Out of Bounds

The crime dramas that fill the schedule of evening TV are well crafted studies of people doing horrific things. We don't need fiction, however, to tell us that people are capable of great evil. The news outlets, particularly lately, carry stories of real life violence that are every bit as gruesome as what the best screen writers can produce.

When I hear these accounts or read historical records of cruelty and brutality, I am tempted to give up my view that people are good. The evidence is all too clear that we can't count on all people to behave rationally or kindly.

However, I think that the operative word here is all people. By far, most of the people we encounter are nothing to be afraid of and we do society a disservice if we see rapists and murderers waiting around every corner. This kind of distrust creates an atmosphere that encourages the very thing we fear: a lack of love in our relationships with others.

When people feel threatened or abandoned, disliked or disrespected, the desire to relate well to others disappears. This is as true of our neighbor nations on this planet as it is of the gang member or criminal. This is a situation that is under our control. It is the attitude of the trying-to-be-good people that determines the kind of society we live in, not that of the sour grapes in the bunch. There are more of us than there are of them.

I think that the antisocial behavior in our midst will flourish if we continue to create the kind of conditions that encourage it. If someone has enough anger against a perceived enemy, then cruelty will seem justified. Our job is to value each person so much that this kind of anger doesn't have a chance to grow.

This is an extraordinary task because, though environment plays a large role in antisocial behavior, it does not account for everything. DNA researchers have found that variations of a particular gene are related to aggressive behavior in men. Only large doses of love and early therapeutic guidance can mitigate an inborn tendency.

So far, not enough research has been done on the so-called "warrior gene." Its influence must spark a deep discussion among all societies, given the implications for our approaches to punishment, rehabilitation and beliefs about the nature of humankind.

To some, preemptive strikes against those with the suspect variation might seem tempting, but we must make sure that the rights of individuals or whole ethnic groups aren't taken away simply because of the possibility that he or she might one day be out of bounds. This discovery should, however, put to rest the idea that all of us are born evil. Some of us simply are born more aggressive than others.

In the most satisfying of TV crime shows, the perp is found, sentenced to a long prison term and the cops celebrate with a beer and a cheer. In reality, we know that courtrooms are sometimes unjust, jail is a revolving door and the situations that fostered antisocial attitudes are there waiting for the ex-con to return. We can live in fear of this reality or create a new one by fixing the problems in our relationships and economic conditions that awaken desires for domination or revenge in anyone, warrior or not.

This sounds difficult, but I like the idea that I can do something about the headlines and not just wring my hands in desperate fear.

Against All Odds

The Norfolk pine that I wrote about in a previous post never recovered from its experience in the crowded dish garden. On Thanksgiving Day, I laid the shriveled, brittle remains under some bushes in the back yard.

Just as I was musing over the importance of environment to proper growth, I came across another tree while I out doing some errands on Black Friday. Underneath an overpass, in the tiniest of cracks in the sidewalk, was a healthy tree/weed that was flourishing in spite of the concrete that covered its roots and shut out the sun. This was no "proper environment," and yet its will to live is strong enough that this plant is making it in a way that the Norfolk pine could not, despite its Miracle Gro potting soil and fancy container.

What is it that makes some of us able to survive the "slings and arrows of outrageous fortune" as Hamlet put it, and others bend to varying degrees under the pressure?

Virgil might have part of the answer and he even carries the plant analogy as bit further when he wrote: "as the twig is bent, so the tree inclines." Whether or not we view ourselves as loved from the outset is crucial to our ability to withstand life and its struggles.

So, were the Beatles right when they sang "All you need is Love"? Yes and No. Lack of enough love or the right kind of love - most particularly when we are very young - colors our perception of life and fills us with fear.

It is also true, however, that in many cases, we are given love that we don't understand or can't appreciate and we go thirsty while surrounded by wells. Maybe our bucket is too big to fit down the shaft or maybe it's too small to hold much when we bring it up, but the love that is offered and the love that we need aren't a good match.

Genetics plays a part in this mismatch, but some of the effects of even this preconditioning can be softened, if each of us would lay aside our own conception of how to love and adapt to the unique needs of others, instead. Too often we set up ourselves as the arbiter of what another should see as a loving action and get hurt if they misinterpret what we've said or done.

Meaning lies with the receiver and the love that we offer must be put into the "language" that the other understands. When others cry out for love, it shouldn't matter whether or not we think the cry is justified. The need is there and it is up to us to try to fill their bucket and not tell them that they should get a different container.

I could go and uproot the plant along the highway - and probably save it from the City landscape crew - but I won't. For the moment, it is getting all that it needs and in my attempt to make decisions for it, I would probably wind up giving it the wrong kind of love.

Apparently, it likes concrete.

Thanks and Praise

Today is an amazing day. The rhythm of life has paused in the United States so that people may gather and give thanks. The thanks are wrapped in a package of f's: friends, family, food and football. Through them all, we celebrate life.

For some, though, there's another f that characterizes the day: forgotten. Maybe it's the prisoner or the homeless or the odd relative; maybe it's God or some obligation or an old acquaintence that each New Year's Eve we pledge to remember. If we try hard enough, these can be brought to mind. For many more of us, however, the forgetting goes even deeper and is much harder to rectify: we have forgotten who we are.

When I was growing up, I was convinced that I was worth nothing. As the years have passed, however, I have discovered that to my Creator, I am worth everything. To my Savior, I was important enough that He came, died and rose so that I would live in hope and not fear. To the Spirit, if I am willing, I am an instrument of peace and an ambassador of reconciliation.

I have realized that I am not special and yet I am completely special because we all are precious in God's sight. This is the wonder of our existence: God shows no partiality. We can't earn God's love and we can't lose it either. If God's love were conditional, then God wouldn't be perfect Love, but He is. Who we are is worthy of wonder: we are the offspring of God. We are made in God's image. We are filled with God's presence. That presence becomes more and more evident as we let it transform us.

That each of us is wonderful in God's eyes leaves me full of wonder. For this, I give thanks and praise.

Breathing Room

Several months ago, we received a dish garden from some friends. It is very large and full of plants - 10 of them - and they are all tall and leafy. Yesterday, I noticed that the Norfolk pine in the middle was shriveled. Its branches were parallel to its trunk and it was clearly dying. No wonder, I thought. In its constricted space, there was no room for its branches to spread out and grow. It had no room to breathe. I transplanted the squished tree into its own pot and I hope that it is not too late for it to recover.

I see a lesson for us in the story of the tree.

Many people try desperately to make the most of the situation that they are in. They pray, they grit their teeth, and they rationalize every which way about all the possible purposes for the pain that they are in. They live in what a Saint called "holy darkness" and accept it as the price of being human. I suggest that sometimes the holiest thing we can do is to fight the pain and search for the options that bring us peace. The holiest thing for the rest of us is not to judge others when they do.

The adage that was so popular a couple of decades ago, "Bloom where you are planted," isn't always a good idea to try to do. The Norfolk pine was never going to bloom because what it needed to be a Norfolk pine was not available to it where it was. No wishing on anyone's part was going to provide the space for its branches to grow the way they are supposed to grow because someone planted it too close to other plants. To live, it needed to move and find a spot more suitable to what it is called to be: a tree with long arms that reach out in all directions. It is its birthright to be planted in a place that will allow it to grow. Something got in its way.

In the same way, humans have a birthright, too. We are called to be truly human. We are called to make the most of who we are, to use our enormous creativity and capabilities, to love and be loved. We are made for happiness or it wouldn't be such a deep desire within us. I wish we really believed this, but the Church of the Cross often trumps the Church of the Resurrection. Sometimes we get in our own way by being too fearful or too timid; sometimes others get us off track by being too directive or unloving and sometimes we become the rock in another's stream.

Jesus said "I came so that they might have life and have it more abundantly;" the Psalmist counsels, "Seek peace and pursue it." St Paul tells the Colossians that we are called to peace. If our destiny were to live a boring or narrow life, we would have been made differently, but as it is, we are complex creatures placed in a world of beauty and not just utility. We are made to experience Life to its full and to become what God has called us to be - a people who love ourselves and others as deeply.

God does not toy with us, try our patience or send us trouble. When it comes, the God of Light calls us out of darkness. The God of Hope calls us out of pain. The God of Love has carved us on the palms of His hands.

Be Still

I spent much of yesterday afternoon in 1985, watching a couple of hours of family video which resurrected people long dead and put me in touch with a Christmas long forgotten. Music, presents, decorations, and several nativity layouts got me thinking about the holiday season that is now upon us. The holidays put pressure on us all to celebrate with too much of everything and it often winds up showing us that we don't have enough of anything. Money, time, and creativity all disappear in a frenzy of activity designed to make memories last for a lifetime.

Joy is a laudable goal and this isn't going to be one of those "how to survive the holidays" tirades that suggest that we retire from the cultural madness, go green and save the greenbacks. Rather it's a call to be still in the midst of it all, so that we can remember the uniqueness of the moment and remember the people who touch our lives and the God who lives now and not just the baby who came 2000 years ago.

In looking at the video, it was obvious that people grow up, they change, they move on and disappear. We can't stop the metamorphosis, but what we can do is preserve the experience by infusing each shared moment with God's presence. Even if we don't remember the details, by conversing with God, even briefly, while interacting with others, we have transformed the moment and allowed God to use it for purposes beyond our awareness.

When we bring God into all that we do, think and say, we create, as did a monk who lived in the 1600's, heaven on earth for ourselves. What we await in the future, Brother Lawrence experienced in the present by doing all for God and allowing God to fill each moment with a different perspective, a new insight or simply the experience of God's presence. It was all there for the asking.

I think that we can ask, too, because God shows no partiality. We can birth Christ through a song, a party or a piece of sticky tape on a package all year long. Done with love and an openness to the Holy Spirit, all of our activities are transformational if we bring God into them. It is not just a matter of lifting the day to God in prayer at its start and then going about our business. It is taking the hand of God and walking out into the world as a couple, ready to accomplish all that occurs and conferring with each other as the minutes pass.

Not easy to remember to do, this is the kind of stillness that no Christmas rush can take away.

Not Separate; Very Equal

I've come across a number of life stories recently that speak of the incredible pain of loss, whether it be by death, divorce or estrangement. It's a wonder that some people are able to make it out of bed each morning and put one foot in front of the other. The pain is deep - so deep that it has confirmed for me, once again, the oneness of the human race. We think we are separate individuals, but when we are torn from another, the unity between us becomes vivid in its intensity. We are all connected; we are all strings in a giant web of life.

When disunity or loss occurs in the web of relationships, something physical as well as emotional seems to take place. We hurt; we cry; we mourn until a "scab" begins to grow and cover the wound. Until some scar tissue grows, the cut is gaping and just about anything causes it to open and bleed once again.

The Christian Church compares itself to the Body of Christ. This a good metaphor for the kind of phenomenon that I am describing, but I think that it has become so hackneyed that people don't really buy into it. It's hard to envision myself as an arm or a leg, but as part of a vast network of interconnecting links? Yes, that's easier to comprehend, particularly in the age of the Internet. It wasn't called the World Wide Web by accident.

When I look at a spider web, I am always struck by the gossamer nature of the connections. However, when I try to break the web, it is incredibly strong. It sticks together, even when lying in tangles. Some kind of glue covers all the parts and it is thicker in some places than in others. Humanity is like that.

Humanity's "glue" is Love and perhaps visualizing Love as something tangible might remove it from the world of romance and make it more accessible as something we can create. Each day we have the opportunity to put glue on our connections to the people who touch our lives. Whether we choose to do so or not, our decision affects these people and their connections to the people who touch their lives and the people who touch their lives and the people who... - you get the picture. Merely holding them in prayer can put another layer on the joints and actually taking loving action puts a huge deposit of glue on our linkages.

A spider web has another lesson for me, as well. It is symmetrical. No one part is any better - or less needed -  than another. Humanity is like that, too. We'd like to think, perhaps, that some people are expendable or rotten or not even a part of the whole, but God created each of us and we are all equal in His sight. Hard as it might be to fathom, God loves us all, even those we dislike ourselves. Some of us God cries over, but no one does God abandon.

There are many choices of glue on the store shelves, from those that are easily removable to those that are a permanent bond. It would be nice if there were a sudden run on Gorilla Glue.

A Mary Mind

I came across a poem the other day that was on a plaque in my mother's kitchen. It starts out "Lord of all pots and pans and things..." and this first line was all I could ever remember. Because of the wonders of the Internet, I found the entire prayer and was struck by this verse: "Although I must have Martha's hands, I have a Mary mind." St. James couldn't have said it better.

So much of the argument between the Catholic and Protestant churches has centered around the faith/works debate. How are we justified? The Letter of James chapter 2 maintains that we show our faith through our works. St. Paul asserts in Romans 8 - and many other places - that we are justified by faith apart from the law. I have come to conclude that we will never know until our death and that, in actuality, there is no difference. As Romans says later in chapter 14, whether we live or die, we are the Lord's and our lives should reflect that truth. Both Martha and Mary did that.

Mary sat at the feet of Jesus while Martha was busy with the serving. Two things seems clear: Mary had the courage to do what was culturally uncommon and she was interested in what Jesus was teaching. So, the Mary mind is characterized by a lack of attachment to convention and an openness to a new understanding of God's relationship with humanity.

In creating a distinction between Martha and Mary, however, we do Martha's hands a disservice. She was not left out of the spiritual picture. When Jesus went to see the sisters after their brother Lazarus died, it is Martha who is on record as saying "I have come to believe that you are the Messiah, the One who is to come into the world." It is Martha who says with faith, "Even now, I know that God will give you whatever you ask." What an extraordinary statement. When Martha defies the evidence of her senses and the teachings of her rabbis and looks to Jesus to make a different reality for her, she exhibits the same courage and openness that Mary did. She had a Mary mind.

So can we.

Tree Climbing

What's the difference between penance and repentance? Just a few letters, but they are a world apart. The one is imposed from without and the other springs from within; the one is punishment and the other is response. This makes a difference when considering the story of Jesus and Zaccheus.

Jesus had approached the tree in which Zaccheus was sitting and told him: "Come down, for today I want to stay at your house." The onlookers grumbled that Jesus was choosing to enter the house of a sinner, a political collaborator with the Romans. It would be like Jesus passing up the chance to visit the Vatican and going to dine with Osama Bin Laden. This unexpected favor, however, changed Zaccheus' life.

The priest who was giving a talk on the story of Jesus and Zaccheus got it wrong when he called the tax collector's promise to give away half of his possessions to the poor a "penance." Jesus never laid an order on Zaccheus to do anything. It was his own joy at the love and acceptance that Jesus showed him that caused Zaccheus to want to share his wealth and return any money - with interest! - that he might have extorted.

Zaccheus overflowed with love for others because Jesus showed love for him. He wanted to change his ways - to repent - for the ways in which he had been unloving. This was not a self imposed chastisement for what he had done. He had seen Love in action and this gave rise to love within his own heart. He wanted to be as compassionate to others as Jesus was to him.

It is significant that changing his life was not a condition that Jesus set up before He would dine at the house of Zaccheus. Zaccheus had done nothing except clamber into a tree in order that he might see better. That was all it took for Jesus to defy convention and bring salvation to this man's house.

This is a good reminder that we are all accepted by a God who searches us out to give us unconditional love. God will go against the prevailing grain of religious expectations, if need be, to bring all the created into relationship with Him. Our job is to love others with such compassion that, in response, they go looking for a tree.