Split mind

We live in a competitive, aggressive, violent society.  We glorify it on TV, in movies, sports, and video games.  We finance it with advertising, innovative or not, freely handing over our hard-earned dollars, and some of our privacy and liberty, for a piece of the action.

Yesterday I drove for the first time on the highway since the shootings at Sandy Hook Elementary School, which is only 9 miles from my house.  As usual, drivers were exceeding the speed limit by 10 and 20 mph, cutting each other off, eager to get ahead.  You may think I'm crazy, but there is a very real connection between the terrible, horrible awful of last week and how we treat each other on the road, at home, in the marketplace, at work and school, even in Congress.

But then we can be so compassionate and justice-seeking, emerging from the numbing fog we call reality long enough to truly see each other, make a difference in a human life.  Sooner or later, though, we fall back under the caressing waves of capitalism, until the next time.  And the next.

We all suffer from a form of mental illness, and most of us self-medicate to one degree or another.  I call it 'split mind'.  We uphold life as the greatest virtue, yet allow individuals the right to own a weapon designed for the purpose of taking life quickly and efficiently.  We desire to live in a peaceful society, yet the largest portion of the national budget funds a military machine designed to make us 'strong' (and we bankroll its entertainment twin, the NFL).  We have a glut of possessions and retail items, yet upon what would we base our economy if not supply and demand?  We are restored by still waters, green pastures and blue sky yet we continue to suck the life out of this one-of-a-kind great blue marble we call home.

The apostle Paul knew of this split mind when he said that the very thing he knew he ought to do, he did not, while the awful thing he should avoid, he did it.  We're not stupid.  We know what we're doing.  To a certain degree, we actually care about the consequences not only to ourselves but to others.  The lie is that we think we have all the time in the world when we don't have any time at all, and no, I'm not talking about the Mayans or anyone else who thinks they've got the end of the world in their back pocket.

Anne Lamott, in her book Operating Instructions, tells this sweet small story about shopping for a dress with her best-friend-ever Pammy, who is dying of breast cancer.  Anne squeezes her body into a hip little number and asks Pam the quintessential feminine question about the big-ness of her butt.  Pammy's reply?  "Oh, honey, you haven't got that kind of time."

None of us do, it's all one day at a time for everybody, yet that doesn't seem to motivate us to do diddly-squat about anything, even losing a few pounds or kicking some habit that will eventually kill us.  Robert Kegan and Lisa Laskow Lahey, in their book Immunity to Change, write that we all shoot ourselves in the foot because we have hidden commitments and assumptions that encourage the very behaviors that thwart our efforts at real change.

What do you think are our society's hidden commitments and assumptions about gun violence and mental illness?  Are we so committed to individual freedom that we assume we'll lose too much by sharing power with others?  THIS is the discussion we need to have: a fearless moral inventory of our society.

Old South's new day

Yesterday evening NPR interviewed Jeff Makholm, the historian at Old South Church in Boston - in effect, one of the high priests to the sacred cows of the Congregational church, one of the four antecedent churches of the United Church of Christ.  Old South is making ready to sell of one of their two copies of the Bay Psalm Book, one of the earliest publications in the New World.  Out of the 1600 that were printed, only 11 are left.  Mr. Makholm in essence sounded like any other member of what is called 'the old guard' but also like a parent not wanting to let go of a 372 yr. old child.  Though it may not sound like it, I also sympathize with him:  when do you hold onto what you value, when do you let go of the past?

When a church sells something this valuable (it will be auctioned at an estimated $10 - 20 million), it can certainly give the appearance of mercenary values.  The Church has always had a love/hate relationship with money, having never been able to do ministry without it in some form.  Yet it does seem that this historical songbook could do more good leaving home than it would sitting in the special collections at the Boston Public Library.  I agree with Mr. Makholm's lament that if it's ministry that needs paying for, then it should be up to the members of the church to increase their giving rather than selling something as precious as a local treasure.  However, Old South is registered as a historical landmark, requiring capital improvements on a large scale.  Gives a whole new level to what is meant by 'stewardship'.  And yet Jesus didn't have a stone on which to lay his head.

Old South Church is a member of the United Church of Christ, whose motto proclaims that "God is still speaking", harkening back to the roots of the Congregational church, to one of its first ministers, John Robinson (no relation, sadly), who said before the Pilgrims set sail, that "[there] is more light and truth yet to break forth from God's holy Word."  Ironically, Mr. Makholm said that he was rendered speechless when he held one of these two books in his hands, the exact opposite intention of these books, which was to elicit praise. God's Word has always intended to be on the move, never staying in one place for very long, like the Ark of the Covenant and the apostles of old. Perhaps now God will be speaking through the new possibilities that will arise from the sale of this treasured artifact.

Spam...a lot of spam

 

Earlier in November a friend of mine turned 50 and his birthday party was last night (hey, why take any chances?).  Like me, he is an ardent fan of Monty Python, so I put together some favorite bits into a poem of sorts and read it to the gathered assembly (many thanks to the Internet Movie Database - I couldn't have done it without you.)  Oh, and you must read this out loud with your loudest, most obnoxious Cockney accent, or it won't mean diddley.  I began with these words:

Many of you may not know that all you need to know about turning 50 can be found in the wisdom of the collected works of Monty Python.  And so, in that spiggot...

Poem for Pete (Actually It’s Not a Poem - Just a Bunch of Cobbled Bits,

Rather Like Spam but Not Quite as Tasty)

I’m rather impressed you’re here.

You’re not afraid to be jibed in nasty ways.
Not the least bit scared to be mashed to a pulp
Or have your eyes gouged out or your elbows broken
Or your kneecaps split, your body burned away,
and your limbs all hacked and mangled.

(I mean, this is abuse.  If you’re looking for an argument, that’s down the hall.  Stupid git!)

Turning 50 can be dangerous business

But you know it’s only a flesh wound.
Everyone else says “Run away, run away!”
No shame in bravely turning tail and fleeing
Or turning about valiantly and chickening out
Sneaking away and buggering off, pissing off home,
Bravely throwing in the sponge.
Others avert their eyes, like those miserable psalms,
Always so depressing, but not you!
You’re a King, no shit all over you!
Using two halves of a coconut that you found and banging them together,
Never mind the swallow that carried them by the husk, beating its wings 43 times every second,
You’re on a quest!

(Even though strange women lyin' in ponds distributin' swords is no basis for a system of government.   We all know that supreme executive power derives from a mandate from the masses, not from some farcical aquatic ceremony.

Just because some watery tart threw a sword at you,
I mean, some moistened bint lobbed a scimitar at me, they'd put me away.)

But you, you’re on a quest!

No cutting down trees with herrings for you!
No shrubberies, swamp castles, silly English k-nig-hits, no indeed!
You want to be…a lumberjack!  Sleep all night and work all day. 
And I thought you were so rugged – poofter!

So look on the bright side of life!

Not like you’re being sold for scientific experiments.
And by the way, at your age, every sperm IS sacred.

Turning 50?

‘Tis but a scratch.