NON AGE

WANT TO KNOW THE SECRET TO ETERNAL YOUTHFULNESS?

I typed "non age" for the title because I thought it looked like a more compelling title. The actual word is "nonage" —a lack of maturity, sort of being stuck in a state of youth-hood.

"Enlightenment is man's emergence from his self-imposed nonage. Nonage is the inability to use one's own understanding without another's guidance. This nonage is self-imposed if its cause lies not in lack of understanding but in indecision and lack of courage to use one's own mind without another's guidance." --Immanuel Kant

Or, as my mother would say, "If everyone was jumping off a building would you?"

I started to title this entry: "SAPERE AUDE!" But that seemed like a sure way to guarantee no one will read the first sentence and beyond. But don't click away yet. Sapere aude is a latin phrase translated: Dare to know! Or, "Have the courage to use your own understanding," which Kant called "the motto of the enlightenment."

A bunch of years ago now, around this time of year, it was "Senior Sunday" in the church where I was the youth minister. I stood in the vestibule with the seniors all lined up in their caps and gowns ready to march in and be recognized for their attainments. The first young lady in line wore the stole of the valedictorian. She said to me, "I've been meaning to ask you a question. What is it we're supposed to believe about (insert any moral ambiguity)?"

"You're the valedictorian!" I thought to myself. "And we've talked and talked about knowing who you are and what you know to be true and what values guide you."

Now, I sit here typing this and I realize that Sapere Aude is a life-long journey. Not only is it never-ending, we shouldn't wish for it to be. We should fall in love and stay in love with the beauty of discovery. As Peter Fenton says, "Be a learn-it-all; not a know-it-all." The worst thing we can do is abdicate our journey of discovery to others. Not that we can't learn from others, standing on their shoulders, but we must not settle or sell out to a "party line"; ANY party line without exploring it, testing it, and knowing it empirically.

The word Dare in the phrase Dare To Know is so appropriate because it can be risky business. It might mean standing on your own, seeing from a different perspective, disagreeing with even significant others. It might also mean you'll have to admit your were wrong about something, or that you JUST DON'T KNOW EVERYTHING.

[NOTE: What I write here at About Pops is mainly introspection. I'm not preaching to anyone (at least not intentionally). This is a personal journal with a little soapbox for ranting built in.]

Now, a little more from Kant's essay on enlightenment:

"Laziness and cowardice are the reasons why such a large part of mankind gladly remain minors all their lives, long after nature has freed them from external guidance. They are the reasons why it is so easy for others to set themselves up as guardians. It is so comfortable to be a minor. If I have a book that thinks for me, a pastor who acts as my conscience, a physician who prescribes my diet, and so on--then I have no need to exert myself. I have no need to think, if only I can pay; others will take care of that disagreeable business for me... Thus it is very difficult for the individual to work himself out of the nonage which has become almost second nature to him. He has even grown to like it, and is at first really incapable of using his own understanding because he has never been permitted to try it. Dogmas and formulas, these mechanical tools designed for reasonable use--or rather abuse--of his natural gifts, are the fetters of an everlasting nonage. The man who casts them off would make an uncertain leap over the narrowest ditch, because he is not used to such free movement. That is why there are only a few men who walk firmly, and who have emerged from nonage by cultivating their own minds."

An undeniable fact I'm discovering: that while I may be mired in nonage mentally, socially and spiritually; physically I'm marching on to the inevitable. Let's sing the last verse of Joni Mitchell's "Both Sides Now" together:

But now old friends are acting strange
They shake their heads, they say I've changed
Well something's lost, but something's gained
In living every day
I've looked at life from both sides now
From win and lose and still somehow
It's life's illusions I recall
I really don't know life at all
I've looked at life from both sides now
From up and down, and still somehow
It's life's illusions I recall
I really don't know life at all

Not to misunderstand Joni or to question her life view, but this song does seem to reduce all to just two sides. Maybe she's acknowledging that tendency and also saying clearly life is not either/or; cut and dried.

Personally, I've been...
Republican and Democrat
Evangelist and Agnostic
Teacher and Student
Optimist and Pessimist
Liberal and Conservative
Happy and Angry
Pro Life and Pro Choice
Confused and Certain
Beautiful and Ugly
Hawk and Dove
Wishy and Washy
Pro and Con
Enlightened and sometimes living under a spell as if I had never had a thought, a belief or value of my own.

The truth is I've always lived in the gray in-between. That doesn't mean I have no certainty. I do. I tend to spend a lot of time in my own head. (Not recommending that.) And when I do, a question my self often gets asked by me is: Of what are you certain? Here's one:

Certainly moving to maturity and beyond nonage doesn't mean we forsake youthfulness. The innocent curiosity of that age is essential to the momentum, the enlightenment.

May you grow up to be righteous
May you grow up to be true
May you always know the truth
And see the light surrounding you
May you always be courageous
Stand upright and be strong
May you stay forever young
Forever young, forever young
May you stay forever young.

[verse 2 of "Forever Young" by Bob Dylan]

And, then this from the Psalmist: "Your word is a lamp for my feet, a light on my path."

Be enlightened my friends. That's the secret.

THE ROOM WHERE IT HAPPENS

STAY WITH ME FOR A MINUTE. This is one of those ideas that's clear in my mind, but I have difficulty in the explaining. Let's start with this:

Is it Art, or is it Craft? Maybe it depends on where its done. If it's done in a Studio; is it art? If it's done in a Shop; is it craft? Is that an oversimplification?

How about this: let's say a group of folks who share a kindred spirit meet in a coffeehouse to talk and read and sing about faith, life and beauty. Is that Church, or a gaggle of mis-guided liberals?

[Time for a shameless moment of grandfatherly bragging. This is, after all, About POPS. I can pretty much say what I want.]

Our oldest GrandGirl, Karlee, is a gifted dancer. One of this season's dances for her is in an ensemble. Their number is based on the musical "Hamilton", specifically the song, "The Room Where It Happens". It's a song about being where the important decisions are hashed and made. I've watched "Hamilton" on Disney+ and I have to say, without prejudice, that Karlee and her dance mates do a stirring rendition of the number.

that’s Karlee. there in the middle. the one being whispered to.

---

Here's a sample from the lyrics:

No one else was in
The room where it happened
The room where it happened
The room where it happened
No one really knows how the game is played
The art of the trade
How the sausage gets made
We just assume that it happens
But no one else is in
The room where it happens.

I don't know that I've ever been in that metaphorical, political "room where it happens". I do have assumptions that there would a lot of posturing and power playing, compromise of opinions and ideas, along with compromise of values, morals and justice. But I'm just guessing [based on the insincere smiles on the participants faces and the knives in their backs as they exit the room.]

So, let's recount: we have studios, shops, coffeehouses, churches and those dark rooms in the bowels of politics [and by politics I mean all institutional politics, not just the governmental variety]. Let's add schools, bars, courtrooms, banks, libraries and retail. Picture the room and you have a pretty good idea of what happens there.

We have expectations about what happens in these places. We know not to take our dry cleaning to an ice cream shop. We also know that we might need to take our dry cleaning to the dry cleaners after visiting the ice cream shop.

Lets come back to Church--those buildings sitting on a corner somewhere in most every town, and in front of a graveyard along country roads. There was a time when most everyone claimed some affiliation with a church. As a matter of fact, applications for schools, clubs and some jobs had a line that asked: "Church preference?" [I remember once answering that question "Red brick", thinking I would be appreciated for my sense of humor.]

Now many of the old red brick churches are nearly empty these days. Should we be alarmed? Is "church", can "church", happen in other kinds of rooms?

We like to get off the Interstates when we travel. We've noticed that around these parts on the less-traveled roads a growing number of "cowboy churches". These are metal buildings that look like at one time they could have been a boot-scootin bar or a place where backyard storage buildings were manufactured. I guess you could say, with the exception of the very recognizable logo, the ubiquitous "life church.tv" is sort an architecturally non-distinguishable structure that could be a skating rink or antique mall.

Maybe this drift from steeples, stained glass windows and pipe organs is appropriate for worshipping a "God, who made the world and everything in it, is Lord of heaven and earth and does not live in temples made by human hands." --Acts 17:24

Can we assume that what happens in a room called a church is really church? All of my life, for the most part, the answer is yes (if I get to define church). My childhood is full of memories of community; community gathered for potluck suppers, Christmas pageants, Easter celebrations, singing and people serving. Some of those people volunteered to teach us about God and his only begotten Son. Was their theology "right"? Frankly my dear, I don't give a darn. What they did for us came from a caring, genuine love. And that's where the real lessons and the real gospel were.

Today, I fear that "church" has become something else, a political wedge and hammer distorting building blocks of goodness, truth and beauty into stones of dogma and twisted doctrine. I'm sad that politicians have taken to touting their faith in their campaign ads. It rings hollow like an empty church to me. All the politicizing, posturing and posing belongs elsewhere. Sometimes I wonder if we could still look at a church and know what happens in those rooms.

It's all morphing for sure. The pandemic and its quarantine showed us that church might be our living room, watching a sermon on YouTube. Church as we've known it is changing. I just hope we don't keep twisting the pursuit of faith to serve lower purposes.

I am optimistic. I am hopeful. When it comes to community and fellowship and the honest, kind pursuit of truth and understanding; lately, I've been in a few "rooms" where it happens.

APPEASEMENT

GO AHEAD; PATRONIZE ME. Recently I found a pair of bookshelves on sale. Reluctantly I purchased them. Resentfully I put the first set together myself. Regrettably the project derailed. Respectfully I called the store to say one of the boxes of bookshelf parts they sold me had clearly been opened before. Parts were damaged and some were missing.

Apologies were offered. Offers to ship me a new bag of nuts and bolts were made. With relative calmness and composure I explained to the young "associate" that when I was his age if we paid a premium for furniture from a reputable store we didn't have to put it together ourselves (unless it came from Denmark or Sweden). I also noted that delivery was made to his store and not to my home and was delayed a couple of weeks beyond the original ETA. Additionally I explained that I now live an hours drive and about $57 in gas from his store. Pretty sure I could hear his eyes roll.

More apologies. How about this I offered, "You have a set of these bookshelves on your showroom floor. How about I pick up one of those and you can wait another month or so for a new bag of parts? I'll drive over to your store and pick up the shelves and you find out if you can give me a couple of nice pillows that match our sofa and that I can scream into?" This exceeded his pay grade.

My Amazing-Missus used to work for an affiliate of this store. I think it was started by a guy named Williams that lived in Sonoma. They sell really expensive measuring cups and spatulas. The also have a business that may have started as a pottery shop in a barn. Anyway, I know from her experience that this group of stores have what's called an "escalation desk", a place that handles twisted-off old men and cranky women.

I'm sure he didn't mean to be patronizing. And, I'm sure that when, in his customer service class, they taught about handling the lunatic fringe they didn't intend for them to actually use the word "appeasement"; nonetheless, he said to me, "I will talk to someone to see if we can find a way to offer you appeasement. "Why you condescending little..." I thought to myself. BUT WAIT;

Later that day, I got a call from the escalation desk with an offer of a gift card for $215. Color me appeased! Apparently there is a price at which I welcome condescension. I guess, as with bookshelves and stuff, MAN also needs on going assembly and tweaking—always a work in progress.

I will make sure that we use the token of appeasement to buy something that comes fully assembled.

yes, I added a bit of modesty type to Leonardo’s Vitruvian Man.

If you happen to be on I-40 roughly 44 miles east of West Elm, drop by and see our new bookshelves.

CHANGE OF ADDRESS

"WE MUST BE OVER THE RAINBOW!" Remember when Dorothy said that to Toto, right after she said, "Toto, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore."

At least we're back in the land of the 74___ zip codes.

It's been weeks since I've tried to actually type a sentence or paragraph much less an entire essay. We've been in a sort of self-induced whirlwind. We had often talked about where we might settle for our "golden" years. Tulsa, Oklahoma, is our home. Maybe that's where we should land. But, can you go home again? We left there in the early 70s as newlyweds for parts west, returning to Tulsa often for visits, still feeling like it was home.

The question was not only where, but when.

Then the real estate market blew up and we decided to see if we could step in and get our share of the madness. We reached out to a young man that we've known for years to seek his advice as a real estate pro. He studied our situation and said we should list the house for this amount. "That's crazy" I said, "No one will pay that!" He confidently countered that this would only be the beginning, that in all likelihood, we would get multiple offers for more. The next day his prediction came true. And the next day we were smack in the middle of a Dorothy-esque tornado.

Tulsa called. Reason whispered. Then from the advice of our mentor, we decided to move to Shawnee, Oklahoma. The pieces began to fall into place and peace was restored. We're now in our new home.The only downside, and it was a huge one--the move took us a bit further from our other kids and four grands. It's not like they're in another state. We'll make up for the distance somehow.

I was telling a young friend about our move. "Why Shawnee?" He asked. I explained that our oldest son and his family live there and we've moved there to become a burden to our kids. He told me his parents had just moved near them from Idaho. One day his dad was offering more help than he needed. His dad explained, "Jerrod, remember we've moved here to be a blessing to you."

Blessing or burden? I keep watching episodes of "Everybody Loves Raymond" hoping to learn how not to be THOSE parents.

I'm also hoping to be a good citizen of our new community. This is actually my second shot as a Shawneeite, or is it Shawneeian, or Shawnoid. My first experience here was as a freshman at the university where our son now teaches. It didn't end well. I was encouraged by the administration to find a new school for my sophomore year. I'm somewhat more mature now. Hopefully, I'll get to stay this time.

Over the years I've lived in Tulsa, Jenks, El Reno, Hinton, Oklahoma City and now Shawnee for the second time. Looking back, Dorothy was right: "There's no place like home."

This would have been much easier to write about and celebrate a few weeks ago, before we saw the faces of refugees forced to leave their homes, not knowing where home might be even the next day. How to respond?

Maybe if I'm just really, really, really grateful for a home, the guilt will be lighter. Maybe if I stand atop the shaky soapbox of moral superiority. Maybe if I reflect on a work-ethic, self-discipline, responsibility and a relative frugality. Maybe if I read a Joel Osteen book. Maybe if I give money to the Red Cross or hand a few bucks to the guy on the corner. Maybe if I polish my own bootstraps which I mistakenly might assume I pulled myself up with. Maybe if I pray for the refugees, the homeless, and the least of these.

Questions born out of confusion and desperation are as old as mankind. Here's the answer I always come back to:

"He's already made it plain how to live, what to do, what God is looking for in men and women.
It's quite simple: Do what is fair and just to your neighbor, be compassionate and loyal in your love,
And don't take yourself too seriously—take God seriously."
--Micah 6:8.

Hopefully it is also okay to wish for the demise of evil, dehumanizing tyrants.