Avoiding The Bitterest Of Tears....

Our lives are defined by opportunities,

even the ones we miss.

- Eric Roth,

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button (Screenplay)

 

Earlier today, I got off the phone with the wife of a dear friend of mine quite shaken.  It turns out that he'd had a serious health challenge - one that was potentially fatal - and, thankfully, is now recovering nicely after multiple surgeries.  I was shaken because my heart ached for these two wonderful soulmates and their family and other friends, who were facing the real possibility of grave loss and now the modest relief of a long period of recuperation and convalescence.  I was grateful for my friend and his wife that they have many other friends who've stepped into the breach to support them and was reminded yet again by this near-miss, this almost tragedy, that life is simply too short to miss opportunities.

 

For those of you who've read this blog over the past fourteen months or so, you've read several times of my sense of loss, of the pain of losing treasured friends from whom I had drifted too far away in life and thus could no longer recover our intimacy.  To put a fine point on it, I've had 13 friends die in a period of just 13 months!  I am stunned to write this as the pain returns anew, due both to my sense of loss and to my sense of sorrow for the departed and the other lives in which their absence is so acutely felt.  In each one of these sad cases, one theme threads consistently through: they were people who were dear to me but insufficiently near to me, loved and admired ones whom I wanted to know more intimately but with whom I never got - which actually means, damningly, "made" - the time.  In other words, these relationships and memories will forever be tinged with regret as I am reminded that I had let us drift too far away in life and now will forever be prevented from righting this mistake in death.

 

At mid-life, I never expected to experience anything like this, this too large sense of loss.  Some part of this is actually the result of a fortunate, dual gift: I have lived a reasonably long time and had the privilege to have my life touched and elevated by the presence of many good people.  The downside of this blessing is that it's very difficult to keep in close touch with so many of them ... and then when they leave you too soon it's even more difficult to accept that they're gone.  I can't help but think, Lord forgive me, that there are so many a--holes who live on seemingly forever (or at least a really, really long time) and yet so many good, kind souls leave us far too soon ... physically, at least.

 

But this leads to another lesson that I've learned in mid-life, in large part due to the too early departures of my parents and now reinforced by the too numerous early departures of esteemed friends: after the pain of loss, a paradox can occur.  Because they are no longer with me physically, I am forced to remember - and continue to treasure - my parents mentally, emotionally and spiritually.  So, too, now with (too) many of my friends.  I see the imprint of their spirits in my life constantly, as current events trigger memories of past ones that are almost exclusively happy ... and they live on in my heart and soul as they once did in my experience physically.

 

To out a finer point on it, ironically, I find myself closer to my parents in death than I was in the last years of their respective lives.  Now, they are constantly on my mind because I hear the echoes of their love as it plays forward into the circumstances of my life ... whereas during their final years, months and weeks on the planet, I was busy living a too full life and they were trying not to interfere and 'distract' me with their struggles both physical and spiritual.  (In hindsight, of course, I wish that they had so 'burdened' me, as my mother once described it, but this was their choice, not mine.  What I didn't realize then but appreciate fully and painfully now is that my choice could and should have been to seek out this gift of a burden, as it was a harbinger of the closing of a beautiful and supremely meaningful chapter of my life that could have been all the more significantly and indelibly enhanced had I anticipated and used more effectively the time before its end.)  Simply put, not a day goes by when something that my mother and/or father said to me or experienced with me plays out in an identical or similar way in my life - especially with my family - and I feel them with me anew.  They will never die, I believe, because they'll continue to live on through me and, after I slip this mortal coil, in the wisdom and love that I've paid forward in my earthly life.

 

So, too, it's beginning to be with my departed friends, who range in age from 60 (i.e., not that old) to eight (i.e., way too young).  The vagaries of life bring them back to me frequently, and they are often more powerfully present with me now in memory than they were during their earthly lives when we took each other for granted but didn't realize that we were doing so (while also assuming that there would be future time together to 'catch up' and maintain a more meaningful intimacy).  This memorial presence is indeed a meaningful one to be cherished ... but it pales by comparison to the temporal gift of life and the spontaneous beauty, wonder and meaning that it offers in fully lived and savored experience.

 

Which brings me back to my almost-departed friend:  He's recovering after some serious surgeries, so I won't be visiting him now (at least until he's physically able to benefit from such an experience).  But I am grateful for this 'second chance' during our physical lives.  He's yet another of those people whose role in my life is more meaningful than he probably knows and therefore that he's more treasured and appreciated than he knows (which also means "more than I've said").  And his beloved wife of more than three decades is a beautiful soul in her own right, one of those people with whom you just can't help but feel happier and uplifted by being in her orbit.  After visiting him and them during his convalescence, I've made a promise to myself to invest some quality time with them periodically.  I would like them to get to know my new wife and for her to get to know me even better by befriending those whom I hold dear.

 

And, too, I would like to learn from the past and this present circumstance and go forward differently and better.  I hope that this second chance leads to a better, more fulfilled experience for us all: for my friend and his wife, because they will know how much I truly esteem and care for them, and for myself (and my wife) because I will have used this ultimate of God's gifts, my time here on earth, more meaningfully and, thus, immortally....

 

The bitterest tears shed over graves are for words left unsaid and deeds left undone.

- Harriet Beecher Stowe, Little Foxes:

Or, the Insignificant Little Habits Which Mar Domestic Happiness

 

A Thousand Winds....

Do not stand at my grave and weep.

I am not there.

I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow.

I am a diamond glint on snow.

I am the sunlight on ripened grain.

I am the autumn rain.

When  you awake in the morning hush,

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of birds circling in flight.

Do not stand at my grave and weep.

I am not there.

I do not sleep.

- Mary Elizabeth Frye



Today I attended the memorial service for the wife of a dear friend, one of those friends whom you hold in high esteem and yet never quite seem to have or find the time to get as close to as you would like.  I knew his wife socially but can't recall more than a few brief conversations.  But I wasn't surprised to learn that she was an incredible, multi-faceted, deep and kind person today (or that she was a beloved colleague, friend, family member, mother and wife/soulmate).  Turns out that she was just as unusual and outstanding a person as her husband ... and perhaps even more so....

When I arrived, I chose to sit next to another friend (among many) whom I hold in high esteem and with whom I am not as close as I would like to be.  It turns out that he had been asked to share a tribute, about which he was nervous and clearly emotional.  I had no idea that he knew my other friends and - glibly, it turned out - assured him that he - and it, the experience of delivering the heartfelt tribute - would be fine.  It further turns out that he and my friend's wife had been colleagues and close collaborators and friends.  (This is one of the delicious ironies of life that I've come to appreciate much more in middle age: that just when you think that you know something or someone, it turns out that you've barely scratched the surface.)

When I arrived, he was clearly in a sad and morose mood, and as we began to talk - about subjects unrelated to the present situation - this improved immeasurably.  He thanked me for this and I was touched and honored to be able to support him in what was clearly a difficult moment.  Then he honored me in an even greater way by asking me to assist him by backing him up: in case he was overcome during his tribute, he asked me to step in and finish reading it.  I was touched and honored even more deeply.

In a word, his tribute was wonderful.  It was respectful, filled with admiration, at times funny and at others pained (and painful).  A clear, multi-faceted and impressive picture of my friend's wife sprang into view and, for many of us, helped us to draw closer to her in death in a way that we wished we had experienced in her lifetime.  And my friend the eulogizer made it through despite a few moments of emotion from which he had to retreat briefly.  As he exited the stage, I congratulated him on his fine remarks, hugged him to calm and heal him and he exited quickly via a side door.

After a couple of minutes when he didn't return, I went to find him ... and he had been overcome: his dear friend's death had indeed hit him hard and he was sobbing deeply.  I comforted him briefly and walked around the corner to stay available should he need me.  When he appeared a few minutes later he was better composed and appreciative of my presence.  And then it hit me....

I - and many of us, I suspect - live with regrets every day, many more than I would like.  Among the most affecting of these in recent years is the regret engendered by the death of friends to whom I was insufficiently close and whose passing wounded by reminding me of the missed opportunity during their lifetime.

But in this moment, I was experiencing life at its most transcendent and meaningful: I was 'there' for a friend, one to whom I hope to be closer in the future, but, more importantly, one for whom I was present when I needed to be at that very moment.  And I appreciated the opportunity.  In profound and ennobling clarity, I was indeed present and in the moment, fully alive, loving wastefully (or, at least, honestly and altruistically) and being all that I can be (which, in this situation, meant being an empathetic and compassionate friend).

So as I struggle with the regret of not being able to live fully, love wastefully and be all that I can be in every moment, it hit me: sometimes, life is fully lived by achieving moments/glimpses/flashes of this eternity in the midst of the temporal.  At that moment - and perhaps only for a shining moment - I was living as I hope to and I felt my humanity fully.  It was a moment, yes, but also a harbinger: the more that I dare to be present, the greater the possibility that I'll be able to reach my higher self ... at this point, it seems, in response to another's need but eventually, hopefully, on command/proactively in alignment with my vision for my life.

Which brings me back to the purpose of that day, to reflect on the life and legacy of a friend.  And as I reflected on the poem in her memorial program, Mary Elizabeth Frye's A Thousand Winds, I had another revelation: this is how I've come to see immortality.  I no longer believe in the cloud-filled heaven about which I was taught as a child but I do still believe in (a kind of) immortality.  And I believe that the Kingdom of God about which Jesus Christ spoke can be and is a present-world reality (too).  I believe that we experience the eternal, the timeless in the midst of life/in the time-bound, from time to time to time (or, perhaps if we're particularly evolved, regularly) ... as I did at the memorial service earlier today.

I believe that my parents and grandparents are immortal because they are always with me in my mind and heart ... and so they are with my wife and my children and stepchildren and my family and friends and all with whom I interact.  I've passed them and the myriad lessons that they taught me on in innumerable interactions and ways.  They are an important and meaningful part of me ... and so their influence and impact is an important and meaningful part of mine....

I believe that I'll be immortal in this way, too: in the influence that I've had on the lives that I've been privileged to touch during my earthly life.  And maybe that influence/presence attenuates over time, but it's there, just like I'm ever mindful of my parents and grandparents and all the others who've touched me so indelibly in my life and am passing on these gifts in my interactions every day.

So, indeed, even though I don't wish to be buried after my earthly life, no one should stand at my metaphorical grave and weep, because I won't be there, either.  I'll be alive in the hearts and memories of those I've touched, in those transcendent moments when they experience the eternal in the midst of the temporal in some way that I've influenced, in whatever they hold sacred that relates in whatever small way to me.  And I'm OK with this: it seems better than a cloudy heaven to me....

And now my dear friend's wife will live on in me more meaningfully, too:  In part because of who she was, especially as described by those who had the privilege to know her better than I.  In part because of whom she touched in her earthly life who've now touched me more meaningfully (and, in once case, indelibly).  And in part because of the experience of the eternal with which I was gifted while celebrating others' timeless experiences of her.

And that's the funny thing about the timeless in my experience: it can come in the most unexpected and sublime ways and at the most unexpected and sublime times.  Earlier today I went to pay my respects to the dead and to support the living and ended up living timelessly for a glorious moment.  I'm not clear as I'd like to be about how I can get closer to living that way more consistently, but I am clear that the serendipitous opportunities to do so that I've experienced happen more often when I engage fully with life rather than shrink from it, when I offer and share myself openly and honestly rather than retreat and protect myself and when I honor and engage the humanity of others and in so doing find my own....

Gratitude bestows reverence, allowing us to encounter everyday epiphanies, those transcendent moments of awe that change forever how we experience life and the world.

- John Milton

We All See God Differently ... And Yet We Are All Children of God....

What you see and hear depends a good deal

on where you are standing; it also depends

on what sort of person you are.

- C.S. Lewis, The Magician's Nephew

Often, my priest, Rev. John Mennell, will ask a simple question when folks are gathered in some worthwhile pursuit at our church.  "Where have you seen God lately/this week?"  Invariably, in response to this simple inquiry, I will be flooded with recent intimations of the Divine, as I was recently on a retreat with members of the Men's Group at my church, at the most recent meeting of the group at church yesterday morning and, last night, at a dinner with several members of my church.  In each of these varied settings, I felt a sense of the Eternal in the temporal, the Kingdom in the here and now, which, for me, is how I experience God at this point in my life.

 

The House of Antioch, as the group of members of our church who meet regularly for a meal, fellowship and friendship is called, is a diverse group.  Most of us are "8 O'Clockers," members who attend the earlier, music-less, more contemplative service at that time.  The others attend the traditional, choral service at 10am and one of that cohort is a former Senior Warden - in effect, the Chairperson of our Vestry/governing board - though you would never know it from her unassuming demeanor.  Those of us who attend the early service are a varied group, too: one couple is retired and joined the church several years ago upon returning to live in town; another is a practicing attorney whose faith journey is welcomed and supported in our progressive, open church environment; and my wife and I are the final couple in this cohort, her a five-year member who joined at my suggestion before we became a couple and me a 25-year member who's now active in numerous church "ministries," including its Spiritual Enrichment effort.

 

Before we were selected to join the House of Antioch - in the context of an effort to have church members gather outside of worship services to get to know each other better in informal settings - for the most part we knew each other, but not well.  Suffice it to say that after only two dinners, this has changed - we are getting to know each other quite well - and this experience is one of the cherished ways that I have seen (read = experienced) God lately.

 

At last night's dinner, after some 'secular' discussion about various topics - including the often taxing demands that professions make on those who pursue them and, especially, on their families - we began to speak about matters spiritual.  Eventually the discussion turned to how we see God, spurred, in part, by a recounting of the unique perspective of our former Bishop, the Rev. John Shelby Spong, on the subject.  What ensued was a robust, multi-faceted reflection on the Divine, replete with perspectives as diverse as the members of our group.  It was an elevating, Spirit-filled exchange from which we all benefited, and in and after it I perceived the presence of God.

 

As we shared openly about how we perceive Him/Her/It, there were an honesty and stepping beyond vulnerability that was palpable, as was a clear respect for each other's contributions to our collective exploration.  In this supportive environment, doubts were shared openly and challenging questions were put to the members of the group.  (One of my favorite of the latter occurred when one member, a retired CEO and lifelong [or "cradle"] Episcopalian, proffered energetically in response to another member's idiosyncratic perspective on God, "Isn't that just an glorified form of Humanism?")  In sum, for more than an hour on what became a long but uniquely satisfying evening, our group groped, shared flashes of inspiration, questioned and wrestled with our perceptions of the Divine, what it means to be a Christian and/or Episcopalian and how we each see God a little differently.  It was truly a wonderful, illuminating experience ... and, for me, a profoundly meaningful God-experience.

 

Among the propositions with which we wrestled was Bishop Spong's belief that we are called by God to live fully, love wastefully and be all that we can be, which echoes the sentiments of the second century bishop St. Iraneus of Lyons who perceived that the Glory of God is man - now more inclusively phrased as "the human person" - fully alive.  What struck me was how the group engaged on this passionately, especially how it relates to our Patron, Jesus Christ, what it means to be a Christian in the 21st century and how this compares to and contrasts with other religions/belief systems.  Some members felt that it captured this calling well and others wanted more.  In other words, there was a healthy - I think - diversity in how we see and experience God....

 

So, today, as I made my way through modern theological sage Karen Armstrong's latest book, I was struck by similar themes revealed in an exploration of the development of Jainism and Buddhism.  The Jains' patron was Vardhamana Jnatraputra, reverently called Mahavira by his followers.  For him, Ms. Armstrong notes, "the only way to achieve liberation (moksha) was to cultivate an attitude of friendliness toward everyone and everything.  Here, as in the Upanishads, we encounter the requirement found in many great world traditions that it is not enough to confine our benevolence to our own people or to those we find congenial; this partiality must be replaced by a practically expressed empathy for everybody, without exception."  (The Upanishads are a collection of foundational Hindu texts dating, scholars believe, from before the 6th century BCE to the beginning of the Common Era.)

 

Ms. Armstrong continues that "Jains, like Upanishadic sages, taught their disciples to recognize their community with all others and relinquish the preoccupation with 'us' and 'them' that made fighting and structural oppression impossible. ... Jain meditation consisted simply of a rigorous suppression of all antagonistic thoughts and a conscious effort to fill the mind with affection for all creatures.  The result was samayika ('equanimity'), a profound, life-changing realization that all creatures were equal."

 

Then, when examining the founding of Buddhism, the author observes that "The Buddha's enlightenment was to live for others.  Unlike other renouncers, who retreated from human society, Buddhist monks were commanded to return to the world to help others find release from pain."

 

Comparing the two belief systems, Ms. Armstrong concludes that "Buddhists and Jains were self-made men, reconstructing themselves at a profound psychological level to model a more empathic humanity."  (Emphasis mine.)  Sounds a lot like loving wastefully to me....

 

And that's the point, as we struggled to comprehend and synthesize in our group last night and, indeed, as believers of good will the world over seek to do, it would appear that there are common themes running through our different ways of seeing God, be they individual or collective.  One of them is this principle of Universal Benevolence, that we are called by our Source to be loving in our conduct to our fellow man/humans, irrespective of their religious or other affiliations.  In essence, then, we are called to remember always that we are Children of God first and to honor this inner divinity in our interactions with each other.  Another way to say this is that we are called to love each other as God loves us, unconditionally, without discrimination for the receiver or concern for reciprocation ... indeed, wastefully....

 

So, for me for example, this makes the "marriage equality" and other issues pertaining to affirming and celebrating the humanity of our LGBT brothers and sisters quite simple: they are Children of God first and foremost and thus deserve to be treated lovingly and supported in every way that those of us who are not LGBT want to be.

 

So, too, with respect to the less fortunate among us: they are Children of God first and foremost and thus deserve to be treated lovingly and supported in every way that those of us who are more fortunate wish to be.

 

Also with respect to those who are different from us: they are children of God first and foremost and thus deserve to be treated lovingly and supported in every way that those of us who are not "the Other" want to be (because there is no 'us or them,' only us, Children of God...).

 

And ... well, you get the picture....

 

So, to sum it all up, as I experienced exhilaratingly with my fellow members of the members of the Men's Group both on retreat and not, with my fellow members of the House of Antioch last night and in the pages of Karen Armstrong's latest piercingly insightful book today, we all see God differently, in idiosyncratic ways that both reflect and celebrate the diversity in which He/She/It created us.  Yet we are all Children of God, endowed by our Creator with abundant and yet different gifts and lives.  May we ever recognize this, that beyond being human we are something even greater - of God - and live accordingly ... which for me, means a continuing but joyful struggle to live fully, love wastefully and be all that my/our Source created me to be and, in so doing, to support my fellow Children of God humbly and gratefully as they do so, too....

 

In closing, a sincere thank you to those of you along my path who've helped me in ways large and small, intentional and accidental, to come closer to understanding the ineffable mystery of the Divine.  Please know that I see and appreciate you both as God's gifts and as proof of His/Her/Its profound, enriching and indelible presence in our world....

 

You must ever act in consciousness of your divinity and recognize in each being a brother, a Child of God.  The whole world is one family.

- Sri Sathya Sai Baba

 

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....