Wednesday, December 28, 2005

Making a Can of Campbell's Soup Sacred

Each week when I attend the Eucharist at Christ Church I take a can of Campbell's soup or some other object such as peanut butter, Ivory soap, macarroni and cheese, etc. and place it in the food baskets at the rear of the nave. These items are then distributed through the congregation's social needs ministry to the homeless. Living in downtown Indianapolis, I meet the homeless and many of our city's more or less professional panhandlers on a daily basis. But my option is to help through this ministry of my church.

When the monetary offerings and the wine and bread are brought forward to the altar just before the eucharist, the food baskets are also presented. Often, when I am kneeling at the altar rail receiving communion, I can see my donated can of Campbell's soup and I marvel at how it has made the trip from the soup section of Krogers to sharing sacred space with the Holy Body and Blood of Christ.

There is nothing magic about this trip. It is simply the dedication of an object--any object--to the purposes of Jesus: feeding the poor, taking care of the least of these.

In other blog postings I have written about how I walk a lot. That is one of my options, which I enjoy very much, as a person who chose not to own a car. Sometimes I find disgarded coins--pennies and nickels mostly--on the sidewalk. I take these coins home and put them in the piggy bank on top of the refrigerator. When the piggy bank gets full I sort the coins and bank them. Then I write a check for the same amount to some cause that I care about--often Episcopal Relief and Development for tsunami or other victims or to the Gay Men's Health Crisis in New York City for HIV/AIDS persons. Often I marvel at how an almost worthless lost coin can find new nobility and worth by moving from the sidewalk to the piggy bank to the bank and finally to the purposes of these organzations.

All of this reminds me that simple things can take on sacred meanings. Even Campell's soup. Even lost pennies.

Sunday, November 20, 2005

Sabbath Quilt

I have two jobs--one in a downtown Indianapolis bookstore and another cleaning private residences. These jobs, plus trying to have a life, keep me busy . . . . . too busy.

Most Americans are overworked, overscheduled and overbusy. We live with calendars and PDA's in one hand, laptop or cellphone in the other. Recently large numbers of us have taken to multi-tasking or doing more than one thing at a time.

I long to break my frenetic life with rest that refreshes. I need to stop at an oasis for awhile and drink some cold water and strengthen my forces for the journey ahead, whatever it may be.

This is why I began thinking about the concept of sabbath. A rabbi friend told me that sabbath is at the very core of the Jewish faith. She said: "It is like a vacation once a week."

I could use that vacation. The problem is that I have so many competing tasks. Sunday, a day I attend mass at Christ Church Cathedral and when I don't have to go to the book store or clean houses, is the logical and traditional candidate for my sabbath.

Yet, even this "day off" becomes a magnet for all of the things that I was unable to do during the week. For example, there are bills to pay, groceries to buy, unanswered phone messages to answer, the laundry that needs laundering and the house that needs cleaning. Sound familiar?

The need to introduce some balance and equilibrium into my multi-tasked life has caused me to try to "keep sabbath" on Sundays. I have been working on this for about five years. Following are some of the things that I have learned:

1. The core activity of sabbath for me, as I indicated above, is attendance at the liturgy. In this liturgy of Word and Table, I find myself reflecting on the big issues of life and death in light of the Christian narrative. Because my work involves being on my feet or working physically, sometimes it is only during the liturgy each week that I am able to sit still. This in itself is restful.

2. At home I try to signal a change of pace with some special touch. And this is where the quilt comes in. I have a beautiful quilt that I keep folded in the armoire during the week. One of the first things I do on Sundays is to place it on my bed. This bed cover is what I call my sabbath quilt. Just having it visible reminds me that the rhythm of the week has changed, if only for a day. Another special touch is the icons which are arranged in an icon corner in the living room. It is usually on Sunday morning that I light a candle and burn incense at the icon corner and offer a prayer for whatever is on my mind.

3. Sunday is also a day when I try to extend some special act of hospitality to friends or family. It is easy to pull out the slow cooker and prepare a roast beef dinner and invite a friend. Just the smell of the roast beef reminds me of my childhood and youth when we almost always had a roast beef dinner after church and when friends visited each other. As an alternative to dinner, Sundays are when I try to find people to play board games with me. Even though I almost always lose at Scrabble, I love playing it. What better way to spend a Sunday afternoon?

4. Generally, I have declared a moratorium on spending money on Sundays. I work in retail all other days of the week. I want to give consumerism a rest. I don't think that sabbath can be practiced in malls.

Sometimes it is impossible to bring together worship, special touches , hospitality, and a boycott on spending on a given Sunday. Sometimes the best that I can do is to put the sabbath quilt on the bed or light a candle next to the icon of the Holy Mother. I wish that this were not the case but I live in a culture that gives very little support to the concept of a day of rest and restoration. Maybe there is a special residential cleaning that I have to do (as I did today). Maybe there is an urgent meeting at the bookstore that is required. Maybe I just need to do the laundry.

When this happens I remind myself that there will be other occasions when I can practice sabbath. At the very least, I can put out the sabbath quilt as a reminder that, as the Scriptures attest, even God needed rest after the exertions of creation.

Thursday, November 17, 2005

More Sloppy God Talk

Everywhere you turn in this country, people are talking about God.

You might think that I, as a person of faith, would like this. I don't.

If God is really holy, mysterious, beyond the limits of our minds and human experience, then God is not a toy which becomes a convenient explanation for whatever, whenever.

Example: This past week evangelist Pat Robertson threatened the people of Dover, Pennsylvania with God-sent natural calamity because they voted out school board members who voted in a thinly veiled religious version of the origins of human life.

Example: An acquaintance whose family lives in Evansville, Indiana where the terrible tornadoes struck last week, reported to me that his family was relieved that God had "protected" them from the twisters. He was irritated when I asked him why, then, had God not protected the people who were victims of the tornadoes.

In both of these examples God's action is remarkably impervious to human suffering. In both examples, God's action is totally self-serving: Pat Robertson gets a validation for his crazy far-right rantings and my acquaintance reasons why his family is spared the randomness of a natural act.

At the root of much sloppy God talk is the firmly embedded notion that God is omnipotent. This means that God is all-powerful. Christians have been drenched with notions of omnipotence in prayers, hymns, sermons for so long that it is almost impossible for them to imagine God in any other way. Yet, at the same time they -- we -- talk about the cross where God made no intervention at all to save Jesus. Omnipotent?

The problem gets really complicated when you try to reconcile the idea of a loving and just God with the idea of an all-powerful God. Or when you try to explain mind-boggling evil. What was the omnipotent God doing during the Holocaust of the Jewish people or during the genocide in Rwanda or during Katrina or the tsunamis?

I think that the only way to be a person of faith and maintain intellectual integrity and compassion is to abandon the idea of omnipotence. Maybe God isn't orchestrating all events with purposes in mind. Maybe we need to try to find signs of God's presence in otherwise inexplicable situations and events. This shifts discussion to more tangible terms. So, in the case of Katrina, we find God's presence in the caring of neighbors or in the resilience of the victims or in the courage of the volunteers and others who went into New Orleans just after the floods.

In Old Testament times, people were afraid to name God. I think that this was because once we begin playing with the term, we trivialize it or use it for our own purposes.

Public discourse in this country would be served inestimably if people would hesitate to invoke God at every turn of the corner. And it would be served if people of faith would try to hammer out more intelligent God talk.

Sunday, November 06, 2005

More on How Big Is Family? Kurt Vonnegut's Idea

A few weeks ago I posted a short reflection on how the family in the USA is way too small. If you haven't read it, check it out on this blog site.

This week I was reading a new release by Hoosier author (but now living in New York City) Kurt Vonnegut, author of Slaughterhouse Five and Breakfast of Champions and many other novels. This new book is titled "A Man Without a Country," New York: Seven Stories Press, 1985.

The work is divided into short reflections that ramble here and there on a series of great ethical and social issues. As you read the book you have the feeling that you are having coffee in a diner somewhere with an eccentric uncle who, in his late years, has decided he doesn't give a damn what you or anyone else thinks. He is going to say whatever he wants, however he wants. And in Vonnegut's case, he wants it on record.

Maybe I feel a little close to Vonnegut even though I never met him because my son went to the elementary school #43 that Vonnegut also attended. And someone told me that in the early years of this arts and crafts style apartment building in which I live, the Vonneguts also lived here. There are still Vonneguts running around Indianapolis.

In discussing the family, Vonnegut says that "It used to be that when a man and woman got married, the bride got a lot more people to talk to about everything. The groom got a lot more pals to tell dumb jokes to". But the extended family has disappeared to the extent that "When a couple has an argument nowadays they may think it's about money or power or sex or how to raise the kids or whatever. What they're really saying to each other, though without realizing it, is this: 'You are not enough people!'". Conclusion: "A husband, a wife and some kids is not a family. It's a terribly vulnerable survival unit."

After discussing how the Igbo children in Nigeria may be taken to meet hundreds of relatives, Vonnegut states that "I would really, over the long run, hope America would find some way to provide all of our citizens with extended families--a large group of people they could call on for help." Vonnegut is right: We need to look to Africa for the way family supports its members. And even there it is fast disappearing.

Thanks, Kurt Vonnegut, for writing on a better version of family values. And if you should ever happen to stumble on this blog site, leave me a comment.

Saturday, November 05, 2005

Mug of Hot Steaming Coffee and Belonging

After almost twenty-five years of marriage, one December day I packed my things and moved to a Victorian bed and breakfast in downtown Indianapolis.

The reasons for this move are not important and, anyway, I wouldn't put them up on a public blog. What is important is that after so many years of family life, I suddenly found myself by myself. There was no noise in my apartment unless I made it. And it was always dark inside when I came home at night.

No doubt about it, I was glad to have broken loose. But, I did not have any close friends. Sure, there were work colleagues but they seemed embarrassed when I wanted to talk about what had happened. So, the phone rarely rang. I felt very much alone.

I missed being around people. I also missed the house I had lived in and the things that were in that house. None of them were fancy or valuable. But, all the same, I missed being around my things. All of those things told stories and through them I could construct my own narrative.

This sense of solitude was compounded by the terrible winter weather that year. It was bitter cold. There were heavy snows and I was trying, for the first time in my adult life, to do shopping, get to work, go to church and all of the other things I needed to do, without a car.

I remember the first Sunday after I left. I had gotten up very early to get ready to attend mass at Christ Church. Next to the bed and breakfast were some townhouses. My third floor bedroom looked down on these townhouses and on their windows.

Just below my bedroom I could see the open curtains of a townhouse bedroom. There was a lamp that exuded a warm glow by the window. And on a little round table with a kind of Laura Ashley cloth, there was a ceramic mug of hot steaming coffee. I gazed at it for a long time--imagine, me a coffee voyeur!

Somehow the combination of the mug of steaming coffee, the Laura Ashley textile, and the golden light spoke to me. It all seemed to underline that, hey, Daniel is very much alone and not in a real house, just a bed and breakfast. And only yards away, there are people who live in real homes, with their own things, and they wake up on Sunday morning to steamy coffee mugs and long sessions of New York Times and maybe soft classical music or Miles Davis Kind of Blue.

Gazing on that mug of hot steaming coffee I realized that I was at an "in between" place. I had left where I was and did not yet have my own place, my own routine . . . . . . not even my own coffee mug or coffee maker! I ached with loneliness. And I wanted to belong again to people and to a place.

Being at an "in between" place was like living in an existential parenthesis. The old had been left behind but what was to be, to become had not yet happened. How could I know that it would take almost a decade to accumulate my own things, establish another routine, build up an extended family and live in a place long enough to love it?

Today was a beautiful November day in central Indiana. I woke up at 6 am when it was still dark outside. The amber glow of the victorian era streetlights gave a beautiful patina to the sidewalk, the street and the trees. Inside this century old apartment, I had my books, art, music, some antiques, furniture and heirlooms. There are pictures of my partner, my kids, my mom and sister. In one corner of the living room are the holy icons.

On this early morning I smelled the coffee brewed by my timed Coffee Maker. I turned on one living room lamp and sat in an easy chair slowly sipping coffee, thinking about the day ahead. The coffee was in a sturdy hand-made mug that I bought on the Navajo reservation near Farmington, New Mexico several years ago.

When I went to shave, I left the mug, steaming, on the windowsill. When I placed it there, I thought: "Now I too belong."

Wednesday, October 19, 2005

How Big is Family?

When I lived in Zambia, Central Africa I noticed that family was always way big. You would hear someone speak about his or her father or mother. I assumed, at first, that the person referred to was father or mother exactly as we understand it in the West: The man or woman who created you biologically.

This idea fell apart quickly when I discovered that in terms of many African kinship systems, father or mother can be uncle or aunt or even distant cousin, as Westerners comprehend such relationships.

We lived in a kind of compound surrounding a lake. My daughter, Nelia, was only two and had recently given up her pacifier, baby bottle and diapers. I feared that somehow, if we weren't constantly vigilant, that she would wander into the lake and that tragedy would ensue. But I discovered very soon after arrival that she could go out playing with the neighbor children and the older ones would take care of the younger ones. At lunchtime, some family would invite her into their home for the stiff corn meal staple called nshima.

The flip side of this is that we were expected to maintain the same standards. Back in the USA we had been used to saying to Nelia's friends when dinner came: "It is dinner time and now you need to go home." But in Africa, where there may be ten or twelve people eating, what is one more little mouth? And, anyway, the expectation is that we all take care of each other.

Fast forward to the mid-nineties: I'm nolonger living in Africa, even though I still travel there frequently. But now I am learning the language and symbols of the gay community in the USA. Often I would hear someone ask: "Is he family?" This doesn't mean "Is he a blood relationship?" but "Is he gay?"

What interested me when I was introduced to the out gay community was that there was an assumption that other gay folk constituted a support network, a veritable family, providing emotional support and stability. I realized how important this was (and is) when I disovered how many persons had been kicked out of their own families when they came out to them or how many persons were given a kind of emotional freeze-out when their gayness was revealed.

It is fascinating to me that out of two very marginalized groups--North American gays and poor Central Africans--definitions of family are broad in scope and hospitable in nature and move beyond the narrow definitions of blood and ancestry. Even as I express my fascination, I am aware that in these two groupings boundaries are often set: Africans may not extend "family" beyond tribe to other Africans. Some gays may not extend "family" to persons not sharing their own struggles as men who love men.

Still, the point is clear to me: Family is whoever provides fundamental emotional support and is the basic point of reference for shared life and commitment at its deepest levels.

This is not to imply that our blood relations do not have special and enduring claims upon us. Parents have obligations inherant in producing children that cannot be handed over to others. Older children have obligations towards the elderly that cannot be shortcut without much hurt and pain.

But, generally, in the USA, in spite of all the hype about family values, our understanding of family is way too small and way too outdated. Groups such as "Focus on the Family" model things more on narrow 1950's understandings, passed off as supposedly Biblical and American, that exclude and restrict more than reach out and build broad community.

I am for "family values" that:

--Focus on community and communal responsibility for all, especially children and the elderly.

--Welcome new models and styles of family, such as those proposed by same-sex family units, or those lived out by single parents.

--Provides support for busy parents who have to work. Good systems of publically financed and sponsored child care and early childhood education could do so much here. I think of Hillary Clinton's reminder that it takes a village to raise a child.

--Models global citizenship in the local family unit, however that is defined.

Whether or not you, the reader, agree with these ideas (they are sketchy, I know) I hope you will agree that some better, non-nostalgic, non-far Right Christian thinking and discussion about the shape of the family is absolutely critical.

The divorce stats should be all we need to be convinced of this. More than half of all American marriages end in divorce.

Is the family going to be bigger or smaller? Family values depend upon definitions of family. What does the family look like to you?

Sunday, September 25, 2005

Did God Cause Katrina?

Like so many other Americans I have found myself glued to the television screen watching the reporters predictably standing in front of levees, seawalls, beaches just before, during or after hurricanes Katrina and Rita have struck. I watched also with horror the many unforgetable scenes coming out of New Orleans in the aftermath of Katrina: looting, people left behind, the terrible conditions in the Dome. My daughter is a graduate of Tulane University in public health and so I have felt how the personal story of our family somehow intersects with the story of New Orleans.

My most enduring emotion was a mixture of sorrow for the loss of so many thousands of people--their lives in some cases but also property, employment, social and living space--and outright anger at the tepid response of government at all levels to what was certainly a predictable occurrance. No need to write more about this here. It has been covered remarkably well by the media.

One of the biggest surprises to me during these last days has been a theological undercurrent that has not really gotten broad coverage in our nation's press. I became aware of it when one of my colleagues at work reported that her pastor at an evangelical community church here in Indianapolis stated in his weekly sermon that Katrina was God's punishment for the evil of "that part of the country." I didn't ask what constitutes that evil but I can guess: Mardi Gras, drinking, the French Quarter, Anne Rice vampire yarns, tolerance of gays and other sexual minorities. . . . . . . . . My surprise was compounded when, during my weekly telephone call with my mother she shared more or less approvingly that one of the television preachers that she sometimes watches on Sundays also interpreted Katrina as a sign of God's wrath.

Of course, I should have not been surprised. Hello, Dan Hoffman! This is a country where one of the bestselling fiction series is the Left Behind series in which God is (fictionally?) portrayed as bringing about the so-called rapture and is concluding history through warfare, pestilence, etc. [If you are interested in exporing this kind of theology and its political and social implications, a critical study by Barbara R. Rossing entitled The Rapture Exposed: The Message of Hope in the Book of Revelation is very much recommended. I should have known also that America has become more and more fundamentalist in its approach to all things and that the discourse of Katrina-as-God's-punshiment would be inevitable.

I am a Christian, though not a far-right fundamentalist. I am active in the Episcopal Church, one of the more tolerant and progressive denominations in this country. I am not expecting to hear about God's punishment of New Orleans' sinners in that church. Rather, it is my expectation that I will hear calls to care for those who have had their lives and webs of relationship tragically interrupted. I hope to hear challenges to dig into our pockets and do more than feel media-induced pity.

For myself, I renounce strongly the language of God's punishment. We see the truth on car stickers all the time: Shit happens. This is just the condition of living in a finite world in which we do not have control of all forces. It happens not because God wills it but simply because it is wired into the condition of life itself. In the Old Testament Job learned this. In the New Testament, Jesus succumbed to conditions that he could not control but I believe that he was victorious in the end. Just because something happens or does not happen does not mean that God is either rewarding or punishing our behavior. Things happen. The real issue, as it was for Job or Jesus, is how do we deal with it.

The idea that Katrina wiped out New Orleans because of its sinfulness reflects, in my mind, a misunderstanding of sinfulness. How can anyone in Indianapolis, one of America's major urban centers where everything goes on, even if we don't see it, claim that New Orleans is more sinful. As far as I can tell, all persons are alienated from moral truth and behavior. If it were a matter of punishing sinfulness, who would be spared, ever?

Here are a few of the sins that I think we should consider if we are going to point fingers:

--The constant denial of the Bush administration that there is such a thing as global warming, even though we may now be seeing some of the first catastrophic consequences of it.

--The shipment of our military forces at all levels to a tragic war, based on lies to the American public, in Iraq and the consequent absence of these forces to assist in the aftermath of Katrina.

--The inability of this nation generally to envision energy sources or lives apart from petroleum resulting in disruption when refineries and pipelines are effected, as in Katrina and Rita.

--The "Left Behind" of the poorest and most vulnerable of New Orleans' residents, most of whom were persons of color.

God does not destroy God's creation. But we are challenged by Katrina to figure out how to respond morally and ethically for the greatest good when disaster strikes, as it inevitably will.

At the end of the day, I somehow believe that the generosity and the community spirit of Americans will overcome the rantings of far right Christians.

Sunday, September 18, 2005

Cleaning the Toilet/Finding God

In order to secure an additional stream of income, I clean residences in downtown Indianapolis. I do this in between working at a bookstore and trying to care for my family life and to be active in my community.

For many of my friends and family, it seems strange that I clean houses as part of my living. I mean, with a long work history and graduate studies, why would I want to do this? For one thing, it is good and reliable money. For another, I just like cleaning . . . I have never viewed it as a "lower form" of human endeavor and enjoy keeping my own place clean and orderly. Then, it provides a wonderful situation where I can exercise without going to a gym: You crouch, squat, lift, move muscles in all directions. And finally--maybe most importantly to me--there is the silence.

All day long I enounter noise. At the bookstore there is overhead music and a constant flow of announcements to customers and staff. But I only clean houses when my clients are away at work and when their pets are at the dog or cat sitters. In silence I am able to work cleaning and to work thinking and reflecting.

What do I think about while polishing a coffee table or on my hands and knees using Murphy's soap on an old hardwood floor? Well, often it is about people in my life: My kids, partner, best friends. . . Sometimes it is about the practicalities of life: Is the Visa bill paid on time? What do I need to fix for dinner? Have I set my annual doctor's exam?

The silence also lends itself to some of the bigger questions that concern a person of my age and situation: What comes about in death? After death? Why does so much injustice and suffering seem to be increasing around me? Is there such a thing as human or historic progress? Why do I often retain anger after I think that I have forgiven someone? Am I a poser or "the genuine thing"? These are big questions and often then can't be thought through in solitude or even in silence. But at least cleaning time is a period when I can let the questions surface and when I can play with them from different angles. Maybe later I will ask Nelia or Frankie or Tyrone or my mom to give me some insights.

I have a friend who is struggling with his work, his own core identity and his future. Over dinner in our neighborhood pub his asked me where I find God. This question is not new to me because everyone who knows me knows that I reject a purely secular approach to life as simply not big enough for life itself. Many if not most of my friends are secular and so the question tends to come up often. Usually, I answer with some statement like "I find God in the life of Jesus" or "I find God in the struggles of those who suffer." But this time, without knowing why, I just blurted out "I find God while cleaning toilets." My friend demonstrated surprise, and a little unease, at this answer. And I surprised myself as well!

I guess that I was trying to say that I find God--whatever or whoever God is--while engaged in small, menial work. And I wanted to say that if you can't find God in that situation, then you probably can't find him/her/it at all. As good as the majestic sunset, the rugged mountains, the fine music of the mass or other sublime moments may be for communicating God, those moments are infrequent. But the small moments of our daily-ness, busy-ness have to be conveyors of God as well.

So, that was how I astounded and probably confused my friend. Another friend, Steve, who practices Zen and is involved in serious social advocacy, told me that my answer (but not the explanation that I have provided you, my reader, in the above paragraph) was worthy of a Zen teacher. I loved this comment. Maybe just saying that God is to be found in cleaning toilets is a comment that can and should stand on its own without any explication.

In the Christian tradition, Brother Lawrence has evoked some of the theme I am trying to discuss in this blog posting. Also, George Herbert has written the following verses to a hymn in the Episcopal Hymnal (#592): "All may of thee partake, nothing can be so mean, which with this tincture, "For thy sake," will not grow bright and clean. A servant with this cause makes drudgery divine: who sweeps a room, as for thy laws, makes that and the action fine."




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Sunday, August 14, 2005

Healing of Memories

Steve, a retired therapist now living in Portland, is a dear friend of mine. After many years of developing a thriving practice in Manhattan, in 2002 he wrapped things up and moved to the Northwest where he practices Zen, grows orchids in a greenhouse, enjoys the company of his two sons who live nearby and is, by my own reckoning, the posterboy for healthy retirement.

Several weeks ago, Steve stopped in Indianapolis for a weekend before flying to Cape Town, South Africa, where his major retirement project (for now) occurs. In that city he volunteers about half of each year for an institute that dedicates itself to the healing of traumatic memory among those who suffered deeply from the wounds of apartheid. Its founder, an Anglican priest, had his hands blown off due to a letter bomb sent by pro-aprtheid forces. More than a decade after the welcome end to the brutalities of apartheid in South Africa, many people are immobilized and unable to pick up the pieces that this nazi-like system engendered. As a country, South Africa has "moved on" but countless individuals have found this difficult if not impossible to accomplish.

Now some of this work is attracting attention internationally and the work that originated in South Africa is spreading to Australia where healing of memory involves aborigines who have their own painful, traumatic grievances. Any group that has suffered groupwide injustice at the hands of a dominant group of some kind may not find it all that easy to just pick up and move on. African-Americans and Native Americans retain profound resevoirs of awareness of injustice that their ancestors suffered and that they continue to suffer in many circumstances. And, if we are to believe much of the analysis of the post-9/11 world, a lot of terrorist activity is rooted in bitter memory of prior injustice.

Maggie Gordon, a friend working and living now in Japan, wrote to me this week about how persons of Korean ancestry living in Japan are still considered outsiders after many generations of living on Japanese soil and speaking Japanese. What memories are being engendered in that situation? How can they be healed? Maybe the "truth and reconciliation" approach promoted by Steve's institute and successful in the immediate aftermath of apartheid's demise would work.

Last week I had an experience that reminded me that memory can rear its head in ways that are unsettling and that cause some pain. With a friend I was visiting the historic building that I worked in for many years. It was, prior to my working in it, the site of Butler University, now a major institution of higher education here in Indianapolis. After my organization left this building, it was converted into a series of apartments for lower income senior citizen residents.

While many of my memories in those walls were positive, there were definitely some that were unsettlingly negative. I had pushed these into the back of my conscience. While on the little tour, I asked the building manager to show me the site of my old office. And, incredibly (to me), my door still had my name and title on it. When I asked if it could be changed, I was told that this was a concession to people who wanted to maintain some of the historic character of the building and that, in any case, the door was walled in and on the other side was an apartment.

Since I thought had "moved on" from that place and the memories associated with it, I found the experience of seeing the door very unpleasant and during most of the week it caused me to try to sort out why I feel so negative about the place and much that happened in it. Sorry if I am not more specific than this but if I were to become more specific it would be equally hurtful to some others who worked there and are still around.

But the point I am making here is that the healing of memories is work for all of us. Without trying to put myself in the same "location" as victims of historic injustice, I still have a lot that is negative and hurtful in my life experience that I need to find ways of healing. This is what I learned last week. It made me more attentive to those whose memories of historic injustice still scald and burn. What other memories should I consider that immobilize me and evoke bitterness? Can they ever be healed--really?

Maybe on his way back from South Africa, I can ask Steve to work with me on this!

Tuesday, June 14, 2005

Intergenerational Funk

I have just returned from Colorado where I interfaced with different persons in my family. There was my mother, who turned 83 when I was there. There was my great niece, Kathryn, who is about one and a half years old. There is my 57 year old sister and her 27 year old daughter and her husband. And there were others.

Being in inter-generational situations is not new or very unusual for me. Much of my life was spent in traditional cultures in Africa and Latin America where segmentation of generations is not normal--at least it was not normal when I was there. People of different ages live together under one roof; play together and often dance together (can you hear an American teen respond "Gross!" at that idea?); pray together in church and work together.

In other words, the kind of predominant youth culture with its own symbols, activities, language, clothing, etc. as we know it in America is somewhat missing in these situations. The idea that youth is split off from the wider community of human care and concern and material endeavor would shock many of my friends in Africa and Latin America as "unnatural."

In these places and elsewhere in the world, young people aspire towards adulthood and heavier responsibility. Not at all like in the USA where adults often take their cues from youth cultures and actually aspire in their constant makeovers to being young or youthful.

Much of my life, especially in the bookstore where I work, is spent interfacing with people much younger than myself. I like it very much! And I have learned so much from other generations. As someone who is nearly 62 years old, I am exposed to youth music, new ideas and many questions that I never remotely entertained when I was the same age as my younger colleague friends.

In my home, I have hosted younger persons for up to two years at a time. They have become my family along with my daughter and son and others.

So, if I get such energy and pleasure out of being with young people, even in this generationally segmented society, what is my problem? My funk?

To put it briefly, I am at home with what Paul Vaillant of Harvard calls "generativity" or caring for the next generation. This seems to come naturally to me. But, what I discovered in Colorado, especially as I tried to interface well and in a healthy way with my mother, is that it is much harder for me to relate to older persons (hey, I mean "older than me at age 62").

We spent some time in the great mountains at Rocky Mountain National Park. Nowhere in that gorgeous place is there a flat surface. I found myself fretting constantly about my mother's balance. I imagined the one fall while I would be with her that would result in a broken hip! Thank God, it did not happen.

I also found it hard to listen to her. Her points of reference are so much in the past and embedded in memories. While I wanted to listen to her as she reminisced about my grandfather or my great grandmother or cousin Hazel, I found myself wanting to have some great discussion about Reinhold Niebuhr or about the state of the world economy . . . . . . . .

Conclusion: I am not good, for whatever reason, with older persons. And, frankly, this bothers me because I am fast on the way to where my mom is now. A fourth of a lifetime only separates where she is now from where I will be.

I returned from Colorado troubled with my inability to reach out as well to the very old as to the very young. This is my intergenerational funk and, you won't be surprised, it is compounded by the fact that it involves my own mother.

So, I am busy mulling this over and trying to learn more about myself and about the aging process itself. My goal has been to age well. But I don't see how this can happen if I can't feel good about those who have already aged. By all accounts, my mom has done a good job. She is in relatively good health, is independent in mind and body and is interested in many things around her. I'll be lucky if I do as well as she has.

Normally, I wouldn't be so introspective on this blog. I decided that it would not be a "stream of conscience" blog when I established it. But my funk surely points to forces that are present in our current society.

Sunday, May 08, 2005

Marketing False Needs

All of a sudden I am seeing a lot of advertisements for things that I supposedly "must" have. The marketing is direct and very concise. Bookstores are putting out lists of "must read" books. Department stores are telling me what are the latest fashion "must buys". There are now "must see" movies and DVDs as well as "must hear" CDs.

Everything that some corporate office looking for enhanced profits in the first or second quarters is billed as something that I, the consumer, "must" do.

What is behind this "must . . . . whatever" advertising wave? It is the idea that unless I possess a certain book, CD, piece of clothing, DVD or whatever else is being promoted that I am basically not in step, not with it . . . . probably can't hold my own.

At least that is what these advertising and marketing people would like me to believe.

And, hey, I am sure it works. So many Americans discover their worth through consumerism that this message must deliver the goods. Who wants to be left out if there is a "must read" book that "everyone" is talking about? Who wants to look like a thrift store buyer if I "must" have a Kenneth Cole new outfit?

So we live in a culture of having and having more all the time. But this emphasis on having, very peculiar to a wealthy country where most of what we have doesn't have any relationship to our survival, can't guarantee happiness, even though that is the promise implicit in the advertising.

I wonder if there are other Americans who, when confronted with a "must read," "must wear," "must have" advertisement decide immediately that they will not under any circumstances let such advertising dictate their needs or purchases.

It is hopeful to me that many thousands of Americans are moving in exactly the opposite direction from the corporate marketing offices. They are trying to simplify their lives and their budgets around core values that demonstrate responsibility to human community and the earth. Just recently the free cycling movement has taken root in many American communities. The idea is to offer your things free to other people who can use them. And maybe you will find something good as well. I am part of this movement here in Indianapolis. I have offered many things online and even have a nice aquarium and air filter that was offered through the Indyfreecycle network (but I had to buy the guppies!).

It seems to me that if we go back to Jesus' teaching about the lillies of the field and the birds of the air and how God takes care of them, we are on solid ground for countering advertising that attempts to create false needs.

Monday, April 25, 2005

What Happened to Civility?

We all know the experience by now: The loud person at the next table in a nice restaurant is babbling on a cell phone. "Where are you? . . . . Oh. . . . . Can you take out the trash?" It is not that we would mind it if something truly urgent were at stake, like a heart attack or something. But everywhere we are subjected to streams of discussion that do not concern us or are none of our business. Worse, sometimes we have to listen when the guy with the cell is fighting with his wife!

All of this is a symptom of an increased loss of manners and civility in the U.S.A. today. Appropriate behavior in appropriate circumstances seems to have been left behind.

I know that saying this will make me sound prim and almost Victorian. So be it. It is worth reminding ourselves that there are plenty of societies in the 21st century world where appropriate behavior is valued, encouraged and rewarded.

But what do I mean by civility? Stephen Carter, law professor at Yale and novelist (several years ago he published The Emperor of Ocean Park) wrote a wonderful little book called Civility: Manners, Morals, and the Etiquette of Democracy (Basic Books, 1998). Here is how Carter defines civility: "Civility . . . . . is the sum of the many sacrifices we are called to make for the sake of living together. When we pretend that we travel alone, we can also pretend that these sacrifices are unnecessary. Yielding to this very human instinct for self-seeking . . . . is often immoral, and certainly should not be done without forethought. We should make sacrifices for others not simply because doing so makes social life easier (although it does), but as a signal of respect for our fellow citizens, marking them as full equals, both before the law and before God. Rules of civility are thus also rules of morality: it is morally proper to treat our fellow citizens with respect, and morally improper not to. Our crisis of civility, then, is part of a larger crisis of morality. And because morality is what distinguishes humans from other animals, the crisis is ultimately one of humanity," pp. 11-12.

Cell phone behavior and road rage are standard examples for people commenting on civility today. But several other examples come to mind:

--At a distinguished Indiana liberal arts college known for its progressive policies, faculty and students, a distinguished conservative journalist is invited to speak. During the presentation, an outraged student throws a pie in his face.

--At a downtown Indianapolis retail establishment, a young woman enters the front door, runs up to a cashier and blows an airhorn in his ear, laughs and runs out the door. The cashier has his hearing potentially damaged and is unable to function out of shock.

--A telemarketer manages to get through the web of "n0-call" which I have established and refuses to stop pitching his goods, leaving me no alternative but to hang up.

--A server in a restaurant endures verbal abuse from a customer who has brought her personal problems into the "marketplace." The server is expected to give good customer service (at below standard wages!) to this woman.

What other examples could you add to this list from your own experience?

On television we see the examples of Jerry Springer, Dr. Phil, Family Courts and we think that it is normal to be rude and to let everything out, no matter how hurtful or uncomfortable it is for others. I can't forget the remark a friend from Latin America once made that after she arrived here in the U.S.A. she felt as though she could say or do anything that was on her mind because this was the way Americans act. When I asked why she had this opinion, she said that this is visible all the time on television. And she is right.

Even at the highest levels of our government, incivility seems to have taken hold. Maybe the arrogance of the Bush administration and its inability to see beyond its own policies, allows it to say things that normally should not be stated by governments. What about the derrogatory comments on France and the supposed "old Europe" when we were being pushed into the tragic war in Iraq? This kind of public language does not model careful conflict resolution among adversaries but encourages verbal abuse, pushiness, cultural insensitivity and rudeness at all levels of society.

As we train our children, places where in former times we worked out good rules of behavior, for example, the dinner table where we say "Thank you" and "Please pass the gravy" have almost disappeared. And the habit of writing thank you notes after Christmas, graduation, even weddings, seems to be a rapidly disappearing art.

My many years living in Africa taught me about the huge difference in cultures. It is still true, even in urban areas of Africa, that when you greet someone, you shake hands and ask how they are doing. You do not walk by a person without saying something, usually a formal greeting of some kind. The idea that you are not and isolated self-made person but someone who belongs to a larger group, with responsibilities to it, is what regulates all behavior. Of course, there are rude persons in Africa and rude behavior. That is human nature in all societies and at all times. But on that continent, which we often unfortunately characterize as "under-developed" the common good comes first.

In South Africa, there is a word umbuntu which implies togetherness and human-ness of the society in general.

I am thinking that America needs a good dose of umbuntu.

Tuesday, March 29, 2005

Silence and Struggle

Last week I spent the final days of Holy Week (called the triduum) at Holy Cross Monastery, an Anglican Benedictine center, located in West Park, New York. I have always found a disconnect between the demands of retail and the requirements of serious Lenten observation. It is hard to be at one moment in a bustling book store and the next moment in a Good Friday observance of Jesus' crucifixion or a Maundy Thursday footwashing. The deep and profound issues of Holy Week have to do with political structures, death, hope, renewal and new life. These are somber matters not easily contemplated in front of a cash register or while opening a box of incoming books or when providing customer service to an irrate customer.

My expectation in going to Holy Cross was that it would provide me with a space for pondering the Lenten narrative with other like-minded persons. I knew that there would be frequent liturgical celebrations throughout the day in which the Scriptures would be read, chanted and silently reflected upon. Within a day I needed to acquaint myself with the ancient terms for these liturgical moments: matins, diurnum, vespers, compline. The monks welcomed about thirty or so of us from across the United States into their monastery with graciousness and good hospitality.

It was announced that there would be silence in the monastery from Maunday Thursday services and footwashing until after breakfast on Holy Saturday. While packing, I had thought of taking my earphones and some cd's but at the last minute I decided not to do this. The idea of the silence was to provide a setting for deep reflection and prayer. The monks put up signs all over the monastery reminding us of the silent order of things.

Even though I live by myself, there is always the cd player, the television, the radio, the telephone and frequent visits to break any silence. At work, in addition to staff and customers, there is always the overhead music system blaring out strange combinations of classics, rock, blues, bluegrass, hip hop . . . . .

So I welcomed the silence with enthusiasm. I slept more. I read a good deal in the comfortable monastery reading room (including an important book by Columbia economist Jeffrey Sacks titled Ending Poverty that I hope to review eventually on this blog). And I did engage in meditation and prayer.

There is no way that I can express how much this experience with silence had a cleansing effect on my mind and on my body. To use an overused metaphor, it felt like rain in the desert. By not battling an array of imposed sounds, I was able to focus on important matters . . . . . or to even choose not to focus on anything. At the end of the two-day silence, I felt more whole and stronger.

Since returning to Indianapolis, I have been thinking about where persons who are on the outside of power structures or who are in some way counter-cultural get the strength to resist or to oppose things. I mean, as should be clear on this blog site I am distressed by many of the actions of the current United States administration. I also disagree with many of the assumptions of large numbers of Americans about gender, consumerism, relations with the world and with ethnic groups in the USA and a host of other issues. All of this is so big and overwhelming that sometimes I am tempted to just throw in the towel . . . . . and yet, I believe in resistance and opposition as critical activities.

Surely, we get strength for resistance and opposition from community or contact with other like-minded persons. For me this comes through my work in the church or Amnesty International or the ACLU. But the sources of strength need to come from beyond activism and ideas.

And this is where frequent practice of silence and meditation come in. In silence it is possible for the inner part of ourselves to be refreshed. It is possible to sort out and reflect upon our ideas, gaining new perspectives and approaches. It is possible in silence to create new spaces for the reception of new ways of doing things.

For me, this means that I need to declare silent days right here in Indianapolis. Of course, this is not easy. But I need to declare rest from noise and sound and talking so that my soul can be nurtured and refreshed. One thing I am thinking of doing is "keeping silence" from Sunday evening through noon on Mondays. Maybe this is just a short period but it can provide the strength that I personally am looking for in order to engage in the larger struggle as a progressive person.

In all of this I am inspired by the practice of persons like Thomas Merton, Nelson Mandela, Mahatma Gandhi and others who knew how to engage in careful meditation and silence while participating fully in some key historic struggles.

Sunday, March 20, 2005

Read The Sign of the Book by John Dunning

This site, the Blue Ogee, bills itself as exploring the intersection between the personal and the public in a virtual coffee shop/bookstore environment. Up to now most of the postings have tilted towards public issues of one kind or another.

But what do we do to refresh our spirits when the public issues seem almost too weighty or intractable?

I read. Since an early age, I have loved books. And in real life, I work in a real bookstore!

I am always on the lookout for a book that is challenging, not dumbed-down and that invites the reader into a credible imaginary world.

For most of my life I have read fiction--lots of fiction. But the mystery genre did not begin to attract me until a few years ago. And now I am trying to be a discerning reader in this genre.

So it was a wonderful discovery, almost serendipitous, when I chanced upon a crisp new copy of John Dunning's new bookman mystery, The Sign of the Book. The "bookman" is Cliff Janeway, an ex-cop who deals in rare books out of a dumpy little store on East Colfax in Denver.

The setting for this fourth bookman mystery is Paradise, Colorado, a gorgeous little town nestled in the Rockies. Janeway has been asked to investigate the murder of Bobby Marshall, a bookseller, by his hotshot lawyer lover, Erin D'Angelo. Bobby Marshall's wife, Laura (an old best friend of Erin's) has been accused of the crime.

Who killed Bobby Marshall? Was it Laura, who confessed? Was it his adopted autistic savant child? Was it a bookselling group of thugs run by a corrupted preacher?

And why does Janeway suspect that the large collection of signed books owned by the deceased hold the clue to his death?

Into this mix enters a series of other wonderfully etched characters: a tough local judge, a sadistic policeman, a good guy elder lawyer, the deceased's disfunctional parents and others.

This is a page turner. You will keep turning until the end to find out who the killer was and why.

In the meantime, you will learn a great deal about the rare and used book trade. Maybe it is because of this aspect of the Cliff Janeway series that has attracted so many people in the book trade to the bookman novels.

Go find The Sign of the Book by John Dunning at your local book store or library. Relax with it and then, if you want, share your comments about it with other Blue Ogee readers. By the way, the author, John Dunning, also deals in fine rare books and you can learn more about him from his www site at: www.oldalgonquin.com

P.S. I am backing up in the series and am reading The Bookman's Promise right now. You can never get too much of a good thing!

Sunday, March 13, 2005

Post Election Blues: Learn How to Frame

By now it may seem that the national elections in early November 2004 are "ancient history." John Kerry has faded into media obscurity. The disappointment and anger that many progressives felt has had to give way to "moving on" to other issues and problems.

In one of my earlier postings I referred to comments by friends about possible immigration. Of course, all of them are still here in the USA trying to work, pay the bills, maintain ties of family and friends and--most difficult of all--develop hope about who we are in this period of GWB's triumph. Not an easy task, any of this.

While the specific issues of Social Security, Iran, Iraq, Korea, the debt and myriad other concerns should capture our attention, it seems to me that progressive people should be giving thought to broader frameworks of public discourse and communications. We need to consider that the Right has been giving consideration to these matters for a long time and that this explains their increased ability to appeal to the voters.

Since The Blue Ogee bills itself as a virtual coffeeshop/bookstore, then let me give you this bookseller's recommendation: Go to your nearest Borders Books and pick up a copy of Don't Think of an Elephant: Know Your Values and Frame the Debate by Berkley linguist George Lakoff (ISBN 1-931498-71-7).

Lakoff states that the great challenge to progressives in the period leading up to the new elections--if we wish to win--is to learn how to frame and reframe debates on key issues in our national discourse. He says that "frames are mental structiures that shape the way we see the world. As a result, they shape the goals we seek, the plans we make, the way we act, and what counts as a good or bad outcome of our actions. In politics our frames shape our social policies and the institutions we form to carry out policies. To change our frames is to change all of this Reframing is social change." - p. xv

For example, when George Bush began talking about "tax relief" during his first term, he was using a frame. Lakoff notes that "for there to be relief there must be an affliction, an afflicted party, and a reliever who removes the affliction and is therefore a hero. . . . . And if people try to stop the hero, those people are villains for trying to prevent relief." In other words, the Republicans had set a trap for Democrats.

Sometimes, frames, while not exactly lies, run around the truth by presenting another reality. So when we hear about the Clean Air Act, the frame obscures the reality of actual worse air quality. Or when we hear about No Child Left Behind, the frame obscures the reality the initiative masks of children who are, in fact, left behind. Or, in the current debate on Social Security, there have been Republican references to "saving" Social Security when, in fact, the goal is to roll it back, maybe to pre-Roosevelt non-existence.

Frames reflect underlying values. So in the debate over gay marriage, the question should shift from "Do you believe in same sex marriage?" to "Do you believe that all Americans should have equality before the law in choosing life partners?" (that is my rendering of the question). There is a shift in the framing here.

Framing is a matter that is relevant to the makers and shakers of public policy. But it is a matter that is relevant to progressives as they discuss and debate public issues with friends and associates. We all need to learn how to frame issues at this level.

Lakoff is closely associated with the Rockridge Institute, the only progressive think tank dealing with framing. Rockridge has a very nice www site. Visit it to see more of Lakoff's thought and the thought of others: www.rockridgeinstitute.org

New Edited Version: Walking and Public Awareness

Following is a slightly edited reposting of my Tuesday, March 8th meditation on walking. Somehow I managed to post those comments in a font that was practically impossible for good reading. I have not deleted the previous posting because there was a fine comment in response to it that you might want to look at. In the future, I will be doing all postings on the Blue Ogee with this font and this size. Let me know if it is easier to read.

_____________

"The Buddha is often represented by artists as seated upon a lotus flower to suggest the peace and happiness he enjoys. Artists also depict lotus flowers blooming under the footsteps of the newly-born Buddha. If we take steps without anxiety, in peace and joy, then we, too, will cause a flower to bloom on the Earth with every step. " -- Thich Nhat Hanha, Present Moment Wonderful Moment, p. 58.

"Get out now. Not just outside, but beyond the trap of the programmed electronic age so gently closing around so many people at the end of our century. Go outside, move deliberately, then relax, slow down, look around. Do not jog. Do not run. Forget about blood pressure and arthritis, cardiovascular rejuvenation and weight reduction. Instead pay attention to everything that abuts the rural road, the city street, the suburban boulevard. Walk. Stroll, Ride a bike, and coast along a lot. Explore." -- John R. Stilgoe, Outside Lies Magic: Regaining History and Awareness in Everyday Places, p. 1.

More than eight years ago, I " divorced" my car, moved to downtown Indianapoois, and began a life in search of more simplicity and slowness. Since then, I have walked and biked a good deal. I switched from a sedentary desk job to one that keeps me on my feet almost eight hours a day.

One of the first benefits of this "life style" change is that my money goes farther--no spiraling gas costs, car insurance, taxes, repair bills, monthly payments. But, for the moment, forget the financial angle. Basically, if my feet or a bike or the occasional IndyGo bus ride will not get me there, I just don't go.

This self-imposed restriction of means of transportation and this slowing-down has caused me to get in touch with my surroundings, to develop a very fine-tuned sense of place and to experience sights, sounds and smells in ways that are exluded from people who speed along the fast lange in vehicles.

They miss so much.

Last Sunday I walked to mass at Christ Church Cathedral--about one mile from where I live. Even walking slowly, it only took me about 25 minutes to get from my porch to the cathedral door.

Here are some of the things that I noticed:

--As I moved towards the center of town from my old and well-preserved residential neighborhood, I couldn't help but feel anger at the wound caused by one of the several interstates. How many beautiful homes and historic sites were wiped out by this highway? I live only a block from the interstate. Does anyone in the many cars and semis wonder what is going on on either side of the highway?

--While walking under the interstate, as it bridges over my street, I looked up to the concrete siding near the top. Someone has been living here. But that "someone" is not here now. Cans, bottles, big pieces of cardboard carton that enveloped a refrigerator, an old wet pillow are all propped on the ledge hear the highway. I almost expected a voice to call my name, as though I were somehow trespassing in a home. But, of course, this didn't happen.

--There is ample time to look at the many interesting things--artefacts of a throw-away society--that have been cast out of cars as unimportant. There are some red flannel boxer shorts. Hmmm. A used condom. A vodka bottle. A CD. A sock. McDonalds ketchup packets. . . .

--Indianapolis was originally planned to have several diagonal streets. As I walk on Ft. Wayne Avenue, one of these thoroughfares, I look at one of the old buildings that had been used for a junk shop, then fixed up and now is a very fine upscale apartment building. Has the building been preserved or has its essential nature been changed? Or both?

--There are different churches: Indianpolis Praise Cathedral, a predominantly African-American congregation; Central Christian Church; First Lutheran--one more downtown congregation that has closed shop, I think. People are beginning to enter Central and the Praise Cathedral . . . . . looking for what? God? Friendship? Time out?

--At Meridian Street I walk down the American Legion Mall. And I am aware of having moved from a residential area to a commercial and business center. But there is much that is beautiful and imposing around me. The Veterans Monument, the Federal Building (oh well, not beautiful but sort of imposing in a sixties brutal concrete way), University Park, and the Indianapolis Circle with a lavish monument to the Hoosier fatalities in the Civil War looms ahead.

--I have walked by myself but also I have passed some joggers and other pedestrians this morning. Almost all of them smiled and greeted me. This is still a "big small town" where some hospitable Midwestern practices survive. I feel new energy from these expressions of civility.

--There is a grassy area by one of the downtown buildings and I can see crocuses popping up here and there. I look at the emerging buds on the trees and see that they are preparing in their mysterious way to open into leaves when the climate sends the right signal.

--As I am walking, I don't maintain a stipulated "topic" of reflection. My mind moves from my immediate surroundings to thoughts about work, my big extended family, even politics. This slow free flow of ideas is wonderful in the clean, crisp morning air.

--When I arrive at Christ Church, I have a sense of being very much alive to everything around me and of having experienced the goodness of exercise. I know that by being aware of the trash, the traffic , the houses, the signs of nature, the architecture and the history so richly arrayed along the sidewalk, that I am ready now to reflect on the mysteries of God.

By walking, I am not cooped up in a hermetically sealed vehicle enjoying my privacy. I am traversing public space and connecting once again with the collective history that has created it and with the people of many backgrounds who use it.

For me, walking is above all an exercise in mindfulness and public awareness.

Tuesday, March 08, 2005

Walking and Public Awareness

"The Buddha is often represented by artists as seated upon a lotus flower to suggest the peace and happiness he enjoys. Artists also depict lotus flowers blooming under the footsteps of the newly-born Buddha. If we take steps without anxiety, in peace and joy, then we, too, will cause a flower to floom on the Earth with every step." -- Thich Nhat Hanh, Present Moment Wonderful Moment, p. 58.

"Get out now. Not just outside, but beyond the trap of the programmed electronic age so gently closing around so many people at the end of our century. Go outside, move deliberately, then relax, slow down, look around. Do not jog. Do not run. Forget about blood pressure and arthritis, cardiovascular rejuvenation and weight reduction. Instead pay attention to everything that abuts the rural road, the city street, the suburban boulevard. Walk. Stroll. Saunter. Ride a bike, and coast along a lot. Explore." --John R. Stilgoe, Outside Lies Magic: Regaining History and Awareness in Everyday Places, p. 1.

More than eight years ago, I "divorced" my car, moved to downtown Indianapolis and began a life in search of more simplicity and slowness. Since then, I have walked and biked a good deal. I switched from a sedentary desk job to one that keeps me on my feet almost eight hours a day.

One of the first benefits of this "life style" change is that my money goes a lot farther--no spiraling gas costs, car insurance, taxes, repair bills, monthly payments. But, for the moment, forget the financial angle. Basically, if my feet or a bike or the occasional IndyGo bus ride will not get me there, I just don't go.

This self-imposed restriction in means of transportation and this slowing down has caused me to get in touch with my surroundings, to develop a very fine-tuned sense of place and to experience sights, sounds and smells in ways that are excluded to people who move along the fast lane in vehicles.

They miss so much.

Last Sunday I walked to mass at Christ Church Cathedral--about one mile from where I live. Even walking slowly, it only took me about 25 minutes to get from my porch to the cathedral door.

Here are some of the things that I noticed:

--As I moved towards the center of town from my old and well-preserved historic neighborhood, I couldn't help but feel anger at the wound caused by one of the several interstates. How many beautiful homes and historic sites were wiped out by this highway? I live only a block from the interstate? Does anyone in the many cars and semis wonder what is going on either side of the highway?

--While walking under the interstate, as it bridges over my street, I looked up to the concrete siding near the top. Someone has been living here. But that someone is not here now. Cans, bottles, big pieces of a cardboard carton that enveloped a refrigerator, an old wet pillow are all propped on the ledge near the highway. I almost expected someone to call my name, as though I were somehow trespassing in someone's home. But, of course, that didn't happen.

--There is ample time to look at the many interesting things that have been thrown out of cars as unimportant. There are some flannel boxer shorts. Hmmm. A used condom. A vodka bottle. A CD. A sock.

--Indianapolis was originally planned to have several diagonal streets. As I walk on Ft. Wayne Avenue, one of these thoroughfares, I look at one of the old buildings that had been used for a junk shop, then fixed up and now is a very fine upscale apartment building. Has this building been preserved or has its essential nature been changed?

--There are different churches: Indianapolis Praise Cathedral, a predominantly African-American congregation; Central Christian Church--people are beginning to enter these buildings.

--At Meridian Street I walk down the American Legion Mall. And I am aware of having moved from a predominantly residential area to a commercial and business center. But there is much that is beautiful and imposing around me. The Veterans Monument, the Federal Building, and Indianapolis Circle with a monument to Hoosier fatalities in the Civil War looms ahead.

--I have walked by myself but I have also passed some joggers and other pedestrians this morning. Almost all of them smiled and greeted me.

--There is a grassy area by one of the downtown buildings and I can see crocuses popping up here. I look at the buds on the trees and see that they are preparing in their mysterious way to open into leaves when the climate is right.

--As I am walking, I don't have a stipulated "topic" of reflection. My mind moves from my immediate surroundings to thoughts about work, my family, even politics. This slow free flow of ideas is wonderful in the clean crisp morning air.

When I arrive at Christ Church, I have a sense of being very much alive to everything around me and of having experienced the goodness of exercise. I know that by being aware of the trash, the traffic, the houses, the signs of nature, the architecture and the history so richly arrayed along the sidewalk, that I am ready now to reflect on the mysteries of God.

By walking, I am not cooped up in a hermetically sealed vehicle enjoying my privacy. I am traversing public space and connecting once again with the collective history that has created it and with the people of many different backgrounds who use it.

For me, walking is above all an exercise in mindfulness and public awareness.


Tuesday, March 01, 2005

Would You Immigrate?

Just following the November elections, I heard several of my friends say that now they would think about about immigrating to Canada. One friend said that she might want to go to a truly constitutionally free country, South Africa. if you have ever read South Africa's constitution established following years of apartheid, you will know why she is attracted to that country.

Like so many others who hoped for a change in the White House, I found myself deeply disappointed and even emotionally upset following the Bush victory. The prospect of another four years of ignoring significant domestic and international issues of social justice seemed then--and seems now--almost intolerable. Given the clear evidence from many sources that the American people had been lied to about the reasons for invading Iraq, I could not believe that the electorate would return Bush to power. But he was returned to power.

Every person who told me that s/he was thinking about immigrating has mentioned the topic again. So does that mean that they were just engaging in hyperbole or, as people often say nowadays, they were "over-reacting"?

Here is a question for you to think about: What would it take for you to seriously consider immigrating to Canada or South Africa or anywhere else that is ostensibly more democratic?

For myself, contemplating (even in a sort of fantasy-imagination world) immigration is almost as painful an exercise as contemplating the next four years with GWB. To put it bluntly, I like the U.S.A., even with Bush at the head, and I don't see why I should be the one to leave. Or, as we sang in the 60's, "this land is my land . . . " And even if at present progressive politics have not won the day in all of the U.S.A., people-centered politics has a place in our traditions. I am writing these notes from Indiana which was the home of Eugene Debs, who ran for president even when he was jailed by a conservative government. My ancestors fought in most of the significant major conflicts of this country. I am the descendant of German immigrants who moved from Hesse-Darmstadt in 1852 and settled in Pennsylvania. For sure, when I think of these things, I know that this land is my land.

Nonetheless, what would it take for me to immigrate? I was thinking about this today as I walked to work in a late winter snowstorm.

I decided that it would be intolerable to continue living in this country if any of the following were to occur:
--A suspencion of constitutional rights and the muzzling of free courts, even temporarily for whatever reasons;
--Publically approved scapegoating and/or open, government-sanctioned violence against any racial, religious, ethnic or sexual minority.

In the meantime, I am staying in the U.S.A. as a citizen proud of the achievements and concerns of progressive Americans throughout history. I have a sense of place in this country and in this city, Indianapolis, USA. This is GWB's country and he apparently represents lots of people out there. But it is mine also and I plan on staying and working for issues of economic-social justice that I care about.

Again, how about you, good reader? What would it take for you to immigrate? Think about it and if you feel comfortable doing so, share your comments.

Saturday, February 26, 2005

An Anti-Science President

When I was in college in the early sixties, our U. S. history introduction class learned about the Scopes Trial earlier in the century. It seemed that this was the last gasp of American fundamentalists regarding Darwin. We thought that the Scopes trial was a vestige of ignorance that would not be repeated in our public life again.

We were so wrong! Now we have an entire administration beholden to the Christian Right. When scientific knowledge is not compatable with so-called Christian perspectives (from an evangelical or fundamentalist perspective) it is put aside and public policy is formulated on the basis of faith and values.

An example of this is the "abstinence only" approach to sex education which the federal government apparently funds up to nearly one billion dollars annually. In a December 2004 Congressional study, it was found that some of the programs funded with these public monies teach, among other things, that the HIV virus can be transmitted through sweat and tears or that abortion can lead to sterility and suicide (see Gay and Lesbian Review, March - April 2005, p. 8).

Another example of the anti-scientific bias of the Bush administration is its refusal to deal seriously with global warming and to heed the warnings of the scientific community that time is running out in the battle against greenhouse gases. The Bush administration has refused to participate in the Kyoto protocol which would require cuts in carbon emissions on the basis that possible technological solutions to carbon emissions might be discovered.

Yet, the Financial Times on February 25, 2005 made the following statement: "'Carbon emitted now will stay around in the atmosphere for as much as a century,'" says Stephen Schneider of Standford University. Even if we stopped burning fossil fuels now, the effects of global warning would still worsen for up to 100 years. This latency means we cannot affort to wait, say climate experts." (Financial Times, February 25, 2005, p. 8).

Scientific consensus informs an huge number of critical public issues. The tendency of President Bush and his supporters in the Republican Party to simply sweep aside scientific consensus when convenient is frightening because the stakes are enormous. Sometimes, as in the discussions on sex education or education concerning the origins of the universe and life, scientific thought is pushed aside in favor of faith considerations. Sometimes, as in the discussions on global warming, scientific consensus is neglected by proposing an alternative supposedly scientific approach (developments of new technologies to combat carbon emissions).

I could go on and on and talk about other issues where anti-scientific bias results in faulty public policy (what about the battles around creationism in local school districts around the country and the witch hunts of teachers and school board members that have resulted?). But the point is that on many critical matters our leaders have chosen to ignore sound scientific thinking.

What to do? That is the question I am struggling with. The best thing, in my mind, is to begin as of now to be active advocating better policies (such as ratification of the Kyoto protocol). It doesn't seem too early to be politically active in the hopes of removing the Republicans from the White House in 2008. The anti-scientific bias is just one of a large number of reasons for wanting this to happen.

And if you are a person of faith--but not far-right--now is a time to try to reconcile just public policy, sound scientific evidence and socially conscious Christian values. We need to make clear that Falwell and Dobson and their constituencies are not the only Christians on the block who are concerned about this country.

Saturday, February 19, 2005

What I Learned from Kim Phuc

She is petite and radiant on stage. Her name is Kim Phuc. I am with a friend at Clowes Hall on the Butler University campus hearing this 40-ish Vietnamese woman speak about her personal journey since the Vietnam War.

Of course, I have seen Kim Phuc. We have all seen Kim Phuc in the incredible picture taken by phtographer Huyng Cong Nick Ut that later won him a Pulitzer Prize. It was taken on June 8, 1972 of a little girl running and screaming from third degree burns inflicted from a napalm attack on her village. (If you do a Google search for Kim Phuc you can pictures--that will have to work until I figure out how to post pictures on this site.) That picture has always haunted me and seems to me to be one of the defining images of the Sixties.

I thought that Kim Phuc must be dead.

But tonight (February 15, 2005) she is very much alive. What happened?

Photographer Ut took her to a specialized hospital for burn victims in Saigon. From that point until adulthood, Kim Phuc had to undergo many operations. She still has scars from these operations. She still experiences much pain and during hot weather suffers because she cannot even sweat.

Her anger and confusion about what happened to her and others in her family left scars as well. Much of what Kim Phuc had to say to the Indianapolis audience had to do with moving from deep anger and resentment to forgiveness. In fact, her very presence evokes peace and harmony. Basically, Kim Phuc has struggled mightily with the question posed by Rabbi Kushner: Why do bad things happen to good people? She is not embittered but believes that she has been strengthened by her experiences.

As I was listening to Kim Phuc share her life, I thought of another survivor of great human evil, Nelson Mandela. He came out of apartheid's jails ready to create a new world, even ready to forgive his jailors.

Now Kim Phuc is a Goodwill Ambassador for the Culture of Peace for the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization. She has founded a foundation that funds international programs that assist child victims of warfare in several continents (www.kimfoundation.com). A book has been writen on Kim by Denise Chong: The Girl in the Picture: The Story of Kim Phuc, the Photograph and the Vietnam War, ISBN 0140280219. If you are interested, look for it in your bookstore or library.

Kim Phuc is not analytic. She doesn't dissect the world's political situation in great detail. She tells her own narrative of what happens to children (and adult survivors) of warfare. She spins a marvelous story of human transformation.

As we were sitting in Clowes Hall, child victims in Darfur, Iraq, Palestine and other scenes of intractable warfare were still screaming. With our now-embedded journalists we don't see scenes of human horror very often to remind us what war is really about.

Yet, in a very dark world, Kim Phuc spoke about her own transformation. And I was reminded that points of light can exist in even the darkest moments.

Thursday, February 17, 2005

Welcome to The Blue Ogee

I always wanted to open a coffee shop or a combination coffee shop/independent book store called The Blue Ogee.

So what's an "ogee"? The Encarta Dictionary states that it is"an arch whose sides curve gently inward near the top and then curve upward steeply to meet in a point." When I finally get this blog up and running, I will post a picture of an ogee. In the meantime, look it up yourself in a dictionary or encyclopedia, if you are interested. Better yet, go to this link to see some examples of elegant ogees: www.ontarioarchitecture.com/ogee.html

You would enter this imaginary coffee shop/book store through an ogee arch painted blue. Inside, the lights would be subdued--but the blue-ness and simple furnishings and friendship of the staff (me) would encourage people to talk to each other about important things.

Economic reality doesn't let me open The Blue Ogee (for now, at least). But I have decided to create a virtual site where the same kinds of discussions might occur.

I don't see this site as a personal diary or journal. I envisage it more as a place where I can put out some of my ideas. These ideas would probably try to connect the personal and the public dimensions of our lives. I would like to post about spirituality, wholeness, politics, sexuality and the arts.

So this is an invitation. Walk through the imaginary blue arch and get your expresso and sit down and listen and talk. Bring your own narrative to the table but be open to other narratives.

The Blue Ogee is ready and open for business.