Beyond the Giving Up to the Giving....





Every possession and every happiness is but lent by chance

for an uncertain time,

and therefore may be demanded back the next hour.

- Arthur Schopenhauer

 

This Lent, in an attempt to jumpstart an effort to regain control of my life and address long-delayed opportunities to move beyond bad habits and replace them with good ones, I decided to give up three symbolically important things: caffeine, added salt and added sugar (from soda).  It's day two and the ramifications of this choice - and some of the initial costs - are clear: I've bitten off quite a bit and the real question is can I chew it....

 

It wasn't always this way.  Long ago, I was younger and none of these substances posed nearly the threat to me that they do now.  And yet time passed and I didn't reform ... which is a really nice and (too) exculpatory way of saying that I chose not to change.  And now I'm older, fatter, more tired and have less leeway in terms of my health ... and I'm still addicted to these substances.

 

Actually, in the case of caffeine, I'm addicted again.  When my son Maxwell was born, I gave up caffeine cold turkey and kept this discipline - with one notable exception - for more than ten years.  I started again when a dear friend and I began to share conversation and comfort over a cup of coffee or two.  And then I reintroduced coffee as a complement to my sacred reading time.  And then I took a glass or two of Coke at dinner with my sons (and, boy, did that familiar gurgle feel wonderful!).  And then ... I was hooked again.  So, at least with respect to caffeine, I have some hopeful history.

 

But things have changed with respect to caffeine, too: I'm now up in the middle of the night working on this blog because the withdrawal headache about which I was warned by supportive friends has indeed announced itself intensely.  I was fortunate that I had no such withdrawal symptoms fifteen years ago, but that was a different time and I was a different (and much younger) man.

 

This headache follows a day when I felt the absence of caffeine profoundly: yesterday I felt like I was in a fog most of the day, unable to move at full speed and awake but tired and not alert.  When I didn't add salt to my mid-day meal of low-salt New England clam chowder, it was on: the challenge of what I was undertaking was as clear as the lunch was unappetizing.  It's good chowder - I've had it many times before and enjoyed it - but without that "pinch" (read = numerous shakes) of added salt, it seemed far less appealing this time.

 

And my stepdaughter left the ginger ales - both regular and cranberry - out on the table where I was working so that temptation was just a foot away all day.   In other words, yesterday I began to grasp what I was undertaking ... and today I'm still but more committed,  not just intellectually as I was when I made this Lenten pact with myself, but emotionally and physically now that the costs of doing so are abundantly clear and painful....

 

Yet, for Christians, isn't that what Lent's about, suffering ourselves in tribute to our Lord's ultimate suffering and sacrifice?  Well, that's what I was taught as a child ... but just like my bad eating/drinking habits, I have to overcome this bad spiritual one, too.  At mid-life, I appreciate the symbolism but now question the motivation.

 

Seems to me there is indeed great benefit in testing oneself as chosen Lenten prohibitions inevitably do.  Particularly for those of us fortunate to lead relatively comfortable lives, discomfort, as estranged as we typically have become from it, can be a great teacher.  Among the lessons is one of perspective: I am often reminded of my good fortune when I'm suffering the inconvenience of chosen lack because I become more aware that there are many for whom such an experience is normal.  To put it simply, what are chosen inconveniences for me are often real problems for others.

 

Accordingly, now I see Lent and its modestly painful commitments differently: I'm not suffering to emulate my Lord as a prelude to the commemoration of His death, I'm suffering to bring myself into greater awareness of the broader human condition - to which He was so attuned during His life - so that I can emulate His life.  Lent for me now isn't about preparing for Jesus's death and resurrection as much as it is about walking a mile in His sandals and being attuned and fully connected to the lives of others as He was, which is inevitably painful.

 

So, I choose to suffer not because it reminds me of how Jesus died - and, conceptually, transcended death via his Resurrection (which I no longer consider to be a bodily one, but, in the interest of not digressing further, I'll save that for another time and another blog post) - but to remind me of how He lived, fully attuned to and engaged with humanity, living simply and focused on helping others to experience love and joy in the here and now (in what were far more challenging and uncomfortable circumstances in that day and time).

 

Thus, Lent has become about living more simply but more authentically and powerfully.  Jesus had nothing in a material sense and yet His was a life that we remember, revere and, supposedly, emulate two millennia later.  In giving up some of my creature comforts, I remind myself that there are far more important things on which I could and should focus, especially being present/in the moment and loving with those around me, a way of life that I now believe to be Jesus's greatest legacy.  I can't get to the miracles and much of the other Christian dogma with which we've adorned Him in our practice of religion, but I can get to and be powerfully and profoundly swayed by His example of a fully loving, sacrificial life.

 

To borrow from the inimitable Bishop John Shelby Spong, Jesus lived fully, loved wastefully - that is, without discrimination as to the receiver or concern for reciprocation, etc. - and was all that He could be, fully human and, in so being, the incarnation of the Divine which I have come to believe is within all of us.  The reason that I consider myself a Christian is not because I believe in the Church and its teachings as much as it is that I'm amazed by, called to be ultimately respectful of and humbled to emulate (some extremely modest portion of) Jesus's earthly example, a life so fully human and loving that it evidenced that God is ever-present and that His Kingdom can be experienced and lived on earth if we so choose.  I don't think that there's a heaven up above (as I was taught to believe as a child) - and, if there is, I don't know if I'll get there - but I do know that we can live in an eternal way in this life, as Jesus did, and that's what I'm seeking and struggling to do more consistently ... and that's why challenging myself during Lent in small but significant ways is so meaningful, because it reminds me of the far greater challenge of Jesus's example to which I can strive every day.

 

Let's face it, few of us who are Christians really emulate our Patron particularly well.  First off, we're far more self-centered and selfish than He: He lived his life for others, completely committed to being loving and enabling in the lives of others, which is not how we in the modern West approach life.  We're far more committed to living as well as we can - which, typically, means more materially comfortably over time - while adding in a little Jesus/religion - or, at least, claiming to - as we do.  Not only don't we go to church that much any more, but our collective behavior seems to appear less aligned with His example over time.  I will simply note the irony that so many of self-described born again and fervent Christians advocate policies that seem in direct contradiction to Jesus's example -  including/especially their self-aggrandizing demonization of the poor and the Other - and move on....

 

Returning to my primary point, I ask these questions unrhetorically, especially of those of us who profess to be Christians: Who among us is willing to emulate Jesus's example fully?  Who among us is willing to live immaterially and focus solely on being a loving presence in the world?  Who among us could be a modern-day Follower of the Way, as the early Jesus-emulators were?

 

Truth be told, few if any of us can commit so fully to practicing what our Lord preached and practiced.  Instead, we focus on living as we choose and then fitting Him and His example into our lives to varying degrees (but most often modestly at best).  But the 'giving up' of Lent is a reminder of what our practice of our faith could be: absent some of our creature comforts, can we still choose to live abundantly, lovingly and impactfully?  I believe so, which is why I'm trying to "be good" for Lent by committing to living better/more healthfully.

 

And, in addition to the discipline of forbearance (i.e., 'giving up'), I'm also practicing giving more.  I'm committing to being more present, to living more fully and lovingly and to being a blessing to all with whom I interact.  This, to me, is the more challenging goal: can I really summon the will to emulate Jesus more and more consistently in the mundane conduct of my daily life?  That's the real challenge of Lent, to give as Jesus gave - to be my higher self, more present, more loving, and indeed more alive - than I am normally.  And, even more importantly, to remain like this when Lent ends, being practically re-born/resurrected as a better, more loving person every day and in every season.

 

So, much like Lent is now about learning to be more conscious of the opportunity to live like Jesus - not just in the giving up but, more importantly, in the giving - Easter is now about evolving to a permanently more transcendent way of life.  In effect, I'm practicing in Lent to be the person I hope to be forever after Easter ... which means that in ways small but significant - and hopefully in increasingly profound and meaningful ways over time - I'm seeking to be like my Patron, to live fully, to love wastefully and to be all that the Good Lord has created me to be.

 

But first I have to survive without caffeine, added salt and added sugar while being more selfless and loving.  Hmmm.  Pray for me, please....

 

My mission as a Christian is ... to assist in the task of helping all people "to live fully, to love wastefully and to be all that they are capable of being."  This is Christianity grounded in a radical understanding of humanity.

 

The reason I call it Christian and the reason I claim my identity as a Christian is that when I look at Jesus, I see in him a life fully lived, a love wastefully given and the courage to be himself in all circumstances. ... So Jesus is the human life through whom the meaning and the presence of God is mediated to me.  I can then join with St. Paul in the assertion that God was in Christ.

- Bishop John Shelby Spong

 

 

A Beginning, Not An End....

Now this is not the end.  It is not even the beginning of the end.

But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.

- Winston Churchill



Yesterday I was blessed to hear a strong sermon by the Rev. Canon Gregory Jacobs in the context of my church's Black History Month celebration.  Canon Jacobs claimed as his theme "Celebrating the Spirit of Jubilee," based on Leviticus 25, and then proceeded to examine the developments in American social-racial history in the past 150 years through this prism.  Along the way, he deftly weaved in perspectives on Jesus Christ's commitment to social justice in His time, the unfinished business left to us as beneficiaries of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.'s Dream and lessons learned from the scriptural story of Elisha's succession of Elijah.  When he finished, I felt illumined, elevated and inspired ... and fully aware of what had just happened: in our generally progressive and social liberal church, our comfort zone had been breached, a challenge had been issued and a bit of real world had made it into our typically composed meditation on the spiritual.  And it was great....

 

It was great that we had been called out, had our (too) comfortable hour of institutional religion disturbed and been forced to deal with some of the less pleasant realities outside of sanctuary while still within it.  It was great that in a context of a sermon about how a Jubilee was still possible - and necessary - for us we were acquainted with the realities of the Great Migration and the New Jim Crow, the rollback of voting rights hard won a half-century ago and the disenfranchisement and demonization of "the least, the last and the lost" among us.  It was great that what happens "out there" during the other 167 hours of our week was pointedly and poignantly related to what happens "in here" during our weekly worship in church.

 

I particularly enjoyed that Rev. Jacobs related the years 1865, 1915 and 1965 to 2015, noting the end of the Civil War in the first, the beginnings of the Great Migration in the second, the passage of the Voting Rights Act in the third and the challenges of continuing racism in the last.  While many in our country - and, likely, a few in our very own congregation - believe that racism has (largely if not totally) been conquered because we have a (half-)Black president, the Canon challenged us to acknowledge its continuing, insidious presence in our lives.  As he noted that Blacks and whites generally have significantly different views on its current vitality, I couldn't help but think that this was likely true with the members of our parish, too.  And therein lies the opportunity....

 

It also occurred to me that many of the significant developments in our social-racial history that are celebrated today are thought of as victories - and thus, in effect, endings (because the issue has been resolved) - when in fact they were actually the beginnings of new phases in the battles that engendered them (which often were longer lasting and more challenging than what had preceded them).

 

For example, in American history, what were the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution?  Are we cognizant that the Revolution went on for more than a dozen years after the former was issued and for months after the latter was adopted?  The Declaration was not the end, but, in effect, the codification of the beginning of the War and the Constitution was the confirmation of the beginning of its end.

 

Or, do we really appreciate and acknowledge that the Emancipation Proclamation issued by President Lincoln in 1863 was a great moral victory but the reality is that the Civil War went on for more than two years until it came true?  Do we realize that it was the not the end for slavery in our country but an important harbinger of the beginning of the end for the Confederacy and the 'evil institution'?  Do we acknowledge that hundreds of thousands more had to die before it became more than soaring words on paper?

 

Similarly, with respect to the history of race and social relations in the past century, the famous U.S. Supreme Court Brown v. Board of Education ruling in 1954 was not actually the end of "separate but equal" in our society.  In fact, it took more than a decade for the recalcitrant South to begin to implement it in any meaningful way.  So much for "all deliberate speed."  (For example, about a decade thereafter, fewer than 1% of African-American children in the South went to school in integrated settings and absolutely none did in three former states of the Confederacy.)  [Yes, you read that right.  If you find it hard to believe, check out Prof. Michelle Alexander's profound and incredible The New Jim Crow and be stunned by this and so many other mystifying and troubling realities of our modern history/society.]

 

So, too, with the signature legislation of the Civil Rights Movement, the Civil Rights and Voting Rights Acts: they also were met with plodding embrace. 

 

Fast forwarding a half-century to our own day and time, what about the full social, legal and religious acceptance of members of the LGBT community?  In the last three weeks, when the US Supreme Court in effect affirmed a federal District Court ruling outlawing discrimination in the granting of marriage licenses, the Chief Justice of Alabama's Supreme Court urged local judges to ignore it.  Was it just me, or did anyone else flash back involuntarily to more than a half-century ago to southern legislators' assertions of interposition and nullification to try to avoid following the law of the land established by the major civil rights rulings?  Plus ca change, indeed....

 

There is no question that whatever the Supreme Court actually rules when it addresses the issue of marriage equality directly later this year, it's clear that this edict (if in favor thereof) and the state laws and court rulings that have already sanctioned it will continue to be subject to grudging acceptance and implementation.  In other words, the passage of these statutes and the affirming legal victories that follow (and result from) them will not be the end of this fight - victory achieved and change fully and finally accomplished - but the beginnings of the next phase in our journey: to move beyond the willful - and often religiously-based and -sanctioned - disregard and disdain of many to proactive and full acceptance of (the humanity and human-civil rights of) our LGBT brothers and sisters.

 

In sum, all of our great societal victories are not ends but beginnings, and it behooves us to acknowledge and embrace this, both so that we don't repeat the heinous mistakes of our collective past and so that we live ever more fully and lovingly in the future.  When we appreciate that these victories are but way stations - joyful, hard-earned and deserved ones, to be sure - on the path to our continued evolution toward the Beloved Community that Rev. King envisioned with and for us almost a half-century ago: an America - and a world - in which we celebrate each others' humanity because we realize and honor the God in each of us.  When we recognize and celebrate that we are Children of God first and American/German/Japanese/Palestinian/Episcopalian/Baptist/Unitarian/Baha'i/Muslim/heterosexuals/homosexuals/transgendered/insert-your-favorite-label-here/etc. second, we'll be able to embrace the opportunity to live fully, freely and peacefully under God and be all that we are created to be while embracing and supporting others fully as they do, too.

 

Until that time, may we be committed to beginnings more than ends - to doing the work of love, acceptance and celebration that comes with each step forward - and thus hopeful that we will celebrate ever more of them in our time and forever more....

 

"The beginning of love is to let those we love be perfectly themselves...."

-Thomas Merton

 

I, Too, Have a Dream....

Our goal is to create a beloved community and
this will require a qualitative change in our souls
as well as a quantitative change in our lives.

~ Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

 







Today, as a way to pay tribute to the legacy of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., my family and I saw the movie Selma.  Go see it.

 

As I reflected on this powerful work of art, it got me to thinkin' (as my elders used to say in my youth).  Yes, with just a little artistic license, the movie recorded pretty faithfully the pivotal civil rights battle in 1965 ... and powerfully so.  In fact, its opening scene may do so a little too powerfully for the youngest among us - I might let those less than 10 years of age wait to see it on video in a couple of years - but what follows is the compelling story of a most human - and thus transcendent - experience in human history just a half-century ago.  I'm sorry to repeat myself, but the word "powerful" keeps asserting itself in my mind: it's a powerful, beautiful portrayal of the humanity and dignity of those who sacrificed so much for us to have the right to vote (and, yes, I'll note the irony of needing more legislation to guarantee a right already accorded us by [an Amendment to] the Constitution and move on...).  So, powerful, in fact, that I cried through most of the movie, as did my beloved wife....

 

As I asked myself why I was crying, numerous reasons and feelings came out: I was crying for the loss of the four little girls killed in the Birmingham church bombing in 1963 (one of whom, Carol Robertson, was a distant cousin); I was crying because of the pain elicited by the wrenching portrayal of the suffering of those simply fighting for right and their rights, especially Jimmie Lee Jackson, Rev. James Reeb, Viola Liuzzo and others who were murdered and thereby martyred (involuntarily); I was crying because of the anger I still feel about how we as a species can be so hateful ... especially as the events being portrayed occurred in my lifetime and I can't help but feel equally appalled and enraged that craven recent political efforts have served to undo the hard won gains of Selma and all of the other battles of the Civil Rights Movement that led to the passage, in this case, of the Voting Rights Act of 1965.

 

I just couldn't then and can't now reconcile how a half-century later, craven politicians - primarily of the Republican stripe (it must be clarified in the spirit of truth) - have been successful in undoing unfettered access to the exercise of this most fundamental right that was earned at the price of many lives so long ago.  How sad that so many who fought to secure access to this right are now being disenfranchised a half-century later ... and how sad - and damning of us - that we've allowed this to happen.  But I digress....

 

There are so many ways that I could go in terms of sharing about this movie and why it's important for all Americans - not just African-Americans - to see it, including how my children's reactions and mine differed.  Suffice it to say that having grown up in comfortable circumstances in part because of the activism depicted and as beneficiaries of the sacrifices of the millions who advocated in ways both large and small that have led them to be fortunate to see and experience the world very differently, they were not quite as moved as I was ... in no small part because - in some ways, thankfully - they have been fortunate not to have lived it, this societal inhumanity (which, in fairness, was more overt and probably a little more pervasive earlier in my own life).

 

No, in the spirit of this being a holiday to honor Dr. King and his legacy, I'd like to reflect on it in the context of the present realities that are left to and for us to address, including/especially a pernicious and largely unappreciated system of social control that is even more damaging to African-Americans than was Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration.

 

What?  Mass Incarceration, I say?  Yes, Mass Incarceration.  Do you know what it is?  Are you aware that for a disproportionate number of our poorer fellow citizens - especially those who are Black and brown - the statistics suggest that a third to a half of them will spend most of their adult lives associated with the criminal 'justice' system?  Are you aware that the school-to-prison pipeline is real for too many of our fellows?  And are you aware that, once convicted, many of these people are legally disenfranchised and discriminated against, in effect being stripped of (most of) their citizenship rights even after they've paid their debt to society?

 

It's true....

 

And that's the point, that there is an entire supersystem within our society - including the criminal justice system and many states (and, to a lesser extent, the federal government) - that operates virtually without sanction and technically legally but has a disproportionate impact on the poor and Communities of Color.  It's simple, brilliant, legal and devastating, especially to the African-American community: our "law and order" focus is really a cover for a biased system that disproportionately arrests, convicts and incarcerates the poor and young Men of Color and then continues to punish them by allowing post-incarceration discrimination and disenfranchisement, including both losing their right to vote and access to critical government services that would help and encourage them to make positive corrective changes in their lives.



 

Law and order exist for the purpose of establishing justice

and when they fail in this purpose

they become the dangerously structured dams

that block the flow of social progress.

- Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.



 

Here's how it works:  For decades, studies have shown that illegal drug usage is comparable between whites and Blacks - and actually typically a little lower for the latter - but the prosecution of such non-violent "crime" is disproportionately of Color.  So, even though they use drugs at roughly the same rate, Blacks are far more likely to be investigated, arrested and prosecuted for it.  And, once in the system, the options are grim for most of these young Black men (and, sadly and increasingly, Black women): most cannot afford counsel and so tend to rely on overstretched and underfunded public defenders with predictable results, which means that they are also disproportionately incarcerated and for longer terms/sentences, too.  Even though most of these 'crimes' reflect addiction - suggesting that they are more appropriately considered in the public health domain - and/or low-level dealing (which is invariably a non-violent crime), they are most often sent to maximum security prisons with violent offenders, also with predictable results.  Then, assuming that they serve their typically long sentences, they're paroled but many/most can never again vote or access government services that would help them re-integrate into society constructively.  For example, in most cases, a paroled felon cannot apply to live in public housing or for job training, et. al., programs that would help him or her get re-established in a legitimate, non-criminal lifestyle.  Further, it's legal for him or her to be turned down for employment or refused (for-profit) housing because of a felony conviction, which must be disclosed in the hiring or rental/purchase process (as a question about this is almost universally asked now in the case of the former).

 

Imagine it: you're a newly released convicted felon from a ghetto in any one of the nation's major cities and now that you're out and intending to make a new and better start, no one (or, for sure, few if any) will hire you and you can't turn to the government for help because you've forfeited your rights thereto upon conviction.  Is it any wonder you'll tend to return to a life of crime?!?  If we really want parolees to 'straighten up and fly right', why would we make it so hard for them to do so?  If you're tempted to say "because they're convicts," remember that they've already paid their debt to society ... so shouldn't we want them to avail themselves of legal means to reconstruct and conduct their lives?  Instead, in effect, we choose to continue to punish them by disenfranchising them and then judge them because they often choose to return to an illicit life (because a legal one is prohibitively hard to attain).  It's a sad trap that we've set for too many of our own.

 

If you doubt my characterization of The New Jim Crow (i.e., Mass Incarceration), read Michelle Alexander's profound, piercing, disheartening and damning examination of it in her book of the same name ... and then read Bryan Stevenson's amazing, frightening and equally piercing and profound Just Mercy ... and then read Bob Herbert's righteous and insightful Losing Our Way, et. al. ... and then we'll talk....

 

So, am I saying that, had he lived, Dr. King would have been focused on prisoners' rights?  Not necessarily.  But there's no question that he would be focused on the class-based oppression that's occurring in (too) many forms in our society today, including widening income and wealth inequality (that reflects policy choices in the past three decades, not the verdict of the mythical capitalist marketplace), the demonization of the poor and immigrants, the purposely disenfranchising and successful push for voter ID as a prerequisite for voting (that supposedly addresses a literally statistically non-existent problem of voter fraud) and the insanely inhumane crusade against Obamacare and the 10+ million of our fellow citizens who've finally gained access to affordable healthcare, just to name a few.  (Or, we could mention SCOTUS's recent 'contributions' in this regard like its Citizens United and Hobby Lobby decisions, etc.)  In short, class warfare is real - and, no, it's not the masses unfairly scoring and scoring on the elite, but, as always, the opposite - and it's being waged ever more successfully in our time.

 

Let us not forget that in his final half-decade of life, Dr. King was focused on economic empowerment to complement and extend the political and social empowerment that the Civil Rights Movement had achieved for African-Americans first (and, thereafter, for other Americans of Color).  Further, let's not forget that his focus on the economic power relationships in our society - and the resulting distributions of opportunity, income and wealth - was far less popular, as was he (which was also exacerbated by his relatively early and vociferous dissent relative to the Vietnam War).  In fact, when he died, King was being excoriated by more radical and less tolerant Blacks for being too systemic (and patient) in his focus, by the federal government and the (business, et. al.) establishment for being anti-war (and thus unpatriotic), by the FBI for being fallibly human and unfaithful to his wife (like so many of the leaders of our society then and since) and by whites - especially his former patrons, northern Liberals - for his focus on economics.  As his last speech showed palpably, by the time of his assassination, Martin Luther King was a tired, beleaguered and besieged man.

 

So it's this last area of focus - on the economic structure of our society and the inequality therein - on which I'd like to focus in my own activism ... not to the exclusion of the continuing pursuit of political and social inclusion but in addition to it.  In fact, this is King's unfinished business that is both yet another demonstration of his profound vision in his time and ours as well as a mantle for us to assume today.

 

When we do, we'll truly shake the foundations of our society, and, indeed, the world, which is a good thing.  Because it'll take us back to a more communal ethic that was more equitably beneficial: in my youth, the America in which I came of age was one in which we all had a reasonable shot if we worked hard because the opportunities - educational, professional, etc. - were being more equitably shared and we believed that as the tide rose, all boats should, too - in other words, we believed that our progress should be shared.

 

(By contrast, when I look at the unfortunate and unsuccessful approach that we've taken to the misnamed and misguided War on Drugs, I know that there were alternatives paths then and that there are alternative paths now that are far more equitable and communal.  We should not be proud of our status as the society most prone to incarcerate - especially the poor and those of Color - when other societies have experienced objectively superior outcomes by taking different and more humane paths.)

 

One aspect of such change in this regard will undoubtedly be how we pursue justice ... which, in three words, should be fully, equitably and compassionately.  When we provide more constructive alternatives to our inner-city youth than failing schools and virtually omnipresent temptation to pursue paths that are far less likely to lead to illusory riches than to disenfranchised felony, we'll benefit from more of our resources going to uplift and not to incarceration.  When we stop overpenalizing non-violent blue collar crime and actually penalizing white collar crime, we'll see a real change in our society.  Why is it that we demonize poor, low-level drug dealers and lionize wealthy crooks?  Why is Jordan Belfort, he of The Wolf of Wall Street fame, walking around today (and selling his "success secrets" to new but still gullible people)?  Though he defrauded thousands and lost/cost people hundreds of millions, he's flying high again today, having served just a few years in a country club prison, while many who got busted for low-level marijuana or cocaine distribution around the same time are still serving their much longer sentences (and in much more inhumane prisons).

 

In a word, Dr. King sought for us to be a more compassionate society, one that cared equally for the haves and the have-nots.  He would not tolerate a society that offers opportunity ever more selectively while apportioning punishment similarly but to an entirely different group.  He would not stand idly by and allow Mass Incarceration to be even more damaging than Jim Crow was (as it criminalizes and then disenfranchises Blacks and the poor even more disproportionately).  He would not allow us to point to our African-American president with feigned pride and then ignore that we were accepting of so many other regressive societal conditions that his breakthrough would likely be even more exceptional in the future (or that not by coincidence this president has faced unprecedented obstruction and yet accomplished so much).  And he would insist that we be more inclusive, compassionate and engaged in our actions, even as our legislators at the federal and state levels endeavor ceaselessly to be more regressive and inhumane in their tactics.  In sum, were he still alive, the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., would still be fighting, as should we.

 

And the movie Selma reminds us just how personally costly such loving, communal advocacy can be....

 

Human progress is neither automatic nor inevitable....

Every step toward the goal of justice requires sacrifice, suffering, and struggle;

the tireless exertions and passionate concern of dedicated individuals.

- Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

Just Mercy....

The measure of a society is found in

how they treat their weakest and most helpless citizens.

As Americans, we are blessed with circumstances

that protect our human rights and our religious freedom,

but for many people around the world,

deprivation and persecution have become a way of life.

- Former President Jimmy Carter

 

A family friend from Detroit and I have grown up apart - him primarily on the West Coast and me primarily on the East - but through the magic of Facebook, it's clear that we share a certain 'progressive' sensibility and worldview.  So when he invited me into a virtual book club via the site, I happily and readily accepted.  After some back and forth among the coterie of invited prospective members, Derrick nominated Bryan Stephenson's Just Mercy to be our first book.  Great, I thought: I'd heard of the pioneering civil rights attorney's admirable work and was interested in learning more about it.

 

Goodness, do I rue and prize this decision.  Simply put, only five chapters in, this book, Just Mercy: A Story of Justice and Redemption, is both as disturbing and depressing as any book I've ever read (including Viktor' Frankl's Man's Search for Meaning in which he details his experiences in a Nazi concentration camp) and it's also an inspiring testament to the human spirit and a few people's dedication of their lives to the true pursuit of justice in our supposedly modern society.

 

As an educated, successful middle-/upper-middle class Man Of Color, I've mostly been shielded from the vagaries of our criminal justice system, though I, too, have been subjected (wrongly) to a couple of situations in which my life was threatened by officers of the law conceptually sworn to serve and protect me.  This is a reality that our society chooses to ignore: few if any of us Black males are immune to being in the wrong place at the wrong time and thus subject to potentially fatal interactions with police officers.  It doesn't matter that you're educated and law-abiding, it only matters that you're Black.  There are few experiences more sobering in life than to realize that who you are is irrelevant and what you are - determined by circumstances and agents beyond your control and/or the vagaries of fate - is the sum total of your existence at certain moments.

 

So, suffice it to say that I was prepared to accept that many of the stories in the book involved mainly other Men Of Color who were less fortunate in terms of family background, education, life chances, etc.  In sum, I realize that my middle class upbringing and upper-middle class adulthood have helped me 'overcome' many of the challenges to which most other members of my race - and especially members of my gender and race - are subjected in modern America.  In a word, relative to all but a very few Black folks in America, I've had it good.

 

What I was not prepared for was the level of institutional abuse to which so many of our fellow citizens - especially those who are darker and poorer - are subjected.  Make no mistake, this is about race, but it's also about class - which is why it's not a Black or white problem but an American (and, truly, world) one - as we demonize the poor almost as much as we demonize the Other in our society now.

 

At this point, given that Mr. Stephenson's primary focus is on representing condemned ("death row") inmates in Alabama, I think it fair to disclaim my historical view on capital punishment: I've been for it, in (very) limited circumstances.  First, I don't believe that it's acceptable for an individual to take another's life unless his or her own life is clearly and imminently in danger.  Beyond this, if someone proactively takes a life, I believe that he or she should punished severely, preferably via a long prison sentence that holds out the possibility for parole only after several decades at the earliest (if at all).  The only circumstances in which I've been comfortable in allowing imposition of the death penalty have been those in which multiple murders were committed.  Once you've killed several people, it's hard for me to conceptualize that you value others' humanity and thus I'm not totally uncomfortable with you leaving our earthly company.

 

Also, I haven't believed that the mentally ill or handicapped should face the ultimate sanction.  Nor should juveniles (except in the case of multiple pre-meditated murders [as opposed to manslaughter]).  (Though I support voluntary euthanasia of the terminally ill [more out of compassion than by right].)

 

And I'm especially troubled by the realities of race and class when they intersect with the death penalty: simply put, if you're poor you have a much higher chance of facing capital punishment, if you're Black it's even higher and if you're poor and Black it's the highest - and multiple times more likely than your poor, poor and white or, especially, white fellow citizens.  Accordingly, I've been reluctant to support the death penalty - much less its expansion - and, in fact, have tended toward believing that it should be (and become) more limited in its application.

 

Until Just Mercy.  Now I just think that it's wrong, and wrong all of the time....

 

No, I don't want multiple murderers being kept around for decades in our prison system at our expense.  And yet, given the realities of our criminal 'justice' and prison system in America - including our ridiculously high incarceration rate, the expansion of the private, for-profit prison industry and the statistically demonstrable existence of the "cradle to prison pipeline," especially in poor Communities of Color - I actually question whether it's not already "cruel and unusual" in (too) many ways that render it in violation of the very Constitution that gives it its basis.

 

But I can't in good conscience accept what passes for "justice" in our society currently.  Since most folks don't become involved with the criminal justice system in any significant way, they don't realize its pernicious and often perverse quirks ... and thus are quite comfortable not giving the issue much thought or concern.  I can't believe, however, that if they were (more) aware, they could accept it either.

 

Most self-considered 'good people' don't realize that indigent defendants in many jurisdictions in this country face an almost vertical uphill battle to prove themselves innocent and are, in fact, presumed guilty in ways that lead to this becoming a self-fulfilling prophecy far too often.

 

For example, can you imagine being a indigent defendant facing a murder charge in a state court but having little to no legal representation?  I can't either, but it happens all of the time right now.  Do you have enough familiarity with the legal system to defend yourself in such a situation?  Do you think that a few innocent people are victimized by this reality every day in our country?  If so, then you accept that thousands of people each year are put in the unenviable position of having to defend themselves - and their very lives - against a well-oiled, experienced system with which they have little to no experience, right?  How do you think that this turns out for most of them?  So, are all of them really guilty of the crimes of which they've convicted or many of them victims of a system that seeks retribution always and justice occasionally?  Imagine being given a court-appointed lawyer who does little to no research on your case, doesn't mount much of a defense (if any) and then suggests that your best chance is on appeal ... and then recuses him/herself from your case so that you have to seek volunteer appellate attorneys to represent you in this byzantine facet of the process.  Oh, that can't happen much we say to ourselves ... but it's routine in many jurisdictions in our country (especially in the South) and happens all of the time, every day, here and now.  (Many of those on death row currently are truly victims of just such an experience.)

 

To put it too nicely, our criminal justice system is stacked against the poor and innocent Of Color (while too often favoring the rich, guilty and white).  But it's only when we delve into just how stacked against the average poor defendant that we understand that it begins to violate our ideals too regularly to continue.  And when you add in that many of these (supposedly) unintended 'mistakes' are being made in capital cases, you understand that our failure to address this issue has lethal consequences for more than a few of our fellow citizens.  Of course, unless one of these unfortunate souls is known to you, your willingness to accept the fallible humanity of our system is a lot higher, which is where we find ourselves today.

 

What Just Mercy does is to humanize just a few of the myriad such cases and describe the lives and put human faces on those whose fortunes are so destroyed by this inhumane system on the fringes of our society....

 

To be clear, I'm not suggesting that we get rid of our judicial system - we will always need it due to our human fallibility - but I am saying that we need to reform it greatly and far more than most of us realize.  My guess is that the 'comfortable middle' (class) of American society is largely unaware of the problem, existing as it does in peaceful, lawful bliss (and the 'insulated upper' class is unconcerned by virtue of its privileges and resources).  But those who are more urban or more poor or more Black/Brown/etc. have a disproportionately different experience and its to these less fortunate among us that we owe our commitment, too.  So, what I am saying is that we need to inject more justice into our judicial system....

 

What Mr. Stephenson has reminded me and us is that we own the responsibility to insure that President Carter's words ring true for each and every one of our fellow citizens and, ultimately, for each and every one of our fellow human beings.  As, sadly, today and on our own watch, they do not....

 

Requiem for a Friend: A Meditation on the Life of a Maniac....

"Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth

until the hour of separation."

- Khalil Gibran

 

I heard yesterday, when a dear friend and high school Brother-From-Another-Mother FaceBooked me with the news.  And then another of my set called to confirm what I had hoped against hope wasn't true: the first of us had passed on....

 

Carlyle Vincent Smith has shuffled off this mortal coil, to borrow the phrase from the Bard ... and those of us who loved him are lost in grief, struggling to wrap our heads around the extinguishment of a bright but lately distant light in our lives....

 

I've known Carlyle since I was eleven, when he and I were part of what turned out to be a very successful experiment indeed.  The University of Detroit High School - now know as U of D Jesuit High School - had invited sixty boys to become members of the its first Jesuit Academy class.  In part to part to provide spiritual, moral and academic guidance to eager and ambitious young men and in part to stave off its declining enrollment as the realities of post-riot Detroit in the mid-1970s hit it hard, very hard, ninety-eight years into its existence, U of D founded what was in effect a junior high school.  And Carlyle - or C-Lyle, as he was known to us and everybody - was in its inaugural class of seventh graders.  We would graduate from U of D together six years later at the dawn of a new decade and in the process grow from boys to young men and from friends to brothers for life.

 

In fact, Carlyle and I were not only members of U of D's class of 1980, but, together, we were one-quarter of an octet that named itself the Maniacs, an appropriately juvenile sobriquet that these many years later is actually oddly inappropriate for eight inner-city Detroit kids who all graduated from college and have a half-dozen graduate degrees and various other illustrious achievements among them.  Back in the day, we liked to suggest that we were crazy and perhaps a tad dangerous, reflecting as it did at the time the need to posture protectively during that teenage crucible period in our lives, but, actually, we were a pretty straightforward, clean-cut bunch: one of our number was our class valedictorian, another won our school's Leadership Award and half of us captained one or more of U of D's athletic teams (while three of us finished second, third and fourth for the school's scholar-athlete award because, in effect, we split our classmates' votes), etc.  In sum, in six critical, wonderful years together, we grew from boys to young men in whom our parents (and friends) took great pride and from hangin' buddies into life-long friends and brothers....

 

But I saw Carlyle only occasionally in my adult life: the vagaries of fate being what they are, we stayed in touch but only got together a handful of times independent of our sojourn back to U of D every five years for class reunions.  In a phase, we were cool but not close ... and yet when we got together - as happens with all great friends of longstanding - it was as if time had not passed a moment.  Whether it was just a few of us or all of us, when we were in each other's company again we were home, transported back in time to the innocence of our youth when the possibilities of the world shone brightly and lay just ahead of us for the taking.

 

And despite our success, we each struggled.  A few years ago, at one of the lowest points in my life (working and wobbling my way through a protracted and enervating divorce, a simultaneous career transition, etc.), Carlyle came to New York City to celebrate his birthday and I agreed to meet him for a drink.  Though I was really rather depressed and reclusive at the time, I couldn't pass up an opportunity to be in my dear friend's company again, a rare and treasured prospect.  So I drove into the City through rush-hour traffic to experience the type of homecoming that nourishes the soul, sharing three glorious hours with my dear friend as we commiserated about the vagaries of life and celebrated our appreciable but seemingly ephemeral triumphs.  And then he left to hook up with a lady friend for the evening ... and I never saw him again....

 

It was another glorious moment among the string of such restorative and elevating reunions over the years.  In fact, just a year or two before, we had celebrated our 30th high school reunion and managed to get seven of the eight of us back together, having only managed to get all eight of us together on three occasions during those intervening three decades.  (I'll own the fact that I was usually the one missing on the half-dozen or so occasions when we only managed to get seven Maniacs in a room during this time.)  We were - and are - still like brothers, though life has taken us down separate and quite distinct paths.

 

Which is what made my quite reasonable and calm reaction to the news of Carlyle's passing a real puzzle to me yesterday.  Sadly, he was the twelfth friend of mine to die this year - a mystifying, unwelcome and unprecedented experience in my life, to be sure - but, logically, one could posit that I'd developed a sort of unconscious self-protective fortitude based on my recent experience. Yet I was troubled that I wasn't more upset: yes, I was sad, but not as sad as I thought that I should be when a lifelong friend passes on....

 

And then it hit me: awakened involuntarily in the middle of the night - a night, ironically, before a family road trip that necessitates sufficient rest - I realize that I'm mourning my friend deeply and that the delayed reaction was just my body and mind collaborating to protect my soul.  But now that it's loosed, the wound is gaping indeed.  I miss my friend terribly.  I regret that I was not closer to him during what I suspect neither of us realized were his last months and days.  I ache for his family, as now his parents must bury their eldest child.  And I grieve for what will never again be: no more Maniac reunions (like the anticipated one for our upcoming U of D reunion next year), no more deep but just a touch distant conversations with my friend who always seemed to be close but not quite fully accessible in the last decade of his life.  (To put a finer point on it, in recent years, I always felt like there was more to the story that C-Lyle wasn't sharing about his life and his circumstances, a veil that no amount of loving attempts at comfort and support could pierce, which is an experience that other friends have noted as well.)

 

Whatever happened to my friend, I want him to know that I love him still and that his spirit will always live on through me.  I will always try to be just a little bit cooler than I naturally am because of his example, a preternatural sense of self-assurance and nonchalance that made him magnetic to friends and acquaintances alike.  I will always think of that laugh and of that inevitable response of "Walt, maannn, you just don't understand..." when he was trying to set me straight about something or other.  And I will always wonder if there was anything else that I could have done to make his earthly life happier, as the reserve and distance in our relationship in recent years intuitively suggests to me an opportunity lost.

 

May God bless and keep you, C-Lyle, as you're returned to Him from whom you came.  I will treasure the more than four decades of friendship and the myriad hilarious and happy memories with which you gifted me (and everyone who was privileged to know you) in your earthly life and try not to ponder what could have been.  You were always the coolest ... and now the world seems just a little more stark and cold without you.  So the work begins, of keeping your memory alive and aflame in our hearts to steel us for the journey ahead and help us be just that much cooler, like you, as we travel our path....

 

"You can love someone so much.  But you can never love people as much as you can miss them."

- John Green





There's Only We: Keepin' It Real and Clear in Challenging Times....

"We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality,
tied in a single garment of destiny.
Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly."
 

- The Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. 

 

Today, Officer Rafael Ramos is being eulogized and laid to rest.  It's a sad day for us all, but especially for his family and those who were privileged to know him during his earthly life.  And it will be so, too, when we honor the life of Officer Wenjian Liu, his partner.  There are no words that can capture the tragedy of the precipitating event fully, though senseless and inhumane begin to point the way.  The officers' execution a week ago is an horrific reminder of just how inhumane we humans can be sometimes....

 

And yet Ismaayil Brinsley, their killer, is both an afterthought and a symbol.  He's an afterthought because his own self-inflicted death accomplished nothing and perhaps actually made this situation worse, as we will never have the opportunity to try to understand why, specifically, this tragedy occurred.  To be clear, I don't think that we would've gotten a cogent answer from someone who was clearly deranged, but I do think that we may have had an opportunity to understand better both the causes and manifestations of Mr. Brinsley's mental illness so that we can endeavor to prevent them from metastasizing again such a lethal way.

 

Which is why I believe that Mr. Brinsley is also a symbol, in this latest case of our failure as a society to address mental illness effectively and thereby subjecting ourselves to the too often deadly consequences of this choice.  Simply put, better mental healthcare may not have prevented this particular tragedy, but it would be hard to argue that a better system thereof wouldn't reduce the number of such tragedies (and possibly their severity) in a meaningful way.  After Columbine ... Virginia Tech ... Sandy Hook ... the DC Navy Yard ... and now this, can we at least agree that we need to address mental illness in a far more consequential way than we have thus far?

 

(Notice that I used ellipses to allude to the dozens of shooting incidents between the listed tragedies and also that I've left unaddressed the twin issue of gun control as, sadly, I've almost come to accept that we'll never come to any reasonable and meaningful progress on this issue.)

 

Why did all of this happen in the first place?  Proximately, one could posit that a deranged man decided to assassinate two NYPD officers in retribution for Michael Brown in Ferguson and Eric Garner in Staten Island, as the killer is reputed to have claimed before his heinous act.  And yet the reality is that it's happened in the context of a massive, legitimate protest movement in response to these unfortunate - and unpunished - police-involved deaths.  But this has been lost amidst the media's virtually exclusive focus on the NYPD tragedy in the past week.

 

And that's the point: it's hard to believe that it's a coincidence that the focus on addressing police brutality in its most lethal form has been virtually totally lost in favor of the legitimately heart-rending family tragedies of Officers Ramos and Liu.  Again, to be clear, I'm not suggesting that we shouldn't be present for the slain officers' families and NYPD colleagues, we most certainly should be ... and especially so after the glare of the cameras goes away soon after the funerals.  What I am saying is that we owe it to ourselves - and to the slain officers' families - to multitask, which in this case means staying focused on the police lethality issue as well.

 

Sadly, though, this situation has been hijacked because its politicization is virtually complete: I'm still trying to figure out who's more reprehensible, former NYC Mayor Giuliani for trying to blame President Obama for this tragedy - apparently some of us were wrong that there had to be something for which the president couldn't be blamed - or NYC Patrolmen's Benevolent Association President Patrick Lynch's blaming it on current NYC Mayor DiBlasio.  When on earth has any modern-era elected official seen it as a personal, positional and/or societal benefit to encourage and/or endorse the slaughter of innocents?  Only the most craven among us would try to make this an Us vs. Them situation, which, at least for now, is what it seems to have become.

 

But why?  As far as I can tell, don't we all benefit from more effective policing, which, among other things, means less lethal policing (especially in Communities of Color)?  Isn't it better for us all if the police are rightly seen as our supporters, protectors and advocates in the achievement of public safety rather than an occupying force prone to prey on the least of us, especially Black and Brown males?  I couldn't agree more with Jon Stewart of The Daily Show who has presciently suggested (yet again),

 

"You can truly grieve for every officer who's been lost in the line of duty in this country, and still be troubled by cases of police overreach.  The two ideas are not mutually exclusive.  You can have great regard for law enforcement and still want them held to a high standard."

 

This is not an Us vs. Them issue as if those of us in the community are separate and apart from those who are sworn to serve and protect us.  This is an Us issue, period.  Whatever decreases safety in our communities imperils police officers, too, and whatever improves it benefits both citizen and cops.  We truly are in this all together....

 

And yet we're not:  In many communities, where police have acted more like an occupying force, citizens are legitimately wary of them, often beyond the point of suspicion to active distrust.  So, too, within many police forces, the combination of (mostly) living outside of the community being policed and having to deal disproportionately with the dregs of our society leads to a detachment from those ostensibly being served and protected.  These are both underlying causes that deserve more address.

 

In fact, I can't recall the last time that I heard a police official acknowledge a mistake publicly, although, logically, with hundreds of thousands of officers and hundreds (if not thousands) of unfortunate police-community/suspect interactions each year, statistically speaking, some of them have to be mistakes.  With respect to New York City, the names Diallo, Bell and many, many others come to mind.  Are our police leaders beyond accountability (and, even worse, devoid of humanity)?

 

Yet, we have to acknowledge three realities about how we typically interact with the police, especially in communities where the estrangement is greatest:

 

First, we tend to lump them all together rather than treat them as individuals, which, it turns out, is exactly what we ask them to do with respect to us (i.e., "Don't treat me poorly - by profiling me, stopping and frisking me, etc. - because I'm a young Black male; get to know me as an individual," etc.).  We tend to speak of "the police" universally as if each of them is equally responsible for the actions of a (very) few offenders among them (much like we as members of certain groups don't want to be associated with the transgressions of a few members whom we typically don't know or whose behaviors we, too, detest).  Until we're willing to acknowledge them as a collective of individuals, we lump them to our mutual detriment.

 

Second, we (most/too) often choose not to trust the police, more out of allegiance to a misguided communal ethic than because of direct experiences with certain unprofessional (and, possibly, inhumane) members thereof.  Before I keep going, let me acknowledge that in certain (typically urban, poor and violence-infested) neighborhoods, this distrust is earned by the harassment to which many - especially young Black men - are indiscriminately subjected by members of law enforcement.  Driving While Black (DWB) and its unfortunately myriad variations are real and the actual, lived experience of too many (including me, a suburban, upper middle class Black man).  In these situations, I understand the inclination toward mistrust ... but the reality is that most of us - even those of us of Color - don't have this direct negative experience with the police, so we need to change our approach.  We can't have it both ways: we can't choose not to cooperate with the police and then blame them for the level of crime by which we're being victimized and that they, in turn, are receiving little if any help to address.  In fact, the accountability imperative increases in direct proportion to our level of cooperation and collaboration.  If we really want to experience the benefits of public safety, we have to partner meaningfully and constructively with them.  Only in this situation, in which we've provided them the greatest possible cooperation, can we hold them fully accountable for the outcomes that we seek.

 

Third, we must acknowledge the reality of the nature of policing by reflecting deeply on the answer to this question:  When do we call the police?  The answer is, in virtually every situation, when things have gotten out of control and we can't handle it anymore.  Into this morass, we invite the police to dive in and in so doing to resolve it both for our benefit and to our satisfaction.  In short, to be in law enforcement is to be the option of last resort.  Think about this carefully for a moment.  How hard must it be to be involved in situations that are disproportionately out of control and at a minimum confused/confusing and, too often, dangerous (if not potentially lethal)?  Let's face it, very few jobs are as difficult as being a policeman or policewoman.  Which doesn't mean that we condone their misbehavior, just that we must understand the conditions that can give rise to it amongst the less skilled or principled members of law enforcement.  Yes, police officers should know what they're getting into when they sign up for the job, but, so, too, we should acknowledge how difficult the job is that we're asking them to do.

 

If, all day every day, almost exclusively, you were asked to address nothing but problems - some of which could be quite dangerous for you personally - how do you think that you'd do?  Do you think that you might eventually begin to build up a psychic armor to protect yourself from this virtually constant negativity?  Do you think that you might tend to be more suspicious than the average person?  Which, again, isn't to say that we should allow police malfeasance, just that we need to appreciate the circumstances that can and too often do give rise to it.  We need to be compassionate enough to understand why the police often don't trust us while we also hold them accountable to acting conscientiously and professionally.

 

Which is what this is really about: we need to continue to honor those who serve and protect us - especially in life but also in death - while we continue to expect and hold them accountable to being compassionate, constructive and equitable in their service and protection.  We want the police to be protected, too, as we are, but this doesn't mean that they're allowed to violate our rights in doing so.  The Golden Rule applies still: the police don't want to be targeted so they should respect that we don't want to be, either.  And when outcomes are disproportionate, they must own and address them in collaboration with us, especially deftly and humanely in the segments of the community that are most and most often disadvantaged by their actions.  After all, we are all safest when the police are our partners, when we're safe and they're safe, when we are we and they are, too....

 

So, please consider this: isn't the best way to honor the lives of Officers Ramos and Liu (and all of those who've made the ultimate sacrifice in our service) to strive to have their legacy be that more of their fellow are like them?  They're being lauded as exemplary officers and people, so why not work together to insure that we can say this about everyone who has the opportunity to protect and serve?  And should a few members of law enforcement misbehave, let's commit to treating these unfortunate situations for what the are: aberrations by individuals that shouldn't be excused but understood and improved upon by the collective (which is admittedly supremely hard to do in the worst/most lethal of these instances).

 

In the end, there's no winning a war against the police or gain in conceiving of and acting as if this is an Us vs. Them situation.  The only victory is in seeing this as a We situation and working together accordingly.  Just like there are a few aberrant members in every family, in our communal family there are misbehavers who're civilians and those who're cops.  We all lose if we demonize either or both groups.  Our only solution is to extend the compassion and understanding that we'd want in situations involving a close relative to our more distant fellows, be they citizens or constables.  Our only solution is We, even - or perhaps especially - in situations when we may be deeply hurt by our fellows and our anger is authentic/right but not effective if expressed inappropriately.

 

Young Mr. Brinsley was angry (in addition to being deluded), but this didn't justify his heinous actions.  So, too, with the pack of officers - one of whom clearly applied a prohibited choke hold  - who wrestled Eric Garner to ground and, sadly, to his death (despite his protestations that he couldn't breathe).  None of us can breathe when we lose our humanity completely ... and, increasingly, our nerves frayed by too many tragic occurrences, it's hard for us to do so when we lose it even a little.

If we expect our police brothers and sisters to behave more responsibly and humanely in their service, especially with members of our communal family who may not look like them and live differently than they do, then we have to help them do so.  When we choose not to trust, then we can't demand trust in return.  Only by acknowledging our interrelation, however costly, can we live in harmony and peace.  Only if we truly live in alignment with the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King's memorable words quoted above can we all be protected and served.  Only if there's We will there be life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness for all in our land....
 

Merry Christmas, Jimmy: Reflections on and Prayers for the Season....

And the king will answer them,

‘Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these

who are members of my family,

you did it to me.’

- Matthew 25:40 (NRSV)

Supposedly at the holiday season, we take time to reflect on and appreciate our blessings.  One way that we express this is to share gifts with those we like and love.  In fact, one of the laments of our age is that this gift-giving - reminiscent, for Christians, of the Ultimate Gift, God's sharing of His only begotten Son, born this day - is that it's been transformed into a time of rampant consumption and materialism virtually (if not totally) devoid of its seminal purpose.  And yet, at any time and moment, we can change, we can choose to return to the purpose of this Christmas celebration: honoring the birth of Hope in human form.

 

Even those who are not believers or Christians can identify with this purpose: grateful reflection on the past accompanied by hopeful anticipation of the future.  And it's in this universal spirit that I write today, to reflect on the meaning of this season, in this case through the lens of my relationship with a man named Jimmy.

 

Actually, I'm not 100% sure that his name really is Jimmy, but I've overheard others calling him that, so I've done so, too, and he's never corrected me (whether out of politeness or some other motivation).  What I do know is that Jimmy is homeless and that I often see him on 34th Street on my way to and from Penn Station.

 

Of course, on any given day, one will encounter any number of homeless people on the streets of New York City, many of whom are begging for anything that passersby would care to share.  In my recent experience, this seems to average about one such person per block.  What makes Jimmy just like his peers is that he sits inconspicuously in front of a shuttered storefront with a small sign requesting donations.  But what makes him stand out is that he has a companion, a small, tattered black, white and grey dog whose name I don't know (or, at least, remember).  I've often asked myself what it means about me (and my character) that the primary reason that I noticed him was because of the dog.  When I am totally honest with myself, much to my dismay, I suspect that this is so and it pains me.  Most of his peers I don't recognize, but Jimmy I do, virtually exclusively because of his companion.

 

At least that was the case until one interaction about a month ago that literally rocked my world:  I've made it a habit to donate a dollar to Jimmy each time I pass him and, most importantly while doing so, to acknowledge him/his humanity.  (Certainly being homeless is a stressful life, but often even more painful is the reality that to so/too many of their fellow humans, these least among us are often effectively invisible or, if noticed at all, treated inhumanely/as 'less than.')  One morning just before Thanksgiving, I decided to increase my gift in the spirit of the season and slipped him a five-dollar bill.  He didn't seem to acknowledge the significantly increased donation, responding graciously and appreciatively as usual, but what he said almost stopped me in my tracks.  When I wished him a Happy Thanksgiving and implored "God bless you, brother," he answered confidently and louder than usual that...

 

"He does, every day, and I appreciate it!"

 

I smiled, said "That's great!" and kept walking ... for a few steps at least until it hit me: What?!?  Did a homeless guy just say to me that he feels blessed by God every day?!?  Did I hear that right, that a guy who has nothing and is living on the cold, hard streets of New York City and depends on the kindness of strangers to live feels blessed by God ... and, even more, every day?!?  At this point, I think that I actually stopped walking, as I remember being jostled by several fellow pedestrians, which I assume was as a result of my being lost in befuddlement....

 

I realize now that I was dealing with a thunderbolt to my worldview: as is so often the case in my experience, we meet God in the most unexpected of places ... and for me, on that day, it was in the person of Jimmy.

 

As I regained my equilibrium and began again to my destination, I couldn't stop thinking about what I'd just heard and witnessed (in the truest sense of this word).  And, soon, it - the lesson - came to me:  If Jimmy can feel blessed by God every day, what on earth do I have to complain about/how can I not feel even more blessed and grateful every moment of every day?!?

 

The next time I saw Jimmy, I thanked him for sharing something of great importance with me and, graciously as he accepted that day's donation, he looked up quizzically and said cheerfully, "You're welcome!"  I was just about to explain when I decided on what I thought might be a better course, to wish God's blessings on him again, which then elicited the same response as before.  "Thanks for that lesson, Jimmy!" I said as I walked on feeling renewed and supremely grateful.  "You're welcome!" he again intoned cheerfully as I left and he welcomed his next benefactor.

 

As the Christmas holiday approached, I promised myself that I would stop and talk at greater length with Jimmy when I saw him to learn more about this kind soul whose honest, happy sharing had helped me gain a much better perspective on the vagaries and blessings of my life.  Alas, the several days that I passed his usual spot, he and his companion weren't there.  My heart sank a little bit each time.  I had hoped that in exchange for a little insight into his worldview, I might be able to share a greater kindness, perhaps a larger donation or even the offer of a hot meal in a warm place.  But this was not to be....

 

I come into Christmas this year greatly benefited by my association with Jimmy but as yet unable to share my gratitude with/express my gratitude to him.  So I share it in this blog and hope that somehow, wherever he is on this thankfully more temperate Christmas Day, he'll know that someone is wishing him well and appreciative of him.  And when I see him, of course, I intend to express this fully.

 

Until then, I share with you what Jimmy taught and returned to me: that happiness and fulfillment are a function of one's perspective and, especially, of one's gratitude; that God's abundance is ever present if we choose to be aware of and appreciate it; and that the real giver in our relationship was not me....

 

As I shared with my spiritual brothers at the Men's Breakfast at my church later that week, Jimmy gifted me with one of those life-altering moments of clarity that haunt, illumine and elevate.  If he can feel so blessed, then surely I should (and, by extension, my troubles should be a distant, secondary consideration).

 

And, for the most part, I have been more aware of and appreciative for my blessings and less concerned by my inevitable and ceaseless challenges.  To put a finer point on it, like Jay Z, I got 99 problems - as do we all - but I'm more focused on the reality of my too-innumerable-to-count blessings.  And since Jimmy's gift of perspective, my challenges haven't lessened in number or magnitude, but my appreciation for the context in which I live - and especially the far more voluminous and meaningful extent of my God-given blessings - has certainly grown greatly.

 

Like so many, I was caught in the daily grind and more attuned to the challenges than the gifts.  But now I'm giddily humbled by the abundance in my life and appropriately but not overly concerned with my burdens, which is as it should be.  In sum, this Christmas, I'm truly in the Spirit of the Season, largely thanks to Jimmy.

 

So, Jimmy, my Brother, wherever you are tonight, I hope that you're feeling blessed and know that I realize just how blessed I am, especially by the gift of you in my life.  And I'm most appreciative for your kindness not to point out that, distracted and misperceiving as I was, I was the one who, though I thought I was sharing God with you, was actually meeting Him/Her/It in you.  Thank you for this gift of life, Jimmy. I hope to share something of such profound meaning with you someday.  Until then, I'll keep appreciating my myriad blessings and keep paying them forward in your honor at Christmas and every day.

 

What if God was one of us, indeed.  Just a stranger on a bus, as Joan Osborne sang a few years ago.  Or, in my case, a homeless but generous soul named Jimmy....