Our Obsequious Country

Hello from the world of the unexpected daily events,

While many of us want to point the finger at the President, the Congress, the SCOTUS, the other party, the media, there is something significant in all of it. We are blamers. We want to incriminate the other while playing victim ourselves. However, in doing so we abdicate any sense of agency we have; we allow others to make decisions for us when we believe that somehow we have no say in what occurs. And that is fundamentally counterintuitive of what democracy is, and yet now, more than anytime in my life, I believe we are more troubled, more questioning, and perhaps the most mistrusting we been with Washington since tue Civil War. As a history student, as a student of argumentation, and as a person who loves politics, regardless of our present circumstances, I believe our actions, both individually and collectively, are more self-centered, are more greedy, and more monolithic than we often realize.

And yet what makes our country (and to some degree the world) as divided? What has happened in the last three-quarters of a century that America has seemed to evolve from the beacon (that lighted torch on the Statue of Liberty) to a country that is now being questioned from every corner concerning our allegiances, our alliances, to the very legality of our international actions? When I was a child, a Marine, and even into my 50s, in spite of my own partisan views, never did I believe the actions of our government, our leaders, or our diplomats would bring the level of embarrassment, that our allies could, maybe should, question who we are. Before you imagine I think all is lost, that nothing that is currently happening has no benefit, that is not the case. I believe the strengthening of the EU, the way that NATO is standing with our European allies stepping up is a positive thing. I would add that the seeming sense of bullying that occurred while effective, was not the way I imagined we would act as a country. To say the answer is complex is probably a profound understatement, but understanding some of the components is important. Extensive study from the Pew Center, which is highly respected, the Carnegie Endowment, and the University of Cambridge, all reputable, they assert that our divide is structural, ideological, and something that has happened over a significant period of time.

Certainly the Republican Party has moved more to the right as the Democratic Party moved more to the left. I am not arguing the two things are responsive, though I am not saying it’s not. Structurally that makes those who hope to work with a sense of bipartisan more unique, but it is also more difficult to find others in the same vein. And while political identity stood for a set of principles when I grew up, I do not see that in our current society. Instead of policy identification, it is now more socially oriented, from economics to education, from religion to race, and ultimately, the urban-rural divide (e.g. did you know 94% of the contiguous 48 states area is considered rural, but only 18% of the US population lives there? Think for a moment what that says.). What this means is we have a struggle with the very basics of who we are, and how we believe our government should act, not only toward its own citizens, but toward the world in general. Undoubtedly, while admitted the issues are complicated, I believe it is connected to a simple reality of who we become as a people, as a collective. I believe the big tent idea that I grew up with, regardless of our party identification changed fundamentally with the encouragement of liberal and conservative. That change has only widened in the last 40 years. The consequence is both an affective polarization as well as what can be deemed as negative partisanship. In both instances we have a distrust and fear of the other; we are motivated by fear and anger rather than policy. The result is to see the other as the enemy, and it’s necessary to replace them merely because of their party affiliation rather than believing in your own candidate. However, I would note currently there seems to be some level of returning to running good people.

I think this is where we see the consequences of our 24/7 news saturated world. No one is able to merely run a campaign without a level of scrutiny that makes every jot and tittle worthy of examination. I could never run for office! Additionally, while the founders of the country were consistently pushing against the use of monarchal type power, things like closed primaries, gerrymandering, which now is the order of the day, and our winner take all system leaves the ordinary voters seemingly disenfranchised. This brings me back to the title of this post. While our cultural history seems to point toward the opposite, our propensity for individual freedoms, or the speaking of one’s mind, how is it possible, and in spite of everything revealed in the last decade or earlier so many in Washington or the State Governors’ residences seem willing to offer our President a degree of fealty I do not believe has occurred in the last century and maybe not since George Washington? The sycophantic behavior that occurs within the beltway and the turn-a-blind-eye flattery or obey, or be primaried daily life in Congress is mind boggling. The notice that an execution of someone will be live-streamed and it’s a federal case, regardless where stand on the death penalty, pushes the reality of fear and power to an entirely different scope. And if you push it even further, with what is happening to the common people of the country as the result of tariffs, prices, Iran, or grifting, how is it that anyone can believe that the current administration actually cares about common people? It seems tantamount to someone being beat up by a bully, and then thanking them and ask to be beaten up again. It makes no sense.

I think one can easily make the argument that we have become more obsequious than we care to admit. However, the more important question is perhaps do we have the will to change? Perhaps two things: first, to believe in the power of our voice, our vote, and the foundational sense of self-determination. While some of this invokes a degree of idealism, there is the fact that voice and vote are necessary for democracy to function. Second, and this is perhaps more difficult; we must stop seeing the other, those with whom we disagree as the enemy. What does it mean to be a citizen, a member of collective, a society? John Locke, in his Second Treatise on Civil Government, states succinctly that we do give up individual freedoms for the benefit of the whole. During WWII, as we had been pulled into the war, albeit bejudgingly, – Pearl Harbor of course changed that – Aaron Copeland wrote his composition Fanfare for the Common Man. It was written to not only support those who answered duty’s call in uniform, but also those who stayed behind working in the factories, the common person who worked and paid the elevated war tax to support Americas military. In fact, the piece was released at tax time as a tribute all. If you ponder the thought behind that composing, its release and its subsequent use, it serve to remind of what happens when we work together, believing we are in this porridge, this pot of many ingredients, together. Without all of us, we lose out on just how wonderful it might be. The influence of Copeland’s piece has worked across genres, and perhaps that is instructive also. The version below is from Emerson, Lake, and Palmer.

Thank you as always for reading, and remember to vote.

Michael

Appreciating Students

Old School

Hello from Duquesne University,

Students have been significant for the great majority of my life, perhaps 80% of my existence had been directly involved with being, helping or being assisted , directing, teaching or being taught, professing or participating in that relationship in some manner. Regardless which side of the equation I was on, change was occurring. Certainly, cliches like life-long-learner, procrastination professional, coffee professional, assertions like the best years of your life, the idea that college is an never-ending toga party or as I warned my freshman against using the following equation as their college foundation: alcohol + testosterone = dumbass (which, btw, is meant to be gender inclusive). The most significant difference between today and when I graduated over a half decade ago is first, our thoughts about attending college (e.g. 46.6% of high school seniors enrolled immediately into college compared to 63% in 2026) as well as the cost (e.g. total cost per year was approximately 9,300.00 for public education and 18,600 for private in 1973 versus 28,000-31,000 for public to 61,000 for private in 2026). If I thought college was out of reach for me in 1973, how many people believe, in spite of being told college is now necessary, cannot imagine how they will afford it, and is their ROI reasonable? The difference in half century is stunning. And I do see and hear backlash. The ability to go to a community college or a technical school for a fraction the cost is more than worth consideration. Both of father and my brother were electricians and members of IBEW Local 231. My father worked hard, as well as sometimes more than 40 hours per week, but we had a very reasonable life. I believe we are at the point where how we understand both the classroom and the world is quite different than it was when I left the K-12 world in the Spring of 1973.

I do believe my return seriously decide college was my path toward a more fulfilling life (which was six years after high school graduation) was a good decision. While choosing to attended a private liberal arts college was nothing specifically researched or examined, I believe it is one of the wisest choices ever made. I can still say that without hesitation some 48 years later. I had little idea that school of perhaps 1.000 students would house one of the most phenomenal programs in the country. I did not begin to fathom that my advisors were profound scholars in their own rite, nor that many of the professors across the curriculum at Dana were both scholars and incredible humans, and we were standing among them or sitting in front of them daily. Their example of professionalism, intellectualism, and simple goodness has served me as a model to this day. The honor we have to stand in front of a group of young adults is immeasurable. It is awe creating.

As noted in the prologue, I began this post sitting at a table while visiting Duquesne University in Pittsburgh. I was asked to accompany the Commonwealth-Bloomsburg Debate and Forensics Team to a tournament of 6 schools. The team is young, with a number of freshmen; it was also the first tournament of the year. While the same can be said for all the schools, in terms of the first tournament, I am not sure if the same holds for experience. There were larger schools there, including a Big Ten university. This young and inexperienced team took first place by some 40 points. We had a seriously good-sized team entered, but there were a number of first and second place awards, and that speaks volumes. And there is some significant work to do in a couple of areas. However, when I look at the group of students on the team, I observed a couple of important things for such a young group. First, and I have been working with and traveling with teams for almost a decade, I believe this young group was the most responsible and respectful group I’ve ever met. I think they might have the greatest potential of any team I’ve experienced; and I witnessed hard work and a depth of thoughtfulness I’ve seldom felt in the past.

If you have little exposure or have not been around those who are willing to take such significant time out of their busy schedules to participate in Debate and Forensics, I encourage you to look for it in your area high school, college, or university. They are good communicators; they are much better critical thinkers, and they often establish a camaraderie amongst their teammates that rivals the more popular team sports or groups. Their level of thought and their attention toward the world around them is exactly what we need from young adults today. They are able to integrate and synthesize in a way most fail to do. Integration and synthesis is something I learned as a student at Dana College, though I was probably unaware it was happening. From our Liberal Arts Reading Program (LARP) to the humanities sequence, it was impossible to not see connections and to understand their significance. Our world is complex, and I do not believe that AI is going to change that reality; in fact, unless we learn to understand and accept the profound differences AI will create (or already has), I believe we will find ourselves wondering what happened.

The students I met over the weekend are attempting to navigate a world we handed them, a world that is divided, a world that is increasingly competitive and suspicious of the other. We have left them a world where our consumption has outpaced the world’s ability to replenish itself. We have used both resources and technology in a manner that seldom considered the consequence. What working in the academy taught me was accountability, to my colleagues, to my university, but most importantly, to my students. I often told them I had an attendance policy because I was selfish. When they missed class both their classmates and I lost out on their unique perspective, what they might offer. Certainly, I hoped my classmates was worth their time, and their investment (including the money paid out). What the weekend tournament reminded me of so clearly is how amazing they are, how blessed I was by those before them, and how yet today, there is hope for our world. I believe we are all called to make a difference and leave the world better than we found it. I believe the 15 students I traveled with this past weekend are doing that as were the other students in the tournament.

Thank you as always for reaching.

Michael

Justifiable Emotions

Hello on the last day of September,

A trip to the Lehigh Valley this past Sunday revealed that fall is truly upon us. While there are a few weeks before I think we will hit peak color, the reds or maroons are prominent at the moment, there was no doubt we are beyond the various verdant greens of summer. Additionally, after speaking with some who were north from Maine to Upstate New York, they saw brilliant fall foliage. It was about this same time I spent a week on Lake Champlain in 1990, I believe. It was my first time into Vermont and a quick jaunt into New Hampshire, and every road seemed like a postcard in the making. It’s been a busy, and also a bit of a potentially life-changing month, but all-in-all, a good one.

From both expected things to possibly different outcomes, from formal interviews to extra meetings and conversations, from teaching a class at church to getting ready to judge a Debate and Forensics Tournament, I’ve kept busy. I remember my father once telling me he was so busy retired he could not figure out where he found time to go to work. While I do not believe I’m at that point, but I am also not sure I want to be such. There are three things I am trying to do, again based on graciousness and gratefulness, I have worked diligently to avoid drama, and as experienced even in the last day, sometimes avoiding it can inadvertently create it – or at least I get hit as sort of collateral damage. However, it’s made life much less stressful. Second, most everyday, I take a nap. It might be a half hour; it might be longer. One of my good friends teases me about it, and I think it is because we wishes he could take one. Additionally, most nights I am in bed before 10:00, and that is even a bit late. Quite a difference from earlier in my life. The third thing is to make thoughtful choices about how I will spend my time, deciding intentionally what I will engage with and what I will not. In terms of time, the third is perhaps the most significant; in terms of mental and emotional health, probably the first, and the second might be most consequential for my physical health. As I think about it, I’ve done something quite holistically.

What I’ve learned over the time, especially since I moved to Bloomsburg, is to manage my emotions. It’s still a daily process, but the extremes that characterized my life at moments (and sometimes periods) are no longer how I live life. Emotions are such a powerful force in our lives, and the way that others respond to us or what we do that affects them seldom occur in a vacuum. One of the most difficult things I’ve learned is, for instance, anger is not wrong. There is justifiable anger, those times when feeling that intense emotion is appropriate. Another emotion, perhaps the most powerful of all human emotions, is when we feel or believe we feel we love another. I’ve specifically focused on this more than once, noting that grief is the proof that love exists. I imagine the range of emotions my good friend, Judy, on whom a recent blog is focused, is extreme and intense. Again, all justifiable, understandable. In either case, I have learned seldom are emotions arguable, we are entitled to our feelings, and unlike thoughts or beliefs, which are debatable, feelings really aren’t. So what makes them so problematic? It is what we do as a reaction to them; the physical reactions to the emotion and the actual wear and tear to the emotion is nothing rational, and yet we need to respond rationally. And yet, seldom do we make that jump from the pathos of the situation to the ethos. And yet it is possible, that is what I’ve learned in the last two-plus decades. It is neither anger nor love that is problematic, it’s what we do with it. The energy in both emotions is tremendous, and such energy can be constructive, but being boundary conscious when our pathos is profound requires time, and time in the immediate moment. Unrequited love or anger creates an emotional rollercoaster to be sure, and the longer we hold on, the more damaging it becomes. Perhaps that is why forgiveness is so difficult, but ultimately to necessary. Without it, our anger seethes and our love turns to resentment (or worse). When we base our actions on what we feel versus what we understand, we become not only vulnerable, we become profoundly fragile.

One of the most interesting things about the consequences of emotional damage is how quickly it occurs and how long it takes to recover, if we ever do. Again, forgiveness, not only of the other but from the other, is part of the healing equation. However, what happens when there is no true forgiveness? What does lack of closure, which is one of the results of absolution, do? It can be imprisoning, paralyzing. Another essential element of that equation is self-forgiveness, to admit honestly our failing, our inability to manage the circumstance, not only to the other, but to ourselves. Introspection is imperative, vital to moving beyond, not just pushing it away, both confronting it and confessing it. That process is painful because it lays us bare to our failings. There is no where to turn, and in that bareness (that metaphorical nakedness) the stark reality of our world confronts us. It is also the moment we find ourselves, and in that discovery is a freedom that is beyond our comprehension.

Emotions are both necessary and dangerous. They are essential to our humanness and can destroy us. The most profound emotions sometimes require the most thoughtful justification, but therein lies the connection of what makes us different from other species as far as we know. Recently, albeit unexpectedly, I’ve worked diligently and thoughtfully about those times when emotions and responses were damaging. I did make the choice to visit a period of life when significant parts of my daily existence was painful, both to others and myself. Even now, as I work through more of it, connections to whom I was as a small child and experiences during that time influenced more than I ever knew. I see threads, links, before unrealized. While little of it is completely surprising, systemic examination of it all as well as connecting to both my feelings and actions has been revelatory. As I shared with some, nothing I’ve done that failed the other, hurt the other, or damaged the other can be changed. For all of it, I am accountable. No matter my perception of things, no matter where things stand even now, emotions have been both my fortune and my downfall, or so it might seem, but it was not my emotions, but rather my actions. Emotions can be justified, but some actions cannot. That is where I find things now.

Earlier last night, I was fortunate to speak with my dear friend, Judy, the same person who lost her husband of 63 years recently. It was a wonderful time of sharing, and it was emotional for both of us. I shred with her what I had written, and I was humbled to do so. We shared anecdotes of our almost 50 years of being in each other’s lives. I think of all the things I feel at this moment, the emotion most poignant is gratitude. She and Lee have taught me so much.Thank God for people and for emotions.

Thanks as always for reading.

Michael

A Jester’s Promenade

Hello on the last days of September,

I have noted from time to time that I have these chronological couplets, where two significant figures or events from my life share a date. And today, the 27th of September is one of those days. It is the day I graduated from Marine Corps boot camp in San Diego (1973), and the day my grandmother, the first mother I remember, my hero, passed from this life (1977). And there is even some connection between the Marines and her because when I enlisted she informed me that a member of her generation was also a Marine veteran. My being a Marine has influenced my life in so many different ways, influenced both my understanding of the Corps – to this day, as well as how I understand the world and myself. While I appreciate and respect veterans of every branch of our Military, there is brother/sisterhood that is unparalleled in the other branches, at least in my experience.. I experienced that just today when I volunteered at the veterans’ table at the annual Bloomsburg Fair. Certainly, the group of veterans at the table volunteering are aging. Two of the most esteemed WWIiI veterans in the area have recently passed, and both those from the Korean Conflict and Vietnam are of retirement age and beyond. Yet today, I met a decorated Marine veteran who when into the Corps when Kennedy was our President. Three Purple Hearts and an incredible service record, visiting over 100 countries, and I was honored to sit next to him for a few hours today and will more this week. That first night at MCRD on the yellow footprints in burned into the memory of every Marine, be it at Parris Island or San Diego. The time served and the title earned are life changing, but to be honest, those first days of processing are overwhelming; I put my head under my pillow those first two nights and cried. My father was right. I had no idea what I had signed up to do. As I’ve recently noted, the time I cried most uncontrollably would be at my grandmother’s funeral. Those tears, were again because I was frightened. I had lost my protector, the person I trusted more than anyone. The person I believed, loved me more than anyone ever had. Interesting how tears connect the two things related to that date – and yet, there’s a third life-changing event on the 27th of September. In the year 2000, it is the date that I again became single. In the 26 years since, there have been times where paths have crossed, never face-to-face just to be clear, each time initiated by the other half. And each time there has been a pattern, teaching me more.

The title of this post comes from a song that appears on the third Kansas album, Masque, titled “The Pinnacle.” Steve Walsh, with his incredible voice almost intones the haunting lyrics of one looking back on their life. One might question if the pinnacle is actually looking down or is there a wistfulness, merely looking back in a sense of disillusionment about what might’ve been? “I’ve got so much to say, and yet I cannot speak/Come and do my bidding now, for I have grown too weak/My weary eyes have seen all that life can give/Come to me, O young one, for you I can forgive. Kerry Livgren, the lyricist and composer of much of Kansas’s early music, in his own biography titled Seeds of Change, noted he was searching. The song continues, “Of all that I endure of one thing I am sure/knowledge and reason changed like the season – a Jester’s promenade.” There is only one other time that I can think of the word jester being used in the lyrics of a song. The lyrics are “When the jester sang for the king and queen/In a coat he borrowed from James Dean/And a voice that came from you and me/ Oh, and while the king was looking down/The jester stole his thorny crown/The courtroom was adjourned/No verdict was returned/And while Lenin read a book on Marx/A quartet practiced in the park/And we sang dirges in the dark/The day the music died.” Words from the incredible song by Don McLean, “ American Pie.” McLean infamously noted when asked about the lyrics “It’s poetry. It means whatever you want it to mean.” He would continue, “Once it’s explained, it dies.” Some have argued that in the song, “American Pie,” The jester is Bob Dylan, who took the place of Elvis Presley. Perhaps in both songs, there is the struggle with change and what change brings – there is the struggle of the things we dream about or hope for and what reality becomes.

I often struggle between feeling I am stuck in some modified deterministic existence and hoping for a true sense of free will, and yet, as noted by Luther, and argued by the comedian, Flip Wilson’s memorable phrase, we are compelled to question where it all shakes out. Are we, indeed, merely in “a jester’s promenade,” leisurely strolling toward some infinity, or are we aware of the world and its complexity, struggling to make sense of it all? I think we sometimes vacillate, sometimes we feel powerless as we navigate the forces around us, unsure whether or not we have any sense of agency. It is in those moments the jester comes to the fore. Livgren’s lyrics describe with profound accuracy where we exist. Yet in history, the jester has both a unique position and unique power. They could question and mock all, including the monarch with immunity. They could speak political truth, no matter how harsh with a level of truthfulness unavailable to any other. And indeed they could stroll into any situation unafraid they would be accosted. They were the early journalists of their time, and long before there was any ideals or thoughts of constitutional rights, they experienced what I believe we might now call 1st Amendment protection. While some argue (and to some degree with good reason) that Livgren was attempting to wrestle with his own sense of the eternal, I believe (as recently noted) Kansas as a band had a strong sense of the world and the dangers it faced, from an environmental perspective (“Song for America”) to Native American culture (“Cheyenne Anthem”), from existentialism (“Lonely Wind”) to a serious consideration of Christian faith (“Chasing Shadows”), I believe Kansas allows listeners to express their own thoughts and questions about human existence through incredibly powerful and compelling music. From the first time I heard Kansas, while stationed in Hawaii in the Marine Corps, their music stunned me because there was no simple 1/5/4 three cord structure typical of most rock and roll. They fought against the 3.00-3.30 second top forty requirement. The progressive music of Livgren pushed back against the rules of the day. The classical underpinnings from complex orchestral vibes to Steinhardt’s incredible violin turned much of the rock world on its head. And that was before you even considered the lyrics. Perhaps Kansas was the jester to the music of the day, and four decades later, their music still resonates with both a new generation and those of us who were around for their first self-titled album. Looking forward to tomorrow’s concert.

Thank you as always for reading,

Michael

Lee and Judy

Hello on an incredibly foggy morning,

Last night as I was looking at my Facebook feed, there was a comment on a picture that was taken about 5 years ago. The picture was one of Lee and Judy Swenson, two people I was blessed to meet the summer of 1978, when they were my first host family on a Lutheran Youth Encounter team. After team training, which occurred at Lake Wapogasset Bible Camp, near Amery, Wisconsin, we somehow traveled by car to Newton, Iowa because, as I remember, we did not have Elmer, the Ford Econoline van was with the other team due to the wrecking the their van. When we arrived in Newton, John and I were housed that week (as noted) by a couple in their late thirties, who had two young children, Kirk and Anne. At that point, Lee, who had been a math teacher, worked for a company named Pyramid, and Judy, who had a Masters degree, was at home, though she would later open her own very successful business. They were both industrious and terrifically talented. Furthermore, Judy’s graduate degree was in Home Economics (Lee’s was in mathematics from Colgate), and she could put Julia Childs to shame with her making the home inviting and any meal to die for.

These two incredible people were not only my first host family but became treasured friends through the years. They attended my wedding and my ordination, and the number of times I have stopped by Newton as I’ve traveled either West or East on I-80 through the years are more than I can count. Additionally, the phone calls, the times they have hosted me are beyond something I can measure. They became an older brother or sister to me. The degree to which I admire them is not fathomable to me. That is a long, but apropos introduction to what I read on my Facebook feed at midnight. Lee, who health had seriously deteriorated in the past few years, passed away this past Sunday, September 20th. While on one level this comes with some degree of readiness, one is never ready for such news that is terminal in terms of life. Since I was 23 years old, Lee, with his indefatigable smile and enduring love of cars, and Judy, the ultimate hostess and coordinator of all things that affect her, but always with care for everyone, have been a part of my life. The last time I was in Newton for more than a couple hours, they paid for my hotel so we could go to church the next day, the same church we visited in June of 1978, together. They followed by their hosting me and others in their current home, where they live in independent living. Judy, unsurprisingly, is on the facility’s food board, as they provide meals for residents, and the quality is astounding. While their previous home, that first location I visited, fondly referred to as 721, was a place where I grew to know almost every square foot by heart. Judy, unsurprisingly made their new abode just as welcoming. Little did you expect as you walked down the long hallway to their door that on the other side you would again be transported into a Judy Swenson wonderland of hospitality and comfort. For many years (and I can hear Lee’s voice plain as ever) when you called, if you got their message, you would hear Lee’s cheerful interrogative, “You’ve reached the Swensons; would you like to leave a message?”

While there is a plethora of examples of my experiences with them over the years, be it finally hosting them at the Acre (and she rearranged my living room for the better) when I had my home to making dinner for them, to their caring for me, driving to Minnesota and taking be back to Newton, as I recuperated from yet another abdominal surgery, from visiting them on a Fourth of July, when Anne blurted out at a town event, “You’re 30??!!” to when they made me meals when I appeared in their driveway unannounced, their generosity and unlimited care has been a beacon of welcome since that first visit to their beautiful home. There is a goodness and faithfulness that epitomizes their rural Iowa roots, having both started out their lives on farms. Perhaps what I’ve appreciated most, particularly over the last decade is their passion and love for this country. Our conversations about where we are as a nation as well as the current condition of our larger world illustrated how much they stayed both abreast and engaged. Their commitment to both their faith and the world has only strengthened my admiration and love for who they are. Additionally, they had a certain elegance and grace that was evident no matter when you encountered them. Lee was always dapper, engaging, and friendly. His smile and charm would pull you before you realized it occurred. He spent years on the school board, and I have little doubt he was profoundly valued for his ability to offer sage wisdom and work with others. Judy, as well, is both simple and elegant simultaneously. They both aged gracefully, and while she is also engaging and gracious, she is driven and goal oriented. One should never take her elegance nor her graciousness as a sign of weakness. Or perhaps I would say this: do so at your own peril. The other thing I appreciated from both of them was their unbridled passion about promoting goodness in the world around them. From their commitment to their church and community to their belief in family and friends, I’ve learned so much from them. It was not merely what they said, but how they lived. It seems there was no limit to their goodness.

Lee’s passing is a poignant reminder for me of how time continues and we age. That is not meant as a cliché, but rather one of those sobering moments we are confronted with the harsh reality of our finitude. Lee and Judy Swenson changed the trajectory of my life. Judy is a beautifully insightful friend to me; she is an older sister just as Lee was an older brother. They have cared for me in ways that are not always possible to articulate. That summer I first arrived in Newton, she encouraged me one morning at breakfast to think a little beyond my then current career aspirations. She saw something I did not. Together they have blessed me beyond measure. Lee, I will miss your smile and your voice. I will miss your gracious kindness and your willingness to listen and share your wisdom about so many things. Thank you, my older brother for your unconditional care and amazing influence. Judy, I love you both, and I will be in Newton soon.

Thank you for reading, and Judy, Kirk, and Anne, you are loved.

Michael

Intent and Consequence

Hello at the end of a variable month,

This week we’ve ushered in the fall, the harvest- and color-centric of the seasons. I have noted how this season is so significant for us both literally and figuratively in my recent posting, and certainly, those thoughts are central to me as the fall equinox has arrived. As I look out my window, the tree I’ve mentioned is brilliant reds with some green, a hint of orange. It’s the first to reveal what it offers in the changing pallet that will take up the next month or so. In literally hours, the Bloomsburg Fair will begin, and the traffic has already begun. Being on top of your game throughout town, but particularly on the West end is the order of the day for the next 10-12 days. Over the years, my fair attendance has been across the board from being there most days to some years not going at all. This year, I do plan to volunteer at the Veterans’ table. Additionally, for the first time, as noted in my last blog, I’ve purchased tickets for one of the grandstand concerts.

Over the past few months I’ve been working diligently to understand a time in my life when I was certainly not the healthiest physically or emotionally as one might hope. As such, and the word damaged was used recently to describe me, regardless intentions, which were good at times and not so good at others, created a lot of struggle, a boatload of drama, and most assuredly, some long-term consequence. Furthermore, even now, in spite what I do believe were my purest and best of intentions, not everything went as well as I hoped. However, not all was in vain, to be sure. For the first time, in what will be 26 years, I have taken the time to reflect carefully, honestly, and intentionally on a period of my life that covers some of the happiest and also devastating moments of my life. From that self-examination and scrutiny, from working with some serious degree of indefatigableness, I believe I have a better sense of those 5-6 years than I ever had before. I worked carefully to not cast any blame nor disagree with anything written, and to take as much accountability as I could. I did not argue perception or memory, and the only time I responded to some points was when what I was told was grossly inaccurate or just plain false/

What all of it did was push me to contemplate the connection to intention and consequence. It compelled me to return to some of my reading that I did when I was preparing for my comprehensive exams for my doctorate. Sissela Bok, the Swedish-American philosopher, notes that lying includes “any intentionally deceptive message which is stated.” This means the person communicating must realize what is being offered is false. Let me provide an example that Bok, herself, uses. Let’s say you come in from the outside and someone asks (perhaps because the forecast notes or the weather looks threatening), “Is it raining?” Let’s say they are wondering if they immediately need an umbrella. When you came in, it was not raining, so you answer simply, “No.” So they go out without the umbrella, and when they get to the door, it is raining hard. So is that an example of a lie? In Bok’s definition it would be no, but might the person believe you lied? That answer is not such a simple no. I begin with this because not all of us understand the idea of lying as something that easy. Likewise, not all understand deception as something easily defined. Yet, perhaps that is another blog. I want to focus on the idea of intent and consequence, as my title suggests. The two things together form an area of study titled normative ethics because it connects internal thought to external results.

When one begins to look at the morality of intent, one comes face-to-face with Kant’s deontology. Kant’s categorical imperative asserts the only good is good will, and that is the basis of anything positive, and let what if good intent leads to a negative consequence because of some unexpected failure of sorts? It is here we find Thomas Aquinas’s Doctrine of Double Effect, where he argues it is morally worse to intend harm than unintentionally cause it. The consequence could be the same, but they are morally different. It can also be viewed through the utilitarianism of Bentham and Mill, which pushes us into a teleological ethic, which of course argues as long as the consequence is positive, all is well. The problem, of course, limits or eliminates intent. Certainly we can maintain this all as a philosophical discussion, but my interactions the last month, in particular, as well as reality of how the latest encounter seems to have completed, the question of intent and consequence is a classic exemplar of this proverbial question of hope (intent) and result (consequence). As I’ve pondered the questions of why the situation appeared from the outset or as I’ve shared with a few who know this area of my history, the same two possibilities seem to be offered. And yet, I am quite unsure if either are true or if perhaps it is a combination or neither. I really am not able to offer any conclusive answers. And then again, perhaps that does not matter. While I do not have any sure fire way of determining the intent, beyond the stated question of why, I am pretty sure of the consequence. And, to be fair, I am not completely convinced the stated why is totally the reason.

In part, regardless intent, it also appears the consequence is not the same for all, which posits the question of the moral goodness of it all. In spite of my real hope that something helpful would occur for everyone, I am not sure that occurred. In spite what I do believe was some honest work by all, again, it seems the goal lies beyond where things ended. And yet were the goals the same? Was success possible? As I’ve read back through everything written, while it seems the goal of why was still being worked toward; the attempt to be open, vulnerable, and effective was both achieved at moments and lost in others. Perhaps because of the hurt on both sides of the equation; maybe because each person was working but not necessarily as in tandem as initially thought. Possibly the lapse in time and memory are too significant to compensate for the struggles that were so commonplace during that time. So what was accomplished? As I noted often in the exchange, I can only speak about what I am feeling because they cannot be argued. While I am feeling some sadness that not everything was seeming achieved for anyone, I am feeling relieved that I put more work and thought into a time that needed some unwrapping and clarification. While I am feeling a strong level of concern and genuine sorrow for where things are for their long-term situation, and I wish only good for each of them, I am feeling some sense of repletion, though believing I still have some pondering to do. Finally, regardless my best attempts to do the right thing, my intent to work through, the consequence was not as good as my intent to be sure. If I think about from only my side, it might seem possible to feel some greater satisfaction, but I wished for something better, more mutually efficacious. Certainly, this was not something I anticipated happening back in the Spring when I was contacted, so there were no “best laid plans” so to speak. I tried to do the best I could, and, at least at this time, I am grateful for that. Sometimes, our frailty is the winner, no matter what.

Thank you as always for reading,

Michael

“Miracles Out of [Seemingly] Nowhere”

Hello as Autumn has arrived,

While cooler, foggier mornings, nights without a need for air conditioning, and the turning of leaves into a painter’s pallet provide some experiential insight that something is happening, the calendar shouts out, that fall is upon us. Many people, myself included, often without prompting that this is their favorite time of year. The advertisements for color tours are found in magazines and social media, while people take weekend getaways to be out on highways and byways to see the postcard-like vistas that amaze and comfort us, making the most devout agnostic reconsider their uncertainty about a Creator. Thoughts of pumpkin spice lattes, apple cider, and cinnamon become commonplace, and ghouls and goblins are lucking down every store aisle, gathering up bite-size candy bars to ready themselves for the impending sugar-overload. Charlie Brown and the Great Pumpkin will once again grace television screens. Autumn is here.

In Bloomsburg, where I have spent the greater part of two decades, the annual Columbia County get-together will begin this weekend. It is neither a county nor state fair, but it is larger than any other fair in the state. From every food imaginable to carnival rides, from animals to art exhibits, it has occurred for 170 times before this weekend’s opening. Concerts are also another aspect of the entertainment and a couple of years ago I walked the fair and listened to Chicago. This is the first time in all the time I’ve lived here, I’ve purchased tickets to attend a concert, sitting in the grandstand. I am going to see Kansas, the progressive rock group which started in Topeka, Kansas in the early 70s. I purchased their first album not long after it was released, and they are the band I’ve seen in concert more than any other. There is a period in my life where they were, without a doubt, my favorite group. A song that I have often said is my favorite, comes from their very first album. While I think there are only two original band members remaining, I am still excited to hear them. I am certainly hoping the weather will cooperate, which is always a severe hit or miss at fair time. More about the group and their music will show up in this post – the title of the blog is actually a song title, with an additional word added.

Lately, I have pondered what makes something a miracle? Is our perception or understanding about miracles much like how we perceive or understand angels? While I believe in both, too often I think we believe they have to be large scale in terms of their magnitude and we are hoping for the infamous winged- creature who shows up robed and radiant before we believe that either actually occur. Perhaps, more consequentially, I believe I have experienced both. Most often, seldom did I realize that the miracle was occurring or that I was being visited by someone angelic. And yet, as I reflect on the decades of my life, I cannot, even if I would employ the most profound degree of skepticism, doubt that I have not been provided with miracles nor been visited by what I will call earthly angels. To begin with, being born, incredibly premature, well before NICUs, my life is a miracle. I know this for multiple reasons; my very existence is miraculous. Without a doubt, my first earthly angel was my grandmother, who, while elegant and heavenly in her own right, looked quite ordinary as she stood at her bakery table in her plaid dress and a smock apron, singing, along to David Gates and the group, Bread, decorating yet another cake late in the afternoon. And she had been up since before 5 o’clock that morning. She remained that angel for me the first two decades of my life. In a few short days, it will be 49 years ago she passed away. I do believe she has been a heavenly angel since. While it was a warm September afternoon in 1977, I believe I wept the most uncontrollably I ever have in my life. Only a couple years later, I would encounter a pair of earthly angels. I am quite sure that neither of my advisors at Dana College would consider themselves angels; yet, as I often note, having a pope and a king for your advisors is not something most could say. And I do believe they were angels in their own right not only from what I learned in their classes, but in the way they treated me both while I was a student and long after I left. in some ways, they were the “miracles out of nowhere” because a little did I know the first time I visited Blair Nebraska as a Lutheran Youth Encounter team member that Dana would become the place I would receive my undergraduate degree. And in fact, I did not start out as a history and humanities major: I began with a dual major in religion and business.

The number of miracles I have received from my life, when I’ve seen the inside of an operating room more times than I have fingers, is perhaps more numerous that I know. On two separate occasions. I was told I had less than 72 hours to live, and it is because of the angels in surgical garb, the nurses in scrubs, and the prayers of many who believed in the power of miracles that I still exist on this side of a dirt nap. From Minnesota to Arizona, from Wisconsin to Pennsylvania, I’ve covered the entire country, allowing, and needing, both the miracles of location as well as the angels located there to keep me alive. Just this morning I was back in the hospital for an MRI to keep track of some of the newest issues, my premature, and now septuagenarian, body still seems to find. Yes, it seems. I am as dependent on the miracles of our healthcare system, as always. And I am as grateful as ever for the angels that I meet, be they an ophthalmologist, a gastroenterologist, a neurologist, a urologist, a hepatologist, an endocrinologist . . . I think you get the picture; I could start my own medical clinic. And for what it’s worth, including my PCP, every member of my medical team is a female – and they seem to perform miracles again and again seemingly out of nowhere. To say I’ve been blessed, is a gargantuan understatement.

One of the things that’s so amazing about the band, Kansas, is the profoundly spiritual undertones to both their lyrics and music. If you do any reading about the band, Kerry Livgren, who composed the great majority of the songs on their first half dozen albums or more, is a profoundly faithful person. Additionally, there’s a strong, environmental element, and I believe, to some degree, a strong Native American aspect to their music and lyrics. I am excited to see them in concert once again, not only because of my history with the band, but because one of my surrogate children, Jordan, is going with me. This is another band, from way before his time, but one that I’ve introduced him to. He is a quite developed audiophile in his own, right, and I think he’ll be very pleased. While the concert is a little more than a week away, somehow I believe the miracles, and the angels will continue as they have sometimes seemingly out of nowhere, but there’s a little doubt for me. That’s something larger and more amazing is always at work.

Thank you as always for reading.

Michael

The Systematic Practice of Dialectic

Hello on a September evening,

Yesterday was Mexican Independence Day, and it was also my birthday. It was a very nice day, first because the weather was fabulous; and second, because of the incredible number of people who took time out of their busy lives to wish me a special day. Across the various platforms or modes by which people might reach out, and there are a half dozen or so, childhood friends, college and grad school classmates, family, former students, and those from every decade of life sent greetings. What a humbling and cherished way to spend the day. I was blessed beyond words. As I noted elsewhere, when I was young, you thought about presents, perhaps a party, and I always thought about the birthday cake because my grandmother, as oft noted, owned a bakery; she was the cake decorator, so we always had a very specially decorated cake for our birthday, and that was one of the surprises, what would she create for us? Now, being remembered by others is enough. Receiving a greeting in some form is all that seems important. Certainly, two people taking me out to lunch and dinner are not unnoticed, and going to dinner on Friday evening for a belated celebratory dinner is something I looking forward to beyond words. So, simply put, I am exceedingly happy with the week. Hard to believe I’ve made it to this age, and, to some degree, feeling better than I have in years. I did miss hearing from a couple of people who are significant, but people get busy and things get away from us. I know this too well from my own lack of managing life from time to time.

That brings me to the topic of the day. I have realized since I was in seminary that what I thought would be a focus of my call, and the areas of theology I was most comfortable exploring and what has happened are not what I expected. While it is well know I love language and Greek was something I excelled in, Hebrew on the other hand was not the same, and I wish I had done better work there. Biblical studies and church history, two things again I found fascinating during those years at Luther Northwestern, are still something I appreciate deeply, but it appears none of those would push me theologically as systematics did. And that did not happen during seminary, it occurred when I was in the parish, when I was a campus pastor, and even over the last years when I was no longer serving in an ELCA call, but as a director of a Professional and Technical Writing program, and through a literature class, not a religion class. The class titled Bible as Literature continued to teach me about scripture and open my eyes to the complexity as well as the comprehensiveness of that anthology we call The Holy Bible. In fact, if there is a class that I hear more consistently about than the other 9 or 10 I taught it is that one. Just this week a former student wrote in a note, “I . . . want you to know how much I enjoyed your Bible {sic) Literature class at Bloomsburg. It was one of those classes that really stuck with me, and I’m so grateful for everything I learned from you.” It was a class where I would tell students the first day that I hoped their relationship with this “book” would be different than when they came into the class. And that generally happened, and I do not believe it was what I did, but what the Holy Spirit, even in a state university, could do. Systematics is a broad and complex thing. I am reminded of Dr. Paul Sponheim’s drawings in Creation Redemption class or at other times. He was what was called a Process theologian. I wish he were around yet today. I would love to take a class from him today. The way he understood our relationship to the Divine and the grace of said Divine was profound, and yet the complexity of that relation was offered to us in thoughtful and accessible terms. His ability to make the eternal relational was unparalleled. I do not think I realized the breadth of his brilliance when I sat before him.

Luther’s systematic is quite simple because he lays out in one phrase the profound relationship we have with the Creator. His phrase simul Justus et Peccator provided in four words our connection to the world and to the heavens. In that duality both in our nature and in the universe we see the dialectic nature of all. Our righteousness comes from outside of us, is provided to us through water and the word. Our sinfulness is still with us because of the belief we are born into it. In our profession is also a confession; we profess our faith in a loving and gracious God, which states we have been sanctified, made holy not because of our deeds, but the love of God. And as importantly, in our confession we admit our sinfulness, our failings, and even our unworthiness. Again, two things occur simultaneously. I believe the genius, if I can call it that, in Luther’s dialectic continues with his sense of law and gospel. We are aware of the need to obey the law, the Kingdom on the Left as he called it, because therein we find order and the ability to care for and love the other. And again, simultaneously, we are confronted with our failures to do so, the loving and caring for the other as we love and care for ourselves. Or as Luther refers to it in Paul’s letter to the Romans, “the evil I hate, I do.” It is at that point, the grace of God is both needed and apparent. We do not need to depend on ourselves, but rather we need to fall on our knees and accept the mercy and grace of the same Creator who sanctifies us.

I used to ask my freshmen the first day of class, “When you got up this morning with your morning breath, your morning teeth, and your morning hair, what or whom did you see?” I encouraged them to see a scholar. I think the same question is apropos for each of us. Whom did you see in that morning mirror? Do you see the sainted-ness in yourself? Do you see someone sanctified and forgiven? If you do, what sort of freedom and joy have you been given, have you received? What happens in our profession of faith and our confession of since, as noted in the Formula of Concord, is serious. It states, “The damage is so indescribable that it cannot be recognized by our reason but only from God’s Word. The damage is such that only God alone can separate human nature and the corruption from one another.” (Formula of Concord 1:9) and I believe it is here Luther, because of his own journey and his reading of Paul, particularly in Romans, provides this profound perspective of the tension that is our experience, our existence. This is the gospel that while yet less than, while lost, while languishing in our sin, God forgives us, saves us, and sanctifies us. That is the love and freedom of the gospel. It provides a glimpse of what God wants for us, while simultaneously (there is that word again) protecting us from ourselves. It seems it is the simul in Luther’s foundational element of his quad-logical phrase (may I call it that?). We need that simultaneous element because without it we are lost. For in that we experience the immeasurable grace of God. In spite of our failings, within our ability to continually demonstrate our failing short of the mark (which is the Greek word for sin ἁμαρτία), our failings and our inability is countered immediately by the grace, love and forgiveness of the Eternal. While I believe meeting Luther would be an experience like no other, I think he was probably a curmudgeon. His simple systematic, his connection of law and gospel, give me hope in what seems to be an increasingly difficult world that seems to have lost a sense of grace. Recently, I’ve rewatched the musical, Godspell, (1973) and I appreciate its truth and symbolism so much more clearly now. Indeed, we forgive and need forgiveness daily. We love and are love daily. We are saint and sinner both simultaneously and daily.

Thank you as always for reading.

Michael

Finding Joy Despite Impermanence

Good morning on a Monday morning,

Today is a typical autumn day, as it was chilly (even more so in a harbinger manner), but the afternoon should be delightful. The humidity of the weekend is gone, and the breeze, while a bit uncomfortable now will be appreciated before the day ends. There is a bit of consistency to the weather from day-to-day, but it’s always apparent that a change of seasons is approaching, and the rains of September have a very different feel than the rains of late Spring or mid-Summer. As I have listened to some of the stories on NPR lately, it’s felt an underlying theme might be concerning the lack of predictability that characterizes our present world.

When I look at my life, from the outset, there was little permanence, little predictable. As noted being born as a premature infant, to a mother who was barely 16, one who would have three children before she was 19 in three different locations illustrates that lack of stability quite well. Living with grandparents, my sister and I were loved deeply by them, but my grandfather would die before I was three; and my sister and I were adopted by another member of the family before I was 5. That is the beginning of my life, and a lack of continuity was the order of the day.

Perhaps before I consider my own experience, it would be appropriate to determine what constitutes joy. I believe it is beyond happiness, though related; I would assert that happiness is a temporary condition, and while significant is fleeting because of its instantaneous nature. Joy, on the other hand, is not as intense in the moment because it is a condition, something that is sustained over time. Certainly moments of happiness can create a sense of hopefulness, creating a glimpse of something possible, positive. Without a doubt, such moments have importance. Hope is essential to our wellbeing. However, the fleeting nature of it often causes a boom-a-rang effect, undermining any security that one might have. Conversely, finding a sense of joy requires patience, even though we are unaware of its process. It requires resilience. I believe perhaps when we cultivate goodness or even happiness, we create joy in our lives. Additionally, I believe joy is something that radiates and makes a difference for others. I think it allows us, perhaps it even urges and necessitates our sharing this sense of blissfulness, this solace with others. One must not be joyful and think selfishly at the same time. I would like to believe that true joy pushes us to look beyond ourselves. It is the truest example of the philanthropic spirit.

With that in mind, if moments of happiness or the resilience of goodness allows for the possibility of being joyful, what happens when our lives are foundationally changed, be it because a relationship is lost, a job or a location is no longer available, illness alters our life, and our belief in something or someone is shattered? Is it possible that the loss of any permanency can make joy impossible or unachievable? It might seem to be the case. When we find ourselves responsible for something that causes another pain, be it from the past or in the moment, certainly it’s likely to cloud what we have perhaps accomplished as we are pulled back into that previous time. Accountability is a basic tenet of life and it’s a harsh taskmaster. I wonder if joy and pain are more closely related than we often think, more often than we can perhaps bear to realize. Miroslav Volf in his book, Free of Charge: Giving and Forgiving in a Culture Stripped of Grace, begins with a story about adoption. The act of allowing a child to be adopted is often the ultimate sacrifice that a birthing mother allows. It is a sense of love that loves for the sake of the one being loved and requires what is a profound sense of sadness at the same time.

When I think of my adoption day, and because I was four and a half, I remember it, I remember my grandmother’s tears as she worked desperately to smile. She had been our mother for more than two years, and in that time she had lost both her father and her husband with months of each other. The pain she endured and yet the joy she felt from caring for my sister and me had to push her feelings to infinity on the emotional continuum. What I remember the most about her is her endless graciousness, her exceptional kindness, her unfailing love. I felt that from her from my earliest memories until she passed days after I turned 22. She never stopped loving me, in spite of my own shortcomings. As I’ve noted in my recent blogs about seasons, facing my own flaws, my own shortcomings, particularly during one season of my life has been eye opening. Taking the time to really reflect, explore, and attempt to be honest and fair was to take a chance I’d not taken. It is never easy to admit when you’ve so completely failed, but it’s a good thing to do. The complexity of failure is not easily understood, and any attempt to do so is profound, but in the admission of one’s mistake is equally significant because within there is hope. The damage I’ve endured as well as the damage I’ve caused will always be part of my life, but the progress made in the 26 years since, while not perfect is nonetheless also life-changing. While I cannot expect everyone to see this progress nor can I expect all will believe it, I think it is the result of a forgiving and gracious God, but it also takes my naming the mistake, as Volf notes, and condemning that wrongdoing. It is in my making my sin known, if you will. And the second part is to not holding the wrong doing against them (or myself in this case), but giving (or receiving) the gift of forgiveness. This is two-sided proposition. It requires us to face the condemnation, realizing the responsibility we have. That can be frightening, but again necessary.

Recently I’ve been pushed to examine myself in multiple ways from various angles. And it was something I was willing to do at this point, even something I wanted to do. To be fair, I was hoping it might provide some sense of relief for everyone, and initially more for them and not me. Where it will all shake out is beyond my control. Forgiveness is something offered because as Volk so eloquently notes, it is not what we do, it is what God has already done; that is foreign to our lives and our hearts because we are so conditioned to be conditional. The impermanence of life makes it difficult to imagine anything other, but the gift of forgiveness flies in the face of our world; the grace of God is counterintuitive, but that is precisely what makes God such a significant part of the forgiving act. Much like in other aspects of our faithfulness, of our participation with the eternal, we cannot see God’s actual presence or action. This is where true joy exists, where the freedom we feel in joy might be both granted and experienced. This past couple weeks has been emotional and humbling. It’s been from some aspects difficult because the passage of time has blurred what happened from every side. The perceptions of how, when, and why are dramatically different, and for my part, I can only speak of what I know and remember. I can only express what I was feeling. There is the reality that I only have power over my own thoughts and feelings. What I can know is that I worked beyond any other time in my life to be honest and accountable. What I also know is that any forgiveness received comes from a gracious and loving God. And in that there is some degree of freedom and joy. The picture is of the former cross that graced the hill above the Dana College campus. It was where I first began to understand the connection between my head and my heart. I still had so much to learn. Perhaps I still do.

Thank you as always for reading,

Michael

A Redux of When does Autumn Arrive?

Hello on a Sunday Evening,

It was a good weekend overall, and it seems like the weeks move more quickly, and indeed, we are into the last full week of summer. I attended a soccer game, went to church, and earlier today went with Brad to see the movie, Tony, about Anthony Bourdain at the theatre in Lewisburg. It was a very good movie. It also has a good soundtrack. I’d planned to get back to the second half of this seasonal reflection, but got focused on some other writing, which is quite profoundly consequential, but was compelled to reconsider how to best manage it, so I have put it on a small hiatus. That writing might, after a blog written to my mother 12 years ago, be the most important thing I’ve tried ever to pen. It has offered an opportunity to come to terms with one of the most profoundly difficult and yet unparalleled in its many experiences. It was the time when I can say I was both the most in love with another and the greatest failure of anytime in my life. To attempt to understand the why is not an easy task.

Over the last month or so I’ve worked diligently to be the most accountable to anyone as well as to myself as I’ve ever been, but there is still so much to dig through, to reflect upon, and it, not surprisingly, has brought a lot of pieces of my life into a focus that, while disconcerting, is still freeing. And in staying with the philosophical concept of seasons as noted previously, moving into Autumn is a time of reflection, of harvesting and seeing what has been accomplished. This is, on some levels, logical and pragmatic, and yet what happens when the previous seasons of Spring and Summer had their difficulties, to continue the analogy, Spring did not allow for great planting and the storms of Summer damaged what was attempting to grow?

As I have noted many times, I love the Autumn with its cool nights and foggy mornings which give way to warm afternoons with brilliant blue skies and the changing tapestry of trees and their colors, spectacular and breathtaking. And yet, the morning comes a little later and the dusk a little sooner, and the realty of the Spring and Summer are apparent in what we can reap. Perhaps that is part of the struggle as I begin to ponder my Autumn. The life that I’ve led has been profoundly remarkable and rewarding on one hand, and I do believe what has occurred since the Fall of 2000 has been, to a great degree, successful and blessed, and yet there is the period before that, the late 30s into the mid 40s that my life was more disastrous than I could have ever imagined, as well as more damaging and hurtful, both to myself and another than I realize even now, though that is what I am trying to understand. I’ve been asked to come to terms with the “why” of that, and I am working to get there, but it’s proving to be more difficult than anticipated. Not to say I am unwilling to work toward it, but managing and being simultaneously open to, the process is weighty because it is not possible to do it alone. And while I did not initiate this journey, I do believe I must do it if I am ever going to be fair, though I am not sure if it can ever be fair.

One of the things that happens in harvesting is the land is once again laid bare, everything that was obscured by the many things harvested is now both open for all to see, but also placed into a sort of moratorium. It’s there vulnerable to the wind and the elements, and yet it’s allowed to rest o from all its had done to it. There is a transience that requires introspection, but introspection is dangerous because it reveals our flaws, our scars, and our insecurities. That has been my companion over the last couple weeks, and yet for the first time in a long time, perhaps the first time ever, I’ve been pushed by another, by someone who knows me too well, to face all my fears and shortcomings. All my life, I’ve been able to run away, sometimes not even knowing I was running. This time, there is no running, and I have no desire to do so. I want to understand it as much as I can. And surprisingly, it does not seem dangerous, it seems freeing. And yet I want to do it in a manner that does not blame the other, but allows me the option to be as honest and respectful, thoughtful and yet responsible as I can.

Perhaps it’s appropriate that I’ve been unexpectedly tasked with reflecting on that time in my life. Perhaps it’s what can provide an awareness or an awakening that could clear the metaphorical fields that some things were harvested, but what was left behind must still be dealt with. Certainly the lapse of time has blurred some things; the emotions and memories have left a profound imprint on who I am, on who they are, and the messages sent and received have illustrated just how deeply each was affected. What would seemingly be easy is to let it be, but that is what happened, and it’s profoundly evident that all of it has left a field that has ever recovered. Sort of like a house that was destroyed by a storm by never tended to after the fact. The reality of the damage remains even though no one lives there any longer. But of memories and the pain of what was lost can still be felt.

It is perhaps that such an attempt to come to terms with the painful past moves me into the final season of Winter? It is the reality that much more of life lies in the past than what lies ahead? It is something about seeing that tapestry which is fading like the trees in their bareness that pushes us to make amends, to allow the land to rest, and offer a chance for quiet growth, some much different than what happens in the Spring and its blooming and Summer and its growing. I think at one time I would have been afraid to approach this season in my life, believing that it signified a time of smaller accomplishments, of having less value. But now, I am not so sure that is true. It seems that the place I find myself is that Autumn probably arrived a while ago, and while on the calendar, we still have a week of summer remaining, in my life perhaps I’ve made it to the cusp of Winter. However, it’s not something to be fearful of. It’s not something where I should plow under what has happened in my past. It’s the time for thoughtful and deep reflection and honest accountability for my failings, and well as some gratefulness toward the one who pushes me to do so. In reflection and accountability, in honesty and humility I can both begin to let go, but continue forward in a restful manner that provides peace, not only for me, but hopefully beyond and for them.

Thank you as always for reading,

Michael