The Divine Role Within Personal Expression and Social Reform

What follows is something that has been weighing on me heavily this morning. Discussing the act of vocal ministry, a Friend noted that, while in the act of sharing a message, we aren't just God's mouthpiece, we are God. This makes me uncomfortable to contemplate. I would never wish to even come close to hinting that my mortal self was anything near to the Divine. While I do seek that which is God in others, I am far more comfortable emphasizing my own mortal self. Due to lots of soul-searching I know where my place is in the cosmos, and I would never grasp for a mantle that is not mine to embrace. Moreover, I would not take it on if I could, because I do not possess the human strength to bear the burden.

This is how I have always perceived of what the desired intent for vocal ministry should be.

Even so, if unbelievers or people who don't understand these things come into your church meeting and hear everyone speaking in an unknown language, they will think you are crazy. But if all of you are prophesying, and unbelievers or people who don't understand these things come into your meeting, they will be convicted of sin and judged by what you say. As they listen, their secret thoughts will be exposed, and they will fall to their knees and worship God, declaring, "God is truly here among you."

I welcome the times that God is among myself and those with whom I worship, but I'm still troubled by the thought that I might be God, even for five minutes a week. Until one is capable of accepting the imperfect within oneself, it's difficult to see past flawed humanity in others. If I ever reach that point, I would think differently, but it is too easy to adopt a prideful attitude otherwise. The moving messages I and others am blessed to give are Divinely-inspired, but I see only the mark of a supernatural Higher Power, not the actual physical manifestation. The Bible is full of pronouncements and judgments warning us to avoid putting our ways in the place of God.

Our bodies are buried in brokenness, but they will be raised in glory. They are buried in weakness, but they will be raised in strength. They are buried as natural human bodies, but they will be raised as spiritual bodies. For just as there are natural bodies, there are also spiritual bodies. What comes first is the natural body, then the spiritual body comes later. What I am saying, dear brothers and sisters, is that our physical bodies cannot inherit the Kingdom of God. These dying bodies cannot inherit what will last forever.

While participating in my first programmed (roughly, a more traditionally Western, Protestant style of worship that often also incorporates elements of unprogrammed worship. For more about unprogrammed worship, see link below) Quaker service ever, the pews in front of me contained pamphlets explaining silent worship to those unfamiliar with the concept. Dispersed within the instructions were references to specific scriptural passages. One of them very nearly jumped out at me and I've never forgotten it.

"Father, if you are willing, please take this cup of suffering away from me. Yet I want your will to be done, not mine."

This is Jesus agonizing with pain, belief, and his role in the proceedings while on the cross. Yet, even as I read that particular passage waiting for worship to begin, I smiled in spite of myself. That verse had been beneficial long before I discovered that someone had recognized that it might be helpful to others in similar circumstances. The passage returns to mind ever time I know I must give a message that may not be received well or is likely to be misunderstood. Though I may not be undergoing excruciating suffering as was Jesus, I do feel anxious and uneasy, knowing I might very well endure more of both going forward. If I am honestly about to be the Father, I must say I don't feel the part.

Pleading and bargaining with God for more favorable outcomes is not especially pleasurable. I know that his ways will never destroy me or cause me undo harm, but they do force me to believe in the unknown and in the unable to be easily grasped. In my life, I like to be perfectly sure of all potential pitfalls and outcomes before I make a decision, any decision. I'm sure that's far from unusual. What happens after I stand, speak, and take my seat is similarly mysterious, much as the future itself is often perplexing. I've since stopped trying to make predictions, since they are almost always wrong.

Quaker unprogrammed worship was an active rebellion against the convention of the time. Even today it is unmatched in its uniqueness. To be a follower of Jesus in any era requires sacrifice and a willingness to think beyond the present day. Christ was an anarchic, apocalyptic figure in his time and continues to speak to us today in that capacity. Recall his words. "So those who are last now will be first then, and those who are first will be last." This is a radical idea that contradicts all that society deems important.

Aleksandr Herzen, speaking a century ago to a group of anarchists about how to overthrow the czar, reminded his listeners that it was not their job to save a dying system but to replace it:

We think we are the doctors. We are the disease.

We should stop wasting energy trying to reform or appeal to it. This does not mean the end of resistance, but it does mean very different forms of resistance. It means turning our energies toward building sustainable communities to weather the coming crisis, since we will be unable to survive and resist without a cooperative effort.

We will have to continue to battle the mechanisms of the dominant culture, if for no other reason than to preserve through small, even tiny acts, our common humanity. We will have to resist the temptation to fold in on ourselves and to ignore the cruelty outside our door. Hope endures in these often imperceptible acts of defiance. This defiance, this capacity to say no, is what the psychopathic forces in control of our power systems seek to eradicate. As long as we are willing to defy these forces we have a chance, if not for ourselves, then at least for those who follow. As long as we defy these forces we remain alive. And for now this is the only victory possible.

Our common humanity shines through through tiny acts like sharing a message during worship. What is said is led by the Spirit, but our human sides show through, too. Every minister receives guidance in a different way, and our unique experiences enrich everyone in attendance. God's words have many vessels. As for the passage above, I'm torn on whether I completely agree with it. I have seen God at work in my own life and of those around me, but I make no pronouncements beyond that which I am given. He is just as able of being a doom-laden prophet of the End Times as he is a sunny optimist. Any resistance movement, particularly in the First Century A.D. has a tendency to believe in a bunker, fortress mentality and it is into that environment where Jesus was born.

Once again, when times are uncertain and people are vulnerable, an ancient message resonates with many. We have had many such epochs in human history and we may well have many others. These will give rise to movements currently being birthed and persist beyond the current days. Some will flourish and some will wither on the vine. But the blessed irony of these troubled times is that something beneficial will be created, I firmly believe. It is only through these circumstances that anything ever does. Conditions will improve, people will feel more secure, and the need will diminish, but one always hopes that the movements, faiths, and organizations will push forward. After a time, they will grow stale and redundant, and will need to be replaced. Thus is the changing of the seasons, a work of art never finished, a canvass always in need of new brushstrokes.

I Know You've Heard It Before

We're playing those mind games together
Pushing the barriers, planting seeds
Playing the mind guerrilla

Chanting the mantra, peace on earth
We all been playing those mind games forever
Some kinda druid dude lifting the veil

Doing the mind guerrilla
Some call it magic, the search for the grail


Love is the answer
and you know that for sure
Love is a flower
you got to let it, you got to let it grow

So keep on playing those mind games together
Faith in the future, out of the now
You just can't beat all those mind guerrillas

Absolute elsewhere in the stones of your mind
Yeah, we're playing those mind games forever
Projecting our images in space and in time

Yes is the answer
and you know that, for sure
Yes is surrender, you got to let it,
you got to let it go

So keep on playing
those mind games forever
Doing the ritual dance in the sun

Millions of mind guerrillas
Putting their soul power to the karmic wheel

Keep on playing those mind games forever
Raising the spirit of peace and love

Love

(I want you to make love, not war,
I know
you've heard it before)

Paying College Athletes Sounds Simple Enough at First

I thought I'd never find myself even halfway agreeing with Charles Barkley. Much of what he says is so self-serving and childish that it doesn't merit a response. However, after admitting that he took money from agents in college, he then proposed that college athletes be given small stipends to prevent being unduly influenced. Barkley's argument confronts the elephant in the room.

"These agents are well, well known. They've been giving college kids money for 30 years," Barkley said. "And I've got no problem with it. I want to visit my family, I want to go see a movie. How in the world can they call it amateur if they pay $11 million to broadcast the NCAA Tournament?"

The problem is a bifurcated one, complicated by race and class. In the South, for example, most players in heavy revenue-producing sports like basketball or football are, like Barkley, African-American. Often they are products of poverty, which can produce broken homes, a culture of violence, and a large likelihood that close friends and family members have undergone sporadic periods of incarceration. By contrast, most middle-class college students have the ability to receive a few dollars here and there from parents and extended family. Their family units, statistically speaking, are apt to be more stable and cohesive. Such things are privileges not always available for student-athletes without means. The troublesome question then becomes which athletes, depending on the sport, would receive money.

In an imperfect world, a gesture like giving college athletes glorified pocket money makes more sense than penalizing players and universities. The promise of lifelong wealth and stability has been a motivating factor for eons, of course. It's an interesting premise, but it would be much better if we truly confronted economic disparities and why they exist. So many black athletes place all their eggs in one basket, sports, seeking a way out by only one avenue. In an earlier era, people of color had precious few opportunities to achieve social mobility. Sports was one of them, and entertainment was the other. We still have not closed the gap completely. African-American youth still play a game wherein a mere 10% of those who suit up will ever sign a pro contract.

Football makes the most money for universities and colleges, followed closely by basketball and baseball. Considering the whole of collegiate sports, athletes in less high-profile pursuits are not nearly as susceptible to agent-courting. There's just not as much money to be made. With a few notable exceptions, there isn't a lucrative professional league to be a part of after finishing a college career. Which begs the question: should all college athletes, regardless of sport or gender be paid? If so, should they be paid the same amount? This is where matters get complicated. Some would say that the amount of pay an athlete receives should depend on how much money his or her sports makes for an institute of higher learning. However, in attempting to reconcile one hierarchy, another mirroring it would be created. Many have said for years that football players are valued more than those of any other sport and a decision along these lines would only confirm their darkest suspicions.

My own greatest reservation with paying players even a dime is that colleges and universities are theoretically designed to grant a person an education. With this education should also come, due to hard work, adequate preparation for the world world that looms after graduation. A double standard exists between regular students and student-athletes, one that has been in place for quite a long time. Regular students often work twice as hard to graduate as their classmates on sports teams, assuming they don't leave early to go pro. Athletes are granted every break possible, and many a graduate assistant has completed assignments for star players on the sly. The problem, among many with this system is that so-called student-athletes learn practically nothing, except, of course, to excel at sports. With millions of dollars in television rights, plus bowl games, if pertinent to the sport, it isn't surprising why athletes are considered too important to fail. Collegiate sports are a business, now more than ever, and with every passing year the ante keeps being upped.

Another potential pitfall of this proposal concerns female athletes. Should they also be paid? Granted, it isn't as likely that agents from the WNBA would be as inclined to dangle potential sanction-producing temptations in front of the eyes of professional caliber players, but a credible case could be made under Title IX that paying male players would also mandate paying female players. Moreover, whose responsibility is it to pay players? Each individual university? The NCAA? The conference allied with the school in question? The only way I can think of that the system would work is if the NCAA established a fixed amount for each player to receive at a particular time, and through a particular channel. Otherwise, certain schools with more resources would surely pay players more. That would further tip the scales towards schools with greater financial assets. It is likely that whatever decision is made is bound to be controversial, and controversial for a long while to come.

Critics of the system will claim that athletes will use the money to buy drugs, or for destructive ends, and the first time it happens naysayers will come out of the woodwork. Closely tied to the question of who should pay college athletes is who should be responsible if the legality or feasibility of student payment is challenged in a court of law. Barkley's idea is a compelling one, but when matters of money are concerned, all those with a say in the matter love to add complications. What seems like a straightforward matter would be anything but if implementation was ever seriously considered. Still, we must soon address some long standing prejudices, since they are growing more and more prominent, not less so.

From the Vaults

You can shine your shoes and wear a suit
You can comb your hair and look quite cute
You can hide your face behind a smile
One thing you can't hide
Is when you're crippled inside

You can wear a mask and paint your face
You can call yourself the human race
You can wear a collar and a tie
One thing you can't hide
Is when you're crippled inside

Well now you know that your
Cat has nine lives
Nine lives to itself
But you only got one
And a dog's life ain't fun
Mamma take a look outside

You can go to church and sing a hymn
You can judge me by the color of my skin
You can live a lie until you die
One thing you can't hide
Is when you're crippled inside

Well now you know that your
Cat has nine lives
Nine lives to itself
But you only got one
And a dog's life ain't fun
Mamma take a look outside

You can go to church and sing a hymn
You can judge me by the color of my skin
You can live a lie until you die
One thing you can't hide
Is when you're crippled inside

One thing you can't hide
Is when you're crippled inside
One thing you can't hide
Is when you're crippled inside

The World According to Garp: A Review

The World According to Garp is a 1982 film adaptation of the original novel by John Irving. Even thirty years after filming, it still retains the ability to shock and provoke. By questioning many gendered assumptions, the movie raises questions regarding whether certain conduct and learned behaviors can truly be assigned only to one gender or another. To cite one example, both men and women are inclined to resort to violence in act as well as in word when their passions get the best of them. They may engage in thoughtless, impulsive adulterous affairs and rash pronouncements, but they are also similarly inclined to love and to nurture others. Nearly every major character is severely flawed, but also thoroughly human and sympathetic as well. It is impossible to dislike each of the major characters and many of the minor ones, as well. And it is on this axis that the whole of the film wobbly revolves.

Garp's mother, the nurse Jenny Fields, become a Feminist icon with the publication of her book A Sexual Suspect. Critics rip it apart, but it finds immediate audience with women across the country, making Fields instantly wealthy. A much edgier version of say, The Feminine Mystique, one of the unforeseen consequences of the book's rousing success is the arrival of waves of radical feminist pilgrims to the author's New England seaside house. In keeping with her profession, Fields seeks to nurse many troubled souls back to health as she can, even allowing them the ability to live on the premises for as long as they'd like. Her boundless tolerance and at times excessive naivete get in the way of realizing precisely what furies her seminal work has unleashed and how dangerous she now appears to those who would do her great harm.

The character of Jenny Fields, upon close analysis, proves problematic. For starters, her conception of sex and sexual desire is clinical in nature and sex-negative. She reduces the impulses and motives of all men to one particular emotion, namely lust. Her best-selling book vamps upon this single issue above everything else. Even more eyebrow-raising is how she became pregnant with T.S. Garp, her only child. She is fond of frequently relating how she never wanted to be subservient to a husband, so she devised a way to have a child without the need for one. A bedside nurse during World War II, Fields cared for a mortally wounded soldier with brain damage who somehow managed to maintain an erection for long periods of time. Seeing an opportunity, she chose to straddle the dying airman long enough to become pregnant. In those days before artificial insemination, I suppose that was the only way such a thing was possible, though the whole process could be considered rape, since the man certainly wasn't cognitively aware enough to consent. In response to this, the film is quick to add that the soldier, even limited as he was, still managed to monosyllabically grant his approval.

When one contemplates the question of emotional stability, the most sane and together character is a transwoman named Roberta Muldoon. This is quite unexpected, since if and when transgender characters are shown in film they are usually used for shock value, particularly as villains or freaks. Here, interestingly, Roberta has the fewest personal issues and unresolved problems of anyone, regardless of gender or sexual orientation. After arriving at the Fields house to keep company with the other adoring fans, she quickly becomes a trusted adviser and confidant to the author.

Not long after, Roberta swiftly endears herself to the Feminist writer's son, who has become a successful novelist in his own right. Muldoon is accepted into the family as one of their own, which includes Garp's wife and two kids. Without so much as a whiff of discomfort or prejudice, Muldoon becomes a beloved aunt figure. As heartwarming as this is to observe, it is far too rare. Even now, as accepting as we have become, I know that many would never open their hearts or their minds in such a fashion. It is always uplifting as a viewer to see the ideal and with it to hope to see more of it in the future. Within the film, it provides a needed contrast to the dysfunction that clings strongly to almost every other major player.

In addition to refuting transphobia, Garp takes some fairly nasty swipes at second-wave radical feminism. Most of the venom is directed at the Ellen James Society, a group of women who adopt a rather unique means of protest. News breaks about an eleven-year-old girl who was raped by two men. As the story goes, the attackers cut out the girl's tongue to prevent her from identifying them to authorities. In response, Ellen Jamesians, as they are known, cut their own tongue out in a kind of twisted solidarity. The real Ellen James, who has become something of a recluse because of continued threats to her life, desperately urges the women to disband, since their behavior does not have her blessing. They flatly refuse. In response, the novelist Garp writes a book, scathingly criticizing their misguided zealotry. He faces a deluge of hate mail, but notably meets the real Ellen James quite by coincidence some months later, at which point she informs him of her appreciation for what he has done on her behalf.

Men and women both come off at times as thoughtlessly impulsive and motivated by passions, rather than logic. As alluded to earlier, nothing characterizes this point better than examining the state of Garp's marriage. Both he and his wife, Helen Holm, a college professor of creative writing, stray from their marriage. The infidelity begins when, after a night out with the wife, Garp escorts a star-struck babysitter home by car. The eighteen-year-old student then tries her hand at seduction and succeeds. Later, he denies what happened, though Helen has her doubts as to the veracity of his story.

Shortly thereafter, one of Helen's students makes a pass at her, which she initially ignores. A few days later, however, she surprisingly agrees to go along with it, yet places a strict caveat upon the affair. "The instant anyone finds out about this, it's over. You got it?" She mentions that the only reason she's doing this is because he's much younger than she is, copying her husband's motives. Even so, her decision nonetheless leaves us, the audience, wondering why she did it. Was it out of retaliation or simply because she held a similar desire to his? Perhaps the answer lies in the book version, in which Professor Holm carries on multiple affairs over time. And, to be fair, her husband easily matches her number of extramarital transgressions, leaving neither party with clean hands.

The World According to Garp is a complex film that could be analyzed from about fifteen different perspectives. This review doesn't begin to scratch the surface. Still, what I appreciate most is its willingness to go after radicalism and extremism in ways that don't reduce people to caricatures. It would have been easy to make Garp's character triumphantly virtuous and the radical feminists he opposes the living personification of evil, but Garp's character has as many messy flaws as they do, just in different ways. The film also comments upon how people behave when impressed and enlightened by someone who encapsulates their struggles, fears, hopes, and frustrations. Every successful person, regardless of what they've done, has attracted some version of the same audience. And as the saying goes, people who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones. In reality, each of us lives in our own glass house. Some of us just have stronger panes than others. It would, of course, be better if were careful when and how we threw rocks.

Quote of the Week

“The inevitable result of improved and enlarged communications between different levels in a hierarchy is a vastly increased area of misunderstanding”

Wrestling with One's Own Private Angel

It's easy to be skeptical of those who find faith in times of crisis. For eons it's been a convenient excuse for the guilty to limit time in jail and for charlatans to swindle the trusting. When times get tough for everyone, faith gatherings swell to record proportions. I myself have returned to religion when feeling overwhelmed and troubled. Still, beyond the selfish and the immediate, I have always believed in the importance of faith in one's life. Though I might have been more inclined to seek audience with God in bad times, I desired more than a panacea in my presence there. Even when a little boy, I found something calming, moving, and appealing about worship.

Having prefaced where it is that I'm coming from, I will say that, for me, I renewed my belief in God after emerging from a terrible manic episode. Once the mania finally left my body, I took stock of the illogical, eccentric things I had done and said to others. The shame and the guilt were tremendous and crushing. Mania peels off layer by layer, slowly, slowly. In the beginning of my in-patient stay, I was too ill to able to entertain sanity, but at the end, aghast is the only adjective choice I can think of to describe my feelings. Humiliated might be a close second place. In the middle of a three-week hospital visit, I attended every Sunday service I could manage. A Catholic priest came by to visit us, as we were too sick to go out on pass, and no chapel existed on site. Though his faith and mine differed considerably, he was notably careful to trod a middle ground and not neglect anyone's particular faith. Although, I have to say he wasn't quite sure how he ought to address a Quaker, but I never complained.

After discharge, I spoke at much length to my ex. She said, After all that happened to you, how can you still believe? I see from whence she was coming, but I also know that a power greater than myself kept me alive and fighting. Some people give in to the constant, demoralizing drain of another day's wrestle with depression. When days and days with no relief pile up, one eventually reaches the conclusion that if this is "life", then why even live. When the accomplishments of a day are often little more than having successfully showered and perhaps even cooked a meal for oneself, then it's not always easy or possible to hold out for better days. Your energy and enthusiasm are the first to go.

Following that, your ability to perform even basic tasks most of us take for granted melts away, bit by bit. Death becomes an option, and though you may push it to the side with all your will, it keeps surfacing and surfacing. And as your eyes open, as the dull ache monotony of another day awake in the morning arrives, knowing what will follow for the next several hours, one becomes an architect. One draws up blueprints, making sure every i is dotted and t is crossed. It's astonishing how creative people become when matters of life and death consume. By the end, your plan of action is the envy of any army general or civil engineer. There's nothing much else to do. Might as well succeed at something.

This could have been my fate, but it wasn't. I'm very lucky and never forget it. And while on the subject, my mind always returns to one familiar story in the Bible. In my boyhood, before my illness surfaced, before I accrued enough life experience to fully understand, it was one of my favorites. I think that its novelty was appealing to me in younger days. Now it has a very different meaning.

This left Jacob all alone in the camp, and a man came and wrestled with him until the dawn began to break. When the man saw that he would not win the match, he touched Jacob's hip and wrenched it out of its socket. Then the man said, "Let me go, for the dawn is breaking!" But Jacob said, "I will not let you go unless you bless me."

"What is your name?" the man asked. He replied, "Jacob."

Then the man said, "Your name will no longer be Jacob, but Israel, because you have struggled with God and with men and have overcome."

Saturday Video

Maggie's Farm

I ain’t gonna work on Maggie’s farm no more
No, I ain’t gonna work on Maggie’s farm no more
Well, I wake in the morning
Fold my hands and pray for rain
I got a head full of ideas
That are drivin’ me insane
It’s a shame the way she makes me scrub the floor
I ain’t gonna work on Maggie’s farm no more

I ain’t gonna work for Maggie’s brother no more
No, I ain’t gonna work for Maggie’s brother no more
Well, he hands you a nickel
He hands you a dime
He asks you with a grin
If you’re havin’ a good time
Then he fines you every time you slam the door
I ain’t gonna work for Maggie’s brother no more

I ain’t gonna work for Maggie’s pa no more
No, I ain’t gonna work for Maggie’s pa no more
Well, he puts his cigar
Out in your face just for kicks
His bedroom window
It is made out of bricks
The National Guard stands around his door
Ah, I ain’t gonna work for Maggie’s pa no more

I ain’t gonna work for Maggie’s ma no more
No, I ain’t gonna work for Maggie’s ma no more
Well, she talks to all the servants
About man and God and law
Everybody says
She’s the brains behind pa
She’s sixty-eight, but she says she’s fifty-four
I ain’t gonna work for Maggie’s ma no more

I ain’t gonna work on Maggie’s farm no more
No, I ain’t gonna work on Maggie’s farm no more
Well, I try my best
To be just like I am
But everybody wants you
To be just like them
They sing while you slave and I just get bored
I ain’t gonna work on Maggie’s farm no more

The Definition of Robin Hood Depends on Who You Ask

Vince Gray's election on Tuesday night as mayor of Washington, DC, was met with a curiously nonchalant response among city residents. No one seemed much inclined to celebrate. A city that is famously buttoned-up and all business, all the time, was precisely that. The prior mayor, Adrian Fenty, was widely seen as a temperamental prima donna, but this election was less a vote about specific District issues as it was a referendum on his leadership. The results, a decided victory for Gray, were a backlash among many towards Fenty's perceived stance in favor of more affluent parts of town, particularly those in the Northwest quadrant of the District. This is far from an uncommon phenomenon.

Complicating matters considerably is how city government functions. Washington, DC, was originally set up to belong to the entire United States rather than be an autonomous unit or part of any existing state. This is why much of its governance even today is a patchwork, nightmare system of powers shared between Congress and city government. Not quite a city, nor a territory, the District is distinctive from the rest of the country. In keeping with original intentions, most avenues bear the names of the states in the Union in existence when the L'Enfant plan for the city was implemented in 1895. It wasn't until 1975 that the city was governed by some semblance of Home Rule and given the ability to popularly elect a mayor and city council. The Founding Fathers wanted a separate federal capital to prevent a mob attack as had occurred in Philadelphia in 1783, and to this day, opponents and supporters of statehood wrestle with the real intent of those who debated and drafted the Constitution.

DC is certainly a unique place in other ways. This is, after all, the city who re-elected Marion Barry to four full terms as mayor and retains his services even today as a member of the council. Despite a widely publicized sting operation that showed him smoking crack in a hotel room, with a resulting trial, conviction for drug possession, and six month stay in prison, Barry is still beloved by many. His shortcomings as a person are excused primarily because of his desire to balance city services between the wealthy and the poor. Yesterday, I spoke briefly to a worker in the DC government, who stated again the views of many. Namely, that the former mayor insisted upon parity. "If they got computers and up-to-date facilities, we did too," he said. By "they" he meant the wealthier sections of the city. The worker was understandably bitter about a hiring freeze that created long lines and waits for city residents and an overwhelming amount of extra work for him. It's not easy to see brand new buildings being thrown up in other parts of town when one has to make do with a workplace which had seen much better days.

Resentment drives voters as much as it drives candidates. In my home state of Alabama, George Wallace made sure to keep country roads paved and established an extensive system of two-year-colleges in small towns. He courted the rural votes heavily, since those ballots were most needed to keep him in power. By contrast, he was often contemptuous of the cities and their "liberal" attitudes. The largest metropolitan area, Birmingham, for example, happened to be one of the last places in the state to see construction of the Interstate Highway System because Wallace faced the most opposition there. Despite fanning the flames of racism and segregation, Wallace won race after race, though he was likely guilty of widespread voter fraud on at least one occasion, and not averse to playing Rovian dirty tricks.

A generation before, Louisiana Governor Huey Long took this path.

Long began an unprecedented public works program, building roads, bridges, hospitals, and educational institutions. His bills met opposition from many legislators, wealthy citizens, and the corporate-controlled media, but Long used aggressive tactics to ensure passage of the legislation he favored. He would show up unannounced on the floor of both the House and Senate or in House committees, corralling reluctant representatives and state senators and bullying opponents. These tactics were unprecedented, but they resulted in the passage of most of Long's legislative agenda. By delivering on his campaign promises, Long achieved hero status among the state's rural poor population.

To skip across the pond for a bit, the Kray Brothers, Ronnie and Reggie, were organized crime heavies back in the Fifties and Sixties. They were brought up in the economically depressed East End of London, an area well-known for its poverty and crime. Courting the limelight, they rubbed shoulders with notable celebrities of the day, and among East End residents, they could do no wrong. To this day, some will still defend their actions, which involved armed robberies, arson, protection rackets, violent assaults including torture, and murder. This is because they made sure to give back to the community, usually in the form of money. Complicating matters was Ronnie Kray's open secret bisexuality, which took the form of sexual relationships with at least one Member of Parliament.

Sly, cunning, shrewd politicians are always quick to set themselves up as Robin Hood. We can debate their merits as moral, ethical human beings whether it be in their personal conduct or business dealings, but those never delegated their fair share for any reason will be grateful for whatever they can get. We do the judging part well, due in part to our Puritan ancestors, but we also hold ourselves and everyone else to an impossible standard. This doesn't mean that we shouldn't insist upon common decency, but instead that we have a hard time seeing our heroes as human. We say that no politician should be above the law, but when one who represents our beliefs steps across the line, we often find ourselves in a distressing gray area. No one doubts the challenge of standing up to wealth and powerful or the benefits of an alliance with the deep-pocketed, but if we truly wish to win any war on poverty, we should begin here.

King Midas in Reverse

My tribute to the political successes and failures of today and the next several weeks going forward. Here's to every King Midas in Reverse.

If you could only see me
I know exactly where I am
You wouldn't want to be me
Oh, I can assure you of that

I'm not the guy to run with
'cause I'll throw you off the line
I'll break you and destroy you
Given time

He's King Midas with a curse
He's King Midas in reverse
He's King Midas with a curse
He's King Midas in reverse

It's plain to see it's helpless
Going on the way we are
So even though I'd lose you
You'd be better off by far

He's not the man to hold your trust
Everything he touches turns to dust
In his hands
Nothing he can do is right
He'd even like to sleep at night
But he can't

I wish someone would find me
And help me gain control
Before I lose my reason
And my soul

He's King Midas with a curse
He's King Midas in reverse
He's King Midas with a curse

He's King Midas in reverse

Reasons Washington is Broken, Part 17

Since I moved to Washington, DC, I have obtained piece by piece of a massive jigsaw puzzle. No one bothered to explain the rules, or what the picture is supposed to look like when you're finished with it, but that's just not how things work here. Because I don't believe that truth ought to be granted on a need-to-know basis, I have written about what I've uncovered. Perhaps enough of us will chip away at the Sphinx long enough to find the answers to the riddles it holds close to the vest. What follows is another one recently explained.

Today's Politico print edition speaks about the process of obtaining employment on Capitol Hill.

Getting a job in a Hill office is rarely a straight-forward process; rather, who you know, where you're from, and inside-the-Beltway recommendations can sometimes matter more than the experience detailed on a resume. In fact, a survey of congressional offices found that most of the best jobs aren't even posted on official job websites, according to a House compensation study produced last year for the Office of the Chief Administrator.

The majority of House offices did not or rarely used job advertising sites and other Internet tools to recruit for staff openings, including the House.gov website run by the House, the survey found.

Nearly 74 percent (emphasis mine) of House offices answered "not at all" when asked if they posted open positions in newspaper advertisements. And 78 percent said they didn't post jobs at career fairs, 63 percent didn't post with diversity-promoting organizations, and 61 percent didn't advertise in trade or professional publications.

Connections are the most popular way into a job, with an overwhelming number of House offices replying on referrals from current employees, a friend's or relative's referral, or internal job posting, the survey showed.

"It's tough," said one former Hill veteran. "Getting a job up there often depends on little more than the right friends or the right home-state connections. Many jobs are landed by word of mouth and buddy-to-buddy recommendations. You won't see these jobs in the 'help wanted' section".

Since so much in Washington, DC, revolves around the Hill, much of this pertains to other jobs in the city. Though all men are supposedly created equal, it is curious that the Aristocracy lives on, despite our assertions to the contrary. When we talk about needed reform and the challenges facing us, Washington culture is often extremely averse to revising the status quo. Those who work in government are loyal to their superiors because their livelihood depends on continuity. As shown above, they owe their jobs frequently not to their own suitability for employment, but purely based on favoritism. This isn't exactly democracy at work, as originally designed, though it is curious that this arrangement is followed by almost every member of Congress. Do as I say, not as I hire. If Republicans, God forbid, are to take control of Congress, they should expect their grandiose ambitions to be similarly thwarted, since they will find themselves defeated by the system.

Non-profits and similar enterprises also closely allied to Congress live or die based on adequate sources of funding. They hire those willing to tether their career plans to a very specific set of skills, since keeping coffers filled also depends heavily on lasting connections and who one knows. The irony is that there are simply too many NGOs or PACs in DC competing for scarce economic resources, which is why they must constantly justify their own existence to donors. True democracy would be half as many 527s or non-profits working together instead of at cross-purposes, but everyone wants a piece of the pie. Moreover, many want to be in charge of something, no matter how minor or modest it may be.

If we want Washington to let go of its ways, we need to eradicate this shameful systemic hypocrisy. The system as currently set up benefits those with privilege, wealth, and means. It, in effect, locks out those who are not born into favorable circumstances. It shortchanges the working class, the disabled, and since most hires don't seem to take diversity into account, it also locks out minorities. Nothing could be more unfair, and, for that nature, un-American. Do we really want to live up to our ideals, or are we content to preserve a mindset that runs contrary to all that we say we are? Until we do, we can expect Washington to always work against us, not for us.

Miracles and Motives

I've been recently pondering why I write and create. If I was to be completely honest, I'd say that it's a means of attaining attention, love, and validation I can't easily produce in myself. As I may have talked about before, I was born with an anxiety disorder that was not diagnosed until my mid-teens. Until I was around fourteen or so, I had only one real friend. Though I had a handful of acquaintances, I didn't have much in the way of a social network. That much isolation and loneliness left its mark and even now I feel as though I'm still playing catch up. Yet, as you will see, in a religious context, I can easily devote what I do to the Glory of God, since I need never second guess my intentions or agonize about my shortcomings.

The wise dispensers of advice have told me that only by direct confrontation can I hope to make progress. I've listened. Every Friday night I arrive, guitar in hand, and play a few songs for a small, but appreciative audience. Unsurprisingly I am still plagued by stage fright and performance anxiety. Though I have learned a few tricks along the way to manage my fears, I am still completely terrified while playing guitar, singing, and especially when talking in front of an audience. Once, a few months back, my anxiety was so intense that my hands began to shake violently in the middle of the performance. As I was exiting the stage, a fellow musician felt pity on me, taking my guitar from my hands, then setting it down in its case before I dropped it.

One would think that a person like me would have a inordinately difficult time speaking in public, and for the most part, that would be true. The notable exception occurs while I am worshiping in Meeting. If the Spirit compels me to rise and share a message aloud, I am somehow granted the ability to do so. Like everyone else gathered together, I sit and wait in silent expectation, my head bowed in prayer, and quite often a message arrives. My body, starting with my legs, begins to shake a bit. It reminds me somewhat of the trembling, crying, and fainting that characterized worship during the Great Awakening of the Eighteenth Century, or the behavior of some Friends during worship that gave us the name most know us by: Quaker.

God commands: Stand! Stand! So I obey, despite my reservations.

My hands have made both heaven and earth; they and everything in them are mine. I, the LORD, have spoken! "I will bless those who have humble and contrite hearts, who tremble at my word.

I talk, sometimes with my eyes closed, sometimes focused on a pane of glass facing outward, beyond the meetinghouse. There are is no stained glass to distract or cavernous space to echoes my words. Though I may begin in apprehension and worry, within a few seconds, these feelings fall away. Word order and word choice are only partially mine. I must trust in the guidance of the Light for the whole of my vocal ministry. And, having finished, the Spirit says Be seated. I oblige, nearly collapsing into to the plain, unvarnished, wooden bench underneath me.

I bow my head yet again, my hands clasped. Before I became a Friend, this is how I was told to pray. I resume a few old habits while my head spins with questions never to be fully answered. What gave me these thoughts? Why did my message take this direction, rather than another? I do not really expect to know. Miracles defy neat explanation or rational analysis. As a person inherently skeptical of miracles in any form, I do not use the term lightly. Still, after much thought, I know this can be nothing else.

Had this been any other setting and for any other purpose, this regularly confident, lucid, and inspiring scene would not exist. Instead, I would grow instantly tongue-tied or my fears would build upon each other so much that I'd completely lose the thread of what I was meant to say. I'd be on stage again, battling tremors, desperate for focus, terrified of looking into the audience, lest I lose what nerves I have left. In times past the horror has forced the volume of my voice back into my throat and made my palms so sweaty that my instrument slides from my hands, saved from contact with the floor only by my guitar strap.

One never knows how or when God will choose to use you for the greater good. I'd been a leader without a cause for a long time, or at least a leader who had yet to find the right platform. My leadership abilities were consistently stifled by the limitations of a disability, one I never expected to shake. If I wanted to, I suppose I could express no small annoyance at how long it took to come into my own, but I recognize now that I wasn't ready yet. Every step along the way taught me something I needed and provided context. I thought I was fumbling around in the dark, but I was really finding my way to something greater. I try to keep that in mind today in situations where I have no demarcated lanes or cleared path through the underbrush in front of me. Sometimes we are pioneers and sometimes we benefit from the hard work of those who have come before us.

It is written in Isaiah the prophet: "I will send my messenger ahead of you, who will prepare your way"--the voice of one crying in the wilderness: ‘Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight,’”

Quote of the Week

“Everything that irritates us about others can lead us to an understanding of ourselves.”- Carl Jung

Washington Dysfunction Has Deep Roots

Across the board frustration at Washington, DC, will characterize this November's elections. The question on the minds of many is why, despite the promises to the contrary, nothing gets done and the situation gets worse and worse with every passing year. To answer this question, one first needs to examine Washington culture in detail. To begin, it is insular, frequently secretive, and suspicious of outsiders. Capitol Hill dictates a more or less common mindset among everyone who lives here. And, in all fairness, one really needs to get involved on the inside to totally understand its riddles. I firmly believe that reform is possible, but, on the difficult matter of a solution, the analogy I always use is that of the Gordian Knot of Greek mythology. This was an impossibly entwined knot that was eventually undone by a bold stroke of the sword, rather than through a probably hopeless desire to devote hour upon hour in the hopes of eventually untying it.

Arguably, human beings require and demand their own space. Off the top of my head, I can think of several conflicts between people (if not wars) which have had their genesis in simply not having enough room. Washington, DC, is often perceived as a mini-New York City by outsiders, but it honestly is not. For many years, this city was almost a backwoods outpost of sorts. Most of the city proper and its businesses were concentrated in the immediate area around the Capitol. The often gallant names of streets and avenues frequently contained, most amusingly, farmland. For example, Franklin Roosevelt's cabinet arrived in 1933 to find a sleepy little town. It wasn't really until the post-war boom that DC began to grow. Even today, it doesn't take much of an imagination to examine the city today and make that connection to the past.

Nothing makes humans more competitive and territorial than limited resources and not enough elbow room. I've written before about the paradox of DC, and this is another corollary on that topic. Namely, I've noted that people often come to the capital city to do great good, but then after taking jobs at non-profits, government agencies, or businesses, they begin to change. Soon, self-preservation becomes more important. They rarely join forces with similar organizations to increase their ability to affect change. Instead, the tendency is, far too often, to crave being in charge of one's own kingdom. And when many jobs in DC are linear in nature, one is often forced into a specific track whereby every step up the ladder is specifically designed for one particular skill set. This setup eventually produces navel-gazing and tunnel-vision.

Competing methodologies and strategies lead to stalemate. It's tough to reinvent the wheel when fifty people have a different way to go about it and no one wants to stand aside or compromise. Criticize inefficient, sprawling, massive government if you want to, but you are really only focusing on the effects of the problem. The cause is a combination of power, egocentricity, covetousness, and fear of the unknown. And until we get rid of those burning desires, friends, we'll have another Anti-Washington election ten years from now, and another ten years from that one.

DC needs to understand that reform doesn't mean losing something that will never be recovered. It also needs to recognize that working together isn't untenable, but is, in fact, the way for government to work for the people, not for its paranoid leaders. If it cannot, then we need to devise a system whereby people have the ability to spread out and assert their authority over their own particular manor or estate. If this sounds like Feudalism, it's because it is. Either we work hand in hand with our brothers and sisters, or we should build our castle and moat on several acres of land and start accepting applications from highly specialized peasants.

Saturday Video

Look at Me

I'll do the transcription a bit differently today. Those of you who are guitar players are in luck!

G G/F# Em
Look at me
A
Who am I supposed to be?
A
Who am I supposed to be?

G G/F# Em
Look at me
A
What am I supposed to be?
A D
What am I supposed to be?

C C/B Am Am7
Look at me
D Em
Oh, my love
D Em
Oh, my love

G G/F# Em
Here I am
A
What am I supposed to do?
A
What am I supposed to do?

G G/F# Em
Here I am
A
What can I do for you?
A
What can I do for you?

C C/B Am Am7
Here I am
D Em
Oh, my love
D Em
Oh, my love
D
Oh, look at me
Em
Oh, please look at me
A
My love

C C/B Am Am7
Here I am
D Em
Oh, my love

G G/F# Em
Who am I?
A
Nobody knows but me
A
Nobody knows but me

G G/F# Em
Who am I?

A
Nobody else can see
A
Just you and me

G G/F# Em
Who are we?

D Em
Oh, my love
D Em
Oh, my love
D Em
Oh, my love
D Em
Oh, my love

The Myth of Scarcity, The Reality of Abundance

One of the most famous passages in the entire biblical canon begins this way.

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.

And yet, wanting more, desiring more, being fearful that what we have will soon leave us, these anxieties are responsible for so much evil in the world. The myth of scarcity influences our decisions in so many ways. The reality is that we live in a world packed full of abundance, both for good and for bad. And yet, when we believe otherwise, then we respond in ways that are frequently irrational and rarely beneficial. Leaders have a knack for making the nonsensical seem plausible and justified, appealing to the worst parts of ourselves. When we are obsessed with our own demise rather than delighting in the gifts laid before us, we neglect an opportunity to build community with others. This conflict is so integral to the human condition that one can see examples of it everywhere, especially where power and acquisition are of paramount importance.

On this subject, Walter Brueggermann writes,

Martin Nieimoller, the German pastor who heroically opposed Adolf Hitler, was a young man when, as part of a delegation of leaders of the Evangelical Lutheran Church, he met with Hitler in 1933. Niemoller stood at the back of the room and looked and listened. He didn't say anything. When he went home, his wife asked him what he had learned that day. Niemöller replied, "I discovered that Herr Hitler is a terribly frightened man."

Because Pharaoh, like Hitler after him, is afraid that there aren't enough good things to go around, he must try to have them all. Because he is fearful, he is ruthless. Pharaoh hires Joseph to manage the monopoly. When the crops fail and the peasants run out of food, they come to Joseph. And on behalf of Pharaoh, Joseph says, "What's your collateral?" They give up their land for food, and then, the next year, they give up their cattle. By the third year of the famine they have no collateral but themselves. And that's how the children of Israel become slaves -- through an economic transaction.

It would be easy to reduce this anecdote down to yet another Nazi reference for the sake of making an irrefutable point. I include it here somewhat reluctantly because of the prevalence of Godwin's Law in arguments like these. Still, it explains well a multitude of matters which have always been in hot debate throughout the centuries, and, of course, right this minute. That so many adherents to the scarcity myth can be found throughout the ages strikes at the heart of the most common human phobia: death. This may not necessarily refer to physical death, of course. It could also speak to the nagging worry that our bargaining power will be no more, or that our influence over others will cease to be. No one wants to be irrelevant to the discussion. Many have sought to increase their own exposure and stature by the skillful application of scarcity mythology, often to the detriment of everyone but themselves.

If we are Americans, we live in a country of abundance, often bordering on outright excess. I read an article the other day talking about the successful financial strategies of the trendy grocery chain Trader Joe's. One of the reasons the company has made lots of money is that it greatly reduces the number of available food choices. It can then cut down on the need for additional storage space. It was also discovered, through market research I assume, that people feel conflicted about what to purchase when, for example, there are over twenty different brands of peanut butter from which to choose. Trader Joe's reduced this number to three or four, limiting customer anxiety in the process. Only in a nation of abundance would this ever be an problem.

When the children of Israel are in the wilderness, beyond the reach of Egypt, they still look back and think, "Should we really go? All the world's glory is in Egypt and with Pharaoh." But when they finally turn around and look into the wilderness, where there are no monopolies, they see the glory of Yahweh.

In answer to the people's fears and complaints, something extraordinary happens. God's love comes trickling down in the form of bread. They say, "Manhue?" -- Hebrew for "What is it?" -- and the word "manna" is born. They had never before received bread as a free gift that they couldn't control, predict, plan for or own. The meaning of this strange narrative is that the gifts of life are indeed given by a generous God. It's a wonder, it's a miracle, it's an embarrassment, it's irrational, but God's abundance transcends the market economy.

This is faith itself. Trusting in a higher power beyond ourselves is difficult for many people. It involves letting go, when many people have made whole careers or built a whole persona on the premise of authoritarian control. Likewise, many occupations require regimented steps to be followed in linear sequence, each building steadily to a desired result. It is a very human tendency to covet and hoard, but striking a balance between trust in God's plan for us with our own obsession to be lord of the manor is what is needed most. Otherwise, we will never live in peace with our neighbors, or at least not for very long. God will not let us down, God always has our best interest at heart, and though his ways are often mysterious and perplexing, they are never imprecise or unclear. We stumble when we expect to see this wisdom and guidance through conventional channels. Dramatic, awe-inspiring signs may not always be present, but sometimes the most spiritually moving experiences are present in the otherwise yawningly sublime.

We end up only with whatever we manage to get for ourselves. This story ends in despair. It gives us a present tense of anxiety, fear, greed and brutality. It produces child and wife abuse, indifference to the poor, the buildup of armaments, divisions between people, and environmental racism. It tells us not to care about anyone but ourselves -- and it is the prevailing creed of American society.

Wouldn't it be wonderful if liberal and conservative church people, who love to quarrel with each other, came to a common realization that the real issue confronting us is whether the news of God's abundance can be trusted in the face of the story of scarcity? What we know in the secret recesses of our hearts is that the story of scarcity is a tale of death. And the people of God counter this tale by witnessing to the manna. There is a more excellent bread than crass materialism. It is the bread of life and you don't have to bake it. As we walk into the new millennium, we must decide where our trust is placed.

We have all the tools, experience, merit badges, work experience, life experience, publication histories, notable mentions, awards for valor, degrees, and confirmations of competence we need. That which we require most is given away for free, but only if we reach out and accept it. It is no curative promising smooth sailing and liberation from worry, but though we walk through the valley of the shadow of death itself, we will fear no evil. He is with us. Cast your net on a different side of the boat.

One day as Jesus was walking along the shore of the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers--Simon, also called Peter, and Andrew--throwing a net into the water, for they fished for a living.

Jesus called out to them, "Come, follow me, and I will show you how to fish for people!"

Just for Fun

You saw the video version, now here's the multitrack recorder version which inspired it all!

Busy Day Song

So he's lying on top again
Just like Gepetto and his doll.
And he's running around again,
And I can't get him out of this house.

And if you bore him,
You lose your soul to me.
So that kid from the bad home
Came over to my house again,

Decapitated all my dolls.
And if you bore me,
You lose your soul to me.

Hey Gepetto,
Where'd you put it?

Oh Gepetto, poor boy.
Hey Gepetto, where'd you put it?

Oh Gepetto, poor boy.
And if you bore him,
You're gonna lose your soul.

Hey Gepetto, where'd you get to?
Oh Gepetto, poor boy.
Hey Gepetto, where'd you get to?
Oh Gepetto, poor boy.

Hey Gepetto, what'd you get me?
Oh Gepetto, poor boy.
So he's lying on top again,
Just like Gepetto.

The Night Before

We said our goodbyes, Ahh the night before
Love was in your eyes, Ahh the night before

Now today I find
You have changed your mind
Treat me like you did the night before

Were you telling lies? Ahh the night before
Was I so unwise? Ahh the night before
When I held you near
You were so sincere
Treat me like you did the night before

Last night is the night I will remember you by
When I think of things we did
It makes me want to cry

When I held you near
You were so sincere
Treat me like you did the night before

Reforming, Not Rescinding Social Security

On this Labor Day, the fullest definition of economic equality and fair wages is on my mind. While on the subject, I'd like to pursue a related issue that has lately been front and center. While we continue to debate the role of marriage and what it means to us today, I thought I'd contribute a different strain of discourse to the already deeply rutted road. Most prevailing trains of thought opposing same-sex marriage tend to see it in only one of its many incarnations over the eons. Opponents of marriage equality take a rose-colored glasses interpretation of an earlier era that probably never really existed. Imagination can be deceptive. The sacred institution was only as sacred as each individual couple regarded it. These arguments presume that the impetus and motives of marriage were basically the same across the board and throughout the centuries.

In reality, marriage was the only way a woman could achieve needed economic stability. This set up a long-lasting cycle of dependency. We are often disinclined to look through the prism of class in formulating opinion, but in this situation, we must. Quite often, working class women of even a century ago married early, accepting the proposals of men who agreed to financially support them. That way, they'd at least be one less mouth to feed for parents and siblings who also had to work just to make ends meet. Even after exchanging vows, these women still had not much choice but to work outside the house.

Being a housewife was something of a status symbol then, one only granted to those with more than ample means. Women's wages still lagged far behind those of men. Marriage was then less about love than about necessity, and marriage for love was a right often only granted to the privileged. It is for this reason that I laugh when people talk about the need to preserve some kind of ancient institution in danger of extinction. Marriage has always been evolving and redefining itself. I began with marriage and now pivot to a different, but related topic.

To speak directly to an existing system that perpetuates dependency and compromises individual freedom, I'll focus on the plight of the disabled. One of the most distinct example of institutionalized ableism rests in how Social Security Disability is structured. A patchwork system that clumsily combines the authority of both individual states and Federal Government mandates, it symbolizes both the great promise and needless complications of a system of shared powers known as Federalism. As for those who depend on it, they have no choice but to scrape by on meager monthly payments. The amount of monthly income granted is insultingly low, placing a person well below the poverty level.

Opportunity is granted to those receiving benefits to make a modest amount of money in salary though supplementary employment, but it'd still be a stretch for anyone to make much more than 20K a year. Financial independence is almost assuredly impossible in this circumstance, and even with government-provided necessities like food stamps and health insurance, the disabled must nonetheless rely heavily on the good graces of family, significant others, and understanding friends.

The implication is that all disabilities are the same, which is certainly not the case. Most disabled citizens, I have found, wish to work and to contribute, but are severely limited by conditions that make full-time, conventional employment impossible. I write on this topic to speak directly to the Tea Party darlings now clamoring for an end to Social Security. They should think first before they speak, taking into consideration that there are complexities present that they have yet to take into account. One can, if one wishes, foam at the mouth about the lazy, unmotivated leeches of the underclass, but it's much more difficult to make a persuasive case in favor of removing a vital lifeline for the disabled. I doubt anyone would risk the ridicule and public outcry of advocating, in all seriousness, for eugenics and genetic engineering.

Most of my righteous indignation focuses squarely on a system which makes blanket assumptions. Some people are, tragically, so disabled that they must live with others who agree to supervise and watch over them. Many, however, desire the ability to stand on their own two feet, so to speak, and would rather not be an imposition, a money drain, or a time drain. In other countries, it would be considered insulting to provide so few resources to the genuinely needy. Some argue that the European welfare state goes too far, but I would respond by saying that, Europe aside, we don't go far enough.

Our highly individualistic culture insists that complete, usually financial independence is a sign of fully actualized adulthood. We infantilize and criticize, through our speech and our attitudes, those who we perceive who will not conform to this standard. So when we provide monetary assistance to disabled Americans that equals a fraction of the weekly salary of a fast-food worker, then it's easy to draw some conclusions.

The first is that disability ought to be for the short term, and that the financial squeeze provided by such an obscenely low payment ought to be motive enough for someone to go back into the workforce. Easy for them to say. The patient cursed with constant, chronic flare-ups of cancer requiring regular chemotherapy, the wheelchair-bound sufferer with MS, or the schizophrenic simply aren't going to be able to work again. These are the most obvious, extreme cases, but looks can often be deceiving.

Some illnesses are "invisible" up front or at least less obvious in the beginning. Frequent, debilitating migraine headaches, mental illness, and allergies to environmental toxins are but three chronic illnesses often not perceptible unless a person is having an acute episode. Many chronic disorders are exacerbated or brought on by a stressful environment, and some have no choice but to quit working in order to preserve their general health, and, in some cases, even their lives.

The second matter regards the matter of caretakers. Based on what has been noted above, it takes an understanding person to agree to be the permanent primary breadwinner, for starters. Money in savings or in existing salary is what is needed most. Those without either of them may not be able to manage. Finances aside, it also demands much inner strength to see a loved one struggle with an illness and be constantly frustrated with a world which doesn't make things easy for them. The definition of normality itself is what is in question here.

Oversights that create the most problems are usually sins of omission, rather than commission, but in lieu of assigning blame, opening our eyes and focusing our attention on those we usually pass over without a second glance is what it will take here. To return to how I began this post, many see marriage only in one particular form and apply it throughout the whole of history. These days, people don't see the complexities and unique challenges regarding our broken Social Security Disability system. I notably am not calling for its dissolution, but I am calling for us to re-think our base prejudices and default assumptions. Objections to the system are justified, but the form in which these protests are found is often not much more than naïve sloganeering.

To provide some historical perspective, before the New Deal, the prevailing logic was that those in need should be attended to by families, churches, civil organizations, and otherwise private enterprises. This, however, was complicated by the fact that all these efforts were hamstrung because of a bootstrap mythology still in place today, along with a stubborn belief in rugged individualism. It's well and good to pull oneself up in that way, except when one can't quite grasp the straps or can't afford to buy boots in the first place, to say nothing of laces.

A resurgent GOP concerns me for several reasons, but this obstinate refusal to comprehend the complexities of a massively intricate system bothers me the most. Government cannot wash its hands of those in need. No one doubts the dysfunction of the system, but better something than nothing. Contrary to what some assert, government doesn't always take some antagonistic position to our own. In fact, it resembles our concerns, prejudices, and fears more than we would ever like to believe.

Quote of the Week

"Heterosexuality is not normal, it's just common."- Dorothy Parker

Saturday Video

Science and Religion Don't Have to be Rivals

Whether we're even conscious of it, we need and desire a means of discernment. We seek a measuring stick with which to compare our own individual perspectives with something close to objectivity. We desire something firm and deeply grounded when the world around us is always changing. Increasingly, Americans view science as the final and ultimate say. To qualify my remarks, I don't caustically dismiss scientific progress out of hand in favor of religious belief. I do know that science is never static, and that it is a field which is constantly evolving as surely as are all living beings. To place complete, unwavering faith in science is to overlook the continual process of human discovery.

To illustrate what it is I mean one needs only contemplate medical warnings against moderate drinking. Certain studies believe we ought not to drink at all. Others encourage a couple glasses of red wine a day. Competing points of view appear to negate every conclusion which has been previously drawn. Our exasperation at these mixed messages and inexact results leads to a very understandable sense of consternation. We would not feel so betrayed if we did not place full trust in the latest miraculous advance in modern medicine. We crave surety, and surety so rarely arrives.

I have written quite a bit about living with bipolar disorder. No one knows better than those who struggle with this chronic illness that psychiatry is often primitive, imprecise, and extremely limited regarding holistic understanding. Treatment resembles alchemy at times. Proportions and combinations are its stock in trade. I recently talked with a dermatologist on this same subject, and she noted that in many ways her profession is just as beholden to the unknown. Nothing sends us, children of the Enlightenment, into a panic faster than mystery. We have a compulsion to understand, to discover, and then to create. It is for this reason that people will even destroy their health seeking ways to preserve it in others.

The question comes down to that of faith, depending on how one defines it for oneself. Faith to me is, as I have alluded to, mysterious, and it is in those terms which I view God. I'm always skeptical of any denomination, sect, or group which claims intimate, irrefutable knowledge of the Divine. Reducing God to suit human whims is a kind of Idolatry of the highest form and one adopted only for selfish, manipulative purposes. I was reminded of this when I read the recent Vanity Fair exposé regarding Sarah Palin. Oh, if I had a dollar for every self-styled Christian whose Higher Power always agreed with them in every imaginable circumstance. The God I know provides constant guidance, but he is not above calling me out in a spirit of love when I need it. The Enabler God is a golden calf.

I think we might consider directing our frustration towards different avenues. We are all religious people, placing our hopes and wishes on the shoulders of concepts and theories we are barely capable of understanding ourselves. The complexities of the human body, the material world, nature, and the role of God in our daily lives remain unresolved and confusing. One cannot easily make money off of the unknowable, and that's where I think the problem begins. Nothing sells like a miracle. Nothing rakes in the big bucks like the quick fix and the easy sell. That requires no sacrifice, no tussle with adversity that produces gains upon which no one can ever put a price.

It is written in Proverbs,

Evil people get rich for the moment, but the reward of the godly will last.

The Wedding Picture Defense

The moment her thoughts
her desires
her longings

begin ever so slightly to stray
to linger elsewhere

or to question
or to doubt

you'll see the wedding pictures.

(I mean, literally,
you'll SEE the wedding pictures
on public display)

overcompensating

how worthy he is
how much she misses him
how glad she is for him
how many years it has been

it hasn't always been easy

but I have seen the
looks given when he is
not present

and I know
the heat of jealousy
as it spreads
across the room

fuming facial features
with frequent reminders
of previous engagements

mistakes will be made.

And In The Beginning...

"You will say Christ saith this and the apostles say this, but what canst thou say? Art thou a child of the Light and hast thou walked in the Light, and what thou speakest, is it inwardly from God?

This opened me so, that it cut me to the heart, and then I saw clearly that we were all wrong. So I sat me down in my pew again and cried bitterly: and I cried in my spirit to the Lord, We are all thieves, we are all thieves, we have taken the Scriptures in words, and know nothing of them in ourselves."- Margaret Fell, early Quaker Feminist.

Days

This song is most often associated with grief and loss, either by the death of a person or by the demise of a relationship. Neither of these things were on my mind when I woke up with it in my head this morning. I think my dreams must have a constant musical soundtrack. The experience has always seemed a bit like casually walking out the door of a shop with piped in music or exiting a car after a particular song has concluded on the radio.

Due to its somber, melancholic nature I was, at first, not terribly eager to record a version of my own. But instead I found that nothing else I auditioned really spoke to me. Even so, I do appreciate the references made to light in a positive, powerful sense, because it appeals to my Quaker sensibilities. One could even take the lyrics in a Christian context, referencing to Jesus' relatively limited period of ministry on Earth.

My apologies for a slightly croaky singing voice. I've been recovering from a head cold. The guitar I'm playing is on loan from a fellow musician and considerably smaller than what I'm used to, though I have to say that in some ways it is much easier to play.




Thank you for the days,
Those endless days,
those sacred days you gave me.

I'm thinking of the days,
I won't forget a single day, believe me.

I bless the Light,
I bless the Light that
shines on you believe me.

And though you're gone,
You're with me every single day,
believe me.

Days I'll remember all my life,
Days when you can't see
wrong from right.

You took my life,
But then I knew that
very soon you'd leave me,
But it's all right,

Now I'm not frightened
of this world, believe me.

I wish today could be tomorrow,
The night is dark,
It just brings sorrow, let it wait.

Thank you for the days,
Those endless days,
those sacred days you gave me.

I'm thinking of the days,
I won't forget a single day, believe me.

Days I'll remember all my life,
Days when you can't
see wrong from right.

You took my life,
But then I knew that
very soon you'd leave me,
But it's all right,

Now I'm not frightened of this world,
believe me.

Thank you for the days,
Those endless days,
those sacred days you gave me.

I'm thinking of the days,
I won't forget a single day, believe me.

I bless the Light,
I bless the Light that
shines on you believe me.

And though you're gone,
You're with me every single day, believe me.

And though you're gone,
I won't forget a single day, believe me.