GRANTaMUSEd

"Out of My Heart"

2011-10-03T07:14:00.001-05:00

Yesterday Ashley, my three-year old granddaughter, asked me where my mommy and daddy were. She has been working at understanding family relationships and just recently Ashley and her mom had put together a family tree.

I think she was quite surprised to discover that her much beloved "Unca Boo" was actually her daddy's brother. One family meal around the dining room table usually makes that resemblance quite clear.

But now as we were drawing together (okay, one eye was peeking at the Chiefs game) she inquired about my parents. I told her that my mom and dad were no longer with us, that they lived a long and good life and had died a few years ago, even before you were born.

I saw a little ripple of concern cross her forehead. She lifted those beautiful eyes of hers. I looked right at them and saw deep waters stirring in there. Her eyes moved to the living room and I knew she was making sure that her mommy and daddy were in view.

"But they are still here, aren't they?" she asked, now coming back to me.

"Yes, they are," I replied, but not too quickly. "They are always right here in my heart," I said, touching that spot in E.T. fashion.

She was quiet for a few moments, putting the pieces together. Then she said, somewhat softly but with assurance, "My mommy and daddy are out of my heart."

Then she picked up a blue pencil and returned to her drawing.

It took me a little longer.

Applauding Death at the GOP Debate

2011-09-10T22:00:00.002-05:00

There were many reasons for those of us interested in social justice to despair during the Republican debate on September 7, 2011. I never thought I would hear Social Security described as a "Ponzi Scheme." I hardly know how to explain why we are nominating one party's candidate for leader of the free world from among a pool of prospects at least half of whom don't believe in evolution and minimize or dismiss the effect of global warming. It says something, although I'm not sure what, that in a field of eight the two most "moderate" in their views are Mormons, usually not bastions of political moderation. But the thing that really set me back was something not mentioned much. ABC news reported it this way:

Texas Governor Rick Perry apparently loses no sleep over authorizing 234 executions in more than a decade as Texas governor. Perry has authorized more executions than any governor in the history of the United States. He said at a Republican presidential debate Wednesday that he has never worried that the state of Texas has executed an innocent man. “I’ve never struggled with that at all. The state of Texas has a very thoughtful, a very clear process in place,” Perry said. “When someone commits the most heinous of crimes against our citizens, they get a fair hearing, they go through an appellate process, they go up to the Supreme Court of the United States if that’s required.”

Okay, I'm an opponent of the death penalty, so I listened to Perry and was appalled by his cavalier attitude, but I'm familiar with his swagger and bravado and I expected it. But I was not prepared for what happened next:

When NBC’s Brian Williams asked Perry the question about the death penalty and pointed to the 234 executions – even before Perry answered – the Republican debate crowd erupted in applause for the governor’s actions. Perry pointed to the applause as indicating a vast majority of Americans supports capital punishment. The most recent execution authorized by Perry in Texas was in July.

I think even Brian Williams was taken back and perhaps that is why he pushed the candidate for his feelings about the applause. Perry showed not a lick of concern that innocent people might be executed, even though there is considerable evidence, amounting at least to reasonable doubt, that innocents are numbered among Perry's 234 death warrants. Instead we got a Texas style "you hurt a Texan you pay the ultimate price." It was not clear what would happen if the crime happened to a Frenchman visiting Texas.

Here is what frightens me. We're living in a very volatile climate these days. Many of our civil liberties have been undercut, purportedly in the cause of homeland security. Economic woes are exacerbated by a dangerously low trust in our culture's institutions, particularly government and big business. The ground is dry, the air is hot. It's no time to be playing with matches.

Politicians like Perry appeal to the worst of our fears as a pathway to their own ambitions. He won't be elected president. Eventually his mouth will catch up to his charm. But before that happens he can do a lot of damage to the fabric of our society. We need leaders with heart, not heartless leaders. We need those who understand our fears and calm them with words and actions, rather than exploit them with phony rhetoric.

The capital punishment issue is a very difficult one. Virtually all of those who face execution are guilty of the crime--not all, but most. They are not particularly nice people but the issue is not really about them. It is about us. Killing in the name of the state is barbaric, totally ineffective, and outrageously costly. And perhaps worst of all--it cheapens us, taps those inner demons within us. In the hands of he-who-would-be-president Mr. Perry, it is justice we got when he sent 234 men and women to their death. But it did nothing of the kind.

We stand alone as the only country in the Western world who still uses the death penalty. We should be booing, not applauding.

How Difficult Is This Debt Crisis Really? Six Simple Principles

2011-07-26T20:00:00.016-05:00

I am not an economist in any sense of the word. My idea of a debt crisis is when I forgot to pay the $73.21 balance due on my Visa card, thereby triggering a $35 late payment charge. I churned for days, worried that my credit rating was ruined for decades. I was sure I'd never be able to buy a house again.

So obviously I'm not one to talk about solutions to our $14.3 trillion national debt. There are way too many zeroes in that number to hold my attention through dinner. But it does remind me of the famous quote by the eloquent late great Senator from Illinois, Everett Dirksen, who once said "A billion here, a billion there, and pretty soon you're talking about real money." I really think that is where most of us are when it comes to the financial issues in play. We nod our heads knowingly and hope our kids won't ask us to explain it.

But I'm also inclined to believe that the mind-numbing figures may be obscuring the simple, albeit conflicted, issues that are at the heart of the matter. I've been listening and reading, and I've worked up a half dozen simple principles that seem to me are pretty hard to contest. Couldn't we begin with these?

Simple Principle #1. Pay your bills. The debt ceiling is the legal limit set by Congress to pay the liabilities already incurred by that legislative body. Duh! How hard is this? Pay your bills.

Simple Principle #2. Balance your budget. It's kind of a simple idea--don't pay out more than you take in. Normal Americans understand the consequences of not balancing their budget--it involves terms like foreclosure and repossession. Obviously, few people write a check for a house or car--nothing wrong with manageable credit. But come on. This isn't rocket science (something I know even less about than economics).

Simple Principle #3. Tell the truth. I don't know how one does this, but we just fought two wars without a budget. Kind of skewers the numbers when one is figuring how many seniors will suffer reductions in their Medicare and Medicaid and such. Numbers lie, and so do those who manipulate them for personal or partisan purposes.

Everett Dirksen listens

Simple Principle #4. Protect the vulnerable. I was pleased to see that President Obama met with faith leaders on July 20 to discuss the impact of impending budget cuts on the poor. Thousands of religious leaders have signed onto a document entitled "A Circle of Protection," offering a rationale for why it is necessary to protect programs for the poor. They seem to get overlooked by certain political groups.

Simple Principle #5. Commit to fairness. Americans claim that all persons are equal, but we know they are not. Some are smarter, some run faster, some are prettier, some are richer. The way to honor the principle of equality is to have a society that is fair. Those who have more give more. Not only should they have to, they should want to.

Simple Principle #6. Prepare to compromise. I am stunned by the hundreds of members of Congress who have signed a pledge to never support any tax increase of any kind. Ever. Such a pledge renders the signatories completely marginalized as a participant in any meaningful negotiation. The venerable Senator Dirksen said it well when he declared "I am a man of fixed and unbending principles, the first of which is to be flexible at all times." Oh for the likes of Mr. Dirksen these days.

So there it is. I don't know the global consequences of defaulting on the U.S. debt payments. Sounds kind of serious to me, but I don't truly know. I don't know what will happen to my mortgage or my meager investments if Standard and Poor's downgrades the US AAA credit rating for the first time in history. Seems like it's something we'd prefer not to happen. Some politicians say it's Armageddon; others say just a hiccup.

Here's what I'd like. Let's see if we can get agreement on the six simple principles. The debate would be nothing if not entertaining. And then, having agreed to the simple principles, I'll bet those zeroes won't seem so formidable.

Revised 12/07/2011 (Minor alterations, including title)

How Osama bin Laden Took One for Calvin

2011-05-07T21:00:00.009-05:00

When I was in grade school a kid named Calvin used to beat me up. I have no idea what I did to tick him off. I suppose one could say he was no respecter of persons when it came to choosing victims. In a perverse way I guess you could consider him as some kind of equal opportunity thug. Maybe that's what allowed him to look at himself in the mirror each morning. "I think I'll thump on Grant today," I can hear him saying. "I haven't whupped his butt for a week. It's his turn. It's only fair."

My house was just across the street from King George Elementary School on St. Catherine's Street in Guelph, Ontario. Canada. If I played my cards right I could escape by exiting from a different school door and slip quietly across the street before he was wise to me. My grandmother lived with us at the time and though she was a mere wisp of a thing Calvin knew she wasn't to be messed with.

However, if I miscalculated my escape route I would inevitably find myself laying on my back with Calvin sitting on my chest explaining to me why I shouldn't be occupying space on the face of the earth. When he asked if I understood him I pulled the secret kid trick of crossing my fingers when I answered. If you do that the answer "Yes I understand"actually means "I'll take it under advisement." Ha, Ha, phooey on you, Calvin!

Okay, I'll admit that I may have taken some slight literary license in introducing you to Calvin, but he did exist and he did harass me from time to time for no sufficient reason. We've not stayed in touch but I still wonder now and then where he's doing time. He is for me the human face for bullies of all kind. In the past few weeks we have encountered several of them around the world.

We have come to painful awareness of what is happening in our schools when teenagers take their own lives rather than submit to the bullying tactics of classmates who taunt them for reasons ranging from appearance to athleticism to sexual identity. Mature adults, faced with what is happening to teens around them, are forced to revisit their own childhood and come face to face with long suppressed memories.

There is no social consensus around the definition of a bully. One study defines the elements thusly:

Bullying involves a desire to hurt + hurtful action + a power imbalance + (typically) repetition + an unjust use of power + evident enjoyment by the aggressor and a sense of being oppressed on the part of the victim.

There are obviously many other ways of defining the subtleties and varieties of bullying. It is clear that there is an evolving awareness of the terrible toll it takes on kids, and to some degree on all of us. Tragically late in coming, but welcomed nonetheless.

This kind of thing was going through my mind as we began to hear about American military forces taking out the world's Bully-in-Chief, Osama bin Laden. My jubilation was remarkably free of parsing and justifying. I am not a pacifist but my commitment to non-violence is deeply rooted. I have opposed every U.S. war since Vietnam, with the possible exception of limited military actions to secure human rights, prevent genocide, and defend direct attacks on American soil.

Calvin as I imagine him today.

It is extremely difficult for me to celebrate a violent death of any kind. The assassination of bin Laden (and there is no doubt about it--this was an assassination) was ultimately a symbol. He was an old man on the run for a decade and his impact on world affairs was in decline. But his death, far more than some protracted trial, was the only thing that could satisfy.

I believe that the outpouring of joy was somewhat personal. I saw it as a blow not just at international terrorists but at those who terrorize our children in school and throughout our communities. As for me, I will continue to support non-violence and just live with the knowledge that sometimes my actions will fail to be consistent with my own beliefs.

Of course, I wish no such outcome for Calvin. For all I know he's a concert violinist somewhere in Europe and the head of a philanthropic organization that defends the immutable rights of puppies. I just hope he thinks of me now and then and has a twinge of regret.

One of the cornerstone principles of my life comes from my own faith tradition. It declares that "all persons are of inestimable worth in the sight of God." I believe that.

I'm still working on how to apply that principle to Osama bin Laden. It probably will take a lifetime but I have to keep trying.

As for Calvin, I know that bullying bears no comparison to mass murder. However, don't ever think that the loss of a child who was bullied to death in school is any less painful to that family than the thousands of families who were changed forever one September morning in 2001.

So here is my offer, Calvin, wherever you are. I apologize for whatever I did to make you dislike me so. And I forgive you for those times when you thumped me for no reason at all.

At least that's a place to begin, eh?

Wrigley Field, Monarchy, and the Weight of Tradition

2011-04-29T23:00:00.013-05:00

Chicago: Wrigley Field - Scoreboard, a photo by wallyg on Flickr

A few weeks ago my son Jeff and I attended the home opener of the Chicago Cubs at Wrigley Field--a ballpark revered by baseball traditionalists like the two of us. Notable for going without lights until 1988, it carries forward to this day an antiquated scoreboard on which changes to the score are manually updated. Woe to anyone who dares to propose that it is time to get with the modern world.

Take for instance my home ballpark here in Kansas City. Known as The K (a tribute to the founding owner, Ewing Kauffman) the newly renovated stadium boasts a massive scoreboard which when installed in 2008 had the largest high definition video board in the world. To be candid the Kansas City Royals teams taking the field in recent years weren't scoring enough runs to make updating a labor intensive task. It is a malady that has also plagued the Cubs over a long time.


KC Royals Scoreboard,photography.by.ROEVER on Flickr.

Since attending that game I have been reflecting on the feelings prompted by these two disparate images. I love the mystique of Wrigley Field. The opening ceremonies were strangely moving for a visitor like myself. There was a sense of family, genuine community forged perhaps on the anvil of baseball ineptitude. But still...

That said, I know I am also sufficiently a product of this technological age (I blog, for gosh sakes) that I would hate to give up the vast amount of information provided by the video board at The K. I am sure all agree that it substantially improves the baseball experience if one knows that Billy Butler is hitting over .385 when facing left handed pitchers on cloudy Thursday afternoons. No way does one get valuable information like that from those kids flipping numbers on the Wrigley scoreboard.

I realize you may furrow your brow at the least, or perhaps call 911 if you're real excitable, when you hear me contend that all of this is why I got up at 3:30am this morning to watch the Royal Wedding. Just bear with me, eh?


The Royal Carriage: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Ray-Wise-Photography/135854966435337

Let's begin with this. I was born in Toronto, Canada in 1947, about a year and a half before Prince Charles arrived to considerably more pomp and ceremony, as I later learned. I sang "God Save the Queen" not just at the opening of every school day but also prior to the main feature in the local movie house. I was just a lad when the 27 year old princess was crowned Queen of England on June 2, 1953, ascending because of the death of her father, King George VI.

I think it was 1957 when the Queen visited Guelph, my residence at the time. We Cub Scouts lined the streets as the royal motorcade passed by. We noticed that the young Queen had perfected the royal wrist wave (Princess Catherine still needs some tutoring--her wrist just flops around). I have often thought of myself and my Cub friends that day as something of a security detail. I take pride that the Queen made it safely back to Buckingham Palace.

I'm not sure any of that explains fully why I hauled myself out of bed at an unfamiliar hour, but I think it has something to do with it being "writ on my inward parts."

But here's the thing. My inward parts are also offended by unbridled opulence in a world of poverty, hunger, and homelessness. I dare say that one need not stray too far from Westminster Abbey to find people living in cardboard boxes. Likewise, I cannot abide a system of privilege whereby wealth and notoriety are seen as a birthright. I understand why some, perhaps even most, call the monarchy an institution that is no longer credible in the modern world.

And in a far less significant matter, neither does it make sense at Wrigley Field to change scores in a manner reminiscent of the pin setters I remember from the bowling alleys of my youth. It is silly to try to hold back the waves of modernity.

But even if we believe these things we still have to contend with why the streets of London were filled with massive crowds estimated to be a million or more (and I didn't spot a cynic among them). And what is it about Wrigley Field that leaves sophisticated Chicagoans declaring that only "over their dead bodies" will that stadium be modernized?

I don't pretend to know the answer to all of this, but I have an inkling or two. I think we all are searching for roots. Technology, for all its social benefits, comes to us in cold packages of brushed aluminum. People are losing faith in our primary institutions such as government, religion, business, public education, and others. An economy that almost collapsed left retirement savings at risk and a general sense of malaise throughout the land. Politicians are ridiculed and what is beginning to feel like a critical mass of people seem ready to believe almost any nonsense about their leaders. When that happens there is a loss of center, things we counted on seem to unravel. The ground beneath our feet seems unstable. Anger, fear, uncertainty begin to take hold.

Maybe one answer has to do with not railing against traditions but transforming them. Princess Diana's public work brought enormous credibility back to the Royal Family; the circumstances of her alienation and death squandered it. Perhaps this newly married young couple will find a way to make that institution relevant again. They seem able to stand in the midst of the traditions with a little twinkle in their eyes. Perhaps we all can learn from them.

"Tradition!" wails the fiddler from the rooftops, decrying the slow erosion of the values that frame the boundaries of his own life but seem not to be efficacious for his children or their generation.

Maybe we can first look at our traditions and see if they can speak to us with a new voice in a new time. Maybe there's a little wine in those old wineskins after all.

The monarchy, weighed down by centuries of rules and obligations and attitudes, still seems ripe for reform.

As to Wrigley Field, I just don't know. That may be a tougher job.

On Tolstoy, Forgiveness, and the Waffle House

2011-03-23T15:56:00.002-05:00

Leo Tolstoy (1828-1910)

A while back I found myself at a local Waffle House, filling a little time between appointments with my orthopedist and my ophthalmologist. Life is like that for me these days, requiring far more visits to medical facilities than I ever would have imagined.

That morning I was visiting the surgeon who had patched together the remnants of a knee that took the brunt of an ungraceful descent down the stairway in my home. That nasty surgery left me with a couple of months spent mostly in a recliner, my foot elevated and my ego bruised.

Later that day I was at the eye doctor, demonstrating once again that I could not make out the bottom row in the vision test. Never mind that I had long ago memorized the darn thing, although that knowledge seems a bit useless.

For some reason these medical appointments are often followed by visits to Denny's or IHOPs or such--the comfort foods, the brassy waitresses, the bottomless coffee pots, and the morning paper. On this occasion it was the Waffle House I visited. I learned a little history from the greasy menu--there is a Waffle House Museum in Decatur, Georgia at the site of the first restaurant opened in 1955. That was interesting to know, but hardly life-changing.

But never did I imagine that in the midst of the maple syrup, the buttered waffle, and the black coffee I would run into Leo Tolstoy. He came by way of a story in the New York Times which I was reading on my iPhone. I see a lot of irony in the circuitous route that connected me to Tolstoy that morning, but that is not the point of my musings today.

Waffle House Museum

The piece in the Times dealt with an effort underway in Russia to rehabilitate Tolstoy's reputation on the occasion of the 100th anniversary of his death. It seems that although he is fondly remembered among literary types, and is an important figure in Russian history, he is not beloved by the Russian Orthodox Church. A century ago the church had excommunicated and blacklisted him because they believed he had supported the rise of the Bolsheviks.

Clearly Tolstoy had radical views and was a favorite of Lenin. But even those who abhorred his politics had to acknowledge that War and Peace and Anna Karenina, among others, were such a worthy contribution to the world's literature that he could be forgiven his political myopia. And so, a decade ago Tolstoy's great-great grandson wrote to the church requesting that Tolstoy's 1901 excommunication be "revisited." There was no response.

As the centennial approached the effort was joined by the literary establishment and a most remarkable request ensued. The president of the Russian Book Union wrote to the church and in effect asked for forgiveness on behalf of Tolstoy, something Tolstoy himself had never requested. The church's response, while praising his books and other literary accomplishments, noted that Tolstoy had never made peace with the church nor renounced his "tragic spiritual error" and as a result his excommunication could not be lifted. They did say that those who held him in high regard would be allowed to offer "sincere, humble prayer for his soul." (The full text of the letters are well worth reading and can be found here.)

At this point the waitress at the Waffle House asked if I would like my coffee refilled. I did.

Russian intellectuals were appalled by the church's response:

“It’s as if in the 20th century the church did not survive persecution that made Tolstoy’s criticisms look like childish prattle,” wrote the literary critic Pavel V. Basinsky, whose new book examines Tolstoy’s final days. “It’s as if we have found ourselves in the situation that we were in at the beginning of the last century.”

As the waitress two booths over hollered "Two eggs over easy, hash browns, and bacon extra crispy," I shook my head in agreement and chuckled at the silly rigidity and narrow interpretations of those church officials unable to migrate to the modern age. I poured a little maple syrup on what remained of my waffle.

And then a little chill rippled through my body.

I stared at the words. I wrote that statement by the Secretary of the Patriarchal Cultural Council of the Russian Orthodox Church, I thought, lukewarm coffee gurgling in my throat. Not that statement, of course. I had never upheld the excommunication of Leo Tolstoy. Never even knew about it.

But my entire career was spent in various roles in a faith community, eight of them as its president. In that moment in the booth of the restaurant du jour I started to wonder how many times had I written policies or responded to inquiries in a manner that leaned on custom or comfort or precedent but ignored the Waffle House test.

Does it make sense to the world as we know it, as it has become over time? Does it honor the past without being bound to it? Does it stifle or does it breathe with new life?

My mind raced.

A few days ago I stopped by the Waffle House again after seeing the doctor. A little bladder problem if you must know. I had some things I have been wondering about since my last encounter with Tolstoy. Many things. I needed to know what he thought. That same waitress was yelling something about link sausages. No Tolstoy though.

Maybe I'll check at Denny's, just in case.

Midterm Lament -- "If only..."

2010-11-03T12:02:00.361-05:00

Day 100: I Voted
Originally uploaded by willowforlife

Those who know me will understand that I am not a happy guy today. I had long ago prepared myself for the outcome of the midterm election, but preparing oneself for hitting your thumb with a hammer does not prevent the screech that ensues when it actually happens.

I have done my fair share of screeching in the last 15 hours or so, not to mention gasping, guffawing, sniffing, and snorting. It really wasn't a pretty sight.

I am sickened by the orgy of disgusting television commercials leaping on every misstep or misstatement made by candidates of every stripe. It is as if being human is now a disqualification for holding political office. The end of those cursed clips is the one thing that makes this "day after" at least palatable.

I went through all that visceral stuff and insofar as possible shoved it out of the way. At that point my mind starting turning to regret more than anger. I am persuaded that it didn't have to be this way. My thoughts began to take the form of laments framed as wishes. "If only...", I began to think. "If only..."

If only... the promise of Election Night 2008 had been given a chance-- thousands and thousands of people in Chicago's Grant Park, pride in a country that could elect a man with the autobiography and ethnic heritage such as this, and a hope that seemed genuine and pervasive across the land.

If only... the commitment to bipartisanship promised by the President had been even tried by the Republican leadership. Instead their policy was clear--oppose everything and propose nothing. To listen to those same leaders today calling for bipartisanship is almost more than one can bear.

If only... the Democratic leadership had been wiser in managing the legislative priorities of the President. For example, having the draft of the health care legislation written in the Congress resulted in the same old "scratch your back, scratch my back" culture that was supposedly changing. Alas, not so. The Biblical metaphor for this is "new wine in old wineskins."

If only... American elections could mirror the importance of the issues instead of catering to the entertainment value of the whimsical, the silly, and the stupid.

If only... we could figure out how to do these elections without the poisonous injection of money without accountability--a candidate spending $160 million of her own money (I wonder how many jobs that could have funded), lobbyists who reward votes with money, trips, wine, women and/or men, and such other treats as the legislator may find helpful in deciding how to vote. No one believes in this nonsense; why is it we can't stop it?

If only...Democratic candidates had shown some guts and campaigned on the legislative achievements of the past two years; things they had voted for but never mentioned since. The President and his administration failed to effectively explain their own successes. As a result, there was no substantive debate on key issues--Republicans had nothing to say and the Democrats somehow lost their nerve and more or less ran as Republicans. Makes us proud.

If only... movements such as the Tea Party could come to understand that we're grownups and live in a complex society and that issues have subtleties that must be understood. Not all taxes are bad. Not all Hispanics are either illegal or alien. Witches have a right to be represented in the Senate too. (Okay, I made that one up, but the mere fact that a senatorial candidate went to the airwaves with a denial that she was a witch tells us more about the election than we want to admit.)

There are many other laments that could be issued, but these are genuine. I believe there are many things that could have been done to avoid this nasty, divisive process. It didn't have to be done this way. It does not honor the spirit of our country and it does not give us hope that we can pass to our children and grandchildren.

All of the pundits are saying that the 2012 presidential campaign begins today. You know, it doesn't have to be done this way.

If only...

And Now Cometh Ayla

2010-09-08T10:00:00.006-05:00


Big Sister Ashley welcomes Ayla to her world.

I'm sure that most people who know me at all are aware that I am rather fond of my granddaughter Ashley. She is now well on her way to her third birthday and she has brought into my life unimagined love, heartfelt hope, and even a dash of redemption.

In this blog I have from time to time ruminated about this little girl's impact on my life, beginning with an extraordinary 2 1/2 months when I cared for her five days a week while her mom fulfilled a teaching contract. Ashley taught me so much without knowing it. One day I will tell her. (Some of what one might call the Chronicles of Ashley and Papa are posted here. Just enter the word "Ashley" in the Search This Blog box in the upper right corner.)

It would be fair to say that she has caused me to look at all manner of things--social justice, politics, humor, faith, family, even baseball--through a prism that persistently weaves her image into the fabric of my being. In a post a while back I wrote, "Her presence in my life has been transforming because it has placed a human face on the future." Rereading them recently, the words struck me much more powerfully than when I first penned them. Perhaps that is because I'm very worried about the future these days.


Blessed to have Lyda as her mom

All of this is to set the table for the arrival of Ashley's sister, Ayla Joyce McMurray, at 4:06 am on August 12, 2010. She showed up a couple of weeks earlier than expected, but was a healthy 6 pounds, 15 ounces stretched beautifully over a 19 1/2 inch frame.

It's always a bit tough to join a family where the older sibling has been the center of the universe. I wouldn't know; I was the first born and I'm sure my sister, to whom I just sent a draft copy of this post, never experienced any problems like that. (Hmmm! My phone is ringing and my caller ID says she's on the line. I think I'll take it later.)

But I'll tell you this, Brian and Lyda did an extraordinary job of preparing Her Royal Highness for the role of Big Sister. There are many stories to tell and we'll perhaps do that one day. I don't want to turn this blog from its usual hard-hitting social commentary to maudlin bragging about one's kids and grandkids. But just this once, dear reader, please humor me.

Brian is a terrific dad. We love it.

Without question the presence of Ashley and the arrival of Ayla embody that slice of life that is good and true. Without them I can't imagine how I could cope with my anger as well as my fears about our world and especially this country. I keep reminding myself about the "human face on the future," but many other faces I am seeing are hateful, mean-spirited, ignorant, and deluded.

So-called tea party activists find it humorous to put President Obama's image on a poster with his face crafted into a likeness of Adolph Hitler. A clueless pastor of a tiny "Christian" church announces a public burning of the Koran and then finds himself atop the 24/7 news cycle. Never mind that such actions in the past have prompted international protest that led to riots, fanatical bombings, and infringement of human liberties around the world. The promise that many Americans embraced two years ago has stalled and soured in ways that break my heart. The Democrats must take their share of the blame, but the Republican tactics of demon-making, policy-blocking, and fear-mongering are unprecedented in my lifetime. And I didn't just fall off the turnip truck yesterday.

And so to Ayla and her big sister Ashley, I give you this broken country and invite you to love it. I hold before you those whose fear has turned to hate, and ask you to hug them. I point to those who are lonely or hungry or hurting and pray that you will welcome them with a smile when you meet them.

Some may consider me delusional, but when I look into a mirror each day I see the faces of Ashley, and now Ayla as well. For those of us who worry about the future that's a good thing.

So You're Canadian, eh?

2010-03-13T02:29:00.175-06:00

Canadian Pride
Originally uploaded by N10Z

I rooted for Team Canada in the hockey finals of the Winter Olympics this year. There's a story about that.

In the summer of 1959, just before my twelfth birthday, I pressed my nose against the rear window of our car and watched my homeland disappear behind me.

The circumstances of my family's relocation from southern Ontario in Canada to the heartland of the United States were kind of complicated. I suspect that the four of us making that journey--my mother, sister, grandmother, and me--probably all had different ideas about what we were doing and why we were doing it.

I knew it had to do, at least in part, with a perceived need for a fresh start for our family after several years of coping with an alcoholic father. It wasn't a flight from him, more like creating a new place for him in the hope he would eventually join us and begin anew. He never did.

I was born in Toronto. Our family situation had caused us to bounce around quite a bit. Prior to our move I completed sixth grade. I think that I matriculated in about seven or eight elementary schools just to get that far. I lived in Guelph and Ottawa but Toronto is the place I consider to be my birthplace and home town.

Our move to the States was probably the best thing for our family. I wasn't so sure at the time. As I was walking to my first day of school in the U.S. I met a kid my age. Upon learning I was new here he offered to answer any questions I might have. I inquired as to whether they played much hockey here. He hesitated a bit, then said, "Yes we play hockey here. You play that on a horse, don't you?" I knew immediately that my hockey cards featuring the likes of Gordie Howe, Bobby Hull, and Maurice "Rocket" Richard were going to be under appreciated.

In 1965, shortly before I headed off to college, my mother, sister, and I became naturalized citizens of the United States of America. A strange notion that--to somehow be "naturalized" by court order. Nonetheless, it appeared that we would be here for the duration and if so we might as well lay claim to the rights of citizenship. I don't recall having to renounce other loyalties, foreign or domestic, but it appears we did. Hopefully that doesn't extend to Olympic hockey.

I was in college and graduate school during the Vietnam War. A lot of my friends took much more interest in Canada than I had noticed previously. I suspect Canada will always be thought of here as being a refuge for objectors to the Vietnam War, an image that is warmly received by some and greeted with snarls by others. Mark me down for warmly received.

Once seen by many as almost a subset of the USA, Canada now has fashioned its own identity in the world. Never has that been clearer than in the Olympic Games.

Here in the States these days it is front and center in the debate over health care reform, either derided by Americans as wild-eyed socialism or lifted up as an illustration of how national health care can effectively work for the benefit of the people.

The nature of my career was such that I was able to return to Canada quite a bit on business, and our family made a few trips over the years. I was glad for them to see the Victorian row houses, the streetcars, Eaton's Center, the lakefront, and to experience the cacophony of images, smells, and sounds that pulsated through the remarkable city of Toronto.

One of those trips provided my kids their one and only opportunity to meet my father, a rickety soul by then, his body yielding to years of alcoholism, now cruelly compounded by Parkinson's Disease. "It's the only time anyone has ever called me 'grandpa,'" he said to me with misty eyes, those being among the very last words he would speak to me face to face.

All of this and more ran through my mind as I watched the Canadians host the remarkable Winter Olympics. I felt pride not just for "them" but for me as well. I sensed anew my own Canadian heritage, which I have embraced all of my days. It comes with a flood of memories, some bittersweet, even tragic. It encompasses place and people, life scenes of loss and redemption, times of beauty and meaning.

And most of all, it is nurtured by beloved Canadian friends who always let me know whenever I am there that I am home.

Blogging Backwards and Forward

2010-03-07T03:24:00.299-06:00

I did a little tweaking of this blog yesterday, taking advantage of some new features offered by the blogging application I use. It is now possible to put links to previous posts in a sidebar, and to do the same with comments placed by visitors to the site.

I liked that because it has the effect of keeping alive some of the posts that seemed worthy of a longer life than that provided by the RSS feed that first launched them into the blogosphere. The same can be said of some of the thoughtful comments made by you who have generously contributed to the kind of dialogue I consider essential in our time.

Most of the changes I have made are cosmetic, but the process gave rise to some reflections on the blogging journey I began in the spring of 2006, now comprising 86 posts (in fits and starts at times) and many excellent comments. From the beginning this effort wasn't a typical blog with timely posts and comments seeking their fifteen minutes of fame before dying a quick and natural death, counting on Google for some form of resurrection in days to come.

Mostly it started as a way of imposing a writing discipline on me, your humble blogger, giving him time and place to reflect on issues that interested him, often at greater length than most blogs. To some extent that modest goal has been achieved. Inevitably, however, those posts slipped quietly to the bottom of the blogger sea, a fate most undoubtedly deserved. A few floated awhile.

I spent 33 years of my life working within a faith community, including primary leadership roles. That work is written into my bone marrow. Since that had framed so much of what I wrote about over that time I wanted now to see if I could speak with other voices, particularly on issues of social justice.

As I look back I take some satisfaction in the rather wide range of topics I wrote about in those 86 posts spanning four years.

Stylistically, there were pieces that were whimsical, autobiographical, sarcastic, humorous, angry, analytical, persuasive, and hopeful.

Topically, I wrote eight pieces about baseball--in the same way that Moby Dick is about whales, of course. Over 25 pieces fell into a pretty eclectic category I would describe as social/cultural. It was a political season and I wrote about 20 essays on faith and politics. A lot of those were pretty passionate. There were around ten pieces on blogging and technology, several focusing on its cultural significance. There were others that just need to be tagged "miscellany."

And then comes Ashley, my now two-year-old granddaughter. Have I mentioned her unparalleled beauty and amazing intelligence? She was around only half the time since this blog began, but seven essays deal entirely with her. Disproportionate, you say? Deal with it.

But in another respect, all of it is about her, whether looking backwards or looking forward. I haven't tried to do a word count to see how many times her name shows up in other posts not devoted entirely to her, but I suspect many. Her presence in my life has been transforming because it has placed a human face on the future. No longer just something out ahead, the future has become personal. If words mean anything (and I think they do), then I want is to find words that in her name proclaim justice, embrace joy, and embody hope.

In other words, this blog is for you, Ashley.

Football, Politics, and Haiti

2010-02-11T14:10:00.016-06:00

Peyton Manning
Originally uploaded by Leyinglo

The Super Bowl was a satisfying, even heart-warming, experience, both in terms of the well-played game and the remarkable New Orleans story. The themes of redemption and renewal were moving and I willingly suspended my usual cynicism that kicks in when athletes give glory to God for helping them win a game.

I figure that if we don't blame God for 200,000 bodies buried in Haitian rubble (and I don't), then God should get no credit for a team of Saints winning a football game. It was one of those feel-good things that thankfully defies explanation.

That being said, there was another level of nonsense surrounding the game that connects to a cultural phenomenon that I think is unfortunate and potentially dangerous.

It is illustrated by a piece about the Super Bowl written by Jason Whitlock, the Kansas City Star's sports columnist viz. cultural provocateur. He is analyzing the performance of Peyton Manning, quarterback of the losing Indianapolis Colts, and widely considered one of the best players ever to play the game. Whitlock writes thusly:

Down a touchdown late in the fourth quarter of Super Bowl XLIV, 5 yards from a first down and 31 yards short of a tie score, Manning tossed his Ruthian legacy into the arms of Tracy Porter, throwing the interception that decided the game and, in all likelihood, cemented Manning’s reputation as a big-game disappointment.

I have neither credentials nor interest in judging Manning's career. But I do want to register an objection to this silliness that takes one moment, one errant pass, one interception and makes that the linchpin that defines a career. (For the record, in his twelve year career Manning has completed 4232 passes for 50,128 yards, 366 touchdowns, and 181 interceptions.) And ONE pass, ONE interception "cements" his reputation as a "big-game disappointment?'" Give me a break!

Scott Brown North End Rally
Originally uploaded by Paul Keleher

But my real issue here isn't about football, except to the extent that sports are often guilty of this kind of hyperbole. The games are marketed with hype and exaggeration and overstatement.

In the end, however, it's only a game. But when the same issue begins to appear in the larger culture there may be reason for concern.

Take for example the election of conservative Republican Scott Brown to the Massachusetts Senate seat vacated by the death of Senator Ted Kennedy. I certainly acknowledge that Brown's victory was significant and that it signaled some shifting in national politics since the 2008 presidential campaign. What got to me, however, was the inability of the media to restrain themselves from making this single off-year election one of the defining moments of our generation. One blogger reporting on that race referred to the "cacophony of cataclysmic change that is coming from Left, Right, and Center."

The "cacophony" is precisely the problem. A vast number of journalists, pundits, bloggers, and water cooler commentators, many working to fill the 24/7 news cycle of cable television and the Internet, create a cultural phenomenon before any kind of thoughtful reflection can occur. In Brown's case the hype created a larger than life figure descending into Washington, DC with cameras recording every step and talking heads breathlessly reporting on what he had for lunch as he made his way like a conquering hero to receptions around the Capitol.

Just today I heard of some polling that makes the point even while sending chills down my back. Respondents were asked to rank their favorite for the GOP presidential nomination in 2012. No candidate had a margin of any consequence, but Mitt Romney and his multi-million dollar political makeover was in first place. In second, embodying the notion that we get what we deserve, is Sarah Palin, another media creation who manages to present herself as a populist even while charging $100,000 for one speech to her own supporters. You gotta admire audacity like that.

And in third place as a GOP candidate for leader of the free world? Yes indeed, that honor belongs to Senator Scott Brown whose own mother probably didn't know who he was two months ago. But here he is, not far removed from a nude layout in Cosmo (think a female candidate would have got away with that one?), suddenly anointed as America's savior du jour. Well, at least it can be said of the Senator that he has nothing to hide.

These days we allow the media to create heroes, define cultural movements, and tell us when some event has vast importance. We have actors declared to be stars upon getting one small movie role and a DUI. We have teenage singers writing their memoirs. We have unknown politicians who become household names because of some rude or thoughtless remark.

The plea here is for some sense of proportionality that honors achievement over time and provides for thoughtful reflection and intelligent dialogue.

We have a culture of celebrity that creates and hypes personalities made of straw. While not wanting to exemplify the kind of overstatement I am criticizing, I really believe this is a danger to our civilization and way of life.

It is not unlike the construction standards in Haiti. Buildings were not anchored as one would see in the developed world; they virtually sat on the surface of the land with no foundation of any depth.

And then the earthquake came.

Honk! Honk! "You've Got Mail"

2009-08-06T06:00:00.005-05:00

Onstar display - General Motors
Originally uploaded by TechShowNetwork

Okay, enough is enough.

Over the years I've been a persistent advocate for new technologies and the resulting cultural transformations that attended them. While I acknowledge that not all of them have had a positive impact on society, I do think that many of these tools have not only increased productivity but also have shrunk our world, erasing artificial boundaries and connecting people across cultures in powerful ways.

And so way back in the early 1980's when the personal computer was just being birthed I bought an IBM PCjr, complete with a floppy disk that was actually floppy and 128KB of RAM, an amount of memory that wouldn't hold one photo of my granddaughter Ashley in today's hardware. (For those of you with more than 128KB, pictures of Ashley are available on request.)

In the years that followed I've Googled and gargled and I've Twittered and twiddled. I've dialed up the Internet with a 300 bps modem, and waited for that screeching sound over the phone that signaled a connection was made. I've processed words and spreadsheeted numbers. I've instant messaged and text messaged, and I've even used my cellphone to make phone calls. In the days before the auto save feature I've written documents of several pages in length and then lost them into the ether, where I assume they await my redemption on judgment day. That's going to be a busy day.

I've paid my tech-friendly dues throughout my career, holding off the luddites, trying to convince them that "Jesus saves" was actually a technological instruction rather than a theological one. The outcome of that discussion is still in doubt, but it's now in the hands of others. I worry.

But today I heard an advertisement on my car radio that launched me into a great sucking sound--an inhalation of air that usually only occurs when I punch the wrong button on my radio and find I've tuned in Rush Limbaugh.

The ad was from General Motors, promoting the OnStar feature in some of their cars, which they describe as an "in-vehicle security, communications, and diagnostics system." Fair enough. I've got no problem with this satellite-based program that reports crashes and dispatches emergency vehicles, not unlike a home alarm system. They say that if you lock your keys in your car you can call an 800 number and they will unlock it remotely. I've never been wild about the idea that no matter where I am some guy in Detroit can lock or unlock my car. But oh well.

Now however comes the stunning news that their program does a series of mechanical diagnostics and then YOU GET AN EMAIL FROM YOUR CAR with the results.

That's it. No more. I'm drawing the line right here. This ain't happening.

I am writing today to the management of General Motors and will be telling President Obama that this has gone too far. I WILL BE ACCEPTING NO EMAILS FROM MY CAR. I was an avid supporter, Mr. President, and I'm calling in my chits. Stop this in its tracks or that picture of you as a newborn baby in a fur parka might just get anonymously sent to the Christian Science Monitor.

I've fought the good fight. But there are times when a stand must be taken and no compromise is acceptable.

Gotta run. My refrigerator is calling. Apparently we're out of lunch meat.

Ashley, Grandpa, and Baseball

2009-05-24T15:00:00.003-05:00

We took our granddaughter Ashley to the Kansas City Royals baseball game the other day. She missed being selected on the giant scoreboard as "Fan of the Game," probably because she wasn't in her seat at the time. She didn't get to meet the team mascot Sluggerrr when he stopped by our section, also because she wasn't in her seat at the time. She didn't get featured on the scoreboard's Kiss Cam--it seems she wasn't in her seat at the time. She did, however, get kissed quite a bit.

Her first game, which I had long been looking forward to, was a lot of fun, but it wasn't quite as I had imagined it would be,

I had thought she would sit on my lap most of the game as I explained to her the nuances of defensive alignments, told her stories from my love of baseball going back almost a half century, and helped her understand that she shouldn't cry when the fans suddenly erupted in a deafening roar that scared her. "This is the Royals, sweetheart. When yelling happens, that's a good thing, believe me."

I needed to give her context here. You see, Ashley, there was the crazy owner Charley Finley and the deified owner Ewing Kauffman. There was small market economics and why we hate the Yankees. There was the World Series in 1985 and virtually no series ever since. There was George Brett and Frank White, hemorrhoids and pine tar, and there was this handsomely remodeled stadium, the K (which goes back to the deified thing).

Ashley seemed to prefer the carousel. Whether there should be carousels in ballparks is a question that should be debated in a by-invitation-only conclave of folks wearing ball caps, badly-faded t-shirts with Dan Quisenberry's name on them, and possibly carrying a tattered baseball glove just in case a foul ball comes their way.

I choose not to take up that issue here. If it takes a carousel to get Ashley to the ballpark that's good enough for me. I know that as time goes by we'll learn from each other the things we love and explore the things we want to share.

In that spirit, please permit me this brief note to my granddaughter:

And so, Ashley, love of my heart. I'm oh so glad you went to the Royals game with us. It was great fun.

Oh, and just one other thing, Sweetheart.

Next time, maybe for an inning or two, you think maybe you could stay in your @#$%&%* seat? I need to explain when it's good to try the suicide squeeze and when it isn't. It's about lefthanders and righthanders, bat control and basepath speed, pitcher velocity and upcoming lineup.

Okay, okay! I know it'll take a while. I'll be patient.

Say, maybe next time you could show me that carousel?

Between innings, of course.

{{{}}} Love, from Grandpa.

Torture, Execution, and the Other Cheek

2009-05-01T03:45:00.001-05:00

Waterboarding
Originally uploaded by nobt

As a long-time opponent of the death penalty, I have been listening with considerable interest to the national debate on waterboarding and other forms of torture (now delightfully sanitized by the CIA as "enhanced interrogation techniques"). President Obama has repelled the popular notion that torture helps keep us safe in an era of terrorism. Instead, he says, it is our values that ultimately save us, not our ability to extract information from prisoners through a veil of pain and fear.

Opposition to the death penalty puts one at precisely the same intersection between expediency and principle. The inmates on death row are rarely perceived as nice people. Most of them (not all, but most) are guilty of the crimes for which they were sentenced, often horrendous in scope. They do not warrant our sympathy and in most cases they should never again walk freely beyond their prison walls. The cause of abolition is not about them, it is about us. It has to do with the values that are foundational to this nation and that define our place in a global society.

I can already hear the clucking of right wing tongues against bleeding heart liberals who do not have the stomach to do what is necessary to protect our nation from suicide bombers, rapists, and murderers. And, in fairness, many of those clucking tongues do not come from the political right alone. Positions on this issue do not fall cleanly along ideological lines. Often it is personal experience that shapes one's view.

Against the death penalty
Originally uploaded by Steve Rhodes

The arguments against the death penalty are numerous--it is disproportionately applied to minorities and the poor, it is far more costly than life imprisonment, it is barbaric, it has taken the lives of the innocent, and there is no evidence that it serves as a deterrent. These and many similar arguments can be documented and are good and sufficient reasons to abolish it. But there is one that trumps them all: IT IS WRONG!

Arguing from moral principle, as Obama has with the torture issue, makes one an easy mark for those who argue from positions of self-righteousness, machismo, or expediency. The bad guys are clearly bad guys. There is no disagreement there. When people are afraid it is easy to let go of civil liberties, constitutional theories, and even logic. Fear becomes the defining issue that pushes others to the sideline.

In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus is reported to have said "...if anyone strikes you on the right cheek, turn the other also." (Matthew 5:39 NRSV) By citing the teaching of Jesus I do not mean to build public policy around biblical proof texts. We have way too much of that already, often to our detriment. I mention it only because it is a principle found not only in the Judeo-Christian tradition but in most of the great religions of the world. Although it is often used by proponents of pacifism, I prefer to think of it as a broad social principle that rejects vengeance and violence and embraces human dignity and worth as one of the values that is at the foundation of our culture.

Believing in that principle is pretty simple. Living it is not. Rejecting torture in times such as these is one important message that speaks to the world about the soul of our nation. Becoming the last nation in the Western world to abolish the death penalty would demonstrate that Americans truly do believe in the culture of life of which we often speak, but all too rarely embody.

Simplicity is Just So Darn Complicated

2009-04-21T11:30:00.002-05:00

Obama Explains
Originally uploaded by AndrewCline

I had to testify in a civil trial recently (not a personal matter--just a subject about which I had some knowledge). When the lawyers were "prepping" me they continually urged me to give the shortest and simplest answers possible. I'm sure I frustrated them because my tendency is to say things like, "Well, my answer is yes, but you have to appreciate the context and know a bit of history in order to understand what I mean." I'm not sure what lawyers intend to convey when they roll their eyes back into their heads, but I think it has something to do with billable hours.

These days there seems to be a yearning for simplicity. It's related in part to the economic collapse. Americans have awakened to the reality that basic assumptions just weren't so much of a sure thing after all. We all knew that putting money into a 401k or similar financial instrument would mean that it all would be sitting there once the gold watch is awarded and the rocking chair ordered. And now that has all turned to dust amidst a bewildering array of Ponzi schemes, insurance conglomerates, hedge funds, government bailouts, and multi-million dollar bonuses for failure.

It used to be that when something was thought to be a sure thing one would say that you could "take it to the bank." Don't look for that little catch phrase anytime soon.

I suppose most of us who mercifully don't feed daily on economic news just assumed that some smart people understood all this stuff. We certainly didn't, but neither did we care as long we knew those smart people were doing their job. We have now come to the horrifying realization that not only were they not doing their job, but THEY don't understand this mess either.

There is one thing that is clear from the Congressional hearings and the "expert" punditry of recent months. No one--I repeat NO ONE--knows what the hell is going on.

And now it falls to our new president, thankfully one both gifted and eloquent, to become the guy to make sense of this in terms that we economic simpletons can understand. In addition to the boatload of issues on his plate, Barack Obama has also had to become the Explainer-in-Chief. The irony is that few political figures in recent time have been as willing as Obama to talk about nuances and complexities and to eschew simple answers to deeper questions. But alas, simplicity seems to be the pathway to hope in these difficult times.

Stephen Covey, author of the Seven Habits books, often quotes Oliver Wendell Holmes thusly:

I would not give a fig for the simplicity this side of complexity, but I would give my life for the simplicity on the other side of complexity.

I note that in using this quote more recently Covey has offered up only his "right arm" rather than his life in exchange for that elusive simplicity (Covey, The 8th Habit: From Effectiveness to Greatness, New York: Free Press, 2004, page 103). I suspect this may be related to the devaluation of all things in our present climate. He's probably keeping the left arm under a mattress somewhere.

The quote, however, is provocative and useful. The crisis we are going through is devastating to millions of people. There is only one compensation that I can think of and that is the hope that we will be driven back to this country's fundamental values of respect, opportunity, justice, and a rule of law driven by a democratic spirit. In the name of free enterprise we have sanctioned greed and honored plunderers. They must pay their due, but we must learn their lesson.

In the end, it's the simple things that really matter, no matter how complex they may be.

Will the Kindle Change the World?

2009-03-21T09:36:00.009-05:00

amazon-kindle-2
Originally uploaded by kindle.amazon

There has been a lot of new talk about the Kindle, Amazon's e-book reader, and e-books in general, since I posted some thoughts on the subject a few weeks ago. I have to reluctantly acknowledge that the chatter has nothing to do with my post, but with the release of Kindle 2.0. That led to lots of talk about some of its new features, including text-to-voice technology that lets the device read to you in a reasonably human voice. The overall verdict is mixed (it's still way over-priced), but the prattle over the technological innovations is also joined by ponderings about its cultural implications--a far more interesting and important issue.

In retrospect, my piece went a bit afield from my original intention, which was to reflect on how I, an unrepentant book person, experienced reading in this format. That point may have got a bit lost in my meanderings about discarding books during a time of housecleaning and remodeling. Sorry about that.

The main thought I wanted to explore was that the book person in me was finding the e-book experience to be far more redemptive than I had imagined.

Now comes a piece in Slate Magazine by Jacob Weisberg, who sees this phenomenon as world-changing. Give it a read and let me know what you think.

How the Kindle will change the world. - By Jacob Weisberg - Slate Magazine

Gutenberg Goes Digital - Bibliophile vs Technophile?

2009-02-08T06:30:00.001-06:00

Originally uploaded by Marc van der Chijs

I'm a book person. Anyone who knows me can attest to that fact. The mere thought of throwing out a book launches a full-body tic. I blogged about this point some months ago when I reflected on weeding library books.

This came into even sharper focus in recent weeks when we undertook the monumental task of thoroughly cleaning out the attic, the basement, and certain other rooms in our house. Junk was hauled away by the truckload. My family seemed to think that some of my books, numbering well into four figures, should be included. Can you imagine?

I'm sure my family, all of whom are also avid readers, will be unhappy to have it publicly exposed that they would favor throwing out books. I am sure there is a Seven Steps program for those who have this disorder and I am confident that with competent counseling this can be worked through.

But I had to mention this in order to set the stage for admitting that I, a lover of books to the point one might call extreme, am also a lover of the Amazon Kindle, a reading device that has a screen, a keyboard, and some kind of electronic "ink" that displays books in a digital format.

Originally uploaded by atduskgreg

This device became suddenly popular last fall when Oprah endorsed it and distributed the product to her studio audience. Despite a somewhat bloated $350+ price tag, Amazon ran out of the Kindle before Christmas, creating a demand that was notable, although certainly not by Nintendo Wii standards.

The word on the Net is that Amazon will be announcing a new version of the Kindle this week. This has generated quite a surge of interest among those who are early adopters--the tech savvy crowd who don't mind trying out gadgets before they've become widely accepted. In my case I had not really been longing for a Kindle, but had expressed a passing interest based on what I read about it. My wife surprised me by making the Kindle a delightfully unexpected birthday gift.

My purpose in writing this post is to reflect on how this new technology has impacted my love of books and reading. I am not trying to be a shill for Amazon (Sony has a competitive product) nor to explain the various features. Let me try to describe it in one inadequate sentence -- The Amazon Kindle is an e-book reader, sized similarly to a trade paperback, that wirelessly downloads books, magazines, newspapers and other content and permits them to be read on a high resolution screen and navigated by use of clickable buttons and limited text entry.

For more information in addition to the Amazon link above I recommend Kindle Nation, a webpage by Stephen Windwalker who has been a generous, creative, and objective analyst and promoter of the new technology. Those links provide numerous gateways to other sites and resources related to the Kindle.

One morning I had an experience that forcefully illustrated for me the value of a Kindle. I was watching the Today Show and in particular an interview with Dexter Filkins, author of The Forever War, an important new book about the war culture in which we live. As I listened I thought to myself that I really need to order that book or go to B&N and buy it. Then suddenly I thought a new thought. I picked up my Kindle, clicked a few buttons, and literally within 60 seconds that entire book was on my lap. My Amazon account was charged $9.99, substantially less than Amazon's discounted cost of the hardback volume. I was reading chapter one of the book before Matt Lauer finished his interview with the author.

I'm a mood reader and as a result always have several books going at the same time. Maybe I fancy a mystery and later a biography. Perhaps a book of essays appeals to me and then something on current events. I used to travel a great deal and frequently pondered how many books to put in my bag so that I could nourish my fickle reading habits without breaking my back as I drug the carry-on through airports. Problem solved -- the Kindle holds about 200 books with no additional weight. Even I have to admit that will do.

I don't know where all this will go. I still love the heft of a book in my hands. I like to visually see where I am in a book, something that is difficult with e-books. Cover art doesn't go away with Kindle but it is far less appealing in the black and white graphics or woodcuts that are used in the reader. There is admittedly something of a sensory loss, but then a lot of people would look derisively at me should they find that books have that kind of effect on me.

But here's one thing for sure. I will never have to take any more static from my family about refusing to throw out books. No longer will I have to submit to ridicule for wanting to keep my books on the shelf even if I know I will never read any of them again. Or even for the first time.

Hah! Hah! Fooled them, eh?

Wait a minute! That Kindle was an unexpected and surprising gift from my wife. You don't suppose...????

Nah!

The Page Turns

2009-01-20T12:15:00.002-06:00

What is to be said?

Today Barack Obama rests his hand on the Lincoln Bible and becomes the 44th president of the United States. Throughout the nation and around the globe pundits, historians, politicians, bartenders, celebrities, educators, students, preachers and plumbers have reached deep inside their souls to find words to match this moment. And still, however eloquent, words fail.

I cannot recall a time when I have experienced a public event in such an intensely personal way. One cannot understand how it feels to me without having walked in my moccasins and lived my life, complete with its moments of soaring joy and wrenching loss. I sense that many people feel similarly. What happens in Washington, DC today will put a face on this country that will resonate around the world. But in a strange way the importance of this day is not about civics or politics. It is not even about history. It is about autobiography. Not Obama's autobiography. Mine. And yours.

Among the trinkets marking moments of my life there is a lapel pin, plain in design, on which the letters FMBM are engraved. Few would know the meaning of that acronym--"For McGovern Before Miami." These pins were distributed to people who worked for or contributed to the anti-war candidacy of George McGovern before his nomination at the 1972 Democratic National Convention in Miami. It was, of course, a doomed crusade (McGovern was clobbered by Richard Nixon, winning only a single state). But for me, a seminarian at the time, and for many of my generation, it was personal. I still think we were right and I take a certain amount of pleasure in looking at that pin and remembering.

I mention this only because I was also drawn to Barack Obama well before he became a viable candidate on the national stage. In this case it was words that did it. One day in Costco I saw a copy of what looked like an interesting book--Dreams from My Father: A Story of Race and Inheritance, written in 1995 by a virtually unknown figure named Barack Obama. It was liberally discounted so I bought it. The writing was thoughtful and lyrical, personal and transparent. And I, like him a son without a father, connected to his story.

Most impressive was the way in which he drew upon his own search for identity, particularly his multi-racial family, to frame his emerging social and political convictions. He discovered his story, incredibly complex though it was, could be knitted together with the totally diverse experience of others to form community. He wrote:

...they'd offer a story to match or confound mine, a knot to bind our experiences together--a lost father, an adolescent brush with crime, a wandering heart, a moment of simple grace. As time passed, I found that these stories, taken together, had helped me bind my world together, that they gave me the sense of place and purpose I'd been looking for. (Dreams from My Father, page 190)

You see? It's personal. My story. Your story. We're in there. And he gets it.

The picture included with this post is of our son Brian and his one year old daughter, our beloved granddaughter, Ashley. It isn't posed. She loves to look at books and magazines. Please note that it is right size up. By sheer chance she picked up Sojourners, a magazine addressed to people of faith who seek social justice. The cover of this issue was Barack Obama and the content was devoted to a series of letters written to the President-Elect expressing their hopes and dreams.

My hopes and dreams are embodied by Ashley. I cried on election night and the tears are flowing on this Inauguration Day. At first I couldn't understand why it was so emotional for me. But now I know. It's because my story, our two sons' stories, and Ashley's story, is in that podium today.

Almost a year ago I posted here some reflections on Obama's candidacy that I entitled, Dare I Trust Obama with my Mind and Heart? Some of the experiences I wrote about there are at the heart of the emotions that have welled up within me these past weeks. I chose to trust. Now, as I post this, the oath of office has just been administered.

The page has turned.

America Robbed - The Debate We Need

2008-09-13T11:16:00.007-05:00

My frustration with the presidential campaign is impossible to overstate. The designation of Sarah Palin as a vice-presidential nominee has made a thoughtful discussion of the issues virtually impossible. Dialogue about the economy, the wars, the environment has been replaced with nonsense about eBay, lipstick, and bridges to nowhere.

I had strong hopes that an Obama/McCain race would put two capable candidates on the stage for a serious conversation about this country's future. Unfortunately, McCain's reckless designation of a highly unqualified vice-presidential nominee has spiked any prospect for that. Instead we'll be exploring "when is an earmark an earmark" or "who fixes lunch for the kids when mom is vice-president?"

Last Sunday (9/7/08) Sen Joe Biden, the Democratic vice-presidential candidate, gave a preview of what could have been when he was interviewed by Tom Brokaw on NBC's "Meet the Press." Asked about his position on abortion Biden, a devout Roman Catholic, responded in a thoughtful, reflective way that honored the nuances so important to issues of faith and public policy. It has received little attention; the press has been busy tracking down Palin's per diems for being home.

I've appended a transcript of that portion of the interview. Watching the video clip is better because it shows the personal dimension more effectively.

It's not poetry, but it is precisely the quality of conversation we deserve. And we're not getting it.

----

The following transcript is an excerpt of an interview with Sen. Joe Biden on "Meet the Press" for 9/7/08. The text was clipped without edit from the program's web page.

MR. BROKAW: You're a lifetime communicant in the Catholic Church. You've talked often about your faith and the, and the strength of your feelings about your faith.

SEN. BIDEN: Actually, I haven't talked often about my faith. I seldom talk about my faith. Other people talk about my faith.

MR. BROKAW: I'll give you an opportunity to talk about it now.

SEN. BIDEN: Yeah.

MR. BROKAW: Two weeks ago I interviewed Senator Nancy Pelosi--she's the speaker of the House, obviously--when she was in Denver. When Barack Obama appeared before Rick Warren, he was asked a simple question: When does life begin? And he said at that time that it was above his pay grade. That was the essence of his question. When I asked the speaker what advice she would give him about when life began, she said the church has struggled with this issue for a long time, especially in the last 50 years or so. Her archbishop and others across the country had a very strong refutation to her views on all this; I guess the strongest probably came from Edward Cardinal Egan, who's the Archbishop of New York. He said, "Anyone who dares to defend that they may be legitimately killed because another human being `chooses' to do so or for any other equally ridiculous reason should not be providing leadership in a civilized democracy worthy of the name." Those are very strong words. If Senator Obama comes to you and says, "When does life begin? Help me out here, Joe," as a Roman Catholic, what would you say to him?

SEN. BIDEN: I'd say, "Look, I know when it begins for me." It's a personal and private issue. For me, as a Roman Catholic, I'm prepared to accept the teachings of my church. But let me tell you. There are an awful lot of people of great confessional faiths--Protestants, Jews, Muslims and others--who have a different view. They believe in God as strongly as I do. They're intensely as religious as I am religious. They believe in their faith and they believe in human life, and they have differing views as to when life--I'm prepared as a matter of faith to accept that life begins at the moment of conception. But that is my judgment. For me to impose that judgment on everyone else who is equally and maybe even more devout than I am seems to me is inappropriate in a pluralistic society. And I know you get the push back, "Well, what about fascism?" Everybody, you know, you going to say fascism's all right? Fascism isn't a matter of faith. No decent religious person thinks fascism is a good idea.

MR. BROKAW: But if you, you believe that life begins at conception, and you've also voted for abortion rights...

SEN. BIDEN: No, what a voted against curtailing the right, criminalizing abortion. I voted against telling everyone else in the country that they have to accept my religiously based view that it's a moment of conception. There is a debate in our church, as Cardinal Egan would acknowledge, that's existed. Back in "Summa Theologia," when Thomas Aquinas wrote "Summa Theologia," he said there was no--it didn't occur until quickening, 40 days after conception. How am I going out and tell you, if you or anyone else that you must insist upon my view that is based on a matter of faith? And that's the reason I haven't. But then again, I also don't support a lot of other things. I don't support public, public funding. I don't, because that flips the burden. That's then telling me I have to accept a different view. This is a matter between a person's God, however they believe in God, their doctor and themselves in what is always a--and what we're going to be spending our time doing is making sure that we reduce considerably the amount of abortions that take place by providing the care, the assistance and the encouragement for people to be able to carry to term and to raise their children.

Theological Weather Report

2008-08-31T11:36:00.009-05:00

james-dobson-karl-rove
Originally uploaded by Nancy Jo

This has to be said.

Early in August Dr. James Dobson, leader of Focus on the Family, an evangelical, politically conservative group, stirred attention by inviting people to "ask God to open the heavens and let precipitation pour on Barack Obama just before his nomination acceptance speech at the Democratic National Convention on Aug. 28."(Los Angeles Times, 8/12/08)

I do not believe in an interventionist God who takes sides, whether in political conventions or football games, and then metes out some form of retribution on the other side by using the vast supply of meteorological tools available to God. Nonetheless, I took a certain wry pleasure in the beautiful weather enjoyed by the 75,000 or so attendees at the Obama acceptance speech.

Then this morning, as I watched the frantic preparations for the horrendous hurricane that seems to be once again barreling into New Orleans, my mind started turning. It appears that this will have a major impact on the Republican National Convention and on the acceptance speech of Dobson's candidate, John McCain (albeit tepid support because McCain is too liberal on some issues, particularly abortion). In a sense it can be said, if only metaphorically, that the rain prayed for on Obama seems to have been redirected to McCain.

Since I don't believe any of this bunk, I can comfortably ask this of Dobson and his cronies of the religious right: "Could you explain this little misstep to your followers who prayed for rain in one place and got a hurricane in another?" I ask this question of Dobson on behalf of millions of people who continue to see their faith demeaned and ridiculed by the reckless and unprincipled use of God's name to advance a political agenda.

And by the way, this morning the White House announced that neither President Bush nor Vice President Cheney would be attending the convention because of the storm on the Gulf Coast.

It sounds to me like the only one who got his prayers answered was John McCain.

America Insulted

2008-08-30T11:28:00.017-05:00

My longtime respect for John McCain as an ethical, independent voice has been withering for weeks and now has dropped like a rock into the sea. This photo, posted on the McCain website, is a graphic depiction of the lie perpetrated by McCain in selecting Sarah Palin as his nominee for vice-president of the United States. It should have read "Country Last," for that is precisely where he has put this nation.

This man had the audacity to claim that Barack Obama's call for an Iraq timetable showed he was willing to lose a war in order to win an election. After making that absurd and offensive allegation this 71 year old presidential candidate with four occurrences of cancer then puts the whole country in peril by nominating a wholly unqualified "hockey mom" to stand a mere heartbeat away from becoming the leader of the free world. My God, the sheer arrogance, let alone stupidity, of this is beyond words.

Thursday evening we witnessed a stunning and inspiring address by Obama calling on this nation to live out its highest values at home and abroad. Whether one opposed or supported him it seemed clear that we could have a presidential campaign focused on the big issues of our time, with quality candidates dedicated to a fair and thoughtful dialogue about our nation's future.

And then, after playing a childish media game of hide and seek, Sarah Palin was dropped with a THUD into the heart of the 2008 election. In only a matter of hours the Internet was alive with satirical lampoons and cheesecake photographs (some undoubtedly doctored, but still...). I'll concede she's got better legs than Joe Biden, but unless she can work that into the vice presidential debate on national security I don't see it as something that will turn a blue state red.

We will now spend weeks making comments like the preceding paragraph and who knows what will surface. The significance and dignity of the process is now in serious question. It is not Sarah Palin's fault. I am sure she is a capable person with a compelling story.

This is John McCain's fault. He has been dismissive of the breadth and diversity of American women by assuming that nominating a person with the right body parts will compel millions of females to blindly vote for her, despite vast differences in values and policies. "I am a Vagina American," they declare on Jon Stewart's Daily Show.

It's a great day for comedians, but it is a national tragedy for this country and for my granddaughter. Ashley seemingly has to grow up in a society governed by the cynical and the desperate, people whose lust for power betrays us all.

John McCain suffered unimaginable pain and loss during his five years as a Vietnam POW. I've stopped caring. He no longer gets a pass. What he has done these past few weeks, and especially yesterday, cannot be tolerated. Our nation is so much better than this. So much better.

Soulful Words Matter More

2008-08-27T10:46:00.015-05:00

_MG_6565
Originally uploaded by DemConvention

A few months ago I was reflecting on Barack Obama's oratorical skills and I posted a piece here about the importance of words ("Words Matter," 02-06-2008). At the time there was, perhaps understandably, some concern about the candidacy of a relatively unknown, seemingly inexperienced, but highly charismatic figure. It was as if we couldn't trust our own visceral responses. He was the stranger offering a candy bar to the school kid.

I took the optimistic side, believing that this is not a case of the emperor having no clothes. I wrote that there was more than met the eye:

Obama seems to understand the importance of words. His delivery has something of the feel of the black preacher, but there is more. There is a depth behind the words that goes beyond the rhythm and cadence by which they are spoken.

I continue to believe that. However, the speeches of Michelle Obama and Hillary Clinton at this week's Democratic National Convention have led me to "revise and extend my remarks," as legislators say while padding the Congressional Record with speeches never given.

Michelle Obama and Daughters
Originally uploaded by cq.swat

I was gone during much of Monday evening and listened to Michelle's speech in the car, including the closing where Barack appeared on the big screen (from right here in Kansas City) and chatted briefly with his wife and kids.

On the radio the light-hearted repartee sounded awkward, the kids a bit bratty. The whole thing seemed contrived. I was therefore quite surprised to hear the talking heads going on and on about the charm and spontaneity of those exchanges. When I watched the replay I saw exactly what they meant. The words in her speech framed the issues and she delivered them with aplomb. But it took a cute kid on a big stage waving at her daddy to give the moment its soul.

It is said of the Nixon/Kennedy Debate in 1960 that Nixon lost because he had a five-o'clock shadow. People who heard the debate on the radio or read a transcript tended to think Nixon won. Those who watched on television thought Kennedy won. Most scholars believe the debate, the first one televised, was the difference in the outcome. Some think it was appearance. I tend to think it was soul.

Hillary Clinton's speech last night was a masterpiece. I have never been a big fan of her oratory; she often seemed strident and a bit wooden. But this one hit all the marks. It was exquisitely written and masterfully delivered. She drove it home, controlling its pace by running over the tendency of a crowd like this to applaud or give ovations to every other line. She controlled the speech because she had it "written on her inward parts," to adapt the covenantal phrasing in Jeremiah 31:33.

I still believe that words matter and can shape and change ideas. But these two extraordinary women, both delivering the speeches of their lives, have shown us that when they become soulful words they can not only change ideas but they can transform society.

People still seem a bit unsure about Barack Obama's soul. His most significant supporter and his most persistent critic have this week pointed the way to a future that affirms the worth of all persons and embraces a global community living in a world at peace. Now we will see if he can lead us not just with words eloquently spoken, but with heart and soul worthy of this transforming moment in our history.

Friendship in the Era of Facebook

2008-07-25T11:30:00.003-05:00

Me and my 542 bestest friends (on Facebook)
Originally uploaded by tychay

I've made a lot of friends in the past few weeks since my kids bumped me into the world of Facebook--some 115 of them as of now, according to my profile. I barely know many of these friends, have never met some of them, and am only connected to others through secondary sources by way of family, schools, churches, or geography. Requests come like a rock dropped into the sea, ever widening ripples of friendship that threaten to ultimately befriend me with the entire human race. No way can I keep up with birthday cards to a Rolodex like that.

It is kind of an eerie feeling to receive a note from someone unknown to me who wants to be my friend. I wonder what leads to such requests. I always look to see what connections may have prompted this invitation. In most cases the link becomes obvious, the person virtuous, and the contact harmless. If I turn down the request, which is easily done, what kind of a jerk am I?

On the other hand, if I agree to be a "friend" to such as these what does that say about the meaning and significance of friendship? I discovered a fellow traveler in a New York Times piece by David Carr, "Hey Friend, Do I Know You?" Carr's questions mirror my own. He writes:

As we speak, my Facebook page, a couple of months old, is crawling past 200 friends. There are people on there whom I have known since they wore skinny ties and distressed sport coats, and there are others whom I would not know if they walked up with name tags the size of sandwich boards. But we have friends in common, and in the parlance of social media, we are connected.

The whole piece is well worth reading. I know that this new era of social networking is causing a fresh assessment of relationships, a new map that has the potential of building bridges of peace. Of course, one must also acknowledge that there is a darker side that must be monitored as well. That which heals us can also harm us.

So we'll see how this goes. There is much here to engage us in thoughtful reflection about relationships, community, and human worth.

I am glad to have new friends. However, if I fail to send a Christmas card I trust you'll understand.

Tim Russert's Long Goodbye

2008-06-20T09:13:00.009-05:00

Cleveland Democratic Debate
Originally uploaded by NewsHour

The death of Tim Russert has been a hard blow for me, as I mentioned in my previous post. A friend of mine shares with me the penchant of having sometimes referred to Meet the Press as "our Sunday morning church," a commonality that bristles with irony if one knows the whole story. He called me up the other day and said, "Grant, we've lost our pastor." And so it seemed.

I've watched Meet the Press for decades and never did I sit choking back sobs like I did last Sunday. That apparently was true for many, resulting in a national mourning that seemed it would never end. Russert's farewell was like those usually reserved for presidents, not for the working press.

The media attention has been amazing to me, not just in duration but also in tone. I know they were dealing with one of their own and this one happened to have so many redeeming qualities that it seemed impossible, even irreverent, to harness the superlatives. It just seemed that they couldn't run out of good things to say. Political journalists get jaded and hard-bitten at times, but suddenly they all became dads and moms, wearing comfortable sweaters and a pair of slippers. They referred to their news bureaus as "families" and their colleagues as "godparents" and "dear friends." And on top of it all, as the memorial service ended with a rendition of "Over the Rainbow" a sure enough real rainbow parked itself over the NBC studios. This may become one of those urban legends, but for the moment I choose to suspend disbelief.

Some cynics are now beginning to question the coverage as overkill, something I've been expecting and even understand. Jack Shafer, editor at large of the online magazine Slate, wrote a controversial piece on Monday in which he referred to the media attention as a "canonization" of Russert. This led to a spirited discussion on NPR that revealed the strong feelings elicited by this man.

Tim & Luke Russert
Originally uploaded by Texas
Revolutionary

I suspect that this has as much to do with our culture as with Tim Russert. Of Russert it is said that he was competent and fair as a journalist, open and compassionate with his staff, loyal and caring to his friends, and loving and attentive to his family. These are virtues, wise and true, but why lionize such a man? Isn't that the way we all should be?

The answer, of course, is yes. The rest of the answer is that we are not.

I know that the major reason for my tears is not how badly I will miss his journalism (and I really, really will). I cried because I didn't have a dad like that. I really didn't have a dad at all, and the older I get the more I know how much I needed one.

I don't think my sons had a dad like that either. But I think they had a better one than I had, and I think their children will have better ones than they had. Big Russ, Tim, and Luke have inspired us by example to find a way.

Tim Russert didn't need this long farewell. But we did. I am grateful that the remarkable Russert family allowed us to borrow him for a few days, even in their grief, so that we could have Tim "for the whole hour."

Tim Russert - Pursuing Truth

2008-06-13T23:00:00.001-05:00

Tim Russert, 1950-2008
Originally uploaded by scriptingnews

I suppose it is the nature of 21st century media that we build emotional connections with people we have never met. I have been experiencing that over the last few hours since hearing the tragic news of Tim Russert's death.

I was in my physician's waiting room, restlessly tapping my foot, when my phone vibrated, alerting me to a breaking news report. I read it on a two inch screen with dismay and shock. It seemed personal.

The tributes on the television tonight have been remarkable. His commitment to family, love of his dad and his son, got much of the respect from the hardened journalists and politicians who spoke of him throughout the evening.

These days I sometimes get asked about where I attend church. My answer, depending on who is asking, is to chuckle and say that I'm often at Meet the Press church. I don't mean to be disrespectful to religion. Not at all. But there is a measure of larger truth to what I'm saying there. That program has for 17 years been hosted by a man who, in addition to his love of family, understands history and culture and has a healthy respect for faith and patriotism. Every Sunday he looks across the table at our world's movers and shakers and respectfully but fearlessly asks the penetrating questions that need to be asked on behalf of us all.

In other words, he pursued the truth. At its best, when it is on message, that is what religion does. All churches should do so well as to have one such as this as their messenger.