NYT on Guns

My opinions on The New York Times can be summed up as follows: no, it's not fake news, but it needs a more narrow mission. The 1619 project, The Rabbit Hole, and Nice White Parents were all important works, but NYT diminishes its own news-providing credibility by creating clearly slanted pieces like those. There's more to say on the matter, but I've already gotten off topic.

The reason I'm blowing dust off ye ole blog is that today's episode of NYT's "The Daily" is a must listen. It's about regular old Americans on the right and on the left who are buying weapons in order to gear up for the potential of civil unrest after next week's election. Find the episode here. Whatever you do, don't skip the conclusion. which calls to mind the words of Father Greg Boyle, who has put his finger squarely on what's the matter with us; on the heart of the matter: no kinship, no peace; no kinship, no justice. 

Watch with me

I’m not sure why this story affected me so deeply. Maybe it’s because examples of de-

escalation gone wrong are all over the news. Maybe it’s because as a special ed. teacher, I’ve been in the place of needing to calm someone down and not knowing where the episode would lead or how long it would take. Or maybe it’s because I’ve always wondered what Wendell Berry would have to say about disability. Whatever the reasons, I was recently gobsmacked by “Watch with me,” a 1994 Berry short story from a collection by the same title.

The story is about a crazy man named Nightlife who’s stolen off with Ptolemy “Tol” Proudfoot’s very capable shotgun named Fetcher. Nightlife is too dangerous to ignore and too deep into his own world to hear Tol’s direction. So instead of a quick disarming, Tol gathers together a hodgepodge crew of his fellow farmers, which simply follows Nightlife around, through fields, woods, streams, and even to one neighbor couple’s dinner table. 

“Watch with me” is a story about the best kind of community, and it’s a story about the gospel. Elsewhere, Berry has stated that “Christ seems to have come to carry religion out of the temples into the fields and sheep pastures, onto the roadsides and the banks of rivers, into the houses of sinners and publicans, into the town and the wilderness, toward the membership of all that is here.” (Jayber Crow, p. 321).  In “Watch with me”—perhaps more so than in any other story—Berry shows what this gospel looks like along the very fields, pastures, roadsides, and river banks of little Port William, Kentucky. A caution: this story is slow. At 90 pages, there’s little page-turning action, and the deliberate, meandering pace is an offense to the modern reader. I encourage readers to receive the offense head-on, for Tol’s acceptance of inefficiency is what makes the story work.

To repeat my recurring theme, if you are hungry for wisdom that offers both critique and rudimentary answers to our modern crises, read Wendell Berry already. But if you are a minister, police office, a special educator, or anyone who is asked for help in a time of crisis, pay special attention to “Watch with me”. I hope it expands your view of who is your neighbor, and allows you to see the biggest nuisances with the deepest respect.

From Genesis 2 to George Floyd

As we are looking for a frame within which to fit this week's tragedy, I submit to you a sermon by Rev. Dr. Charlie Dates from Chicago's Progressive Baptist Church. Thanks Dr. Darcel Brady for passing along this recommendation.

While the whole sermon is worth careful attention, I found one passage particularly powerful.  My nine-year-old daughter and I typed out this passage, which starts at 49:50. 

I can’t breathe.

What a striking thought. Given the unique intimate relationships that human beings carry with the one true God the concept of breath and breathing throughout the scripture is strikingly theological. As we come to Genesis chapter 2, verse 7 God breathes the breath of life to make of a lump clay a living soul. Genesis chapter 2 verse 7 is a clue for every searching heart, every wandering spirit who hears the words of Eric Garner; sees George Floyd trapped under the knee of state-sanctioned violence; who watches and reads the pitiful sentiments of a president sympathetic with oppression. Genesis chapter 2 verse 7 is a clue as to why the words, “I can’t breathe” are strikingly important. And why human life is so sacred.

Because we human beings do not have a borrowed dignity. We do not have a conjured or manufactured significance. No. We are not the inferior work of creation, or the subjects of human power. We are not a creation of our imagination. Nor are we the constructs of depraved imagination. We human beings are something else: something more wonderful, something more striking, Something more glorious. We are the works of Gods own hands. Think about that. Like a sculptor, God kneeled down, and he shaped us. He bent our curves and he shaped our nostrils, and he framed our throats, and he built our chests. He formed us. Like an engineer he designed us, and then refined us. And then he breathed into us so that we bear the fingerprint and the imprimatur and the signature of God himself. And if that wasn’t enough, the clue to our significance is the importance is seen in the distinction and the content of our physical composition. Yes, we are made of dust. Yes, we are made of clay. Yes, one day these bodies will lay back down in the ground. We are not just dust. We are not just clay, formed in complex and majestic patterns. Read closely a line about how we came to life.

As Adam’s body lay there lifeless in all of its glory and intricacy it still was lifeless until it was directly animated by its creator. Ca you see Adam laying there? Perfect in composition. Can you see Adam laying there wonderful in his own glory? And yet lifeless.

But there he goes! Here it comes! The wind of God is about to be blown into the nostrils of Adam. Can you see Adam, a lifeless malador corpse, as the wind of God comes inside of him, and he sits up! Turns his head. His eyes begin to blink. No birth canal. No incubation. No gestation. He rises to a living perpendicular. That’s why breath is a powerful thing. Now he starts breathing. His very existence--his every movement--is tied to the life that is put in him.And Moses put it this way: “He became a living soul.”

A house of clay became an independent breathing creature. Maybe that’s why when under the oppressive knee of another human being, the thought, or the declaration, “I can’t breathe” is such an emotionally and psychologically violent crime. Who are we, to stamp out that breath that only God can put in the body?

This is why, when I heard George Floyd eek out the words of his 46-year-old body in a forced whisper, “I can’t breathe” my mind went traveling beyond Eric Garner. It kept moving through the 1960s. It went past 1619. Skipped over the Protestant Reformation. It danced past the African church fathers. It went beyond the Apostle Paul and the Ephesian Church. It leapt over hundreds of years and of prophets and judges, until it landed in Genesis chapter 2.

When I watched another video, of another unarmed black man put to death by the sanctioned violence of officer Derek Chauvin, I considered the fact that such a cry as “I can’t breathe” is not merely anthropological, but it is theological. The problem with white supremacy: killing of black women and black women in America is an error of theology. It is a failure of the white mind and the white power structure to remember from where breath really comes.

America in Turmoil

Would that the past was past, that the civil right movement had put an end to our separate existences, that our racial divides were healed with available salves.

I am grieved and praying for George Floyd and his loved ones. I am grieved and praying for the black community, and the centuries-long experience of unequal schools, housing, and criminal justice systems. And I'm remembering this poem by Langston Hughes, that our family will be reading and discussing as we process this awful week. 

Let America Be America Again, Langston Hughes, 1938 (video of recitation below)

Let America be America again.
Let it be the dream it used to be.
Let it be the pioneer on the plain
Seeking a home where he himself is free.

(America never was America to me.)

Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed—
Let it be that great strong land of love
Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme
That any man be crushed by one above.

(It never was America to me.)

O, let my land be a land where Liberty
Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath,
But opportunity is real, and life is free,
Equality is in the air we breathe.

(There's never been equality for me,
Nor freedom in this "homeland of the free.")

Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark?
And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?

I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart,
I am the Negro bearing slavery's scars.
I am the red man driven from the land,
I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek—
And finding only the same old stupid plan
Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.

I am the young man, full of strength and hope,
Tangled in that ancient endless chain
Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land!
Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need!
Of work the men! Of take the pay!
Of owning everything for one's own greed!

I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil.
I am the worker sold to the machine.
I am the Negro, servant to you all.
I am the people, humble, hungry, mean—
Hungry yet today despite the dream.
Beaten yet today—O, Pioneers!
I am the man who never got ahead,
The poorest worker bartered through the years.

Yet I'm the one who dreamt our basic dream
In the Old World while still a serf of kings,
Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true,
That even yet its mighty daring sings
In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned
That's made America the land it has become.
O, I'm the man who sailed those early seas
In search of what I meant to be my home—
For I'm the one who left dark Ireland's shore,
And Poland's plain, and England's grassy lea,
And torn from Black Africa's strand I came
To build a "homeland of the free."

The free?

Who said the free? Not me?
Surely not me? The millions on relief today?
The millions shot down when we strike?
The millions who have nothing for our pay?
For all the dreams we've dreamed
And all the songs we've sung
And all the hopes we've held
And all the flags we've hung,
The millions who have nothing for our pay—
Except the dream that's almost dead today.

O, let America be America again—
The land that never has been yet—
And yet must be—the land where every man is free.
The land that's mine—the poor man's, Indian's, Negro's, ME—
Who made America,
Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,
Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain,
Must bring back our mighty dream again.

Sure, call me any ugly name you choose—
The steel of freedom does not stain.
From those who live like leeches on the people's lives,
We must take back our land again,
America!

O, yes,
I say it plain,
America never was America to me,
And yet I swear this oath—
America will be!

Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,
The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,
We, the people, must redeem
The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.
The mountains and the endless plain—
All, all the stretch of these great green states—
And make America again!

A Quick Coronavirus Thought

Life flipped.

In normal days, existence isn’t really a consideration. How can it be? We run from event to event, making it to appointments, practices, grocery stores, barely with enough time to take it all in. Life moves so fast, and we lament how the days fly by. 

Now, though, existence is very much in question. Life as we know it hangs in the balance, and the daily barrage of busyness has halted. Abruptly, our moments have become unrushed. Didn’t get the socks folded? There’s always tomorrow. Wished we could have read more to the girls? Go to bed, get up, and try again. There is much to drink in, and chances for re-tries abound, in these days of grace and dread.

New Decade's Resolution Revisited

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Ten years ago I published a list of goals that I would strive to accomplish from 2010 – 2019.  The hours I write in now are the last of that decade, and mark my failure to meet almost every one of them. But I’m not even a little disappointed.

Life has twisted and turned dramatically in these last 10 years. On January 1, 2010, I was a husband, father of three, Chicago Public Schools Special Education teacher, and Evangelical Protestant Christian. Today, I am a husband, father of six (three teenagers, a nine, seven, and three year old), Olivet Nazarene U. professor, and Orthodox Christian. 10 years ago, I loved to read and discuss big ideas, but mostly with a very small group of trusted friends. Toward the end of the last decade, my friend Chad encouraged me to start a blog, and that helped to me find a voice – to spark a few conversations, to force me to hammer out some ideas, and to declare to myself (and to anyone who happened upon my blog) that I am a thinking person. (In all sincerity, I didn’t realize this before the blog). Fast-forward. Today, I read and write and discuss big ideas as part of my daily work. Indeed, designing activities and questions that elicit discussions and thoughtful responses is my favorite part of university teaching.

Here’s how it works: multiple times a week, I get to lead young adults in conversations that are fascinating, about deeply important issues for our society, at the time when these young adults are making decisions that will shape their own world for generations. And it’s riveting. I know this may surprise some, but I find teaching at a Christian college a truly robust academic “venue.” While polarization seems to be a hallmark of our time, there is a true plurality of opinions and viewpoints among Olivet students. For any topic – from human sexuality, to war in Afghanistan, to global economic systems, to ethical garbage disposal – the classrooms at Olivet are full of diverse, and diverse Christian opinions, and the students manage to listen attentively and disagree respectfully at nearly every turn.

So there’s no shortage of space for me to dive into big ideas, but in every instance, I want to keep my own voice out. I may add a thought here or there, but I think that the students learn best by articulating their own thinking, and no one wants to go to class with Professsor Opinionated. I love being along for the rides of student discussion, and even to push the rides along, but those rides are ultimately not for me. So for the last few years, I’ve been mostly keeping to myself my own notions God, work, family, education, politics, or whatever else comes to mind.

I have hesitated to share my thoughts in writing since becoming a professor. For one, I’m not just a dude who thinks some thoughts anymore. I am affiliated with a denominational university, which has funders, who may care what kind of stuff this dude is putting out there. Next, I’ve been worried about being inaccurate. Bearing the title of an academic means being careful with facts and sources, and it means writing for an audience, each of which slows down the writing/posting process. At times, I've wondered whether students will read my post and label me (either conservative or liberal, depending on the topic) and turn off in my classes.  So at first, I would write without posting.  Lately I’ve spent my time in academic writing, which just isn’t that fun.  Of course, social media is a bad alternative and for a thousand reasons. 

I’m realizing that this shift away from posting personal processing is a problem. It occurred to me the other night at dinner. I was telling the kids that I was needing a bumper sticker for my car. (Oh yeah, 10 years ago I walked to work; now I drive). The bumper sticker would say: “Love thy neighbor, boycott Amazon” with the possibility of replacing the comma with a semicolon or a colon or leaving out the punctuation altogether. Now what I told the kids was an obvious fact: I do need this bumper sticker. But my teenage daughter responded with no understanding. Why would I be so mean to such a helpful company? And couldn’t I just be positive? And how can I argue with free shipping?

Oh dear! Have I failed to articulate to my Suzie how boycotting amazon is an act of hope? Have I neglected to teach her about the dangers, toils, and snares free things from companies, particularly free things that undercut local businesses by giving away world-burning fuel for shipping on trucks and planes like it’s parade candy?  Of course, Suzie is welcome to disagree with father opinionated. But her surprise showed me that my silence has created a vacuum. And amazon always beats a vacuum. 

in search of a space to create thought pieces that I can share with my own kids . . . in search of a thought sandbox that’s different from the college classroom, and from academic journals,  I find myself needing a space to think publically: to take up the task of turning ideas into words, and sharing them with all who may click.

Let’s start here: I will post my 2010 New Decade’s Resolution below, with an updated comment next to each resolution. And then, just to keep you all (Chad, mom) reading, I’ll write yet another resolution at the end.

2010 New Decade Resolutions 

Family

1. I resolve to take my wife on weekend getaways 20 times – Utter Failure

2. I will coach a baseball team that with Isaac, Suzy and Eli on the roster. Partial success. The 2013 Little Village Rays won the title with 9yo Isaac pitching out of his mind, and 6yo Eli turning every walk into a double. Suzie played for my coaching friend Gaby in a different division. 

3. I resolve to live with with my family in a poor country for an extended period (a month or more). Fail

4. I resolve to try to teach each child to play an instrument. Fail. But how was I to know that the most talented three musicians in our family were yet to be born?

5. I resolve to allow my children to learn to grow and raise food on a farm (I would say to teach them, but I don’t know how to do this myself). This is a fail, but I’m proud to say that they can all work. 

6. I resolve to take the family camping 10 times. 40%

Community

1. I resolve to develop meaningful relationships with 4 families (not just the kids) on our block. Success, thought I don’t know what 2010 Brian meant by “meaningful”

2. To lead a Bible Study or discussion group with neighbors Depends on how I was defining "neighbors"

3. To train one neighbor as a Christian disciple; Umm, success. I think when I wrote this I was thinking of someone who didn’t already know Jesus. I wasn’t thinking then that almost all of my neighbors were baptized Catholics; a fact that carries considerably more weight for me now than it did then.

4. To become a board member for the Little Village baseball league. Success!

Spiritual

1. To fast for two weeks from media 10 times Success

2. To fast for two weeks from food and media 10 times  Orthodox fast differently. You don’t get to set your own terms. 

3. To do a 40 day food fast. See #2.

4. To study 10 books of the Bible (like with commentaries and what-not) Fail

5. To focus study on Theophostic prayer, and develop a ministry of prayer with others Success, though it’s been a while!

Physical

1. To bat .500 for the Little Village Lugnuts Fail, but I sure miss those Sunday afternoons!

2. To pitch a no-hitter for the Little Village Lugnuts Fail

3. To beat Siri Greeley in ultimate Frisbee once Fail

4. To work out for a period of 6 months, once Fail

The Arts

1. To practice my cello 20 days out of one month. Fail

2. To finish the canons of: Wendell Berry (just his fiction), C.S. Lewis, Leslie Newbigin and Frederick Buechner. What a list. Success on Berry; I’ll never finish the others, and that’s fine.

3. To read the Koran and the Catechism of the Catholic Church Fail on the Koran, partial success of the Catechism

4. To write 10 songs - Fail

5. To add 100 postings to this here blog – Success

6. To send 20 hand-written letters – 25%

Work

1. I resolve to continue working as a Special Education teacher for these ten years – Success; same field, different role.

2. To achieve National Board Certification – Success

3. To come up with some more goals for work; Success, I now have a zillion of them.

2020 New Year’s Resolution

A decade’s worth of resolutions presupposed far too much agency on my part. So instead, and as a means to find this slipping voice, let's keep this simple: I resolve to write 12 new blog posts in 2020. 11 more to go. 

Happy New Year,