Month: February 2017

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Family Inclusive . . . But How?

There’s didn’t used to be a name for it; families just did it.  There was no children’s church or kid’s club–except for crying babies, who had their time out in the “cry room,” all ages sat through worship together.  I sat by my grandfather and begged cough drops and Juicy Fruit gum, studied the glossy illustrations in my King James Bible, re-read my Sunday school papers, drew in the margins and eventually (as the years went by) started paying attention.  I also remember being taken out a few times. That was bad news.  Nobody wanted to be taken out.

But somehow we got away from all the fuss and bother of little kids in church–so far away, that to get back we have to call it something in order to distinguish ourselves: Family Inclusive.  It’s a welcome development in a lot of ways but since it’s no longer the norm, moms and dads may have to be a little more intentional: Just how to you train little ones to sit still in church?

Step One: recognize that you’re not just training them to sit still in church.

“Sitting still” may be the immediate goal but it’s not the ultimate goal.  The whole point of keeping children in the worship service is to train them for worship.  I was taught to sit still but I don’t remember being taught what it was all about.  Also, church services have been going more toward spectator sport than active participation.  Keeping young children–say, from the age of two or thereabouts–in worship with us is an on-the-spot, hands-on opportunity to teach them about God and his church and what we mean to him as a body of believers.

Sounds nice, doesn’t it?  But how . . .

Step Two: Preparation. 

First of all, prepare yourself.  If your attitude is we’ll-grit-our-teeth-and-try-to-get-through-another-Sunday-morning, the kids will pick up on that.  I once heard one mom tell another that Sunday was the toughest day of the week for her.  I understand that and appreciate the honesty.  Still . . . it’s not necessarily a state of mind we should just accept, as though for the next five years or so you won’t expect to get anything out of church.  Some Sundays with preschoolers will be a big blur of juggling graham crackers and juice bottles and sitting on the edge of a blowup.  Yet you can ask God to help you overcome your dread of the Sunday morning sanctuary and look forward to  joining the everlasting chorus while you take your little ones another step forward in their walk with Jesus.  It’s a great privilege to be able to do that.  (It really is!)

This blog post made the rounds a few years ago, but it’s worth reading again as a pick-me-up when your spirits are low: Dear Parents with Young Children in Church.

You should also begin to prepare the kids.  Some families attend a traditional church, with a designated Song of Assembly, Song of Praise, Song of Confession, Congregational prayer and offering, Song of Preparation, etc.  Others are more free-wheeling (20 minute praise & worship, testimonials, prayer requests, message).  But every church has some kind of structure or plan for worship times.  Little children should learn why we do those things:  “First we’re going to sing about how great God is.  Then we’ll sing about how sorry we are for our sins . . .”  This kind of preparation leads naturally to

Step Three: Practice

Practice at home.  If you have a regular family devotional time, that’s a terrific opportunity to get prepared.  If you don’t have a regular devotional time, what are you waiting for?  Consider setting aside ten minutes or so on Saturday evening to talk about what we’ll do next morning, and why.  For some of these prep times, if the kids are young enough to find it fun and not corny, stage a mini-worship service with older ones delivering a devotional message or a Bible reading and younger ones suggesting or leading songs.  (If you know anything about music, teach them to beat out rhythms or follow along with simple sight-reading.) This can be fun, but it should never be silly.  We don’t giggle and cut up when we’re talking about God.

Practice listening at home.  If the kids pay attention while you’re reading aloud to them, you know they can do this.  You’ve trained them since they could sit up: first with picture books, then with longer stories, then with full length novels.  So why not find some good sermons online and, once or twice a week, have them sit down and listen for a few minutes.  Before they get up again, they have to tell you something they heard.  They’re used to your voice and know that when you start reading aloud they’ll hear something good.  Now they need to learn to listen to other people, with the understanding that they’ll hear something good from them, too.  Maybe not action packed or roll-on-the-floor funny, but there are all kinds of good.  Start at age four, or whenever verbal skills are up to speed, and ask for four minutes of attention.  If you’re starting at age five, ask for five minutes.  Six-year-olds can sit for six minutes, and so on.  If they can’t repeat anything they heard, have them sit for a few more minutes of listening time and try again.

Practice praying at home.  Of course you already do this, right?  If not, why not?  I’ve been thinking about ways to make prayer more relevant to kids, and hope to have more to say about that later, but most home-prayers are about personal needs and relationships.  The difference in church is corporate prayer, or kneeling before God as a community of believers with group needs.  The Saturday-evening devotional time would be great for praying specifically about the church.  Have the children suggest particular people and share with them specific needs that you know of.  Be sure to pray for the pastor and next day’s worship service, and close the prayer with a petition  that we can all pay attention and be respectful of others.  If a pastoral prayer is part of your regular church service, remind them that they can be praying along with the pastor.

Step Three: Doing It.  Hey, that sounds like fun! you’re thinking.  Or, Okay: one more thing to add to my to-do list but it might be worthwhile . . . However, you can have a great time playing church on Saturday evening but there’s still Sunday morning to get through: wiggling 3-year-olds, whispering 5-year-olds, sulky pre-teens and a toddler under the pew ripping up visitor cards.  Knowing what it’s all about isn’t the same as doing it.  It’s time to call in reserves and get the whole church on board.  Next week!

In the meantime, more motivation from Gospel Coalition: Four Reasons Your Kids Should Sit with You on Sunday.

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On to the Next Victim, or, Where’s Milo?

I started hearing of Milo Yiannopoulos a couple of years ago, probably on the Corner at National Review.  Even then, I kept getting him confused with Matt Yglesias (same initials, different ethnicity and politics).  The picture gradually came into focus: editor at Bretibart News; gay, outrageous, mean, flamboyant, opportunistic.

My first online encounter was this link: “WATCH: Milo visits Memories Pizza to apologize on behalf of normal gays.”  Remember Memories Pizza?  It was that mom-and-pop business in Somewhere, Indiana, that had to shut its doors after the co-proprietor innocently told a news reporter they wouldn’t want to cater a same-sex wedding. A hailstorm of disapproval almost forced the business to shut down entirely, but now they’re up and running and Milo paid them a visit.  He was endearing and sweet, and even though I had heard he was a dispenser of vile tweets, and the pizza show was probably a stunt, I felt warmer toward him—not to mention more aware of him.

He was already making speeches on college campuses at the invitation of the Young Republicans or Conservative Action League.  He didn’t call himself a conservative—or not always—but he delivered on conservative themes: pro-life, pro-traditional marriage, pro-free market, even pro-Christian.  Search for “MILO: Catholics are right about everything” on YouTube and you’ll find a speech that, colorful language aside, sounds a bit like Frances Schaeffer.

Milo was fine as long as his sphere of influence didn’t extend much beyond Breitbart.  Then his horse—I mean Donald Trump–won the Triple Crown: viable candidacy, nomination, presidency.  Though he didn’t fit the Trump-supporter stereotype, Milo jumped that bandwagon early . . . and rode it right into the spotlight.  Once a gadfly, now a target.

Last December, his star ascending, he signed a book contract with Simon & Schuster worth a reported quarter-million.  Soon after, S&S authors started protesting, including over 150 children’s authors and illustrators who signed a letter.  Then came the noisy, fiery campus protests.  In one interview, Milo expressed amazement that someone as “silly and harmless” as himself could spark such rage.  Maybe he really meant it.  In any case the protests earned him enough street cred to be offered primetime exposure as keynote speaker at CPAC (the Conservative Political Action Conference, not the sleep device).

But then there was that other interview, revealed earlier this week, in which he apparently expressed support for pedophilia.  He claimed the interview was deceptively edited; he’s never approved of sex with children; the conversation was about sex between older men and teenage boys (like in ancient Greece, you know?).  But one by one, the rugs jerked out from under him: book cancelled, speech cancelled, even Breitbart cancelled.  Where’s Milo?

I don’t mean where is he physically—he made a statement that included apologies and promises to stay in the spotlight.  It might be better to take a nice long vacation by the lake with a Bible, but what I actually mean is, where is he politically, philosophically, and spiritually?

David French wrote a thoughtful piece at National Review outlining three conservative responses to the smug, dominant left-wing media “machine”: You can try Reasoning with (like Ross Douthat on the NYTimes editorial page), or Replacing with (producing parallel institutions like Christian schools, Christian movies, right-wing talk radio and news services), or Raging against (matching the left outrage for outrage).  Yiannopoulos is a prime example of the rage angle, not that he’s angry.  Until this week he appeared to be having the time of his life.

Simon & Schuster are in business to make money, and it’s their business who they sign and who they drop.  CPAC shouldn’t have invited him in the first place—choosing a speaker because he outrages all the right people is like inviting a match to dynamite.  As for Breitbart, they stuck with him while he insulted Jews and women and African American actresses, but sex with kids is off-limits.  It’s good to know something is, but couldn’t someone have taken Milo aside earlier and put a grandfatherly word in his ear about standards and basic kindness?

Of course the left is showing selective outrage; links to Bill Maher and George Takei making similar statements–or jokes–have surfaced, but the scalp-takers are already looking for their next victim.  Milo is hardly innocent, and even his friends acknowledge his mean streak, spiking up in what he chose to post and tweet.  He gleefully collected enemies on both sides and clouded his true convictions with showmanship.  By now he’s buried under so many pile-ons we can’t see him, but there’s a man in there.  More to the point: there’s an immortal soul worth praying for.

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Tabernacles in the Air

And behold there appeared to them Moses and Elijah, talking with him.  And Peter said to Jesus, “Lord, it is good that we are here!  If you wish, I will make three tents here, one or you and one for Moses and one for Elijah.”  Matt. 17:3-4

I’m the world’s most distractible pray-er.  This is a bit like saying I’m the chief of sinners, because voices out there are already saying, Oh no you’re not.  I am.  But I’m sticking to my story.  Just as Paul, chief of sinners, knew what went on in his own heart, so I suddenly, and frequently, recognize how my mind has been pattering off on little feet in every direction when it’s supposed to be focused on God.  And I gasp in dismay.

I suddenly, and frequently, recognize how my mind has been pattering off on little feet in every direction when it’s supposed to be focused on God.

Here’s what happens.  I have begun a method for praying which is supposed to develop habits of devotion.  Does it work?  I’ll get back to you on that, as I haven’t been doing it very long.  The main idea is to make prayerful responses to specific passages.  So I read the above passage from Matthew and try to think of Jesus with a face shining like the sun, his clothes white as light:

That would be something to see . . . wish I’d been there . .  What do I need to mine from this passage?  What can I write about—No, don’t go there (always fishing for material to write about)—focus!  Three tabernacles; what would they look like? . . . Sounds like a praise and worship song: Lord, it’s good for us to be here . . . . Would make a cool Sunday Morning parody, like . . . No wait, where was I?  Focus!  What was the original tabernacle for?  What’s Peter thinking—like, some kind of first-century church camp meeting?  Camping retreat . . . Hey, how many people at church would be interested in a camping retreat?  Great way to bond . . . Should I bring it up, or . . . Or do I want to be the organizer because nobody else will . . . Did I remember to defrost the ham?

You see the problem here.  Can anyone relate?

Eventually—before too long—I feel conscience brandishing a whip to get my straying thoughts back in line.  Now it occurs to me that I’m tabernacle-building, just like Peter.  I assume he was much more focused than I on the splendid sight right before his eyes, but he was not overwhelmed into speechlessness.  Mark says he didn’t know what to say (Mark 9:6), in which case he shouldn’t have said anything.  But he was still weirdly distracted. The sight that should have filled his head and drawn all his worship and awe sends him in a sideways direction: What can we do with this?  I know!—

The rebuke from above redirects him, and us: Don’t speculate—look!  Don’t talk—listen!  And specifically, Listen to him.

Why is that so hard for us?  Even—or especially—in the quiet and solitude of prayer.

He made us to think and he made us creative; that’s the positive side.  The negative side is that we seek out many schemes (Eccl. 7:29), or find a way to twist every good gift, such as direct access to the Father through the Son, and use the opportunity even there to build our own tabernacles.

God made us for himself, but we find all kinds of ways to take ourselves back.  Plunking down on the altar every morning, and then crawling right off.  Back on, back off.  It gives a different meaning to “wrestling in prayer.”  Rather than wrestling with God, as I think the idea is supposed to represent, I’m head-blocking and pinning myself while God stands patiently aside, waiting to get my attention again.

But you notice, I did come up with enough material to write about it.  As creatively wool-gathering as I am, God is more creative still.  While I find a way to wander, he finds a way to use the wandering.  Just think how much better it would be if I could stay in one place and let him do the building!

Wretched mind that I have, who can rescue me from this persistent plague of tabernacle building?

These distracted occasions usually end with petitions for forgiveness, and thanks for the same.  Still: wretched mind that I have, who can rescue me from this persistent plague of tabernacle building?  Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ!  He saves us through himself rather than handing down a self-improvement plan.

Still, does anybody have any helpful suggestions for staying on point?

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Shake It Up, Betsy!

Here’s the thing: Education is hard.  But it’s not complicated.

Great thinkers, most of whom have never actually tried to educate a turnip, have proposed all kinds of theoretical education reforms: see Plato, Aristotle, Locke, Rousseau, etc.  From some of these theorists you get the idea that a child is a laboratory for experimentation. Actually, a child is a human being.  With a soul.  Human beings are personal, individual, quirky, susceptible, stubborn, challenging, frustrating, exciting, prone to failure, loaded with potential, and completely educable.

Education, since it’s all about human beings, is also a lot of things: It’s organic.  It’s individual.  It’s personal.  It’s unexpected.  It’s scattershot.  It’s hit-or-miss.  It’s discovery.  It’s sometimes thrilling.  It’s often boring.  It’s emotional and spiritual, not just intellectual.

It’s not a phase of life.  It is life.

The typical public school—that is, the facility, the schedule, the curriculum, and the administration—is none of those things in itself, but rather the structure that’s supposed to support those things.

I have nothing against public school.  As a children’s author I’ve visited a lot of excellent public schools full of happy children taught by dedicated and creative teachers (the kind of teachers who believe it’s worthwhile to set aside time for author visits).  But making education a bureaucratic matter, a policy matter, removes it farther and farther from the child and teacher.  Complication ensues.

Education is hard.  But it used to be simple.  Layers of complication, especially since the late 19th century, have tended to obscure the goal of education, which is raising up capable adults and responsible citizens.  “Complications” come from

  • The “Prussian model” of graded levels, central buildings, age-sorted groups;
  • University education departments, which became the natural home of untested theory;
  • Textbook publishing, quickly growing into big business, with the usual big-business profit-margin concerns—to which we can now add evaluation, consultation, and testing services;
  • State BOE’s, which can’t help becoming political, because government is by definition political;
  • Federal Reforms, such as Goals 2000, No Child Left Behind, Every Student Succeeds, etc., all of which were supposed to produce classroom-ready 5-year-olds and college-ready high school graduates.  Instead they tangled teachers in layers of bureaucratic red tape and subjected students to days of standardized tests when they could have been learning something.

Is anyone really happy with the results?  Why do we want more complication?  Because that’s what we’re going to get with a standard-issue public-school-based Education Secretary.

Why do we want more complication?

Betsy DeVos is not standard issue.  The two common complaints about her are 1), she and her husband contributed a lot of money to Republicans, and 2) she has no experience with public schools.  As for #1, she is rich, and rich people are free to contribute money to political causes they care about: see Bill Gates, Mark Zuckerberg, etc.  Education is something DeVos cares passionately about, even though she has not pursued that interest through public school reform, but by developing viable alternatives.  The job description is Secretary of Education, not Secretary of Public Schools.  The public school is not the only avenue for teaching our kids but we sometimes act as though it were—as if all our resources should flow in that direction and if we could only—really—dedicate ourselves to improving public schools, they would get better.

The problem is, when education is a political matter all our resources go to bulk up the bureaucracy, putting more space between teachers and kids.

I don’t blame individual teachers for this state of affairs (though teachers’ unions may be another matter). And I don’t blame individual teachers for being nervous about Betsy DeVos.  But why, teachers, when you’re already stymied by standards and paperwork and evaluations and testing and top-heavy administration, would you want more of the same?

There is no standard model for education because there is no standard child.

 

It’s time to shake things up.

We can sanction and facilitate other options in addition to (not instead of) public school.  We could remove a few layers of complexity from the public schools, giving teachers more space and freedom to do to do their jobs.  We can make it possible for some children in very poor districts to go to a neighborhood academy that doesn’t have to jump through bureaucratic hoops   There is no standard model for education because there is no standard child.  Let a thousand options bloom, and if one doesn’t work, try something else.  The very best teaching moments are mutual, spontaneous, open-ended–like life, they go by pretty fast.  If you’re glued to your state-mandated lesson plan, you might miss them.

Shake it up.  It could even be fun:

If you disagree, please do one thing for me: watch a documentary called The Lottery.  Then let’s talk.

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Pharaoh’s Heart: a Case Study

Ex. 3:19-20: “But I know that the King of Egypt will not let you go unless compelled by a mighty hand.  So I will stretch out my hand and strike Egypt with all the wonders I will do in it; after that he will let you go.”

The subject came to our evaluation facility after being fished out of the Nile River.  In spite of those somewhat humiliating circumstances he did not seem humbled, or aware of his status.  He refused to state his given name, even when offered a multiple-choice test [Please check one.  My name is a) Rameses II, b) Ptolemy I, c) Aten III].  Instead he insisted upon being addressed by his title.  After a brief consultation, the staff decided not to remind him he was by no means first or last of that title.  It is an unfortunate tendency of those kings to identity with their own pantheon—not merely as a representative of the gods but as a god himself (cf. Isaiah doc., 14:17).

The subject was asked to give his version of events.  He unfolded a grandiose drama of heroic resistance in the face of overwhelming odds: blood, hail, swarms of gnats and flies, thick darkness, etc.  He insisted that through it all, his will held firm.  The few times he appeared to waver and make concessions were only strategic retreats.

Examiner: How would you describe yourself at this point?

Pharaoh: Strong. Firm.  In spite of obstacles and blows.

Ex: “Bloody but unbowed”?

Ph: (pleased with the terminology) Exactly.

Ex. What made you finally release the Hebrews?

Ph. What made me?  Nothing made me.  They crept out like skunks.

Ex. Didn’t you receive a shock in the night? Wake up to wails and screams?

Ph. What do you mean?

Ex. Can you tell me who this is?

The subject was shown an image of his son, the crown prince.  After one glance, he turned away.  It might be more accurate to say he recoiled.

Ex. Sir?  Can you tell us?

Ph. I hate him.

Ex. Excuse me?

Ph. I do not excuse you, or your wretched, spiteful deity.

Egypt is my land.  He had no business—

Ex. What are your thoughts about this statement:

For this reason I raised you up, that I might show my power in you,

and that my name—

Ph. Stop!  (pause) He’s a liar.

The man’s countenance twisted until it resembled one of the demons, which was rather unsettling.

Ex. One moment please.

After a whispered conversation, the Examiner returned and placed a document on the table.

Ex. I am authorized to read you the part of the official record in which

our supervisor revealed his plans ahead of time to his servant Moses:

You shall speak all I command you and your brother Aaron shall tell Pharaoh to let the people of Israel go out of his hand.  But I will harden Pharaoh’s heart, and though I multiply my signs and wonders in the land of Egypt, Pharaoh will not listen to you.  Then I will lay my hand on Egypt and bring my hosts, my people the children of Israel out of the land of Egypt by great acts of judgment.  The Egyptians shall know that I am the LORD, when I stretch out my hand against Egypt and bring out the people of Israel from–*

The subject rose to his feet, snatched the document, and stomped on it.  Not content with that, he jumped up and down on it, raging incoherently.  His words below are approximate, delivered in sputtering syllables:

Ph. NO ONE raised me up!  I am born of the Sun God Ra,

whose bright blood runs in my veins!

The subject was physically restrained.  After some moments evaluation continued.

Ex. Can you say your heart has softened at all?

Ph. What?

Ex. In our experience, all human hearts are in need of softening,

but yours shows a remarkably resistant composition—

Ph. Of course it’s remarkable!  Everything about me is remarkable!

Ex. We mean, the LORD provided additional rigidity for his own purposes,

but you were already—

Ph. That was not ‘the Lord’!  That was me!

Ex. Our record shows—

Ph. Let me see that.

He turned the now-rumpled document on the table and searched its columns.

Ph. There! You see?  Here, and here and here: “Then Pharaoh hardened his heart.”

The phrasing is slanderous, though.  It should read,

“Then Pharaoh displayed his iron will.” Do you have a stylus?

Ex. Er . . . No.  The record will stand.

It shows that you had ample opportunity to repent but declined to do so,

which we attribute to an obstinate refusal to yield to any authority outside yourself.

That is not remarkable.  Now, if you will step this way for further processing . . . .

The subject had not yet had his say, but with the application of moderate force he was sent below to the office of the Accuser, who had sufficient means to fire his heart to a coal.

Conclusion: This office has received complaints that the subject was not treated fairly but rather used as a pawn in the contest of “the gods.”  Let the record show that the subject possessed rich reserves of pride and obstinacy, intensified by his position (for which he could take no credit), and susceptible to the process our superior calls “hardening.”  His will, freely operating, fit within a greater Will.

Justice is served.

*Exodus 7:2-5

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Can We Talk? State-Supported Healthcare, Round One

Janie and Charlotte are best friends from college who have diverged spiritually and politically until we don’t agree about anything (almost).  But as friends, we occasionally get together to talk over some of the issues of our time.  Our first discussion was about religious liberty, beginning here.  Today we begin a debate about a very hot topic soon to get much hotter.

Introduction

One of President Obama’s most significant achievements was the Affordable Care Act, which expands medical coverage to several million previously-uninsured Americans.  But it’s also one of his most controversial acts, and soon to be much more so when the Republican congress, with the backing of a Republican president, tries to make good on their long-standing promise (or threat!) to “Repeal and Replace.”

Rather than try to parse out the pros and cons of every detail of the ACA and the proposed replacement (whenever we get to see it), we’re going to start with the basics:

Do we agree there is, or should be, a basic right to healthcare?

Janie: I’ll go first, and my answer to that question may surprise you.  From the heights of conservative ideology, I would say no.  Health care (actually it’s mostly sickness care, but I guess we’ll agree on the accepted shorthand) is what political theorists would call a “positive” right, meaning that if you don’t have it someone has to provide it for you.  America was founded mostly on “negative” rights, meaning government should not interfere with a citizen’s individual choices as long as the person isn’t breaking any laws or interfering with another citizen’s rights.

But as time goes on it’s not that simple.  First, advances in medical knowledge and technology mean that specific treatments can mean the difference between life and death.  This sharpens the distinction between income levels.  (In the past, the rich could afford medical care, but the state of medicine was such it was often healthier to go without!)

Second, a general breakdown in family and community cohesion means we’re not as available to care for each other, and the care we can offer is limited.  When our country was founded, towns and neighborhoods tended to be more tight-knit and basic needs for the sick could be supplied by people who knew them.  Most if not all hospitals were founded and maintained by churches or other charitable organizations.

Now, of course, the situation is very different.  Ideology bows to practicality, not to mention basic human decency.  So I would say, yes, there is justification for claiming a basic right to healthcare.  The question is how to provide it.

 

Charlotte: In America, citizen “rights” first were claimed in the Declaration of Independence.

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. — That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed…

I love these words! I love that the DNA of our nation imprinted the ideal of human rights within our body politic from our very inception. But all of us who know American history, know our society has lagged behind our ideals over and over again.

Even as our Founders signed their names to this bold document, we know their wives and daughters did not (and would not) have those same rights and their slaves were not even considered to be fully human. Even though the Founders amended the original Constitution with the Bill of Rights (another brilliant document), we know it has taken years for the people of this nation to come to any kind of agreement about what some of those rights ought to look like in the lives of real people.

The Constitution and the law of the land did not assume slaves should have the right to freedom; America came to that conclusion slowly and violently.

The Constitution and the law of the land did not assume women should be free to vote and own property; American came to that conclusion slowly and reluctantly.

The Constitution and the law of the land did not assume Black citizens should have rights equal to White citizens; American came to that conclusion slowly and with much activism.

The Constitution and the law of the land did not assume all children should have free access to a basic education; America came to that conclusion slowly and awkwardly.

So I have to agree with you that health care was not one of the “positive rights” listed in the founding principles. But I will argue that affordable access to health care surely fits appropriately within the “life, liberty and pursuit of happiness” paradigm. I also argue that much of America is finally coming to the conclusion that basic health care ought to be part of the “general welfare” promoted by government – one more step in our evolutionary process of “forming a more perfect union.” I say it’s high time.

 

Janie: Well said!  And don’t look now, but I think we agree so far!

As I mentioned above, because of 1) medical advances that sharply delineate the difference between rich and poor and 2) a breakdown of family and community cohesion that leaves many people without care support, governments have “grown” an obligation to provide some sort of care.  The vast majority of Republicans, both citizens and politicians, agree with this too.

I’m glad you mentioned the preamble to the Declaration, because among those inalienable rights is liberty.  Opponents of the ACA oppose it not because they want to see sick people die but because it interferes with liberty.  For every one of the ACA’s 2100 pages (actually, I never heard what the final count was) the health care system and its patients (or victims, some would say) are saddled with another ten pages (more or  . . . more) of regulations that interfere with the physician’s liberty to practice and the patient’s liberty to choose.  And you remember the promise “If you like your plan you can keep it”—there was no way that could be true with the law as conceived.  It forces a large, diverse, dynamic population into a narrow channel and presumes to make vital decisions for them.

So that may be the real issue—not a right to life, which is a claim on the government we agree citizens have.  But what about the right to liberty?  That’s where the rub comes in.  Are “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness” listed in order of priority?  (Does “life” trump “liberty”?)

What do you think?  That’s my first question back to you.

And also, if I may, one more.  Health coverage did not used to be beyond the average American’s reach.  When I was 12, I became dangerously ill with myocarditis and spent a whole month in Dallas Children’s Hospital.  We were a low-income family: my mother was the only wage earner at the time and women didn’t make much, especially for general office work.  But she had Blue Cross through the Dallas Teachers Credit Union where she worked, and though I’m sure the family was pinched, we didn’t suffer.

That was in 1962.  Since then, costs have escalated far above the rate of inflation.  Why do you think that is?

 

Charlotte: “Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness…” You are wondering if these were listed by the Founders in order of priority? No, I don’t think so. You and I are both writers and what I see is poetic rhetoric. The Declaration of Independence gives us stirring language that lifts up our lofty ideals as a people. It’s also interesting that the Preamble says these three are just some of the “inalienable rights” endowed by the Creator. The Founders left the door open for America to continue to name and ensure basic rights for its citizens.

In this debate, in my opinion, it comes down to the difference between two visions: a capitalist individualist society or a connected community. Are we to give the market place unfettered freedom to operate our health care industry as a for-profit business? Or are we going to craft a society that requires the health care industry to put people over profit? Are insurance companies and corporations really “people” with rights that are more important than the rights of regular people to access basic health care?

I didn’t know this story about your myocarditis. Wow. Scary. I’m so grateful you were able to get the treatment you needed and have lived such a valuable productive life. I’m so glad we’ve been able to be friends all these years since.

Children’s Medical Center and Parkland Hospital are great examples of non-profit hospitals that put people over profit. I did my chaplaincy internship at Parkland and was very impressed with the work they do. These hospitals and their associated clinic systems serve anyone who has a need – no matter their financial situation. I don’t really understand all the funding and how that works but these are critically important services for Texas residents and countless people are still alive because of this access to affordable health care.

Janie: Absolutely!  And I’m glad I was living in 1962 rather than 50 years earlier when treatment might not have even existed.  The point is, insurance was affordable when we needed it back in 1962, even though we were a low-income family.  Things have gone off-track since then, for various reasons I’ll mention.

But here’s a little-known, or at least not much-discussed, problem: non-profit and rural hospitals are actually closing because of the ACA.  In Springfield, MO, Ozarks Community Hospital closed its Emergency and Surgical facility because the administration put too many requirements on it.  Not reasonable requirements—a friend who worked as an emergency nurse there said that as soon as OCH met one list of demands it was slapped with another.  OCH was built specifically to serve lower-income, lower-educated people of the Ozarks that larger hospitals didn’t want.  He believes this was a strong-arm tactic to force those patients into larger hospitals with more money.

In rural communities, at least 80 hospitals have closed since 2010, one of them not far from me.  As I understand it, the reason for rural closures is that these hospitals accepted a $155 billion cut in Medicare/ Medicaid payments with the expectation that all the new Obamacare enrollees would make up the difference.  That didn’t happen, and when the ACA didn’t meet its funding goals it shuffled thousands of Obamacare patients back on Medicaid, which pays hospitals far below their costs.  Unable to meet operating expenses, they simply closed.  Obviously this was an unintended consequence, but a very real one to thousands of rural residents living 100 miles or more from a hospital.

 

Charlotte: You claim the ACA is hindered by “…regulations that interfere with the physician’s liberty to practice and the patient’s liberty to choose.” I say this problem is much greater when insurance companies operate without proper regulation. “Regulations” in fact are “protections” for the people against the abuses of corporate interests. This problem in the ACA can be addressed and improved.

Janie: Maybe so.  But did you happen to catch the debate between Bernie Sanders and Ted Cruz on CNN last Tuesday (Feb. 7)?  Cruz brought up an important point: the Big-player insurance companies like regulations because they can absorb them, even negotiate for exemptions if they need to, while the smaller companies are sunk.  As competition declines, costs go up.  And regulations are not always protections.

 

Charlotte: You say the ACA: “…forces a large, diverse, dynamic population into a narrow channel and presumes to make vital decisions for them.” What was happening before the ACA disallowed insurance companies from imposing lifetime limits and refusing pre-existing conditions? Who was making vital decisions then?

But I love your phrase; yes we are a “large, diverse, dynamic population…” One of America’s greatest strengths. I don’t see the problem the way you do; I see the ACA as forcing insurance companies to provide a wider kind of coverage that attempts to address some of this diversity.

Janie:  I don’t see diversity as a problem.  So I wonder why Obamacare prescribes a one-size-fits-all solution by requiring all insurance to cover a wide-ranging “essential benefits package” for everyone, whether they need it or not: maternity care for retirees, for instance.  I assume the purpose of that is to spread the burden equally, but I think there are other ways to do it besides making the young and healthy shoulder some of the costs for the old and sick—especially if we bankrupt ourselves to the point where the funds won’t even be there when today’s young people need it.

 

Charlotte: You ask why health care costs have escalated. That is way out of my field of expertise but I suspect there are quite a few people in the system getting filthy rich from the suffering and ills of Americans. (Follow the money!) As I understand it, medical procedures and medications are far less expensive in many other countries, nations that have made the choice to count health care as a basic right and have figured out how to offer it to all their citizens.

Janie: I did a little research through several (not all conservative) sources and came up with these reasons.  There may be more:

  • The upside to R&D is the development of new drugs and treatments with the potential to relieve suffering for millions.  The downside is that it costs money (including obscene profits).
  • Hospital costs. Related to technology, but also to administrative costs.  Every hospital hires a battalion of staffers just to deal with insurance companies, another to deal with government paperwork.
  • Administrative costs to private physicians. Ditto, on a smaller scale.
  • More people living longer with chronic conditions.
  • Lifestyle choices. Ours is a self-indulgent society that (at least over the last 30 years or so) tends to slough off responsibility.  At the risk of sounding like I’m blaming the victim, here’s a story.  My friend who used to work at the nonprofit hospital kept seeing this same woman over and over.  Her issues were legion, and I’m sure some of them were unavoidable.  She was also terribly obese and smoked like a chimney.  When he asked why she wouldn’t take care of herself a little better, she told him, “Because I can come in here whenever I want and you people have to take care of me.”  I have no idea how widespread this attitude is, but I know it’s out there.

I’m just saying, we won’t know how to fix the problem unless we understand where the problem is.

 

Charlotte: Wouldn’t it be nice if America could stop waging war all over the globe and spend that money providing affordable health care, excellent public education and clean water to everyone?

You say: “…governments have ‘grown’ an obligation to provide some sort of care. The vast majority of Republicans, both citizens and politicians, agree with this too.  The question is how best to meet that obligation.” This statement intrigues me. Many of my progressive friends will doubt your claim that “the vast majority of Republicans” recognize some governmental obligation to provide some sort of care. How can you help us believe that?

Janie: Of course they doubt it.  Haven’t they always heard that Republicans only care about rich people?  Republicans are a mixed bag, just like Democrats, but let’s assume they aren’t totally stupid or suicidal.  Pulling the insurance coverage from under millions of people would be political suicide.  The hope is to replace the ACA with something more affordable and more efficient–and some Republicans may even have human reasons for doing so!

 

Charlotte: And when we talk about “how best to meet that obligation,” will you claim that private insurance companies and their corporate interests is a better approach than governmental insurance plans? I sure do like my Medicare insurance. It is efficient and affordable. Why can’t everyone buy in to this kind of program?

Janie: That’s a good question.  In the Cruz-Sanders debate, Bernie Sanders said repeatedly, “We’re the richest country on earth, yet our health-care costs are twice as high as any other developed nation.”  He seemed to think that statement was an argument, and elsewhere he implied (or explicitly stated) that the wealthiest Americans should make less money.  Even if the wealthiest Americans made less money, even if all their money were confiscated to provide healthcare for Americans, it would only supply the need for a limited time, and then what?  There are more options than “private insurance companies and their corporate interests.”  I’m hoping we can talk about that next.

In the meantime, I think we basically agree on the original question: Should there be a basic right to healthcare for Americans?  My ‘yes’ is a little more cautious and qualified than yours, but it’s still a Yes.

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Faith Like a Dollar General Knockoff

She goes to church, loves her parents and Jesus, posts appreciative Instagrams about the latest homily she heard from the pulpit.

She sings about Bad Romance, twerks onstage in skimpy outfits, performs anthems celebrating the LGBT spectrum and identifies as bisexual.

To her fans, especially the religiously inclined, she’s an icon of “provocative faith.”  To me she seems pretty anodyne, even white-bread normal.

I have nothing against Lady Gaga and don’t presume to judge her inmost heart, or the heart of the writer of this piece in the Washington Post.  It’s not my purpose to dump on anybody, only to address a few misperceptions.  The article is about this year’s Super Bowl halftime headliner and how she exemplifies an open-hearted brand of Christianity not so far removed from that of Jesus himself. A lot of the content is not surprising: “She prays to an affirming God with expansive love, no a narrow-minded magician in the sky who damns nonbelievers to eternal conscious torment.”  Her audience resembles “the group of outcasts and misfits who flocked to Jesus.”  And finally, “She champions Christian values not of exclusion and discrimination but of empowerment, grace, and self-acceptance.”

Let’s unpack those values as they are understood in the culture at large.

Empowerment – I’m the one who knows me best and knows what’s best for me.  So shut up and mind your own business.

Grace – That’s all.  Just grace.  Got a problem with that?

Self-acceptance – Of course!  I mean, if you can’t accept yourself, who can you accept?  And God accepts everybody, except for those who don’t accept everybody because they’re too busy not accepting to be accepted by God.

That’s what I’m picking up from the zeitgeist. The article says “Lady Gaga’s faith confounds a popular narrative of religion in America.”  Um, don’t think so.  Her faith is pretty much the most popular brand going. It’s flying off the shelves.

Christian faith as Jesus taught it was never popular, not even in goody-goody Victorian times or witch-burning Puritan times, much less today.  Here’s a capsule version of it: Then he said to them all, “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me” (Luke 9:23).   To unpack again:

Deny yourself – Don’t listen to your heart because it’s deceptive.  Don’t assume that your deepest self is your best self because you’re inclined to rebellion.  Look at me.  Listen to me.  Obey me.

Take up your cross – The life of self-denial is a struggle because you keep bumping up against your worst self.  It can get discouraging, and sometimes not much fun.

Follow me – It’s a narrow road marked with bloody footprints.  I know because I walked it first.

Grace – Yes, just grace.  But if you knew what it cost me you might not be so glib.

Self-denial . . . Liberals don’t like it.  Conservatives don’t like it.  Mainstream Presbyterians don’t like it, nor Fundies either.  What’s more, I don’t like it.  And neither do you.

‘Cause baby, we’re born that way.

But that’s why Jesus came.  And if it makes you feel any better, he denied himself first.

Because every self is different, self-denial won’t look the same in everybody. For the pious evangelical, as well as the progressive, it might mean giving up the checklist that makes you feel superior (they look very different, but they’re still checklists).  For the exhibitionist, it could mean putting on some clothes and for the fundamentalist it may mean taking a few clothes off.  For the conservative it could mean separating Christianity from Americanism and for the liberal, reconnecting God’s law to man’s law.  For the ambitious writer (like me) it often means settling aside certain projects because I’m called to do something else.  And much, much more.

But it’s worth it–because he is.

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About That Prayer Breakfast . . .

Andrew Klavan was there, and it warmed his formerly-secular-Jewish heart.  If you’re not familiar with Andrew, he’s a novelist and screenwriter whose memoir, The Great Good Thing: a Secular Jew Comes to Christ is on my reading list . . . er . . . as soon as it goes down to $2.99 for the Kindle version.  (I’ve been reading a lot of kids’ books for the World Magazine Children’s Book of the Year award, and my time for adult content has been limited, but that’s all over but the writing–yay!)

So, Andrew Klavan had an opportunity to attend the annual Prayer Breakfast, and he offers some context for the President’s odd prayer request for Arnold Schwartzenegger–basically, it was even odder than it sounded in the news bites.  But Andrew found the event to be very encouraging overall, not least because of Senate chaplain Barry Black’s rousing sermon.  And it was rousing–I took time to watch it on Sunday morning.  Was it gospel?  Not quite–he didn’t expound the sinner’s need for Jesus and offer an invitation. But boy, it was Jesus centered.

After some background about his boyhood in Baltimore (“I was sixteen before I ever shook hands with a white person”), he told about his own meeting with Jesus Christ in the pages of scripture, and how Peter 1:18-19 hit him between the eyes: . . . knowing that you were ransomed from the futile ways of your fathers not with silver or gold or any perishable thing, but with the precious blood of Christ . . .  It suddenly struck him that

Even at ten I had sufficient analytical skills to know that the value of an object is based upon the price someone is willing to pay. And when it dawned on me, a little guy in the inner-city, that God sent what John 3 calls the only one of its kind, ‘His only begotten son,’ to die for me, no one was able to make me feel inferior again.

From there he went on to trace the appearance of Jesus throughout scripture, from Genesis to Revelation, in as sweeping a birds-eye view as you’re likely to get anywhere, ending with a rousing doxology to the only Savior, the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world.  Klavan says the room was rocking and rolling by then (it was a big room, too) . . . until Mark Burdett (of Survivor and The Bible fame) got up to introduce President Trump, and the mood sort of went sideways.

It sounds like it was a great time overall, though, and Andrew had some other encouraging news to share, so click the link above if you have time.

And you really should spare some time for Pastor Black’s prayer-breakfast sermon:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kr9sCtJ61_8

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The Books of Ferguson

After the shooting of Michael Brown in Ferguson, MO, blew the lid off race relations, three black men wrote books.  The first, published only a few months after Ferguson, was Between the World and Me by Ta-Nehisi Coates.  Kudos to Mr. Coates for using the grammatically-correct pronoun in his title (“between the world and I” is one of my grammar peeves), but once past the title page his thoughts are disturbing, especially to white readers.  He writes out of an upbringing and experience that’s unique to the United States: that of a race of people who were once enslaved and forever after live at the mercy of white overlords who can’t stop thinking of themselves as overlords.

I don’t doubt that these are his true feelings.  What disturbed me was that he seems to mistake his feelings for facts, especially when it came to describing the attitudes of white people.  My truth is THE truth–none of his statements are open for debate.  The overarching despair came to feel like reading in a closet, with the walls closing in.  Early in the book (which he began as a long letter to his infant son), he confesses to being an atheist.  Aha, I thought–that’s one reason for the hopeless, angry tone of his letter to White America.

Yesterday I finished reading Tears We Cannot Stop, a current bestseller by Michael Eric Dyson, political commentator and ordained Baptist minister.  He’s not an atheist, obviously, and he expresses himself in warm, ecclesiastic terms.  I looked forward to learning from him, and yet much of what he says sounds like an echo of Coates, with the same blanket indictment of “whiteness” and its refusal to own up to vast injustice.  Dyson’s key term is white innocence, the bland assumption he ascribes to mainstream majority: everything is okay now and racism is over even if we can’t help thinking of our black neighbors as lazy and violent and the n- word always lurks at the back of our minds.  After finishing the book, it struck me: I don’t think Dyson ever mentioned Jesus, except once or twice, in passing. That’s what I missed.

Both Coates and Dyson speak from the heart and they speak powerfully.  The problem is, hearts are not all that articulate.  They make an emotional argument, but rationality takes a back seat.  I know much of what they say about the system is true: unless they have a rap sheet, white people don’t have to worry about getting pulled over by police for no reason or caught in inner-city crossfire.  The seniors among us (I’m one) don’t remember having to walk past empty seats on the bus in order to squeeze in at the back or bypass the nearest restroom because we’re the wrong shade.  The grievances are real and the roots are long; I get that.  I disagree that the US was founded on racism and its wealth owed everything to slave labor, but we can set that aside for now.  The question is, how do we go forward?

Coates has made a case for cash reparations for descendants of slaves.  Dyson is not against that, but until the politics line up he recommends “Individual reparations accounts,” where white people reach out to low-income black families and neighborhoods to provide tutoring, mentoring, computers, books, jobs—a genuine hand up.  (Here’s a clip where he argues that notion with Tucker Carlson.)  I’m all for that, but I can’t shoulder the additional burden of guilt he wants to lay on me, because his description of me is not accurate.

My World column about Between the World and Me ended like this:

“If there were some way to make real reparations for slavery and bigotry, we should not hesitate to pay the cost, shake hands, and go forward.  But Coates’ atheism misleads him: there’s no material compensation for spiritual harm.  The greatest reparation was made on a cross.  If he could meet me there, I would gladly ask his forgiveness for any perceived harm on my part, because that’s the only place he could forgive me.  Otherwise, resolution seems forever out of reach.”

The subject is relevant to me because I have several bi-racial relatives, including my oldest granddaughter, age ten.  There’s no question about it when you look at her.  Her eyes are so beautiful they knock me out: huge, and such a deep brown you can barely make out the pupil.  Before she was born my daughter fretted about how strangers would react to her.  I brushed it off—who makes a big deal about race these days?  Now I’m starting to get a little worried.

But I would be very worried if it weren’t for that cross.  Long ago I read a story about Frederick Douglass during his days on the abolitionist lecture circuit before the Civil War.  At one of those meetings, he made a speech that reflected the depression he was feeling: How long before the shackles were broken? How long before the bondsman’s stripes could be healed?  The gloomy atmosphere thickened until a piercing voice piped up from the back of the room.  It was Sojourner Truth, the feisty little suffragette and former slave: “Frederick!” she called out.  “Is God dead?”

I can hear her in my imagination.  Is God dead?

No, he’s not.  That brings me to the last book inspired by Ferguson, Under Our Skin by Benjamin Watson.  Watson knows what it is to be pulled over by a cop for no reason; he knows the pain of being sized up and rejected because of his color.  But he also knows Jesus, and that makes all the difference.  I wrote more about the book for Redeemed Reader this week, so check out the review if you’d like to know more.  And then read the book!

I wish I could persuade Ta-Nehisi Coates not to give up hope.  I wish I could show Dr. Dyson that I don’t have to become a white liberal to be sympathetic.  But God isn’t dead, and it’s going to be all right.