On Abiding the Contrary

A dear friend gently offered the counsel that I tend to posture myself in a way that "cannot abide the contrary." Perhaps preachers, those who often have a gift of 'forth-telling', are prone to this. We know what we know and we know it is right and pity the person not likewise enlightened! (I am thinking of signing all correspondence with the acronym moniker CAC.)

I know this can be annoying. OK, I know it can ruin dialogue and even friendship. As is our human wont, the things true of we ourselves are often the things of which we complain in others. Thus, when friends speak self-assuredly of things 'I know to be wrong' I tend to think they are guilty of CAC and need to be corrected and instructed. "If only they would tone down a bit they'd see the error of their ways. Why won't they listen for a change?"

Can I be free of such confidence in my outlook? Probably not, for thinking requires confidence in one's opinions. Yet, I long to be able to speak peaceably with those whose ideas I think are nuts; to listen well and dialogue without judging.

Here's my partial prescription, offered with the necessary dose of CAC:

• Offer ideas to think about, not conclusions ripe for attack. (Opinions are for sharing, not imposing.)
• In perfect Stephen Covey style: "Seek first to understand, then to be understood."
• Attempt to disconnect ideas from feelings and personal identity.

There is more I suppose, all offered with the smiling caveat 'of course I know there is more -- don't imagine you knew it first!' Alas, CAC is omni-present, the blushing and stubborn pride born of painful insecurities.

But I am glad my friend is still my friend. He is able to overlook this flaw and love me anyway.

I'm learning!

CAC

"Freely you have received, freely give..."

 "Anything you do not give freely and abundantly becomes lost to you. 
You open your safe and find ashes." 

(Annie Dillard, Write Till You Drop)

She is on to something.

"Channels only, blessed Master, but with all Thy wondrous pow'r
Flowing through us, Thou canst use us, every day and every hour.

This old lyric is only true in loving relationship with Christ. Channels, yes, but also friends, devoted servants, sons and daughters with our Elder Brother, redeemed Children of Light, "workers together with God."

Yet, if we hoard what we receive it rots like the secreted manna.

Lord, you are the Safe for our lives. Let me not fashion my own private safe, imagining I can keep something there, only to find ashes on that Final Day when all is opened.

IF [100WW]

“If I can,” we say: subjunctive, possible, contingent. The ever-present IF. “I will do” the toddler says. Years later the boundless energy of young adults never stops, never wonders. The chutzpa of youth has no “if” in its vocabulary. Contingent? “Contingent on me!” Until we learn there are rocks on which we break, reality bigger than us, people who care deeply and see differently. They mean no ill, but can't cooperate. So we add one of many “ifs” to our plans and learn to live in the world as it is, instead of how it is in our head.

Miracle of Life at the Airport [10""TU]

Ten minute Tuesday finds me in the airport. O'Hare, no less, not your country runway. I first remember an airport in Ulysses, Kansas. We could see airplanes come and go about a mile away from our house. These were small Cessnas and crop dusters and such. In later years we passed the small Clay Center airport nearly every day of the week.

As an adult I lived near many airports that were large enough for jets but small enough to enjoy: WPB (in the early days), Jackson (MS), Lexington (KY), Roanoke (VA) and now Fairbanks, Alaska.

But today I am in one of the world's largest and as always I am amazed at the people. I have always loved people: variety, languages, personality. Even with the triumph of tech – nearly all the people waiting at my gate are on their phones – the differences are overwhelming and beautiful. I scarcely know what to do with it, in my understanding I mean. Changing it is the definition of impossible.

I grew up in beloved rural Kansas in a beloved church context that emphasized fundamentals. Conservative fundamentals. Ways of life and details for living that have very little obvious expression in the mass of people I see at a olace like O'Hare. It is an eye-opener. And painfully wonderful in all the good, human ways.

There is the constant problem of substance and form and I am reminded we all err in different ways on this continuum. I sat next to a couple that in form seemed to violate all that many – not just a conservative fundamentalist – would find wrong. Yet they had a child they obviously loved, and they cared for one another in apparent old-fashioned ways of love and devotion. Form one way, substance tacking opposite. I decided not to ask them how that works. 

And as I think about all of this I pray with a joy that bursts forth in praise for all that God has made, and for the privilege of living in this marvelous world.

On Disagreement, Motive, and Dealing with the Issue at Hand

Charity can help avoid the mire of polarization

Amazing how readily we find fault. Steven Covey says we get our "emotional jollies" by pointing out fault in others. I always heard we put others down to lift ourselves up, but this never made sense to me. Not sure why. Likely because I wasn't asking why I found fault with others. I just did it. If I did ask why the answer would be sure and certain: "I found fault because there was fault to be found. Why need there be more explanation than that?"

Why indeed?! I'm trying to sort this out because so often it seems we try to explain an action based on motives instead of accepting it as an action. And this seems wrong, except it is not.

There's the old relational wisdom that says we tend to judge ourselves on intent and others on their actions. That is, we excuse ourselves because we mean well and disregard possible good intent when assessing the action of others.

But what can happen when we obsess over motive? We excuse the action and fail to hold the actor accountable. This is a two-edged sword in controversy. I'll take a public figure as an example and see if I can work this out.

James Dobson served the American public for many years, trying to help us all think better about family and the things that matter most. He had his faults, like all of us, one being his leaning more and more into politics. It made his work more difficult I think but I always assumed he did it because -- here comes motive to explain and justify -- he felt the political arena could help him further his mission.

During the Clinton Presidency a scandal erupted around Clinton's alleged 18-month sexual relationship with Monica Lewinsky. This sordid affair, mixed with any number of other misdeeds, gave major ammo to his opponents. In the mix of the 1996 Presidential election Dobson and others made the earnest case that this flaw in Clinton's personal character disqualified him for the presidency. Adultery, with the mitigating factors of doing so in office and with an intern no less, was an offense so egregious one could never vote for Clinton in good conscience. Character matters and we must not compromise.

Fast forward to June of 2015 and one Donald Trump declared himself a candidate for President. Easily half of the electorate couldn't believe he was serious. But he was serious and because -- I assign motive again -- he was Republican and at least ostensibly promoted traditional values, the Evangelical mainstream and right embraced him.

Now the fight was on. Trump's life openly ignored traditional values. Twice divorced, his various escapades in business and family put him in the same broad moral category as Clinton, some would say worse. Granted he did not violate said norms while in the White House, but that's a small detail in a political scrum.

So in 2016 we had that same voter base – largely Evangelical Christian and social conservatives – deciding they could overlook Trump's sullied personal life. Character matters, yes. But some things matter more.

Many in what we might call the evangelical left, saw red: “Dobson and the Evangelical right is just doing this because they want political power!” Or likely more to the point, and more charitably: “Dobson supports Trump because he thinks he is best for the country.” But both deal with motivation, not the fact in hand. Why, exactly, did Dobson go in for Trump? Not sure. Probably several reasons. Why must we assign motive?

Another axiom says something like this: “Never assign ill will or malice as an explanation when ignorance or a simple mistake may do.” This seems a minimum of charity. We can surmise motive, and it is deeply human to do so, often very charitable. But why always go there? Why not just observe the action and deal with it?

So how did much of the Evangelical world assess Dobson's support of Trump? They charged him with gross inconsistency; some even use that overplayed word hypocrisy. “He said character matters for Clinton, he doesn't think so with Trump. He's a hypocrite!” Or worse, “He's a liar!”

Really? Is it possible we just deal with the action and allow that maybe, just maybe, he simply changed his mind? Maybe he overplayed his hand in the mid-90's and since came to believe he can't let his scruples rule out a candidate with whom he agrees philosophically. Maybe his motive is good in a tortured situation, dealing with multi-layered hierarchy of values. Ya think?!

 
Maybe the comparison between the two candidates is not one-to-one in Dobson's view. Maybe we should just deal with the facts on the ground and quit assigning motives that allow us to disdain. We have enough trouble knowing our own motives in difficult matters; pray tell how we can know the motives of others? And besides, I thought the great mantra governing all of life was “judge not.”

Dobson was no fan of Clinton, and I can presume he liked Trump for some inverse reasons he disliked Clinton. And Dobson apparently decided he could live with Trump's character issues regardless of what he had said about Clinton in 1995. Was an explanation in order? Maybe. But I am not sure most would even care. They had already decided his motives were sullied and he was a hypocrite.

There's a lot of fault to be found: planks and specks and a cruel vortex of exchanging barbs. When we step in that arena we step in quicksand. So we should stop and remember: beside the plank in my eye that keeps me from really seeing the speck in yours, there is a mirror. Find fault if you must, but start with yourself and you'll find you have enough problems to keep you busy for a lifetime.

Finally, I'll admit this is about heroes and the desperate need for them. Dobson was a hero and like all heroes – and all persons alive – he had faults. Newsflash: he even made some serious mistakes. But in this world of shocking polarization and devastating loss of friendship due to these kinds of disagreements, I'm trying to hold on. Dobson was one of my heroes and if I can – if the analysis and charity and judgmental habits will stretch far enough – I am going to keep it that way.

 
I hope my dear friends on all sides can find the grace to do the same with me. And I'm not even a hero.

The Limits of Analytical Powers Portend

analysis finds its nemesis
in wayward streets of the soul
where reason lives
but cannot reign for reasons

the reasons clear
for mind beyond
and mere mortals know
but can't say

must it be said
the truth which lives
and shapes our living
though unknown

seducing soul this thing
that must know and say
being quashed somehow
until the soul is whole

Strolling, Stones, and a Better Way

Comes to mind the stroll I often took in my growing up years. We lived in Ulysses, a farming and light industrial town in far Southwest Kansas. Our house was on the corner, one block off of Main Street and the four stoplights that controlled it. In a town of 3,500 or so, that was no problem, except those who spent hours "dragging main" used the block adjacent as their turn-around. But that was a small inconvenience and my dad's patrol car was often parked in the back, giving an instinctive brake-check to the High School-age drivers.

Since the town was small I did a lot of walking. We could be to school in 8 blocks or so: to the bank, grocery, general store, library, hospital, and a local park in less. The main grocery store was a mere two blocks away and before it was a small lumber yard with long, low yard buildings parallel to the street. What brings this to mind is a lot of pleasant, and some not so much. Today I'll consider the not so much.

I remember walking along beside that low building, not two blocks from my house, heading home, early evening. Who knows why I was there -- perhaps an errand to get a grocery item for Mom. Or maybe walking home from hunter safety course at the Law Enforcement Center in Court House Square one block behind me.

Whatever the case, I saw rocks on the ground, picked them up, and tossed them over my head like a hook shot. I was aiming for the windows of that lumber yard shed. And I hit them. Several of them.

These were old single pane, glazing and grid and all. But windows. Someone had paid good money and worked hard to install them. Someone would have to replace them and soon, for broken windows are bad for many reasons.

Who held me to account? Only my conscience, and without good training it would fail me. Who would make it right? No one, unless authorities caught me and made me pay. A few years later I did send them some money. That's another story, and right, but I doubt I sent enough. In today's money the damages would be worth $100 per window at minimum. Today, the old building is long gone. Was it any big deal?

Of course it was. If we measure justice according to "whose ox is getting gored" we quickly know when there is a wrong. The lumberyard suffered wrong. It matters not any explanation. I took from them and owed.

This is as real as life but it came to mind as I thought how easy it is in this world to tear down. For my part I am sure I was "acting out" some kind of inner strife or anger, for such is the human lot, though it does not make my actions right. But in other matters we often tear things down out of frustration: "It ain't working right -- get rid of it!" And that is always easier than finding a solution.

"Anything is better than what we have now." 

"Really? What do you propose?"

And so dies the discussion. This is the French Revolution. This is most revolutions, I suggest. The miracle of the so-called "American Revolution" is that it broke the rules of revolutions and certainly was not tearing things down as an end in itself. Rooted in common folk and citizen-soldiers grounded in the land, we built something on an idea that amazed the world in time and gave us a treasured civilization.

Do we have problems? Is that even a serious question? 

Too easily we throw stones because of our own problems or perceived problems in the civilized order, such as it is. This is not noble of itself and is easily ignoble. Throwing stones is easy. Anyone can do it. Breaking those windows was a piece-of-cake, even made me feel triumphant. But it tore down. It did not build.

We can agree that all fault-finding is not destructive. But what can we do to build instead of tear down? What solution do we have to remedy that which we declare wrong?

And perhaps most of all, what real serious attention are we giving to repair and strengthen our own personal character? Any one can throw a stone. But as the old song would remind us, "It's me, it's me, it's me O Lord, standin' in the need of prayer." 

Fix yourself and you have a lifetime job that pays back in spades and blesses the world. Throw stones and you degrade yourself while hurting another. It is not a good strategy for the good life, for the neighborhood, or for a civilization that blesses the world.

The intersection near where I did the vandalism.
The lumberyard was in top left quadrant.

My beloved boyhood home.