“The most common and durable source of factions has been the various and unequal distribution of property.” James Madison, The Federalist, 1787.

There is no question in my mind the term ‘parsonages’ is derived from the expression ‘parson ages.’ The first time a member of a parsonage committee traipsed through our first church home and commented on how beautifully the previous parsonage family had arranged the furniture and how we hadn’t I must have aged ten years. I aged another five years when I heard second-hand the lawn looked a whole lot better when it was mowed by my predecessor.

It was a nice house and we were privileged to live in a few more spacious and beautiful parsonages. Frankly I liked trustees maintaining our houses. When we were fortunate to get to live in an old but well-kept house with a panoramic view of the Pacific Ocean I told a trustee board member early on my toilet didn’t work. He replied “Yeah, but isn’t it a great view you’ve got?”

“Well, yes, but my toilet’s broke.” It was repaired within two hours. I honestly appreciated living that way but a dozen years and three parsonages later we were assigned to a church with no manse. We scraped, borrowed and prayed (I use to pray for low mortgage rates and high income in those days) so we were able to purchase rather impressive homes with God’s help.

An article titled “For God So Loved The 1 Percent.” (NY Times 1/18/12) offers an account of how we came to be so blessed from on high when it comes to wealth. The pastor of First Congregational Church in Los Angeles was credited with tying God to the fiscal corporate sector plight in the 1930s and 40s in the wake of the Great Depression. He, with the help of other prominent clergy and business leaders, put forth a new blend of conservative religion, and subsequent U.S. presidents bought into the notion. It was a precursor to the theme “God wants us to get rich” that remains popular to this day. I knew of that Congregational preacher when I served on the staff at First Methodist Church of L.A. in the early 60s. I thought at one point I should have signed on with his outfit.

I managed to preach around scriptural texts referring to possessions or riches that made me or my congregational members nervous. Here’s one from the Gospel of Luke that never quite made it into a sermon. Jesus states unmistakably “Sell all your possessions, and give alms.” I hate to admit it but I figured during my four decades of active ministry I had approximately 2000 opportunities to preach on the possessions part but didn’t. If I would have stayed another forty years I might have given it a shot. But I did bang away on the alms part.

Back to the new church assignment and the purchase of our first home; two young ecology-minded professors from a university began attending services. They lived in a small house with few stark possessions, grew their own provisions, rode bikes and relied on public transportation. We became good friends until they ceased coming to church. I called on them and both confessed they could not reconcile the contrast between the content of my preaching and the size of my house and turf. For starters, they were living in a 600 sq.ft. house on a small lot. The preacher resided in a 2000-plus sq.ft. abode on an acre-and-a-third desert lot comprised of 30-foot statuesque saguaro cacti on a knoll with a grand view of the city, a house complete with three workable in-door toilets. As usual I didn’t preach on Luke 12:33 but the professors must have been familiar with the text, dammit! I might add that the three of us were a little teary-eyed over the departure.

I was devastated and called a couple of clergy friends for comfort. They proceeded to assure me I had worked hard to become a minister, endured 5 years of graduate school, tolerated a couple of micro-managing senior pastors, and probably tithed; that would be the alms to which Jesus referred. My colleagues also pointed out the professors had no offspring and we had two. They reminded me that Methodist clergy in previous generations retired after 50 years of service and could not afford to rent a place let alone buy one. That helped to console me a little but I never quite got over that below-the-Bible-belt blow.

I gradually overcame the guilt and became accustomed to living in large dwellings after the kids moved out. Is that a bad thing? How easy it is to live well and relatively wealthy – and territorial as it turns out. When a gated community cropped up across the street from us and a friend moved into it I let him know what I felt about the intrusion. I said to him half-jokingly or more accurately one-fourth teasingly, “Do you know what it’s like to reside across the street from your fenced-off place? It’s as if you drop by before construction and say to me ‘Wow, what a great neighborhood. We’d like to live here but when we do get settled in we will not want you to be in our part of it.’” He laughed but also conveyed a hint of ‘whoops.’

Soon after my friend moved in I was walking by his “part” with my 5-year-old grandson and caught sight of him outside his home. He stepped over to us and we talked through the fence for a few minutes. When we left him Cameron asked, “Now, Grampa Buzz, was he in jail or were we in jail back there?” And I had to counter emphatically “Let me put it this way, Cam; he’s in jail and we’re not!” Do I enjoy acting that crude? Well yeah, I did in that moment.

Ah, but the guilt related to big-home living merely stayed submerged and maybe it would not have broken through so much if I had not made several trips across the Mexico border to participate in mission house-building ventures. We had to drive back and forth by a squatters’ settlement consisting of a thousand or so families living in cardboard structures, tents and tiny shacks made of wooden pallets with dirt floors.

That’s when I would begin thinking about friends and neighbors who live alone or as a couple in 2000-plus sq. ft. residences with Mexican tile floors and often with a second casa in a gated community in Mexico, or a cabin in the mountains, a boat or an RV, and as we happen to be blessed with, a second home in Scandinavia. That’s when the haunting Biblical refrain comes to mind; “Give up all your possessions, and give alms.”
That’s what concerns me when I read about our infamous county sheriff’s officers wanting to profile and apprehend illegal immigrants who are perhaps merely young mothers and fathers who want more for their offspring and we don’t seem to have room for them.

I assumed by moving north to Phoenix which is 150 miles from the border while our Tucson mansion was only 50 miles from it and by dispensing with visiting Mexico that those efforts would have helped lessen the guilt. It’s not working given the persistent news about the immigration issue and the fact a Gospel of Luke publication remains at eye-level on a shelf in my office.

It seems our state has become more condensed over the past 30 years, closer borders with pent-up unhappy Arizonans. So, who’s in jail now, preacher? Who’s in jail now?”

Frankly, I was enamored with the writings of Pierre Teilhard de Chardin along with my wife-to-be while in seminary. He was a French philosopher, a Jesuit priest, trained as a paleontologist and highly regarded but then he was eventually branded a heretic and buried on unholy ground. Wait a minute can any kind of heresy lead to one’s demise these days? Can a light-weight dissenter be burned at the stake by messing with dogma and tradition as I have? I really don’t want to go out that way. I figured I’ve endured several decades of living in Arizona, arguably one of the hottest places on the planet, so it just wouldn’t be fair to have to be set on fire. But I digress.

When I asked Paolo Soleri, the noted architect and futurist, if he based his work on Teilhard’s theology he replied testily and a tad nervously “No, definitely not, I rely upon his philosophy.” Ah, he’s no dummy; he too has spent decades living on a torched desert floor. What struck me as fascinating was the fact the naughty priest kept alluding to ‘primordial particles’ of the universe that mature over time. He advocated that human development is influenced by the same universal laws as material development. That must have been what ticked-off the Vatican.

In a recent NY Times op-ed piece Brian Greene, a physics professor, gives a report on the Higgs particles (I assumed there had to be mortals in the mix) that move, along with other forms of life, through a cosmic force-field comprised of a molasses-like substance that allows for bonding with unfamiliar particles. I nearly flunked a physics course in college so I had a hard time grasping his observations. But I managed to imagine world citizens – individuals risking leaving their safe communal bonds and getting fused together – once – with as many strangers as humanly possible during their earth journeys.

As crazy as the vast scheme seems we are likely designed to navigate through the cosmos as individuals as much as possible and spend less time clinging to collective bonds. We may not fully mature as a species by remaining too long within friendships, families, congregations, nation/states or any communal entities for that matter. We’re apt to go against the grain of nature and stunt our growth by sticking too much to our clannish ties.

Loren Eiseley, a philosopher, anthropologist and natural science writer was heard to state “Like the herd animals we are, we sniff warily at the strange one among us.” We might do well to do a lot less sniffing and whole lot more gluing. OK, what’s the makeup of the cosmic bonding material, the ‘molasses,’ the sticky substance that will likely enable us to link up unconditionally with total strangers or particles, if you will? I’ve referred to it as compassion, love or intimacy. Steven Pinker in his new blockbuster publication The Better Angels of Our Nature: Why Violence has Declined holds out for empathy. I’m sticking with intimacy. Unfortunately many if not most people assume, or perhaps want to imagine, the term smacks of erotic tendencies, pursuits that will only lead to trouble. Could be, but not if we’re careful unless of course one is addicted to such quests. What if intimacy is the primary goal and not coitus when we dare to run deep with strangers? And what if those who associate the term intimacy with sex in their minds are charged with a bit more raging hormones than others?

Empathy works mostly as the first step toward experiencing compassion when we begin to care for others from a distance. We may be using some of our reasoning powers in that mode of relating. I imagine empathy emerging over a degree of time. If we sense we are about to have a one-and-only chance to engage deeply with a stranger it’s possible we can bypass the empathetic part and risk plunging into unconditional compassion in minutes. Empathy may be relied upon to feel the other person out while intimacy can be acted upon rather quickly without the promise of the other reciprocating. That’s a daring impulse. Empathy may be essential for potential long-term relationships but maybe not for abrupt encounters with strangers.

Let’s get back to the sex part. Readers might argue that the following definition of the term intimacy in Webster’s dictionary runs counter to my views. “1. the state or fact of being intimate; intimate association. 2. an intimate act; especially, illicit sexual intercourse.” I know, I know, but I’m recommending classification # 2 be expunged.
Dr. Huston Smith, revered scholar of world religions, in alluding to Ian Suttie’s publication, The Origins of Love and Hate, concurs with the iconic pioneering psychoanalyst who was persuaded through his investigations that “our major repression is not of sexual or aggressive impulses, but of affection and openness. These repressions in individuals add up to a collective taboo against tenderness in our culture.” If those findings prove to be credible then risking running deep with strangers to experience affection and tenderness is a more pressing innate urge than that of pursuing illicit sexual intercourse as Webster and company seem to be warning against.

So imagine if you will that you’re a mere but classy sticky particle, sexless or otherwise, floating in the universe and there are gobs of other gooey particles out there that can’t wait to glom onto you affectionately and tenderly; you lucky creatures.

“Life is either a daring venture, or nothing….Security is mostly a superstition. It does not exist in nature.” Helen Keller The Open Door.

Steven Pinker declares in his most recent popular book The Better Angels of Our Nature: Why Violence has Declined that we are likely living in the most peaceful period in human history. He would contend that progress, modernity and human nature have contributed to the decline of hostilities in the world. I’m betting our natural instincts could be emerging more forcefully than ever before when it comes to lessening the level of violence on the planet.

Daniel Kahneman, who is considered the world’s most influential psychologist, contends in his book Thinking, Fast and Slow that irrationality is in our bones, and we are not the worse for it. If he is suggesting we might do better by trusting our instincts over reason occasionally by risking cutting through our fears to bond deeply with even a foe, life in this world will only get better.

One day, in the community of Ocean Beach in San Diego, a couple dozen very tough-looking members of the Hell’s Angels motorcycle club moved into the neighborhood near the church I served. Soon after their arrival on the scene several elderly members of the church came to my office to convey how anxious they were about the new, scary residents invading their community. The women insinuated that if I considered myself a shepherd of their church flock I ought to do something about the black sheep overrunning their neighborhood. They were genuinely terrified and claimed they had not been able to sleep soundly since the gang came into town.

While trying to comfort the delegation one of them asked me point blank, “Do those men frighten you personally at all, Pastor?” She caught me off guard with that. I was a little anxious about the bikers moving in but I tried to give my visitors the impression things were not out of control. I replied, “We can rely upon the police keeping an eye on them.”

One of the women smirked and whispered to the others on departing, “Yup, the preacher’s chicken too!”

After two additional members revealed to me their terror regarding the biker gang members taking up residence in our parish I thought it was time to deal with the matter in some fashion. I asked Charlie, a federal probation officer and a member of the church, if he could arrange a meeting with a Hell’s Angel contact person that might be willing to discuss the neighborhood fears and concerns. He assured me he would try to find an officer within the biker club who might be open to talking. A month later the federal employee informed me he had found a gang member. Charlie smiled and said, “His name is ‘Snake’ and he is the secretary of the Hell’s Angels local chapter, a major player!”

“Good, let’s go see him.”

Charlie claimed he was too busy and that it would probably be better if I were to meet him alone, one-on-one. All of my urban fears came down on me in that moment. The probation officer had known about my single encounter ministry days on the streets of L.A.

Charlie remarked “You ought to be pretty prepared after having spent three years on Skid Row as a street chaplain.” He enjoyed watching me squirm over the thought of his preacher meeting face-to-face with a bruiser named “Snake.” That was the morning I wound up inadvertently using hair spray under my armpits and deodorant on my hair in getting ready to visit the tough biker. How does one groom for a serpent?

I sat in my car for a half-hour in front of the Snake’s house working up the nerve to step out and approach his door. I finally got to the porch. Before I could knock the door swung open and before me stood a terrifying shirtless creature whose entire upper body was tattooed with snakes of all sizes and colors. The “Angel” turned out to be a middle-aged, strapping, balding, 270-pound chunk of a guy. He managed to actually hiss when he spoke. “Yeah,” he snarled, “whad-a-ya-want?”

I mumbled, “I’ve come on the recommendation of your parole officer.”

He backed off some, “OK, what the hell, if Charlie sent ya, come on in.” He nodded toward the couch and when I sat down he plopped himself right beside me, butt-to-butt; obviously a move to intimidate. It was working. I was duly threatened.

“Are you coming with a problem?” he asked abruptly.

“Well, yes, I’m a pastor in the community and there are several elderly widows in my congregation who are pretty terrified by your club’s sudden presence in the neighborhood. I was hoping we could just get to know each other a little and perhaps come up with an idea that could help me go back and put my parishioners at ease.”

He sat quietly for a moment. “What do you mean by ‘get to know each other a little?’” he asked petulantly.

“Maybe I could learn something about you personally that would make you and your biker buddies seem less scary to my parishioners.”

“And what do you mean by learning something about me that is personal?”

“I guess I’m not sure but perhaps if we just talked awhile something just might crop up.”

“You’re a preacher, right?” He stared at me for a few moments. “What a coincidence, my Dad was a preacher. We got crosswise and I left home in my young teens. He was an asshole! Your being here is stirring up some bad memories.” He began to talk about his father. His eyes narrowed, he clinched his fists and blurted out, “The son-of-bitch was tough; you tough, preacher?” I was not sure whether it was a physical challenge or just an innocent inquiry.

“Are you as angry as you look?” I sputtered. “You know, I have to be honest; on the way over here I had a crazy notion I would be encountering a bad guy or at least a guy with a bad attitude.”

“Do you want to know how I deal with my anger?” I was not sure I wanted to know, but I replied,

“Well, yeah, I guess.”

“If your church folk are afraid of us maybe I should tell you how I deal with my temper.”

“OK,” he confessed, “when I’m ready to explode I’ll ride out to a deserted highway in the middle of the night and punch my bike up to 90 or 95 miles-an-hour and start screamin’ in the wind.”

I let his remark hang there for a moment and then I took what I considered to be a chance and asked, “Any tears go with that?” He took his time answering but finally he softly emitted, “Yep!”

He went on to say “Let me tell you about Maggie and you can tell this story to your church people. It might help to cut down on the fear. A couple of years ago a bunch of us club members got busted on some minor traffic violations and outstanding warrants on unpaid citations. We got jailed suddenly and we were not able to come up with bail money. A neighbor lady, about 80 years old, who lived next door to us, learned about our arrest and put up a bond to get us released. We had never even talked to her up until then.

“After we were released and my biker buddies had left the house I went over to her place and thanked her for springing us from jail. She said, ‘My name is Maggie, what’s yours?’ ‘They call me Snake!’” ‘Oh, God,’ she yelled. I asked if I could do anything for her. She said she would like to go for a ride on my motorcycle. So, I took her for a ride. We rode around the block. After a couple of laps Maggie asked if we could stop for a minute. I was not sure what she had in mind. We got off the bike and she asked, ‘Mind if I wear your jacket on the next go-around?’

“Jeez, preacher,” Snake admitted, “my Angels jacket is very special to me and I don’t let many people touch it let alone wear it and I was not keen on letting the old gal put it on. I took it off and handed it to her. She handed it right back and told me to hold it like a gentleman so she could get into it. There I was, standing on the curb dressing an old lady. We got back on my bike.

“On the third lap around the block Maggie yelled, ‘You got a horn on this thing?’ ‘Sure.’ ‘Well, how about tootin’ it when we come by my place so my neighbors can see me on this contraption?’

Snake concluded with “I asked Maggie after our ride if she was scared getting on the bike. She said she was more frightened of me than the machine. I got a kick out of her, preacher. She started out behind me barely hanging on and then after a few minutes she held me tight and I could tell she was having fun.”

Weeks later Snake’s woman friend called to tell me he was killed in a drug deal that went bad with another biker. She eventually dropped by my office to offer me a few of her lover’s shirts and jackets. “You might be interested to know,” she expressed tenderly “that Snake stopped packing a weapon recently.”

His life ended violently but not before he lodged a piece of sheer compassion within Maggie, me and a part of his world. In a chapter titled “Better Angels” Professor Pinker cites David Hume who had to have had the likes of our better angel in mind when he penned the following sentiments.

“[It] cannot be disputed that there is some benevolence, however small, infused into our bosom; some spark of friendship for human kind; some particle of the dove, kneaded into our frame, along with elements of the wolf and serpent.” An Inquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals.

The notorious WWI Christmas Eve truce in 1914 provided a night of peace between warriors on the front lines. An individual had to have courageously broken ranks by stepping out of a trench to lead others to exchange gifts with the enemy. I’m hoping that initial spark within the bosom of a single soldier that would spread across the battle field was a contributing element to the decline of violence on this planet. Most everyone who participated in the exchange were probably killed after returning to their respective trenches but some particle of the dove had to have taken flight that night for all time.

Did Jesus have that kind of valor in mind when he urged his followers to love their enemies? If so, there will likely not be many takers. Alfred North Whitehead offered a stark warning on the subject. He claimed “As society is now constituted, a literal adherence to the moral precepts scattered throughout the Gospels would mean sudden death.” Dialogues, 1954)

You may have caught that Pinker picked up on the closing remarks of Lincoln’s First Inaugural Address for the title of his book. The president was urging citizens to strive to come through with the better angels of their nature but he also knew they could resort to living out of their shoddier angelic side when up again their antagonists.

What if mortals are finally evolving to the point of mustering a new kind of courage to get the job done? What if the Insula – a compartment in our brains that houses our deepest emotions – has matured over the past century or so? And what if we are getting better at enabling our compassionate urges to burst forth in the heat of the moment while wrestling with our fears, anger and rage, and those of our enemies?

“Heroism feels and never reasons and is therefore always right.” (Emerson, “Self-Reliance.” 1841)

“America shudders at anything alien…” – Max Lerner

“Whoever lives at a different end of the town from me, I look upon as persons out of the world,
and only myself and the scene about me to be in it.” – Jonathan Swift

A quote out of a publication on the subject of the nerve to write candidly caused me to realize how I have held back from being riskily truthful with my musings on the single encounter theme. A successful author asks “Is it true that writers are pillagers of privacy? Yes. And it is also true that others get hurt along the way. But what are a few hurt feelings along the fiction trail?” (Ralph Keyes, The Courage to Write). Well, given my writings have to do with the non-fiction path and the possibility of marring the feelings of loved ones I need to think twice about what I write about.

I’m still advocating for a single encounter lifestyle that can hold its own alongside any forms of tribal bonding whether they be families, faith communities, corporate institutions or nation/states. The term ‘tribal’ is defined as “relating to, or reflecting the traits exhibited by a group of people with a common ancestry, and culture; a tribal solidarity that transcends all other loyalties or bonds.” (Marion-Webster). I’m coming to believe there is no way to achieve a peaceful life on the global front by clinging mostly or exclusively to clannish ties. Was there ever a time when there was no tribal living when individuals populated the planet?

I’m very reluctant to reveal publically that I could have opted to remain single and reached a level of unconditional compassion with strangers in one-shot encounters throughout my life at a depth that most couples may experience in their married lives. I’m pretty certain the accumulation of intimacy I garnered within those stranger-to-stranger encounters reached the intensity of compassion I’ve felt with my spouse for over four decades, and I’ve loved her dearly. I also cherish my kids, grandkids and son-in-laws. I believe I could have maintained a meaningful and enriching single lifestyle, but once I did wed I had no qualms about staying married and welcomed a lengthy love bond. The compassion I felt with total strangers, male or female, came close and at times matched the feelings I have for my wife and children. I’ve yet to meet married acquaintances who claimed they got in touch with such levels of compassion with strangers. If they did they were reluctant to confess it. They have to be out there.

I’m becoming more convinced most tribal living, familial, congregational or national, will never enable us to live peacefully on this planet. The recent rash of reports related to sexual assaults within religious orders and universities and the escalating mistrust in the investment sector may have everything to do with in-house clannish loyalties. And what about the ever-present desire of the state of South Carolina to secede from the union? Is that not evidence of an undying tribal yearning? The Arab Spring survivors will likely remain divided tribal bodies.

So, what’s the alternative to communal bonding in the world? We’ve not tried honoring and encouraging citizens to remain unmarried throughout their lives. There is little if any real affirmation of those who wish to stay single and no religious or cultural rites that pay tribute to a solitary lifestyle. What are the drawbacks in being married or partnered? Couples committed to lengthy bonding may miss out on experiencing profound momentary ties with perhaps thousands of strangers in a lifetime as opposed to engaging with a dozen or so. Once couples commit to the time and energy given to work, raising offspring and retaining congregational ties they may be too worn out to want to connect deeply with world citizens. What would happen if a majority of Americans, for example, chose to remain single? How would that work? Would it undercut obligations to married life and child rearing? Would it merely cause chaos in cultures or could it possibly slow down the population growth on an overpopulated planet?

Will there ever come a day when citizens will opt to spend as much or more time running deep with strangers as they do with relatives and friends? In northern Europe married life is being challenged by those choosing to link with partners without the blessings of state or church. An increasing number of women are opting to raise children on their own and nearly half the marriages in our country are ending in divorce. Remaining single is becoming more of a choice than mere circumstances for women than in the past.

Spending considerable time bonding with extended family members seems to have diminished in the last 30 or 40 years. As a child I assumed I would always retain a deep relationship with my first cousins. It has become an obligation to stay in touch with them. Letting go of sustaining those traditional ties ought to free us up to bond unconditionally with outsiders but we may have to be trained and urged to pursue such ties and have an incentive to do so.

Could the changing trends indicate there are inklings among the younger generations that married life or partnering may not provide the kind of lifestyle that will allow them to actualize who they are, who they are meant to be and with whom they might wish to bond? Do the recent social trends and cyber contacts suggest that citizens are willing and wanting to find ways to open themselves up to have more time and energy to bond with outsiders? Will new modes of living enable citizens to be present to a world beyond families, faith communities and nation/states? And if so, will the unattached risk running deep with unfamiliar peoples on unknown soil?

What if we have an intuition that we are built to bond profoundly with foreigners/strangers and avoiding them causes us to feel slightly guilty? Is it possible Americans live with a low-grade form of depression as sociologists have construed because we know we belong to all beings as well as loved ones? What if we are gradually sensing the time and compassion we expend on insider loving go against the grain of our instincts to connect with others? And what if our Insulas, the cranial organs that generate our deepest innate emotions, have been interfered with by institutions with well-meaning agendas but plans that may not fit the times?

We may need to keep in mind that Dietrich Bonhoeffer, the legendary German pastor, martyr and prophet, was single when he wrote the Cost of Discipleship in 1937. He was not married with children when he risked his life attempting to assassinate Hitler. Obviously he figured he would never come to love his enemy, the Fuhrer. That seems fair enough. And another point to ponder; Jesus never modeled married life. The established church would take us there and I doubt if Jesus and the disciples functioned as a tribal entity. He apparently spent as much time away from them as he did with them.

What about loving our neighbors and enemies? How do we do it? How do we find the time to maintain a compassionate bond with those next door or around the block? Luckily Jesus didn’t set a time limit on such daring loving. We don’t have to love our enemy day in and day out, year after year until our demise or theirs. Maybe a single encounter unconditional bond is enough. Perhaps we can love our foes on the spot once within a couple of hours. Will that suffice? If we have no desire to love our neighbors and enemy forever we might try a one-shot plunge. We ought to be able to pull off a dozen or so of those in a lifetime.
“The whole theory of the universe is directed unerringly to one single individual – namely You.” Walt Whitman (only one more page to go)

Bill Killian, a wise, married and passionate retired hospital chaplain, has composed a rough draft of a ritual for the unmarried that might find a place someday in our United Methodist Book of Worship between the baptismal and marriage ceremonies. Bill came up with the following statement and would welcome your response by way of suggestions.

Single & Sacred: Celebrating a Life-long Commitment

On this day I solemnize my choice for the single life. Whether or not I am a parent or become one is not the issue in this ceremony and ritual; I simply choose not to enter into the marriage vows now or in the foreseeable future. I like being single, and I honor this life as a sacred commitment. My prayer is that my family and friends will support me in my choice, and I re-commit my energy and time to all my relatives – my siblings, parents, and especially my nieces and nephews. I will practice the principles of integrity and wholeness in all my relationships, and I will continue to build my support team – an important group of friends who enable me to live the abundant life. My choice for singleness is based in my understanding of who I am, and I do not feel diminished in any way because of this choice. The promise of my faith is that I am as enriched and fulfilled as any person within or outside of the marriage vows. I do not take this commitment lightly – it is my responsibility to share the happiness of the single life with others, and I will fulfill that responsibility as I practice my faith in my local church congregation through teaching and witness as those opportunities become available.

The word “S-I-N-G-L-E” encapsules my understanding of the life I have chosen:

S-I-N-G-L-E
Sacred life – alone, but rarely lonely
Integrity in all relationships
Nurturing self and others is my focus
Gratitude is a daily gift to self and others
Love is the essence of my life
Equality is what I expect/embrace at all times

While on a flight to Atlanta from Phoenix we hit a heavy storm. The woman next to me began to feel nauseous but there were no appropriate bags in the seat pockets and the flight attendants were advised to remain buckled in. I told my queasy seat partner I was not a doctor but a minister and I asked if I could offer a prayer. She said it probably wouldn’t hurt and maybe it might get her mind off her stomach momentarily. She didn’t seem too eager so I assured her half jokingly that it was not entirely for her but big time for me if she was going to be sick. She managed to laugh and I sensed a bit of my smart-aleck wit appeared to calm her down. Occasionally when a stranger learns you’re a preacher you can become a living target and get a barrage of questions.

After feeling better she got a little assertive. “Hey, I’m not much of a church-goer but I was for a long time. I would like to know why couples getting married receive special blessings from God and are sanctified in a ceremony and single members are not privy to receive such hallowed sanctions in a ritual. I’m just curious. What do you have to say about that?”

I stammered “Well, the marriage bond is what’s being sanctified and not necessarily the individuals.”

“Ah, I think you’re fudging on the interpretation, Pastor. Are you implying the bride and groom are not having God’s blessings bestowed upon each of them, separate from their wedded bond? I’m just curious.”

“Now I’m just curious,” I reply, “What is it specifically you wish to have clarified?”

“I guess it dawned on me one day as a single person attending numerous weddings and paying attention to the rituals that there is evidently no ceremony or rite in which those who choose to stay single or those not able to marry are sanctified in their adult years. And then it struck me that if people were to marry again and again they can get sanctified and have God’s blessings sprinkled on them a lot. Whadaya think?”

That’s when I started feeling nauseous. I don’t recall what I said after that but the agitator caused me to think about what she considered a discrepancy in how we treat members in our churches when it comes to holiness matters.

The woman was a piece of work but she had a point. When I returned home I went right to the good book, the tome of law of the United Methodist denomination. It states “We affirm the sanctity of the marriage covenant that is expressed in love, mutual support, personal commitment, and shared fidelity between a man and a woman. We believe that God’s blessing rests upon such marriage…” Was I right in suggesting the sanctifying is meant mainly for the wedded bond and not necessarily bestowed upon the individuals? And, by the way, what does that mean? Are we splitting hairs here? Well, obviously the pushy passenger aboard that flight thought it was important.

Do our long-term single members who may attend scores of weddings feel slighted when it comes to deserving a special blessing? Probably not but what if we were to have some form of affirmation in a ceremony up front for those who might welcome a special sacred blessing on their singleness? Maybe all church members living single lifestyles might be invited to participate in a public ceremony in the sanctuary or a private one in their home that celebrates their single-dom.

The section on ‘Single Persons’ in the law book of our institution states “We affirm the integrity of single persons, and we reject all social practices that discriminate or social attitudes that are prejudicial against persons because they are single.” Not a whole lot about offering sacred blessings but a strong warning against hassling them. The term ‘integrity’ in the dictionary is defined as the quality or state of being complete. I’m not sure we’ve ever managed to validate members living alone in a completed state like we have those who opt for nuptial bonding.

Would unmarried church members wish to be part of a sanctifying rite sometime between their baptisms and memorial services? I can recall two parishioners in two different churches that might have wanted to come close to being consecrated but not in the chancel area. They were extremely faithful members who lived well into their nineties, remained single and rarely missed attending a worship service. For some reason they held an exceptional respect for the chancel and altar spaces in the church and I doubt that they ever stepped foot onto those hallowed settings. They refused to serve as ushers, sing in the choir or participate in any other task that might require stepping up and into the chancel area. Evidently it was holy ground and not to be taken lightly. They believed wholeheartedly in hallowed places and held in awe baptisms and wedding ceremonies.

One was a noted university professor who when asked to be a liturgist in worship panicked. She was known for her lectures throughout the city but the thought of stepping up and into the chancel area of her church was rather terrifying. The other unmarried member was known for transporting bricks in her model-T Ford to the site of her new church being erected in the late 1920s. She also had a fear of trespassing on sacred ground in temples. It might not have added much to their awesome spiritual lives to be blessed in a service in a special way but I’m sure their presence up front during a ceremonial moment would have added to the holiness of those sanctuaries.

Frederick Beuchner has observed that “Times, places, things, and people can all be holy, and when they are, they are usually not hard to recognize.” Wishful Thinking: A Theological ABC.

Ms. Burnett and Ms. McCamly were not hard to recognize. They would have made great sponsors for those single souls wishing to experience God’s blessings resting upon them in a unique ritual.

There are several ceremonial blessings to be found in another good book, that of the United Methodist Book of Worship. Under a section titled “Blessings for Persons” is a listing of rituals for birthdays, graduates, engaged couples, a new job, those who work, those unemployed, those who suffer, and numerous other rites including blessings of pets and homes but there does not seem to be a reference to a ceremony for those who choose to remain single. It may be in there somewhere and I missed it and if so let me know but if there is no such ritual why not consider one?

Cornelia Otis Skinner, actress and writer, believed that “One learns in life to keep silent and draw one’s own confusions.” Not I!

“Agitators are a set of interfering meddling people, who come down to some perfectly contented class of the community and sow seeds of discontent among them. This is the reason why agitators are so absolutely necessary.” Oscar Wilde, “The Soul of Man under Socialism,” 1891.

In my last brief treatise I alluded to the courage and conviction of Peggy Hutchinson, a Methodist lay worker, who risked being apprehended and jailed in the mid-1980s for her commitment to transporting Central Americans across U.S. borders who were escaping violence and torture in their country. She ended up a convicted felon. Frankly, I admire anyone who shows up in person to deal with a contentious issue in public; those willing to be judged, lose their job, be humiliated, arrested, incarcerated and/or physically assaulted. There has to be an element of fear and maybe a bit of terror among those who choose to stand up, sit down or step over the line to protest something and remain to face the consequences.

I’m old enough to know about the messy demonstrations in Chicago in the mid-60s, a cultural uprising not unlike the ‘Occupy Wall Street’ phenomenon in some ways. What we may miss in watching the news or reading about demonstrators no matter what we think about them is the personal panic and fear they might be experiencing in those settings. Some may be harboring an element of dread that angry passersby could decide to assault them at any moment. There is always the possibility of a few protestors jumping in on a lark and others creating havoc and causing the police to become overly aggressive. Committed protesters may also sense at some point that there are citizens across the country watching the news that will not care about one’s physical welfare in such situations.

When I was reminded of Peggy’s ordeal while writing about her I thought I had never come near feeling what she may have been experiencing. But then I remembered the fright I felt after attending a Lenten service sponsored by my United Methodist denomination near a nuclear test site in Nevada in 2000. We were protesting future nuclear testing. We figured our country possessed enough missiles. I had not intended to step over a specific line in the sand where an arresting officer was waiting to handcuff trespassers but I did. The panic was minimized by the fact no one who took such action up to that time had ever been jailed. If convicted they could be imprisoned for six months. My concern had to do with a remote possibility of being incarcerated and having to explain to a new church to which I was about to be appointed that I might be delayed for a few months before reporting for duty.

I assumed I had avoided any deep-seated fear regarding my decision to participate in the protest but then two years later the terror set in. A friend of a friend who was being interviewed for a security clearance by a government official within the aircraft/space industry was asked “Do you happen to know a Willard Robert Stevens, Junior, who also goes by Buzz?” For a split second it was a little flattering to know that the country I love had taken notice of me. But in the next second paranoia took hold and in the third second a cold blast of sheer fear hit me.

Anybody – and I mean anybody – who chooses to put their body on the line for any controversial cause has to be prepared to have the absolute bejeebers scared out of them. So, I’d recommend wearing a diaper or a Depend, depending on your age, whenever it feels absolutely necessary to become an agitator. Yeah, that’ll do it, and you might want to consider holding onto the protective wear until you’re pretty certain you’ve dodged a bullet.

Some prophetic crackpot has declared the world will end in a few days and the media are picking up on the prediction for some reason. Well, you never know, my wife was out of town so I decided to head for McDonald’s last night. I love their wild berry smoothies, the big ones. I sat in my car for what seemed like a long time at a double drive-thru store. Three cars in the next lane moved ahead of me and I’m thinking there is no time to lose; the clock’s ticking. After three or four minutes I’m steamed. The world is about to end and I want my smoothie! I yell “Hey, is anybody ho—?” and BAM, I slam my head into a rolled-up spotless window. I’d just had the car washed. How are we supposed to get ready for the end of time? You’d think, after purchasing a five grand set of hearing aids, that I might have heard something out of that stupid squawk box.

I’ve had a few days during worship services when I might have welcomed a day of reckoning. I knew I was headed for trouble in the hearing department when I could have sworn I heard the liturgist say during the announcements “Please do not bark in the handicap zones in the east lot.”

I knew I needed time out for clarification when I heard the communion assistant whisper to me “Do you want me to pass the Chablis?” Before I could wrestle the cup from him he assured me he had said “…pass the chalice.”

I knew I was in trouble when the choir director who sat on the opposite side of the chancel was mouthing something important. I was certain he was trying to communicate “The organ is on fire and I’m going for help.” Turned out he was muttering “Let’s omit the first verse of the last hymn.”

It was a bit disconcerting to come across Frederick Buechner’s book Whistling in the Dark to learn that he thinks the Bible uses hearing, not seeing, as the main image for the way we know God. If that’s true I’ve got a problem. My hearing is leaving me faster than my hair, teeth and taste buds. Buechner claims we “can’t walk around him and take him in like a cathedral or an artichoke. We can only listen to time for the sound of him…”

The scripture calls for those who have ears to hear to let them hear. What if we don’t! A couple of decades ago I did hear distinctly about Peggy Hutchinson, a Methodist lay worker who had worshipped in our church in Tucson. She was caught transporting Central Americans across the Mexico border and wound up in court for six months with a felony conviction. Peggy defiantly declared in court “As long as that exodus, violence and torture in Central America continue; we have no choice.” I still wasn’t quite hearing her until she said “The church must take sides on the issue. The government took sides when it sent spies into church meetings and Bible study groups; which side will the church take”

Selective hearing may not cause too much damage inside our temples but it won’t cut it on the outside.

“We speak of hope; but is not hope only a more gentle name for fear?”
Letitia E. Landon. (19th century Br. Poet)

The ‘parallel universe’ notion, the idea that mortals need to live in a relational mode that causes them to maximize unconditional compassion in real time, may be a recent evolutionary phenomenon to which earthlings have given little credence. The parallel loving theory suggests that the most profound intimacy imaginable whether it has to do with friendships, neighbors, relatives, loved ones or strangers is experienced in real time. That means if we don’t have periodic moments of deep breakthroughs within those time-tested lengthy bonds or with outsiders we’re settling for secondary loving. And when we hog, hide or hoard the compassion we garner through lengthy relationships we lose out on fresh, unconditional empathy with outlanders that can break through our safe, comfortable commitments to family and friends.

Unconditional compassion is generated in the now. Distant loving is primarily based on hope and becomes a lesser form of intimacy. We are relying on it more than we should and here’s an example.

Mitch Albom, in his charming, heart-warming, much acclaimed novel, The Five People You Meet in Heaven, lifts up a fascinating image for discovering in heaven how we fared on earth by way of significant encounters with strangers and love unions. At first read, one has to be moved in the opening chapter by a description of the main character encountering for the first-time love of his life. The author writes, “Every life has one true-love snapshot. For Eddie, it came on a warm September night after a thunderstorm, when the boardwalk was spongy with water. She wore a yellow cotton dress, with a pink barrette in her hair. Eddie didn’t say much. He was so nervous he felt as if his tongue were glued to his teeth. They danced to the music of a big band…she said she had to go before her parents got angry. But as she walked away, she turned and waved.”

“That,” the author concludes, “was the snapshot. For the rest of his life, whenever he thought of Marguerite, Eddie would see that moment, her waving over her shoulder, her dark hair falling over one eye, and he would feel the same arterial burst of love.”

Eddie, an eighty two-year-old maintenance man who seemingly lives a lonely, meaningless existence repairing amusement park equipment is assured in heaven that through his diligent work habits he managed to prevent numerous children and adults from being injured or killed. We are led to believe Eddie may have lived in a permanent state of grief for half his life over his wife’s death and memory of their love but he was able to protect or possibly prolong the lives of scores of strangers, so, the narrative implies, his work achievements compensated for his loneliness. If Eddie, who put his physical life on the line in an attempt to save a child perilously trapped beneath a cart about to fall, had on occasion put his emotional life on the line by daring to plunge into the innermost-depths of strangers or acquaintances, he might have entered Heaven a happier camper.

Parallel bonding calls for bold loving. ‘Old love’ is sealed off from new loving and that means we have to be intentional about it by making things happen in the moment. When loved ones or close friends move away we may communicate by phone, Face Book, Twitter, Skypes and/or snail mail but if it’s a way to sustain unconditional loving it will likely not work for very long. We can wind up relying upon a smoldering form of bonding but it won’t speak to the loneliness we may feel.

We wonder why we suddenly realize over time that a few dear friends on our seasonal greeting list dropped away. It’s apt to the fact they aren’t able to generate real-time empathy with us. It’s difficult at times to delete names of the departed or friends who have moved across country. It would be interesting to go through our cards or e-files to determine who continues to energize us in the love department. We may not want to know. What if friends and relatives keep us on their lists because they feel a little guilty that they are not experiencing any form of deep intimacy in real time with us and don’t want to confess it?

When a cousin I’ve admired for decades stops sending cards it’s rather devastating. When an old girlfriend ceases sending annual greetings it hurts but what the heck. When a cherished mentor drops off it may sting, but what if the drop-aways mean those on the other end are merely realizing the glow is gone? We need to relish the fact the intimacy we experienced with them in the past is lodged within us. We can bank on it for fond memories but not for instantaneous empathy.

I don’t buy Albom’s implication that every life has a decades-old true-love snapshot that has the capacity to generate arterial bursts of love in the present. We can have a host of true-compassion encounters – romantic or otherwise – inside or outside our cherished bonds. We have to bravely strive for face-to-face connections that can inspire on-the-spot profound empathy at times. That’s the real-time explosive vibrancy that gives ultimate meaning to the moment and to our love lives. We’re likely born with an urge to bond unreservedly with outsiders but we have managed to stick with a few friends and loved ones.

A grand Creator probably knew that if creatures were to live peaceably on planets they would need to attempt to bond instantly and deeply with as many beings as possible. What a zany scenario, or is it? When we choose to be selective in our deepest loving we will remain distant from neighbors, relatives and passersby. That’s a dangerous way to live. When we disregard those outside our precious love bonds and close friends we can tend to alienate outsiders and that can lead to indifference, irritation, hostility and conceivably combativeness.

It’s too bad we can’t generate enough deep empathy on earth by just hanging around with loved ones and a few friends until the end of time. It would be a lot easier to cut out having to try to run deep with complete strangers and rely on the promise of meeting our loved ones in another life. When the Maker plopped us creatures onto a planet of a few billion peoples there had to have been a social plan that would ultimately lead to making a dent in the way earthlings connect. Why bother to cram so many living things onto a seemingly small planet? What’s the point in the overall scheme of things if we choose to bond deeply with a few dozen acquaintances and family members between our birthdays and our last breath? Do those scores of strangers we see and avoid daily have anything to do with our love range? What if world peace has remained impossible to accomplish thus far has to do with the way we love in real time? What if we were born to love unconditionally without being selective lovers and we just don’t have the desire or the nerve to love any differently?

Is it important to bond profoundly with world citizens at a faster pace than what we’re capable of doing now? What if the universe is banking on it? Astronomers claim a war is being waged between positive and negative energy forces in the universe. In fact, two teams of scientists working on that theory were awarded the Nobel Prize in Physics this month. Professor Robert Kirshner, an astronomer and author of a book titled The Extravagant Universe: Exploding Stars, Dark Energy and the Accelerating Cosmos, writes about cosmic wars. He points out that ‘dark energy,’ the good force, makes up about 70 percent of the cosmos while ‘dark matter,’ the wicked counter power, amounts to approximately 25 percent. Guess what? The puny remainder is comprised of galaxies, stars, planets and people. So, it would seem we’re caught in the middle or somewhere around the edges of the dark players but maybe we tiny contributors provide a modicum of love energy that can add to the good side. That would be love ENERGY in real time and not love MATTER over a long time.

The good professor informs us that “In the cosmic setting, the fate of the universe depends on a tug of war between dark matter, which is trying to slow down the expansion of the universe, and dark energy, which is trying to speed things up.” Can love ENERGY between humans on a single planet affect the cosmic order and if so how? Who knows? If cow dung can provide a source of viable ENERGY – Bio-gas to generate electricity, for example, why not…Nah, let’s not go there when referring to love emissions. On-the-spot unconditional compassion may provide enough oomph to nudge the masses to energize an entire planet, a source and force that might break through the stratosphere and add another fraction of a percent to the Dark force that’s bent on speeding up the expansion of the universe. Well, if we haven’t tried it…

H.L Mencken mused “The cosmos is a gigantic flywheel making 10,000 revolutions a minute. Man is a sick fly taking a dizzy ride on it. Religion is the theory that the wheel was designed and set spinning to give him a ride?” (Prejudices: Third Series, 1922).

We don’t have a lot of time on such a ride so if we plan to do something to contribute to the betterment of the cosmos we’ll need to do a whole lot of real-time lovin.’

“A good scare is worth more to a human than good advice.” Edgar Watson Howe.

Liv, my wife, sent off for some protest songs from the 60s. I was surprised how relevant the lyrics were for our day. When I listened to Barry McGuire’s song, “The Eve of Destruction,” written over 45 years ago I realized we’re just as mired in world chaos today as then. He opens with

‘The eastern world, it is exploding
Violence flarin’, bullets loadin’
You’re old enough to kill, but not for votin’
You don’t believe in war, but what’s that gun you’re totin’
And even the Jordan River has bodies floatin’

But you tell me
Over and over and over again, my friend
Ah, you don’t believe
We’re on the eve
of destruction.’

Is there a way to cause religious peoples to risk stepping out of their temples to engage with the world at-large, not as a charitable act toward the helpless or to invite outsiders to join their congregations, but merely as human beings daring to bond with unfamiliar mortals on dangerous soil?

John Wesley, founder of the Methodist movement, challenged members to step out of their Anglican temples in the 18th century and enter into the lives of off-putting, disenfranchised peoples of his day. It was a risky venture into hostile territory that most settled pew sitters must have seen as a terrifying undertaking. Those who left those pews had to have experienced soaring heart beats. Wesley realized the church of that day had insulated itself from the real world.

Methodists today may be in a similar state. A few congregations are addressing the needs of the homeless and hungry courageously and effectively in the greater community but for the most part, the commitment to such ministries don’t go much beyond making contributions through collection plates. We wouldn’t want to have our heart rates monitored in those moments. I’ll have to confess that my Methodist heart rate went off the charts during the protest marches in the 60s and has never quite reached that level of apprehension since.

Wesley, in an attempt to make the world his parish, found a way to break out of a self-contained mode of doing ministry and that venture in and of itself may have enlivened the members physically, mentally and spiritually. Those who remained in their pews would have learned his venturous disciples in the field paid a price for their commitment to the outside world.

C.E Vulliamy, a biographer of John Wesley, writes about the kind of hostility Wesley’s followers witnessed through their endeavors. An angered observer pulled the nose of Charles Wesley, John’s brother. Ah, but in time the endeavors got ugly. In one town followers were clobbered on the head with brass pans. On a preaching tour the speaker was struck in the eye and later lost his sight. Eventually one of Wesley’s leaders was brutally struck and killed.

Methodists may need to consider launching risky ministries as an unconditional gift to the outside world. We would not be going out to bring outsiders into our folds but daring to meet them on their turf with no evangelistic agenda with those who may not like our country, even hate it.

Hope is being generated among the Arab Spring protesters but frustration, anger and rage is escalating over how to deal with immigration matters. Bishop John Shelby Spong in a treatise on the Oslo shooting disaster states “We live in a dangerous world. Ours is an increasingly interdependent world, a world in which human differences are inescapable. No one can hide today inside a tribal enclosure. Ours is a world in which yesterday’s religious verities are fading and nothing has yet emerged to replace them.” (‘The Tragedy in Norway and its Meaning.” JohnShelbySpong.com web site)

Americans may be the pew sitters in these times, unable or unwilling to venture forth in an effort to care for the world beyond providing financial aid. It may seem ludicrous to suggest getting off our Methodist duffs in the midst of an economic disaster but entering into a global fray might be what we need to get our Methodist hearts pumping hard and out of control again.

The United Methodist Doctrine of Experience, a primary tenet of our denomination suggests “…all human experience affects our understanding of religious experience…A new awareness of such experiences can inform our appropriation of scriptural truths and sharpen our appreciation of the good news of the kingdom of God.”

If we can imagine “all human experience” referring to engaging with scary aliens around the world, a “new awareness” can imply that risky encounters with outsiders can perhaps partially shape and sharpen our religious perspectives. In other words, we can hold back imparting the scriptural word to others and dare to meet foreigners in a terrifying, emotion-laden king’s-x zone that does not let our scriptural or doctrinal beliefs into the interchange. When a stranger senses the other’s beliefs are in abeyance for even a fleeting moment she/he may be capable of cherishing in that instant an unqualified gift from the other and not sentiments belonging to, or represented by, the counterpart’s religious order.

An article in a senior magazine titled “Talking Can Stop Hate” describes the harrowing but enlightening travels of the author, Akbar Ahmed, Chair of Islamic Studies at American University, D.C. (a Methodist institution, by the way). He invited two of his honor students on a trip through nine countries in three major regions of Islam where they risked conversing with radical Muslims. Dr. Ahmed contends, “We can see into the souls of others only if we take the trouble, and the risk, to visit one another. Only then can change occur. And we saw such change on our trip: in ourselves and in others…Dialogue is the hope for the future. It will make our world” AARP magazine (Mar/Apr 2007)

William James, a world renown psychologist, may have had the likes of the pioneering Methodist leader in mind when he suggested “What we now need to discover in the social realm is the moral equivalent of war; something heroic that will speak to man as universally as war does, and yet will be as compatible with their spiritual selves as war has proved to be incompatible.” (The Will to Believe, (1897)

Hey, such endeavors might be daunting but maybe not as scary as getting our noses tweaked or our heads whacked with brass pans. You may want to stay away from joining in on preaching tours. I’ve had a few interested colleagues indicate they would like to help out on such a cause…by recommending a couple of their cantankerous lay people. They were kidding, right?

“As a member of an escorted tour you don’t even have to know the Matterhorn isn’t a tuba.”
Temple Fielding, Fielding’s Guide to Europe, 1963.

David Brooks, the NY Times columnist, came through with another topic that caught my attention. He’s fascinated with social patterns in cultures. The journalist travels the world extensively and makes a good case for experiencing people on his ventures as opposed to merely looking at them. Brooks contends “…when you come back from vacation, you primarily treasure the memories of Who – the people you met from faraway places, and the lives you came in contact with.”

On a recent visit to Africa Brooks and his family stayed in seven different safari camps, ventures that allowed him to compare how he and his loved ones engaged with their hosts. He was impressed with the uncomplicated camps where staff members were ‘friendly, warm and familial.’ They were often able to interact with the kitchen staff and get to know their table partners. He recalled a Yiddish word that describes such friendly surroundings. The term Haimish connotes ‘warmth, domesticity and unpretentious conviviality.’

Americans would do well to go after the Who and not only the Where when making vacation plans but convivial connections may not get us where we really need to go. I settled for Haimish-like locations and encounters in my early travels. When I bumped into an Australian chap in a Bed and Breakfast home I realized we travelers have to meet the Who folk one-on-one. The encounters have to go way beyond feeling warm and domesticated. I doubt if we’re capable of bonding significantly with vacationers, table partners and dining staff members by relating intimately with them apart from singling them out.

My Australian table partner and I happened to be the first guests up for breakfast on a beautiful morning in Ireland in 2003, soon after our country made the pre-emptive shock-and-awe strike on Iraq. We sat together and chatted about the weather, the food and the local setting. We eventually talked about our family life, our hobbies and interests. It was a pretty convivial interchange until we began to discuss how we felt about our recent retirements and admitted we were dealing with what might be called ‘low-grade depression.’ That’s when the discourse went from feeling warm, genial and safe and entered into a mood of some fear and shaky trust. We opened up on several personal concerns and after two-and-a-half hours of intense dialogue we admitted we didn’t want to go our separate ways.

I knew it might lead to some uneasiness and possibly estrangement between us but when he stood up to leave I asked point blank “What do you think of America these days?” We had stayed away from discussing the Iraq war.

My new friend paused and seemed slightly nervous. He finally repled “You don’t want to know.”

“We Americans need to know what the U.S. looks like from the outside.”

He was silent for several seconds. “No, we’ve had a great time together. Let’s not ruin what we’ve had, mate.”

“Look, we will never meet again and I think I can take it, and hopefully we can step away from each other with our brief friendship intact.”

He explained “This is very difficult. OK, let me start by saying I have always loved your country since I was a kid…but…”

“But what?”

“I guess I will continue to love the states but you’re overplaying the world cop role way too much, and right now you are….ah, are you ready for this? Presently you are arrogant, insulated —holes! Sorry.”

“I agree.”

When we hugged I gave him my card and urged him to let me know when he thinks we Yanks have stopped being —holes. I’ve not heard from him, so…

Someone once said to me many years ago, and it may have been my fiancée, “You’ve got to be a candidate for the Attention Deficit Disorder syndrome.” I’m pretty sure she would have mentioned it lovingly. First, I looked up the definition for ‘candidate’ before finding out about the disorder condition because I assumed it primarily referred to running for office. Big mistake; Webster used the example ‘as a candidate for a mental institution.’ My bride-to-be was a newly-arrived foreigner so I let the designation slide.

She may have had it right. If when I get into my car and immediately turn the radio on and frantically switch between an old-country music station, NP Radio and the CD mode does that mean I’m cracking up? Try it but make sure you stay in your lane. It makes things interesting because I only get snippets from each genre. One day I caught a bit of Buck Owens singing ‘The Streets of Bakersfield’ and I had a hankering for traveling. But before it ended I caught disjointed remarks from an author on NPR.

Hisham Matar, in an interview introducing his new book, recalls the day he sat in a bar in a South American city on September 11 when breaking news on television showed the attacks on the twin towers in New York. The patrons erupted with applause. Matar was stunned. I guess it was on the order of the locals thinking Americans were arrogant, insulated — —-. But Matar believed they were more likely thinking ‘Welcome to the real world we live in.’ However, when the tourist risked meeting people one-on-one on the street that day a few expressed concern for America regarding the tragic news. He was asked by one resident if there was anything their country can do to be of help. That can be the difference between group action and person-to-person interaction.

When we meet testy, judgmental foreigners in our travels and fail to get to candid personal feelings prior to asking what they think of us we can wind up dismissing their views. I sat next to a Canadian woman on a cross-country train ride in Norway decades ago. We stayed with small talk until she asked rather aggressively, and I thought somewhat nastily “I know how many states you have in your country, how many provinces have we in mine?”

OK, keep in mind the encounter occurred long before I learned how to be nice and run deep with grumpy strangers.

“I honestly don’t know.”

She countered sternly with “That figures!” and turned away from me.

I stood up to find another seat and snapped back “Frankly lady, I don’t give a rip!”

When we make vacation plans we need to not only consider the Who but the Why. Why bother to travel abroad without entering intensely into the lives of those who love us, don’t love us, want to love us or couldn’t care less? What if we were able and willing to take a ten-day cruise or road trip across a foreign land, for example, and forego shopping, visiting castles and chatting with the locals, and tried to bond briefly but deeply with as many residents as possible? And what if we were to return home and reveal those one-shot intimate findings to our neighbors, co-workers, faith members and as many Congressional leaders as possible? We could try to tweet it or Face Book it but chances are we would not have the fun of experiencing first-hand anger, possible flat-out rejection nor unconditional compassion.

It never hurts to quote Mark Twain, an avid traveler, on any subject. He believed “…nothing so liberalizes a being and expands the kindly instincts that nature put in him as travel and contact with many kinds of people.” Letters to San Francisco, 1867.