The Road To Recovery Is Paved With A Blog (5,000 “Thank You”s)

Something happened the other day that kind of caught me off guard — having not written anything for awhile, the stats for this blog were toodling along slowly. Then, suddenly, something I’d thought would happen in 2011 happened about a week into the new year — the “stats” counter on my blog went wild and I shpt across the 5,000 + line.  What that means is that, since July of 2010, five thousand people have checked in this blog!

It breaks down to: 5122 views, 176 posts over 29  months or — on average 29  readers for everything I have written, some far more and some far less. In case you’re curious, these are the Top 10.  Posts in general have more than the numbers listed there, because “home page” — whatever was posted that day–  has about 1,800 hits.  Still, here they are:

Title		Views
Guess Again: The Top 100 Albums of All Time		99
What If Good News Prevailed?		89
Do Your Own Theology — The Bible and Its Authority		79
South Church — Better Than It Has To Be		76
Liner Notes — Beebs and Her Money Makers, “Welcome to Barter Town”		63
Surprise! People Are Mad! Oops, Wrong People!		59
I’m sad, but this IS America…		53
A Theology of Ordination		53
Trucks Going Both Ways — Maine and the WHOLE gay thing…		52
Didn’t See That One Coming…		48

The reason I tell you all this is that I like numbers. Numbers are facts. Numbers are markers. Numbers are somehow more real than feelings, thoughts, etc, even if they are not more important.

So what does this have to do with recovery? 47 years ago, when I was 4, some God-awful things happened to me that kind of turned my mental world upside down. I don’t find any reason to say more than that, because, as of Tuesday, January 10,2011 — when the numbers hit 5, 000 — I am officially back from those events.

The long and short of how it all affected me is this: My good side became my “Shadow” and I unwittingly hung out an invisible  ”kick me” sign, which people have taken the opportunity to use over the course of my lifetime.  For those of you not acquainted with the concept, Carl Jung coined the phrase, “Shadow” to describe the part of ourselves which we don’t acknowledge or accept.  So, for about the last 47 years, I could acknowledge that there was Good in the world, but mentally I couldn’t accept that it could come from me.  This blog — your readership — helped me change that.  So, for everyone who ever cared enough to read my work, I owe a profound “thank you”.

For probably the first 10 years after what happened, I was the kid that people (I think) loved to hate. I was awkward,” too smart” for some, too nerdy for others, too greasy and too smelly for others,  too “gay” in Junior High (I didn’t like to beat people up and –more often than not — couldn’t).  And somehow, it all made sense to me, because I was those things.  If it was bad, I was it. Everybody said so, so it must have been true.

An experience with God and my mother’s insistence  kept me interested in church, and I almost had a girlfriend — (a girl who didn’t laugh at me when I hung out with her in the nursery, named Lynn Anderson), but I remained — for most kids — “weird”.

Freshman year in High School promised much the same thing. Even the kids no one would hang out with wouldn’t want to hang out with me. Then the world changed. We moved to Wilbraham, Mass (in the suburbs)  just up the road from Springfield (the  city, where we lived), which was just up the road from Chicopee (the poorer, smaller city where we had lived for my childhood).  School wasn’t really different, but the Wilbraham United Church certainly was. There was a healthy, fun-loving Youth Group and short curly-haired Youth Minister named Bob Kyte.

One day, Bob showed up at our house and asked my mother if it was OK that I go to “Leadership Camp”. As recently as a few months ago, I thought that Bob was BS-ing my mother.  Today, I consider the possibility that he might have actually seen something. In any case, that visit to the house sent me to Deering, my spiritual and emotional home for all-time. The Deering Camp and Conference Center’s Sr. High Camp #2 stunned me. I honestly didn’t know what to think for the first few days, because I had never seen such a community.  They didn’t think I “had five heads”. The campers and the staff treated me like an actual human being. They loved me — not because I was this or that, not because I earned it or didn’t. They loved me simply because God created me and that was good enough for them.  I don’t remember a person, for the entire week, picking on me. Not one.  While I probably thought I had five heads, they wouldn’t have cared if I did. In addition to my call to ministry happening that week with the wonderful Peter Wells there, I cam across a book that would change my life: Peoplemaking by Virginia Satir, which I somehow connect with Mike Gatchell (maybe he brought it there or something. I don’t know). Satir’s book changed my life because it said that families could be whatever they wanted and they could be happy. I had experienced a new world at Deering, and I could dream about a new world via Peoplemaking. (Yes, I’m sure I thought the book was about sex. What else does a 14-year-old boy think about?)

From that time on, I knew there could be Good in the world,  and I was determined to make it be that way.  But my spirit remained the way it had always been: There was Good in the world, but somehow — no matter what they said — it didn’t apply to me. I could soak up the holiness at Deering,  but in my heart of hearts, I “knew” I didn’t fit there, with those wonderful people.

But I made it to seminary, Gordon gave me a good recommendation, and I was on my way.  I didn’t really fit there, either. I wasn’t female enough, gay enough, foreign enough, Black enough or whatever to understand what life was “really like”.  I was, as Charlie Crook and I used to say, “The White Male Oppressor”.  But, for a guy who was racist, sexist, homophobic and whatever I was believed to be, I suddenly had friends — Todd Farnsworth (who was really holy) and Joe Tripp and I became fast friends. Without really knowing what I was doing, I was leading the biggest prayer group on campus — and the only one, I gather for years before that.  I thought that’s what you did at seminary, and so it’s what we did at seminary. And I knew in my heart that I wasn’t any of those “isms” because I had learned about Women’s Liberation and Men’s Liberation ten years before that at Deering.  And I knew what health looked like from Satir’s work.

But I still believed I was weird — lucky to be surrounded by friends — but generally weird. My first internship confirmed that, but I sent my first bunch of kids to Deering and they were changed, just as I knew they would be. I had done something right.

I talked with my friend Leigh McCaffrey (from Prayer Group) one night about the dreams I’d had every night since I was a kid, when she said, “That’s not normal” and my past demons sprung to life. All the love that Deering-ites had shown me was now being changed with something new — honesty.  While Deering folks would have liked me if I had five heads, I didn’t like myself having them. I wanted to be “normal”, whatever that was.

For a year I was out of the Parish and wrestling with those demons while attending school and being miserable. I was ready to drop out. Maybe I was wrong about God’s call. Then Gordon showed up and gave me perspective. Later,  Todd called me from his former internship and asked if was interested in a staff position at Centre Congregational Church in Lynnfield.  This, too, changed my life. Having done some good for kids prior, I was confident I could do something there. The staff there was wonderful. Mark Strickland let me do my own thing. Marilyn the Associate Pastor didn’t “get” me, but she realized she didn’t have to. The kids and I clicked and I have been absolutely blessed to have them and their families in my life since then. At my ordination, they were there. At my wedding, they were there. When they go married, I was invited. Bob, Derek, Dawn and the rest of the Cunninghams, I owe you soo much. Rob and Bill McCarthy, I can’t imagine life without you. Matt and Camille Utterback , the same. Lisa Dodge, Ken Warnock, wherever you are, I have been soo blessed by you, especially at my first church in Upstate, NY when you came up to visit. Oh, and special “Hi!” to Shawn Murphy and SAC. In seminary, when my peers told me I wouldn’t be a good minister because I didn’t think like they did, that Youth Group proved otherwise. They were changed and I was changed by that ministry — by the grace of God, not me, but God in me. And, yes, they too made the Deering connection and were changed.

In my last semester at seminary, a woman from one of my classes — Mary Dean-Lee pulled me aside and said, “I’m sorry to have missed you before this. You’re not who people think. You’re going to be a great minister”.  And my outlook about myself — because she had nothing to gain from that comment — began to change.

I had my first church and — somewhat because I wasn’t used to “normal” —  I failed.  Looking back on it, the church was working through a trauma of its own and I made every possible mis-step I could. But the Youth Group was wonderful. The Sloths, the Christensens,  (all of them), the Ripleys  and Lisa’s family were great and remain treasured friends to this day.

A few years after that, in Rochester, I came into contact with AA and the 12-Step model and began to realize that God could forgive whatever I done in my lifetime — whatever that was, and I was sure I’d done something.

Years later, I went to grad school, tried a new-church start, and in each place, my sense of self (my IALAC sign, for those in the know) got stronger.

I wrote a book (Thanks Liz and Leigh. I sold another one this month!) and later decided to write a blog. With Liz’s and Cathi Chapin-Bishop’s help, I began doing this. I thought I’d write one thing, get it off my chest, and go on with life. Alas, it didn’t work out that way.  People began thinking I knew what I was doing as a blogger!

In 2010, something changed, finally. I had begun to write this blog around that time, and I found myself with my very own “in-care student” (someone on  their way to becoming ordained).  Char Corbett is a fantastic, holy person and yet, here she was coming to me for guidance. I began to think that I might actually have something worth giving. After all, you can’t give what you don’t have. When Char got ordained, the blog had continued to grow. Now, after all those years in the parish, I was a minister.  Thanks to Char who never realized what I secretly believed — that I had nothing to offer her, because she was a better minister than I was.

And the blog grew. Bob and I fought. Val and I agreed. Bob and I agreed. Rob wrote in. Cathi wrote in.  I was someone, sort of, and not just in my own head. The numbers proved it.

Then my friend from California, Craig Hames, called and told me that I was some sort of holy person to him — the person who said the right thing at the right time, even if I didn’t know it.  A while later, I figured it out. While I was never going to be the Gordon Sherman, I fit the same function for Craig: the one God sends to help when in trouble.  I wasn’t the real Gordon, but I was somebody’s “Gordon”. All of these things integrated into my being and I was nearly recovered after 46 years of trying.  I was blessed, fresh on the heels of my triumph wih Char, with Carrol Cyr as a new “member in discernment”. And the blog continued our development. She could argue with it, get mad at it, agree with it, “wonder where that came from” or whatever, but we both grew because of it.  In a few weeks, Carrol will probably get to be a Commissioned Minister in the UCC.

Finally topping  off the ministry thing was Susan Townsley at Ron Brown’s installation. I had known Susan from Bridgeport where — while I did some good work, I felt like a colossal failure. She had been on the church and ministry committee when they had put my standing “on the back burner”. There were two possibilities here: 1) They were organizing and had to because I was out of state or 2) I really was a bad minister and they were trying to cover themselves by politely withdrawing my standing.  That day, she was there and gave  me a hug and seemed generally glad to see me.  She gave no sense of “ooh, what an idiot”.  Maybe I’m conflating events, but I think that members of the Bridgeport Church were actually there that day, and they were happy to see me — or at least didn’t vomit or run away.  However good or bad I had been, I had not been evil or destructive. I hadn’t destroyed God’s gift.  If I wasn’t evil and I was doing something good in the world, maybe I was a good person. Maybe I did fit in the church. Maybe I did fit in with the Deering folks — and what could that mean but that I was a human being after all?!

The Deering Reunion this year and David Hauser’s just simple acceptance made me know that it might be true. It turns out that David was in my very first living group all those years ago and he remembered me as a seemingly  normal person –even back then! If I have even some of the spark within me that Paula Richards and Sue Tatem and Buzz and Gary have, it’s possible that I’m way more human than I would have guessed. It astounds me that it’s taken me this long to figure it out, but that’s what abuse does, I guess.

In any case, I was ready to say I was back to full human status at the end of last year because people thought highly of my blog when I ran out of steam at year’s end. Then something happened that I didn’t expect — even without writing, the stats took off. Somebody was reading this. Suddenly, out of nowhere, I hit the 5,ooo mark!  Looking back, my wife has liked it, my friends have liked it, Helen Caldicott liked it for goodness sake! Ed Smith said some nice things the other day. Clients have seen it and liked it.  People I don’t even know have liked it — not always, but that’s to be expected.

It shouldn’t take 47 years and 5,000 people reading this blog for me to get over my past, but it did. For those of you who have read it, each little click of care, every good comment, every reasonable argument or simple “huh?” meant my ideas and I mattered. Every passing comment of “I like your writing” or “I like your blog” put back a piece of me. And so, I thank you, for all you have meant to me, readers.

And as it has been for me, I remind you that no kind word, gesture, or action ever goes un-noticed. It may confuse people. It may even, when people are really twisted, anger them. But it never, ever goes un-noticed. Know that all your kindness, your care, your support have helped me like myself and feel human. For people that already start off as human, your words, your kindness, your caring propel them into the stratosphere of love.  You are truly miracle workers in my life and the lives of others. I’m good for awhile. Whether you ever  read this blog again or not, keep up the good work.

Peace,

 

John

P.S. Since they weren’t explicitly mentioned in here, Thanks to my best friend Alan Bercovici for all the golf games through the years and thanks to Tony Briand for always being sane during High School. My brother’s a great guy and my sister rocks. And my kids love “Florida grandpa”.

Bedford Falls Is The 99%, Faith Is A Choice: Christmas Movie Reviews

In the few hours I had yesterday to relax post-gift explosion, post paperwork, and post a really good dinner, the family and I watched two movies: one of my favorites of all time (“It’s A Wonderful Life”) and an over-the-top Spielberg animation movie (“The Polar Express”).  I was in one of those philosophical moods — not exactly sleep deprived but not all bright and cheery either. Anyway, these are my thoughts.

It began with The Polar Express — a movie I had seen in 3D with the kids when it first came out. A warning — NEVER bring little kids to see this movie in 3d with full-sense-around sound. When the train drives over your head, it looks, sounds, and scares the life out of you as though it were real.  Try holding a shaking while YOUR heart-rate is still above normal and see how fun it is.

At home, on our TV screen at least, the movie takes on a gentler tone, and becomes a movie about — of all things — faith.  The beginning of the movie features two different boys struggling with the same question: Do I believe and get on the train or do I let my disbelief get the best of me and let it go? One boy gets on after deciding “no” and changing his mind. The other one pretty much stays with his “no” answer until the others stop the train and wait for him. In a theme reminiscent of Walter Wangerin’s Ragman, the “believers” stop the train and go back and get the little boy for whom “Christmas just doesn’t work out”.  This boy doesn’t really make it to the big train cars, even after he gets on the train — because he doesn’t think he fits, and he doesn’t want to pretend he does, which is, of course, his choice.  The community of kids stop the train, go and get the kid, bring him hot chocolate and still he  doesn’t leave his car to check out the big train where all the fancy things happen.  But the community respects him enough, generally, to let him stay where he chooses and lets him come to them at his own pace. They bring him to the North Pole and he has to choose to move, to get out of the car he’s in, and to go see The Big Man Himself.

Whatever has happened to this child, it seems to be more than “I didn’t get a sled last year”. maybe it was the story on the news of the family that died in a Christmas fire, and maybe it was the look of the boy’s house in the movie that did it, but I was thinking real trauma from real life had taken away this boy’s reason to even hope for a better life.  This is the kind of thing that happens in people’s lives all the time. This (to use the psycholical term) “learned helplessness” requires extra care and work from an outsider to allow hope (and later choice) to happen. First comes rescue, then maybe daring to hope, then hope itself, then daring to try, then actual belief.

The other boy — the one called “Hero Boy” in the subtitles —  is too smart for belief. For him, much like Thomas in the gospels, only seeing will work to create belief and hope. But there is a part of him that wants to believe, just as I think Thomas did. Experience, “reality”, intellect, “growing up”, puberty, whatever it is, gets in the way and covers over his heart and his hope and his belief, but the spark of hope still burns somewhere within him until he’s left with, “what’s the worse thing that could happen if I believed?”.  Turns out you could die on a mountain railroad or a frozen over pond, or see a ghost hit his head on a low tunnel, or be stopped by elks, but — in the end — the North Pole actually does exist — and far more incredibly than anyone could have imagined.

As I watched, I thought of how much of faith is like that.  As we begin to remember the preposterous that we once knew , we begin to hope that castles and fairies and Santa and a beautiful reality  exists somewhere. We know too well that life makes sense most of the time. Still, love and hope and the Creator of it all aren’t always sensible — they’re extravagant and real.  So first, we get on the train because we woke up, then because we could escape the cold and get comfortable, then for some period of time, things get dangerous as reality itself gets unhinged for the smart person and the depressed one, the black one, the white one, the male and female, the courageous and the disliked know-it-all.  And if you stay on the journey long enough you get to see something like what you’ve dreamed about — only way, way better in ways and degrees you couldn’t even imagine. This is what faith promises, or hopes for, or believes in. It makes the crazy impossible train and the long walk through the snow to help others soooo worth it. What the boy was hoping for was a local town fair. What he gets is Disneyland, 6 Flags, and the Cathedral all in one. As Christians, we like to think the same way. Buddhists, Taoists, Jews, Muslims all (I think) look at faith the same way. So here’s the deal: you don’t have to get on the train. In fact,  if you get on because other people “made” you, you’re probably not going to enjoy it anyway.  But if you get on, and it’s even slightly your choice, I can promise you a pretty amazing ride to where ever that thing goes.

The second movie we watched is the classic “It’s a Wonderful Life”. Though it is (horrors!) in black and white, and clearly set in another time, it looks so familiar where it shouldn’t  be. Further, critics have called it “hokum” in the past and talked about “Capra corn” and they — as snivelling cynics often do — miss the point. When we as a society lose track of this, we are in serious trouble, which is how we got to here.

Clearly, the movie is about a man (Jimmy Stewart)’s innner demons and his struggle to have a better life away from the people around him whom he doesn’t exactly fit with, but is called to nonetheless. Yes, the themes of “one man’s life impacts those around him” and “life is worth living” are great ones that the movie conveys extremely well, but that’s not what I want to focus on here.

The thing that makes the movie both great and “corny” to cynics is it’s realism. In the town of Bedford Falls, we have the taxi driver and the cop, the librarian and the banker. We also have the immigrant in the slums, the factory worker, and the factory owner who’s lucky to “get in on the ground floor”. We have the forgetful and the deaf, the High School hero and the supposedly “loose woman”. We have the drunken and the sorrowful who either escape their fate or don’t. We have children who catch colds while playing and others who are lucky to survive them. There are people simply trying to get by (George Bailey and his family), there are people making progress for their family (like Martini’s new house), and there are people in Mr. Potter’s slum — and they all live together in the world that is Bedford Falls. All of these folks make up what we now refer to as “the 99%” while one man — Mr. Potter — owns nearly all of it and wants it all.

He is the man at the draft board who determines who will live and who will die, just as he is the man who sets the rents and rates at home that could determine who lives or dies. He is the man who owns it all, but has nothing. He’s the man who makes the Congressman wait til he’s done.  He’s the man that calls the police over one act of bad banking while he lives his entire life acting unethically. As Jimmy Stewart’s George says in a time of economic crisis, “Potter’s not selling, he’s buying”. What he’s trying to buy is control over their “measly little riff-raff” lives while they “do most of the working and living and dying in [that] town”. As George says, “Isn’t it fair that they should do that with a roof over their heads?”

Those of us who are like George have every right to want to leave all of that working and living and dying behind and live out our dreams. We have every right to live out our destinies. But if we leave behind the rest of Bedford Falls behind mentally, if we forget that the drunk and the floozie are connected to us, if we forget that the world is made up of all those other people — with their shades of good and bad, smart and not-so-smart, we leave the world of Bedford Falls to people like Mr. Potter.

Pretty soon, children are dying from “regular life” accidents like kids playing on the pond, houses are taken away or never built, and corruption reigns in the streets — all of the things that could have been prevented if we had cared enough to know both the Sam Wainrights and the Mr. Gowers of the world and formed a bridge between them in our community, both Bert the cop and Violet the “it” girl.

The picture of community in “It’s A Wonderful Life” is what America used to be — a connected mass of one life touching and building up another. It’s a tough life, as much as it is a wonderful one, but people make progress because they know and care about each other, and they protect each other from the Mr. Potters of the world, who care nothing about them and threaten\ “offer” to dislodge people from each other.

Bedford Falls is the Social Contract in action, the psychology of community vs. our fear of co-dependence. It is the best of America for the most people, but it isn’t always fair for the George Baileys out there. It’s so unfair at times that we may want to die, but in the end it’s that very community that saves us.

We need to protect ourselves from the Mr. Potters of the world who take but give little back, who divide and conquer, who remove the very thing that keeps us going after a hard day working and living and dying. But we need to do that by accepting that George Bailey has a job to do right here at home in Bedford Falls.

Peace,

 

John

 

 

 

2011: The Bipolar Year

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to heaven, we were all going direct the other way – in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities
English novelist (1812 – 1870)” 

You know those insurance charts that give points to events and — if you’ve had so many, you’re likely to suffer health consequences? If they’re true, 2012 is primed to be a year of health consequences. The thing that surprises people about these charts is that both bad and good events are stressors, especially if they are “big” events.  So here’s the list of big events from 2011 (and yes, I know, it’s not over yet…)

Weather:

First part of the year: Largest snowfall on record in Connecticut.

Middle of the Year: First tornado in 50 years hits Springfield. I was two blocks away from the center of storm.

3/4 of the way through the year: first Earthquake in memory hits Springfield area.

October: Power outage for 10 days.

End of the year: Wettest year on record in Connecticut — just reached in the last month or so.

Health

First part of the year: found out I needed neck surgery and if I had whiplash just once before the surgery, I could be paralyzed.

Through June: worried I’d be paralyzed.

May or June: Had surgery on my neck which could have resulted in paralysis or death.

June: I found out it didn’t. Now I’m fine.

Ministry:

June: after years of languishing in document limbo, I was given standing again in my denomination. Nothing bad, just lost in the shuffle. A wonderful thing to get back, though. Thanks, John Clarke, Jack Cooke, and Committee on Ministry!

April through July/August: majorly ministered to by Kyle Watson, Stephen’s Minister at South Church, also George Harris at South Church

Spring through present: Personell Committee, South Church — tough work, but important, not always my best, not always my worst.

July: I preach at Plantsville Congregational. Had a great time. Consider preaching and parish ministry again. Thanks, Barbara!

September through now: Emely Goodnow, field ed student gives two really good, deep sermons at South Church. I was lucky enough to catch them both.

August: re-connect with Charlie Crook from seminary to do Bible study for Carrol. Also included: Leigh McCaffery for the Spiritual Side

October: Charlie dies suddenly.  On the positive side, reconnected with his sister and connected for the first time with his brother and sister-in-law. On the negative side, his death still sucks the life out of me. I just grieve.

December: Second “in-care” student nearly through “the pipeline” — Congrads Carrol !

Work:

Private Practice grows quite a bit.  Agency work up and down and up.

Jan through May: Taught a new class on Biology of Addiction. June: Stopped teaching for the foreseeable future.Until surgery: busy, busy, busy, extremely busy.

After surgery: tired, tired, tired, not so tired.

Since then: busy, busy, busy, extremely busy.

Soon: Not busy at all, really.

New year: some balance?

Political Scene:

First part of the year: sort of hopeful. Obama still president, economy bad.

Second part of the year: totally hopeless. Obama still president, caves in on everything, economy worse.

Occupy Wall Street happens: A renewal of hope (wasn’t that the subtitle to Star Wars?). Obama still president, says nothing, but stops caving.

Post Occupy encampments: Obama still president, says a lot, acts like the man I voted for. The people lead and at least one leader follows. I am hopeful for the first time in years! Who knew?

Friends:

My best friend, Al: didn’t see nearly enough of him. My fault.

Todd Farnsworth: Good to be with you.  Good to have you back.

Deering friends: wonderful to reconnect! I can’t even express that love.

David Hauser, Sue Tatem and AbilityPlus

John Odams: Back in my life.

Hall, NY folks: again, wonderful to re-connect.  Derek is growing so much internally, I’m so impressed. All the Sloths and former Sloths are so warm and incredible and doing great things with their lives. My daughters felt immediately comfortable with them.

Charlie Crook: Still dead. OK, it depends on what you mean by that.

Usually, I talk about how cool my friends are and feel like a “hanger-on” to their fame. This year, Ron Bottitta is by far the person I’m most proud to know — not because he’s a great actor (he apparently is), but because he’s a great citizen. The number of times he was at Occupy LA this year impresses me. I never made it to Hartford.  Also, Bitsy Eddy — arrested at Occupy Oakland!  Incredibly brave people.

Boston folks: I miss you greatly and want to spend time with you.

Family:

Michelle, my wife: 19 years married, grew a lot this year, a great chaplain, did CPE this year, plus great ministry at South Church. It’s good to be married.

Daughters: growing like weeds.  absolutely incredible children that make me proud of them all the time — in school, at church, at home, just wonderful.

Lisa, our housemate: Nice, friendly third parent to two wonderful children. Thanks for everything.

Sister Michelle: Is already a BIG local star, first album out this year. Next year, conquering the world!

Dad: still as funny and great as ever.

Scott: I’m glad we celebrated your birthday this year. You’re a good man.

So, that’s the synopsis. Enough HUGE losses, enough wonderful surprises. Can’t wait to see my insurance chart.

Peace,

John

Huh?!…. When Really Nice People Do Really Horrible Things (For Cathi)

My friend Cathi Chapin-Bishop, as wise and compassionate and fiery a person as I have ever known, is struggling with deep things today that many people deal with personally every day. She has dealt with it professionally for years on a daily basis, and left the profession of psychotherapy. Today, she’s also dealing with it personally. It seems, from her Facebook posts that someone she knew professionally as a minister allegedly  committed child sexual abuse at some point in his life and she is having trouble reconciling the two things — friend/minister/decent guy (I assume it’s a guy)/professional decent guy and evil/taker of spirits and lives/not-at-all-decent-guy/serious abuser of God’s name in his professional capacity.  I thought I’d say something about the situation to see if I could help her make some more sense of it, while I, too, wrestle with the issue.

I am in a position where I deal with the same things — decent people who have done really horrible things — both in psychotherapy and in ministry (I serve on a Committee on Ministry where we have dealt with pastoral misconduct as well as being a psychotherapist).  In addition, I work with addicts on a near daily basis so I hear about the stupidest and most vile behaviors on a nearly daily basis. Sometimes they are committed by the same person and sometimes the same person is on both sides of the coin — perpetrator of stupidness and victim of evil. In fact, those are the greatest number of my cases, I think, by far.  Person X is the victim of the most evil, insidious, devious, planned and disgusting behaviors and now can’t seem to get out of their own way, “snatching”, as Lincoln said, “another defeat from the jaws of victory” in any number of ways in their lives.

The number of women (and men) I know who have been sexually abused, physically abused, emotionally abused, domestically violated, legally harassed, and addicted by some evil scumbag (yes, that’s how I see them) grows everyday as I continue in my chosen fields.  They sit in my office and tell me stories that no one would believe and — for years — no one has, and they think something’s wrong with them. They are some of my favorite people in the world. It’s my job to tell them that, no, they’re not crazy.  No, things are as bad as they seem, and even though there frequently is no justice, they are still good people. And they are.  I tell them that they, statistically, they make life better for the rest of us.  For every twenty things that happen to them, there are twenty people out in society that don’t have to put up with that kind of grief.  All things being equal, though, I’d rather society shared the “wealth” so that no one had to walk around with their lives.  Actually, I’d rather there weren’t so much “wealth” of trauma at all, but this is what we’re given.

Do these people do incredibly stupid things often? You bet they do. They sleep around without birth control, they can pick a loser out of a crowd at a 1,000 feet away (and then date them), they fall back “off the wagon”, they spend their hard earned not-enough cash on easily available, extremely expensive, poisonous evil and they get called things like “drunks” and “druggies”, “whores” and “borderlines”,” thieves” if they steal to pay back their dealer and so much more. And — by any objective matter — they are those things.  But I swear to you, those people are not evil. They do things that — to the untrained eye — seem evil, but there is no maliciousness behind them.

A friend of mine this week differentiated between a woman who stole diapers and formula for her child (because the baby was hungry and wet) and a man who steals enough to drive a Mercedes. Both are thieves, truth be told. Both may go to jail, but will probably get a slap on the wrist by the court system. Both have good and bad in their personalities — nowhere near the dichotomy of Cathi’s friend, but it’s still there.  And yet, my friend knows that one of them is evil, while one of them does wrong things.  While I have police friends and ministry colleagues who swear there  is no hope for people who do wrong things, I tend to disagree.  I differentiate based on the only things that help me make sense of it all — trajectory, love of image, and grace.

When I served a church in Bridgeport, a couple asked if I would marry them, even though they’d “lived in sin” for some years prior (their term, not mine). I explained to them that — by anyone’s standards — they were going in the right direction and that it didn’t seem right to stop their “progress” by refusing to marry them.  I still use that standard. If a person is trying to get better, that’s totally different than someone who doesn’t care about anyone and isn’t even trying to get better.  I still expect progress after a they have the idea of what’s going to work but wanting to get better’s a great start.

The next thing I see is what I call “love of image” as a way to differentiate the evil from the not-quite-right-yet.  Evil people care far more about their image than they do about their reality. It doesn’t matter that they deal drugs or weapons of death or that they molest children — they look good. Doing scummy things and intently looking good is one of the signs of evil I see frequently. For these people, there is a sense of entitlement, a sense of self-love, a caring about things — especially reputation — far more than about people. People like that just creep me out.

Given the choice of the high living drug dealer or the low-living addict, I’d choose the addicted person every time. There are people who go into ministry for the adulation, for the entitlement and the privilege, for the feeling of intellectual superiority while they “save” their flocks  from minor sins. Those people are not — in the final say — ministers. They are egotists with a job that says “minister” on the door.  Real ministers have consciences, real ministers have guilt over things they’ve done, real ministers want to be better, even if they just aren’t right now.  They are human beings capable of absolute lunacy as much as the next person and whatever it was they did seemed like a good idea at the time. These people are humans whose jobs require them to put the “minister” sign on the door, but they think, “if those people only knew how messed up I was, they could fire me now”.  There but for the grace of God go they. God calls them and they don’t know why.

At the other end of the spectrum is the person whom God didn’t call, but secretly or not-so-secretly thinks God should have called them, so they could have all the worship due them.  In their mind, they are doing God a favor by acting the way that they do. There without the grace of God go they, but you’d better not tell them that. Here are people that get into it because of the family name,  or because of some genetic predisposition to narcissism, or because — gosh darn it, they look good in a suit. Needless to say, this is not a reason to go into ministry (or anything else for that matter). The minute a baby spits up on them during a baptism or someone calls because their loved one died at 3 in the morning or someone argues over theology or their salary and there’s hell to pay.  Ministry is such an odd profession — it requires such different rules than other jobs, such twisting and turning with boundaries in order to stay professional,  questions of friendship, being “in community” but not “of the community”, questions of appearance, style, taste, etc…. If you expect to constantly receive attention and support, you will be greatly disappointed. Remember that the model of ministry we use originally was killed by the very group he was trying to save and you can see how far distant from narcissism the job is.

And yet, the distance from “I’m set apart” to “the rules don’t apply to me” isn’t very far at all. Plus, because the image part of ministry is so important to people, it’s not hard to see how people could be fooled by the image of  a pastoral narcissist. The distinct nature of the job, the importance of public image, and a perceived connection to the Ultimate Power in the Universe makes ministry a breeding ground for narcissism.

On the other hand, Freud and Jung might have been onto something when they talked about people being afraid of parts of themselves and projecting it onto others or warping it into being super nice. The people who are most afraid of their “Shadow” (the Jungian concept of the part we don’t want to see in ourselves) — the people with the most evil to hide — end up looking The Very Best in their actions or in their clothes because that’s where they’d rather spend their energy.  We all have good and bad in us, it’s part of our nature. It makes me worry about the Perfect Pastor who leads The Perfect Church of The Perfect People because perfect people don’t go to church. They don’t need to have a pastor at all, let alone a perfect one.  And a perfect pastor isn’t going to understand the kinds of people who actually come to church because he or she won’t understand the problems they’ve never had. So, the perfect looking, perfect sounding, perfect acting, always-able-and-never-having-a bad-day pastor is a myth. If you see one or — more to the point, are told by said pastor/priest/imam/guru that you are — beware that there’s something wrong in the scenario.

While especially true of ministers, it is true of all kinds of people. The abusive spouse or intimate partner, for instance, is well known to vacillate from sickeningly sweet to mean, violent, and all around nasty. Salesmen, actors, investors, unemployed garbagemen can all have some deep dark side.  Heck, even Gandhi got angry and semi-violent with his wife (at least in the movie).  But Gandhi wasn’t concerned with image. He was concerned with being his best self and living out his own expectations of himself.  People who are first concerned with how things appear really worry me. People who worry about how things actually are, are great human beings. Cathi knows this all too well from her days as a psychotherapist and, I suspect, other places. The tricky part is people who actually manage their own image while appearing not to.  Those people are beyond narcissists and all the way into psychopathic. No one goes far in the psychotherapy world without running into them as clients or family/friends/lovers of clients.

So there’s the first two parts of the scale of good and evil people: 1) are they headed in the right direction and 2) Are they interested in hiding their humanity from others? Worse yet, are they good at it?

The third part that keeps me going is grace. Given that any person who comes to see me (any person at all, really) has a bad side and has chosen to deal with it, can they be forgiven? I know a man who seems to have done horrible things to his daughter — but only once, by all accounts. Can he be forgiven by his daughter? I have no idea. Would he love to be forgiven by her? Yes. Can I forgive him? Actually, yes. I can forgive him because I think, given the person’s own humility, God can forgive him. I know the legal system says “once a perp, always a perp”. I know that many psychologists and many clergy consultants think the same way, but I have to believe in grace and growth and forgiveness if I am to have any hope for humanity. If there’s no growth, no change, no possibility for them, then there’s no reason to do my job — either of my jobs (therapist or minister).  And if I have to believe in growth and change as possibilities, I have to consider the possibility that this person — the one in front of me — is the one who can change and will.  Sometimes I’m wrong, but most often — whatever the deed is — I’m right.  How far change is possible and whether trust can be re-established enough to guarantee the safety of the people around them is another question.  But if grace exists, I have to consider that it might be possible in my client or the pastor in front of me.

Does any of this mean that my heart doesn’t get sickened from some of the things I hear at work or see on the news? Not at all.  As I hope I have shown here, evil is still evil, and people can do great and irreparable harm to others with it.  But people who want the truth and follow it wherever it goes, people who try their best, and people who seek real grace, even though the world may not want to give it, people who choose not to endanger others keep me going. That, and a lot of sleep, some anti-depressants, and a God who doesn’t leave me alone through it all. With these tools, I can make it through.

Cathi, that’s all I’ve got. I hope you — and anybody else in a similar situation — are able to hurt less when all is said and done.

Peace,

 

John

[BTW, for those of you that know her as "Cat" and wonder why I call her "Cathi", it's an old habit from our days in High School. But beyond that "Cat" sounds too short to me. The "t" sound seems too aggressive while the "th" flows more -- like she does. Under no circumstances should you assume that she's one of those "girls" who makes a smiley-face or a heart as the dot over her "i", though.  She's not now and she never was.]  : )

 

 

 

 

In Praise of Laura Ingalls Wilder, (for Michelle, on 11-11-11)

There are plenty of reasons for a man to get married. Mine apparently has something to do with Laura Ingalls Wilder, though I wouldn’t have believed it until last week. As my wife approaches her 43^rd birthday, I have become glad and gladder that she is a reader, and that she has a fondness for the books of Laura Ingalls Wilder.

My wife and I are very different people. She’s from the West, I am from the East. I’m from the city and she’s from… I’m not sure what you’d call it, near the Silicon Valley.  She’s moving into in her mid 40’s now and I’m in my early 50’s. Reagan was president when she was in her teens, so conservatives ruled her world. Carter was president in my teens, so I remember real liberals. My folks worked in factories, hers in a lab and in computers.  She’s a voracious reader, and I seem to be turning into a voracious writer.

And as we dated and learned stories of each other’s childhoods, there came what would become an ongoing theme — the idyllic picture of my future wife, sitting in her father-built tree-house, reading. Occupying a special place in books she read numerous times were the “Little House On The Prairie” books, by Laura Ingalls Wilder. And when she was done reading them, she’d come in and watch TV with the family – you guessed it – Little House On The Prairie with Michael Landon as “Pa”. I learned my lessons about justice and family from such fare as “Batman” and “The Courtship of Eddie’s Father”, she was into that more “girly” stuff while I was into the more “masculine” images, of course.

If I were to write a book on life lessons, it would be “Everything I Needed to Know Was Found in Folk\Rock Music”.  If Michelle was to write a book, it would be “Everything I Needed to Know is in The Little House Books”.

In the summer of 2010, this bi-focused life was experienced in the “Rock and Roll Prairie Tour” – the first few days on our westward vacation were dedicated to Rock Music – Martin Guitars, the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, and later a history of Oklahoma Rock and Roll at a museum in Oklahoma. The rest of the trip was about “Laura”, whom we would get to know as a person over the course of days. We saw Laura’s house when she was an author, a replica of the actual “Little House” described in one of the books. There was a play about the Little House books and how they came to be writer. I think we took the same general path of Laura’s life. My wife took a piece of grass from the prairie near the cabin. It was like that. All of that seemed a bit much to me, but I’m sure the entire history of Rock and Roll in the car seemed a bit much to her.

One of the other differences that had to be worked out in our marriage was gender roles and expectations. I had been told that I might be better off to marry a feminine, dumb woman, but it didn’t fit me. What would we talk about if I had to spend the rest of my life with her? So, I married a genius or near genius and, at times, it’s a challenge because she can argue me under the table even if I’m right. But she likes men and I like women, so for nearly twenty years, we’ve been trying to make it work with all those differences.

She has thought a lot about being a woman and I… well, I’m just a guy. I never wanted to be a MAN (grunt, grunt). I want to be a GUY (hand me that wrench and pass me my beer after I watch the Three Stooges). I mostly took male “normalcy” for granted until I got married and I still try to, but in a house of two daughters, a female cat, a female dog, and a female housemate, it gets harder and harder to do.  My “guy-ness” never had any interest in dominating women and I always thought women could be anything they wanted to, so I’m not threatened by them, but their world is still weird.

As you may have guessed by now, women were, are, and remain, a mystery to me. What they do in “women’s world” (when they’re by myself) is a giant Black Hole in my knowledge base. I feel like Sargeant Shultz from the old “Hogan’s Heroes” TV show – I know nothing. As my children approach their teenage years, I see more of what goes on, on that planet, but it’s still weird.  All those years of, “It’s a woman thing, you wouldn’t understand” – said by men or women – led to this weirdness.

Prior to our meeting some twenty years ago, I had always assumed that growing up and “being a woman” meant “being feminine” – all dainty and unable or unwilling to work at hard physical labor – certainly un-required to do all that. In the East, it’s what “ladies” in the Big City aspire to be, at least as far as I know. As I’ve said, I’m not a “real” macho man, so I don’t really like “feminine” women. I don’t want to work that hard. I wanted a partner – an equal.

But, the Western woman – and the mid-Western woman — is very different, especially when it comes to being “dainty”. She is “female” and “a good woman”, but she is not a “lady” per se, averse to hard work. She doesn’t expect to be fawned over, even if it would be nice every once in a while.  Fawning and the “dropping of the handkerchief” thing is not all that practical. The western woman of literature is practical, and a partner.

Now, I want to be a leader and be a Beta-male. She wants to lead in the world, and the whole gender thing gets funky at times, but it’s a good thing it does. So, here we are, going through life as “Harry Chapin meets Laura Ingalls Wilder” – which leads us to last week.

Last Saturday night, (two Saturdays ago, by the time you read this) we had a nasty, nasty storm. There was– a week before Halloween – 6 inches of snow, mixed with rain, on top of the leaves in our trees. There were loud “booms” in the neighborhood and my daughter would announce “transformer” as each one nearby blew. She also announced “flicker!” each time the lights did, until they didn’t do anything at all.  On Sunday, we didn’t have power, so Michelle emptied the freezer and the fridge “until the power comes back on”.  Would I have done that?  No. It wouldn’t have even occurred to me.  The only part of food I know anything about is eating it – and cooking it if it’s something I grew up with. Picking it, storing it, worrying about it? Not my deal.  If it was winterizing the car, I’d know what to do. (So there.)

Anyway, that was Sunday. Monday, we still didn’t have any power, and my wife knew just what to do.  She got out the grill and the briquettes.  Then she went looking for wood, just like Laura would do, though she, of course, did it with a car. She came home (while I was at work) and lit a fire in the fireplace, just like Laura would do. The next day, I had the kids while she went and taught a class, just like Laura did later in life. Tuesday night there still was no power, and we had a funeral to go to, so — like the family in the covered wagon — we packed up many of our worldly goods in the station wagon and went.

Wednesday, she had class, so she got to combine teaching (as Laura did) with traveling with the family in a wagon (as Laura did) only to return home and cook over an open fire, (as Laura did).  I came home from counseling people to her discussing the finer points of grilling and food spoilage with family friends. Did it bother her to be grilling in the cold and the dark? Not so you’d know it. After the company left, she lit the fire using a variety of materials, pulled out the lanterns and candles and sectioned off the rest of the house so we could all huddle in the one room with a fire. Did I mention she’s not afraid to work? My wife generally has more energy than the Energizer Bunny and this past week was no different. She was in direct contrast to the house with no energy and the family that required it.

Thursday, this whole thing was getting tiring, but I had an office with electricity and new internet to go to and I stayed there most of the day. When I came home, I was sure the power must be on. CL & P had said it would by last night at midnight. It wasn’t on, but my wife had gotten better at keeping the house warm – opening the windows during the day, closing them at night, blocking off sections of the house, lighting a fire (and probably a few other things as well) all kept the house a nearly warm 55 degrees at night. We had also begun offering hot showers to our friends, as part of the western hospitality thing that Laura would have practiced. There weren’t as few people in our neighborhood as Laura would have seen in her little prairie house, but it did seem like were in the middle of nowhere without any neighbors or modern conveniences. Thank goodness no one came over the ridge into our neighborhood wearing only their union suit, like in the Christmas episode of the TV show.

Friday, it was back to teaching class, taking the kids with her and reviewing their schoolwork\projects afterwards.

Saturday, while I went to work cold and groggy, she got up and took the kids once again. But this time she took them to a place that used to be more rustic than our house – Camp Wightman – where she and the kids cleaned up around cabins, buildings, and other places.  After that, she and the kids moved into one of the cabins overnight. The cabin had heat, and electricity, and the promise of internet – three things that our actual house no longer did. In addition to all of this, she stayed up and worked on sermon she was preaching the next day and doing laundry. (I can do laundry, and have done so for years, I just don’t know where to find washing machines unless they are a) in my basement or b) at the Laundromat in our neighborhood. I was impressed that she found the machine and did the clothes before I got there from a long day of working and driving.

Sunday morning was difficult. She had plans and knew how to pack and move and do all those things and I couldn’t think clearly. Anyone that knows me can tell you, I’m not a morning person. Also, as the one who was giving to hope to people all day in my office and trying to give hope about the house lights, I was all out of hope. When someone at the camp asked when power was coming on, I said, (with my morning voice, but quite seriously) “Never ever”.  So she went off to preach and I took the kids hither, skither, and yon to all the places they had to be – church, choir, special meal after church, etc. Sometimes, we’re the good modern couple (remember, Harry Chapin always wanted to spend time with his kid in “Cat’s In The Cradle”). Sunday was one of those times.  By mid- afternoon, it became apparent that neither hope nor our electric lights were coming back on. I was fit to be tied. (Pa never got mad, at least on TV, but I sure was that day and she handled it).

Our friends had gotten their power back on so the girls went to their house while we adults toughed it out at the house. Our housemate lit the fireplace while we went and had a change of pace – dinner and a movie, out. Harry’s not as comfortable on the prairie as he is with all the modern conveniences. It was a good night, but our neighborhood still had no power and I had moved onto the third stage of grief – after denial, and bargaining with the new life. I had moved into anger, but kept it together while Laura didn’t seem to mind at all.

Monday night, I needed creature comforts and went to our friends while she needed alone time and stayed at the house for the night. By Tuesday, power was on and “Laura” had toughed it all out.

So, as I said, I married a thrown-out-of-time, real life, Laura Ingalls Wilder. I still haven’t read the books, but she doesn’t have the entire Harry Chapin catalog, either. We manage. So now, in the 20^th year of our marriage (20 years in May, 2012), I am singing the praises of someone from a “girl” book, someone I thought was kind of silly and boring for years, someone who is female, but not necessarily a “lady”, someone who picked up the slack when her husband was out doing his job, (which includes raising the family).  I think highly of that woman who survived our “winter” in the wilderness. I celebrate Laura Ingalls Wilder.

 

Peace,

 

John

Five and Ten and A Hundred-Fold: The Deering Reunion

“Still others, like seed sown among thorns, hear the word; ¹⁹ but the worries of this life, the deceitfulness of wealth and the desires for other things come in and choke the word, making it unfruitful. ²⁰ Others, like seed sown on good soil, hear the word, accept it, and produce a crop—some thirty, some sixty, some a hundred times what was sown”.  (Mark 4: 18-20)

 

There is a type of theology that says, rather than waiting for Jesus to return at the end of time and establish his Kingdom\Reign, Jesus’ resurrection has already changed the universe. It’s our job to start building that Kingdom\Reign ourselves, now. This kind of theology is not thoughts “out there” somewhere, it is experienced “in here”. Almost impossible to explain, it is also nearly indestructible, because it is reality – a memory lived that cannot be taken away.  It changes a person.

Some people I know – some I just met, some I have known for years, and some I am now reacquainted with – live that theology. It is who they are, and it changes their world and everyone around them wherever they go.  Yesterday, in Concord, NH, at a retirement community’s public hall, those people gathered in a room and I was lucky enough to be in the room with them. My skin tingled just sitting in a room with them as I remembered that I, too, was one of those people (the experiential people, not the retired ones. In fact, nobody in the room was retired in any meaningful way from a life of ministry).

In this room of 30 to 50 people, there were professors, nurses, world travelers and people who lived in the same place for years, elementary school teachers, teachers of the mentally challenged and the hearing impaired, musicians who have probably caused the hearing impairment of others in their time. There were landlords, and people with landscaping businesses, people who designed tools to make quilts, people who made light bulbs, and people who sold T-shirts. There  people all the way up to age 70-something. There were adoptive parents, gay parents, heterosexual parents, single parents, divorced parents – and they were builders, all of them. They have been busy for the last 40 years or so building the kingdom.  Some have built it in Columbia, and some in California, and some in Massachusetts, some in Connecticut, and many in New Hampshire. And beyond the walls of that room, there were people from all over who Skyped in (or tried) who were also Kingdom builders wherever they went. As someone there noticed, there were no stockbrokers, no investment bankers, no builders of weapons. There were only people that cared for others and made the world a better place, because they had experienced a “better place”, they had helped to create a better place for the humans they met, and they received from that better place while they were there and years later. That “better place”, that bit of the Kingdom here on earth, was the Deering Conference Center, in Deering, NH in the 1970’s and 1980’s. Yesterday, those people experienced a reunion.

The camp was led by Gordon and Cy Sherman and Bill Salt over the years. The reunion was organized by Em Ross and Cy and pulled off by them, with Gordon and Bill. The reunion was scheduled to start at 10am and finish at 6pm. I don’t know if it worked out that way, because my family and I arrived at 1 and left at 4, but in my 3 hours I (and my children and my wife) got to experience the incredible power of people who have experienced Deering.

After my first week at Deering, in 1975, I knew that I would never have to settle for “the way it is” ever again. I can remember after one of my weeks at camp, coming home and having my mother say, “That’s the way things are. You just have to get used to it” and I knew she was wrong. I knew we had choices about the way things are because we had choices about the way we saw people and the way we acted toward them.

My first week at Deering, I went because my minister, Bob Kyte convinced my mother that it was a “leadership camp”. Having been an outsider to my peers for all of 6^th, 7^th, 8^th, and part of 9^th grade, we moved to Wilbraham and I knew people, but I still didn’t have a lot of friends. I was a nerd, a little low on the hygiene, suffering from depression already and “that guy” that others picked on in school – even if they didn’t know me. When I arrived at camp, it took me at least 3 days to feel much of anything, but then I realized something was different. I was being accepted – not because I had anything or did anything, but because I was a human being and these people assumed that God had created me. I’d been to church for years and believed that God created everyone, but somehow, I didn’t think that included me. These people acted like it did. They never said anything, exactly, that I remember. They just assumed I knew it and – after awhile, I did.

Gordon, the thin guy who put out his cigarettes in an orange juice can, spoke about teaching Sunday School on Long Island and thinking, “Hey, what if we actually did what that Jesus guy said? What would it look like?”. He said that he and  his wife had decided to move their family up to New Hampshire for at least summers, and hopefully full-time at some point. People talk about living for Christ. Here was a guy who had actually done it.

Peter, the crazy elf with the very good heart, was a minister and the scales fell from my eyes about my calling to ministry. It occurred to me that the kind of people who were the epitome of joyous Christians, were probably the epitome of Christians – ministers.

I remember John and Dave, two of the campers, simply accepting me, and the girls not recoiling at the sight of me for my zits. People gave hugs all the time. Becky Johnson, my “living group” leader ( a type of small group we broke into), acted like we were normal teens and were expected to be full of life, happy, enjoying ourselves. I was considered “normal” and full of hope for the first time in years. After jumping on mattresses yelling “I am somebody! You are somebody! Together, we are somebody!” the spirit was rising in me and I was willing to be brave – I showed my smile and wanted to share the feeling. By the time the week was over, I knew I was going to be a minister and was asked to be on the state-wide United Church Youth Council. I had changed – from loser to leader and – if I could do it, so could anybody else. I really believed that then, and I believe it now. It only takes a spark to get a fire glowing… You want to pass it on. But I’m not the only one.

There was a woman yesterday at the reunion (Sarah Dunklee) that had “intentionally taken the camp experience to Columbia and tried to create it there”.  My friend Dave was involved in taking handicapped city kids to ski in Massachusetts, I think. He talked about it as a “calling”. And, in keeping with the Spirit of Deering, the kids who went helped change the mind of the mountain staff – they were going to lose money now by doing more, but they didn’t care because they looked forward to helping the kids. A mutual friend, Sue, is helping veterans who have lost limbs to ski again in Vermont.

Teachers around the circle at the reunion weren’t just teachers – they were teachers of special ed, or teachers of autistic kids or deaf kids, teachers of little kids – working with people with no voice in the political arena but affected by it – and people with even less voice than that.  They tried to create the camp experience by treasuring all of these people – and seeing them as people, loved by God.  Years ago, Gordon had shown me the story “Ragman” in a book. “Ragman” is about Jesus taking the time and seeing everyone for all they were – with whatever pace they had.  No one who reads that story leaves unaffected.

When Bill Salt talked about Deering and camp staff, it became clear that he had brought the staff that brought me. Missing were “kids” who I sent there – 4 “generations” of Deering ran through my head at the same time, while my children ran around playing with the daughter of another Deering-ite who was there.   When Roger Goode showed up, you could see the love in the faces of his friends.

When Gary Ciocci, Heather Bordeaux, and Gail Hegeman started playing “(All My Life’s A) Circle” by Harry Chapin, my mind wandered to another Harry song, “I Wonder What Would Happen to This World” which has as its lyrics, “If a man tried to take his time on earth and prove before he died what one man’s life could be worth… And if a woman tried to make her lifetime something more than a servant, mother, wife time, I wonder what would happen to this world”. As Cy told me how proud she was of Gail and her professional drum kit back at home, I knew the answer was that it would like this.

Since I’ve been home, I’ve seen postings from a person I sent to Deering as a youth minister and wanted to go back, and a friend who sang Big Band music in the Southern US who also wanted to be there. I’ve seen postings from pastors who are changing the world in their little corner of it who also wanted to be there. The reality that was Deering and the building of the Kingdom of God continue on as the people talked about planning another get-together another time. God’s Deering lives on around the world and Paula Richards is selling Deering T-Shirts for it. : )

One last thing that more than just I noticed: Deering closed more than 20 years ago and the people who were at the reunion should be – as I am – getting on in years. At my 30^th High School reunion, all of the men had put on weight, lost some or all of their hair, and generally seemed like “mature” adults. Even the people with grandchildren who attended this reunion didn’t look old there. Blaze looked great (no surprise there), but everyone had the glow of youth in their eyes, giving them far less gray hair and far fewer pounds somehow. There is a belief in Greek Orthodox theology that says that sanctified people’s bodies don’t disintegrate – even when they are dead. I assume that means that good, loving and sanctified people age slower as well. At Deering’s reunion yesterday it showed.

It’ll happen again, as it has continued to happen daily since Deering existed – friends will meet and share visions and do the work the Spirit and their experiences call them to do,  because the Kingdom never goes away.  Once you’ve experienced it, you want to pass it on – really.

 

Peace,

 

John

Democracy Makes A Comeback But the Vision Never Left

I have been struggling with what to say about President Obama lately. His jobs bill is a very good thing on a practical level. His desire to tax the rich at a fair rate is too slow in coming, but also a great thing that starts to address the issue of fairness. In short, the President has become — in the last two months — the man I voted for four years ago.  What he doesn’t get, however, is why I voted for him in the first place — which leads me to be cynical now and for the foreseeable future.  Jon Stewart was right , “Campaign Obama is back”.  The problem is that I believe he’s only doing this now because he’s campaigning again.  What he’s done is target the biggest people who will vote for him — unions, teachers, etc.  and attempted to give them jobs, which he believes will be enough to restart the economy. I don’t know if it will be enough, but it’s a good start. As a matter of “what he’s done in 8 years” if he’s re-elected, he may well be remembered as a great president. Ending the war in Iraq, ending it in Afghanistan, ending “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell”, getting more general acceptance of gays and lesbians,  getting more Americans health coverage, bringing Detroit and the Auto industry back from the brink — these are all good things — very good things. But none of those things are what I elected him for, really.

What I elected him for is what’s happening in the streets of New York — and now elsewhere.  The reason that I voted for Obama was that he was a great speaker, a leader, a man with a vision of America who — because of his vision, told us that we could have a vision. I didn’t vote for specific policies. I voted for vision — a dream of who we could be.  I voted for a man who would make it fashionable to engage in politics again — in our cities and towns, in our states, and in our country.  I voted for a man who could help us remember what being citizens meant and what democracy felt like.

Years ago, when Elizabeth Horton-Scheff was leaving the Connecticut Conference staff of the United Church of Christ, I said about her that she was like a motorboat whose wake left progress easier for those who followed with their own dreams. That is what I voted for Obama for.  For years, there had been a sense that we were choosing between the lesser of two (of ten) evils when voting. In 2008, I actually felt like we had voted for the best man America had to offer.  We knew quality when we saw it, and we were going to exercise our right to choose for our own best interests.  It wasn’t about him, but about us. We had a vision of fairness and goodness and being involved in things that mattered  and we finally found somebody who could take us towards  it.

After years of wanting one thing (peace, truth, justice) and getting the opposite (war, lies, and division) from elected officials that I didn’t expect much from in the first place, here was a chance to say to future generations “this is what it’s like when a bunch of people agree. See how great it is to be an American? Now go out and be one!” It was the fact that my $5.00 donation counted for something along with millions of other $5.00 donations that gave me hope — for a change.

But the Supreme Court made it nearly impossible that fairness could win the day when they said “corporations are people”.  Then the Tea Party arrived and started yelling insanely. Then Congress fought every day with the President. “Yes, We Can” became “Oh no, you don’t!” And — when the President had the chance to be visionary, he backed down time and again. The rich got richer, the poor got poorer. People couldn’t get a job, couldn’t afford a house, and now have to choose between buying  food and paying their bills in more and more places. Obama’s tax on private jet planes fell on deaf ears. Seriously?  Do a lot of people out there have private jet planes?  There weren’t more people who could agree to tax them than had them? Seriously?

That’s where we were two months ago — people in their homes, watching their democracy do nothing, not represent them, making things worse.  We still knew where the problems were, and what they were, but we had learned we were helpless to do anything. We watched as democracy took root in the middle east (without a war!) while our own country slipped away.  The economic recession reflected our psychological depression.

Then something weird happened –Canadians got involved — and not even political Canadians — artistic ones! Adbusters magazine is one I see every once in awhile. It is made by artists and it parodies and twists the current vision of  ”Capitalism for all!” and “Buying stuff makes us happy!” enough to make us think about what we do and who we are.  And somehow, maybe because they’d seen the protests\occupation fo the Wisconsin state capitol, Adbusters came up with this idea — using twitter and other things — “# Occupy Wall Street!” — and frustrated people did.

Then “The Establishment” refused to cover it.  Washington didn’t talk about it, the media didn’t talk about it and — since image is supposed to be everything — it was supposed to fade away. But the vision of a fair America, where things worked for most folks, kept creating more frustration with the way things are.  The Spark was there and it didn’t simply extinguish itself. More people heard about it and decided to get active. Still no mass coverage. People who are sick of not being heard yell louder — it’s a natural human tendency.  So more people came out and got support. Then 700 people got arrested on the Brooklyn Bridge. That was too big to ignore.  When representative democracy no longer works, the people will represent themselves.  This past weekend, non-violent protests like Occupy Wall Street popped up around the country.  The New York Times reports that “these people are in it for the long haul”.  NPR reported on the arrests of people on the bridge. Some transit workers refused to help arrest their fellow citizens. Citizens are not dousing the Spark of Democracy anymore and it is a good thing.

People are once again active in their own lives, active in their own political system, active in their own economic lives. To say it is a political  ”movement” right now would be to say that there’s a leader and specific goals — and there aren’t.  Even Adbusters just wanted to see what would happen, I think.  To say that it is a spiritual movement, however, would be right on the mark. It is “an outward and visible sign” of our desire for fairness, housing, a chance to have work count for something, a chance for one-person-one-vote.  FOX can’t blame it on President Obama, because neither of them matter here. This is not about them, any more than Obama’s election was about him.  This is about us, with hope, demanding change.

How’s that hopey-changey thing working for us? We don’t know yet, but it feels a lot better than no hope and no change.

Peace,

 

John

Liner Notes — Beebs and Her Money Makers, “Welcome to Barter Town”

In the old days, when an album (Yes, I’m old. Sue me.) came out, the album would have “liner notes” – descriptions, song-by-song, written by a friend or a critic who was also a friend. These lined the vinyl as a sleeve and protected it from the rough cardboard that was the album cover.  I thought I’d give it a try with my sister’s first CD – but not just because it’s my sister’s, because it’s good and she deserves a wider stage for the music on this album.

(My credentials – I did college radio for two years, had a license to be a DJ for awhile, worked a third year at a college radio station in Geneva, NY, loved music and still do. Oh, and the most widely read blog piece I’ve written is about the top 100 songs of all time. It’s not much, but it’ll have to do for now.) So here goes.

My thought, when I first heard the album, was where did this girl come from?!  You know how you know somebody, but they have a secret part of their personality that you never knew about? That’s Beebs. I know her, but apparently I don’t. How does a white girl from the Space Coast of Florida get so funky? Where does a white girl hear a Hammond B-3 (here played by D. Mahler) ? The superhero stuff on the cover and in the video for one of the tracks “Handout”, seems appropriate because the music on this thing is from another planet.  In a world of pop crap and electronic dance music, “Welcome to Barter Town” is like nothing else out there.  It’s a tight, musical band putting out a variety of genres, each with equal levels of skill. In others words, it’s music – all kinds of music – performed by musicians.

The first track on the CD – Ms. Captain Kangaroo — draws from Beebs’ inner Janis Joplin while the guitar and song melts like it’s on LSD, making your head hurt This turns into some type of equal parts country and 70’s rock to sooth its way back, before the melting returns, all the while the drummer (Jeff Carruth) plays this punchy beat that pops, highlighting the tightness of the band.

Next up is “Voices”, which starts with a funky, funky beat and Beebs’ singing about voices in her head, telling her she wants to live. The bright horns highlight the mood while tough-sounding rap comes in and also sings a message worth hearing about the world and purpose. The sax player kicks it and the whole thing comes off like a song should– indebted to the song, rather than any individual ego. Everyone shines and the song makes its own statement– that “musical” thing happens again.

Next up is the song from the video, “Hand Out”.  While the video features 1960’s “Batman”- esque, “Biff”s and “Pow”s immediately endearing itself to my whole family, the song is a ska rave-up. You’d have to know here that I don’t like ska. At least on this side of the pond, it’s usually white surfer conservative Christians full of themselves trying to sound tough to their peers in California or Florida – vapid and tough, two of my least favorite stances.  Having said that, Beebs’ solo on kazoo sets this song apart, and – again – the musicality, the tightness of the band, the wildness of the video, separates this song from the pack that I usually associate with American Ska.

After this, jazz and soul merge in perhaps the best song on the album to my old ears – “Beautiful Gloomy”. It’s as though Laura Nyro has come back from the dead to arrange the beautiful flute and jazz guitar that opens the song. The light touch of the hook – Ra-ai-ai-ai-ain – is immediately sing-able and gets stuck in your head. One can easily picture the Fifth Dimension in their heyday (look ‘em up, if you don’t get the reference) doing this song.

“You Don’t Owe”, the next track, is – as Beebs says – “not kid friendly”. The lyrics of the chorus punching like a verbal brawl, “You don’t owe me…. —-“.  The database that iTunes uses labels the entire CD “blues” and this is the closest thing to it on the CD. Beebs plays her part as a tough broad in one of those arguments real adults have when they’re really mad at each other. Beebs proves she’s not a kid here while the drum pops the beat and the sax player goes off like Clarence Clemons. This is definitely not Teen Beat pop.  This is Justin Bieber getting his — kicked.

Returning to funky jazz, “These Days” tells the story of growing up as one thing and becoming something else. The male rapper BTrue is smooth and sensitive with his words, while Beebs lets the song be itself as a background singer, a voice to compliment the lead, while the sax player wails. An incredible sax solo completes the song while the drummer plays straight-out jazz drum. There is a Sade-influenced groove here and the song is made for love.

“In This Love”, the final song, returns to earlier ska stylings – more like The English Beat ska than American Ska, a more easily digestable form  — and features Beebs singing blues lyrics.  Dave Wade, the bass player, works the groove here while the juxtaposition of bright, happy dancing over words about “coming home to nothing else” lets the musical expression fit the lyrical expression as the CD closes.

“Welcome to Barter Town” a great CD by a tight, musical band, with its themes and influences showing all around – underground currents of Afro-stylings everywhere. How Beebs got that funky, I don’t know. About her band: I do know that she has a very low tolerance for BS, and – like her brother– knows what she likes. She will settle for nothing less than great players and will weed through the great number of people out there until she finds ones that have that professional sound she is looking for. The band here is top notch in many styles and deserve their props for just being all-out funky and tight. Both sax players (Mahler and Cestero) are just great, giving the album a great horn section. Both guitarists (Jeremy Lovelady and Craig Cobb) drive right along with the rhythm.

With this impressive CD, Beebs joins a long line of Zoller/Bibeau women with musical talent. . Her mother’s aunt was a professional musician who played with, among others, Gene Autry, and a host of other people at the top of their game – also in a variety of genres and specializing in musical inventions. Her mother was a singer in clubs in Miami in her 20’s, who – while she loved “standards”, was just as comfortable with country and classical. They would be proud of her. I know I am.

Peace,

John

An Incredibly Literate Conversation Between Friends About Power

Editor’s Intro:  Yesterday I posted a lengthy rant about nuclear power, politics, and humanity. In the old days of my youth, I knew a lot about nuclear power and its alternatives out there. But technology has changed and I have become complacent about power, at least somewhat. In response to my own rant came a conversation on Facebook between two old friends.  Joe Roberts is a scientist in his day-time job. Cathi (“Cat”) Chapin-Bishop is a teacher. Both have been friends since well before I knew them and continue to be so.

Here’s their conversation:

Peace,

John

Joe Roberts: If we can’t have nuclear… and we can’t have coal or oil… WHERE is the energy going to come from? All of them have their issues. Solar and Wind are nowhere near where they need to be to get rid of all of them. Personally I don’t want to go back to the days of no electricity, using horses, etc. Do I have a solution? No. If we can’t have nuclear… and we can’t have coal or oil… WHERE is the energy going to come from? All of them have their issues. Solar and Wind are nowhere near where they need to be to get rid of all of them. Personally I don’t want to go back to the days of no electricity, using horses, etc. Do I have a solution? No.

Cathi: Chapin-Bishop: Joe, we must use less electricity to begin with, make use of solar and wind, tidal, geothermal, and hydro, and not be fooled by some of the rhetoric out there. For instance, critics of solar say it is too expensive…ignoring the fact that, if solar were subsidized at the level petroleum currently is, it would be comparable in cost. Then they say solar generation farms consume too much acreage of land… ignoring the feasibility of distributed production: i.e.: give me a little help to get it up there, and I’ll be among hundreds of thousands of home-owners only too glad to put solar cells onto my (south facing, fully sunlit) roof.

A lot of the limitations we hear about are coming from current electricity producers, who don’t particularly want change, for the same reason the music industry didn’t welcome digital–because it will challenge and perhaps destroy their profit model.

But that doesn’t mean they’re telling us the full truth.

Joe: Cat, I am -fully- on board with the need for people to use less electricity, but many do not. I see waste all the time (light pollution at night is one example). I’m not saying solar and wind can’t work… however there are major technical issues (I’m “in” the electronics field so I know about it). Solar is great in the southwest but not so good in New England. Here it’s a nice supplement but you’re not going to run a house on it. Same for wind. One of the *major* problems with solar and wind is storing the energy for use when the sun is down or the wind is not blowing. There is no simple way to store electricity. Batteries may work for a homeowner installation, but they need to be replaced every few years and they have their own “waste footprint”.

Would I like to see the US be able to tell the Middle East “we don’t need any more of your oil”, YES. However I don’t see that any time soon. Gas powered cars will be here for a long time to come. Electric vehicles are making some progress but for many people they simply are not feasible. And, the power for their batteries has to come from somewhere (electricity from the power line that comes from coal, oil, natural gas, etc). It takes a huge amount of energy to power a car and electric is just not there yet. Electric cars (with batteries that have to be replaced) also have their own waste footprint.

Look at China… I saw a cable show the other night that shows MASSIVE growth in their interstate system (and a hugely increased number of cars, translation they will be demanding ever increasing amounts of oil to power them all). I truly wish I had a solution. I don’t. I conserve where I can (CFLs, heat down to 62 in winter, no AC in the house, van pool to work, dishwasher on full loads only, etc). If everyone did the same it would certainly help, but I would bet that everything THAT would save would be less than what developing parts of the world are adding to the load.

Cat: Actually, Joe, while solar won’t be as productive in New England as elsewhere, even in winter on sunny days, it is possible to run an energy-thrifty household almost entirely off the grid–I have friends who do so, though their fridge is propane and they heat with wood (unsurprisingly). And much of the year, much of the electricity of a single household can be generated from solar on that house.

If New Englanders can produce even 25% of our household and industrial electricity through solar panels–with some households generating 50% or more–that is a significant contribution. We need to be thinking about many small resources, not one giant solution! For instance, we need, here in New England, to turn our attention to small hydro generators again–we have the geology for it, and it’s crazy that we do so little of it!

Joe: We can do more–and, assuredly, as we reach peak oil, we will. Unfortunately, the longer we delay developing alternative energy, the more we will rely on coal and it’s destruction of habitat and air quality, and on wars, to help us bridge the gap as we near peak oil.

I also see opposition to wind projects. Kennedy himself didn’t want them (spoiling his view). Many super wealthy people in that same area opposed it too. “Regular” people in a CT town are fighting one big time. People say “I wish we could rid ourselves of dependency on foreign oil” but then when there are efforts to try and do that they say “No, can’t do that”. So what then?

Cat: Hydro… have you any idea of the bureaucratic crap you have to go to do something to a wetland? You practically need a permit to WALK in one! Hydro will help… but then you have all the issues that dams cause.

Joe: I forget what the “average” house uses… something like 720kW hours per month… (Or roughly 1000W of power being drawn all the time on average)… that’s a LOT of power to have to replace. Even 25% of that is a lot. Some people may be able to do it, but the “average” family would go into shock having to live with that change. Certainly it can be done… however the cost of the gear to do it is way out of reach for the average person. I’d love to have it, but I don’t have an extra 75k sitting unused!

I’ve said this before (although it would hurt a lot of people I know), I’d like to see gas go to around $8 a gallon so people would finally GET SERIOUS about conservation and investing in other energy technologies. At $8 a gallon many of those alternate forms would become “affordable”.

Cat: Average houses are going to have to use less. Regulations are going to have to become easier for both hydro and wind–though precautions to protect wildlife will need to remain in place, and yes, that will be tricky.

And don’t worry about gas hitting $8/gallon. It’s coming. Anyone with any sense knows this.

Joe: My Aunt’s house (built in the 30s) had 30A electrical service. Most houses today have 200A service. Although some appliances have gotten a lot more efficient one problem is that there are so many more of them. I think that for many people cutting back to the point where they’d be using 1/2 the power they use now would be near impossible. One thing I’ve been saying: shut the freakin’ city lights off between 1am and 5am. Who’s up to see them anyway? That would be a HUGE savings in energy long term. I’ve seen a few places doing that in small doses (because budgets are so tight) but it needs to be done on a much larger scale. When I am on a plane at night I can see tens of thousands of light bulbs from a few miles up. If I can see the bulb that is WASTED energy. Put a freakin’ reflector on it, send that light DOWN, and you can cut the bulb wattage! Common sense no? No technology issue whatsoever. Just stupidity.

Also forgot to mention one of my BIG conservation measures… got rid of all pipe heaters for animal water system (it used to use around 300W and would run anytime the temp was below 32) by using geothermal techniques. Now I only need one 25W bulb in the pump house. Even at 7 below my water never showed any signs of freezing.

The No-So-Fine Line Between “Prophet” and “Wack Job”

The other day, in my article on (among other things) Japan’s problems, I mentioned Helen Caldicott, who is an anti-nuclear activist, and I said that I guessed that — instead of making political points, she’d be angry and then weep.  Since that time, I’ve been keeping an eye on the news about her via Google and it has been much as I suspected.  Caldicott has been pretty much silent. On Friday night, I guess, she will hold some sort of internet Press Conference, but that will be nearly a week after the whole thing started to get messy.

Oddly, though, people in Australia — at least in the media — portray her as a “hysteric” who’s “only a physician” and talk about how much damage she’s done to the Australian economy by keeping nuclear power out of Australia. In short, she’s — by those people’s estimation — a “wack job”.  I looked up her bio on line to make sure I had the right Helen Caldicott because the one I remembered was strong, but not strident, intelligent and articulate, an organizer and physician who taught at Harvard and who created Physicians For Social Responsibility — one of the two groups that we used for reference back in my really radical hippie days. The other one was the Union of Concerned Scientists. Even then, I wanted to get my facts straight and let cooler heads prevail.

Anyway, my Helen Caldicott is the same person as their (the people in the Australian press)  Helen Caldicott.  This got me thinking about the difference between “prophets” and “wack jobs” .  By “prophets”, I mean people who speak God’s (sometimes) political word, rather than a people who can see the future in dreams.  Often times, they are the same. They can see the future coming by reading the politics of the time and the things various people in power do, but they get their information from God as well.

According to people like scholar Abraham Heschel, Prophets in the Old Testament (Hebrew Bible, Torah) were often literally crazy.  They listened directly to God and spoke what they heard or saw. They did things like naming their child “Not-My-Child” and speaking of  ”whores” when describing their country. Needless to say, they weren’t always the most popular of people — well respected, often, but not well loved. In short, they were often “wack  jobs” by modern standards, magic men\shamans in their own time.

So what’s the difference between “prophets” and “wack jobs”?  Prophets hear and see, but aren’t particularly happy with their speaking parts.  The whole “speaking truth to power” things is not particularly fun, even if it feels right.  Saying to a king, queen, or other royal that God said they’re not doing things right has got to be fairly nerve-wracking.  And yet, that’s what they do.  It may, in fact, be why they’re crazy. They are stuck between a God who is bigger and more powerful than them and a royal person who is also bigger and more powerful than them. And they are sensitive enough to notice things are wrong all over the place.

Actual “wack  jobs”, it seems to me, though, like to speak, but they don’t like to listen. They are people who scream with no reason.  They say see the future, but they’re wrong. They act like they are God, not like they know God.   “Wack jobs” say “Shut Up!” and “Don’t Bother Me!” Prophets just speak, whether people hear them or not. Noah, far from being a “wack job”, was a prophet. He didn’t make a big fuss, he made an ark. He knew what was happening, and started acting on what he knew, regardless of what others said.   He looked crazy but, in fact, he was the sanest and smartest among the bunch.

Prophets speak because they are bothered by those “little people” that nobody else notices. “Wack jobs”  are above all that.

So, given all of this is Caldicott a “wack job” or a prophet? I’m not sure yet that she’s a prophet, but she’s got all the makings of one. That whole Nobel Peace Prize thing (something she was involved in won in 1985), either for herself or her organization puts her in the Prophet-That-Looks-Like-A-Radical-Wack-Job category.  Her silence and lack of sensationalism — even about something she knows much about — for this past week also puts her in the Prophet category. Her being a pediatrician speaks about her love for those who can’t speak for themselves.   Time will tell if she’s a prophet or not when body counts and ecological scales are taken into account. But, despite what you may have read, she’s not a “wack job”.  And sadly, as radical as she sounds to some people, she may also be right.

Peace,

 

John