We Are Wounded by Birth and Bleed to Death

This is an essay I wrote for my ENG COMP II class

***

Death is all metaphors, shape in one history;
The child that sucketh long is shooting up, (Thomas, “Altarwise” 80)

There is no easy reading here in the gloaming owl-light; this is poetry deep and dark, wherein the poet obfuscates and distorts as much as he reveals and illuminates. “Altarwise by Owl-Light” is a difficult poem written by a mature (though a young) poet, an established poet who’s “earned the right” to write so obliquely “by first attracting an audience of readers, editors and publishers with less difficult poems” (Rooser 3).  This is the work of a poet writing as much himself as for his audience.  “My poetry,” says the poet, “is, or should be useful to me for one reason: it is the record of my individual struggle from the darkness toward some measure of light” (Jones 196).  If his words should illuminate our individual darknesses, well, that is well and good as well.

Dylan Thomas was a Welsh poet of the 20^th century, born Dylan Marlais Thomas in Swansea, Wales, in the year 1914.  He died young, a mere two weeks after his 39^th birthday, in New York of pneumonia exacerbated by his alcoholism.  These dates are recorded here, not as mere biographical data, but as both the bookends and context of his writing.  Much of Thomas’ poetry concerns birth and death.  His most popular works (which are among his more accessible works) are about Death: “Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night” in which the poet exhorts his dying father to “Rage, rage against the dying of the light” (Thomas, “Do Not” 128), and the poem “And Death Shall Have No Dominion” in which Death’s power and finality are denied by the poet.

               

And Death shall have no dominion.

Dead men naked they shall be one
With the man in the wind and west moon;

When their bones are picked clean and clean bones gone,
They shall have stars at elbow and foot;
Though they go mad they shall be sane,
Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;
Though lovers be lost love shall not;
And death shall have no dominion.  (Thomas, “And Death” 77)

But it isn't death alone that fascinates Thomas; birth, too, holds him enthralled, for there can be no death without first being born.  In his poem “Before I Knocked,” Thomas writes of his birth as the beginning of his eventual and inevitable death. The poet is wounded by birth and bleeds to death.

I, born of flesh and ghost, was neither
A ghost nor a man, but mortal ghost.
And I was struck down by death’s feather.
I was mortal to the last
Long breath that carried to my father
the message of his dying Christ.

You who bow down at cross and altar,
Remember me and pity Him
Who took my flesh and bone for armour
And doublecrossed my mother’s womb. (Thomas, “Before I Knocked” 9)

The ten stanzas of Thomas’ “Altarwise By Owl-Light” are unrhymed sonnets that can be read biographically as an account of Thomas’ life, “beginning with his begetting” and proceeding through his childhood and proceeding through the poet’s life (Riley 9). And “In the beginning” it was dark, except perhaps for flickering candle light: “Altarwise by owl-light in the half-way house / The gentleman lay graveward with his furies” (Thomas, “Altarwise” 80).  In the dim twilight of the half-way house that is his mother’s womb, the yet unborn poet is already facing “graveward” toward death.

Then, being birthed, the poet unleashes a torrent of images, allusions, and wordplay that all but overwhelms the reader.  Biblical allusions are frequent, piling up, one atop another from Adam (in Genesis, the first book of scripture) to Abaddon (in Revelation, the final).  Thomas also draws his images from Greek legends (“his furies” in stanza I, “sirens” in stanza V and “odyssey” and “river of the dead” in stanza IX), Roman poets (“white bear quoted Virgil” in stanza V), and American literature (“Rip Van Winkle” in stanza III, and “Jonah’s Moby” (that is, Moby Dick) in stanza V) and weaves them together with animals, card games, the human body, and his own idiosyncratic word play in which the words themselves become “generators of meaning” (Scutts 6) to create an impressionistic description of the journey from birth to death.

“I make one image,” says the poet, “though ‘make’ is not the right word; I let, perhaps, an image be ‘made’ emotionally in me and then apply to it what intellectual and critical forces I possess—let it breed another, let that image contradict the first, make, of the third image bred out of the other two together, a fourth contradictory image, and let them all, within my imposed formal limits, conflict” (Dylan Thomas).  And there is conflict within the poem.  The images clash against one another throwing up both sparks of illuminating light and obscuring smoke.  Meaning is both revealed and hidden; the poet giveth and the poet taketh away.

“Altarwise by Owl-Light” is not a straight poem, a narrative poem; it is not a poem that is easily read and understood.  It is complex and contradictory.  It is dense and obscure.  It is alternatingly wonderful and worrisome, bawdy and beautiful.  It is, like life, “As tarred with blood as the bright thorns I wept” (Thomas, “Altarwise 84).  And, again like life, it may still not make much sense when it ends, but there is something within of hope and life and “…resurrection in the desert … With stones of odyssey for ash and garland / And rivers of the dead around my neck” (Thomas, “Altarwise” 85).  We are born; we will die, but in-between those painful bloody bookends is something complex and beautiful.

Works Cited:

"Dylan Thomas." Poets.org. Academy of American Poets, n.d. Web.

Jones, Daniel ed. The Poetry of Dylan Thomas New York, James Laughlin. 1971.

Riley, Linda L. "The Word Made Flesh: Dylan Thomas' "Altarwise By Owl-Light""

Diss. Texas Tech U, 1973. Web. 13 Apr. 2015.

Rooser, Ted. The Poetry Home Repair Manual. Lincoln, NE. University of Nebraska Press. 2005.

Scutts, Julian. "Altarwise by Owl-light" by Dylan Thomas: What Is a Rude Red Tree?

Academia.edu. N.p., n.d. Web. 13 Apr. 2015.

Thomas, Dylan. “Altarwise By Owl-Light,” Collected Poems 1934 – 1952.

New York, New Directions Books. 1971.

Thomas, Dylan. “And Death Shall Have No Dominion,” Collected Poems 1934 – 1952.

New York, New Directions Books. 1971.

Thomas, Dylan. “Before I Knocked,” Collected Poems 1934 – 1952.

New York, New Directions Books. 1971.

Thomas, Dylan. “Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night,” Collected Poems 1934 – 1952.

New York, New Directions Books. 1971.

The Tooth Fairy

During my ENG COMP II class last night, we watched a short film entitled "The Mirror." We were then to choose one of the many various items seen, however briefly, in the movie, and to write, in class, about it.  Other than length and format requirements, those were our only instructions.  Below is my writing, without any further editing and the short itself.

***

A wiggle. He pushed with his tongue and the tooth wiggled. He pushed again; it definitely moved, that slight twinge of pain and the metallic taste of blood gave sensory evidence. It moved. Smiling wide, he grinned into the mirror and stared at the gleaming row of white teeth. This one was coming out.

He gave an experimental tug with this fingers, not too hard, just pinching it a bit and moving it ever so slightly. Slick and smooth as it was, it nearly slipped from his grip, but then, just before he lost it, it came free. Just sprung loose. No blood. No fuss. No screaming. No pain.

Father had suggested tying it to the doorknob and slamming the door shut. “That’ll get it out!” he’d said with a smile that the boy couldn’t interpret. But here it was; the tooth was free without recourse to medieval torture techniques. He turned it this way and that to examine it under the flickering, pale green light of the bathroom.

A gleaming dab of blood crowned the top of the narrow incisor. The blood looked almost silver in this light. He looked back to the mirror; that gleaming row of teeth was now broken. Like the hole left by a rock thrown through a window, like a …

He couldn’t finish the simile. He was only 6 and had only a limited range of experiences to which he could compare this event. But he’d seen broken windows, and he’d thrown a few rocks. He smiled in the mirror again and tongued the empty place between the remaining teeth.

He was impressed. He’d pulled it out by himself. He’d performed a surgical operation without assistance. Granted, it was a minor procedure. But he’d done it without anesthetic, and without help. He’d pulled out the loose tooth all by himself-and hadn’t even cried. Father would have to be impressed, maybe even proud.

Just then the tooth, slick with saliva and blood, slipped from his fingers and fell into the bowl of the sink. The sound of it striking the ceramic fixture was onomatopoeic: sink, sink, sink, that dancing, tinkling sound of enamel on enamel and the steady whoosh of the running tap water. And then it was gone. Down the drain. Into the dark, it was gone.

***

Somewhere in the dark the tooth was found, still slick with saliva and blood. It could smell the tooth. It could find that sickly sweet smell of blood and decay, even among the other fetid smells of the sewage system. It could smell the tooth. And in the dark, eyeless, it found the tooth.

It snaked its way through pipes and swam through tunnels until it came the place where the tooth had lodged, caught in a tangled mass of hair still foaming with soap. It had travelled hard and fast through miles of pipelines and conduits to find the tooth, but now it slowed to savor the moment. It sniffed again. Yes. This was the tooth, a calcified treasure. A delight of dentin. It could already taste the bacterial coating of plaque. 

A glissading tongue slithered from its mouth and wrapped itself around the tooth, then slowly, and with great delight, sucked it in.

Ramon And Pedro | The Mirror from The Ebeling Group on Vimeo.

It’s a Fine Essay, But the Wolves are too Important for Weak Arguments

This is an essay I wrote for my ENG COMP class - in it we were to summarize a writer's argument, respond with our own argument (agree / disagree / both) and use another source -with quotes.  Not a very complicated assignment, but I enjoyed it.

***

The wild gray wolf is a majestic creature; noble and savage, both feared and revered. But it is also a threatened species, endangered even despite legislation enacted in order to prevent its complete elimination.  The Endangered Species Act of 1973 helped to ensure that population of gray wolves in the United States could rise from a few hundred when the legislation was passed back up to several thousand (though this number is still dangerously low.)  In her op-ed piece in The New York Times, “High Noon for the Gray Wolf”, Lydia Millet encourages President Obama and other law makers to strengthen the laws that protect this endangered species so that it is not lost to us forever.

In making her argument Millet briefly describes the ebb and flow of the Gray Wolf population numbers in response to the enforcement or relaxing of laws that would protect them.  This is a logical, factual type argument, an argument that can be backed up with scientific studies. She also describes the “greatly exaggerated” fear that wolves threaten sheep and cattle – and this too is grounded in factual data and can be verified with statistical analysis.  But at the conclusion of her essay, Millet’s arguments veer toward the vague and nebulous realm of feel-good, warm fuzzies.  She wants her daughter to have a chance to see wolves in the wild.

There’s nothing specifically wrong with an emotional appeal. Emotional appeals have a proper place in intelligent discourse.  But if she wanted to counter the emotional (that is - fear) based argument that wolves are dangerous, Millet would have done better than to resort to an emotional appeal of her own.

Please don’t misunderstand me: I agree with Millet that a “unified wolf-recovery plan for the nation is required,” (Millet “High Noon”), this is an important issue and needs to be addressed with serious discussion and strong legislation,  but basing that necessity on such intangible arguments like “they were here long before we were,” and a slightly non- sequitur reference to environmentalist Aldo Leopold’s transformation in response to the “fierce green fire” in a wolf’s eyes is a weak argument (Millet “High Noon”).  Instead, she could have demonstrated the very vital necessity of preserving wolf populations by describing their role as a “keystone species.”  This would have given her argument a solid grounding in scientific data – measurable, documentable, quantifiable data that cannot be easily dismissed, and would, I think, have provided and even greater emotional appeal to her writing.

Keystone species like the Grey Wolf not only “keep the wilderness wild” as Millet mentions in a brief, almost throwaway phrase (“High Noon”), they actually keep the wilderness living. Like the keystone of an arch, if a keystone species is removed, the entire structure collapses.  The complete elimination of wolves would have catastrophic effects on the entire environment. Millet could have strengthened her essay by describing how the reintroduction of wolves into Yellowstone National Park has brought a new vitality to the once dying wilderness – biodiversity has increased among numerous species of flora and fauna, ecosystems have stabilized, and animal populations that were once in decline are returning.  Millet’s desire for her young daughter to have a chance to see wolf is a precious thing, not to be dismissed as irrelevant, but if the wolf disappears, her daughter might not have a chance to see many others species as well.  If the wolf disappears, the entire ecosystem with all its varied plant and animal species disappear with it.

In a 2013 TED talk George Monbiot, a writer known for his environmentalism and political work, describes how the reintroduction of wolves into the Yellowstone National Park had a cascading effect on the larger environment; even though the wolves were small in number, they had a huge effect.  As the wolves hunted deer and elk, the population of those grazing ungulates stabilized – and vegetation began to regrow in areas previously denuded.  As the vegetation – plants and trees once mowed down by uncontrolled deer and elk populations - retuned, so too came back small mammals and birds.  The beaver population of the park began to grow – which in turn brought more otters, muskrats, fish, reptiles, and assorted other animals (Monbiot “For More Wonder” 3:00).

And not only did the reintroduction of wolves into the park affect behavior and populations of animal life, the wolves actually began to change physical geography of the park.

“…here's where it gets really interesting. The wolves changed the behavior of the rivers. They began to meander less. There was less erosion. The channels narrowed. More pools formed, more riffle sections, all of which were great for wildlife habitats. The rivers changed in response to the wolves, and the reason was that the regenerating forests stabilized the banks so that they collapsed less often, so that the rivers became more fixed in their course. Similarly, by driving the deer out of some places and the vegetation recovering on the valley sides, there was less soil erosion, because the vegetation stabilized that as well. So the wolves, small in number, transformed not just the ecosystem of the Yellowstone National Park, this huge area of land, but also its physical geography” (Monbiot “For More Wonder”, 5:41).

 Millet’s essay begins well with a story about a couple of specific wolves, continues with factual data and historical information, but then fizzles out in its conclusion with an easily dismissed emotional appeal.  Even though I agree with Millet, I’m tempted to dismiss her essay as another bit of overly emotional fluff. It’s a fine essay, but the wolves are too important for vague emotional appeals.  Her argument would have been stronger – and had an even more powerful emotional impact – if she’d gone on to describe in demonstrable reasons exactly why it is so important to protect the wolf population in the United States. 

Millet, Lydia. "High Noon for the Gray Wolf." New York Times. New York Times 19 Jan. 2015. Web. 19 Jan. 2015.

Monbiot, George. “For More Wonder, Rewild the World” TEDGlobal, July 2013.

They Say / I Say

I am now in my second semester of being a college student – again.  This semester I am taking another writing class – ENG COMP II.  Our text for this class is a handy little primer entitled They Say / I Say: The Moves that Matter in Academic Writing. 

The authors of this text present writing as a conversational act. No one writes in a vacuum; we write in response to others. We agree, or disagree, or both.  We modify what others have said, correct them, and elaborate their message. And others, in turn, write in response to us and the conversation continues.

The book provides a number of “templates” or formulas – a sort of literary training wheel for the novice writer – to help the beginner enter into the conversation and to understand how the form of the writing can shape the content of the writing. 

I like the concept.  I appreciate the templates, but it all feels rather remedial to me.  Maybe it’s because I’ve grown up reading the gospels, and hearing the gospels read, - reading and hearing Jesus say:

“You have heard that it was said… but I say…”

A Biblical Role for the Government in Caring for the Poor

This is an essay I wrote for an assignment in my ENG COMP class. I exceeded the maximum word count by just a smidge...

***

It is a curious irony that during election seasons - like the one that recently concluded – it is difficult to have a nuanced political discussion.  Bombarded and overwhelmed by attack ads and sound bites as we are, our discussions tend to veer toward the hyperbolic.  Perhaps, now that the vigorous electioneering is over, at least for a time, we can examine, without bombast and without rancor, one of the claims that is often made during election seasons.  Political and theological conservatives frequently say that the Bible does not prescribe any role for government in caring for the poor - that this should be handled by private charities and individual donations. While it is true that the Bible does encourage each individual to be generous to the poor, it is not true to say that it prescribes no role for the government in caring for the poor; the Bible does allow (even mandates) a governmental role in providing for the poor.

In a recent campaign speech in Des Moines, Iowa, Republican Senator-Elect Joni Ernst said, “We have lost a reliance on not only our own families, but so much of what our churches and private organizations used to do…They used to have wonderful food pantries. They used to provide clothing for those that really needed it, but we have gotten away from that. Now we’re at a point where the government will just give away anything. We have to stop that” (Ernst 21: 46).   Ernst ran on a conservative platform of small government and biblical values, one of which, she believes, is that it is not within the government’s purview to care for the poor.

Conservative Christian and political commentator David Noebel says “[b]ecause government is an institution of justice, not of grace or community or creativity, it should not … attempt to dispense grace through tax-funded handouts … or control the economy and the disposition of property” (Noebel 628). He believes that there simply is no biblical allowance for a governmental role in providing for the poor, but this argument is easily refuted.  There are many biblical examples that describe the role of the government in taking care of the poor.

The prophet Jeremiah was a frequent critic of the king and leaders of Judah at the end of the seventh and early years of the sixth century BCE; he condemned the idolatry and greed that was rampant among the leaders of the nation.  In a speech directed to King Jehoiakim the prophet spoke for God, saying:

                        Do you think you are more a king
                        because you compete in cedar?                       
                        Your father ate and drank                        
                         and dispensed justice and equity -
                        Then all went well with him.                       
                         He upheld the rights of the poor and needy -
                        Then all was well.                         
                        That is truly heeding me (JPS Hebrew – English Tanakh, Jeremiah 22: 15 - 16).
This king was chided for failing to care for the poor.  The prophet held up the memory of his father, King Josiah, as an example.  Josiah upheld the rights of the poor; he ensured that they had food to eat and protected them from those who would exploit their labor or steal their land, and he was blessed for it.  This was the role of the good king, Josiah.  This was the role of his government.

The book of Proverbs is the biblical collection of ancient wisdom and deep thoughts.  These sayings were collected from an eclectic variety of sources, including the otherwise unmentioned Lemuel, King of Massa.  This king passed down to his son the words of advice that his mother had given him, “Speak up for the dumb, / For the rights of all the unfortunate. / Speak up, judge righteously, /  Champion the poor and the needy” (JPS Hebrew – English Tanakh, Proverbs 31: 8– 9).

It may be argued that to “champion the poor and needy” or to uphold the rights of the poor and the needy is not the same as providing tax funded government charity, but there is more of a correlation than many conservatives are willing to admit.  One of the biblically defined rights of the poor and needy was the right of “gleaning,” that is, the poor were allowed to harvest grain from the edges of other people’s fields and fruit from other people’s orchards and vines (Leviticus 23:22, Deuteronomy 24: 19 – 21).  While it is not a perfectly analogous relation to tax funded government programs, the concept is very similar.  And the biblically defined role of the king including protecting these rights of the poor.

The ideal king of Israel is described in Psalm 72, and it is clear that this perfect king will care for the poor.  He will “champion the lowly among the people/ deliver the needy folk,” and he will save “the needy who cry out/ the lowly who have no helper. / He cares about the poor and the needy / he brings the needy deliverance” (JPS Hebrew – English Tanakh, Psalm 72: 4, 12 - 14). This king will rule with justice, which is to say, he will care for and provide relief to the poor and the weak.  This, the psalmist says, will bring blessing not only to the nation of Israel, but to the entire world.  The primary role attributed the ideal king in this psalm is that of helping the poor; the psalm is clear and unambiguous in declaring that the role of the king is to care and provide for the poor.

We can debate how these instructions from an ancient theocratic monarchy are to be applied in our contemporary secular democratic republic, and we can argue about the best way to put them into practice because, “[a]lthough biblical revelation tells us that God and his faithful people are always at work liberating the oppressed, we do not find a comprehensive blueprint for a new economic order in Scripture” (Sider 193).  It is up to us to determine what that will look like in this modern age.  But we cannot make the bald assertion that the Bible does not allow for a governmental role in providing for the poor.  It very clearly does.

                                                                                                                                 

Ernst, Joni. “Campaign Speech” Des Moines Conservative Breakfast Club.  Des Moines.

August 20, 2013.

Noebel, David.  Understanding the Times: The Story of the Biblical Christian, Marxist/Leninist

and Secular Humanist Worldviews.  Manitou Springs, CO: Summit Press, 1991.

“Jeremiah.” JPS Hebrew – English Tanakh. Philadelphia, PA: The Jewish Publication Society,

1999.

“Proverbs.” JPS Hebrew – English Tanakh. Philadelphia, PA: The Jewish Publication Society,

1999.

“Psalms.” JPS Hebrew – English Tanakh. Philadelphia, PA: The Jewish Publication Society, 1999.

Sider, Ronald J.  Rich Christians in an Age of Hunger. Downers Grove, IL: Inter-Varsity Press,

1984.

The Commies are Out to Get Us - David Noebel, Paranoid and Crazy

I’m working on a piece of homework, an assignment for my ENG COMP class.  We’re to write a 700 – 1,000 word Persuasive Essay.  I’ve chosen to argue that “the Bible does allow for a governmental role in caring for the poor.”  In preparation for writing this essay, I’ve been doing a bit of research – in my own collection of books, at the public library and on the internets.

One of the sources that I’ll be quoting – as the voice of the opposition (claiming that the bible does not allow a governmental roll in caring for the poor) – is one David Noebel, former director of Summit Ministries. I decided to do a little investigation into Mr. Noebel and his background, so that I can fairly and accurately present his arguments. In digging through his work I discovered the following gems:  

Communism, Hypnotism, and the Beatles

“…the communists’ ingenuity in placing these records in hundreds of thousands of American homes and in thousands of schools in all 50 states and Canada is frightening.  Since the American family and the American teacher would not knowingly purchase communist recordings designed to produce mentally sick children, the communists stepped back into the woodwork and allowed well-intentioned people to their subversive work for them. Their effectiveness is staggering.  Their influence is terrifying and a picture to behold…”

It would be difficult to describe the Beatles as Communists – difficult with a straight face, anyway. But Noebel also took issue with folk singers like Pete Seger, Woody Guthrie, and Phil Ochs as well. These artists could more accurately be described as communists or socialists.  But that’s part of why I love them.

Marxist Minstrels: The Communist Subversion of American Folk Music

(By the way, he repeatedly mispronounces Phil Ochs name...) 

David Noebel is a sometimes contributor to World Net Daily, and co-wrote the book Mind Siege:The Battle for Truth in the new Millennium (2000) with Tim LaHaye, which is a tiresome screed against the evils of the secular humanists and a woe-is-us bemoaning of the decline of John Birch style Pro-moral True American Christianity...

The material written by Noebel that I will be quoting in my paper is from his book Understanding the Times: The Story of the Biblical Christian, Marxist / Leninist and Secular Humanist Worldviews (1992) and is less obviously paranoid and crazy than the examples I've included here, but are you noticing a theme? I think him crazy, not because he saw communism / socialism on the rise - but because he attributes such evil and malicious intent to socialism and because he believes that his version and interpretation of a "Christian Worldview" is the only true and reasonable Christian worldview.  According to Noebel, any Christian who embraces a worldview anywhere along the spectrum of socialism is not a real, bible loving, pro-moral Christian.

And because he sees evil communist / secular humanist conspiracies everywhere... 

A Pastor in the Hallways

I have recently begun going back to school.  I tell people that I’m on the 25 year plan; that if I focus my attention and really knuckle down on the work, I can cram all four years of college into 25.  I have just a few more classes to complete in order to earn my Bachelor’s degree.  And I’m finally getting around to completing them.

One of the classes that am currently taking is an English Composition class – writing. A few of my friends have suggested that I probably could have tested out of it and not had to actually take the class.  I can write and (if I may be allowed a bit of self-promotion) have a book that should be available any day now.

But I wanted to take the class anyway – for a couple of reasons.  1) It has been a while since I was in a classroom as a student.  And while ENG COMP may be an easy class for me, I have a math and a science class to take as well, and those will be more challenging.  I wanted this class to be an easy reintroduction to student life.  2) I know enough about myself to realize that, given the opportunity, I will avoid human interaction.  I’m very much an introverted person.  So taking the class was a purposeful choice to put myself into a situation where I would need to meet and interact with new people.   And 3) I wanted to find new ways to be a pastor to people.  The last two points are related and interconnected.

And some of those things are starting to happen.

In my ENG COMP class last night, we watched the documentary, The Invisible War, about rape and sexual assault in the various branches of the United States military.  It was a powerful film, very moving. Very emotionally draining.  We have an assignment to write in response to the film.  250+ words on the issue.  The standard sort of ENG COMP kind of writing assignment.

But after the movie ended and the class was dismissed, I could see that one of my classmates was still upset.  He’s mentioned several time in class that he spent a number of years in the military. It’s something that he’s quite proud of.  It is a large part of how he identifies himself.  And the film made him very upset.  Angry.  But not angry in a “how dare they say that” sort of way.  He was embarrassed and angry, angry that the institution that helped him to define who he is would allow people to be victimized and assaulted and then treated so shabbily afterwards. 

I was tired after class, tired and emotionally drained.  I was ready to go home and very nearly turned the other direction in the hallway to head out to the parking lot through a different exit.  But I could see that he was hurting, so I hustled down the corridor to catch up to him, and engaged him in conversation for a few moments. 

I let him vent.  And vent he did.  He cursed. He swore. He even growled a little bit. As I said, the film was very powerful.  After he had the chance to verbalize most of what he needed to express, he paused, took a deep breath, and then said, “Now I have to go home and face my family.  I don’t think I can do that.”

“Give them a hug,” I told him.

“I’m not sure I can.”

“You can.  You love them,” I said.  He shrugged and headed out towards his car.  I trekked back the other direction towards mine, and then went home.

I may complain a little bit about the rudimentary level of this class (I know how to use punctuation, I know how to do a research paper, I know how to write a bibliography…) but I’m glad that I’m taking it.  It is good for me to be here.  I haven’t gone out of my way to tell the class that I’m a pastor – but I’m glad to be there as a pastor in the hallways when they need one.

We Need To Talk about an Injustice

Recently in my English Composition class we watched the following TED talk by Bryan Stevenson.  Afterwards we had 40 minutes to write a response. 

Brian Stevenson says that we need to talk about an injustice, but we, as a nation, are reluctant to have this much needed conversation.  We refuse to deal with an injustice that has poisoned our collective spirt.  And, he says, we will not be well; we will not be whole until we commit to truth and reconciliation and speak to each other about how race and poverty affect our criminal justice system.

It is an injustice that such a disproportionate number of poor, African Americans are incarcerated.  The fact that among the countries of the world, the United States of America has the highest percentage of its population incarcerated and that we are the only country to hand down life sentences to convicted offenders as young as thirteen years old is an indication that something is very wrong.  When one third of black, American men are or have been in the prison system, we desperately need to have a conversation about an injustice. 

Like Stevenson I believe that we will not be judged by our technology, or by our accumulation of wealth and power.  I believe that we be judged on the basis of how we treated the poor and disenfranchised among us.

I am led to this conviction by the words of Jesus in the gospel of Matthew chapter 25.  He told his followers a story about that final judgment at end of the world when the Son of Man has all peoples of the world gathered before him and he separates them into the “sheep and the goats,” dividing them  - the sheep on his right and the goats on his left.  The standard for this judgment is not their financial security; it is not their business acumen, or their collective wealth and power.  The standard used for this judgment is this:  Did you feed me when I was hungry?  Did you give me something to drink when I was thirsty?  Did you invite me into your home when I was a stranger?  Did you clothe me when I was naked?  Did you care for me when I was sick? Did you visit me when I was in prison? 

Both groups – the sheep and the goats – are surprised by this standard.  When did we see you hungry, thirsty, a sick, naked, stranger in prison? Jesus replies, ‘Whatever you did (or did not do) for the very least among you, you did (or did not do) for me.’

 It is an injustice that we are so reluctant to discuss how our undiscussed attitudes towards race and poverty are allowed to affect our criminal justice system. And it is upon this issue that we will be judged.  

I'm not a Bastard this Week, But I still Need Work

  

Last week, after returning home from my English Composition class, I wrote a little bit about how I had to be a cruel, heartless bastard in the peer editing process of one of our assignments.  And in so doing, I revealed something of my own need for a cruel, heartless bastard to edit my work…  Feel free to mock me, if you would like to do so.

This week’s peer editing session was altogether different.  We were required to have our essays examined by another classmate. I didn’t have to mark up every. single. sentence. of the paper I read tonight- which came as some relief to me.  I really don’t want everyone in the class to think I’m a jerk.

But what really amused me about tonight’s session was the way that my partner and I gave polar advice to each other.  His paper was strong in detail and expression, had some few problems with mechanics, but was a good beginning to a powerful emotional essay.  But when it came time for his “universal reflections” (for our essays are to include both personal and universal reflections) it was as if this fine emotionally compelling narrative came to a screaming halt so he could say, “I think the world should learn X, Y, and Z from my experience.”   (I’m paraphrasing, of course, but you get the idea…)

“Is there,” I asked him, “a way to weave these reflections in more seamlessly?” 

Conversely, when he finished reading my paper he said, “The universal reflections are in there, but they’re so blended in, it’s hard to separate them.”

And he’s right.  

A Conversation with Jim

My cell phone rang.  It was Jim.

“Hello.  Is this Jeff?  Hey, Jeff, how are you?”  He was already off and running with the conversation and I hadn’t said anything yet.  “I was hoping you could run me up to the garden this afternoon if you got some time later today, I don’t want to bug you or anything, but the cucumbers and the squash are ready to be picked.  I drove by there this morning on my bike to check them, but I couldn’t pick any up then, not on my bike. I can’t carry very much of anything on the motorcycle.”  This is how conversations go with Jim; they tend to be rather one-sided.

“I got my bike running again, put a couple of gallons of gas in the tank.  Still got the problem with the tail light, though… Can you do that, Jeff? Can you take me over there, say around 4:30?”

“Yeah, Jim,” I said. “I can do that,” but he was already talking again.

“Can you?  At 4:30?  5 o’clock, when the sun’s gone down a little and it’s not so hot.

I don’t want to bother you or anything.  I can give you some money, I get paid later this week, and want to get a gallon of milk at Speedway; I was going to get some corned beef at Fareway too, but the prices keep going up.  I had some stamps and coins I was going to get this week too, but that will probably have to wait.”

“So, I’ll see you at 4:30?” I said, trying to get back into the conversation; it’s a bit like jumping through the gaps between cars on a moving train.

“I bought some duck stamps last week.  I’ll bring them to church on Sunday to show you. You and your kids.  And your wife.  She’s nice.”

“Yes, I think so.  Do you want me to pick you up at 4:30, then?”

“4:30, yeah.  If you can.  The squash and cucumbers are ready to be picked and the tomatoes probably are, too, if the deer haven’t been eating them.  Okay, then. I’ll see you at 4:30.  Have a good day.  Bye.”

“Bye, Jim,” I said, but he’d already hung up.

A Final Prayer

On this, the occasion of my death, I have need of nothing.  I am content with my life.  First responders do not think of themselves, but of those they serve – be they dressed in policemen’s blues, or firefighters’ turnout gear, or religious habit.  I do not pray for myself, but for those who are dying and those who will die. 

Most High, all powerful, good Lord, all praise is yours, all glory, all honor and blessing, even here, even now in these towers of death.  No mortal lips may pronounce your name, but to whom else could we call out, surrounded as we are on all sides by terror and by fear?  All praise is yours, my Lord, though your creatures have gone insane.

“Jesus, please end this now.  God, please end this now.”

It is dark in here, I cannot see.  Brother Sun, who shone so brightly only a few hours ago has been obliterated, his beautiful splendor blotted out.  Brothers Wind and Air have not brought sustaining rains – but cruel and violent storms.  Brother Fire has turned his mighty strength against my brothers, against us all.  And Sister Death, O Lord, whose embrace none of us can escape, has welcomed too many into her arms this morning. Enough.  Stay your hand. Enough.

“Jesus, please end this now.  God, please end this now.”

Deliver, Lord, the soul of Thy servants from all danger of Hell, from all pain and tribulation.  Deliver us from the common death of the world.  Deliver us from violence inflicted upon us and inflicted by us. 

“Jesus, please end this now.  God, please end this now.”

Happy are those Sister Death finds doing your will, O Lord, even as fires rage and towers collapse. Give us peace, O Lord, especially as the fires are burning and towers are falling.  Give us peace when the nations are raging.  Happy are those who endure in peace.  Crown us, oh Lord, with peace, now and in the hour of our death.

This piece, written for my English Comp. class, was inspired by Father Mychal Judge 

I Can Be a Heartless Bastard

I’ve mentioned in this blog that I am currently enrolled at the local community college (Des Moines Area Community College).  I’m taking the last few general education classes I need to finally finish my bachelor’s degree (I know, I know… I’m on the twenty five year plan…) one of which is an English Composition class. It’s a required class; I have to take it in order to complete the degree requirements.

It’s a writing class – and a very basic one.  So far we’ve reviewed (in painstaking detail) how to use punctuation and quotation marks, and the difference between direct and indirect quotations, the difference between adverbs and adjectives, and so on.  Much of this (should I say all?) is remedial for me, though I’m still trying to make the class a learning experience; I haven’t written it off as beneath me or unnecessary.  I’m not so vain as to say that I’m such a great writer that I don’t need any instruction from anyone.  (I’m vain, but not that vain…)

Last week we were given the assignment to write in response to a remembered event.  Our papers were required to do the following:

* Describe the event in great detail.
* Incorporate a good hook.
* Use dialogue – in fact, the dialogue was to the defining part of the essay.
* Include an in depth reflection on the theme or meaning of the event, both on a personal and a universal level. 
* Be in first person.
* Be between 1000 – 1500 words.

You can (if you want) read my paper here. Tonight, during class, we were to share our papers with one of our peers and to edit each other’s work. 

You must stop here and have a silent moment of pity for the poor girl who got stuck with me as her partner for this peer editing, because I marked up every sentence of her paper.  Every. Single. Sentence.  I was merciless.

It was several hundred words short of the minimum word length, had no dialogue, and was not in first person.  There were sentences without subjects.  There were sentences without verbs.  There was at least one sentence with neither a subject nor a verb – if such aberrations can be described as sentences. She chose to write her paper about the effects of Hurricane Katrina – a powerful and memorable event, to be sure- but her paper had nothing of the personal or universal reflections that the assignment called for.  I crossed out words.  I added punctuation.  I moved paragraphs.  I crossed out an entire paragraph that was an accidental duplication of an earlier paragraph, so her paper was even further away from the minimum number of words.

I realized that I could not hand this paper back to her – after I had marked up Every. Single. Sentence. – without offering some helpful and constructive words, and kind words as well.  I didn’t want her to think that I was tearing up her work just because I’m a heartless bastard who delights in kicking puppies and crushing the hopes and dreams of young women. 

I told her what was good about her paper, and there was some good in it.  It was not completely devoid of merit.  I told her what was her paper was still lacking, and provided a few ways she could correct those deficiencies.   She’s 19, 20 years old, maybe.  And this is her first writing class; in fact, this is one of her first college level classes. I didn’t want to ruin her writing experience; I didn’t want to crush her ambitions so early on. That should come later when she receives rejection letter after rejection letter from cold heartless bastard magazine and book editors…


(EDIT and - just so you will know that I can be a bastard to myself as well, I've corrected this little post twice three times since I first published it 20 40 minutes ago...)

To Participate in the Kingdom Is To Participate in the Struggle

I am currently enrolled in my local community college (Des Moines Area Community College) and taking a composition class.  Our assignment this week was to write in response to a remembered event that moved us emotionally or greatly affected our lives. 

I have taken part of a post I wrote earlier for this blog - reworked and expanded it for the assignment.

Earlier this year I went on a tour of Israel and Palestine with a group of pastors.  We were tourists and pilgrims visiting the Holy Land.  We did the things that tourists and pilgrims do.  We saw the historical sites, we went to museums, listened to lectures, bought souvenirs, and took pictures of everything. 

During the trip I frequently wore a keffiyeh – the Arab head-covering scarf.  My brother had bought it for me when he was in Israel earlier.  They’re available for purchase from merchants in many cities in Israel and Palestine.  But I wore mine, not just as a stupid American tourist, doing the things that tourists do, but because I understand the symbolic connection the keffiyeh has with the Palestinian people and their desire for a free and independent state.  I wore my scarf in support of the Palestinian people and to identify with them.

During most of the trip it caused me very little trouble.  In the northern parts of Israel, around the Sea of Galilee, it didn’t even occasion a second glance. When we went into the city of Bethlehem, which is part of the Palestinian territory, I was hailed by a couple of street venders, “Hey Mr. Arafat!”

It was at Masada, near the Dead Sea, that I had my first discomforting encounter on account of my scarf.  Our group had gone up to that mountain fortress that was at one time a stronghold of King Herod, and later was the last stand of the Zealots during the Jewish revolt against the Romans in AD 72.  Masada today is almost a religious site for the Jewish people and a symbol of Israel’s national identity, a symbol of their national determination to live free or die. While we were there we saw a family celebrating their son’s Bar Mitzvah in the remains of the synagogue used by the Zealots before their mass suicide.

As our group was preparing to leave the remains of that mountain fortress I stepped aside to take a few last pictures.  I approached the vantage point that I wanted to photograph and realized that my path would take me right in front of two women who were taking pictures in the same area. Not wanting to photo-bomb their pictures, I waited as one of the women gave instructions (in Hebrew) to her friend on how to use the camera.  When they were finished I said, “Shalom” and made to pass on by.  The woman with the camera then rattled off a string of Hebrew to me in return.  I apologized (in English) and said that I’d just about exhausted my knowledge of Hebrew. 

“That’s okay,” she said, “I’m Canadian.”

Then she picked at my shirt and vest and my keffiyeh and said, “Why do you wear this Arab scarf?”  Not wanting to engage in a confrontational debate right there and then, and also because our group was starting to leave, I made polite excuses and continued on my way. Most of our group rode the cable car down from the top, but some of us walked the long and rugged “snake path” down the steep cliff side. 

When we arrived, hot and sweaty, at the bottom of the mountain we ate lunch at the visitors’ center and, after the obligatory few minutes at the gift shop, went outside to wait for our bus.  That’s where I saw her again – or rather – she saw me.

“There’s my Arab American friend!” she called out.  She waved me over to speak to her. “Do you know what this means?” she asked, picking at my scarf again. “Do you know what this is?”

“Yes.  I do understand the implications of the keffiyeh,” I explained.  “I know something of the history of the conflict between Israelis and the Palestinians.” We engaged in a short conversation there in front of the visitors’ center about the long history of conflict between these two groups. 

When she learned that I’m a Christian pastor she said to me, “As follower of Jesus, you must support the sons of Abraham.” 

“But aren’t the Palestinians, aren’t the Arabs, sons of Abraham too, through Ishmael?” I asked her. 

My new Canadian Jewish friend waved her hand and dismissed my question, “Pfffft.” 

Our bus arrived shortly after that.  I shook hands with my Canadian Jewish friend and we both said, “Shalom.”  The confrontation was over.  It was brief and it was mild, but it wouldn’t be my final confrontation. 

When our time in Israel and Palestine was over, we returned to Ben Gurion airport to catch our flight home.  As I made my way through the checkpoints in the airport I was stopped by a security agent because of the keffiyeh I was wearing.  The guard pulled me out of the line of travelers to ask a few questions.

“What is your purpose in Israel?” the security agent asked me. I don’t recall what he looked like; all I could see was the firearm on his hip.

“I’ve been here as a tourist.”

“Who do you know in Israel? Do you have friends here?” 

“No.  I don’t.  I’ve just been here a few days as a tourist.”

He interrogated me with firm voice and stern eyes. “You don’t have any contacts in Israel or in the Palestinian territories? Who do you know in Israel?”

“No one.  As I said, I’ve been here ten days with a tour group. Now I’m heading home.”

The guard examined my passport and my boarding pass, poked through my camera bag, and looked me over before speaking into his shoulder mounted radio.  He spoke Hebrew rapidly – but I recognized my name being said.  He stared at me as we waited for a response.  It was one of those moments that seems to last much longer than the actual elapsed time.  I could see my wife standing on the other side of the checkpoint ready to cry.  

When an answer finally came back to the security agent from some unseen officer, he returned my passport and boarding pass.  “You should proceed immediately to your plane, Mr. Carter,” he said to me as he handed me the documents.

The Catholic theologian Gustavo Gutiérrez has written, “To place oneself in the perspective of the kingdom [of God] means to participate in the struggle for the liberation of those who are oppressed by others (Gutiérrez, 287).”  But in my normal everyday life I am not oppressed or persecuted.  I live a fairly privileged life; as a white American male, I occupy a position of relative comfort and ease.  How can I identify with those who are persecuted and oppressed? 

I’m not stopped in the streets by police armed with assault rifles.  I’m not, in my ordinary life, questioned by armed guards at military checkpoints when I travel.   I don’t live behind concrete and barbed wire barricades.  I had a few brief moments of fear and anxiety in Israel because of the keffiyeh.  What is it like to live every day with that constant anxiety?  I had a difficult few moments at one checkpoint.  What is it like to have to endure a checkpoint interrogation in order to leave or return home every day?

Christian theologians talk about the kenosis of Christ – that is his “self-emptying,” the giving up of his place in heaven in order to take on a human incarnation and to live among us.  He did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross (English Standard Version, Philippians 2: 6 – 8).” He became as we are so that he could identify with us in our struggles.

It’s not enough for me, as a minister of the gospel of Jesus Christ, to speak the good news from the pulpit on Sundays.  It is a hollow gospel that is proclaimed merely from a place of safety and comfort. If the gospel is about life and freedom for all of God’s people, I cannot sit idly silent while others struggle to live and be free. It may have been a small action, but I wore the keffiyeh as a way to identify with and to, for a few moments, participate in that struggle. 

English Standard Version. Wheaton, Ill: Crossway Bibles, 2007. Print.

Gutiérrez, Gustavo, “Theology of Liberation.” Gustavo Gutiérrez: Essential Writings.  Ed. James B. Nickoloff. Maryknoll NY: Orbis Books, 1996. Print.

It's Official - I'm a College Student Again

I often tell people that I'm on a 25 year plan - that is, if I work really hard and focus all of my attention,  I can cram all four years of college into 25.  I think I can do it.  It will take some blood, and sweat, and tears, but I think I can, just maybe, do it.

All I need to finish out my bachelors degree is a few (7) general ed type classes - some English Comp., Literature, Art Appreciation, Science and Math.  And of those, only the Math requirement has me sweating. I like math, I just am not very good at getting the numbers to line up properly.)

I'm now enrolled at the local community college - Des Moines Area Community College (DMACC) at the Newton, Iowa campus.  I've purchased my books and everything.  Whoo hoo!

I have two classes this semester - English Comp. I and an online Literature Class focusing on Science Fiction. (How cool is that?!)