Pretty Is As Pretty Does

Dear Donald, Well, since you asked.... I saw you on the news criticizing John Kasich because you felt the way he ate pancakes was disgusting. You asked if we really wanted a president like that. Well, I saw the video of John eating his pancakes and didn't notice anything disgusting, but whatever, I guess that is in the eye of the beholder. But, then you asked, "Am I handsome?" Well, I know that was a rhetorical question, since you clearly knew the answer you expected, and you also criticized all the other candidates for not looking presidential, just like you did about Carly several months ago (whom I think is actually nice looking). Anyway, whether rhetorical or not, since you asked, I am going take that as an excuse to just answer anyway. You see, I have heard you called many things, but I can't remember ever hearing anyone call you handsome--well, except for you yourself. In fact, I've heard a lot of jokes about your hair, your facial expressions, your mannerisms, and your sprayed-on tan, that seemed to indicate that the person speaking thought the opposite of what you seem to think. In other words, they seemed to think that you were kind of strange looking if not actually ugly. Sorry to disappoint you, although I don't think you believe any opinion that differs from yours is valid anyway, so I guess you won't be disappointed to hear that. But, the thing is I hope that Americans don't decide who they vote for based on looks. Yes, many studies have shown that looks do influence us, but most of us at least try to make our primary judgment based on the candidate's ability to do what we expect of them and their views on the issues that are important to our country. The good news for you is that, even though I don't at all think you are good looking, I don't really care about that it won't affect whether I vote for you or not. Your views, your attitude, and your ability will, though. And yes, we do hear people talking about whether the candidates "look presidential" or not, but I think you have missed the point. The presidential "look" is not whether someone is handsome (or beautiful). The look is more of an attitude. Looking "presidential" means that one seems to know the issues and be well-versed on potential solutions, knows when to speak out and when to shut up, knows that the best way to get things done is not to run roughshod over everyone else but to work with people. It means one who doesn't act like a playground bully more focused on thinking up clever names for everyone else, and who doesn't think that the best way to get ahead is to hit everyone else harder than they hit you. Maybe the fact that you don't understand what "looking presidential" means explains a lot about you. You're working hard to be handsome and sound tough instead of working hard to learn the issues, take the job seriously, and learn that no one really builds themselves up by tearing others down. If you could learn that, you might look a lot better, despite your hair.

We Have No Room For Hate

As I was finishing my last post, I began to hear the news about the Charleston Church shooting. As more news came out, there was a great sense of sadness. It was the modern equivalent to murder at the altar. How could someone kill people in a church?

But, that has happened before. I can think of several reports of people walking into a church and starting shooting. And, though murder is the same whether in a church or a movie theater, there's something symbolic about killing people in church.

To find later that Dylann Roof had sat through an hour of the Bible study before standing up and opening fire. That makes the crime even more personal. He had, to some extent, gotten to know his victims. They were not just nameless faces. And, they got to know him. They welcomed him with trust and hospitality.

But, what was really moving was to hear from the victims' family members and even the ones who survived from the Bible study. One after another, there were expressions of grace and forgiveness. They spoke openly of their hurt and disappointment, "We welcomed you with open arms." But, one after another they repeated words of forgiveness and even spoke of praying for God's mercy. There was no screaming for vengeance or expressions of hatred. There was no finger-pointing for blame from the victims' families. It was so surreal, it was almost shocking.

And, people noticed. Even broadcasters who normally are cynical were speaking about the huge difference in the response of 'people of faith.' We talk about our faith as if it was just a religious choice or our heritage. For these people, that's not what it is at all. It is what they live by. One woman's words keep ringing: "We have no room for hate, so we have to forgive. I pray for God's mercy on you."

We have to forgive. Forgiveness is a choice, but for the believer is also required. Those who realize the depth of God's grace and what he has forgiven of us simply cannot but forgive, even when the offense is so grievous as that of the calculated murder of those whom you love, those who had welcomed their soon to be killer into their group and offered him the hospitality from their heart. .

What happened was a horrible picture of racism, and yet it was also a beautiful demonstration of how racism can be overcome. It won't come through fighting and condemnation, even though evil must be condemned. Ultimately it will come through expressions of love and forgiveness, hospitality and acceptance, such as we've seen here. What happened has brought both horror and hope as I look at what my country has become and what it can still be.

We have some new heroes of faith. May we learn from them and live our lives to glorify our God.

For They Know Not What They Do

I was listening to a news report the other day and they were interviewing a priest who had spent a couple of years as a captive of Islamic rebels. He had been subject to torture and constant demand for him to deny his faith. He clearly talked about his faith in God throughout this and the example of Christ that kept him going. He spoke about the suffering of Christ, and that how he kept thinking of that to help him  deal with his own situation on a daily basis. Then the interviewer asked that inevitable question, "So, have you been able to forgive your captors?"

There was only a slight pause and then an answer that I can't quote, because I didn't realize at the time that it would really affect my thinking and that I would come back to it. I don't' even remember the media outlet, but I kept thinking about it over the next day or two and I believe I can give the gist of what I remember. He basically said that he saw many kinds of people there. A few seemed to be going through the routine without a lot of heart and there were a few acts of kindness. There were some who seemed to enjoy the power that they had over him and took pleasure in that. There were some, however that had no emotional involvement at all, but were driven by their belief that they were just carrying out the will of God.

Whether my memory of that interview is completely accurate or not is not really important, because it only got me started thinking about whether I could handle such a long captivity and the emotional and mental torture. I tried to think about where I was a year ago and then 2 years ago, and then imagine (or try to imagine) what if from that time I had been confined to a cell with no contact with the outside world, no internet, no news, no one who could occasionally give me a word of encouragement or even put a hand on my shoulder? What if the only touch I got was to inflict pain or to make me move? What if I had no good food, but just the minimum of the most basic staple to keep  me alive? Could I even keep my sanity, much less think of forgiveness? Could I keep my faith?

I remember being struck by the fact that, before he answered the question, he talked about people. I think that when I tend to think of something like that, I tend to think in terms of a movement or organization, Al Qaida, Boko Haram, ISIS and if I do think of a 'face' I think of just a nondescript bearded face of maybe someone who I have seen speaking on TV who is one of the leaders. But, leaders are at a distance. They give the orders. It's not personal.

But, the man who plops a scoop of food into a bowl on the floor, who looks at me in contempt because I'm an unbelieving blasphemer, who kicks me if I don't get up fast enough, who beats me and shows no mercy or concern for me as a person--that would be different. I thought of the movie Unbroken and all the characters in that movie who treated their captives more like animals than humans--no, actually they didn't treat animals like that even.

Somehow (and this is a bit of a stretch, but that's where my mind went), I went back to a situation when I was in university. I was transferring out of that university and when I got my grades from the last semester one was an Incomplete. It was a hands on lab class that was meant to give engineers some practical exposure to the tools and methods used to actually make the products that they might design. We learned how (well, maybe the word learned how is a bit of a stretch here) to use metal  lathes to shape metal, drill presses, sheet metal stamping machines, acetylene welders and electric arc welders. It was a lot of fun and was one class that I didn't want to skip. How could I have an Incomplete? I went to the teacher who didn't even remember me and he said I didn't turn in the final project (a bench vise that we made ourselves out of rough steel billets). We had done that over the course of a few weeks, and had left the final projects in the classroom until they were graded (with a sticker pasted to the project) after which we could take them home.

I told him that I had done it. It wasn't a one time thing to turn in. It was a multi-week process and he had been watching us all through it. If I didn't do it, he'd have seen that long before the final grade. I told him I had the vise at home an I'd be glad to bring it to him to see. I remember his eyes as he looked at me and said, "How would I know that was yours. You could just bring me one that your classmate had done. I don't have a grade in my book and that means that you didn't do it." His eyes were unrelenting and cold. I tried to convince him and I argued logically that I had to have been working on it all along. I reminded him that no grade in his book didn't necessarily mean that I didn't do it. It only meant that he hadn't written down a grade and that could just as easily be his mistake.

I didn't really need the credit and it wasn't going to transfer anyway. But, I was devastated that someone could treat me so unfairly and without any consideration that the mistake could be his own. I remembered that man for a long time. And, that's what I thought about as I thought about the interview with the priest. It's bad enough to be treated unfairly by an institution, but when it comes from someone that you actually see and talk to, it's much harder to forget. Forgiveness doesn't come easily.

And, that's what is amazing about Jesus' words on the cross, "Father forgive them for they know not what they do." It wasn't just a plea for forgiveness. He made a point of the fact that they were ignorant of what they were really doing. The professor, I'm sure, had heard a lot of stories and many excuses. He didn't even want to listen to another one. I'm pretty sure that he wasn't just looking for someone to be mean to that day. He believed that he was looking at a student who had not done the work and was looking for a free pass. And, the captors of the priest believed that they were doing the will of God.

The sufferings of Christ. Jesus suffered at the hands of not just Pilate and the Jewish leaders. There were people who grabbed his arm as they shoved him along the streets with his cross. Those who pressed the crown of thorns into his head and those who beat him mercilessly. He looked into their eyes and into the eyes of the crowd around the cross who mocked him. But, they obviously didn't really know that they were crucifying the Messiah, the Son of God, their creator and savior.

There are some people who delight in cruelty, but I don't thin that's true of most people. The people whom I have to forgive are very likely to think that their actions were justified and proper. But. That doesn't make it any easier to forgive them. Paul considered it a blessing to be able to have the privilege of participating, even in a small way, in the sufferings of Christ. Is that what he was talking about? The persecution he faced, he didn't see that as personal. They thought they were doing the right thing. Forgiving them was the natural result of his dedication to Christ. It wasn't directed at him. Whatever suffering he faced was part of the universal battle for the salvation or destruction of people.

So, why is it so hard to forgive? Why can't we look beyond the personal hurts we feel and see things in terms of the eternal battle for the souls of men? If we could, wouldn't or shouldn't it be easier to not only forgive, but ask for God to have mercy on them as well?

Memories--the things that shape us, teach us, and call back to us over time

Memories are one of the great things about being human. It's not the same as just remembering. Memories are not just about facts, about something that we saw or experienced. In fact, memories may very well depart from the actual facts.

Memories are things that we remember that have meaning and the focus is on the meaning that we ascribe, not the event. Some memories are joyful, and some are quite painful, but they are all very important. We can remember without it being a memory, just as we can sometimes have memories that are only loosely based on what really happened.

Memories are distinct from remembering. We don't just remember a place when we see it again or a person when we see them again. We remember what happened there or with that person. We don't just remember what happened, we remember what we felt. We don't just remember what we felt, we assign meaning and significance and that makes it a memory. We relive, we enjoy, we feel again, but more than that, it becomes a part of us. It shapes who we are, and it continues to reshape us as we come back to it.

Today is the 5th anniversary of my father's death and it's appropriate to think back on him and his life. There are many memories that come up in my mind and I will share one here.

I remember one morning when we woke up to a deep snowfall of more than a foot (I think I remember hearing 18 inches). Yes, those things occasionally happen in Alabama. I don't remember how old I was, but I believe it was my early teens or maybe preteens, and I know it was before I got my drivers license. I had heard that it was going to snow and I woke up the next morning to a beautiful landscape that I had never seen before. I wanted to get out in it. But, I remember that my dad was gone. Having grown up in Michigan, a foot of snow was no problem for him and he had driven away very early that morning.

Mom said that he had gone to the church. It was Saturday, and even as a child, I remember thinking that that was strange because it wasn't Sunday. But, I also remember that her face didn't look quite normal. I asked why he had gone to the church, but she wouldn't say. She just said, "He'll be back soon." Even kids know that there are times when you don't want to ask more questions. It was obvious that this was one of those times. My granny Maggie was also doing things around the house with her head down and not speaking. Something made me feel uneasy, but the snow was calling and there was excitement in the air.

My dad soon returned with a big smile and both parents joined us outside in the snow. We had great fun and I didn't think anymore about the morning.  Whatever was bothering them earlier was completely gone and I soon forgot about it. Only later that day did I find out what it was.

But, to understand it, there are a few other things that need explanation. My father was one of a group of families who started a new church when I was quite young. At that time, to have a church, you had to have a building and they bought a piece of land and built a building. They didn't have any denominational funding, but had some help from the mother church. Nonetheless, funds were limited. My dad cut up some paper grocery bags (for those under 30, grocery stores didn't ask paper of plastic, because paper was all they offered) and, using a carpenters straight edge, drew up plans for the building. I don't remember seeing them, but I'm sure they weren't the detailed drawings that most builders work from. But, they couldn't afford an architect and couldn't hire a builder. They did most of the work themselves. After work, the men went directly to the 'church' under construction and started work. The wives brought supper and the kids later. We did our homework sitting on stacks of materials and then helped sweep up the sawdust before leaving to go home for baths and bed. I was around 2nd or 3rd grade then, but I still remember those evenings playing with other kids and helping the grownups when we were all 'working on the church together.'

Yes, that's not what we normally mean by 'working on the church' or 'building the church' today, and I'd agree that the focus shouldn't be on a building and maybe even, in some cases, a building isn't even necessary. But, on the other hand, they weren't just building a building. They were building a community, a fellowship of believers. I don't know if they realized that at the time, but I do know that my dad talked to me about it later when I was doing a report in Bible College. He said that if he had to do it again, he would likely do a lot of things different, but that even if they had the money to do so, he wouldn't hire a builder, that the experience of working together on something that required a significant commitment of time together was a crucial part of the strength of the church in those early years. It gave them a bond of trust and community that they couldn't have bought.

But, that has nothing to do with a snowstorm, so let me get back to that. You see, there were, I think, only 5 or 6 families involved, but they were looking ahead with great dreams. They wanted room for at least 250 -300 people to worship together. That requires a wide span without pillars to hold up the roof. My dad, with my mom's brother Uncle Floyd, had already built our house and then Uncle Floyd's house, but none of that comes close to any kind of span that the church building would need. That was their only real building experience. My dad drew up the plans for the trusses also on those grocery bags and he did so without Google, an engineering degree, or a Trusses for Dummies book.

And, that's what I didn't really understand that day. Snow is heavy and it builds up on a roof. And, the south is not really used to that kind of problem. That night, after our day of playing in the snow, a warm supper, and an hour or so of TV, Mom asked her usual question, "Well, how about a piece of cake or pie before we go to bed." She and Dad and Granny Maggie sat on the couch with their cake and coffee and I sat at the table in the other room with mine (no coffee, though, and kids were not allowed to eat in the den). And that's when I found out. I heard them talking in the other room.

When the church was complete, my dad was talking to an engineer and when he found that my Dad had built a church and had designed the trusses himself without any experience in designing trusses, he was astonished. He scoffed and told my dad that there was no way that he'd have been able to know how to do that right. He predicted that they'd soon see the roof sagging, that it wouldn't stand up to any load, and would collapse in a few years. Over the years, my Dad had been watching for any sagging, standing on a ladder and sighting down the ceiling, and climbing into the attic occasionally to look. I didn't know about that at the time.

But, that evening I heard him telling my Mom that he could finally rest easily. We had had the heaviest snowfall that we could probably ever expect and it was the heavy 'wet' snow. He had driven to the church that morning half expecting to see the roof collapsed, but it was still there. He had sighted along the ceiling and there was no sagging. He had climbed into the attic to check and everything was as firm as ever. He mentioned the engineer and he felt some pride  (well-deserved, I think). I didn't quite understand much then, but I did remember feeling proud that my dad was smarter than that old engineer.

Later I found out the details that I've share with you above. Later, when I was studying basic engineering courses in university, I understood just how big of a feat that actually was. My dad hadn't finished 10th grade. His dad had died when he was 6 and his mom had struggled to raise a family during the Great Depression. My dad dropped out of school to work and then to join the Navy in World War 2.

I'm a great proponent of education, especially in today's increasingly complex world. I'd push anyone to go as far as they can go. But, no one should assume that one has to have a degree to have knowledge. I've seen people who have several degrees and with high grade averages whom I would not trust in their field of study.

And, I'm still proud of my Dad, if you haven't already noticed that by now. That's one of my memories and one that I've often come back to. It shaped my thinking. I don't assume that a formal education is any guarantee of success. I've learned the wisdom of listening to experts, but still evaluating their advice for myself. I've learned that I should not let others look down on me for any lack of formal training in some area and feel inferior. I've learned that I should also not do that to others either, and not assume that, if they don't have a degree or a lot of experience in some area, that their contribution to the discussion should be discounted.

And, I've learned that, even though I have 'learned' these things, I still forget them at times. I can still feel inferior in the company of experts, can still be afraid to contribute to things that are outside my area of expertise, and I can still dismiss others' ideas because, "What do they know?" The memory is to give me a reminder, to shake up my thinking again and again.

And, that's what memories are for. They are reminders that take us back to lessons over and over. I'm thankful for memories. I hope I can keep learning.

Oh, and that building is still there. The last time I was there, I remember looking carefully at the roof ridge line and when I entered, I looked carefully at the ceiling. It's been more than 50 years now, and it's still strong as ever.