Obi-Wan Kenobi or Darth Vader – the Ultimate Dialectic

Hello from a day of early morning errands,

While it’s only Tuesday, it seems I have done enough stuff to manage an entire week. It is a beautiful day, not overly warm, but the sun is shining brightly, somewhat a rarity the past few months, but at least for a few days it might be a needed companion. I believe it was first apparent when I was in graduate school in Houghton, but I am quite sure I would fall into the category of Seasonal Affect Disorder (SAD). When I first found my way to the electric beach, as I call it, it was not about color as much as it was about a quick rejuvenation. Amazing what 15 minutes could do; the other time I felt this kind of hopefulness was when I was on the Harley.

While I cannot in any real manner claim to be a Star Wars aficionado, if you ponder the characters of Obi-Wan Kenobi and the polar opposite, Darth Vader, without working too hard, we have our the inner workings of our human struggle working toward the thing we wish, while simultaneously running from the thing we fear. This inner dialectic confounds us, and George Lucas used this struggle, offering us an opportunity to ponder our dilemma and becoming a billionaire in the process (his current worth is in the billions). The number of people who still eat, breathe, and sleep this galactic empire is now generational, and not surprisingly. Again while I have not watched all the movies, I too have been pulled in by the force, left to ruminate on what the two characters in my title offer us.

There are actually dissertations written about the battle that occurred in the empire, questioning everything from the basics of their battle to the philosophical principles and if they can actually manifest themselves as portrayed. In our fragile humanity, loss, injury, or misfortune can leave us disillusioned, hopeless, and bitter, and yet the character of Obi-Wan in his stoic mindfulness seems to choose the light regardless of whatever befalls him. There is a humility in him that is incomparable that, in spite of the unparalleled trust others place in him, he does not see himself as their leader, deferring regularly to the council. This is where one can see most clearly the battle between what is the living or the unifying force of the Star Wars World. While this particular focus would be enough for this post, allow me the freedom to look at “the dark side.” Darth Vader, whose every aspect creates the ultimate antithesis, is the epitome of Friedrich Nietzsche’s will to power. Power for us is intoxicating. Consider our current world for a moment. Emotion and passion are essential elements of our humanity, and Darth Vader believes deeply in expressing those emotions; however, the emotions focused upon are anger, pain, and hate. All three are not wrong, nor should they be repressed, but likewise the unbridled expression of them results in profound damage. Vader’s nihilistic, existential authoritarianism is justified by his deterministic foundation. And yet, even Darth Vader is willing to give himself to sacrificial love in the end. Schopenhauer’s metaphysics of unity, the need of our love to encompass the other wins out.

So then what are we to say to this? For years, I have found myself mystified by the concept of “the other.” My first experience, at least my awareness of such a possibility, was when I met a foreign exchange student from Germany. Her in was Monika (and I do think it was with a K) and she was from a small town outside Köln, mit Namen Bergisch-Gladbach. She was the first European my age I had ever met. I would actually go to her parent’s house some years later during my first trip to Germany. Both of her parents were musicians and taught at the university. When I was in college and seminary, I was drawn to exchange students because I was both fascinated and humbled by their intelligence, their ability to think and analyze more critically, and by their more sophisticated world view. I remember playing chess in seminary with a German student. He annihilated me weekly, and when I stalemated him once, you’d think I’d won the world chess championship. It was quite pitiful. In the years since, my travels and time in the academy afforded me the opportunity to meet a number of amazing people from throughout Europe to Central America, from the Caribbean to South America. Hosting exchange students continued to broaden my understanding and appreciation for this world in ways I couldn’t have imagined.

Perhaps the most significant consequence that embracing the concept of and being open to the other is I finally began to understand myself. We are complex; we want order and yet too often run toward chaos. I have to people I admire deeply, but they seem to thrive on chaos. It stresses me out, and it’s not my chaos. And yet opportunities are often accompanied by chance, and chance invites chaos. Is it possible to live with dignity and courage while simultaneously caring for the other? To see love as something we do not possess or need to, but rather as something to give? I think we have too often been conditioned to believe that love, relationships, or situations are something to control rather than allow. Perhaps our dark side is plain and simple selfishness. The reality of our human struggle is how we might find it possible to focus on what we have to offer rather than what we believe we are owed. Lately, I have specifically stated how fortunate I have been to live the life I have. Again, I have specifically verbalized that no one owes me anything. And yet there is always the balance in my own dialectic. How can I work more diligently to be selfless? How can I treat the other with the appropriate level of respect, even when I do not always understand the other? What happens when my heart wants to be Obi-Wan, but my actions appear to be more Vaderish (is that a word)? Perhaps it is in my awareness, I can remain in the light. I’ve shared this video before, but it seems apropos here.

May the Force Be with You, and thank you for reading.

Michael

To Lament or To Learn

Hello from the micro-acre,

The summer I did my Clinical Pastoral Education (CPE) at St. Luke’s in my hometown of Sioux City, there was a lot on my plate. I had been diagnosed with what then was determined to be Ulcerative Colitis, I was on leave from the seminary, was planning a wedding at the end of the summer, and perhaps, most importantly, I was working diligently to figure out who I was. That might sound a bit surprising for someone who was almost 29 years old, but what my rotation in Peds, Peds Intensive, and Peds Oncology taught me that summer was much more than I could have ever anticipated. I remember asking my supervisor, the Rev. Dr. Steve Pohlman if he put me in Peds (my brother had died at 26, leaving little children under the age of five) because I had experience with that event or so I might understand that event in my life. He looked at me calmly, smiled, and answered simply, “Yes.” And then he walked away. In addition to our weekly meetings, our verbatims, our critical incident reports, our morning pre-surgical rounds, and daily floor requirements, we did a family of origin assignment. There was a lot.

As previously noted in this forum, and certainly more than once, I do not have a typical family background (e.g. the mom, dad, two and a half kids, the white picket fence, and the dog, that quintessential American Dream). Being on my third family before I was 5, and having three different names on my current birth certificate should be enough to dispel that typical experience. So doing a family of origin was both arduous and emotional. It was the first time I looked at the reality of the family I had been adopted into (which again is still related to my biological father, through his mother). It was the first time I had to verbally come to terms with how my childhood experiences had shaped the person who was getting married at the end of that summer. I am still grateful to my supervisor for the gentle and thoughtful manner he handled that event, which was more traumatic than I could even realize at the time. I had little understanding until later that fall that my mother was chemically dependent on prescription drugs or OTC drugs because they were doctor prescribed. I have little or no understanding that my mother suffered from what we would now call PTSD from some of her own life experiences. And I was certainly not prepared for how all of that would affect my own life or relationship with my soon to be wife.

Now forty years later, I see things so differently, profoundly so. While I was succeeding on a number of levels, and that is what many saw, inside, I was a floundering little boy still wanting to be loved and appreciated. Two events that summer really brought that home. One was a conversation with my adopted father about his life and how he saw it; the second was a conversation with my mother about my sister and me being adopted at the ages of 2 1/2 and the later months of my being 4. The stark reality of those conversations and what they revealed have stayed with me to this day. And yet, what I choose to do with all of that, what I can manage moving forward, what I allow those events to do to me are all on me. What four decades of wandering (ironic that it is about 40 years, and the Biblical connection to that number), what a little more than four decades of pondering and a significant number of those years in counseling has done. Are there moments of lament? Most assuredly, there have been. Are there moments of avoidance, pretending against all, that I might just forget or ignore? Again, undoubtedly so. And perhaps most significantly, but not easily, there have been periods of profound learning. And while that learning is neither continuous or always progressive, there has been learning just the same. The Biblical process of lament is well documented, and certainly perhaps the most famous lament is Psalm 22, the words Jesus is believed to have cried out on the cross, “My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken me?!” What incredible words of seeming abandonment, of desperation. In my desire to be as transparent as possible, I remember somewhat regularly wishing as a child that I would just die and not have to be in the Martin house. That is a sad admission, but an honest one. I remember asking God why we were adopted and not allowed to stay at my Grandmother’s where I knew I was loved (I did not understand how her struggle with alcohol had a bigger consequence)? So lamentation was a normal part of my growing up.

And to be sure, I have little doubt that all of us have those laments. I have been in conversation with a high school classmate, and we have shared significant stories from our childhood. Things that happened behind closed doors, and were not discussed in public, and yet what it demonstrates is each and every one of us have those areas of struggle and to some degree trauma. And yet, what to do with it all? Victimization whether it is done to us, or we do it to ourselves, is terribly damaging. And continuing to be or allow, to consider ourselves, perpetual victimhood becomes a learned helplessness. This is not to say changing the pattern is easily accomplished, I am implying no such thing. The struggle (that seems to be a common word here) and consequence of being the victim is a distorted understanding of agency, or at the very least, a less than optimal use of one’s agency. The balance between allowing someone to grieve their past, which is necessary, and the difficult work to move beyond it, which is perhaps at best no longer allowing it to control their life, is not a one-size-fits-all proposition. Furthermore, trauma has an uncanny ability to reassert itself into our lives, even when we believe we have done the arduous work to move beyond that event. I know that sort of Scrooge’s Christmas Eve visitation all too well.

Yet, coming to terms with the ghosts of our past keeps them from controlling our future. Learning who we are as well as why we are is a significant piece of mastering our lives. Being profoundly honest with the person we see in the mirror allows both allows for our understanding the person we have become, but more importantly, offers the opportunity to create a life of possibility. In addition, my choosing to overcome my victimhood allowed me to forgive my mother. The freedom sensed through that forgiveness was life-changing. It was not until I forgave her that the deep-seated sadness, hurt, and anger disappeared from my life. I had to learn to forgive. The weight of that lack of forgiveness, often expressed in seemingly unprovoked anger had done damage to me more times than I could have ever realized. The burden of that life affected me personally and professionally in ways unimaginable. While the title of my blog posits it as an either/or, more accurately, it is a both/and. Lamenting the difficulties of our life is appropriate because it acknowledges those events. Learning to move beyond with a sense of self, with a belief in agency, and the ability to change gives us hope, allows us the possibility of goodness, and creates a bond of love, for life and for the other.

Thank you as always for reading,

Michael

Where Do We Find You?

Hello from Bloomsburg,

It’s Friday, and it’s been a week of extremes when it comes to what I was planning for and what I was not. It began with the Memorial Day, and I was fortunate to attend the commemoration of veterans at one of the most well-kept of area cemeteries. The event was nicely managed, and it reminded me of some of our better angels that we are all part of when we allow. It had been some time since I either attended or was involved in a service. Bella, the beetle, which received significant damage because of my mistake and misfortune and was in the body shop, was completed in time to pick it up on Thursday. The timing was important; I could get the required vehicle inspection and oil change today before the month’s end. All of that was planned.

Going where I regularly go for my vehicle inspections and all my other mechanical needs, I made a phone call to a relative of the service manager after turning my car in (this has been a ritual of sorts. The person called if someone for whom I have tremendous appreciation, and on multiple levels; he now lives in South Carolina. A bit surprisingly, he immediately answered the phone. I told him where I was and he informed me his brother had already texted him. We caught up a bit, and he noted he had another phone call, but would call back. Meanwhile, I caught up with a classmate from Iowa on a second phone call. As promised, my SC friend called back and then told me to go back inside the auto facility because they had a question. As I walked in, I noted it was amazing that it took a phone call from South Carolina to get me back into the shop. From behind the computer screen up pops the South Carolina friend. I think it took more than a second to register what had just happened. Oh my goodness!! I was almost speechless, which for those who know me, seldom happens. Not what I expected nor whom I expected to find behind the counter.

We walked outside and he informed me that they had gotten in from the South at 3:30 a.m.. Then the conversation took a turn. He asked if I heard anything, to which I responded, “No.” The name I heard next, however, I had just read about in the morning paper. His great-nephew had tragically died getting hit by a car. The details of the accident are heartbreaking, and the mother, whom I have known since she was in middle school, the father, and a single digit aged sibling are beyond devastated. The grandmother, was my former house cleaner, and I spoke at her funeral when she passed of a heart issue in her 30s. I have been blessed by now four generations of this family and my heart aches immeasurably for them in this time. Much like a trip to ICU to Geisinger, made in the cold of winter February 2016, today on a beautiful day, I drove to Orangeville to spend time with extended family, some of the same people, a few months beyond 10 years. There was no question that I needed to find them as again they needed to know that the love and care they have always given me was there in return.

Any loss of life is profound, and it can be difficult to make sense of our finitude, but the number of ways this goes beyond anything I’ve experienced in some time, be it in the parish, in life, even in my own family, cannot be fathomed. The crying out in pain, in shock, in devastation, wondering where the love, compassion, or any idea of mercy from God goes out into the heavens in a way unparalleled. There are no adequate words, nor should there be, the attempt at Christian platitudes will never make this acceptable. There is no manner or degree of emotion, possible level of lamentation that might provide some sense of solace in this time. The change that has been thrust upon anyone who knows this child, this miraculous creation of two loving people, cannot be understood, nor can it perhaps ever be. Where are you, God, in this time of need that cannot be measured by emotion, voiced in any utterance of language? How do we find you? While I can certainly understand the clichés of fairness, I do not want to use the word because it is trite at best. How is it such tragedy is cast upon a mother, a daughter, who lost her mother too early? What allows for a parent, grandparent, and now great-grandparent to suffer such profound pain? How, O Lord, do we find you in the midst of such grief?

Generally I write a blog for myself and my own struggles, but this time I write on the behalf of a family I love deeply, a family who has blessed my time in Bloomsburg. When I spoke at the funeral 10 years ago, I recounted how meeting a young woman in the laundromat changed my life. It was true then, and it’s more profoundly true today. God, you have noted in your word, “Your thoughts are not our thoughts, and Your ways are not our ways.” Indeed, but how do I, we, find you in the midst of the brokenness and heartache I see in the people I love. Two young girls are now amazing young ladies; I saw their tears then and I see them now. Two incredibly faithful great-grandparents are stoically again at the head of a family you call your children. I hurt, Lord, for them. I am unwilling to accept that allowances of tragedy are simply life because if I do, I know not where to turn. Lord, into their grief, our grief, I beg you to show a sign of the great compassion we so desperately need in this time. Please show us there is more. Grant them the promise of your love and grace in this time.

Thank you as always for reading,

Michael

Not Merely Called, but Being Called For and To

Hello on a the last few days of May,

The last day of May is a significant day in my lifetime. It is the day I graduated from high school as well as the day I was confirmed by the Rev. T. P. Solem, the interim pastor we had between the pastor I remember as a small child, the Rev. Orion Anderson and the Rev. Paul Ofstedal, my pastor through my high school years. When I graduated as a member of the first class of West High School, leaving within the month for MCRD, I had no understanding of the concept “being called.” There is an irony that the two significant life-moments that occurred on that 31st of May have characterized and enveloped most of my adult life.

Luther spent significant time on the concept of vocation, the belief that our life’s work is a calling. How many people see their work as a sort of earthly purgatory as they earn their way to salvation? How many people see their path in life as something to endure, to suffer through, and why? Is it as simple idea that the very word work (arbeiten in German) is dark and about hardship? I thought it appropriate to return to the German as that was the native tongue of Luther. Arbeiten in German is closely connected to the idea of diligence, toil, or stress as well as the adjective of hardship (which is also a feminine word, perhaps not ironically considering the role of women in history). I have bought into this emotional baggage of the idea of labor more than I wish at times. Before I return to that idea of struggle, I believe we employ (pun intended) it in any area of our life we find less than desirable. Recently, I was part of a thread where one of my classmates revealed a significant level of sadness about their treatment through grade school and beyond. This individual was one of my closer friends throughout my childhood, in part because we worked to navigate a similar physical stature (we were both smaller than most everyone else) as well as we went to the same church and were involved in a number of church things together. They were incredibly intelligent as I remember, and also disciplined. What their texts to our group revealed was how words and actions of our classmates created significant hurt that they have held for a half a century. That is profound. As I ponder what I remember, I think there were other elements to their struggle, but certainly, the treatment of our childhood group had life-long consequence.

The idea of grace for us in our brokenness can be agonizing when what we feel first is hurt, rejection, or a sense of otherness. And yet, when Luther wrote about the idea of justification by faith, the promise of a loving God that is foundational, Luther frees us to something better. Known as the five solas,the Reverend Dr. Derek Brown writes,
“[Humanity] is justified by faith alone (sola fide), in Christ alone (sola Christus) by God’s grace alone (sola gratia) to the glory of God alone (soli Deo gloria). We find these truths and everything else required for life and godliness in the Scripture alone (sola Scriptura)” (2018). Vocation was part of the sacred before this, allowing for church related positions to be considered vocational, which, of course, worked well in the medieval dichotomy of sacred versus secular (Brown, 2018). It also falls in line with Luther’s own personal disdain for the idea of works first, and why he had referred to James as an epistle of straw, something to be burned. Ironically, Luther would refocus our idea of all work as something that can be regarded as good when it is performed to the glory of God, in the service of the other. Through God’s grace, and by faith, something gifted to us by the Holy Spirit, any work done in the service of the other glorifies our Creator. Again, I should give credit to the article of Brown for providing such a concise and manageable view of the connection between justification and vocation.

As I consider the two positions that provided me life, sustenance, and a sense of calling, one might believe it is easy to see them as such, but nothing could be farther (or further) from the truth. I remember writing a letter to the pastor who served my congregation when I returned to Sioux City from the service, asking for advice about my struggle as I attempted to decide if I should go to seminary following my undergraduate (the other option was law school). Father Fred, as both his son David and I referred to him, hand-wrote a letter in which he encouraged me to be open to the call of the Holy Spirit, even if it meant going to seminary. His letter did more to point me in that direction than any other thing (although not wanting to disappoint my mother might have been a close second). The day I was ordained, I was overwhelmed to the point of being sick to my stomach because of the vows I had just taken. And yet, there were certainly times as a parish pastor that the sense of call was lost in the midst of all the vocation of being a parish pastor required. I think I understand call so much better now. Moreover, working to obtain my PhD was long and arduous. Additionally, like being a pastor would cost me a marriage, being a PhD student had a similar consequence (let me be honest and note, I also made significant mistakes in both situations, so it was not merely the calling to either the parish or the academy). I remember my first semester at the University of Wisconsin-Stout; while I was ABD, I was in no way prepared for what that first semester would throw at me. From the dynamics of the department to not having software in a lab, my own struggles in coming to grips with three new preps, a new breed of student, the first year was not a complete failure, but there were many more negatives than positives. More than once I specifically remembering asking myself “why in the world would I want to do this?” From a couple of colleagues to one particular student, a single mother, without them, I am pretty sure I would not have survived. In spite of a somewhat developed sense of vocation or call, I did not see or feel it.

The important question is why? What happened either to me or because of me to obscure any sense of being called to or for something? The grammar wonk will come out at the moment. My title is being called. As a passive voice verb, the subject receives the action rather than performing it. Called without the passive voice sense, it seems pushes us into the German idea of arbeiten much more completely than we realize. And even when I knew it conceptually, too often I did not allow it to occur. If we see our positions, our daily tasks, from our perspective first, rather than how what we do has value or positive consequence for the other first, we elevate the position, and by extension, ourselves rather than see what we do as service to the other. It is not that we should not be diligent, work tirelessly, and hope to improve, but rather we should do it because of the difference it makes for the individual struggling to understand God’s graciousness, the student who believes they are not smart enough or capable enough. It reminds me of the words of my confessions professor, the Rev. Dr. Gerhard Forde. It is not what we do that saves us, that has already been done. It is what we do with that gift. To be called be it to the parish or the academy was to be called by God, regardless the church or university. It was called for service to the parishioner, the person struggling with loss, with family dysfunction, with the confirmation student who cared little about what happened in that class. It was called for service to that student who came up to me the first day of class with an accommodation and tears in their eyes, for the student who tried to balance the expectations of professors, parents, and friends; yes, for that student who could neither come to the lab nor afford the software on their own computer because they were a single mother.

Throughout time, I have been blessed to serve so many. What I believe now is I was called for and to my entire life. There are still times I forget that passive voice nature of being called, but many times the consequence is less than stellar. What could have made a profound difference blends into the proverbial woodwork because it becomes less than its potential. Grace is an incredible thing. It is there for the taking, but too often we fail to receive it. Luther reclaimed the idea of vocation, and if we are brave enough to step back and receive it, the result is life changing. It is freeing, and it allows for such a much more incredible life. It is amazing.

Thank you as always for reading, and I wish God’s grace upon you all.

Michael

Wishing, Hoping, or Something More

Hello from the cubicle,

I have writing a lot about the concepts of hope, its importance to our individual wellbeing, as well as to the importance of it for society in general. What happens when there is a lack of hope or a sense of disillusionment to the level of hopelessness. Certainly as we age, we can understand the difference between idealism, an unrealistic hope, the infamous pie-in-the-sky sort of wishfulness or a deep-seated believe that something can change for the better. And yet, we all can buy into the sort of 1 in a hundred million chance for that profound change. The lottery would not be so popular if people did not submit to that unrealistic desire of instant wealth. I think I have played the lottery less than five times in my entire life, and each of those times was when there was a record payout, and my participation was contributing to a pot of about 10 people. In the spirit of disclosure, I have not won a single dollar, not even a penny. And yet I want to believe in the possibility of something changing, of the reality for me that thoughts and prayers, which had a different connotation than it currently does (and for some honest reason) do offer the possibility of the Holy Spirit making a difference.

I believe that hopes and wishes are connected. That the action of doing either can offer some sense of contentment, an efficaciousness that provides some solace when most needed. Physiologically the act of wishing and hoping releases dopamine in our brains, which consequently lower the release of cortisol, lowering stress or anxiety. And that is just the result for our CNS. Additionally it has demonstrated positive results for our cardiovascular health as well as support better respiration (I did some research on this, I did not know all of it, though I had some sense). Likewise it can assist in our body’s ability to heal, and it usually generates healthier habits in general (NIH). On the other hand blind or unrealistic wishing also has physical consequence. Because it is nigh impossible, it can result in exhaustion, disillusionment or burnout. I can imagine Sisyphus might have ended up in this position.

I think at times wishing is somewhat akin to praying. I remember one of my seminary professors, when lecturing on the reality of prayer noted there are three answers: yes, no, and not yet. I had never really considered that as we too often believe the only answer to prayer is the one we want. Perhaps it is our naïveté, perhaps our selfishness. And yet hoping, believing in the power of prayer is significant for those who claim faith or hold that intercession makes a difference. The important of difference is something often overlooked, overshadowed by the difficulties in the moment as well as by our human propensity for impatience. I remember as a child praying a prayer that went something like this. “Please keep me from getting spanked, and I promise I’ll never do it again.” Somehow that prayer was never answered, or more accurately it was answered with a serious no. It’s really quite astounding how quickly we grasp for what we wish or hope. Our desire for instant success, for gratification in the moment.

As I write this, it is Memorial Day weekend. It is the time we remember those who gave their lives in the service of our country, those who leave their family behind as they are deployed across the world. I think of the boot camp experience and those 85 days of processing and training. The hoping that I would survive that experience was more profound than I can ever express. The first phase of boot camp was assimilation, the second was learning about becoming a rifleman and what being an infantry person required, and third phase you begin to believe more than merely hope. Much of my life, from working toward degrees to the academy, there are always levels of achievement. From commencements to tenure votes, from obtaining a position to promotions, the hope for advancement is always on your mind, a weight on your shoulders. It is not merely wishing or hoping for something. It requires much more. It requires confidence; it requires discipline; it requires both optimism and faith in your abilities. Faith in oneself is not an absence of fear nor of failure, but it is quiet daily trust and learning to adapt. There is no need for perfection, but merely the necessity to reframe my humanity, both accepting my limitations while simultaneously pushing them. Where I first learned to push them was through my enlistment in the United States Marine Corps. That 17 year old, barely-making-weight, naive boy (I seriously weighed the minimum I could) cried under his pillow the first two nights of boot camp. Having a Senior Drill Instructor with the name of SSgt. M.D. Blood might have also influenced that fear (you cannot make that up!!). The number of times I struggled to keep going (being labeled Pvt. Chicken Body was a bit of an additional detriment). And yet the pride I felt at graduation had never been equaled in spite of some pretty significant achievements. As I ponder the sacrifices of the previous generations of Americans, I am profoundly aware of their own hopes and wishes for the country, this place called the United States. The belief of those individuals Tom Brokaw called “the greatest generation,” which include those in my parents generation, was that there was nothing impossible; if you hoped it, you wished it, it could happen.

I watched the Memorial Day Service from the Capitol that cannot help, but instill a sense of pride and patriotism that is not misguided, but rather reminds me of the something other, those moments, those events, those times that cause us to dig deep believing in both the possibilities of who we can become, being honest with our shortcomings, but having a deep-seated desire to do better. The number of times tears streamed down my face as I watched the concert are numerous. And yet, I am appropriately humbled and proud to be a veteran, patriotic, but honest with our present difficulties in the world. On this Memorial Day, I give thanks to my family and generations back to the Revolution (according to my cousin). I think that consistent service up to the current generation is something that gives me both pride and awe of what this country can inspire. I am proud to be who I am, an American child.

Thank you as always for reading.

Michael

Silence: Wisdom’s Best Reply

Hello at the end of an great weekend,

This past week a close friend asked me about how I seem to know how to respond to what someone says or just how to reply in a given situation. Let me preface my response with an honest disclaimer. I certainly have been know to put both feet in my mouth and chew vigorously upon occasion. And why that must get have been more the case earlier in life, it can still happen. On another front, generally speaking, from a young age, I’ve had the ability to come back with a quick retort that often leaves the hearer with no response, and quite often a look of disbelief. I must say it has gotten me in hot water on more than one occasion (earlier in my life most often with my mother). Even when I was in the academy I was (and still am) able to read others pretty well, allowing me to respond to a given circumstance or student in a way that is tailored to the particular moment. In fact, students have noted, “Dr. Martin, we’re never sure what is going to come out of your mouth.” That is a double-edged sword for both sides of that equation.

I remember asking a student if they took lessons to act as stupidly as they were. A remember telling a nursing student if the level of commitment I saw in my class was indicative of their work on a floor, I did not want them in my room. Both responses are tough and push, but both students came back to thank me. Conversely, I remember a student who cried when they handed me their accommodation for dyslexia. I told them to not be afraid, that just because their brain processed differently, it was no reflection on their intelligence or ability to manage college. They graduated four years ago with a GPA in the mid-threes. The number of students who came into my office, regardless of gender and used a Kleenex box or tissue were numerous. I learned to listen and offer honest and thoughtful advice. As importantly, I worked diligently to be honest and genuine with my students, and people in general, as possible. While at times my comebacks might seem instinctive, there is more than reaction that occurs. Over the weekend a former colleague offered the following after our interaction: they wrote, “Thank you. You are in my prayerful thoughts each day since you returned to Bloom. I continue to hold you in love and prayer. Although I never knew you personally, your work with students (some of my own) is legendary and that’s when you bloomed in my heart. Always kind regards.” I cried as I read it.

Over the weekend, I was honored and blessed to hood a Masters degree student who worked in the department office. As I look at the events, the happenings, the interactions I encounter daily, seldom do I merely pass them off as irrelevant, unimportant. Everything we do, each and every experience deserves our reflection, our introspection. What reflection requires is a period of silence. Often when there is silence we are uncomfortable, believing someone needs to say something, so speak up, some level of response. And yet restraint is a response, a thoughtful and oft needed course of action. While I am entirely capable of the quick comeback, the unexpected repartee, it seems more likely now I am inclined to remain quiet and ponder. Perhaps it’s merely I have more time to do so; perhaps it is because I am doing my best to avoid drama. As I noted with the above mentioned friend, I hope what I do offer makes a positive difference in the other’s life. I am more interested in providing something of value, something that provides a sense of support than merely making noise. Even as I write here, I am well aware that sometimes what I ponder creates some consternation, but seldom do I write merely to cause some discomfort. Even in my most ardent moments, my passionately partisan instances, I believe finding a middle ground, finding the positive in the person or perspective with whom or where I disagree is imperative. That is when being quiet is most efficacious.

Mahatma Gandhi once said, “Speak only if it improves upon the silence.” And the oft quoted Chinese philosopher, Confucius, also wrote, “Silence is a true friend who never betrays.” There is a conditional in the first statement with an if, but it can also be interpreted as an admonishment to merely slow down, step back and think. And when is it best to take a chance and speak when we might be unsure of the consequences? The summer I did my Clinical Pastoral Education, one of my summer colleagues gave me some unexpected feedback about a session where we were mutual participants. She encouraged me to listen more before speaking. As noted, that was unexpected, and honestly, not completely appreciated, but she was correct. Slowing down and listening is not something that comes easily for us. Too often we want to be heard; too frequently we have a need to interject. And just as repeatedly we fear the loss of being involved in a conversation or circumstance. Why? I think it is because the cacophony of noise that surrounds us is, in and of itself, overwhelming, frightening, and we believe we will be lost in the chaos.

I think I spent too much time dog paddling (and I actually do little more than that in real swimming) trying my best to keep my nose above the surface. As I evolved into a retired person, learning to be content, comfortable, with no schedule, with no regular requirements, has not been a simple progression. It is almost two years, and it is only in the last few weeks I have begun to feel some sense of serenity. It might be the first time in my life where I feel little sense of needing to be somewhere or do something. That is a very new thing, something I am still adapting to, but also feeling more capable of doing it. Somewhat like a introvert who can be extroverted, but worn out from the experience, learning to step back and be comfortable with silence, in my solitude, choosing to step back and not feel obligated to doing something just because I was asked, it is beginning to be more possible. I was speaking with a local clergy person this morning and we noted the idea of the clanging gong that reminds us we lose the opportunity to really learn about the other, to see the other clearly, to love the other completely. Amazing what the act of silence can do.

Thanks as always for reading.

Michael

Innate Goodness: Possible or Not?

Hello from the Magee,

The weekend was a bit lowkey, but I think I enjoy that much more than I did once upon a time. And yet in my solitude, my brain is constantly wondering about who we are as humans. One of my traveling friends, someone with a few years on me, but brilliant in their own rite, to be sure, regularly admonishes me that I should quit thinking so hard. There are times I honestly try to do so, but then I watch or read something and it starts all over again. I wonder often about the goodness of another, not that I do not believe that it is possible for someone to act in a rather philanthropic manner, or even with some degree of altruism, but I wonder from where does that come? Of course, subsequently, I wonder what it is that seems to have others act a bit more malevolently? It is easy for us to point to the concept of human sinfulness. In fact, our Christian Creeds specifically point to that, and it is incredibly easy to find scriptures that support the idea that we are a bit of a mess. So what is the consequence of such a basic deleterious overview of our humanity? These are some of the “simple” concepts that I currently seem to struggle with, to ruminate upon.

As I witness the incredible discord that seems rampant throughout the world, I am compelled to question how it is we seem to bend toward that sort of discontent, ill will, and disregard for others. Is it really how we are wired as humans? Certainly, much more capable, intelligent minds than mine have considered this question. The concepts of hate, greed, self-centeredness are, on the one hand, something we all understand; simultaneously and conversely, we all aspire to living a life where empathy, love, and care for the other characterizes who we are, what we do. How is it we are well aware of what we might do to make our lives more profoundly happy, but we struggle so desperately, so completely to do it? Is there an innate goodness in our humanity? Is such a thing even possible? Is it as simple as there is an incredible tug-o-war between some desire for goodness versus our need for self-preservation? And if so, are they as mutually exclusive of the other as it might seem? Developmental Psychology has studied pre-verbal infants, noting they demonstrate a pre-disposition toward an innate moral compass, gravitating to actions that favor goodness, that seem to indicate we have a foundational desire to do what is positive, helpful. Even evolutionary science has revealed that humanity tends toward traits of empathy, a willingness to share, and develop actions that favor cooperation over strife. And why? Because such actions or behaviors are supportive of survival. Such research asserts that we are biologically driven to care for the other. And yet, if we consider our own actions toward the other, particularly when we feel we have been wronged or we are in danger, our instantaneous move toward fight or flight cannot be discounted. So where does that leave us?

There is an incredible area of study that examines the adaptive nature of the human. Some of that is because of our incredible evolution as a species; some of it is because of the neuroplasticity of our brain. If we are not hardwired in a particular way, one must come to terms with how our environment and experiences affect our understanding of our world. Much of our adaptation is the consequence of what social scientists, psychologists, and other behavioralists refer to as our own individual (and I think it can be argued collective) cumulative cultural encounters. Yes, all those things we have experienced have consequence. That is no surprise, nor would I think it should be. What I am struggling to understand is why some who experience a preponderance of goodness might seem to be more negative in their actions or attitudes toward their fellow sojourning humans and some will do precisely the opposite? What allows us to be more optimistic versus less than? I am appreciate the adaptive nature of each of us, trying our best to move forward with some sense of purpose and hope.

Let me look at it on an individual basis for a moment. Often in my posts, I have considered my younger sister, Kristina (Kris). She was 14 months younger than me. While we struggled with each other, partly because we were so close in age, more because we were so different in our personalities, and ultimately because I believe the abuse we both endured from an adoptive mother affected us profoundly. Kris endured much more than I did. Our mother seemed to single her out, that is for sure, and I believe our older adopted brother (no relation to either of us) was more protective of her than I was able to be. I think I merely tried to stay below the radar as my own act of self preservation. As we grew, the abuse she specifically received led to her running away more than once. It led her to mistrust most every one, often withdrawing. I still believe her two or three childhood friends are the reason she was able to maintain to any degree of normalcy. I am still in touch with two of them, and I am grateful for them beyond words. Growing up in the 1960s, ideas about counseling, therapy and other sort of intervention were not something readily considered. After Kris ran away a second time, we would encouraged to attend family counseling, but when things turned toward the actions of our mother, she refused to return. Unfortunately, looking back, my father believed if we did not all go, it would serve no good purpose. We should have continued without her.

Many years later, and about two weeks after 18 years of my sister being gone, I have considered the consequence of our upraising and our very divergent responses to our mother. We were both regularly told that we did not deserve to be in the Martin house, that we would grow up of no value; she literally told us we were worthless. That had profound implications for both of us, both in the immediate sense of our daily existence, but also in how we would manage everything from daily life to spouses, from education to personal time. There are multiple ways to ponder this, and previously I have written about the consequences for us, but what about for my mother? While I still struggle with some of what she said and did, I have forgiven her; and now I wish she had an easier life. She was angry; I think she was disillusioned by what she believed her life to be; I think she desperately wanted to love and be loved. Unfortunately, it never happened. The stories I heard about my mother’s childhood were as extremely disparate as you might ever imagine, so I am unsure of some elements, but I do know they were poor, lived in the poorest area of our city, and she was the youngest of 10. Depending which aunt or uncle speaking, the stories of their childhood were varied from incredible Walton-family type love to incredible difficulties that were sometimes hard on the inner-family relationships. What I am well acquainted with is how our childhood experiences influence the adults we become, and yet, I do not believe we have to become a complete victim to our past.

It is there I believe some of what I want to hope is that some innate goodness moves us, or is able to do so, beyond a sort of perpetual sadness, a blaming, a life that focuses on what should not have happened versus what can if we allow it. And yet, the path out of that difficulty is neither easy nor simple to find. It can be treacherous and become overwhelming. However, as I look back the things I am most proud of, they never came easily. They were never handed to me. And fortunately, I was blessed by people or circumstances along the way. Somehow, I found an inner strength, and I was able to grasp onto that rope, that branch, someone’s arm, like when I was saved a day or two before I went into the Marine Corps from drowning in McCook Lake. From surrogate parents like the Goedes, the Reeses, the Sopocis in my childhood. From classmates when I was a freshman at Dana to professors and others, or when I was struggling in my relationships, grad school classmates and professors or other clergy people, there have been angels along the way, those who made the difference at the lowest of times. I wish my sister could have found those people, and I wish more that she knows I might have been more helpful to her. The video below is for anyone who believes there is not a lot to protect or save them, for those who struggle to find goodness in our complex world. It is for my sister, who passed away much too young, and whom I believe struggled her entire life to believe she was good enough, smart enough, lovable enough. Kris, you were all of those things and beyond. I wish we could sit down and have coffee and just chat about all the things you knew. You were probably the smartest one in the family.

If you know someone who is in an untenable situation, please let someone know. We have goodness in us, I want to believe that. Thanks as always for reading.

Michael

The Dangers of Faithfulness

Hello from Pennsylvania, and the hope that spring will still arrive,

I, as former pastor, a life-long Lutheran, somewhat a Bonhoeffer scholar, and a person who believes deeply in the power of the sacraments, placing the word dangers and faithfulness as something consequential of the other might seem confusing. And yet let me begin here: faith is itself confusing (at least for me), and if it is such and has eternal ramifications, it is also dangerous. Let me ruminate in this space today about that. I guess what I want to believe is somehow the Holy Spirit will guide my thoughts and my words that what I write might serve more than just my confusion.

Recently, especially over the last couple weeks, I have found myself exceedingly emotional. As I watch a show, tears are streaming down my face, and this is happening three or four times a day. Again, in the spirit of honesty, I used to cry watching Little House on the Prairie, and the end of movies like Dead Poets Society or Ladyhawke can still evoke tears in spite of the dozens of times I have watched them. And yet, lately I have been watching all ten seasons of JAG, and the faucets in my eyes are working well, and perhaps overtime.

I have always pondered the concept of God’s active role within our world; wondering if the Creator is more along the lines of a Deistic Being than I wish. I remember from my own experience of losing a brother to tending to a 23 year old mother whose 2 year old was diagnosed with acute Leukemia, from the death of students during my tenure as a college professor (which means they were barely into their 20s) to a student involved in a seemingly simple car accident resulting in a TBI, questioning the will of God. With my own seminary education, from systematic courses to pastoral care, I am well acquainted with the appropriate responses to such dilemmas. The mother noted above occurred the summer I did my CPE at St. Luke’s Regional Medical Center the summer of 1984. When I was asked to visit her in the ER, she had just received both the diagnosisa and prognosis for her child. They were both dire. As I entered her room, wearing my clergy shirt and collar, the mother feigned a smile and said, “I do not believe God causes bad things, but can you tell me what me what good comes from this?” The first half of her statement was an incredible gift because it removed the possibility of claiming something so horrendous was the Will of God. It removed the need to argue an incredibly foolish statement often made by “well-meaning” ridiculously ignorant Christians who might say something along the lines of “God must have needed him more than you.” That interaction with this young mother was one of the most frightening, and profoundly important, events of my summer rotation. What degree of involvement, to what extent does Divine intervention occur in our daily lives? Would it be helpful to actually know? I do not believe it would be helpful, and, in fact, I believe it would be beyond counterproductive. And I also realize that some who struggle with any concept of a creator, a deity, God, might argue I am taking the easy day out.

Much like knowing too much or having a profound sense of accurate anticipation for the future can often be as much of a burden as a gift, I believe that is why faith is such a powerful and valuable possibility. The confidence in things hoped for; the assurance of things not seen (Hebrews 11:1) provides a framework for this thing we refer to as faith. It undergirds so much more than just our sense of the eternal. We refer to this concept and practice it in every aspect of our lives. We have faith in the concept, the possibility if we work hard and do the right thing, if we are honest and consistent in what we do, if we are reasonable and kind in our dealings with others, our lives will reflect that through living a more fulfilling and successful life. And yet no where is that promised. If we are honest and faithful in our familial or spousal relationships, we will be more likely to live a happy and loving life. And yet . . . However, if we did not believe in that chance, no one would ever take such a chance. When we graduate from college or some other degree program, we believe that hard work will make a difference, but does it always happen? And when it doesn’t how often do we place the blame on God, or that somehow we want to feel that God was not fair? Faith is essential to our concept of how, be it in our temporal or eternal world, and yet, as noted in the title, there is a danger in that.

The danger is in the consequence. The danger is in feeling disillusioned, in wondering if it matters, either in the short-term or more profoundly in eternity. And yet, I remember what someone once said to me about the answer to prayer. As the conditional beings we are, we believe the only answer to prayer is the one we want. This wise person counseled me, reminding me there are multiple answers to prayer: yes, no, and not yet. I believe it is the not yet that is most diffcult for us. We want things on our terms, on our time schedule. It is about control. And yet that is about giving up that control and power. That is another danger . . . it is about letting go of something to some extent, and sometimes completely. Letting go of our need to control is counter intuitive to our humanity. It is frightening and, therefore, again, dangerous to us. As I look back at my life, the times things to go more awry, most unsuccessfully, were the times I needed to let go and allow others to be more in charge, times I needed to step back and be willing to listen rather than to speak, the times I needed to have faith that what should happen could.

Even now, there are so many things I want to be more actively in control of, but the last months have been a primer if you will, perhaps a graduate course in learning that regardless of how much I want to take charge of a situation, I cannot. This is not to say I have no agency, no power over some elements of my existence. When I consider the disciples of Jesus, their lives post-Easter (and this can be argued regardless your understanding of just who Jesus was), and in the first decades of the early church, one can be fairly certain there were a number of second thoughts about the events that are much of the Gospels. There can be little doubt that even the church fathers (as well as the women) to whom we give credit for everything from Trinitarian theology to the role of Paul and the Jews and Jesus and the Gentiles (written in their pairings intentionally) had little idea that we might still be attempting to anticipate the promised return two Millennium later. For some little Midwestern boy to consider the idea of faith in their blog written on a computer in our changing world of AI is probably nothing I considered as a grew up in my church attending family life. And yet, here I am, composing and imagining, believing and yet sometimes skeptical, wishing I understood how faithfulness works even as I believe in the possibility, the reality. Is it simple dangerous or is there instead a safety in my pondering? I think it is both, and perhaps I am glad it is.

Thank you as always for reading.

Michael

Taking Cover, but Never Ducking

Hello from the still transforming space,

As of late I have ponder those things in life that give me some sense of pride, not in an arrogant manner, more perhaps more in a resilient way. As I have found myself on the other side of a daily requirement of working in some “you are required to be somewhere” daily process. Recently when speaking with an incredible person who has profound achievements from being a professor to an incredible innovator, from being a wonderful and insightful conversationalist to unparalleled beauty. She told me I need to slow my brain down. I sometimes wish it were easy, but I’m not sure how I might do that. Even when I try to merely watch some show, I find myself asking the larger philosophical or societal questions of why it is we create such dilemmas in our lives. From where does this propensity to think or ponder at some, perhaps, esoteric, even recondite echelon or degree come? Is it a reasonable, a productive place to spend so much of my time?

The two pictures above are of me. The first is my kindergarten graduation, what would be the first of more than a couple; the second is of me in perhaps 7th grade. I was indeed the slight, proverbial smallest member (or darn close) of his class, and perhaps even the year behind me. I was merely trying to make sense of junior high school when I seemed to be quite behind physiologically than those I met or lived among everyday. I was that kid that needed to be away from home and at school because it was safer than being in the same space as my mother. Therefore in spite of my often being teased somewhat mercilessly, it was preferable. Additionally, learning to navigate both aspects of my life, perhaps what could be referred to as public and private, I learned long before I ever stepped onto the yellow footprints of MCRD the Marine Corps’s adage “take cover, but never duck.”

While there were often times as I child I was afraid, I learned or developed a certain strength that would overcome fear. This was, and is, not to say I am never afraid, but much like any less than ideal experience, I’ve developed an ability to face most anything with sense of seeing it as a problem to be faced and solved. Again, this is not to say I’ve been completely successful, but instead, I never duck hoping to protect myself, but I am intelligent or savvy enough to realize there are times to take cover. That requires some quick thinking, at times some thoughtful analysis, about how whatever I do or decide is never performed in a vacuum. When it’s all washed, dried, and folded, it still requires me to do something. I am accountable for all choices and the consequences for those choices. The infamous hindsight seems to be a more constant companion from day to day. And yet if one thinks too much about the what if? should I have done something differently? would another path been more successful or prudent? the possibility of living in the moment and looking forward with a sense of hope would be likely impossible. Life would become a process of regret, and that is no way to live. Too often we seem to jump from one extreme to the other. Our ability to think about the present when glued to our past is difficult at best.

As I have noted, albeit a bit cryptically, there continue to be some health issues from what I learned a year ago to what seems to be occurring now. From my liver to my kidneys, from my Crohn’s and the subsequent diabetes, (Crohn’s has such far reaching consequence), my daily managing of health has become a central part of what I do and who I am, and yet before you think I am lamenting, that is not the case. As I have noted from time to time, a birth of 17 ounces way before a due date had consequence. And yet, I am still alive, and more often than not thriving. My newest way of describing it all is pretty simple: I did not have enough time to bake, and things are a bit tired. And yet, they are working quite well considering. Perhaps that is one of the things that taught me to be generally content. I do not believe I am owed anything, and through an improbable wandering, a sort of meandering with no consistent realization of where I was headed, I have been blessed beyond measure. The difficulties have taught be to know when to take cover . . . stepping back to figure out the immediate necessities to manage whatever I was (or am) facing. And yet this is nothing I have accomplished on my own. Throughout my life I have been fortunate to have people in my life to assist, to protect, and to love me. More often than not, I was not always aware (certainly to the degree) of how important they were. What the situation created in terms of teaching me resilience, hope, and gratitude.

During the past weeks, gratitude has become something I have chosen to focus upon more intentionally. I believe there are two things that have occurred as I have transitioned to this more focused process of being thankful. First, it has reminded me more succinctly of those people from the earliest days of my life to now who have been gracious to me. From a young mother who chose to allow me life (and I realize abortion was not legal then, but . . . she was 15) to my grandparents, who chose to take my sister and me into their home. From when a grandfather passed and a grandmother struggled, who chose to give us up for adoption. And while I have noted some of those hard times as an adopted child, their choice to take us provided opportunity I would have never had. More times than I readily knew, I believe there was a significant aspect of Divine intervention. And yet too often we believe that God’s intervention is some readily perceivable event. I have often noted that most of the angels I have been face-to-face with do have white raiment and visible wings. I remember when I was serving my internship in Big Lake MN. Some of those angels are still in my life and their surname is Snesrud. When I was traveling on a Lutheran Youth Encounter team, their names were Lee and Judy, or when I was in seminary, they had names like Karsten, a classmate, Susan, who I met in a gas station where I had a part-time job. There were people in Houghton with names like Berkenkotter and Sotirin, Schwenk, or Cortright. And there are so many others. It was with their assistance that I was able to take cover rather than merely duck in fear.

When I enlisted in the Marine Corps, I had little idea what I was doing as a pint-sized 17 year old. Even more so, I had little idea what I had learned during that enlistment, but I experienced and saw things that changed my life. That was easily noted, but it is even now that I am realizing what it really did. I have a sense of honor and duty to the other in ways I would have never known. I have a discipline, but also a sensitivity to injustice that runs deep. I have a sense of principle that had been given to me before I stepped on those yellow footprints at MCRD, but I understand that commitment to principle because it was forged like tempered steel in the time I was in the Corp. What I realize yet today is my sense of honor, my sense of goodness, my commitment to the other or democracy, my love for my fellow human beings and the breadth of our world was examined and hardened in a way I could have never accomplished without the Marines. When I see a dress blue uniform or even the Class A uniform to this day, there is a sense of pride and hope that runs throughout my body, it is in my blood, and I will be forever grateful. That time taught me so much, and it was where I perhaps first learned to take accountability, to think and analyze. Those skills were instilled and developed some time later at Dana College, but like all life, it is still in process. Even now, and as I am still learning, growing, and managing my awareness, I am still keenly cognizant of that adage, Marines take cover, we do not duck. Knowing the difference has served me well. Seldom can I listen to this version of the popular song from the movie, The Prince of Egypt. Both Whitney Houston and Maria Carey exhibit two people who epitomize vocals that are unparalleled. This can bring me to tears when I think about how frail such talent was and is. My life is described by this song.

Thank you as always for reading, and I apologize I have been a bit under the radar as of late.

Michael

Understanding How and Why

Hello on a day of taxes, unexpected events and unsure of what next.

The afternoon will be taxes. it’s been a morning of meeting a large truck with the back of the Beetle, no real damage to the truck, and something quite different for the bug. Dinner tonight with a former colleague and feeling like a bit of one step forward and two back. And yet this too will be managed.

Much of what happens on a daily basis, much of what happens even as a consequence of our own actions goes by unnoticed, as we are seemingly innocuous, often believing we have little or no responsibility for what happens. It is because we find it so difficult to take accountability? Is it possible that we are more prone to playing victim than we care to admit? Please, before you believe I am some paragon of accountability, before you assume that I never believe we can be victimized, I am posing nothing of the sort. I would like to believe I have become more honest about my shortcomings or mistakes than earlier in life, and I certainly do believe there were times that I was placed in situations where I was quite powerless, and thereby to some degree a victim of that circumstance. What I have learned about myself at this point is as follows: first, if I have no power over something, it is best to waste no energy on it; and second, if I make a mistake to own it. When I do so, I am free to move beyond it. I have often noted more recently, if I had done those two things earlier in life, I would have eliminated a great amount of drama.

I believe that those two practices allow me to wonder, to ponder, and to question thoughtfully the where and why of both who I am as well as to consider societally who we are as a collective community. Earlier this morning I was fortunate to be added to a group of Bonhoeffer scholars, a reading group from around the country who are exploring the life and theology of the profound Lutheran scholar who chose to stand against Hitler and the Nazis and lost his life in the Flossenbürg Concentration Camp only days before it was liberated. While most of my work on Bonhoeffer is a rhetorical analysis focusing on three specific points, much of his fiction and later writings focuses on what he referred to as religionless Christianity, which can seem counterintuitive to his incredibly Christo-centric hermeneutic. While this may seem to be a departure from the supposed simple questions of how and why, I believe Bonhoeffer’s work on seeing it not only important, but imperative to experience the suffering of Christ, and pondering the questions of how and why as integrally connected. Again, the how and why of most occurrences are logical, albeit often more complicated than we might want to admit. The somewhat deterministic sequential process of our lives can make it easy to believe we are merely caught up in the continual morass of daily existence, and our individual agency does little more than propel us forward toward the next experience.

The ability to confront, to truly experience, the how and why of something is to engage with it, working diligently and thoughtfully about how we can work in the midst of whatever it is we are enduring. And yet while there is always an aspect of endurance, it does not end there. To endure is significant, and it seems to me that Bonhoeffer speaks to this specifically in his concept of Costly Grace, of turning away from cheap grace. We have to experience the trials and the difficulties of life to understand them. This is not merely some cliché, it is reality. It also holds on to the belief that God can work good out of anything we create, anything we experience. I remember this earlier in life when a friend, whose younger brother was a closer friend. The elder brother and I attended Iowa State University together. He was a brilliant and studious person I respected and appreciated. I believe he was a junior at the university when he was diagnosed with cancer. He would die before he graduated, and I remember attending his funeral, and without my own experience of losing a brother, it would not have been possible to empathize with the younger brother and sister to the degree I was able. I think that was the first time I realized how God is capable to work good out of the most dire of experiences. I believe this is exactly to what Bonhoeffer refers when he speaks about suffering with Christ. He noted directly when Christ calls he bids us to follow and to be willing to die. That is extreme. But it is only in the extreme we can understand how that which plagues us or our world has significance. Likewise in our suffering we begin to understand the why. And yet, is this all there is . . . hopefully not . . . and I would continue certainly not. I am reminded of Paul’s negative commands in his letter to the Romans. In Greek it is (transliterated) may geneto – by no means. The suffering of Christ is real, and the difficulties in life are also real, but resurrection goes beyond the suffering . . . it is yet to come. The difficulties of life can see unending, but are they always ephemeral, transitory. The ability to choose is an incredibly sharp double-edged sword simultaneously allowing freedom and imposing consequence.

As I consider my daily life, everything I choose is exactly that . . . a choice . . . at this point, choices in the last 5 years are those I am most conscious of, particularly when it comes to the reality of consequence. The other evening I was fortunate to have dinner with a former colleague, his wonderful spouse and their two lovely girls. In our conversation, they admitted they did not agree with some of my larger choices in the past, particularly leading toward retirement. When I noted I wished they would have said more at the time, he noted he did not feel it was his place. I told them I would have listened as I respected their opinion. As I look back, I wish I would not have sold the Acre. I know why I did, but I think now it was more short-sighted than I believed it to be. I wish I would have not sold my BMW when I did. I wish I might have worked one more year. All of those things were not done on a whim to be sure, but the how they came to be and the why seem less considered than they were at the time. Now, I am where things are different and, in many ways, things are a sort of full circle. I am still trying to figure out where I am (not physically or in terms of location), but what I believe I am called to do.

Calling and vocation are a significant Lutheran concept, and something I believe I understand more completely now as a retired person than I perhaps ever did, and isn’t that ironic to say the least. Whatever our given position or task of daily work when it is performed in the realm of service and love of neighbor, we create a relationship for that person with God. Luther referred to us become a mask for the work of God. And therein one finds dignity in all work. What this did was equalize all work, there was no particular hierarchy of tasks or occupation. Anything done in the service of the other, out of love for the other, was holy and worthy in the eyes of God. Michael Horton in a podcast as recently as the last decade, “Luther believed that when a person knows their daily work is commanded by God, it brings comfort to their ‘cares, labors, troubles, and other burdens'” (“Luther on Vocation,” 2017). In such a possibility there is becomes less reason to question the how and why, and instead focus on the reality of God at work, diligently and consistently, through the face of our neighbor, or colleague, in the interaction with those we meet in our daily tasks, the grocery store, the convenience store, the person collecting our trash. I remember telling my parishioners that they should never put me on a pedestal because the only thing to occur is I would fall off of it. I still believe that. Ultimately, we will always question the how and why, wishing with all our cognitive power to understand. At moments, just such a result might occur; most often, like scripture notes “only in part.” Again, perhaps much like I have often noted when questioned about the afterlife, if I am faithful in the here and now, later will be taken care of. I do not need to be obsessed with the how and why, I merely need to do what I do in the sense of service and love for the other. I need to be the mask God will use.

Somehow the subtitles seem apropos; thank you for reading.

Michael