When I pray, I usually find myself listening to me. And it often doesn’t seem as though anyone else is listening. But (thank God) David knew better: day breaks, the LORD tunes in. My servant rises. Let’s hear what he has to say.
Hard as it is to believe, God is actually listening for me. This Psalm gobsmacked me when I first heard what it was saying.
God doesn’t need to arise, of course, because he’s always up. Every hour is daybreak somewhere and every pray-er has a listener.
God does his part. My part is to hold myself in readiness (to “prepare the sacrifice and watch,” ESV). What helps with this and what doesn’t?
Get up. Praying in bed is fine for the dark hours (Ps. 149.5), but not for the morning sacrifice. Again (poke, poke): bestir these stiff lazy bones and get up.
Wash my face and hands. I have an important meeting to keep.
Raise my voice (because he is listening). I feel self-conscious praying out loud, but I know lots of hymns. Sometimes I sing them.
Present my body as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to him. He owns it, after all.
Listen. Then talk. Then listen some more. Then talk some more. Remember it’s a two-way conversation.
Learning how to pray is a lifelong quest, at least for me. After sixty-plus years, it’s sometimes discouraging: haven’t I got a handle on this yet? Then a Psalm comes along and cheerfully rings a bell: hey, you! Don’t you know he’s listening? He’s waiting to hear your voice—open up!
I’m packing for a trip (to find out where to, subscribe to my newsletter!). It involves air travel, meaning extra care in packing, because 1) you have to be careful about banned items—I learned that the hard way involving a $500 fine, and 2) most airlines charge you for checked bags. The airline I’m using charges even for carry-on bags to help make up for their rock-bottom fares, so I’ve learned to pack strategically.
But besides that, it’s a joy to travel light—to walk off the plane and stroll right past the crowd of passengers waiting at the baggage carousel; to head straight for the wide vistas of a brand-new city or the open arms of my loved ones. It takes a little time to plan but saves time later because I only have one bag to search for lost items instead of three that are the size of a steamer trunk, full of stuff I won’t use anyway. Here are my tricks and strategies for a two-week trip–mostly for the ladies, but guys feel free to apply:
Toiletries: if it won’t fit in a quart-size Ziploc bag, you don’t need it. Save little plastic jars and
Little bottles, little jars, little bags–but just enough.
motel shampoo bottles to carry skin- and hair-care products. A travel-size tube of toothpaste should last for two weeks, unless you’re a dental-hygiene fanatic. And don’t you love those folding toothbrushes? Small zipper-closed plastic bags—find them at Hobby Lobby or Michaels—are great for holding Q-tips, cotton balls, aspirin, or prescription meds. (Cotton balls lightly dipped in olive oil make great makeup removers.)
Outerwear. If you’re traveling in the summer all you need is a light jacket or shawl (for drama). The other three seasons are more problematic, so think layers. I have an all-weather jacket from Royal Robbins that folds up into a small neck cushion. Unfolded, it’s waterproof, and when worn over a light wool sweater and a silk turtleneck, it’s surprisingly warm.
Clothes. Plan to wear your bulkiest garb, such as sturdy jeans, hoodies, and blazers, on the plane. For the rest, go light and scrunchy—cottons, silks, or polyester blends that roll up tight and don’t winkle. Coordinate colors, with roughly half on the neutral side—black, brown, white, beige. Throw in a couple of silk scarves for dash. For a two-week trip, you can make do with 1-2 pairs of jeans, 1 pair of comfortable pull-on pants, and/or a lightweight, pull-on skirt (and don’t forget the slip, or else you’ll be making do with hotel pillowcases). Throw in one pair of p.j.’s that wash and dry quick.
Roll up everything!
If it’s rolled, it’ll fit SOMEwhere.
Shoes and socks. Plan to wear your heaviest pair of shoes on the plane, even if it means extra time at the security gate to take them off. Go easy on the shoes, ladies—three pairs are enough for anybody! Socks don’t take up much room of course, but remember you can wash them anywhere. And you’ll want to. Throw in a pair or two of lightweight wool socks, even in the summer. They dry fast, and you’ll thank me later.
Swimwear. Take a swimsuit, because you never know. Unless you absolutely do know, and the answer is NO.
Underwear. Yes. Nylon not cotton (there’s the drying factor again), unless you’re allergic.
Books and electronics. Compact Bible, 6X4” (and reading glasses to see the small print). One or two print books, the rest on Kindle. Don’t forget the wall charger! Journal, one mechanical pencil with extra lead, two ballpoint pens. Laptop? Not this time. You can do all the internet reading you need to on a tablet or Kindle Fire.
Clear pocket in front for ID and credit card, zipper pouch for cash and phone, strap for carrying–they’re so handy!!!Ready to go!
Portage: The airline I’m using allows passengers one free “personal item,” such as a purse or briefcase. I usually ditch the purse and take a totebag that falls within the acceptable dimensions, and pack a lightweight bag that folds flat to use as a purse where I’m going. You know those pocket badges you get at conventions and conferences? I never threw those away because they seemed so useful—and sure enough, with the strap extended and worn across the chest, they make a handy travel pouch to keep loose change, ID, smartphone, and necessary credit cards where they are secure and easy to reach. Since I’m wearing it, it doesn’t count as a “personal item.” I carry these on short hikes too, because the zippered top unzips just wide enough to hold a skinny water bottle (the kind “Ice” drinks come in). Speaking of those bottles– they’ll fit in places a standard water bottle won’t. Just remember they’ll have to be empty when you go through security–you can fill them up later.
All this isn’t just for saving money or time; it’s for simplifying. The less you take with you, the less you have to keep track of, and the better to open yourself up to new experiences. That’s what travel is all about—expanding your world, not dragging it along with you. That’s a good rule for life, too: go light, be flexible. You’re just travelin’ through.
Janie and Charlotte continue our discussions from opposite sides of the political spectrum–but we’re doing it politely! In this one we get philosophical.
Janie: Some classic Christian traditions teach that from the beginning God ordained three organizational entities: the family, the civil government, and the church. These three have their separate spheres of influence, which are distinct even though they overlap. The family is not just a basic economic unit but a home (for raising responsible adults and providing companionship and care to individuals). The church is not just a fellowship of believers but a prophet and moral conscience to society. And the government is not just the enforcer of social order and law but guarantor of national security—if only it would!
When one sphere tries to take over the purview of the others, trouble always follows. When a family becomes law unto itself, you get oppressive cults like David Koresh and Jim Jones (remember them)? When a church takes over civil functions you get the Inquisition. And when the civil government assumes family functions you get widespread dependency and a welfare state that looks like The Blob. Or totalitarianism.
Those distinctions aren’t always cut and dried, and I’m not saying civil authority has no part whatsoever to play in helping people. But the essential power of government is coercive. That’s what Paul means in Romans 13:4: “He [the governor] does not bear the sword in vain.” Government exists to stop corruption, police neighborhoods, throw crooks in jail, defend against attack; “to punish those who do evil and praise those who do good” (I Pet. 2:14). Praising, encouraging, or rewarding good behavior is a legitimate function; enforcing good behavior is problematic.
Government by nature is impersonal and (at its best) impartial, and the larger it gets the more impersonal. But we’ve come to think of the United States Government as a kind of extended family, which must take over family functions when necessary. It’s also a kind of church, which must correct false doctrine when necessary. Your reference to the federal government as a “wise parent” in our last discussion implies something like this. Thus it imposes on the responsibilities of the other two God-ordained spheres, one organic and the other moral and spiritual. And we got trouble, my friends.
I think the federal government has actually done more to break down community than build it up. Here’s how: when parents die or fail to meet their responsibilities, extended family members have traditionally stepped in to fill gaps. When a house in the neighborhood burns down, neighbors have traditionally pitched in to help rebuild. Churches have performed heroically in supporting widows, feeding orphans, building schools and hospitals, and voluntary organizations have formed to provide other needs like scholarship and benevolence funds. All these functions build community because they are horizontal—people reaching out to people—with strings attached. Local or church-based charity often comes with some sort of obligation to the receiver—that she take a life-skills class and get a job, for instance.
Those strings represent connectedness. With the introduction of federal aid, those horizontal bonds break down; rather than reaching out, people are reaching up. Rather than forming a network of mutual obligations the strings are all connected to a faceless bureaucracy that sends the checks. You don’t have to sheepishly confess to Uncle Mike that you drank up that loan he extended on your next paycheck—you don’t even have to worry that much about the next paycheck, because that pittance from Uncle Sam will come regardless. I’ve had personal experience with this attitude; it’s not something I read in National Review.
I think anyone would agree that there’s been a widespread breakdown of families and neighborhoods in the last fifty years. I don’t blame government aid for all of this, and I don’t deny there should be a safety net. But the safety net has become wider and wider as our meaningful personal connections get thinner. The expansion of welfare from The Great Society has not produced a great society, and I don’t see any likelihood that it will.
Charlotte: I can agree with much of what you say. We share concerns about the breakdown of American families, the cycles of poverty and the effectiveness of welfare. We both see fracturing within too many personal relationships and the subsequent isolation away from healthy community. The reasons for our social ills are deeply complex and the burden of responsibility must be shared by all of us.
But I disagree with your fundamental understanding of church and government. Our topic today is government but we do want to get to a discussion about how religion and politics might appropriately intersect in America so I’ll wait to talk about my own understanding of what “church” is to be. Here are some of my thoughts about what “government” is to be within the American context.
You say: “..the federal government has actually done more to break down community than build it up…” I say community breaks down because of our human brokenness and government should act as a kind of check on our natural self-centeredness. Of course the idealistic Great Society did not produce an actual great society but that doesn’t mean the efforts failed. Lots of people had work and food and homes because of that critical safety net during those hard years. And we made a national shift in some of our understandings about how government can properly function to “promote the common welfare.” But no human institution or program will ever produce perfection. We can only work towards it and try to keep making things better.
I used the metaphor of government as a “strong wise parent” in an earlier discussion because I am arguing that our society functions as a kind of far-flung, eclectic family. This metaphor is not my own creation; the mythology is deeply embedded within our story. We speak of George Washington as the “father” of our country. We send our “sons” off to war. We still celebrate the “Daughters of the American Revolution.” This is our “homeland” and “Uncle Sam” models for us what we are about as a people together.
I don’t think of government as the extended family as you imply. Rather We the People are the family, and government – in its appropriate role – ensures that the “family” values we claim in our founding documents are actual practices that we all share. And not just in our Constitution; but also in the traditions we have come to cherish. For example, hospitality to others seeking refuge, asylum and opportunity. Immigrants are people who become part of our family and government (as a strong wise parent) makes sure the table is big enough and we all make room for one another.
Have you read George Lakoff at all? He’s a cognitive scientist who has been offering insights for years now on how we relate to one another in our political system, and he is one who has been informing and expanding my understandings lately. Lakoff looks at the ways Conservatives and Progressives see the role of government and uses parental images to help us recognize how we make meaning of our relationship to government and to one another. Conservatives, he says, see government as a “strict father” while Progressives see it as a “nurturing parent.”
Much of what I hear Conservatives say makes sense within this “strict father” frame: actions have consequences; strength is better than vulnerability; traditional morality and national patriotism are high values; obedience is moral and disobedience is immoral. Don’t hear me knocking these values; I agree up to a point but as a Progressive, I find myself valuing other things more. Like equal opportunity, compassion and second chances. I hear Conservatives say government should leave them alone and let them tend to their own business without interference. I hear Progressives say government should leave them alone and stay out of our bedrooms and doctors’ offices. Both are right, in my view. A strong wise parent launches strong wise children who can make their own decisions. But since we humans (children and citizens) don’t always make wise decisions, there still must be some protections and safe guards that government should have in place.
So I do see America as a community, a family forced into relationship by virtue of our shared society and geography. And I think the various governments of America are responsible for nurturing our civic relationships in ways that are compassionate and equitable. That means honoring those who are strong and successful; celebrating their gifts and advantages. But also, at the same time, in appropriate balance, honoring and protecting those who are weak and disadvantaged; celebrating their inherent human dignity and finding ways to level the American playing field so they too have a shot at the American Dream.
Two things going on in this discussion: 1) who are we together as Americans? And 2) what is government and what is the people’s relationship to government?
A caveat, however; since America is a representative democracy, “We the People” choose people to represent us and govern in our stead with our approval. So in a very real way, WE are the government. Bureaucracies may be impersonal but governments and public servants should be lively and responsive to real people and real needs.
You say: The church is not just a fellowship of believers but a prophet and moral conscience to society. Please talk more about this. Is this how you understand the proper relationship between faith and politics, between church and state, between the religious and the secular? Thanks for this conversation; this is helpful for me.
Janie: A few responses before I answer that question:
Of course civil government has a role as moral arbiter. Its function is making and upholding the law, after all, and law should have a moral base (even if it doesn’t always). I don’t disagree that government can act as a check on our natural self-centeredness, but governments are made up of broken individuals with their own self-centeredness. We agree that society and government are not the same, but I notice that progressives sometimes speak of them interchangeably. What does government have that society doesn’t? Authority. Sometimes governments have to force people to behave better, if they’re stealing or mugging or neglecting their kids or otherwise behaving badly.
But you cannot force people to be compassionate. I believe Americans are basically generous and don’t mind contributing tax money to provide a safety net for those who truly can’t take care of themselves. However, the more government sets itself up as a social cop, determining who gets what and who has to pay for it, the more resentment will be created on one side and a sense of entitlement on the other.
Governments can’t nurture; only people can do that. To the extent that there are compassionate individuals within an agency who can make a personal commitment to those they serve (and I know there are some of those), well and good. But that’s not primarily how an agency operates, nor can it. Government agencies are not primarily about people, they are about money: getting it, appropriating it, allocating it, doling it out, and keeping track of it with endless paperwork. Even if that wasn’t the intention going in, that’s what it becomes.
Yes, we elect our representatives. What’s happened in the last 50 years or so, however, is the growth of a vast, overlapping array of agencies and initiatives and programs and staffers, none of whom are elected and all of whom tend to be permanent. They are accountable to no one and, as time goes on, many of these agencies become more about perpetuating themselves than meeting the needs they were originally created to serve. Many, if not most, of these employees have good intentions, but ask them how much time they have to get personally involved with their clients.
You’re talking about admirable principles; I’m saying they don’t work so well in practice. Government solutions should be evaluated like any other solution, and they almost never are. No program is ever eliminated, regardless of how lousy it turns out (and yeah, they all do some good, but at tremendous cost and often with unintended consequences). Some programs, I believe, have done actual harm, and they all tend to become politicized.
Finally, government is necessary, but it’s made of broken people. Government must “bear the sword,” as I mentioned before, but the bigger the sword, the greater the potential for abuse.
That’s where the church comes in. Jesus said, “My kingdom is not of this world,” meaning he didn’t come to set up a theocracy. Still, the church has a voice, and she is supposed to use it. “You are the salt of the earth.” I believe every Christian is called to be the not only the hands of Christ (serving others) but also the voice of Christ (speaking truth in love).
If a Christian is elected president, he or she must operate within the law, while at the same time using the bully pulpit to do good wherever possible. This may mean operating within constitutional limits to withdraw federal funds from Planned Parenthood, or working diplomatically to relieve persecuted Christians in other countries, or lobbying for laws that encourage marriage, or sometimes, in rare cases, even going to war.
Individual Christians in government can do these things; the church as a body can’t do any of these things, because they are the prerogative of government. Still, the church can and should be visible “salt and light” within a society. Individual Christians are not called to violently protest, but to live peaceful lives and do good. They are not called to stage political revolutions, but to work within the system to push back on government actions they consider unjust or ungodly. They are not called to disobey the law, except in extraordinary situations where “We must obey God rather than men.” The church as a whole is called to reach out, help meet needs, set a godly example, and speak out when necessary. I’m thankful we live under a government that allows us the freedom to do this, at least so far.
Charlotte: Oh my, Janie! I hardly know where to begin. In some ways we see many things similarly but in many other ways, we have fundamentally different visions.
You seem to be using the words “government” and “bureaucracy” as synonyms. You say: “government by nature is impersonal and (at its best) impartial…” I can see why you say that, given your paradigm.
But in contrast, when I speak of “government” I am talking about the people who do the work of governing within the framework of our guiding documents. In this understanding, the persons who govern should not be impersonal but must act with wisdom and compassion on behalf of the persons within their area of responsibility. In this understanding, the “government” should not be impartial but rather must work to protect the poor and the vulnerable from the rich and the powerful.
You argue that government per se is “God ordained.” I will agree with that but I can only understand what it means based on theological reflection of God’s own way of governing creation. What do the ancient stories and psalms say about God’s stewardship of the earth: its people, its creatures, its water and lands? What do the ancient rules within Israel’s national life say about equity, caring for the poor, and welcoming the stranger? What do the prophets say about governmental leaders, “Shepherds,” who plunder the flock, who abuse the widows and orphans, who make themselves rich at the expense of the poor? I think these are the biblical insights into “God-ordained government” that should best inform a Christian’s understanding even in our own day.
I confess your description of a “Christian president doing good wherever possible” startled me. You will actually claim that defunding health care for poor women is “doing good?” I think you are probably talking about abortion, but Planned Parenthood has played an active role in increasing contraception and family planning so that the abortion rates have dropped dramatically in the past few years. (Federal monies are not used to fund abortions.) How on earth can a pro-life, “Christian” lawmaker justify defunding an organization that promotes life and health in such a variety of ways?
And as I recall, our last Christian president did lobby for laws that encourage marriage; marriage equality – and the Conservative community was up in arms. You speak as if there is only one way to be “Christian.”
“The Church” in America has a long proud history of challenging government prophetically. The Christian community (across several denominations) worked to abolish slavery, to ensure civil rights for people of color, to protect children who were basically enslaved in factories and warehouses. Today many churches and congregations offer sanctuary for immigrants, protecting families from harsh and unforgiving governmental policies. In my understanding, these are appropriate ways Christians can be “the hands and the voice” of the Christ for our world.
We promised to engage in this dialogue with an honest effort to hear each other out, not to try to change each other’s minds. I’m glad for that commitment because we sure do see some things differently, don’t we? How do you think we need to continue this conversation next time? Is it time to get back to a discussion on health care in America?
Janie: Thanks for hearing me out. By “impartial,” I mean that government should not favor either rich or poor, but protect both. It’s not a crime to grow rich and spend your money as you see fit in this country, but there have been times in our history when our government aided and abetted the rich. That had to be corrected, and I’m sure it will still need to be corrected, because the rich tend to be the powerful. And the powerful will always, always, always have an outsized place in government, whether Democratic or Republican. In fact, the bigger the government, the more clout they will have. My point is that that the apparatus is too big, too costly, too awkward, too impersonal—and yes, governments are always bureaucratic. How could they not be? I still think I’m talking about things as they are, and you’re talking about things as they should be.
Speaking of things as they are (sigh), it looks like the ACA is here to stay, until we get a single-payer system. Pros and cons?
Is it a coincidence that so many fairy tales and traditional stories in the western tradition end with a wedding? But they never continue with a marriage, beyond “and they lived happily ever after.”
It’s as if the wedding itself is what the story was reaching for, even though it may have looked like the story was about conquering fear or receiving one’s just reward o forgiving one’s enemies. The reward of the hero or heroine’s striving is consummation—literal, spiritual, and social. The marriage that follows the wedding is an induction into what we might call real life: establishment and responsibility. One life merges with another and produces new life—more individuals who will set off from safe homes on dangerous missions to become who they are and receive marriage as a reward, from which they will make homes for the next wave of individuals to set out and become . .
The marriage is not the story, because happily-ever-after is not an essential conflict. Marriage brackets the story; it’s the home-situation at the beginning and the fading horizon at the end. It’s what we came from and what we are going toward.
I wonder if one reason for the dissolution of the family in modern American society is that we’re trying to make marriage the story, instead of the launchpad and culmination of the story.
Here’s what I mean. Stories are about struggle. Every story has to have a conflict, and the essential conflict is how the individual makes peace with the world (or the situation). Stories are about individuals, not groups. Even those interminable James Michener sagas that unfold the history of an entire nation or a group of people could only work by zooming in on the experience of individuals throughout the centuries. In a story the individual is always at war—with social norms, with injustice, with rivals for glory, goods, or affection, with the darker or less admirable traits within, or any combination of these.
There’s no better visual illustration of conflict, perhaps, than distinctions between male and female. She is soft where he is tough; she relates while he competes; she nurtures while he protects, and so on. (I am aware that these are stereotypes, but stereotypes are built on fact.)
How can an individual man or woman be at peace? How can disparate personalities reconcile? That’s the question asked in all great fiction: Will Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy stop looking past each other? Will Belle recognize her love for the Beast before it’s too late? Will Anna silence her guilty conscience and find happiness with Vronsky?
And the greatest conflict of all, though not fictional: Can a holy God be reconciled with an unholy and rebellious people?
Classic stories—often, not always–ended in marriage, even if they’re weren’t primarily love stories, and even if it wasn’t the main character getting married. It’s only in modern times that stories have come to be about marriage. It’s easy to see why: two people striving for harmony, especially if they’re as different as male and female, is rich material for drama. Novels about marriage can be insightful and rewarding—as fiction. Making marriage your story in real life can be asking for trouble.
Making marriage your story in real life can be asking for trouble.
Because, remember, stories are all about fighting. If it ends in defeat, it’s a tragedy. If in victory (meaning reconciliation), it’s a comedy. A classic Christian marriage is mutual surrender where each says to the other: I’m no longer just me. I’m part of us. I’ve fought my fight and made my peace; I’ve figured out how to be us while still being me.
Past generations understood that, which is why divorce was so rare even if the union wasn’t happy.
I’m not saying that marriage was not a challenge in the past, or that the two individuals within a marriage had no more growing up to do. But moderns want to carry on the struggle. Instead of settling into boring old happily-ever-after and pouring their energies into the next generation, they (we?) want to continue the quest for self-fulfillment and discovery and drama. Marriage is part of our plot: Will Dan find happiness with Diana, or is his real future with Donald? One thing for sure: he will never settle for fading into the woodwork.
Instead of settling into boring old happily-ever-after and pouring their energies into the next generation, we want to continue the quest for self-fulfillment and drama.
Marriage is not supposed to be the plot: it’s supposed to be the woodwork—or the floor, or the scaffolding that will launch the stories of our children. That’s why fairy tales have to end with a wedding: the individual has found her place and joined hands with another to form a community. That was a reflection of real life. If we could examine all the monogamous marriages throughout history until today, we would find that some were heaven, some were hell, and the vast majority were good enough—all weaving together to build a platform for the next generation.
With ever more people acting out their conflicts within the marriage, or not bothering to marry at all, the platform is crumbling. New generations may not even know there supposed to be one—just an ocean of individuals bobbling up and down in a never- ending quest for happiness.
The Bible still ends with a wedding, though. The marriage will follow and will show us what marriage was supposed to be about, all along: all our struggles ended; finally me; finally us; fully Him.
This is easy, too: a little glue, a little space on your desk, and you’re set. You can also use Scrabble tiles.
Talk about your story idea.
Write three pages every three months—not necessarily of the same story.
Stop talking about your story idea.
Think about it some more.
This is cheating, a little: you won’t actually become a writer but you can think of yourself as one. And you’ll have to admit, those are easy steps.
So here are the five hard steps:
Read. I hear through the grapevine there’s a brave new breed of writing student out there: the kids who never read a whole book in their lives–could we call them little-read writing hoods? Nevertheless, they want to jump into the deep end and start cranking out stories. Fantasy stories, usually–because those all come straight out of your head, right? So you don’t have to spend a lot of time in research or craft; just go for the gold. A tiny handful of such young Turks may succeed, by dint of a wild imagination and a natural gift of gab, but 1) they won’t have much to say, and 2) they won’t say it well. If you want to be a writer, read wide and deep in order to become wider and deeper.
Focus. Nobody cares about your general thoughts about life, because we all have those. But some people (not everybody) might be interested in your particular thoughts about particular things, like marketing tulip bulbs or fly-fishing in Northern Africa or early Celtic illuminated manuscripts or how the Holy Trinity imposes Trinitarian structure on all of reality (I’m very interested in that). Rather than starting wide and ending small, start small and end wider, making connections between the specific, particular things and the broader, universal things.
And related to this: Notice things. Find material all around you to write about. Describe real people, record real conversations, look into your real feelings rather than just extrapolating from the movies or popular fiction. We all borrow, whether or not we’re aware of it. Borrow from reality. I like to say, when it comes to creation, you can’t improve on God.
Practice. If you do lots of reading you will have a pretty good idea in your head what good writing looks like, and when you start to write for yourself, you’ll subconsciously imitate your favorite writers. But over time, you’ll develop your own style and rhythm. This only comes with practice. It doesn’t matter how you practice: keep a journal or scribble on looseleaf paper or carry a set of 3X5 cards around with you to jot down your impressions (I’ve done all of these, and would like to be a little more systematic but at my age, it’s not happening.) Related to this—as you practice, don’t develop bad habits. Even though writing is the most subjective activity you can engage in (except for reading), it has its rules. Some ways of creative communication are more effective than others. Some sentences are stronger, some word choices more vivid. Learn the rules and make them your own—which means you can break them sometimes. See Wordsmith: a Creative Writing Course for Young People for a fun and easy (yes, I’m not kidding about the easy this time!) way to start.
Don’t Wait. When I was a kid, I didn’t aspire to author-ship; I wanted to be an actress. But maybe by high school graduation time I was thinking about writing, because I remember this salesman who came by the house to sell me something related to adult life. Isn’t it funny how memory works? I don’t recall exactly what he was selling—some kind of savings or layaway plan–but I’m certain it was right around the time of graduation, and I remember him asking me what I planned to major in/be/do. I must have said I was thinking about being a writer, because then he said (and this is the part that’s clear in memory), “The one piece of advice I’ve heard about that is, you have to write something every day.” That’s not strictly true—I certainly don’t write something every day—but it’s essentially true. And don’t wait. Do it. Some people will be more consistent if they set aside a certain time of day, even if it’s only half an hour. But do it. Do it.
Wait. This comes after steps 1-4, and it may not come for you at all. But here’s the thing: after you’ve been reading and focusing and noticing; after you’ve filled and torn up a few thousand pages of prose and sharpened your craft, there may come a time of waiting. This is for deciding if you really are a writer or not. If you are, you’ll feel just a little bit on edge if you’re not doing it. Like, life without a story to draft or a description to compose or an argument to make is not quite complete. You may be experiencing some necessary interruptions right now, but they are temporary. You’ll get back to the drafting and revising and the pain that cuts and the satisfaction that fills you like nothing else.
But there’s also the possibility that you’re not—or not yet, or not quite—a writer. That’s when you feel mostly relief. A “Hey that was fun and I learned a lot and my mom liked it and I may get another idea sometime.”
(If you don’t know what that is, don’t feel bad. I didn’t either until about three months ago. Chances are you do know what it is, just didn’t know the proper designation.)
To Charles Murray, it looks like the end of liberal education in America: “What happened last Thursday has the potential to be a disaster for American liberal education.” Maybe an overstatement, but cut the man some slack, after he was literally assaulted by students on a liberal-education campus.
If you have an ear to the news, you probably heard about this. Students involved with the American Enterprise Institute (AEI), of which Murray is a fellow, set up the March 2 event well in advance and anticipated the usual protests for a controversial speaker. Charles Murray may be controversial but he’s also consequential: I first encountered him with Losing Ground: American Social Policy 1950-1980. His analysis of state welfare and its destructive effects on American society was philosophical mainspring of welfare reform in the mid-1990s. His latest book, Coming Apart: the State of White America, 1960-2010, describes the failing family and social structures of the lower class, which keeps poor whites poor. What David Vance’s Hillbilly Elegy does with personal narrative Murray does with data in Coming Apart, which is the book he was supposed to talk about.
But to a sizable group of students at Middlebury, only one book mattered: The Bell Curve, co-written with Richard Herrnstein and published in 1996. The Bell Curve is a study of measured intelligence (such as IQ) as an indicator of future success. A small section of the book reported on lower levels of intelligence among African Americans and speculated on the reasons for it. Murray and Herrnstein never claimed that blacks were best suited to field labor, but rather than stimulating conversation fodder (such as how to improve learning situations for all) critics took one message: Murray thinks blacks are stupid.
“Racist, sexist, anti-gay; Charles Murray go away!” (Charles Murray publicly supported same-sex marriage before Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama did. Do your homework, kids.)
That’s the setup; the drama played out like a horror movie. First the protest outside the lecture hall. Then the protests inside the lecture hall, where a large minority of students stood, turned their backs to the podium and chanted slogans about racism, sexism, homophobia, etc. After a solid 20 minutes of this, Murray and faculty moderator Allison Stanger adjourned to a nearby room where they broadcast a back-and-forth conversation of opposing views while protesters pounded on the windows and set off the fire alarm. Murray and Stanger then left the building to attend a scheduled dinner with students, but protesters with signs noisily blocked the way to their car. Burly security guards kept the more physical debaters from knocking Murray down, but someone grabbed Prof. Stanger by the hair while someone else pushed her sideways, twisting her neck. When they got in the car and locked the door, the protesters swarmed the vehicle, rocking it back and forth. The car nosed through the crowd and motored on to the dinner venue, but Stanger and Murray barely had time to remove their coats before being warned, “They’re coming this way!”—like a pitchfork-waving mob in a Frankenstein movie. Kill the monster! After a quick consultation, everyone mounted up again and drove to a restaurant off campus, where they fortified themselves with martinis before dinner.
Murray and Stanger conduct their discussion against wall-pounding and fire alarms.
“The worst day of my life,” Prof. Stanger wrote on her Facebook page, sometime after returning from the hospital with a neck brace and a concussion. She insisted that the mayhem did not justify accusations against the college. “We have got to do better by those who feel and are marginalized. Our 230-year constitutional democracy depends on it, especially when our current President is blind to the evils he has unleashed.” After a couple of weeks to think about it, she moderated but didn’t retreat fromthe “because Trump” rationale.
With all due respect, that particular evil did not emanate from the White House.
The day before the event, in The Middlebury Campus newspaper, senior Nic Valenti explained “Why I’m Declining AEI’s ‘Invitation to Argue’.” He described his own epiphany: “When I first arrived at Middlebury I was clueless to the systems of power constructed around race, gender, sexuality, class or ability.” His efforts to talk about issues before receiving the proper framework from which to talk about them were met with stony silence. “As a young bigot, I can recall thinking: ‘I thought at Middlebury I would get to have intellectual discussions, but instead it feels as though my views are being censored.’” In other words, when Nic arrived at Middlebury innocent of his own white male privilege, no one bothered to discuss issues with him until he got his head right–groveled at the altar, received the proper instruction, signed the statement of faith.
His point: Charles Murray’s head isn’t right, and therefore to debate him would only be granting him validity he doesn’t deserve.
His evidence: nothing Charles Murray wrote or said. The only source Valenti quotes is the Southern Poverty Law Center, an advocacy organization known for its slap-happy designations of extremist, hate group, white supremacy, etc. The SPLC’s classification of the Family Research Council as an anti-gay hate group (for its traditional definition of marriage) allegedly led to a shooting at FRC headquarters in which a guard was wounded. Not the most reliable organization for handing out labels, but Mr. Valenti accepts as gospel that Charles Murray is a eugenicist and white supremacist. Murray is no such thing, as a reading of The Bell Curve would have shown. You wouldn’t even have to read the whole book; just one chapter. Or an article. Or an interview. Anything where Charles Murray gets to speak for himself.
That didn’t happen at Middlebury. I wonder if Nic Valenti was in the chanting crowd at the lecture hall. Did he, caught up in the moment, join the jostling crowd on the sidewalk outside, where Mr. Murray was shoved and would have fallen if Prof. Stanger and a security guard weren’t supporting him? Think about that: Murray is 74 years old and a respected scholar with numerous books and degrees to his name. If he had fallen on the sidewalk among an emotional crowd of young people (granted, they might not all have been students) who had worked themselves up into a religious frenzy, what might have happened to him?
I’m not the first one to say it: some college campuses have become temples of the Cult of Intersectionality, where all truth claims are subjected to one standard: Who’s the while male bastion of privilege oppressing, and how? The storyline of oppression is so thin and boring (nobody will admit that, but it’s true), it’s bound to wear itself out sooner or later. The incident at Middlebury has been a wakeup call for some, so pray for sooner.
The Christian faith offers friendship,* partnership,* fellowship* and even kinship* with God the
Father through Jesus Christ our Lord. If you grew up in church and heard this all your life it may be difficult to grasp how mind-bending this is. But think about it: the Creator of the universe wants to be friends with you. Let that sink in for a minute.
But if you grew up in a church in the fifties and sixties, you may have been exposed to decades of denominational warfare as one True Church hurled detonated dogma and flaming proof texts at another. I was raised in One True Church and have been on the receiving end of doctrinal darts from another One True Church, so I understand how refreshing is the proposition that Jesus is all about relationship, not religion.
But what’s a religion? If we mean “rules whereby we set ourselves apart and gain God’s favor, unlike the ignorant, oblivious and stubborn crowd who don’t see it the way we do,” then yes. Jesus is not about that kind of religion. He had some hard words to say against what we might call dead orthodoxy.
However, when we don’t lean on our own understanding or experience but turn to an accepted authority (such as the dictionary), religion is “1.a. a belief in and reverence for a supernatural power; b. a system grounded in such belief and worship.” In that light, what strong conviction about life and purpose is not a religion?
The groundwork of relationship, the necessary actions taken to make that relationship possible, the need to take those actions and the form the relationship takes—that’s all religion, in the dictionary sense. Religion defines the relationship, like wedding vows define a marriage. Religion is the house where the relationship flourishes. The first Christ-followers, who should have something to tell us, followed a religion. They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching (Acts 2:42) on which the church of Christ was built (Eph. 2:20).
Relationship without religion has its limits. You would think that the disciples who actually knew Jesus, who walked and talked and ate with him day by day, had a rock-solid relationship with him. Yet when he he expressed some strange and difficult doctrines, a number of them left (John 6:66). The ones who stayed heard him make some terrible predictions but dismissed them (Luke 18:31-34). When those terrible things came to pass they scattered like rats from a burning barn. But they had a relationship, didn’t they? They loved him. And yet it wasn’t until he revealed the scope of his mission through the scriptures (Luke 22:44-49) that love found a home, soon to illuminated by the Holy Spirit.
Why does this matter? Because I hear the relationship-not-religion theme more and more and I think it’s coming to mean I can believe what I want about Jesus as long as I love him and he loves me. What do you think he would say about that? What did he say about that?
If you love me you will keep my commandments.
Everyone then who hears these words of mine and does them will be like a wise man who built his house on the rock.
Why do you call me ‘Lord, Lord’ [or ‘friend, friend’?] and not do what I say?
In every believer, the relationship is going to look a little different. I’m not saying we all have to march in lock-step or bury love in religious observance. But what I hear out there is an abandonment of the very principle of religion as a body of incontrovertible truth that we live by. “This is my Son,” says the Father, “Listen to him.” If I’m only listening selectively, before long I’m mostly listening to me. That’s not good news (gospel) for anybody, least of all me.
_________________________________________
*You are my friends if you do what I command, John 15:14
Therefore we are ambassadors for Christ, God making his appeal through us, II Cor. 5:20
. . . and truly our fellowship is with the Father and his Son Jesus Christ, I John 1:3
. . . in order that he might be the firstborn among many brothers, Rom. 8:29
They are wiggling in the pew. They’re grinning their sweet baby smiles at grownups across the aisle. They are head-butting mom (ouch!) and irritating dad (shh!). The whole church service takes place against a background of hisses that sound like a snake convention. You want them in the pews but it’s sweet temporary relief when someone has to be taken to the bathroom.
If Mom and Dad are in agreement it shouldn’t be too hard to plan some devotional time on Saturday (or sometime during the week) that will help prepare the kids for what we’ll be doing on Sunday morning. But there’s still that hour-long church service to get through without a meltdown. Granted that there will be some meltdowns (kids being volatile and all), if the church leadership makes a decision to move toward family-inclusive worship, they should also help parents carry it out. Such as
Children’s Sermons? Though sympathetic to the idea I’m not a fan, because children’s sermons tend to put the kids (and pastor) on display—rather than meditating on the Lord or feeding on his word, we’re chuckling about how cute they are, especially that moptop who’s trying to stand on his head. A possible alternative: at one church I visited, there was no special sermon, but the children came forward at the end of the service to lead the closing song. Each picked an item from a box of rhythm instruments and made a joyful noise with the congregation, all the more joyful because they could finally get up move. I like this idea–it didn’t break the focus on worship and it probably helped the kids feel a little more a part of things.
Set aside training rooms in lieu of a nursery. Imagine you’re three-and-a-half. Church is boring. You’ve figured out that if you crank it up to a certain decibel level, Mom or Dad will haul you off to the nursery, where there are snacks and toys and room to run around. This is not rocket science.
But what if, when you get to that level of decibels, Mom or Dad takes you firmly by the hand, walks you to a dark room, and sits down with you in a lap or in a chair beside, and you don’t get up. No matter how much you scream and cry, these are the options: in the sanctuary with all the folks or in here with Mom or Dad: your choice. No spanking, no swatting, just you and me and your screams. For most kids, it only takes a few weeks before they make the better choice (and if they forget down the road, back to the training room).
Of course it’s fine to have a nursery with toys and snacks for the toddlers. But once you’ve established a pretty reliable two-way communication with a child, usually at some age between two and four, he or she is old enough to sit still.
Establish singing classes. Once a quarter, or every couple of months, gather the kids for sing-alongs featuring favorite hymns or worship songs. If they’re regular attendees, they’ll already know these songs, but it means a lot more when they know the backstory or something about the lyricist or composer. Focus on two to three songs per session, share the story and teach a bit of music theory alongside, such as rhythms, note values, and basic sight-reading.
Alternatively, if there’s time, practice a song in Sunday school. If you know what the song selections are going to be ahead of time, use some of your pre-service Sunday school time to feature one of them: talk about the lyrics and make up hand motions or body actions to go along. Or look up American Sign Language (several online sources) for key words, and teach the children how to sign them. Use the time to stretch and jump while singing.
Get help from the pastor. Most pastors will have a sermon prepared by Friday evening. With a little encouragement, they might be willing to write a three-point outline, with the key text or texts and major illustrations, and email it out to all families with children by Saturday morning. That would make excellent devotional material: for instance, read the text and talk about the context, then speculate where Pastor will end up with the three points (or whatever). A creative pastor might even have suggestions for the family devotional, such as words to listen for, definitions or Bible characters to know, or specific questions that will be answered.
Children’s bulletins. You can buy books of reproducible bulletins at Lifeway and Mardel stores. Not a bad idea, but if the bulletin has no relation to the sermon topic or anything else, it’s just another distraction to keep them quiet. Another idea: if someone in the congregation is a creative educator with access to a simple publishing program, he or she might be willing to create customized children’s bulletins to copy and hand out on Sunday. My former pastor used to email a sermon outline on Friday (unless circumstances interfered), and I would separate the main points, write summaries, and assemble clip art illustrations. This took time, but for the most part—except when really crunched for the same—I thought it was fun. Obviously, not everyone can do it, but it’s something to consider.
If we consider kids to be “Covenant Children” (part of God’s family), the church as a whole should take some part in worship training. This can be as simple as getting to know the children and sitting beside them in the pew, like a substitute “church grandma” or “church uncle.” At the very least, it means complementing the kids when they sit quietly and encouraging the parents when they don’t.
The Shack is again a topic of conversation with the opening of the movie version last weekend (as well as new publications like The Shack Revisited and The Shack Reflections). I won’t see the movie, but I did read the book. This review is adapted from my original thoughts:
“What’s up with this book?” asked the cashier at the local Borders where I bought my copy. “Everybody’s asking for it.” The Shack was a phenomenon in 2007; a self-published novel marketed by word of mouth with roughly a million copies in print. How did it happen?
In 2005, a manufacturer’s rep named William P. Young (Paul to his friends) began writing a series of “Conversations with God” to share with his six children. In the process he decided to frame the dialogues as a story that reflected something of his experience: a man scarred by tragedy and failure confronting the Almighty.
Before toting the manuscript to Kinko’s to be spiral-bound, Young showed it to Wayne Jacobson, a former pastor with a small publishing business in California. Smitten with the story, Jacobson and his partner Brad Cummings set aside $300 to market the book. Attempts to interest traditional publishers failed; it was “too Jesus-y” for secular outlets and too raw for Christian. But over the next three years, the Evangelical grapevine out-performed most professional marketing campaigns, as The Shack climbed into USA Today’s best-seller list and the top 100 at Amazon.com.
By now everybody knows the story: MacKenzie Phillips (Mack to his friends) was living the good life in Oregon with his wife and five children when tragedy body-slammed him. During a family camping trip, his youngest daughter was abducted, and though her body was never recovered it’s clear she was murdered. After four years of dwelling in “The Great Sadness,” Mack receives a note in the mail: It’s been a while. I’ve missed you. I’ll be at the shack next weekend if you want to get together. The note is signed “Papa” (his wife’s favorite designation for God) and the meeting place is the desolate cabin in the Cascades where his daughter was most likely murdered.
Mack keeps the appointment and meets none other than the Holy Trinity: “Papa” in the form of a rotund black woman who cooks up a storm (and whose speech disconcertingly wobbles between Scarlett’s Mammy and something like Paul Tillich), Jesus as a Jewish carpenter, and the Holy Spirit as an airy Asian female known as Sarayu. During their supernatural weekend retreat, Mack’s soul is healed and he emerges a changed man.
The combination of fiction and theology often produces the worst of both. The Shack is no exception to this rule.
The combination of fiction and theology often produces the worst of both.
As fiction, there’s not much in the way of plot or narrative, and so little character development that during the long conversations it’s easy to lose sight of who’s speaking (unless Papa chimes in with a “Sho’ nuff, honey”). Mack often seems less a character than a counterpoint. His chief function is to raise objections and ask questions. The writing style is often redundant (“The nearby creek seemed to be humming some sort of musical tune”), puzzling (“He grabbed a bite of nominally tasting food”), or awkward (“[She was] waiting for him to speak as if he were about to say something, which he was not at all”).
Well, I haven’t written any million-copy best-seller, so maybe my literary criticism is just sour grapes. As theology, though, the problems are a lot more serious. Young has been accused of undermining orthodoxy, and while it may not be deliberate, he is clearly challenging orthodox views of the Trinity, the Bible, the church, sin, guilt, and atonement. His focus is so broad it’s hardly a focus–one reading can’t grasp all the theological issues and one review can’t cover them all. Tim Challies has made several stabs at it, starting here. That’s part of the problem, but it may be part of the appeal, too: there’s something for everybody, both to love and to look askance at.
Some of Young’s assertions are scriptural and well-expressed: he is clear and poignant on the absolute goodness of God in the face of human tragedy, and on the helplessness of man to earn salvation. But while messing with Mack’s head, his three mentors express notions that are either outside scripture or flatly contradict it. In fact, scripture itself fades into a montage of other truth-sources such as art and experience, with no special authority of its own. In fact, the very idea of authority is a power play designed to induce guilt. In fact, guilt has been misconstrued to create a terror of judgment. And the idea of judgment is due for an overhaul, too . . .
Man’s chief transgression, according to Young’s trinity, is that he’s chosen autonomy over relationship. Every tragedy, every sorrow, every misconception is due to our lust for “independence.” This is true as far as it goes, but Young is a bit too free with the application. His approach to Law, for example, is that it’s only a mirror to show our unrighteousness, not a rule for living: “Trying to keep the law is actually a declaration of independence, a way of keeping control” (p. 203). Wait . . . what?
Other problems are hard to pin down, because expressing his ideas in a novel allows Mr. Young to be rather vague about their real implications. Some have accused him of universalism, a charge he denies. But what to make of “Jesus’s” assurance that he has no desire to make anyone Christian? “Does that mean that all roads will lead to you?” queries Mack.
“‘Not at all,’ smiled Jesus . . . ‘Most roads don’t lead anywhere. What it does mean is that I will travel any road to find you.'”
Such a statement is wide open for interpretation–does it mean that Buddhists and Muslims will be saved, or that Jesus will make sure they find him? Don’t expect a definite answer, because Papa has set us free from “religion” with its doctrines (i.e., clarity) and rules. Just be open to grace and fellowship and don’t worry about particulars. In this we have Sarayu’s support and blessing: “I have a great fondness for uncertainty,” she says in another context (page 203).
That’s convenient for the author, who comes across as a likeable, sincere believer with some interesting ideas. Fiction is an effective way to explore ideas, because a story is, by its nature, better at illuminating questions than stating answers. Every aspiring writer learns that fiction is supposed to show, not tell. But Young attempts to have it both ways, showing and telling. By framing most of the book as dialogue, he can make his characters say exactly what he’s thinking. But if challenged he can say, “Hey, it’s just a story.”
Another problem is that by assigning form to God, he skirts close to violating the second commandment. The prohibition against making images of God must extend to literary images as well, for they have the same power to affect our thinking as an idol has on a pagan. How many Shack enthusiasts, when they pray, imagine curling up to Papa’s broad bosom that smells of warm scones and strawberry jam? In the early pages of the book, Mack admits, “I’ve always sort of pictured [God] as a really big grandpa with a long white flowing beard, sort of like Gandalf in Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings.” “Papa” smashes that stereotype, but only by replacing it with another stereotype.
Our freedom in Christ does not extend to contradicting what He Himself said.
Even worse is putting questionable statements in the mouths of the Holy Trinity. When “Papa” himself (or herself) says, “I am truly human, in Jesus,” the author is making a claim that is contrary to biblical revelation. God is Spirit (John 4:24); Jesus became incarnate, not His Father. Our freedom in Christ does not extend to contradicting what He Himself has said.
While touted as counter-cultural, The Shack feeds our culture’s mistrust of organized religion and craving for therapy. What seeker won’t be comforted by “Papa’s” reassurance that “I don’t do humiliation or guilt or condemnation” (p. 223)? What critic won’t nod emphatically at “Jesus’s” description of religion, politics and economics as a “man-made trinity of terrors that ravages the earth and deceives those I care about” (p. 179)? How nice to know that God’s chief goal is not to be glorified, but to cozy up to his creatures. The Shack invites readers to lay down their crosses, kick off their shoes, cozy up in return, and not grapple with the harder sayings of Scripture. Our healing is all that matters.
Charlotte and Janie Talk about Health Care, Education and NASA
.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 wrap up a debate about a hot topic soon to get much hotter. The first part of this particular debate can be found here.
(I’m the one on the right!)
Charlotte: I’m pleasantly surprised and grateful to see that you and I agree that there should be a basic right to health care in America. I think this is a growing belief for more and more people and probably the Affordable Care Act contributed to that expectation. We are seeing reports from town hall meetings in numerous states where Republicans as well as Democrats are loudly challenging their representatives not to disrupt their access to affordable insurance and health care. With all its problems, the ACA has helped millions of people and saved numerous lives. I agree with you that it would be political suicide for the Republican Congress to repeal Obamacare without a solid replacement. If they mess this up, Town Hall meetings will only get noisier and rowdier.
I’ve been thinking about the similarities between this current process and the process America went through to provide free public education for all our children. I think there are numerous comparisons and we might be able to learn how to do this better if we will look back at our recent history.
For many years, there was no expectation that all children should be educated. Education was a privilege not a right. Before the Civil War, some states made it illegal to even teach slaves to read and write. Countless children worked the land and toiled in factories instead of going to school. I wonder how many men proclaimed that girls should tend the home and not fill their pretty heads with too much learning.
So how did America move to the place where we are now? Where our society as a whole assumes every child should go to school? And where there are often legal consequences for parents and children when they are not in school.
One reason public schools developed is that we figured out that our society as a whole is better when we have an educated population. All of us benefit when all of us function together in this community with basic knowledge and skills. All of us benefit when each of us is allowed to grow to our potential. All of us benefit when the geniuses among us are discovered and nurtured.
So it makes perfect sense to me that all of us will benefit if we will assume that everyone among us should have access to basic health care. If we will see health care as a right and not a privilege. I believe our entire nation will be healthier and more productive if we can make that societal shift in our expectations.
Janie: I disagree that there was little or no expectation in the U.S. that children should be educated. It was not something we figured out along the way–education has always been important in American public life, but it was local-community-based rather than government-based. The Northwest Ordinance, which opened US territories up for settlement after the War for Independence, divided the land into townships, with one section of each township dedicated to the support of the school. The New England puritans and others were extremely zealous for education. The only ethnic group that demonstrated a more casual attitude were the Scotch-Irish who settled in the Appalachians and southern foothills. But then, the South was a much more stratified society (big divide between the landed gentry and poor whites) in colonial days, and for a long time after. That’s one reason slavery was able to dig such a foothold there. And yes, it was illegal in many southern states (as slavery became more entrenched in the early 19th centuries) to teach blacks to read.
The first big step toward public education as we know it today occurred in the second half of the 19th century, when (mostly) northern intellectuals became enamored with the Prussian model and decided that was the way to go: strict age-level divisions, certified teachers, pre-determined curriculum. Lots of school districts adopted the model, but it was still local control.
Charlotte: I really like talking with smart people! Obviously you know quite a bit about American education and I appreciate your passion. I think you and I definitely need to talk more about school choice, vouchers and Secretary DeVos. (I’m holding my nose here but I’m willing to listen.)
But for now, I want to go back to my original point in this conversation: America as a whole did not have an expectation that all children should be provided with a basic, free education until about 150 years into its national life. I believe the process by which America came to this expectation that all children should have a right to education is similar to the process in which we are currently engaged: America is slowly but surely coming to understand that all citizens should have a basic right to health care.
Notice in my first foray, I did not say people did not value education. Of course, throughout human history many people have valued education; but for many societies – as for our own – the education of all children was not the common expectation. Horace Mann moved the needle on this issue in America; his advocacy for Common Schools was controversial but his ideas finally took hold. By 1918, every one of the 48 states provided public schools and had compulsory attendance laws on their books.
So my question to you: should affordable, accessible health care be a right for all our citizens much as a free, public education is now considered to be a right for all our children? Do you accept my comparison?
And secondly, since you take issue with “Obamacare” but you agree with me that there should be a basic right to health care in America, do you have any ideas for an equitable system to replace the Affordable Care Act?
Janie: Okay. I was a little confused about where you were going. I don’t think it’s entirely an accurate comparison, because education was considered more an obligation and necessity for free citizens than a “right.” I still disagree with your statement that “America as a whole did not have an expectation that all children should be provided with a basic, free education until about 150 years into its national life”—I think that was the expectation from the beginning (in most of the country, anyway), but the disagreement was in how to provide it and who should be responsible for it. Before the late 19th century, communities generally took responsibility for it themselves. As the population became more diverse over successive waves of immigration and as governments, both federal and state, grew more centralized, the idea of free public schools grew along with it. For a lot of reasons, though, not entirely as a matter of individual rights. Education was seen—and is still seen—as a way of molding the populace, assimilating immigrants, and preparing future citizens to participate in public life (e.g., by reading newspapers and following political debates). I don’t mean to quibble, but I think there is a difference education as a right and education as a necessity.
That said, we can certainly agree that by this time in our history a free basic education is a right as well as a necessity. The controversy over Betsy DeVos is mostly about how much control the federal government should have, and there’s a comparison I can get behind: how much control should the federal government likewise have over health care? The argument over Obamacare is not about right. Over time, as I tried to demonstrate in our earlier conversation, most Americans, including Republicans, have accepted that there is a right to some kind of health coverage. The argument is now over control. To what extent should the federal government step in and regulate insurance companies, hospitals, doctors, treatments, etc., etc.?
The basic idea behind Republican reform—and I sure hope they hurry up and get to it—is less top-down control and more individual choice. This would involve several elements, including 1) individual Health Saving Accounts, or HSAs, to which the government contributes (and which go with the person, not the job); 2) shopping for insurance across state lines, which we currently can’t do, 3) high-risk pools for chronic conditions, 4) safety nets for those who are unable to make decisions for themselves, 5) incentives for healthy choices, and more. I expect any reforms will include all of these, and I think we’ll have some concrete proposals within a couple of months. That will give us something to talk about.
Charlotte: I’m remembering something you said in our first published discussion on this topic. Something about it bothered me and I couldn’t put my finger on it until now.
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.
I think it’s your phrase “making the young and healthy shoulder some of the costs for the old and sick” that jumped out at me.
First, I believe that shouldering the costs of living together within a society certainly ought to be part of what it means to function as a connected community. Our federal government was tasked from its inception to “promote the general welfare.” Our public schools are expected to educate every student who walks through their doors. Our interstate highway system lies ready for any vehicle to travel with convenience and comfort. Likewise, our health care system ought to be accessible and affordable to everyone who needs care.
So who pays for all of this? We all do. Our tax dollars are our contribution to this broad, complex society we live in – not just to our own advantage, but for the common welfare. Retired Americans who don’t have children or grandchildren in the public school system still pay for the education of our young people through their tax dollars. I’ve never been to Wisconsin but I’m happy to contribute to the highways that allow the dairy farmers there to transport their wonderful cheeses. I’m also quite happy to help pay the costs for contraception for American’s women as well as pre-natal care and safe deliveries for America’s children.
Before the ACA, people who were not able to afford insurance coverage went to emergency rooms whenever they got sick. Who paid for that care? We did. Those of us whose insurance covered our hospital stays paid higher premiums in order to cover unreimbursed hospital expenses. And/Or our tax dollars went to reimburse hospitals for some of that medical care. I would much rather help pay for people to stay well or to get more efficient, affordable care when they are sick.
Insurance companies have always based their business on the concept of insurance pools. Lots of people pay into the system but only a few people have exorbitant medical expenses. Those who stay well help support those who are sick. It’s a gamble companies make, and based on the way they have been jacking up the cost of coverage in the past few years, their gambles are paying off. We regular people are paying more and insurance companies are raking in outrageous profits.
But here’s another thing, Janie. You and I both operate out of our Christian faith with Christian values. Isn’t “carrying one another’s burdens” part of our spiritual ethic? The old support the young and the young serve the old. The strong care for the weak and the weak offer whatever they are able. The privileged stand up for the oppressed and we who have a voice speak out for the silenced.
I don’t think secular governments ought to function as religious societies, but I do believe in the prayer I pray every Sunday: that God’s kingdom may come on earth as it is in heaven. The more human societies live into kingdom values of grace and compassion and equity and inclusion the better off we will be. My own journey away from fundamentalism into progressive Christianity changed not only my theology; it also shifted my politics. The answer to the question: Who is my neighbor? is much larger and wider than it ever was before.
Janie: You’re bringing up an important point, and a very basic disagreement between the groups we label “conservative” and “progressive.”
I remember a slogan from the 2012 Democratic convention: Government is another name for what we do together. Hillary Clinton capitalized on that idea in one of her campaign slogans: Better together. Look, I understand that sentiment. But a government is not a community. As a nation, Americans can feel a sense of community when we are attacked, as at Pearl Harbor or 9/11. We can come together when a president is assassinated or a city experiences a natural disaster. To ask a nation to “come together” to provide for each other’s personal needs is a stretch. The preamble to the constitution mentions providing for the common defense and promoting the general welfare. Those verbs are not the same and I believe they were carefully chosen.
An army “for the common defense” is something the government has to provide, first because only the government should have that kind of power and second because private armies would be too prone to run amuck. Other big projects, such as an interstate highway system, could be considered a legitimate federal expense, since no one else could finance it. The space program was also thought to be something only the feds could do. (But something very interesting is happening with the space program, as I’ll get to in a minute.)
When it comes to people’s personal choices and commitments, the picture gets cloudier. The ACA was built around the individual mandate, and that’s where it has run into trouble. Younger people don’t want to pay for something they see no immediate need for. Of course I understand your reasoning: young people pay now for something they’ll use later, like social security, and in the meantime they’re contributing to the common good. But they are already burdened more than we were at their age: huge college loans, high mortgages (if they even take out a mortgage), fewer jobs appropriate to their college degrees, an increasing federal debt and deficit that will mean trouble down the road. Why aren’t we more concerned about them?
Of course taxpayers have been supporting Medicare and Medicaid for two generations, but this is different: the ACA is an obvious hand reaching into your pocketbook and pulling out money to pay for people who don’t take care of themselves, or to pay for people who are here illegally, or to pay for older folks who have 401(k)s. I know that’s not an entirely fair judgment; but that’s the way it looks to families whose insurance premiums have doubled over the last year. This kind of “bearing each other’s burdens” does not build community. Instead, it drives people apart by pitting them against each other.
What builds community is freedom and personal relationship. It’s people, organizations, families, even businesses pitching in where they see a need. It’s doctors foregoing insurance and charging a flat rate for basic care. It’s surgeons forming their own insurance-free surgical centers where you can get a knee replacement for $10,000. It’s Christian cooperatives like Medi-share where each family pays a monthly premium directly to another family who needs help. It’s urgent-care clinics and private arrangements between doctors and patients with no third party in the way. It’s being able to purchase insurance across state lines so you can get exactly what you want or need: low-cost catastrophic coverage, for instance, instead of full-range coverage for stuff you don’t need.
I’m not saying that the federal government has no role to play: Individual HSA’s that are not tied to an employer can “promote the general welfare” while allowing families and individuals to make their own decisions about which doctor to see or what treatment to pursue. Government-supported free clinics can help provide basic care for the truly needy. But a top-down, one-size solution is no long-term solution at all: expensive, inefficient, and more so as time goes on. We won’t bear the burden; our kids will, and they won’t thank us for it.
(One quick word about the space program, because I think it’s relevant. Since NASA gave up the shuttle program—and I’m really not sure what they’re doing now—entrepreneurs are stepping into that gap. There’s a plan in the works to go back to the moon on the backs of private companies like Space X (headed by Elon Musk) and Blue Origin (Jeff Bezos). That’s what is still so great about America: the space to dream and opportunity to make it happen. I used to hear this a lot about 15 years ago: “If we can send a man to the moon then surely we can . . .” create a world-class education system, eliminate poverty, provide affordable health care for everybody, etc. What strikes me about companies like SpaceX is that they are free to employ the best people and aim straight for a goal without politics and bureaucracy getting in the way. If we can send a man back to the moon without NASA, maybe we could be making better use of the private sector more for health care—and I DON’T mean insurance companies.)
Charlotte: Oh my! This dialog has gotten long and complex. It’s like we’re sitting together in comfortable space with a good cup of coffee letting ourselves go wherever the conversation takes us. I like this. But let’s wrap this one up and start our third effort soon.
So here’s my wrap up: I appreciate you pointing out that we are talking about a very basic disagreement between the groups we label “conservative” and “progressive,” that is, our understanding of the character of America. You say conservatives understand that what builds community is freedom and personal relationship. While I don’t disagree with your premise, I will say progressives understand it is our shared humanity that creates community and thus our governmental policies should foster that sense of care for one another.
You say: This kind of “bearing each other’s burdens” does not build community. Instead, it drives people apart by pitting them against each other. I say it is our human brokenness that pits us one against the other and creates within us a fundamental self-centeredness. I say sometimes the government, like a strong wise parent, must intervene to ensure the weak are not oppressed, the poor are not forgotten and the silenced are able to find a voice.
I have mentioned my own journey from conservative to progressive Christianity and how that has influenced my politics. I would love to hear your understanding of how religious faith ought to intersect politics. Your own personal way of doing that and your take on how public Christians should (and should not) allow religious views to influence public policy. Can that be our next conversation?
Janie: Sure—but I’d lay some groundwork first. You compared government (at its best) as a “wise parent.” How else do you understand the role and function of government, and how does your faith inform your view? Does that seem like a good place to start? If so, I can share my ideas first. I’ll bring the coffee!
Is it a coincidence that so many fairy tales and traditional stories in the western tradition end with a wedding? But they never continue with a marriage, beyond “and they lived happily ever after.”
