Consistently Inconsistent

Hello on an atypical Saturday afternoon,

When I first started this post we were about 1/2 the way through April, and rapidly approaching the Easter weekend. I had attended the PMEA State Choral concert in the Poconos. The picture is from our drive. It appeared and seemed anything but Spring, as the photo above illustrates. In spite of the roads, there was a beauty to the snow, and the concert, which had a theme of Identity, was fabulous. My colleague, friend, and adopted family’s daughter was in the chorus, and she is extremely talented. Going to the concert reminded me of my days of concerts and practices in high school, and how finally offering the concert made the morning practices, the individual effort outside the organized work, and the finally result worth it all. I thought about morning practicing before school, the Saturday afternoon rehearsals, and how the working with so many other dedicated people worked together to created something that mattered, not only to parents and grandparents, but also to each of us who participated.

As I post this, it is now the last day of April and the stock market continues to blow like a weeping willow in a wind storm, and the gyrations are not only herein the United States, but globally. Likewise, the first 100 days of President Trump 2.0 are not only beyond the unpredictability imagined here on our continent (and for Mexico and Canada), but throughout the world. Elections, stock markets, the role of America, be it with allies or enemies, cannot be taken for granted. The whiplash changes to announced tariffs or the removal of USAid through a multitude of places or roles had taken what we have done for decades and turned it on its head. What has been status quo is no longer the case.

What I continue to realize about myself is how expectation and consistency are essential to my feeling of safety or to my need for stability. Things that are expected seem to be left more to chance than ever before. While I have realized I might be more Libertarian than I ever imagined (fiscally I am more conservative, but socially I am more liberal), I do believe the world has been significantly pushed to the right. Again, I did not realize until recently, to what degree my theology falls more into a liberation theological camp. My current reading of the martyred Oscar Romero pushes me toward a social gospel that returns me to my research and writing on Bonhoeffer. And yet my own economic situation puts me into the category of privileged. I find myself trying to connect the two, and questioning what I am called to do. I find some solace in Bonhoeffer’s background and how he chose to use it for others, including even the other prisoners in Tegel. The importance of questioning, as I recently wrote, has never been more essential. Today, I watched a video of the carnage in Sumy Ukraine on a Palm Sunday and it is appalling. I listened to the Presidents of El Salvador and the United States say, in spite of the SCOTUS directive say the man from Maryland will not be returned. This puts our balance of powers in serious jeopardy, as if it was not already there. If there is one truth at the moment, our world is consistently inconsistent. Precedence is something we have relied on when it comes to SCOTUS decisions, but the current court seems not only likely to disregard that MO, they seem intent on dismantling it. Again, I am not against reconsideration, nor am I conceptually opposed to some of the concerns and actions of the Trump Administration, but the methodology that seems to merely smash it all, much like what the French Revolution did in1789, is alarming, and that is an understatement. There is a bigger issue with this scorched-earth method, however, and it is apparent in what is happening to our practice and perception of the checks and balances that had been foundational to our country since the writing of the constitution. The checks and balances, also called separation of powers has been the one constant that has bore us through the trying times of the Civil War, the depression, the era of Civil rights, or even other aspects of the turbulent 60s. I had an interesting conversation with a gentleman the other evening, someone who also appreciates history and somehow he ended up asking at what moment did I find the United States most like the French Revolution. I told him I believed it was where we are currently. He believed it to be the 60s. I think we would have an engaging discussion. Even the Catholic Church is soon to elect a new Pope, and that too has global consequence. As of late, there have been moments, and often, where I find myself overwhelmed by the degree, number, and nature of the changes that seem to hit like an uncontrolled Gatling gun (I am reminded of the scene toward the end of the movie, The Last Samurai, when Omura wanted everyone slaughtered.).

I know that earlier in my life, I pushed boundaries, sometimes out of not respecting them, and sometimes out of trying to understand them. What I realize now is the boundaries create safety. Safety is a profound concept, but it’s also an essential part of human society. I have noted in earlier blogs that the only time I have actually felt safe was when I was a small child, living at my grandmother’s house. I think that safety was based on love. Through her unfailing, endless, and profound love, I was never afraid. In fact, I don’t remember fear as a small child, and looking back, I think that’s quite miraculous. And what makes it even more miraculous, was during that time, after the death of both her father and her husband within a few months, she was in the throes of alcoholism. And yet, the spite of many things crashing around her, she still loved us, my sister and me, with every ounce of her being. fortunately, a few years later, between Alcoholics Anonymous, her church, and Eastern Star, she would turn things around and live the rest of her life alcohol free.

What concerns be about our present atmosphere is a seeming lack of any consideration of our institutions, of our sense of structure or order, of a sort of French Revolution type of disdain for what created society up to that point. The questioning of effectiveness, efficiency, and even of the institutions themselves in never wrong, but it is the manner in which it is done. Generally some knee-jerk reaction to what happens does not work in terms of establishing some good practice moving forward. Dana alumnus, Art Simon, the first director of Bread for the World (in 1974) worked with the believe that Christian people could could be mobilized to influence US policies that address the causes of hunger. The current director, Eugene Cho, and the founder of One Day’s Wages, was interviewed recently and spoke about what the dismantling of USAid has done to the work of Bread for the World. It is both devastating and unconscionable. The inconsistency that is characteristic, and currently occurring because of such cuts will have global consequences. The protectionism and xenophobia that characterizes our current foreign policy to the statements made from both the Oval Office and the State Department, the image of the United States in the world in the eyes of both allies and others has to be a sort of double-take, a rubbing of ones’ collective eyes and looking again to see if that is what is really occurring. In 2015 when Marco Rubio was a primary contender in the first serious Trump run for the Presidency, I was interested in what he had to say, and had both intrigue and respect for him. What I have witnessed in his first months as Secretary of State, now an interim Overlord (and I use this term intentionally), and now NSA Director, I have lost all respect, and the only intrigue that might exist is my questioning what the hell happened? How much of the kool-aid did he drink or is it being administered by IV?

Over the weekend, I had the occasion to speak to four Canadians, who said they have been in the states for some time. I inquired, “And you did not run and hightail it home yet?” They noted that is within the realm of possibility, and I responded that I was a veteran, but that I was embarrassed by what is occurring here at the moment. I would note I have had about a half a dozen political conversations with strangers in the last month, and even those who would identify as Republican are flabbergasted by what is happening. I actually noted that in a recent post when I noted having a conversation about a topic would be an interesting conversation. I remember during the first Trump Administration, speaking with an Uber Driver on my way across Italy, which is another story in and of itself, and he wanted to speak about President Trump, and I did not want to really have that conversation, but he had an American captive, so I acquiesced some. I told him that I had not voted for him, but I did realize he was my President. I also told him that at that point I only found him embarrassing and despicable. And that was in his first term. By the end of the term and in light of January 6th, I found him much worse. Now, and I guess this takes some skill, I find him to yet be all of the above, but additionally, I believe he is dangerous beyond words. I know all of these are political statements, which means I cannot post to a couple places I usually do, but I never remember a time in my life where I was so concerned about my country, about our democracy, of what the actions of the current administration will do to our entire world. I have noted this before, but one of my seminary professors noted, “When we pray, ‘Come Lord Jesus,’ we can only hope it happens today. I have used this video before, but this Phil Collins song (and particularly the video) convicts me to remember the other.

Thanks as always for reading.

Michael

In Media Res

Hello from the diner,

It’s been a bit since I stopped in for breakfast, as the BK group has become the morning habit. And yet the diner is where I can find the closest thing to where my comfort breakfast is available. This simple fare of poached eggs and toast are what I still remember (the half grapefruit is missing and has been replaced by some seriously tasty home fries with green pepper and onion) as my morning happiness. As I woke this morning, I heard the news that Pope Francis has passed. Even though I am not Roman Catholic, I am feeling a sense of loss that I do not remember when other Popes have passed. I remember the passing of Pope Paul VI, and the incredibly short papacy of John Paul I; I have been to Kraków a number of times and visited both the place John Paul II lived and the cathedral where he served as the Archbishop of Kraków before his elevation to Pope. I learned of his skills as a linguistic person while studying at Jagiellonian University and how that ability may allowed him to survive the Nazis after Hitler invaded Poland. I think that connection to place and history (and my work with Bonhoeffer) probably interested me in the papacy in ways that had not previously occurred. The papacy of Benedict was not as interesting to me, though I was aware of both his German background and his significant actions as the Prefect of the Congregation of the Doctrine of the Faith. Additionally, it was both unexpected and atypical he resigned his papacy. His conservative doctrinal positions, and his more academic nature, made the election of Francis to the papacy more politically significant. As the first Jesuit, Francis’s focus on the poor, his theological position, which was more attuned to Liberation Theology, and his renewed focus on being the pastor, endeared him to many (as well as frustrated many others). As I listened to the extended commentary this more of Sylvia Poggioli this morning, the comment was made that the Holy Father brought the church into the 21st Century.

What I found interesting in my listening to the words of Francis was his ability to weave faith and politics into a cloth that compelled the faithful to live that faith. It was not merely something you “wound up on Sundays,” to use the words of Jethro Tull, whose album, Aqualung, contained a rather scathing indictment against Catholicism. I remember the line “And you can excommunicate me on my way to Sunday School and have all the Bishops harmonize the lines.” The institution (the church) while instituted by Christ is a human institution, and as such, is deeply flawed. And yet, if we go back to its founding, the role of Jesus himself, Jesus regularly put himself in the middle of things. When I was in college I remember the first time I heard the phrase “In Media Res.” It was in my humanities class, and it was the consideration of Horace’s Ars Poetica, which was the use of the narrative technique of beginning in the middle of the story. To do something like that effectively requires both knowledge and skill. Often the knowledge comes from one’s experience, and the skill to pull it off is both a combination of tact and common sense (rhetorical savviness). The latter is much more nuanced. As I have listened to the onslaught of information shared about Pope Francis since he passed, which is only about 36 hours now, what seems readily apparent was he was a master of this latter ability, which allowed him to interject himself into thorny issues with both a sense of purpose and clarity. It seems too often we have become a society where we either gloss over the troublesome things or we simplify them and then reject those who question. Little is accomplished, and, in fact, we exacerbate the problems. Pope Francis, in his commitment to an inclusive Gospel, a Gospel that Christ claimed was based on love, was willing to push the world to consider the consequences of actions that lacked the central tenet of loving the other. To push others to reconsider, Francis placed the church in media res. As I am wont to do, I return to Bonhoeffer’s argument against cheap grace. The grace of God is incredible, undeserved, and limitless, but it is never cheap. The God in whom I believe and trust spared nothing to provide us an opportunity to experience that goodness. And yet, seldom do we share that profound gift with our sisters, brothers, or those whom we find different than ourselves. Such actions are contrary to the spirit of the Gospel. It seems Francis not only understood this, he lived it. From his time as a priest and eventual Archbishop in Argentina to his papacy, Francis’s focus on the least of these epitomized the Gospel in action. If the church does not address injustice, does not reach out to all, there is nothing apostolic about it, there is nothing truly ecclesiastical, it becomes an exclusive club of self-service. I will argue that the present motion of the current rise of Christian Nationalism would make the church that very thing.

I believe the late Pope’s ability to speak truth in a spirit of love is what sets his papacy apart from what I have watched in my life time. Even though I am not Roman in my own practice, I find the example of Francis and his papacy compelling. Faith, for me, like ethics, is a verb and not a noun. Francis practiced this, and while he still fell short in some serious places, I do not believe it was for a lack of effort, but rather the unwieldy nature of church hierarchy, and my own non-Roman belief that even when publishing an Encyclical, he is first and foremost human. I know that is not what the Catholic Church teaches. Perhaps that is what I appreciate most about what I have read and learned about him. The words humility and humor seem to be used most often. Both are admirable, and not surprisingly linguistically related. One of the things about both traits is they require understanding and compassion. Both seem to be in short supply in our present world. A world leader noted that Pope Francis continually stood for compassion over cruelty. To be compassionate, you need to put yourself in the middle of things, working diligently to understand the other. This requires the humility that characterized the late Holy Father.

Certainly, the Pope had the platform of his office and the resources of the church, but it was who he was from the time became a priest. The stories over the past week demonstrated this clearly and continually. What if it could be who we are in our own individual way, in our own small corner of the world? One thing I have found continually as I work on the various things I am doing, if you treat people with respect, amazing things can happen. If you listen to them before you speak, what they say will be more forthcoming and honest because they are not afraid. If you try to understand them before you respond, community can be created. It is amazing that as the Pope placed himself in the middle of things, he worked diligently to make the Roman Catholic Church more inclusive; he worked to make the church more welcoming by speaking truth to power. That is an incredible thing, considering his position as Pope made him the most powerful person in the church. When we place ourselves in the middle, we immerse ourselves in chaos, but we also create the possibility of fostering order. On of the reasons I resonate with the mass is because if offers order and structure to worship for the parishioner. While the great majority of the mass has been in Latin, the Kyrie has remained in Greek. Christ have mercy, Lord have mercy. I offer this as a sort of requiem for an amazing Pope, and an incredibly faithful human being. Thank you, Pope Francis for the outstanding example of goodness (and I realize he was not perfect) and as we say in our liturgy. “Well done, good and faithful servant.” Rest in Peace.

Thank you as always for reading.

Michael

To Speak Out is America

Hello from Cracker Barrel on a wintry April morning,

It’s chilly enough that I am sure the robins and the daffodils are wondering if they miscalculated. It’s supposed to be in the 20s tonight, and April showers might include snow. Perhaps there is some method in the atmospheric madness we are experiencing. In the spirit of consistency, which seems to be in short supply lately, I was at Burger King with the infamous societal prognosticators this morning, and it was surprising to listen to them lamenting (not really, but perhaps that it has occurred so quickly) what is happening to their well-planned investments, what might happen to their best laid plans. And one person in particular when I noted a couple of specific instances of the crackdown on basic freedom of speech seemed shocked. And as he noted his Missouri “show me”background, I promised to send him specifics, but the specifics did surprise him. As I noted over the past four years the vitriolic comments I heard about President Biden would get people in trouble if that practice was used in the previous administration. And when he noted, but I am a citizen I noted it is happening to citizens. The attack on dissent is unprecedented.

As many of you know, I wrote my dissertation, which is a rhetorical analysis of some of the work of Dietrich Bonhoeffer, the German Lutheran pastor who chose to involve himself in the plot to assassinate Adolf Hitler. That decision would cost him and other members of his immediate family, or spouses, their lives. Eberhard Bethge, Bonhoeffer’s student, and eventual biographer once noted, “Because he was lonely he became theologian, and because he was a theologian be became lonely.” Bonhoeffer grew up as a person who attended church, but was more academic than emotional in his faith journey and it was not until he studied at Union Theological Seminary in NYC and participating in field work at Abyssinian Baptist Church in Harlem he felt the spiritual power of the gospel. That would change the course of his life and push him into the path of a different Christian activism he could have not earlier imagined. As Bonhoeffer realized the pogrom of the Nazis, he believed the church had both the duty and the need to question. Bonhoeffer mentioned three possibilities of church action towards the state: “In the first place it can ask the state whether its actions are legitimate and in accordance with its character as state, i.e., it can throw the state back on its responsibilities. Secondly, it can aid the victims of state action. The church has an unconditional obligation to the victims of any ordering of society, even if they do not belong to the Christian community. The third possibility is not just to bandage the victims under the wheel, but to put a spoke in the wheel itself” (Wind).

The speaking out against the current actions of President Temp’s policies that violate our constitutional rights of free speech, of the right to assemble, freedom of the press, or jeopardize our national security should not only be questioned, each and everyone of those actions require steadfast resistance. I have done some research throughout the day, examining the Hands Off rallies and protests not only across the country, but globally. In spite of the 10s or perhaps 100s of thousands who protested, the incidences of violence were minimal in comparison. In comparison to what, might you ask? Perhaps January 6th, 2021 comes to mind. Our very Revolutionary War was a rejection of oppression. Our country was founded on the idea that protest was a practice in democracy’s most foundational tenets.

The founding individuals of our democracy believed in creating a space where dissent was essential and the questioning of process and authority was evident from the beginning of our fledgling Republic (e.g. States Rights vs. Federalism). Certainly the questions of slave states versus free states caused such furor that our country engaged in a brutal Civil War, and at the beginning of World War II the internment of Japanese Americans demonstrated some of the xenophobic behavior that seems indicative our current national tenor. The struggle of the left and right to form a republic in their own particular understanding of constitutionalism is nothing new, but perhaps the rancor that is present has reached a level I not known or experienced in my lifetime. The lack of respect and decorum is certainly problematic, particularly when it is so apparent even among our elected legislators and those in the President’s cabinet. Arrogance as a matter of course foments arrogance, and the consequence is significant. It destroys possibility; it reverses progress. Arrogance is not a sign of strength; it is precisely the opposite. Arrogance is a form of bullying. Dissent and speaking out against arrogance and bullying is frightening, but it is essential if such behavior is to be curtailed. As I write this now, it is 80 years ago that Bonhoeffer was executed in Flossenbürg for his conviction to become the spoke in the wheel that would stop the extermination of the Jewish people. He was one of four in his family that would be killed for their involvement in the plot to assassinate Adolf Hitler. As I noted above, his commitment to justice took a radical turn, but he believed that was his duty as a Christian, as a pastor of the radical gospel that did not believe in cheap grace.

Democracy is not easy, and it is not maintained easily. This is something we have been told. Former President Obama referred to it as messy. I believe his statement is accurate, and messy is a lot to manage on multiple levels. Terms and concepts like balance of powers, republic, democracy, basic rights, constitutional republic, all come to mind. Our increased lack of civic understanding makes both the discussion and pondering of such concepts exponentially more difficult, but ultimately, the questioning and dissent of what happens has never been more significant. I am always willing to engage in the conversation, one-on-one is where I believe the most productive things happen. Expressing an opinion here and being open to the beliefs and opinions of those with whom I might not agree are of importance. I’ll buy the coffee.

Thank you for reading.

Michael

Over Nothing

Hello from Burger King in Buckhorn, Pennsylvania,

If you’re not from this area in North Central Pennsylvania, you have little idea of where I am. But it’s a little town just outside of Bloomsburg and more of a shopping area than a housing community. But it’s where my doctor’s clinic is; it’s where the AT&T store is, and it’s where the Starbucks store is where I can redeem my points. So for the last six weeks, I have intimated some things as a possibility, but they did not come to pass. Some of that is process; some of that is politics, and all of it is people. For the last three weeks, I’ve been back at Commonwealth, and in Bloomsburg, as they worked through a process to possibly rehire me as an emergency annuitant faculty hire. Things in term of the university system, and the pension were approved. That is process the politics come in to where the department would need to accept me as a temporary faculty person before I installed as their chair. For a number of reasons: some I know, some I perceive, it did not happen. In the big picture, I still believe that everything happens for a reason, and in my piety, I am a firm believer that God works behind everything that happens. However, in the big picture I am back here trying to figure out next steps. As an optimist, I know that some things have gotten done on the bus that needed to happen. They were all subcontracted so I couldn’t do the work anyway. So my three weeks here in Pennsylvania have made no changes in my bus process. That might be different going forward, although there is still one last subcontracting process. Some of the logistics of things like mail, managing life, or appointments are different because of states and borders and licenses. Again, things have been accomplished here that I could not have accomplished in Iowa; but moving forward, I’m not sure where I will be or what will happen so there are now other things up in the air.

One of my mantras over the past 10 years or so, and certainly, since I left UW-Stout, was I wish I would’ve known two things earlier in my life, or paid attention to them. First, if I have no power over it, it is useless to waste energy on it. Second, if I make a mistake, if I “F”something up, simply own it. In the first case, if you have no power, and you waste energy, the only consequence is frustration. In the second, when you take ownership of a mistake, that’s all that can happen. You simply move on. I’m not naïve enough to believe there are no consequences, but I can’t change what has happened. I can only learn from it. and even as I write this, I am well aware the both things are easier said than done. But like any habit as I’ve gotten better at it, they are now not so difficult.

This morning, I had a great conversation with a former student, and someone who has become a terrific friend, a confidant, and the closest thing I can imagine to a best friend, even though there is a generational difference. They are someone I love with my whole heart, someone I admire beyond words, and someone who has taught me what it means to love someone unconditionally. we do not agree on everything, and there are, in fact, areas, especially in our current world atmosphere where we are quite distant in position, one from the other, but nonetheless, we trust and believe in each other. That is such an incredible gift to have from someone. As I grow older, I realize what an incredible gift that is. I actually wrote about this not that long ago comma but we have power over nothing that is external, outside of ourselves. Perhaps if influence is a form of power, I should be corrected, but influence is perceived, and it is seldom constant. Therefore, it is fleeting at best. The only constant I have is myself and the power I have is to be constant. Or in my imperfection, to attempt as much consistency as I can. As I ponder, I’m reminded of my understanding of Martin Luther am I somewhat simple distillation of his theology. I believe Luther would say this, but if you are gonna depend on yourself for salvation, just be perfect. Needless to say that’s a difficulty, so we better be dependent on something else, and that is the grace of God. It is for that reason I think Luther is so well understood his four word Latin phrase: simul Justus et pecattor. Reflecting on Paul in Romans, he understood Paul didactic “the very evil I hate I do.” Way too often I resemble this statement; in spite of my best intentions I fall short. This is the reality both conceptually and physically of the Greek word for sin, hamartía. It means to fall short of the mark. When even our best intentions fall short there are consequences.

Fortunately, a late afternoon call reminded me of the consistency of some people. Gavin, who continues to manage my bus build work, and his check in with me gave me a sense of progress in one aspect of things. To say I am indebted to him is an understatement. His insight and his genuine care for the project and me is a precious gift that increases in value each week and day. . . .

At the beginning of the week I thought I had things figured out, and as I reach the end, I have no idea what I should do, what options I have, or perhaps even why I might have or take a particular one. And yet I am still in pretty good shape. Nothing has really been added to my plate. I can choose what I will or will not do moving forward. I still have people around me both near and far who care, people, who are there if I need them. So what then is my best path forward? The answer is still unclear, but the options boil down to should I stay or go immediately? Doing anything spur of the moment does not seem to be the best idea. One could argue I did that with my university. In spite of the fact that there were multiple levels involved, I put my trust in a process without having all the pieces, or more accurately, examining all the pieces. And yet, what power did I have in the situation, in the entire process. I had none; indeed, over nothing. In the larger picture, I have little must or have to do. I have control over what I do, what I am willing or not willing to do. It was the same before I chose to take the chance to come back to Bloomsburg, it is the same now. Some things important to others have occurred. Perhaps there will be more. Stay tuned.

Thanks as always for reading.

Michael

When it Seems Hopeless

Hello from QSL,

It is a bit surreal to be sitting in this familiar place, and yet also strangely comforting. Wishing my former student, one who was always amazed by my desire for spice, was her to join me. However, it’s a bit from a commute from Russia back to Pennsylvania, and there might be a Visa issue now. We are creatures of habit, and we can often be trapped by those habits and our past experiences. Additionally, it can be difficult to see beyond those things which have profoundly affected both who we are as well as whom we believe we are. Much of my life, in spite of my rational understanding that what I was told was not true, I struggled to believe I was smart enough, good enough, or worthy enough to become more than the adopted child who heard too often about what he could not do. Certainly what I was told defied logic when the very people who chose to bring me into their home told me I did not deserve to be there. Yet in spite of what seemed logical, the damage of hearing this mantra again and again was long-term. And the ways it manifested itself were numerous, at times revealing themselves at unexpected or inopportune moments. I remember one morning in the kitchen with Lydia, and as I fixed breakfast, she, in a somewhat foul mood, said something in a particular tone. I do not even remember what was said, but the tone set me off. Fortunately, my only reaction was to turn and tell her I was going home. She was shocked at my response, but before she could react much more, I was out the door and back to my house (our doors were probably 35 feet apart). She honestly had no idea what she had done. Again, because I was still overall healthier at this point, later that day, I went back and I apologized to her for my earlier actions. I also explained why I had reacted, and then told her it was not her fault. I think that was one of the first times I ever connected tone and response, and I realized even though I had made significant progress, the demons still had power

Mental health and emotional stability is such a complex thing. I have neither a background academically in psychology, nor am I a trained psychologist, psychiatrist, and in spite of my pastoral care and counseling history, I am not someone with an MSW. So with that disclaimer, allow me to ruminate on some things I believe. In spite of the incredible advances in neuroscience, it seems we still understand so little about the brain, or how the brain salad of physicality, emotions, and psychology as well as experience works in a definite manner. When Lydia was in the memory unit the last 3+ year of her life, I witnessed dozens of people struggling and in the throes of Alzheimer’s Disease or some level of dementia. In spite of the similarities in their etiology, they were not the same. The one thing that did surprise me, however, was regardless their symptoms, there was a constant. They seemed to be keenly aware of someone’s attitude or demeanor towards them. If that caregiver treated them rudely or without genuine care, they would get incredibly angry, and almost instantaneously. I remember how Lydia responded, and how this stáid, proper Austrian, academic seemed to not only learn, but regularly use the words bitch and bastard with abandon.

Those who follow me know that there was a tragic loss of a brilliant, talented, and yet struggling former student in the last two weeks. As bits and pieces of her story continue to emerge, one thing seems consistent. The labor she put in, the toiling which now seems was insufficient, or the pain, which I believe ultimately caused her decision much have felt immeasurable. I know from the time I met her until I left Bloomsburg in this past fall, we had a few significant and lengthy conversations, and she desperately wanted to be happy and content. She asked repeatedly how I, in spite of all I had experienced, could be so upbeat about my life. I remember reassuring her again and again that she had many things to be thankful for, to believe she had value. As is the case whenever we are confronted with such a tragic ending, we reflect, wondering what we might have done differently. The last time I reached out to her was shortly before I retired, which I was still here in Bloomsburg. I did not hear back. And I did not follow up. It would be easy to wonder if that was a mistake.

I learned of her passing within eight hours, from another person who is dear to me, and knew her well. She was crushed, and profoundly emotional on the phone. She wondered what she could’ve done differently. I have no doubt that’s the same for many at this moment, particularly those closest to her. This gets me back to the complexity of the neuroscience that makes us uniquely human. Medication did not stop this occurrence. And that is no pejorative statement about medication. At the visitation the other evening I would estimate there were more than 400 people who came to pay their respects. That’s how much she meant to so many, but she could not see it. How is it that someone gets to a point that the pain is so profound that stopping the pain at all costs is preferable? Not a single day has gone by that I don’t find myself pondering what it is that makes us both resilient and fragile. each of us have at some point in our lives had suicidal thoughts. Is it a long ways from imagining people would miss us if we were gone to getting to the point that we have a plan, or we put some course of action into motion with an eternal consequence? I’m not sure. In my piety, perhaps one of the most basic tenets of my theology is that we have a compassionate and loving God, a God who hurts when we hurt, a God who mourns when we mourn.

The difficulty of this past week and a half is simply this: most of us will go back to our lives with some degree of sadness, wondering if we might’ve done something different would there be a different outcome? But for her family life will never be the same. The incredible amount of attention that occurred over the last week and a half is almost numbing, but it was also important. But now the attention has gone away, and those who loved her are left to pick up pieces. This is the time when a card, a phone call, a text, some specific way to reach out is most important. Again, in my piety, I hope the comfort of loving God has surrounded her and helped her to see how incredible she was. I hope the comfort of a loving God will surround those who were closest to her and give them peace in this incredibly difficult time. I hope the comfort of loving God might remind us that not all is lost. And I hope the grace of God abounds for all.

Thank you for reading. Please hug those you love.

Dr. Martin

Returning, Leaving, or Merely Moving On

Hello from Martha’s Cafe . . .

At the moment, I am back in familiar places, and also leaving familiar places. I am sitting at the coffee bar, with my computer on a piece of wood that was milled by a former student, fellow veteran, and co-journeyer to Poland with me. Martha’s it seems was the name of this location before it was a Starbucks, and Fog and Flame as I knew it for most of the time I lived in Bloomsburg. The past few days have been a whirlwind of reconnecting at moments as well as pondering the sort of next steps that might be in the wings. I have learned that planning is important, managing one’s schedule and future are of significance, but much like when tradition can stifle progress, when one becomes too regimented, often opportunity or change is squandered. I remember when I was first interviewing with the bishop about possible parish assignments, and I told him that while I realized the importance of tradition and parish practices, finding a way to help them see new possibilities was important. Some of that might need to be revisited in a situation I could be placed in again soon.

When it seems that everything that has been a given in our daily lives is up for debate, up for reconsideration, and simply being tossed away, the idea of precedent seems to be gone (and the redundancy of that statement does not go unnoticed). This morning I met with my morning coffee klatch (the old white guys), and it was even a bit surprising to hear there concerns, particularly about the situation in Ukraine, though as many are veterans, I would hope that to be the case. As I learn more and more about the Ukrainian land, the people, and the culture, there is little doubt of its complexity. Perhaps that is, in part, why they (and we) are in the current dilemma, but I cannot help but believe in the sovereignty and dignity of people. That is part of our struggle as we seemingly swing to and fro regarding how alliances and democracy work in our current global situation. . . .

It’s a couple days later and I am at The Family Table in Pocahontas for a final breakfast. It was a whirlwind week in Pennsylvania between doctor’s appointments, a dentist appointment, and some unexpected developments there in another area. Nonetheless, all the infamous stars seemed to have aligned, and there will be some changes. I am always amazed how little we control of some things. The time in Iowa has been both busy and reminiscent of thoughts, feelings, and emotions that have been mixed. Iowa has a beauty to it, often overlooked, especially in the winter, I imagine. One of the things changed since I grew up are the incredible number of wind turbines that dot the fields and bluffs of the landscape that is my home state. The cold, the smells, the flatness – for the most part, all of that was expected. I had forgotten about the strength, intensity, and frequency of the wind. It is really life-altering. When it is blowing and there is no place to avoid it, it changes what you can or cannot do. It changes what you want to manage or stay away from. Even as I drove, it buffets you across the highway, particularly when it is a crosswind. And going back to my hometown and my old neighborhood was eyeopening. There are a number of things I remember that are now only memories because they are no longer there, and some are significant (e.g. my grade school, some of the neighborhood stores that were such a vibrant part of my area of town, even some of the houses I remember). On the other hand, there are other parts of town that are renovated and really quite amazing. What was Sunset Plaza when I was growing up is now called Marketplace, and it is really quite nice. What was called Lower 4th Street, is now historic fourth, and it is really very different. Some of that has been decades long in the making and I experienced earlier iterations, but all in all, it is good. Then there was seeing old life-long friends, speaking with childhood friends, and even making a new ne or two. That was both unexpected and wonderful, and then there was the reality of both being bug lovers (you know who you are)!

Returning is taking a chance . . . that is reality. What we remember is clouded by time, and there is the reality of what we choose to remember and believe. I realize even when it comes to simple things, it is easy for us to put our own spin on the memories. As I returned to the streets of my childhood, listened to those who knew me as a child, it was stunning to realize what they knew, what went unspoken. And yet rather than feeling sad about that, it offered a sort of solace, a comfort that what I remember is more accurate than I perhaps wish it was. I will get back to Sioux City a couple more times before I move on to the next dot on the proverbial map. The returning raised a number of significant realizations and the subsequent emotions. What I do realize is Sioux City will always be home. That is important when it comes to understanding who I am as well as why I am that person. I will note that I have rewritten this blog about 5 times. I am thoroughly frustrated with WordPress at the moment as it seems to randomly delete my work, and finding the drafts that I have previously saved seems to be impossible. I actually went to WordPress help, but it was not that helpful. This morning I had to renew some of my prescriptions and it was a potent reminder of how f-ed up our medical system is. Three prescriptions cost almost $750.00, and one of those does not even apply to my $2,000.00 out of the pocket expense that is the max this calendar year because of the IRA. Also this morning, I ran into someone I know who is on Medicare, and they were verbalizing they are afraid they will lose their coverage. I want to be empathetic, and I did not say, but you voted for this, though I know they did. President Trump is doing much of what he said he would. So there should be little surprise.

One of the last short phrases in the title above is about the reality of our lives. We are always moving, transforming, changing, reimagining. It is easy for me to see that in my own life, in part because I have not remained in one place very long. My time in Bloomsburg was the longest. And yet, I think it’s been my return to my roots, to my hometown, that clarified this reality for me. While I have been anything but geographically static, I saw life-long friends who are, or have been. They’re content, and that is good they can be. One of the people I reacquainted with is the older brother of my best childhood friend. Our families were close, and there is a generational connection. Our mothers were friends in high school, and my grandparents sold his grandparents their house. It was interesting to spend time with him after 50 years. He is two years older, and in high school was a standout at most everything he accomplished. And that has continued in his life. He is an incredible man. It was so wonderful to have conversations with him to share memories and consider our current world. Our fathers were stalwarts of our church congregation, and I worked on their farm at one point. What was most intriguing to me was how our lives have changed, but that our shared memory of our childhood demonstrated how we have gotten to where we have. It was a significant gift to spend time with him. We addressed our consistent thread of connection in spite how our age difference pushed us in such different directions and paths. The constant in the change of life is the fact that does not stop. There is so much to be grateful for, and that is something I am continually reminded of. Everywhere I have been has shaped me . . . everywhere I have been has blessed me . . . and there are more adventures to take, more journeys to begin. In the return to something previous we find an opportunity to better understand who we are. When we leave we take something with us, but we also leave something behind. Hopefully both things are positive in some way. And in the moving on we create new possibilities. We are offered opportunities, and too often we miss them. One thing I have tried to do throughout my life is be grateful for those I have met along the way, not merely leave them behind, but to hold on to them in some way. That has served me well, both in creating memories, but in establishing gratitude. I would like to believe I am a gracious person. As my father once said, “No one owes you anything.” What he was saying implicitly was everyone is a gift in your life, and it is best to treat them as such. Thank you to my Iowa friends and to the landscape for the memories and the opportunity to be back. Thank you to Bloomsburg for the gift of 15 years and all I learned there, both about myself and others. As I continue to move forward, I am not sure where it will all go. Indeed, the bus will be the vehicle, but the road is open. There is still work to do, but I am grateful for a number of people already in this building process. So much yet to do, but it will happen. One of the pieces I have listened to lately to offer me a sense of comfort and peace is what is below. From the movie, The Last of the Mohicans, this version is both beautiful and soothing. I think perhaps I need to learn to play the tin whistle. Something else to do as i am traveling.

Thank you as always for reading.

Michael

For Whom the Bell Tolls

Hello from Caribou Coffee in Sioux City,

While the first couple of paragraphs of this were written a couple weeks ago, I think I will leave them largely unedited. I am actually sitting with my computer and doing a bit of work on a variety of topics this morning. I am in what has become a favorite hangout, and I have a scad of things to manage. It has been difficult at times doing some of my admin work on a daily basis, which is why I have run off to Sioux City the past two weekends. Sitting in Caribou is comfort for me. I am feeling more transient that I expected, but that is my issue and something I need to manage. One of those strategies has been to go to something familiar. I have in someways, invaded my cousin’s house, and they have been most gracious, but I think there are times they need their space too. So building the bus is certainly a project of gargantuan proportion and the reality of some of that has been a kick in the head, but as noted recently, progress is being made. Certainly not as quickly as all wish, but process and doing it well is of more importance than merely getting it done. I have already learned that watching others. So this morning, I have been working on a variety of things from plans to ordering things, from insurance things to prescriptions . . . most things completed, and now off for some errands . . . One of the things that continually catches me off guard is no matter how intentionally I plan, the forces in the world seem to have no trouble in reorienting my intentions. Since I started this blog to say the past week has been a whirlwind of unexpected events, possibilities, and imagining what next would be a profound understatement. And yet, progress continues to occur, on the bus, in what might happen next with construction, and with how it can all be managed

Three or four times since arriving back in Iowa, I had the opportunity to meet with the older brother of my childhood best friend. His name is John, and he was the eldest of the three brothers. He was incredibly talented, unparalleled in his kindness, and one of the most intelligent people I’ve ever met. 50 years later, he is no different. The conversations we’ve had and memories we have shared have been eye-opening. if you read this blog for any period of time, you are well aware that my mother struggled to raise us, to be fair or equitable. The way that manifested itself was both difficult and literally painful. When I found out in this continuing conversation with him, as well as in conversations with others, more were aware of our situation than I realized. That was difficult to hear on one hand, and yet affirming on the other. . . . Another 10 days passed and it still has not been completed. I am presently sitting in the Minneapolis airport waiting to fly back to Pennsylvania for a week-long visit to manage a number of appointments. I drove up early yesterday from Mallard to beat a snowstorm, which did actually arrive; it might be the most snow I’ve seen this winter. At the moment, my flight is still on time, and I can only hope that remains the case. 

Since I first began this blog post, the world has been a whirling dervish of craziness. Again, if you read my blog with any consistency, you are well aware of why I might believe this. Over the last 10 days, I’ve had to come face-to-face with the reality of global politics And how it affects people I actually know and care about. I have Ukrainian friends, some here in the states and some still in Ukraine. Others have actually left their country and are living in other European countries or Canada. I hurt for them at this moment, and I feel helpless. That is not a political statement; that’s a human statement. The first time I went to Europe with Dr. John (the Pope)Nielsen, before leaving we were required to read books by Ernest Hemingway and Thomas Mann. One of those books is the title of this post. Until I did some research recently I did not realize the connection between what Hemingway Road and Dr. Nielsen‘s dissertation, which looks at the poetry of John Donne. it is from Donne’s Meditations. He wrote “No man is an Island intire of it selfe; every man is a piece of the Continent, a part of the maine; (Donne’s original spelling) and he would continue, “any mans death diminishes me, because I am involved in Mankinde; And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; It tolls for thee. (Again, spelling and italics in original)” it is profound to realize that everything we do has consequence far beyond our imagination. And of course, the more powerful individual, the more extreme the consequence. Recently, I used the term “transactional colonialism” and it seems that’s where we’ve returned I believe the goals of Vladimir Putin to return Russia to its Soviet power, which is not realistic, or even possible if you look at all the pieces, but he is determined to do so. My friends in Poland, my exchange to in Estonia, and yes, my friends in Ukraine are stunned by what is happened in the last seven weeks. They reach out to me and ask what I think, and I’m not sure, but I do know what I feel. I feel disillusioned at moments, and more often, I am embarrassed by my President’s actions. I watched about as much of his address to Congress last night as I could. The divisiveness of both his comments as well as both sides of the Congress are palpable. Donne’s words and Hemmingway’s novel, which I should perhaps reread, continue to ring through my ears, as I listened to last night’s address.

Recently, I listened to a United States senator and their response to one of the Talking Heads about what they could do. The reality is the Republicans control all three branches of our government, and I do mean branches. This is something we have done as an American public. It has created a pause for me, wondering two things: first, who are we as a country? and second, how did we get here? Even as a veteran, who has been proudly patriotic, but not nationalistic, I wonder if there is a place where I will feel comfortable in public? I am honestly not sure. For whom the bell tolls? I once asked that question as I walked across campus and the carillon rang out – I had just gotten my ass kicked in Dr. Hutton’s Greek final. Today, I ask it for myself again – are the arguments true the Democrats have become merely intellectuals, speaking about principle in a manner that matters not to the every day person? I find myself returning to my humanities classes, which encouraged intellectualism, but also being a good citizen. Have we lost the connection? I am certainly hoping that is not the case, but at the moment, it certainly seems to be the reality. There’s so much more I could write, and I hope that the reading of this might cause some to ponder how it all fits together.

Looking out at the snow, there was a beauty and a starkness to it. Parallels the world I seem to envision at this point. We are not an island, and what we do has consequence. We are part of the larger collective – being a humanist, using that term as someone who is related to others, I want to believe that we can overcome the present, overwhelming selfishness characterizing so much of what I see. For whom the bell tolls? If indeed, we are all connecting, the tolls for all of us. And to say it’s mournful, might be the most profound understatement I have ever written.

Thank you as always for reading.

Michael

More than . .

Hello as we begin a new month,

It is actually early morning, barely the first of February, and while I went to be rather early, a long day for Gavin and getting home late woke me. I was already awake an hour or so ago, so probably not really back to any deep sleep. Now I have clothes in the dryer (and the buckles on the Carhartts will keep me up for a bit). As I am wont to do when I wake up, I look through the news. As you can see it’s taken some time to post this, but I will leave it as initially written.

The continuing coverage of the mid-air collision of the American Airlines regional jet and the Black Hawk helicopter is devastating for more than the reality of two flying objects hurtling into the other, for more than the incredible loss of 67 people, and for more than the politicization of the staffing of Reagan National, the members of the ATC, or the blame to which they have been subjected. The reality is there are no minor crashes or fender-benders when we are discussing an airplane. My very first flight, as a 17 year old headed to Marine Corps Boot Camp, the plane blew a tire as it landed. It was disconcerting for this small, already nervous, wide-eyed, young man ad his first experience in the friendly skies. And yet, in spite of a little turbulence, one aborted landing in Houghton, and a very uncomfortable military flight from San Bernardino to Hawaii, the number of times flown, the types of aircraft experienced, and the 100s of 1,000s of miles have been quite unmemorable, which is a good thing. I tried to do some research about safety, and one interesting statistic found was that train travel, which is not all that common, but also something I have experienced, is four-times more dangerous than air travel.

The first thing I thought of when the initial notifications flashed on my feeds “crash and the Potomac” was the Air Florida crash a number of years ago. My sister, who was an Army cartographer, was tasked with mapping the crash debris in the muddy, murky waters of the river. She never flew again. Earlier this evening I read the accounts of skaters, coaches, family, students, professors, grooms-to-be, and I was brought to tears as I tried to fathom the wave of emotions and the ripple effect of this tragedy from Russia and China to Boston, Wichita, or any other place someone called home. It’s so much more than people, places, or plans. As I read the coverage, and there is a point where I almost feel like an ambulance chaser, which creates some guilt, I think it is because I want to somehow, in someway, lift up these ordinary to many, but exceptional to their loved-ones, individuals who were minutes from ending what was a routine flight. The number of times I have looked out the window to watch as we approached a runway is more times than I have fingers and toes. Thinking about what I needed to do, where I parked my car, if I would need a bathroom before leaving the airport. I cannot imagine there was anytime to prepare for the seconds that occurred between the crash of the two flying machines and hitting the icy water of the Potomac. The fact that the plane is in three separate pieces speaks volumes. There is so much more to be discovered, and that is one of the dilemmas moving forward.

The next days of still recovering people, the arduous tasks of rebuilding the plane to some extent to determine structural properties, the examination and investigations of the NTSB and the military will certainly create more questions during the process. But this is more than process, it is about improving safety. It is about honoring the people who tragically lost their lives. It is about providing an additional sense of closure for those whose lives have been irrevocably altered. The reality that the military is involved will probably add impossible difficulty to the task. Already, questions have been posed about the safety corridors; already inquiries from individuals to members of Congress about the volume of traffic around Reagan National; already decisions to change the routes of the extensive helicopter traffic in the area are coming out as our 24/7 news organizations try to get the latest scoop. And yet this is so much more than a news story.

This past fall, I was honored to officiate two weddings for former students. While the events are certainly celebratory, in both cases a close family member of each couple passed shortly before their wedding. Life is so much more than a single event, even the most life-changing of them. . . . Almost 3 weeks and passed and I did not get this blog completed; ironically, there was another accident at an airport yesterday. To see a plane upside down on the runway is almost unimaginable. In both cases, this happened when the plane was about ready to land and what should’ve been normal, ends up completely not so. fortunately, it appears no one has lost their life, which again seems miraculous. What gives me pause, is what miraculous things we take for granted every day. The very idea of flying, jumping in my car and driving cross country, more than I can use my phone, my computer, my iPad and speak with someone halfway around the world like they’re sitting across the table. Everything we do is so much more than what we realize. and yet, how do all these amazing things happen? It is because someone is willing to see more than, imagine more than, and attempt more than . . . There is always the question of when is fear wise and when does it paralyze? I know I struggle with this regularly. And in fact, I think today will be one of those days. I have to rethink some things, reimagine some things, and recalculate some things. But there are always options, and we just have to figure that out. There is always so much more to a picture than what we recognize, or maybe want to recognize. I am reminded of this reality in most every encounter, every mundane event, but to actually manage that it requires thought. It is, again, more than blowing along like a tumbleweed in on the Kansas prairie.

Everyday seems like there is something of significance. To say there has been a bit of shock and awe these past weeks might be a little understated, but it is our reality. The world is global and most of us merely try to go about our daily lives in our own little piece of it. It’s easy to want to isolate, to worry about our own issues, allowing all the other issues to fly by unnoticed, but there is always more than . . .

Thanks for reading,

Michael

Overwhelmed, but Tenacious

Hello from the chiropractor’s office.

Another week is finishing up, and it has been typical January with some single digit temperatures and windchills below zero. My coffee gurus at Burger King are wondering why I would come to such a place, but I have long asserted that 15 above in NEPA is worse than 10 below in Iowa. It is all because of the humidity. The more the dampness in cold air, the more penetrating it is. That is what I experienced in Pennsylvania. And yet, if one has appropriate clothing, it can be manageable. It is an amazing thing how differently we perceive cold and winter as we age. Earlier today, while listening to IPR, there was a piece about how to manage the psychological elements of winter, and how you can actually thrive in a northern area in the dead of winter. I remember when I first moved to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan (in the Keweenaw), and they asked if I liked snow. I answered, yes, but they then repeated, “No, do you like snow? Because if you do not like it, you will need to learn how.” They were correct. I remember driving down Quincy Avenue in January and the snow banks were much higher than the roof of my 4Runner, and that was not nearly as much snow as they had only 11 miles north of Hancock. I actually did learn to like it, and I still do.

As I write this, we are almost through January, and I have been back in Iowa for a little more than two months. Things are going well on a number of fronts, but there are so many things to manage. When I got here there was transferring prescriptions, making sure that I had things organized in terms of medical, banking, internet, and a number of things. That was not difficult, but a bit arduous, perhaps laborious. Then it was unpacking my life (all of it, which was now in 105 sqft) and organizing what I needed and what could stay packed. There was getting the lay-of-the-land, as Mallard is not a one-stop-light town (there are no stop lights!). Once I got things unpacked, there were a number of things that needed to be managed with the bus (including an oil pressure sending unit, battery cables, alternator, and still some more things to come). Fortunately, I am working with Mallard Paint and Body, and the owner of the shop has been incredible in his support in letting me work in the shop, and he is a top-notch body person, helping me with the fiberglassing and some other work. I am working on getting the roof ready for the skylight, for the new fan, for the solar panels, and for other things. I am working on sealing the floor of the bus so I can lay the insulation, the plywood and yet another coat of sealant, which is all down before the flooring will be put in. The decision to sand and wrap the bus has returned, and that has been the majority of the work over the last two weeks. I will admit at time the proverbial tail-wagging-the-dog has been my feeling. With all the things going on, it would be helpful to have another set of hands and eyes, but for the most part, I have been on my own. I am learning things every day, that is for sure. For instance, getting a grey water tank that will fit the space below the bus took three tries, and now it is one its way from Texas. Fortunately, the second tank can be used for the clean water tank, so that is managed. There are things that I would already have done differently, and that is on two major components, but as I told Charles Kern (aka: Chuck Casady) the other day, I am too far down the road now. He was encouraging and noted this is the most difficult time. He also said, “You are married to the bitch now.” His exact words. I know that is a bit sexist, but anyone who has been married for some time (from either side) knows the investment put into a relationship.

Some of the struggle is sequential and working to not build myself into a corner as it is said. Some of the moments feel like dog paddling in a place where I cannot see the shore (and I am not a great swimmer – and that is true). So this morning was an exercise in logistics. First, I needed to drive to Storm Lake to get scaffolding to manage the sanding on the area over the cab; second, I needed to stop by The Machine Shop to solidify the schedule on beginning to fabricate the doors as well as ask about a couple other metal issues. While there I needed to purchase a couple of tools to make my current work more efficient. Then coming up with more specifics on the metal work affects what I will do both at the body shop as well as getting to Spencer for the wrap. Again, this is the daily jigsaw puzzle I am living. So getting actual work done today is not happening, but I am hoping the remainder of the week will be significantly productive. I think trying to manage all the pieces alone is also part of the struggle regarding process. When Gavin and I chat about some of the elements, there almost always seems to be external questions to consider before we have an adequate answer to the particular thing that prompted the question from the outset. Even as I write this, there are things I should be writing down, should I ever be asked about process, about specifics, or, and only heaven knows, if I would attempt something like this again. The one thing I know is having an appropriate space is a given.

Perhaps the other thing I have to say is this is where the second element of the title comes to bear. There is a resilience, or as noted a tenaciousness required to see this through, especially when one is such a novice, so far removed from their wheelhouse. I am always surprised when I am complimented for taking on this project, but also grateful. It is a daily learning lesson, often a seriously humbling experience, and at moments a reminder of a profound body of knowledge and experience that I currently lack. It is not the lack that creates the primary difficulty, it is my moments of timidity, my fear of making a mistake, and the worry of overcoming said lack that often causes the most alarm. And yet inspiration comes both from places unexpected, and sometimes at the most apropos moments. This morning, Hayley, whose shuttle offers the most spectacular example of some of the possible posted a bevy of photos. She does not always know the support she offers. She too offers a sense of tenaciousness and here’s to hoping she is doing well. A few years ago, in my freshman writing classes, I looked at identity and purpose, using, Glee, as a foundational piece. In this time where DEI is being questioned, this groundbreaking series looked at those considered outcasts and transformed our culture. The video below was their sort of reoccurring theme.

Off to being tenacious.

Thank you for reading.

Michael

Valorizing Consumerism

Happy Orthodox Christmas to my Orthodox friends, surrogate family, and others,

It is a cold day once again here in North Central Iowa, but manageable because the wind, at least for the day, has abated. Today would also be the 111th birthday of my Grandmother Louise, so Happy Heavenly Birthday. I still love and miss you. Yesterday was the day, which for many elections was a rather mundane experience of our democracy, when the peaceful transfer of power, a hallmark of our country, occurred. And yet, will we ever think of it the same way again after the events in 2021? For many, probably not. However, President-elect Trump will be inaugurated the 47th President, only the second non-consecutive serving President, after Grover Cleveland. Most of us when about our business doing whatever it is we do, while in Washington, D.C. at the Capitol, many who were in the chambers four years ago, were probably reliving some of the trauma that was that day.

According to Christian tradition, yesterday, Epiphany was the day the Magi found their way to the stable in Bethlehem to worship the newborn Messiah. It was a day of light and of revelation. Often we struggle to remain hopeful, to believe in the possibilities that life offers us. The important point is not so much our propensity to act this way, but to question why we respond in this manner?

Hang in with me for a moment, but I think part of it, much of it, is our love affair with stuff. When I reflect upon some of my content, my happiest, times, it was when I had very little extra. When I was first married and living in Omaha Village with my wife, who was still in college, our little table was a 2 ft square of pressed plywood that I nailed 4x4s on for legs. We covered it with a small tablecloth. I worked two nights a week (my only nights in Blair) at the Pizza Hut, and each night I would bring a personal pan pizza home to share. The money I made in those two shifts paid for our groceries. We used coupons judiciously, and seldom did we go out. As I look back, things were okay. We had what we needed. I had been diagnosed with Ulcerative Colitis (eventually discovered to be Crohn’s) the year before, but I was managing reasonably at the time. The second time was when I returned to Houghton 25 years ago to complete my final degree. The move from San Antonio to Houghton had come together in a matter of hours, and being separated at the time, everything I owned, or had with me, fit in a1993 Dodge Shadow. When I returned, I spent the first couple days with a professor, her academic husband, and their four children while I attempted to secure a more permanent living situation. I was incredibly fortunate when another grad school colleague needed to take a leave and I was able to sublet her small furnished 2 bedroom cabin on the portage. All of this fell into place within a week. The cabin was sparsely furnished, but comfortable. I got bedding, basics for my kitchen, most which came from a new restaurant where I found gainful employment, and I had my books and some clothes. In fact, what I often heard, when I had visitors, was “You are kind of a minimalist.” And I responded, “I have what I need.” At the time, I had four place settings of dishes. I had one cast iron griddle and one small pot. I had some very basic cooking tools. I had a small Bose radio and CD player, and I had purchased a used Lenovo laptop. And yet I was content. I had what I needed as well as access to a computer lab. During that fall, a divorce would be finalized and what things I would receive from two houses and all our joint property would fit in a pickup truck (and as I noted to others, I did not own the truck). One might believe I was concerned about all I lost. However, the opposite held true: I felt free and unencumbered. I feel a simplicity and goodness to my life. I had what I needed.

I am continually amazed by what we collect, what we think necessary to be comfortable. This past year as I chose to move toward a bus life, I knew it was necessary to change my life to a great degree. The question now was not simply what do I need? but instead, will I use it? If I cannot imagine my using it, it needed to go away. Then there’s the space limitation. Everything I owe must fit into 102 sqft. That is a significant difference. What will I use? requires me to think and imagine. While I am not being frugal per se on my build, my being intimately involved in the process is an investment in potential cost down the road. As our country remembers a 39th President, I am reminded that President Carter was the first presidential election in which I casted a vote. During my time in the Marine Corps both the Vice President and President resigned their office. There was a struggle in terms of the moral compass of our country. The economy was in a free-fall (e.g. gasoline hit $1.00/gallon for the first time, 6-12% inflation, and interest rates of as high as 20%), and in spite of having all three elements of the legislative and execute branches, the Congress did not agree with much of what the populist President hoped to accomplish. The fact that President Carter would spend almost four more decades alive made him an anomaly both in and after his Presidency. But one word used regularly to describe him was frugal. As a child of the depression, as someone who grew up with hard work, he carried both those traits with him for the century his life would last. And yet in spite of his ability to develop global programs, hectic and his wife lived in the house he built for them the remainder of his life (there was mention that it still had shag carpeting). It seems he was the antithesis of consumerism.

Consumerism is nothing new; our free market economy is based on purchasing. Walmart did not become the largest retailer because we do not buy things. Jeff Bezos is not one of the richest people in the world because we fail to purchase things. What I believe is more significant is our buy in to the concept, “the person with the most toys wins.” This is the valorizing of our consumer persona. How many of us spend significant time on Amazon, Etsy, Temu (which I have not used, but see numerous ads for), or another online platform? I had to return two large items to Amazon just this morning. My bus build project is substantial in terms of both time and resources, but it is being paid for along the way. When it is completed, it will be paid for. I am continually reaching out and need to give a shout out to Charles Kern, to Rebecca Cosby, who have continually reached out with suggestions and inquiries. Your help means more than I have words. Thank you to Eric at Mallard Paint & Body for both his expertise and kindness in letting me work in his shop the past couple weeks, and also for getting me in contact with another business (SS Collision and Graphics) about external work on the bus. Each of you are foundational in helping me achieve my dream of creating this bus in a way that will serve me as I travel.

While I am busy, and there are moments I wonder what the heck I have done, I am excited about the progress, the process, and the learning. At while the project is involved, it is also simple. Just keep working and learning. While the completion is months away, each day I make progress, each day I learn something new, I am developing a self-sufficiency in an area completely new to me. And my life will be about managing life in a way that allows me to minimize the need to buy or collect stuff. While I have been blessed to have the ability to do this and to have stuff (more than necessary most times), I am also blessed to be able to step back and minimize it all. While I want it to be comfortable and sufficient, I want things to be simple. I am excited for the time I can sit and enjoy the sunshine.

I hope your January has begun well and thanks for reading.

Michael