Having a job, getting a life

"...a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise." – Psalm 51:17

Honest labor makes the world go around, both the outer world of human activity and the inner world of spiritual growth. It's all the better when the work coincides with vocation or a sense of calling, a fulfillment of one's destiny in life. What's "better" about the convergence of work and calling is the coherence it brings to one's life and the sense that one is living purposefully and in alignment with God's will, the universe, karma or however one conceives reality.

One senses, at this precise moment, that down in Crawford, Texas, Cindy Sheehan has both a job and a calling. Her job is hard: waiting in the relentless West Texas sun for George W. Bush to step out from his ranch house and talk to her about why her son Casey died in a senseless war in Iraq.

But, Cindy Sheehan can handle the job because her vocation, unlike the president's foreign policy, is rock solid on the side of the universe: to end an unjust and tragically misguided war. As a woman and mother, she has experienced the evil of Mr. Bush's Iraq misadventure. One dares to shoot for such lofty goals as confronting a president and ending a war only when the depths of one's heart are in alignment with the heart of God.

This, of course, is the problem for George W. Bush: his heart is wrong, not merely his policy. Any change in the present circumstance will come, not primarily by a mere policy reversal but through a conversion of this man's soul to cast off the evil of a pre-meditated war based on false premises and pursued for shadowy purposes. Until Mr. Bush's heart is changed regarding these matters, the soul of this country is hostage to a deeply immoral and arrogant foreign policy.

The broken heart of a mother senses this, and it has called her to a job that, for the moment, is giving some of us hope of life beyond this nightmare of a war. A wounded mother with a calling–that's a recipe for changing the world. Mr. Bush better look out [and his unwillingness to meet with Cindy Sheehan suggests he is]. This is a deep moment, a knee-buckling moment. If he's not careful, he might find that her heart is calling to his heart–and his job, as a result, will have just gotten harder.

But that harder job–acknowledging his colossal mistake and ending U.S. involvement in this war–would gain him a vocation far more significant than just his day job as president. For starters, he'd get back his heart and begin the healing of our nation's soul.

The timo-theocrats

Now that the president has endorsed equal time for teaching so-called "intelligent design" theory (sic) on the same footing with evolution theory, the takeover of this country by religious ideologues is virtually complete. If, as promised, Mr. Bush eventually vetoes on religious grounds legislation permitting [by precious little] expanded federal funding for stem-cell research, it's a done deal. For the first time in U.S. history, we will have, without doubt, a "timocratic theocracy" on our hands -- rule by the wealthy religious, or timo-theocrats, as we're dubbing them ("timocracy" = rule by the rich).

This is not the first time in history that some combination of piety and plunder has controlled the levers of national power. Our ancestors came to the New World in large measure to evade the tribulations of such rule, which invariably ends badly for a large segment of the citizenry, prompting either fleeing or fighting. Of course, Mr. Bush shows absolutely no awareness of the history of Western civilization or the dangers that his extremist policies pose to the fabric of our society. Even if he did, however, there's no reason to believe it would moderate his ideological arrogance. When you have both God AND Mammon on your team, you really have little incentive to second-guess yourself.

Ironically, given the historic instability of timocracies [popular resentment of hard-headed rich rulers inevitably leads to revolution], the Bush legacy likely will serve as counter-proof of any actual intelligent design in the universe. One must ask: If this bunch of timo-theocrats, for Pete's sake, is the best the universe can come up with at the end of these millennia of intelligent designing, just what kind of intelligence, pray tell, is in charge here?

["Intelligent design" is not a theory, by the way, and therefore is incapable of being compared to the theory of evolution. A theory, by definition, can be tested and conceivably falsified. "Intelligent design" is susceptible to neither testing nor falsification. It can only be asserted–which, when you think about it, is perfectly consistent with the operating style of the timo-theocrats running things these days.]

Of roofers and handymen

NORTH BERWICK, Maine -- Life here in rural Maine has its own cadence. Kathy and I, neither of us native-born Mainers, have not quite figured it out after living here for more than five years. I'd say we're learning, but the evidence that we are is slender –– unless, that is, you count accepting things as they are as a form of education. Sometimes, we've come to realize, that's the only choice available.

A lot of it has to do with how things around here get done--or don't get done, as the case may be. Take our roof, for example. Nearly a year ago we contracted with a reputable local company to install a new roof on our house. Hours into the project, we discovered that the roofers were not installing the kind of roof we had requested. We called our contact at headquarters; he instructed us to let the crew finish the job, since they were already well into the project, and we'd deal with the mismatch later.

"Later" is almost a year now. We've withheld a $3,000 final payment until the job is done to our satisfaction. The contractor has stopped to look at the roof twice, with little comment, but has taken no action and does not appear to be in a hurry to do so. Strangely to us, he has not even mentioned the outstanding balance on our bill, which is the only real leverage we have in the situation. But what kind of leverage is it if no one seems interested in getting paid their money? Meanwhile, we live with a roof we don't like or want, and the contractor is nowhere in sight.

But, it gets stranger. Even before our roof fiasco began, we hired a handyman with good credentials to do various odd jobs, including installing a new dishwasher. He worked diligently for two days, finished the dishwasher and some other electrical work, and all appeared to be going according to plan. On the third day, he showed up as usual in the morning and, when he left at noon for lunch, we thought nothing of it, figuring he'd return in the afternoon to finish up.

It's been more than a year, and we haven't seen or heard from him since he left for lunch. We never paid him a dime and have received no bill for payment. In fact, we really have no idea what the bill might be, although it surely is in the hundreds of dollars. We've tried calling him on several occasions and left messages, but he has not returned our calls. We're very happy with our dishwasher and the work he completed. But now we live with the fear that some day in the distant future, he's going to return and present us with the mother of all handyman bills, including interest.

And then there's the bookshelf maker who took all the measurements for built-ins in our living room and said he'd start work the next day. That was two years ago. Or, shall we mention the road improvements in front of our house that were scheduled to begin a year ago? It now appears that they won't get done this year either. (Unlike our roofing and handyman bills, we have paid our taxes, I hasten to add.)

So, that's life in Maine. Things take time. Lots of time. No one appears anxious, and money doesn't seem to be the driving force, at least not in our small neck of the woods. It's different, just different. Sure, we have twilight zone moments when we imagine our roofer, handyman, bookshelf maker and the entire North Berwick road crew all sitting together at a bar in some alternate universe to where they've disappeared. It's a comforting scene, actually, a place where the stress of time and money seem somehow far removed from the humdrum and struggles of everyday life.

Then again, maybe that's just the way life is in Maine. Just don't ask Kathy or me. Hmmm, speaking of Kathy . . .

Disclosure

I just extended an invitation to readers of ZH WorldMail to access this blog in order to get a personal glimpse of the editor of Zion's Herald. In the spirit of "full disclosure," I believe readers are well-served to know something more about the people who produce the publications they read than they normally find in the publications themselves.

Concurrently, I've also been involved in an issue of "disclosure" with my publisher (i.e., "boss") involving a business enterprise with which I'm affiliated and the need to maintain open relationships for the sake of trust and sound decision-making. From the latter, though, I know that it is not always self-evident which relationships are required to be open, are merely helpful to be open and do not need to be open at all -- in other words, those relationships that remain in the realm of the private and personal. Except where it is an issue of law, such matters can be grey areas requiring judgment calls in an effort to serve all parties to a relationship or web of relationships.

It seems to me that the question of disclosure is one that grows in importance and complexity in a society that values and promotes the free flow of information. In simpler times, need for disclosure was largely moot because in situations where it mattered, virtually everyone knew what was needed to conduct business and understand the context in which they lived. Not so today. With so much information flying around, and the opportunity that we have individually to add more (witness this blog and the thousand others that have sprung up on the Web), it's becoming very hard to know where any of us is "coming from," what webs of relationships we might be part of and how it all affects our judgment and/or influences our behavior. The underlying impact is on the basis for community itself: the ability to trust each other because we believe we know each other. Disclosure is the mechanism by which we remind ourselves of this underlying need in an increasingly complicated world, including especially the need to foster trust relationships for the sake of pursuing common goals.

There's always the risk, of course, that we might not like what we see when disclosure is practiced. But, at least we have the option of walking away at that point rather than being in the dark about matters affecting an important relationship in our life.

But, neither is disclosure a matter of "letting it all hang out." Somehow in an information-saturated society, we must find ways to balance the need to know with the need for personal and private space. I'm impressed, for example, with how little we actually know about the personal, private lives of great religious figures such as Jesus and the Buddha. Who ever asked of Jesus that he disclose his personal affairs so that his followers could judge his suitability for leadership? Sounds ridiculous, I know, but that's part of the point: How much, really, do we need to know about each other in order to maintain relationships of trust, create healthy communities and organizations, and still maintain our integrity and dignity as individuals?

The mere fact that I'm raising this issue as both a public and personal question reveals my bias: When in doubt, disclose – but always with an eye toward keeping personal boundaries that preserve our distinctive identities and nurture the particular gifts we bring to all of our relationships.

The ties that grind

Having just reflected upon the stream of compassion that can be unleashed by acts of violence, I'm now compelled to write about a seemingly opposite phenomenon: the stream of hostility that can be unleashed by acts of reflection.

The tale in a nutshell is this: A few days ago, I placed on our publication's Internet list server (a means by which large number of e-mails can be sent at one time) an unsigned editorial that I had written for the current issue of Zion's Herald. Its title is, "Redemption Beyond an Unjust War," and was written as a calmly reasoned (I thought) summary of our position on the Iraq war. We're agin' it, if you must know. Its call to action to the Christian community was to accept current reality and work toward the best possible outcome, knowing in faith that God's love can redeem even the worst messes we humans get ourselves into. Or, something like that. I didn't expect everyone to agree with it, but I did, and do, hope for some useful further reflection to result from it.

For the record, some of the desired result apparently is happening. I have received two requests for permission to reprint the piece and a number of supportive comments. But, by far, the response from most who have seen it--the operative word is "seen," not necessarily "read"--has been (I'm being charitable here) opposed to the piece.

Some have expressed their opposition simply by requesting that their name be removed from the list. No problem. But many of my detractors have gone the extra mile to lambaste me with language one rarely hears in church. I mention the latter only because the list is targeted to church folk. Notice that I didn't say "good church folk." I'm not so sure, after this episode, that I'll ever use that cliche again unless I have some first-hand corroboration. To show why, here's a sample of the invective tossed off as "feedback" to my calmly-reasoned (my term, of course) reflection:

"Somebody's full of baloney! Lots of baloney! That's YOU! . . . Somebody's speaking against America. That's YOU!"

"Your myopic opinions are no less judgmental and restrictive than the one's you're complaining about from the administration."

Quoting a part of the editorial asking us to be compassion-givers: "Then, why don't you do just that, rather than spread venomous statements, as you did earlier in your treatise?"

"You S.O.B. Take me off your list."

"You people make me sick, you do not represent God, you only represent yourself. I wonder how many tears God has shed because you all are too lazy to do what is right . . . How embarrassing you and your fellow so-called Christians are to the United States of America."

And so on . . . The last statement, lamenting the embarrassment that I as a (so-called) Christian am to my country, paradoxically strikes at the core of my concern illustrated by this episode. Specifically, how can we hope to be healers of the world's ills, we who travel under the banner of Christianity, if we ourselves are at each other's throats about differences of opinion? As a writer whose views are frequently expressed in public, I'm accustomed to, and comfortable with, my ideas being criticized. But, I've never gotten comfortable with personal attacks and challenges to my basic decency.

Much of the tragedy being played out today in Iraq and the Muslim world in general is a seething and violent conflict between Shiite and Sunni followers of Islam. In times past, not to mention modern Ireland, Protestants and Catholics have fought each other to the death over conflicting ideologies and politics.

It might sound alarmist and a bit of a stretch based on the evidence of this single episode, but I can't help but wonder: Has a similar moment of internecine warfare arrived for Christians in this country who are willing to demonize--and, in the case of rabid Christian anti-abortionists, for example -- even kill fellow Christians because of differing worldviews and divergent understandings of how faith applies to life?

If this were the first time I'd ever experienced this sort of thing, I'd dismiss the question out of hand. But, I'm not so sure we're seeing the bigger picture here if we satisfy ourselves with that response. It "feels" more ominous to me than that, and that makes me sad.

Today is my son Stacy's birthday; he's 34 and has children of his own. I remember that he came into a world that in some ways resembled today's–-it was Vietnam then and the culture war was just breaking out over homosexuality--but the spirit of the times was much less polarized, much less overtly angry and hostile, as I remember it. I wish I could say that the work of my generation has improved the prospects for Stacy and his children, but as I contemplate what I've just written, I'm not at all sure we have.

Shaping the world's heart

Thoughtful, caring responses from family and friends to the tragic events of 7/7 remind me again of a) what a wonderful community of loving souls Kathy and I are blessed with, and b) the depth of compassion that wells spontaneously from our collective heart when tragedy strikes. Perhaps the latter exposes a fundamental flaw in whatever logic there is to acts of terror. The "backlash" to be reckoned with when all is said and done may not be our immediate efforts to learn who's responsible and exact revenge; were that the end of the matter, the perpetrators will always have the manipulative edge because they can count on our predictable reactions.

Rather, the significant response, the one that ultimately shapes the heart of the world, is compassion itself: the stream of love for and felt connection with our fellow humans -- a stream that bursts outward from the effects of bombs exploding as surely as metal fragments and blood hitting concrete walls.

In a fallen world, we can't expect to be exempt from the reactive, immature policies of leaders who appeal to our most base motivations to make war and perpetuate the insane cycle of violence. But, in a redeemed world, we can trust that something else also is at work, something that is more powerful than smart bombs, armored vehicles and weapons of mass destruction. Also at work is the deep, deep undercurrent of compassion that the bombs themselves, paradoxically, are unleashing and whose effects are unpredictable, even unknowable, but as surely transforming of the world as the armies of the night.

That's certainly not to say the London tragedy is cause for celebration or hope. Violence wherever it occurs -- Iraq, Sudan, the West Bank, etc. -- exposes and to some degree enhances our propensity for evil and is always to be deplored. But, those who take the longer view, of life and the greater forces at work, also can "take heart" -- take, that is, the incalculable, irrepressible compassion that arises from such events and give it meaning through concrete acts of love and justice. These are the very antithesis of terror. When, finally, we tap that wellspring of boundless compassion and build our politics and policies around terror's opposite -- a tall order, we know, when we observe the actions of our current leaders -- terror itself will become a muted, and perhaps even moot, reality.

The terror of 7/7

After watching more than an hour of non-stop coverage of today's terrible events in London, I asked Kathy if it would be sacrilegious to switch to "Seinfeld." It wasn't so much that I wanted to see Elaine, Jerry and the gang. But watching the same images over and over of bombing victims, blood-splattered walls and exploded buses, I realized that I was feeling-- nothing. It was time to move on.

The initial report of the bombings, which I had read online an hour earlier on CNN, surely did shock me. I've been to London numerous times and could envision the scene around the Russell Square tube station where one of the bombs detonated. In that moment of immediate awareness and memory, I felt a connection to the people whose lives were smashed by the explosion. It was a spontaneous sense of horror and identification with the victims: I had stood where they had stood and my eyes had seen things they saw just before the bomb went off. We were human, all of us, and the blood, their blood, was also my blood -- or so it seemed to me in that unbidden, unscripted, unreported moment of awareness of terrible things happening across the sea.

But the "exponential increase of violence"--as Dom Crossan describes our ever-increasing ability to destroy ourselves -- comes with a paradoxical cost to our souls: the more we are exposed to the violence that someday will end life itself, the less we feel its effects and the more likely we are to pass it on in the form of revenge and retribution. We are exposed to violence, or its realistic images, with such regularity that the shock of live reports such as we saw today from London wears off after a stunningly few minutes. It's as though we steadily are inoculating ourselves against the dread of our inevitable self-inflicted end. It's an incomprehensibly disappointing possibility to contemplate; it suggests that somehow, deep down, we know our destiny as a species is to vanish and that we might as well prepare ourselves for that unthinkable day.

Do I really believe that scenario? Actually, I'm a child of resurrection, spiritually and theologically. In my heart of hearts, I don't believe that violence is the last word for Creation. But today's events, my own reaction to them and the way in which we almost instantaneously turn real, live horror into "production values" and scripted fodder for TV's wizardry make me realize -- again -- how agonizing resurrection really is and how high is the price we must pay to withstand, transform and transcend our increasingly violent ways. That we sometimes actually do pay the price may be the most persuasive case to be made for the reality of a loving and gracious God.

I just pray that the victims and survivors of 7/7 -- that's all of us -- find a way to embrace such a reality beyond today's sadness and despair. Watching a little "Seinfeld" didn't hurt. It broke the spell of violence and its numbing "normalcy" and allowed me time to think afresh about what we're doing to ourselves -- and ponder the chances that we'll stop doing it before it's too late.