thewritingprofessor55

From Kent State to South Minneapolis

Hello as January turns to February,

As a history major, as a person who studied philosophy at all levels in higher education, as a person with both a background immersed in the liberal arts and theology, I find daily life as simultaneously predictable and no, something fascinating and yet that often creates apprehension. As my trips around the sun multiply, the reality of patterns, of our human limitation, and yes, our frailty becomes more apparent. The adages and cliches generally used seem more like truisms than simplistic sound bites. And yet, from a philosophical perspective, do we have any empirical evidence that we can change? Are we subjected to a sort of rationalism that will appropriately deduce what we should do? As I age, and having spent semesters studying philosophy, I appreciate the thoughts of John Locke (and particularly his Second Treatise on Civil Government) and certainly Descartes’ cogito ergo sum touched my own core the first time I heard it.

So am I (and I am aware of the lack of parallel structure here, so forgive me) a rationalist or empiricist? Do I believe my essence is tangible because I can think of it or is it through the daily events of life? Even as I write this I am unsure, or more accurately, I do not cleanly fall in either camp. I told my students regularly that God (which is also an issue for many philosophical stances) gave them a brain to do more than hold their ears apart. So certainly there is a rational element to who I am. And I believe that experience affects how we understand or believe our reality. David Hume’s argument that we are always prompted by passion (a simplification of Hume’s position) and reason is a slave to passion; additionally Hume argues that any rational sense of causation is impossible because it requires inductive reasoning, and connecting to a pattern of the future is a metaphysical presupposition that cannot be managed. All of this creates a plethora of issues when I ponder both my thoughts and experiences of our present world. As I struggled with my figuring out where I am in that rationalism/empiricism continuum, I reached out to my former brilliant colleague and philosopher. She confirmed what I suspected that I am at the most base level and empiricist, that my experience creates the base foundation of how I interpret what I see, feel, or what is necessary for me to feel comfortable or grounded.

It could be argued, and some will certainly assert, that such an examination is esoteric if they are hoping to be kind. Some might accuse me of something less appreciative. I remember a convocation at Luther Northwestern Seminary when I was a student there. The yearly Winter Convocation was held, primarily as a way for parish pastors to come back and participate in theological renewal, something important if a pastor is to offer strong biblical preaching, thoughtful pastoral leadership to their congregants, and efficacious pastor care to those who are struggling with life and faith. The main speaker for the convocation’s central worship service was a systematics professor, a person from whom I had taken classes, and a brilliant theological mind who was capable of taking profoundly complex concepts and making them understandable. However in their homily, their sermon, to the packed chapel of students and parish pastors, they spoke on such an elevated level that little they said was something anyone might take with them back to their dorm, their refectory conversations, or their home parish. This was unfortunate, and the only reason I could imagine for such an obtuse delivery was their Doctor Father (e.g. the person chairing their dissertation) was in the audience. My New Testament professor, and again a brilliant theological mind in their own right queried me afterwards about my thoughts. He was the person who pushed me harder than anyone in my time in St. Paul. He inquired (and I can still hear his voice), “So Martin, what did you think?” Knowing him as I did, he expected candor, and I responded, “That was some serious intellectual masturbation.” He smiled and replied, “Indeed.”

My struggle with understanding my stance on the question of who I am from a philosophical basic is two fold: what allows me, compels me to respond to what I see around me? From where do those thoughts, those responses begin, originate? And how do those thoughts, responses, affect my understanding both of myself and of others. By extension, it obliges me, if you will, it requires me to examine the society in which we live. How is it we both individually and collectively determine what we value? How is what we believe or say we value illustrated by what we do? As I have written today (and this post, while occurring within a 24 hour period, was not at one sitting, which is something I am sometimes asked). As someone who seems to believe they have an empirical leaning, I would like to believe we have a more likely explanation for some of our individual or collective choices, but at the moment, I am not sure that is what I see or feel. As a person just recently turned 70, I was barely entering high school in 1970 when the confrontation between members of the Ohio National Guard and students at Kent State University occurred. While I watched the aftermath on television as many did, I was not old enough to understand all the issues. Of course, the music of Neil Young would become a rallying call or cry for many, including my older brother. Experiencing the tenor of the country concerning Vietnam and how its reality occupied the evening news at our dinner tables, the consequences were far ranging. President Johnson would choose to not run for President again, and the violence of both those against the war or those struggling for equality on other levels (the dual assassinations of MLK and RFK within the same Spring of 1968) would rock American in a level perhaps not experienced for a century. I often hear that the national response to Vietnam or to the watershed year of 68 happened because people were different then. Is that true? To some degree, of course, because America’s stance and role in the world was still being determined. Now a half century later, it seems the parallels in response to what 1970 Kent State and 2025/26 in South Minneapolis (and across Minnesota or the country) might be instructive. In spite of the many changes in the last half century (e.g. from personal computers to cell phones and now AI, the shift in societal norms, the change in family size, the significant decrease in religious affiliation, the shrinking middle class, or seemingly oxymoronic relationship in political polarization and a more accepting attitude of racial diversity), when the reaction of many toward a federal government, which has arguably overstepped its legal authority is very similar. Likewise, while many are a wee young to remember, there was even then a conservative support of the government’s involvement in SE Asia. It seems the rural/urban divide in this country is part of who we are. It returns me to the question I posed to myself? What is the basis for my decisions and my positions on many of the thorny questions that confront us? As someone from NW Iowa, and albeit a larger city, I do not believe I grew up urban. What cements our foundational decision making? It is location, economics, time in history, religion, or something else? I guess I will continue to ponder. The picture is my graduation picture; I was 16 when it was taken. The video below is Neil Young’s incredible song written in response to Kent State. Thank you for the comments, the likes, and taking time to interact with me.

Thank you for reading,

Michael

If I Could Do It All Over

Hello from snowy February evening,

As I ponder and worry about the world we have created, pensive as I wonder if we will survive the unending chaos that confronts me from all platforms we seem to incessantly absorb, I am reminded of that adage of what if I could go back in time, but know what I know now, would I do it? Almost without exception, my answer was NO (emphasis intended) not for anything or anyone. Undoubtedly, there are decisions, actions, choices, if to do them now, I might handle differently; there are experiences and consequences I could have done well enough without them occurring.

Part of what makes us unique in creation as we understand it is our unique ability to remember the past, both in terms of time and clarity, as well imagine the possibilities for the future, again certainly in terms of a quite distant or distinctive manner. When I was in Arizona preparing to undergo one of the more significant surgeries I have had, I was speaking with my Great-Aunt Helen about memories from early in life when my sister and I lived at her sister Louise’s house (my grandmother). I was in my thirties at the time and my grandmother had already passed over a decade before. My great-aunt stared at me in amazement, and stuttered, “B-b-b-but you were barely two; how do you remember that?” I simply replied, “I don’t know; I just do.” My grandfather died of cancer before I turned three, but I remember him. I remember seeing him working in the stockyards; I remember him sitting on the back steps with me as we watched a nightly visiting Great Horned Owl. I see clearly his carrying me into St. Joseph’s Hospital after I was bitten by a dog. I remember him at home lying in a hospital bed as he lost his battle to cancer. All of this happened before I celebrated a third birthday.

My memory has always been somewhat unique. Abnormal? I am not sure. A blessing and a curse? Certainly! Has it created difficulties or gotten me in trouble? Undoubtedly! And yet I feel blessed to recall most of the parts and experiences of my life. Poets throughout history have imagined the what is of returning to childhood. Elizabeth Akers Allen, a Maine poet from the 19th century wrote, “Backward, backward O time in your flight / Make a child again just for tonight.” It is a poem used in the movie version of Norman Maclean’s incredible novella, A River Runs through It, occurring later in the movie when Norman hears his clergy father reciting the poem in his study and they speak together antiphonally. The appreciation for both their mutual knowledge of the poem and the realization of their deeper connection as father and son are palpable. Especially in light of their family struggles with the second son’s unhealthy habits. And if you’ve never watched the movies or read the short barely-over 100 page family memoir, it’s worth the time.

If I could be that child for just one night, what would I wish for differently? I would wish that my adopting mother would have been happy with her three adopted children versus the angst and anger she most often exhibited (and I feel badly for her more than myself). I wish my parents might have been a little more financially solvent so my father wouldn’t have found it necessary to work seven days a week, twelve hours a day for most of my elementary school years. I think that would have helped family dynamics immensely. I wish I would have felt more confident in who I was both at home and in my world because that inability put me developmentally behind in a number of social and professional ways. And perhaps, most importantly, I wish I would have felt safer in general so I might have believed I could accomplish things sooner; perhaps I would have married early, more successfully, and had a family of my own. And yet, lest you think I am unhappy or displeased with my life or where I am, that is not the case. I have been profoundly blessed at every turn of my 70 years.

Another thing I believe makes us unique in creation is our undying ability to adapt, change, and learn. I remember as a child praying regularly for different life, wondering if I were to pass if it would matter. Surely, that is a sad statement, and thanks to God, to some surrogate parents (Jake and Marge, Frank and Margaret, Bud and Jan), to some childhood friends, I am still here to reminisce over 60 years later. In our ability as adapt and learn, we develop two things resilience and optimism. We imagine the other and we hope for something not yet realized. Much has been written about my boomer generation, that is for sure, and I believe the verdict on us is still out; and it is complicated also for sure. My noted slow development and my late entry into college pushed me into later boomer group or perhaps into the next generation. Three decades of college classroom has provided incredible insight into the next alphabet listings of generations. What seems evident is we are all a definite propensity to blame those before us, to play the victim of our circumstances. Blaming the other and choosing to be the victim might be momentarily understandable, but seldom is it an efficacious way to exist.

As I sit in my somewhat monastic space, I am listening to YouTube and a recent Heart concert (Dec 2025). It is the first time I have listened to them and believe Ann Wilson’s voice has lost its edge and her unparalleled vocal power. And yet, simultaneously it reminds me of moments since the 70s they have been the soundtrack of my mind, of my emotions. This past week as one of the voices of Three Dog Night passed, I was transported back to junior high school. In the last months, I have lost more than one person in my life, and other struggle. So do I want to go back? No, the answer remains the same. All in all, I know my life is blessed; it has been blessed in aspects never imagined, and perhaps in ways still not realized. I have been so loved by so many. And I will leave it simply with thank you for an amazing life.

Thanks for reading,

Michael

A Vision for What is Possible

Hello at the beginning of another week,

My appreciation for history is because of the amazing history teacher, Mr. Larry Flom. Additionally, he taught my civics class and American Government class. The importance of understanding the role of our government and how it works. He taught me both in terms of understanding and appreciating the genius of Checks snd Balances as well as creating a strong sense of Constitutionality. And that began when I was in eighth grade. I think it was something every one of us who were fortunate enough to have Mr. Flom as a teacher probably realizes much more today than I did in 1968-69, though I was living in a pivotal time then also.

I find myself pondering what this who gathered in Philadelphia must have wondered, imagined, and believed in that time before our Constitution was penned? Were they afraid or so driven by conviction of something better their fear dissipated to the extent it was a mere afterthought? Was the specter of facing a King and the profound power of England paralyzing at moments that they reconsidered and feared they were foolish? We now look at them as more than larger-than-life; we call them revolutionaries; we refer to them as geniuses and founders. And while Ben Franklin was in his early 40s (and the oldest), a number of them were in their 20s. The First Continental Congress in 1774 was in response to what the colonials believed was British overreach (Coercive or Intolerable Acts) which stifled self-governance. So the push back against a tyrannical power (even their own – they were still British citizens at the time) is in our national DNA.

The reason I find this interesting as well as important is because I am sure many in the country (or the world for that matter), regardless your political stance or allegiance will agree where we currently are is untenable. The polarization, the lack of civility, the vitriol, the discontent are palpable, and that is an incredible understatement. The division we are experiencing either societally, globally, or individually is of importance, and harkens back to Lincoln’s statement about the Union. He was correct then, and it is true now. I understand the current situation and feeling of pain and fear well. From living in the Minneapolis/St. Paul area for a good part of the 1980s to feeling a struggle between political ideologies with people I genuinely love. The division which currently exists in the country is real, and I believe is being used for political advantage. That is certainly how it seems. While many are not aware, even those who live here, per capita by population (in other words total population and the divide between rural and urban), Pennsylvania is the most rural state in the nation. The number of rural folks to urban is about 3.25 to 1, and as the 5th or 6th most populace state, that is significant. When President Obama was preparing to run for a second term, I was in Dunkin’ one morning, and I listened to a white male perhaps in his upper 60s at the time. He spoke out loudly enough to be heard in the entire Dunkin’ (apologies for what follows, but I will quote exactly because of the shocking nature of his words), “As long as we have a fucking nigger as a President, we have e a problem.” I was both stunned and silent; I was appalled and embarrassed; I was mortified to the point of confusion. Where did I live? What year was it? And no one, including me (there were perhaps 5 men at the table), spoke up about how inappropriate, how unacceptable that was.

It is easy to want to blame our current occupier of the Oval Office for all the societal divisions and current challenges, and he most certainly has fueled the fires of hate and division, but he did not create it. He merely uses it for personal gain. I can say unequivocally that his administrations have done more to damage our Constitution, the checks and balances that were established from the beginning of the country, and our alliances than any administration in my lifetime, and perhaps in the history of our country. I find no joy, and I take nothing positive in the need to make such a statement. In fact, I am searching both rationally and emotionally to find hope, to see a glimmer of sunshine in the midst of what is happening. In my heart of hearts, I believe the response against the overreach, against the murder of others, against the language used by our current administration, by those on both sides of the aisle, demonstrates that a commitment to democracy still exists. The response of Congress, although mostly partisan, to hold up on the funding of ICE and DHS, while problematic because it affects both FEMA and the Coast Guard, is still fortunately and unfortunately one of the few levers of power available. making federal law-enforcement adhere to the same requirements as other levels of law-enforcement is rational, reasonable, and beyond necessary if we are to reestablish any trust at the national level.

Daily, in our News saturated world, when anyone can publish on a variety of platforms, little will go unnoticed, but everything has a spin. Everyone has an opinion and an agenda, and I am no different. While I am passionate,I would like to believe I try to be thoughtful and measured. While the events of the past month have pushed me to a level of engagement I have never before participated in, it is because never in my lifetime. Have I been as concerned for the survival of our democracy as I am now. Presently, there seems to be something that happens daily that chips away at the checks and balances of our Bill of Rights, leaving our societal fabric tatters, destroying the melting pot that made this country, a beacon of hope; it compels me to speak out, to use my voice and my words to question the actions of my government in ways I never imagined.

Currently, in our hyper-partisan country, as we seem bent on destroying each other, both our allies and our enemies are watching, either aghast or overjoyed. My friends in Poland, Norway, or Spain have asked what I think. My exchange students from Denmark or even Russia are stunned. I wish I had some answer that I could provide them that I believe. What I do believe at the present moment seems either dichotomous or oxymoronic. I am not completely sure how we will survive what a decade plus of Donald Trump’s attack on his own country has done. Simultaneously, the response of Minnesotans, of those in other occupied, American cities, and the marching of American citizens across the country illustrates that somewhere there is still a modicum of common sense and decency. So this returns me to the title: what vision do I have? I want to believe the grand American experiment envisioned in the 18th century still has a place in the world. I want to believe that the branches of our government will work in a manner of the checks and balances initially conceived to limit the power of any person or branch can still succeed. Yes, as cliché as it sounds, I want to believe that a government for and of the people will still show that all people matter. Not in the way, that the founders spoke of all people (remembering slavery or women’s’ suffrage, revisiting civil rights or people with disabilities), but truly for all people. Yes, that puts me outside the idea of conservative Christianity; yes, it puts me outside of those who claim wokeness is some sort of an abomination. I believe it puts me square in the middle of the Commandment to love one’s neighbor as oneself. Perhaps it’s time that we return to a faith in a loving and forgiving God, who commands us to both love and forgive. Therein is my vision for the future. Therein lies the possibility for a world where all people are valued, and we care for one another.

Thanks for reading,

Michael

Finally Understanding my Father’s Passion

Hello on another chilly weekend,

The week here in Bloomsburg, which began with the most significant snowfall I’ve experienced in my decade and a half, and then cold that is a bit uncharacteristic of Pennsylvania. The single digits or below zero windchills are not typical, like what an upper Midwestern boy knew from time in Iowa, Minnesota, or Wisconsin. It’s a difficult thing for someone acclimate to when this a rarity. I will admit watching the snow week ago made me happy, in spite the need to shovel for an hour or more to be able to back the bug out of its parking spot. The cold this week, which is damper and more penetrating than the Midwestern cold I grew up experiencing. Perhaps my age also affects what I think of it all. Additionally, the week was a bit stressful, certainly in part, because of my choosing to speak out regarding what I believe is a critical juncture for our national identity. I know this because of some pretty extensive contacts across Europe.

My father, Harry Martin, epitomized the “greatest American generation,” who graduated from high school at the height of the depression – 1933, and became a veteran, serving in Belgium as many in his age group did. The youngest of 5 children, he was often the person to keep his father from spending all the rent money collected on beverages. As many in the family, he began his work in the meat packing industry, a vibrant part of Sioux City, which served as home to the third largest stockyards in the world, though the largest in receipts. After the war, he would become a journeyman electrician. While I understood conceptually the importance of Roosevelt’s New Deal for his family, I seldom considered what it must have meant emotionally. Likewise when he was established electrician and a member of IBEW 231, he had enormous pride in both his work and his membership in the electrical union, and the importance of unions in general. His commitment to fairness and justice was not something he often spoke about, but it was certainly how he lived. Between the four year period he worked twelve hours a day, seven days a week, or when he was the general foreman for 200+ electricians for the remainder of his working life, he never phoned in anything. He believed those under his charge should be paid every penny owed, but they should work for every cent.

If you ask most people about my father, I believe you would hear two things about him. He was loyal to his family, his God, and the people with whom he worked, and he always had an incredible captivating smile with perfect white teeth because he was generous and happy. My father cared deeply about fairness, justice, and the equitable treatment of all people. As I consider his position on society and work, there was only one time I remember him being angry about the town in which we lived, the town in which we was born. Iowa Beef Processors (IBP) workers went on strike for better conditions and more appropriate wages. A strike in 1969, which included violence, as well as an 8 month strike in 1973-74 was focused on overpowering the union. I had never heard my father support violence against another, and he was not prone to swearing, but I saw both. He believed the scabs (those crossing picket lines) deserved anything that happened, and his vocal response was animated and vociferous. I remember speaking with him when I came home from Communications and Electronics School in December of 1973. He was livid at the tactics of the corporation, which he found unfair, inequitable, and completely inappropriate for the union worker.

My father was a New Deal democrat. He was a veteran, and he was committed to a strong middle class and achieving the American Dream. He believed in the fair treatment of all people, and that everyone should have the opportunity to thrive, but that everything was earned. On the other hand he believed in welcoming people to this country. I remember our church sponsoring a Vietnamese family and he did things to help them acclimate, including helping make sure their house was electrically sound. In fact, he was perhaps more welcoming than I was. I remember a conversation about his commitment to the Democratic Party and I pushed him on why (I was in my early 20s). Again, he noted rather emphatically that without a strong middle class, without unions protecting the worker, without the people pushing for equity across society we would not survive as a prosperous country. He said that was why he would always stand up for a world that was equitable and just. I remember him connecting it to his military service in Europe.

Overtime, I listened to his consistent commitment to the blue collar worker, never wavering that if a person worked hard they always deserved a chance. What I realize now is that passion that showed up when it came to equity, fairness, and justice is much the same for me. My father believed in society equity, but he did not believe in governmental or corporate overreach. In fact, the word or phrase he would probably use was such actions were either bullshit or a crock of shit. I remember when Fred Gandy became the Representative in Congress for the 6th District. He was appalled he had a gopher in Congress (that was Gandy’s character nickname on the television show, _The Love Boat_). I believe he was more disillusioned that he now had a Republican.

As I ponder the life of the youngest boy in his family, the man who worked hard after adopting my sister and me when he was already in his 40s, never treating me as anything less than his. I think I finally understand his passionate commitment to fairness, to equity for all. I believe that much of what he held on to, church, work, family have certainly shaped the man I’ve become. He was consistent; he was principled; and he believed in the dignity of people. When that dignity and fairness was put in jeopardy, he was more than capable of doing the right thing, calling it out. I think now it was a matter of faith for him. I am grateful that even now I am learning how much he taught me, how much he influenced the man I am.

Thanks Dad and thanks for reading.

Michael

Life Marches By . . .

Hello from a snowy town in Pennsylvania,

Earlier in the week we experienced perhaps the most accumulated snow in a single storm here in Bloomsburg since I arrived in 2009. Only one other time did we have more than 12”. We have been forecasted to get something substantial, but seldom does it happen.i must say Punxsutawney Phil had things pretty well spot on this time. I loved watching the snow pile up. It reminded me of being back in the Keweenaw.

I am always somewhat caught off guard in spite of life’s consistency. The predictability is always more likely than we believe, or perhaps are willing to admit. I think the significance of these redux events are more instructive, more helpful, than we often realize. There are two things that come to mind as I write this. First, we are never indispensable; regardless of how well we did; regardless of our seeming importance; “life goes by” with or without us. This is not meant to underestimate our value, but it is being honest with the reality of the world. Too often our self-worth, our esteem, is dependent on the other. Undoubtedly, those are patterns or attitudes we develop early in life, and the revision of patterns or attitudes is difficult. I am not sure those early things are ever completely erased. Indeed, life marches by . . .

The second thing I have come to understand is how loyalty is such a fleeting attribute. I think loyalty is too often misunderstood, undervalued, and often mistaken. Additionally, I believe it is more integrally related to the first thing I noted. Is it because we are so dispensable, disposable, that loyalty is so circumstantial? It would be somewhat logical. In the corporate world, and certainly, in the sports world, the adage of “what have you done for me lately?” Seems to be the order of the day. Again, life . . .

The complexity of loyalty is something I am struggling to understand. Or perhaps it is not complicated at all. Loyalty is unconditional, but incredibly fragile. Much like trust. Perhaps unconditional love and loyalty are more synonymous than one might imagine. Opening oneself to such a possibility with anyone takes profound courage; it requires vulnerability that goes beyond the ordinary. The consequence can cover the gamut of hope and despair. And I am know from experience that counting on the loyalty of anyone else is both foolish, and perhaps more importantly, selfish. Loyalty is given, and cannot be demanded of someone. Much like love. Another connecting aspect might be truth. Truth, understanding the essence of truth can complicate loyalty. Truth mitigates loyalty, which by extension argues the possibility of unconditionality. And as I ponder all of this and the reality of why we are so conditional, I guess it is plain and simple sinfulness. That is an easy way out of the discussion on one level, and yet, there is understanding what sinfulness is. That’s for different blog. Loyalty is often connected to patriotism and yet again, this is not about that – again, another post perhaps. Fealty is also connected to loyalty, but the difference is while loyalty is generally mutual, fealty is not. It is unidirectional; and most often it is required. There is a demand or requirement from someone with more power. If we go back to the founding of our country, I believe that we need to be honest that those incredible founders supported slavery. I also know this comment will put me in the woke category for some.

Earlier today while speaking with my former colleague, a European with Canadian citizenship, he thoughtfully asked, “How have you gotten where we are in our current world?” He often ponders things from his perspective as someone born in the Soviet Union, someone who saw democracy in its infancy. Loyalty and connections to life are something different for him. His reflections and questions on life and the world almost always cause me to rethink, to reconsider how I understand life and myself. His insight into how individual and collective actions have consequences are instructive. As I ponder life I am continually stunned at how those people I have met around Europe (and this is consistent for decades) are seemingly so much better equipped to understand and respond to their world, their surroundings. From the first exchange student I met in my home town to eventual Dana classmates, from seminary colleagues to my own journeys overseas for 2/3s of my life, to hosting my own exchange students, the general rule is European citizens, our fellow human beings, are more gracious in spite of their inherent nationalism; they are certainly more critical in their thinking and analysis of their own life situation as well and their willingness to integrate the actions, the responsibilities and the repercussions of any situation. Life marches on. They understand this and they adapt and seem to thrive.

As I noted when speaking with a young woman for whom I have incredible respect and appreciation, and who has an Eastern European parent, the first thing is to note the differences. Additionally, if I consider my European friends, acquaintances, accumulated for more than half a century, it is rather easy to see why they have developed such a multicultural mindset. Perhaps the more significant question is how is it America did not?

That is, again, the topic for another blog, but my immediate response places is on a number of conceptual attributes that, while on their own, have exceptional merit. However, like many things, one’s greatest strength can become one of our most profound weaknesses, difficult liabilities when taken too far. Some of this concepts are the most basic: individualism, freedom, self-determination, to name a few. From the intentions in the Bill of Rights to 2nd Amendment, the struggle with how those hopes and the employment of those desires have created some of our most contentious incidences. This is not a political response for me. It is philosophical. And yet life marches on, and yet not for all of us. From the Revolution to this week, those who died in defense of the Constitution, in their belief of what America is, or should be, have been simultaneously heroes and villains or traitors, depending on how one interprets. Life marches by . . . it is our reality, and, in fact, it is our human responsibility to care for each other; that is a premise of all major religions. To much to ponder as I march on with it. When Jane and Henry Fonda filmed this movie, it was a real-life struggle because they were estranged. It seems as Americans perhaps we are the same.

Thanks for reading,

Michael

Hooped Earrings and Monster Trucks

Hello from breakfast at Perkins,

The beginning of the year is like an episode of the show that was on television when I was small, titled The Twilight Zone. I know that comment is anachronistic, and it reminds me of the last few years I was teaching and things I had used anecdotally earlier in my classrooms would no longer work. It was an early science fiction, fantasy, and horror weekly program that ran for about five years (from 1959-1964). It had a surprise ending and some moral lesson, but what I remember more as a small child was the music. There was a surrealism to it, and I think, perhaps that is what encouraged people to watch, both enthralled and simultaneously frightened. The events globally and nationally seem to be a presently-experiencing version of the show for me. Is there a reasonable ending, and certainly it is worth asking if there is a moral lesson that we will learn? There is no doubt on the element of surprise, to be sure, and the question of ethical methodology of what seems to be daily practice must be examined.

The week got away from me, but to say what the first paragraph notes has somehow miraculously changed in the last few days is most certainly outside reality. In fact, if anything, it has continued the spiral that seems to be what some powerful people intend. If you believe that what is happening in Washington is merely managing the moment, I am fearful that we are in even bigger trouble than you imagine. As noted recently, I am generally not a conspiracy theorist, and more often than not, I fall on the side of idealism (I was once told by a previous chair I was too idealistic.). And in spite of my strong theological background, I generally want to believe there is an innate goodness in people before I ponder their sinfulness. So with those caveats, let me offer what the current actions about our federal government, be it domestically or internationally, have compelled me to wonder. History and civilization is full of stories about how incredible powers have fallen because of the greed of a few at the expense of many. From the Romans to the Incas, the Mayans to even the Biblical example of Sodom, immigration is (and was) not the primary issue when it comes (came) to civic collapse; more often than not it was a combination of greed and the corresponding economic inequality. Additionally, environmental degradation will often cause both short term consequence as well as eliminate long term survival. Combined, there is a resulting lack of collective responsibility for the other, resulting in general moral failing. Such a defect will hollow out any civilization. The Biblical command of loving the other as a basis for all might seem instructive, especially in this moment.

Even before Kristi Noem was approved into her position as the Secretary of DHS, she has demonstrated a propensity to be a firebrand (remember a second book where she recounted killing a puppy). As I return to my title, which I am sure got some attention, recently, I read an article about the fashion of Sec. Noem by Paola de Varona, senior writer for Slate. While I am aware that some will argue why note this, let me offer de Varona’s words; she writes, “Noem doesn’t just talk the talk of the Trump regime. With her long hair, overfilled lips, and very, very white teeth, she looks the part. The Daily Beast appropriately referred to her as “Ice Barbie.” Some of the photo opportunities or videos of the Secretary seem to put as much importance on her fashion consciousness as what her job as the secretary of this now more controversial department. de Varona acknowledges, “I recognize I’m lodging a petty complaint (this is a woman who treats a visit to a prison packed floor to ceiling with deportees as a photo op) (2025). She continues, “Kristi Noem, please retire the hoops. Leave them for us, the people” (2025). Again, some might ask why this is important? It returns me to the idea of greed and corruption, perhaps a conflict of interest. The Secretary hired “The Strategy Group, ” an Ohio-based PR Consulting firm for $220 million. The significance of this contract is two-fold: it was a no-bid contract, and the owner of the firm is the husband of Tricia McLaughlin, who serves as Noem’s chief spokesperson at DHS (Mierjeski, 2025; Hon Senator Welch, Vermont, 2025). The conflict of interest, the greed, and the need to maintain power at all costs should create numerous red flags (and not the MAGA type).

Earlier today, speaking with one of my wonderful former students who is a high school teacher; furthermore, she is an incredible thespian, mother, wife, and beautiful person, and I must admit we commiserated about our current national atmosphere. She wrote something incredible about the world and what she wishes for her months-old son. When I first read it this morning it brought tears to my eyes. It was wonderful to speak with her. One of the things we discussed is about how we got here. I do not think it is a matter of getting here, but rather, I believe it is who we have always been, though perhaps under the surface (not very much, but there). We both (almost simultaneously) noted the number of Stars and Bars flags we have observed in the state of Pennsylvania. I can say there are more here than I have ever viewed, all combined, anywhere else. Summer in Bloomsburg brings a 4×4 event to the local fairgrounds. Black and Brown students are warned (and unfortunately, it is necessary) to not go into town by themselves. Racism, inappropriate comments or actions, and a general white supremacy narrative is more the rule than the exception during that event. While I certainly understand the attraction of 4x4s, and I can appreciate their helpfulness in many situations (remember I grew up in rural America), the connection between 4x4s and Stars and Bars is quite common place. The significance of this is important. Almost a decade ago (2018), census reporting revealed the following reality: “. . . [P]opulation projections confirm the importance of racial minorities as the primary demographic engine of the nation’s future growth, countering an aging, slow-growing and soon to be declining white population. The new statistics project that the nation will become “minority white” in 2045” (Frey, The Brookings Institute).

Certainly, there is a lot here to digest, and I believe we are at a point in our history that the expected 250 years of white majority, the belief that we are somehow a Christian country, that our reputation as the welcoming light for the world are more myth than reality. To write this is frightening for me, but not so much for me as a 70-something, but rather for my students and their newly created families. To ponder this as someone who studied history and loves politics (even now), I am painfully concerned that our wonderful American experiment might be gasping for air, certainly on life-support, and needing of some intervention. Was the America I grew up believing in merely a facadę? Is it possible to get back to the hopes and dreams of what a Washington, a Jefferson, the Madisons, a Hamilton, or a Franklin had? Has the beacon of hope run out at 250 years? I am unsure. What is the next move necessary? I don’t know, but I don’t think it will be easy. I wonder what our founders pondered? What they worried about?

Thanks for reading.

Michael

Leaving While It’s Safe

Hello as I wait for a snow storm (more of UP proportions than what I normally my experience in PA),

I started this at the beginning of the week, and the week has gotten away from me. There has been some good things happen, and on the other hand, I am still waiting on a number of things be it things to arrive in the mail, appointments to be confirmed, or merely managing the things necessary to move about in daily life. It seems the more I try to plan, the more I realize how little control I have over life in general. I think at least when I worked there was a structure and system around me that provided more security that I sometimes realized. If you have been reading along as I have pondered retirement, I am sure that one of the things apparent in my blogging is the sort of introspection that the combination of retirement and aging has brought (required?).

One of the areas of introspection of late has been how I interact, how I respond, and what I am comfortable with when it comes to others. This is an interesting consideration since all of my professional life has been in the midst of people, and if you consider what school is, even while we are growing, it is never in isolation. The confluence of people is immediate and constant, and, of course, “how we socialize” is something people constantly evaluate, from parents to teachers. I remember sections on my report card in elementary school that had to do with behavior versus academics. I learned quickly as one of the smallest, youngest-appearing members of any social group to get along with others; my physical survival depended on those rhetorical skills among young boys determined to display their toughness. I remember as a first grader being lectured by my father to never start a fight, but to never walk away. Of course, he could not relate to being smaller than most everyone. When I went to a junior/senior high school, 7th graders were initiated. Somehow I managed to get initiated for three years.

Then, there is the entire process of puberty. While I cannot say I remember to many specific incidences, what I remember generally is I was often like the class mascot, the person most enjoyed having around, but no one anyone would have ever been attracted to – from my glasses, oversized ears, and butch haircut, I was most often included because I was friendly, somewhat intelligent, and probably considered quite harmless. In grade school I recall thinking most girls were beautiful, but I was petrified to do much more than smile and say hello. I remember believing they were all like walking angels, someone, something, to be admired, but from a distance, even if that distance was the desk next to me. When we got to ninth grade, students who had attended parochial school up through 8th, but were not going to attend Bishop Heelan Catholic High, matriculated into my junior/senior high school. I was convinced that every Catholic girl must have been made to be the most beautiful creature in creation. Perhaps they were more inviting to this poor shy Lutheran boy because I had somehow learned implicitly I was not allowed to have a Catholic girlfriend. With names like Debbie, Leta, Denise, or Renee, they were friendly and beautiful and I simply admired them quietly and without their knowing.

As I matured more in intelligence and emotions than my slower physical attributes, I found girls to be both more intriguing, desirable, and petrifying. The first dance I ever participated in, the girl asked me. And I believe the only reason my mother allowed me to go was because she was in my youth group at church. Church youth group retreats and trips were where I was most comfortable, and being in a group versus a dating event provided enough safety that I soon learned I could leave if my emotions of liking someone got too significant and no one really noticed. I believe that is when I first made some choice, although perhaps not premeditated, to manage the proverbial cartoonish “exist stage left.” I only had two actual dates in high school, and again, one of those was because she asked me. There was a girl when I was 14-15 I had quite a crush on, and while she was friendly to me, and incredibly sweet, she moved away. There is some irony in that decades later we have reacquainted and spoke of that time in our lives at length.

When I came home from the service, grown, and to some extend the various aspects of myself as a person about more in line, I had the first relationship that was more than childhood crush. I probably still owe more to her and her family than I could ever repay. Again fortunately, after many years, we are in touch and have spoken about that time. And yet, what I realize, with a much greater degree of clarity, is that in spite of a much greater capability of engaging with people, and yes, with women in particular, there is something deep within me, a person who both desires being close to another, but still afraid of the other. That is something that plagues me more than I sometimes know, and it appears sometimes when least expected. At this point, after a quarter century of being officially single, there are ways I feel I have come full circle. As I noted in a blog a bit more than a decade ago, I am more comfortable with those females with whom there is no chance of a relationship. It is safe to be myself, a person both perceived as open, and simultaneously always protecting myself by choosing what, when, and how to reveal myself. Undoubtedly, there have been moments, phases, in life where I desired more. There are those who I probably loved in my imperfect way, individuals who might have made me feel desirable, worthy of being a partner. Twice I attempted to be a spouse, and while I was in a very different stage in life, and the stories are complicated at best, I think perhaps the place I failed most fundamentally was in my sense of commitment to the other because of some deep fear they would decide I was not good enough. Was it, and is it still my own struggle with imposter syndrome for lack of a more concise term?

Even now, if you ask people who are around me at this point, I am quite adept while attending a gathering to sort of disappear without being seen. It is not as much sneaking out at this point, it is a feeling of sensory overload and a need for solitude. And yet in spite of my desire for seclusion at moments, almost like a purdah, though not literally, I wish for the person with whom I can establish something of meaning. I am not sure if that will happen at this point in my life; I am quite uncertain what is needed for it to be a reality. Is there more than simply leaving when it is safe? Can there be safety in a relationship that can enhance one’s existence to become more? I understand the reasons to believe that it’s real. I am wise enough to see that solitude has its own dangers. What must happen for me to see how a life-long pattern can be altered? That is something that will take some significant chance-taking. In the meantime, safety seems to be the street on which I live.

Thanks as always for reading.

Michael

The Bee Cannot Convince the Fly

Hello from my little corner of Main Street,

The holiday weekend has begun, and it’s been an eventful week, a charged one, and yes, a difficult one. Some part of the difficulty is undoubtedly self-inflicted because I spoke out passionately about my beliefs and my position about the ongoing federal crackdown in my former home, the Twin Cities. Because someone I love deeply posted alternate views from me on my feed, things got heated. And at this point, I think it is fair to say there is significant tension within the family. Additionally, college classmates wrote some pretty personal things about people who are certainly different in their viewpoints than me, but are nonetheless incredibly dear to me. I think it’s only the second ever I have deleted things posted on my feed. I actually wrote to my college friend and noted they had crossed a line, noting “they poked a bear” (or I would add here a family of bears). The reality is this: the country is as polarized as I have ever experienced in my life time, and the partisanship that has characterized most of the 21st century is possibly at a tipping point. I actually posted on my wall that I wish to calm things down, and with the painful, and noticeable, exception of one person, that has happened. Thank goodness.

What I am struggling with is profound, complex, philosophical, and, for me, a sense of ought, to use Immanuel Kant’s understanding of the categorical imperative. It is about consistency, and again, I realize my perception can be different than others, it comes from my study of Bonhoeffer and his argument that considered the action of being the “spoke in the wheel” was not only appropriate, it is necessary and the faithful thing to do. The profundity of now is actually about how to maintain peace and justice. The complexity is such that I am not sure where to begin or what would be sufficient if I had even an inkling of how to begin. The philosophical struggle boils down to two things for me: first, what allows for peaceful protest or peaceful response to any stressful situation? And second, has 250 years of being a beacon come to an end because of the administration’s response to Venezuela, Iran, Greenland, Denmark? I do not have a final answer, to be sure, but the daily news, the President’s Truth Social feed, and the reels from multiple social media sites seems to demonstrate we are, to a significant degree, in uncharted territory. Certainly imperialism is not new, and our national penchant for inserting ourselves into some other country for oil is nothing unheard of, so Venezuela is perhaps just a reshuffling of the same deck of cards. Discord on our streets, with a heavy dose of blaming the other is not new, those in power who are obsessed with keeping their power have rolled out this script since we became a country.

The illusion of our being a beacon is something we were taught from an early age as we stood up each morning to pledge our allegiance, when we had pictures of George Washington and Abraham Lincoln framed on the wall on each side of the clock we stared at suffering each minute until the final bell of the day rang. I believed with all my heart that we were the “good guys” in the serial Western movie. We cared about democracy and doing the right thing. Those words of all being equal, that liberty and justice were for all, meant that. Ironically, I think I first learned that there was more façade to that than imagined when I was in the military. I was an immature 17 year old as I stepped onto the yellow footprints of MCRD. By the time I got out of the service I saw the world much differently, and my understanding of geopolitics had been altered substantially. And yet, as I aged I still believed in the basic tenets of our grand experiment. Currently, thanks to my Danish friend, Hans Christian, the father of my exchange student, I still maintain some hope.

Is my current curmudgeonly disposition merely a consequence of age? Is it because the polarization, which I have been sucked into in a serious degree the reason? Is it my own disillusionment with both my country and myself that has created this morass? Fortunately, I have one person that will offer me feedback honestly and lovingly and they noted that sometimes my tone, intended or not, comes off somewhat pontifical. My researching background and my contextualization, and I would add the structuring when paired with my passion (as they noted) comes off as authoritative, and that can cause people to feel defensive before I begin. Let me offer this first, I agree completely with their assessment, even if that is not what I intend. I do believe that argument has structure to be effective, and Toulmin’s theory of argumentation is something I was steeped in during my doctoral work. So I guess it’s not surprising that I find myself using that process. Should I expect the same from the other side? I might wish for it, but I have no right to expect it, and therein is the rub perhaps.

That leads me back to some of my initial thoughts about expectations or where I have begun to understand my place in life at this time. Even as I write this, President Trump has decided to raise tariffs on seven European countries to force the issue on Greenland (and by extension, Denmark). His argument is China and Russia want Greenland, but if Greenland is a territory of the Kingdom of Denmark, and Denmark is in NATO, wouldn’t that invoke Article 5 of the North Atlantic Treaty should either of them attack? I ask because I am not versed in international law. Second, if I am correct than the reason to take Greenland is not safety, and recent comments by the Former Foreign Minister of Denmark lay out quite nicely the treaty that was signed in the early 2000s about the safety and sovereignty of Greenland. I offer this not as a political statement, but to note a difference between current foreign policy and how it seems we have acted as a country post-WWII. On the more personal level, it seems much that I expected (in the sort of American dream manner) and retirement is a myth. I read two statements in the last couple days from something posted on a college classmate’s feed, and they rang true with a sort of vengeance when I consider the last 18 months. Retirement is not a reward, it is a reality check. And second: Aging does not hurt your body first — it hurts your illusions. Both of these statements are painfully accurate. In my first couple years at Bloomsburg, one of my colleagues passed away in her classroom, in front of her students. That was tragic for everyone involved, and certainly not something I would wish for anyone, but she was in a class she created, and teaching what she loved. Up to the very last minute. There is something poetic and beautiful in that. I was part of that tragic event, and I remember thinking I would never want to work to that end. I also waited longer than some might have imagined (a few weeks shy of 69), but there are moments I wish I was still working in the academy on some levels. I miss students; I miss the interaction and when the light goes on. I miss some of my colleagues. Indeed the reality of retirement is where you plan, but enough or how one plans is part of that. Second, while I did some significant work over the last years I worked to prepare, I believe we might be wise to begin much earlier. How much? Maybe in your late 30s and certainly by the time you are in your 40s. I wish I might have had a mentor much earlier. As importantly, the change in how you live life daily as well as how you fit into where you were is significantly different. I am not sure if there is some sort of change that happens to us when our birthday reaches certain numbers, and I do not feel old, but somehow the age of 70 has affected me as much as any age. The other age that hit me hard was 25. As I noted more than once as of late, what I expected in life and how it has evolved is not really anything I expected, and I am not sad about the life I have lived to be sure. Health has been a major part of my life, and particularly from the time I was diagnosed with what would eventually be Crohn’s in my late 20s. The complications from living with an IBD have been numerous, but each time I have been blessed by competent care and capable medical professionals across the country. My medical life is something that takes more time than I sometimes appreciate, but it is my reality. While I had the childhood diseases and the proverbial colds typical for an Iowa winter, it was not until I was 28 that a normal trip ended with blood and changed my life.

Some might question my title, and it is something I was reminded of lately (which is sometimes how I find my titles, and often back in the day how I would come up with sermon titles). Bees and flies seem to have a couple of common traits when it comes to our human response. We are either afraid of them or annoyed by them, and getting someone to change their opinion about either insect is difficult. As it is when it comes to getting us to let go of our expectations, to the realities or the myths that seem too often to influence our planning, our living, or our beliefs. Each of these things are quite different when we ponder them, but nonetheless, they have a profound effect on what we do. I am stunned when I consider the power of expectation. Expectations be they societal or individual, we often accept them as givens, as a sort of truism. It is the way it is, it is the way it’s always been. The reality of the bees and the flies has a second level. As the saying goes, if the bee could speak with the fly and convince them honey is better than dung do you think it would change the fly? In theory, it would seem the flies would change, but what we see is that is not the case. Should we expect the difference? All we need to do is look at our own actions. Our expectations be it on how our lives should transpire or how we believe our world should work are always open for reality checks, and yet too often we do not like those checks, be it from someone we love or be it in merely how things happen. I am grateful to my niece who keeps me grounded more than she knows. She is so incredibly insightful; she is demurring, but fierce. She is brilliant, but often self-deprecating. She always brings her A game to everything she does, and she will always brighten your day. It’s been a tough week, but as always a learning experience. Learning to love first is not always easy, but it is what we are called to do. Is life merely a dream to live out? When I was in seminary, Heart was one of my favorite bands. Seeing them in concert in the 70s was memorable. I saw then after their Dreamboat Annie album in Sioux Falls (a concert I remember with such fondness); I saw them a second time after their Barracuda album in Ames, and then I saw them when I was in seminary in the Twin Cities. What makes this particular song somewhat unique is that Nancy, rather than Ann does the lead vocals. The video has a Salvador Dali vibe for me. Dreams are important, but they can be fleeting.

Thank you as always for reading.

Michael

What Might Have Been

Hello from my small, but comfortable space at the Magee.

As I ponder the avenues that are in front of me, and as some of you know, the first 18 months of retirement have been a rollercoaster, I find myself also looking at the paths I have traveled, the choices made, and the consequences of said choices. While my last few posts have been about the situations that seem to be everywhere, within eyesight, within hearing range, and because of these two things, permeating my psyche to a degree I have perhaps never felt, this post is more about me, the person I am, how I have become that person, and to some degree an attempt to come to terms with that man, that human being. As most, I had ideas about where my life would go, what I might do, and, perhaps to some degree, wonder some of those “what might have been(s).” There is certainly more than one way to ponder it all. There is the idea of expectations, the reality of what happened, the accountability of one’s self for what actually occurred, and ultimately, am I content with where it all is.

Yesterday as I sat in a coffee shop, one where I have spent significant time, I bumped into a faculty colleague, one who started at Bloomsburg the same time I did. That individual is in a different college, and yet I remember them in those orientation meetings because their spouse asked more questions about benefits individually than perhaps the entire room did collectively. I remember that because I profoundly impressed with the depth and breadth of their questioning. They asked questions that benefited everyone there. Somehow the conversation yesterday took some unexpected turns, from insurance, Medicare, and retirement (not surprising) to what we are both working on at the present time (some degree of unexpected) to how it is I am single for so long and their evaluation of me as a potential interest for someone (most unexpected), but their words were beyond kind. What it did was got me thinking about how it is I am 70 single, have been for many years, and how that happened. That pondering, of course, got me thinking about people from various points of my life and who the people are that affected me in some manner. As my blog has revealed, I was a pondering kid, but also a directionless soul. The reasons for that are legion, but when I left home at 17 (and was somewhat out by 16), enlisting in the Marine Corps was a way to get away from home, perhaps an extreme way to do it, but that is what I did. When I got home after my stint in the Marines, I returned to Sioux City, probably not much more focused than the child who left a few years before. As I returned, what provided more sense of stability and hope initially was a new pastor and his family. His son became one of my most important friends, and whether or not it was wise, his sister became my first romantic interest. He was an incredible friend, and she was beautiful, personable, had (and still has) the most infectious laugh you will ever hear. She was the first person I was probably the proverbial head-over-heels about in my life, for sure. To this day, I am grateful to and for her. A couple of years later, a second person came into my life, and she taught me so much about what I should have probably known earlier in life. The reality of me was I had little idea of how to manage a relationship. In both cases, I am indebted to them beyond measure.

As I got into my twenties and in college, be it initially at Iowa State, where I failed miserably, I met a couple of people I found attractive, but I had little idea how to engage. One of them would show up again later when I was at the University of Iowa, and to this day, I wonder about her. She was incredibly intelligent, capable, attractive and personable. I wish I had managed my time with her much more thoughtfully. At Dana, I dated two people, one I have been fortunate enough to reconnect with many years later. She was beautiful, intelligent beyond her years, and one of the most talented people I perhaps knew in my time at Dana. The second person would become my first wife. She is a basically a good person, and I certainly could have been a better boyfriend, eventual spouse. What I believe now is, in spite of my being in my late 20s, I was not prepared to be a husband, and I think the age difference (I went to college later) played a significant role in some of those difficulties. I know that I made some major mistakes in how I managed being a husband.

From the time I ended up divorced from my first wife, I realized that I had made choices, from making my job more important than her to struggling with what we had become (the roles we had created were not helpful or healthy for us), I understood that much of what I had expected in terms of the American Dream had not really happened. This is not to place blame on either of us, but perhaps together we did not manage a number of things well. While I believed I had handled that divorce situation well because of the distance, what I know now is I was pretty much a mess. One of the sadder things I have realized over the years is I found the divorce to be cathartic. That is a bit of a strange, but I believe it explains how far we had moved from being a healthy couple. While not having children was not planned, but what occurred, I know how now I understand that was a blessing in disguise. I know there are a number of ways I could have been a better husband, a more supportive husband, and I am much more aware of the reasons for my failure. Again, while it is never one sided, I wonder if I had more attuned to what I needed to do, not only to improve myself, but to better attend to what she needed if we might have worked through the issues. In the years since, some of the things I believed I was incapable of I believe were misguided, but that is what time can do. A second marriage was even more problematic, and while ironically, this is a person I believe I truly loved (and still do to some extent), we both brought issues and baggage that were like standing in quicksand. That marriage lasted little more than four years, and we were separated for half of it. That should say enough, and yet, as I generally say to this day, should she walk into the same space as me, I would be a mess for a bit. I would have to use my brain rather than my emotions. Between her issues and my inability to manage my own struggles, perhaps it was doomed from the outset.

This brings me to my post-marriage life, which is now 25 years in length. While I have noted I appreciate my solitude, I am still that hopeless (hopeful?) romantic. As my colleague inquired the other day, “Isn’t it difficult? Aren’t there times you wish you were involved with someone?” Those are a bit paraphrased, but nonetheless get at his questions. He was quite shocked that I had somehow remained single. In the time I have been in Bloomsburg, there are two people I found some connection to, but those encounters resulted in continuing a friendship with both, and with one, I would say we are very good friends. Another friend (and female) who knows me quite well asked me in the somewhat recent past if I am afraid because of my medical issues to become involved with someone. That was actually a thoughtful and fair question. If I think about the people to whom I have been attracted, there are commonalities, which is true for all of us. I, like most, notice the physical attributes of someone, but those will change over time. Like I once told a student who tried to bat their eyes at me . . . just don’t, it will not work. I did explain that some day when they were older than would not serve them well. So . . . as you spend more time with someone, what I find attractive is someone who is thoughtful and principled. Someone who questions, and is always learning. Someone who is both willing to be themselves and willing to share themselves to the betterment of a partnership and relationship that enhances both themselves and the other. This is where I believe I am much more thoughtful about the other than I was earlier in life. In some sense of transparency, I have tried the online dating thing, and I have not found it particularly helpful. First, perhaps it is my own difficulty, but paying to talk to someone, and ultimately paying for every letter of a word, or extra credits for a picture does not seem to be reasonable and like I am buying someone to talk to me or paying to speakl with them. Then there is wondering if they are real? Do they exist?

As I have noted in the past, there are one of two people, both of whom I have loved, and one case, most of my life, but the timing was never right. I am reminded of what my first LYE host-mother said to me, “Michael, I could have married a couple of people I loved, but the timing was not right.” The second I have incredible respect for, and while I honestly told them they were one of the people I could have imagined a relationship with, I officiated their wedding, which means that would not happen. And yet as I learned from my colleague the other day, who is married, perhaps we always wonder the what might have been? As I have learned for myself, perhaps the importance of those what-if people, even in the last 25 years, we always imagine being with someone. We always hope that there is someone somehow that we can make a difference in their life and they in ours. In the meanwhile, I think of all the people who have touched my heart in some manner at some point in my life, regardless of where it all ended, and I am grateful.

Thank you as always for reading.

Michael

What Constitutes Peaceful?

Hello from Main Street in the only incorporated “town” in Pennsylvania,

My head is whirling and my brain seems to be stuck in overdrive. Across the street from my little space I can hear people protesting the events of the last week. I hear cars honking their horns in support. The world seems to be in a Groundhog Day sort of repeat from about 6 years ago. The overreach that occurred in Minneapolis has, appropriately, struck a nerve. Why do I believe there is overreach? The scope of action allowed by ICE according to Federal law for Immigration and Customs Enforcement and what they have been doing are not even closely aligned (at least that is what my research on Government web pages and sites like the ACLU seem to tell me). This jeopardizes not only their legitimate actions, but anything they do. It also endangers anyone they encounter, as the past week so tragically demonstrated.

Over the last few days, in spite of my propensity to love debate, the give and take to come to consensus, and the need for that conversation (Democracy is messy as President Obama said), I cannot wrap my head around the polarized response to what happened in Minneapolis this past week. Events that have been shown from every angle seem to be interpreted in a manner that is a 180 on steroids. The attempt to legitimize the actions of ICE agents’ actions, in spite of what Government web pages or on the other side, the ACLU notes, is stunning and demonstrates how far we have slid into a sense of autocracy that boggles my head. The argument that they can wear masks, pick people up off the street and deport them without due process, or they can employ actions that demonstrate tactics similar to 1930s Germany (and my dissertation is about that time) is frightening, and if it isn’t I am more fearful. I am honestly searching both the reality of what a reasonable answer to our current situation is as well as doing some research to determine what it means to peacefully resist. At least in my opinion, the administration does not want peaceful protest, and I might go as far as to say they are deliberately trying to get people to respond in a manner they can argue for insurrection or Marshall Law. I honestly believe that is what is happening, and falling into that trap will not only lead to more difficulty, but will keep the country from accomplishing anything for the good of the people. Martin Luther King Jr. one noted, “Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that. The beauty of nonviolence is that in its own way and in its own time it seeks to break the chain reaction of evil” (King, Where, 62–63). Seldom to I believe that people are genuinely evil, but I believe that is what we might be facing in a President at the moment. That is a terrible statement, and one that I am not pleased to feel appropriate or necessary, but that is where I believe we are.

As many are aware, I wrote my dissertation about Dietrich Bonhoeffer, doing a rhetorical analysis of his interrogation before the Gestapo, and examining carefully the letter he wrote to his co-conspirators, reflecting on 10 years under Hitler as Chancellor and the consequences of that for Germany. I spent hours, days, week, and months studying Germany under the rise of Hitler’s politics. The events of this past week, and certainly since President Trump was re-elected are much more akin to 1930s Germany than many want to admit or are willing to consider. The past week has pushed me to the limit in what I am willing to accept, stomach, or endure without a response. I am no longer willing to turn my head. Again, I am reminded of the words of another Lutheran pastor at that time, Martin Niemöller. He was also incarcerated by the Nazis. He is credited with the following statement: First they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out—because I was not a socialist. Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out—because I was not a trade unionist. Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out—because I was not a Jew. Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me.” If there was ever a time to revisit this in our country, it is now. My increasing level of discomfort with what is happening on a daily basis has me rejecting any statements that believe there is even a modicum of decency in the Executive Branch of the Government or the puppets of the DHS. That push has struck a nerve with some people, including some I love deeply. Any alignment with the MAGA worshippers is for me an almost non-starter. Comments of Nazi obsession or some admonishment that I should merely adopt some NVP positive thinking and it will all be okay are not who I am, and perhaps not who I ever was. I am not generally a rock the boat person, and even now with my incredible level of consternation, I still want to respond in a peaceful and legal manner. But what exactly does it mean to be peaceful in such a tenuous time? Even Thomas Jefferson in a letter to James Madison in 1787 wrote, “A little rebellion now and then is a good thing, and it is necessary in the political world as storms in the physical.” And of course, James McHenry, the Maryland delegate to the Constitutional convention heard and wrote the following about Benjamin Franklin. “A lady asked Dr. Franklin Well Doctor what have we got a republic or a monarchy – A republic replied the Doctor if you can keep it.” The struggle has always been part of who we are, and the question between States’ Rights and Federalism has been part of that. The role of the presidency and the person occupying the office has always been something to consider, and the imperialism that seems to define the second Trump administration is not unique to him. James Polk initiated a war with Mexico by annexing Texas; Andrew Johnson was impeached for firing his Secretary of War and demanding fealty much like President Trump has; Chester Arthur used the political machine that had made him Vice President (he became President when Garfield was assassinated. Arthur would turn on those who once supported him. And last, and this is a bit of a surprise perhaps, he is more akin to Ronald Reagan that some might believe. Their innate ability to sculpt headlines on one hand as well as their willingness to delegate, and thus insulate themselves from responsibility is quite similar (Desjardins). The President that President Trump wishes to compare himself to, that being Andrew Jackson, the President he is much more likely to find parallels is Millard Fillmore. President was seriously anti-immigrant (though it was Germans and Irish Catholics); he was from New York, believed and espoused conspiracy theories, and ironically, appointed his daughter to a key White House role (Sheerin, 2018, BBC). That was in 1850, the decade that would lead to the Civil War .

So to return to my title, what is peaceful protest? What is civil disobedience and what is reasonable in terms of being arrested? What are the consequences of nonviolence when it seems the other side prefers agitation and violence? Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. wrote in 1966, “…I am convinced that for practical as well as moral reasons, nonviolence offers the only road to freedom for my people. In violent warfare, one must be prepared to face ruthlessly the fact that there will be casualties by the thousands…” There is little doubt he was correct, not only then but now. Whistles, parked cars, drums, and chanting is not violence, though it is annoying. But it is legal (with some questions perhaps about the cars). It is true that when streets and thoroughfares are blocked there is grey area, but when the travesty of government action requires such a response, the reality of events like Selma or Birmingham are to be expected. Vilifying the other is nothing new in this country, as noted above, but the use of the Government to attempt to intimidate, to destroy any sense of civility by the use of 1,000s of masked agents, and focus on places that are not supportive of the present administration should not, and cannot, go unquestioned. Merely treated like it’s another day. The America, the Republic, the society that was fought for by veterans throughout our 250 year history is in the crosshairs of this President, who enriches himself at the expense of the country and in spite of what the 70,000,000 million who were somehow duped into believing he cared about them.

I will continue to write; I will stand at the Court House; I will speak out clearly and forcefully again the tyrannical regime that believes they can renew a sort of imperialism that threatens our allies; a reign that believes invading another country to remove a bad person (I will agree on that part) for its oil is acceptable without Congress’s involvement; an ultra-authority that works tirelessly to eliminate those with the courage to disagree with their actions; a duly elected, but immoral rule who increasingly demonstrates no regard for the Constitution, any rule of law, and seems to have even a shred of human decency. I will do it peacefully, legally, and forcefully, and let whatever happens to me happen. Why? Because as a Marine Veteran, I love this country, and I served it faithfully. As a former pastor, I believe in a God that says we should always love our neighbor (and that is all of them). I stand, not out of hate for those who seem bent on destroying this country and what it has stood for, but out of love for a world that has such potential to be better. And yet, do not question my love and kindness for weakness, for what I bring to this fight is an incredible love and passion for what is fair and decent. Peace is powerful; decency is always correct; and resisting evil is necessary! It’s time to dance and not regret the dance, wherever it takes me.

Thank you for reading and please stay safe.

Michael