I know only in part; then I will know fully, even as I have been fully known. (1 Cor. 13:12, NRSV).

Heaven, put simply, is when all of our questions have answers, and when we are reunited with the God we have been, whether we know it or not, yearning for all of our lives.

Before I go any further, I should say that I believe that as an important a concept as heaven for Christians, it is secondary to the much more important question of how we act towards our fellow men and women here and now; we are called to make earth as heaven-like as possible right now, with our work, our love, and our compassion. Simply sitting back, twiddling our thumbs, and waiting for heaven to come to us isn’t an option.

But I digress: I think the reason I gave my casual, off-the-cuff answer to my friend is twofold. First, I am, like most people, seeped in a lifetime of secular thinking, where death is seen as crushingly final. From where we stand now, when death comes, all of your choices end. From the earthbound perspective, the story is over. 

Of course, Christians believe the exact opposite — that death is the moment when the story actually begins. My pastor has a wonderful habit of saying someone who has died has “joined the Church Triumphant.” Apparently, it’s an idea hasn’t fully gotten into my bones yet.

There is a second possibility — that the off-the-cuff, without-thinking answer is much closer to what a person really believes than the reasoned, deliberate one. In other words, with my answer, I revealed that I really don’t believe what I actually profess to believe.

While I concede the possibility, I don’t think this is what’s going on at all. I’ve had ample opportunities during my lifetime to cultivate my innate deist tendencies (I never felt the call of true agnosticism within me, much less atheism). Instead, quite the opposite has happened; as I have gotten older, I have grown in my belief, and my faith.

In the interest of clarity, that belief is best summed up by the concise words of the Apostle’s Creed;

I believe in God the Father Almighty,
maker of heaven and earth;
And in Jesus Christ his only Son our Lord:
who was conceived by the Holy Spirit,
born of the Virgin Mary,
suffered under Pontius Pilate,
was crucified, dead, and buried;
the third day he rose from the dead;
he ascended into heaven,
and sitteth at the right hand of God the Father Almighty;
from thence he shall come to judge the quick and the dead.
I believe in the Holy Spirit,
the holy catholic* church,
the communion of saints,
the forgiveness of sins,
the resurrection of the body,
and the life everlasting. Amen.

Instead, I think there is a third, and much more likely, possibility; that I am simply guilty of having imperfect faith. To quote our friend Paul again, faith “is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.” (Hebrews 11:1). I have not seen heaven — not in this life, at least — but I really do I believe it exists, for the simple reason that people that I trust — Jesus, Paul, C.S. Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkien, and others — have told me that it does.

I do not have the faith of any of these men; least of all Jesus, who Paul calls “the pioneer and perfecter of our faith.” Fortunately, faith is a not a quality that one is born with; it is a quantity that is developed, like strength or knowledge. If I am physically weak now, I can exercise, and become stronger. If I am ignorant on a given subject, I can study, and learn. And if my faith is imperfect (a foregone conclusion), prayer, study and fellowship can only increase it. 

If so, maybe next time, simple Facebook conversations won’t trip me up, and I won’t have to use almost 1,000 words to correct what I should have said in 30 or less.

We can always hope.
*We Protestants read this as “universal,” but my Catholic friends can feel free to substitute the uppercase C.