WHAT'S NEXT?

Could we have a little fun? You know; laugh a little to keep from crying?

"Buckle up and hang on. Now we know why the streets are empty, and the man’s ravings take on some new dimension: Maybe he’s just regular unhinged, or maybe he’s been driven into lunacy by the last eight or so weeks of madness. Or maybe he’s the only sane one left. Who can tell? By late May 2020, even the most unflappable among us felt one raisin short of a fruitcake."

This is a paragraph from my friend, Alissa Wilkinson's New York Times' review of the film "Eddington". For some reason(s) her words struck me as a complete explanation of my state of mind these days. I've not seen the movie she has reviewed but still her words paint a picture that feels very familiar.

I learned a new word a few years ago. We were visiting Seattle, hitting the must-see spots there. That meant a visit to the original Starbucks in the Pike Place Market area. It was humble and seemed too small and narrow to give birth to the ubiquitous franchise we know today. I asked the barista if the coffee house, Cafe Nervosa--the one that Frasier and Niles frequented actually existed. "No." Then he recommended a likeness, a place called "Zeitgeist Coffee". So, we set out to find the Zeitgeist: the coffee house; and after I discovered the meaning of the word I realized I was in search of that too.

zeitgeist
noun

the general set of ideas, beliefs, feelings, etc. that is typical of a particular period in history

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Buckle up and hang on indeed. Who would have thought we would all know the name Epstein? Who would have thought we would grab hard to a moment of fun at the expense of a couple of idiots going reluctantly public in front of the Kiss-Cam at a Coldplay concert. The Corporation for Public Broadcasting defunded. A den of dehumanization in Ochopee, Florida, called "Alligator Alcatraz" by those who love the idea of it. I don't know about you but I feel more and more displaced by this tsunami of zeitgeist upheavel.

I saw a post that Trump was announcing a renaming of the San Andreas Fault to Joe Biden's Fault. Mid-laugh I stopped; the thought hit me this could actually be true. Crazier things have happened... or did they?

Alissa wonders about the protagonist and it makes me wonder about myself: "Maybe he’s just regular unhinged, or maybe he’s been driven into lunacy by the last eight or so weeks of madness. Or maybe he’s the only sane one left."

We can all shudder at remembering an 8-week period in the late May of 2020 timeframe. But now we've gone into warp speed and it's dizzying. What once took eight weeks, now takes eight days. Heck, some days eight hours can be all the time we have to hang on for dear life during a full zeitgeist whiplash.

Tariffs on/tariffs off. Epstein files open/Epstein files empty. Putin is amazing/Putin is a liar. Try keeping up with the names of things. Gulf of Mexico/Gulf of America. Now Republican lawmakers, in a giant kiss on the giant backside are working to rename the opera house at the "John F Kennedy Center For Performing Arts" after the first lady. Representative Mike Simpson, a Republican from Idaho introduced the amendment. Mr. Simpson said in a statement after the vote that naming the theater after Mrs. Trump “is an excellent way to recognize her appreciation for the arts.”

HEY! I appreciate the arts too!

As if he doesn't have better things to do, POTUS is threatening to block the Washington Commanders' new stadium deal unless they revert to their former name, the Redskins. Just a thought: Maybe they could compromise and tip their helmets to his highness and go with the Washington Orangeskins.

Too far? Too soon?

Could we liken it all to being on a roller coaster, complete with all the turns and dips and hairpins and many forks in the track, not knowing which one the lead coaster car will take until the last second? Maybe the train will grind to a halt, sparks flying, and back up to take the fork less traveled, hurling us all into a dark cave. We emerge to find people who know nothing about roller coaster track building quickly throughing track pieces together leading into some unknown. We do know this: its feeling more and more like this train will never return to the station.

My favorite line of Alissa's paragraph is the last one, the one that implies at least, we're all in it together: "...even the most unflappable among us felt one raisin short of a fruitcake."

WORD

IF THERE ARE WORDS for this I'm not sure I can find them. Words are powerful. Words are peaceful. Words are honest and dishonest. They shape lies and truth. They heal and hurt. Whoever said, "Sticks and stones... but words can never hurt me," is full of [insert a couple of words here, or is it a compound word?]

How is it that for certain people, to be able to say: "what's-on-his-mind", it’s like a virtue or a license. "He just tells it like it is," seems to require that we let him off the hook for any affect the words might have.

Sometimes words can fall on deaf ears or they can be put into someone elses mouth. They can be misheard, unheard, misspoken, miscontrued or misunderstood.

Ever have to eat your words? On at least one occasion I had my mouth washed out with Lava brand soap by my grandmother for using a word that I'm pretty sure I had heard her use.

It's Christmastime. Time to remember Jesus was called The Word, that he existed in the beginning and that "the Word became human and made his home among us. He was full of unfailing love and faithfulness. And we have seen his glory, the glory of the Father’s one and only Son." John 1:14

That event actually happened. In flesh, bone and blood. It happened in a part of the world that is now strewn with flesh, bone and blood, in Gaza; less than 50 miles--away in a manger--where according to the song, the babe lay his sweet head.

When I think of the Nativity, the words of that heavy, heavy question in Lamentations comes to mind: “Does it mean nothing to you, all you who pass by?"

This is where it gets tricky for me. I am not one of those with a license to tell it like I see it. When I try, it seems I hurt feelings, alienate and infuriate. So I write these words cautiously and with trepidation. I should know how to do this. Back in school, I took and passed with flying colors a class called "Rhetoric".

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rhetoric
noun
--speech or writing intended to be effective and influence people
--the study of the ways of using language effectively

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This week, I went to the doctor for my annual check-up. I'm on Medicare now so the process is a little different. I had to complete a questionnaire. One section read something like: Do you ever feel sad, afraid, angry, etc.?

I started to impulsively check YES, but I was afraid my doctor might suggest a new pill, or support group. The tip of my pin drifted toward the NO square like a pointer pulling fingers across a Ouija board, but I couldn't mark NO. So, I checked YES and quickly prepared a sane and sensible explanation, words to ensure my doc and old friend that I had it all under control.

The fact is I do feel all of those things--not all the time, and I also feel happy, hopeful, courageous, and other good things. Maybe it has something to do with my age and emotional state, but I'm blaming most of the sad/afraid/angry stuff on the current state of things. I am so sick of cutural meanness, of dehumanizing speech, of the-end-justifies-the-means politics and religion. I'm depressed from the hostile takeover of christianity by far right fundamentalists. Their message of saving the soul of America while waving a banner stitched of their own power-greedy arrogance is demoralizing to me. They march lockstep behind people who demand loyalty to their ungodly authoritarianism. They claim to be doing all of this in answer to a call to follow the WORD-become-flesh, the one of whom the Apostle Paul wrote:

Is there any encouragement from belonging to Christ? Any comfort from his love? Any fellowship together in the Spirit? Are your hearts tender and compassionate? Then make me truly happy by agreeing wholeheartedly with each other, loving one another, and working together with one mind and purpose.

Don’t be selfish; don’t try to impress others. Be humble, thinking of others as better than yourselves. Don’t look out only for your own interests, but take an interest in others, too.

You must have the same attitude that Christ Jesus had.

Though he was God,
he did not think of equality with God
as something to cling to.
Instead, he gave up his divine privileges;
he took the humble position of a slave
and was born as a human being.

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Maybe this year makes next year seem particularly fraught and fragile. It seems like fascists are strikingly stirred up. Ukraine, the Middle East, the environment, political hard-lining here at home, the border, the sensitive and growing situation of homeless camped along Main street of the town where we live.

Maybe it's actually just another year. Maybe there's been worse. Surely there's been better. I remember well Christmastime 1971. My mom's heart was breaking from the weight of it. The war in Vietnam was dragging on and on. Student deferments from the military draft had ended and I had my draft lottery number. One day I got home and was met by my mom with a letter addressed to me from the Selective Service System. She was literally shaking. I opened it to find that my number, 116, from the 1970 lottery had come up. I was to meet a bus in downtown Tulsa just before Christmas to travel to OKC to take a physical for conscription.

It was a horrible Christmas for her, but 1972 brought better days. The war waned and I didn't have to go after all. In June 1972, I married my Amazing-Missus, whom Mom dearly loved. What a difference a day or a few make.

It's Christmas Eve, 2023. I am leaning on promises. The same promises born with that little baby so long ago. Promises for peace, for justice, for deliverance. To borrow a few words from John Lennon:

“You may say I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one.”

Merry Christmas.

I CAN SEE CLEARLY NOW

OR CAN I?

Often in times like this I struggle for the right words to say. See, I want to say something... I don't want to say something that will offend, and these days, no matter what you say you're going to offend someone and set off a frenzy of frustration and rebuttal. So why not just keep my mouth shut and lay down my pen and paper? I think it's because, for me, I work through stuff by writing, erasing, underlining, striking through. Many times I wad up the paper and through it in the trash. Is silence better than strife?

Often I think about vantage point. If I'm going to judge or offer an opinion I need to look at the position I'm in as I do so. Am I speaking as one who seeks to follow the teachings of Jesus? If I say that do people assume that I'm one of those radical, religious, evangelical, "blessed", nut jobs because I live in a deep red state and grew up in a southern baptist church? Can I really see things clearly wearing the goggles of a white, male, bald, baby-boomer. Is there a vantage point that allows me to think and speak and act justly? Of course, I can't suspend completely who I am, how I've been raised, the color of my lens, but I can try.

I reached out to a dear friend, who is one of the sanest people I know. I asked him to share his words as sort of guest post on my blog. He consented and I'm letting him have the last word. Thank you Dr. Randall O'Brien for friendship and wisdom.

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After the emotions, comes thought:

*A THEORY of JUSTICE* Changes anyone???

(A theory, a book by John Rawls)

1. Who was John Rawls?

* A philosopher who taught at Oxford, Cornell, M.I.T. and Harvard.

* Famous for his Theory of Justice, and his book by that title, which sold 200,000 copies, and spawned 5,000 articles, papers, and other books (and counting).

2. What is Rawls’s Theory of Justice?

* Concerns SOCIAL JUSTICE.

* Rawls, essentially sees “Justice as fairness.”

* He establishes justice, or fairness, through a hypothetical “Veil of Ignorance.”

* Meaning? Meaning we imagine agreeing to the rules of society—fairness and justice—without knowing our place in society, our class, social status, assets, intelligence, etc, to which we might add race, gender, sexual orientation, abilities, or any other imaginable demographic.

In other words, what rules for a fair society would we write beforehand if none of us knew who we’d be in this world?

This “Veil of Ignorance” should lead to fair rules, and laws to enforce them.

3. So. Question: If we were to seek to form a more just society using Rawls’s theory, what changes would we make?

4. Let us remember: Justice is a coin with which we purchase peace.

5. With a tip of our hat to JFK, shall we acknowledge:

“Those who make peaceful change impossible, make violent change inevitable.”

Hope.

By Randall O’Brien

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.

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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.