"Je suis . . ."

       The story, unfortunately, is becoming all too familiar.  Some young person or persons, usually male, decide to act on a set of beliefs that require (or at least give permission for) some heinous event. The Charlie Hebdo horror is just the latest in a long litany.  One of the things that differentiates this particular tragedy from others is that one of the terrorists, an 18-year-old named Mourad Hamyd, surrendered to authorities. Had he not, he probably would have suffered the same fate as his fellow-terrorists did this morning (Friday, 1/9) -- dying during an assault by French police on their hide-out.
       Over the last few days, as the global media has (rightfully) given major coverage to this story, I've not heard a lot about Hamyd.  Yesterday (or was it Wednesday?), however, an interview about him on National Public Radio could have been lifted from some previous stories about individual terrorists -- both domestic and foreign.  The interviewee (through an interpreter) couldn't understand what had happened to Hamyd.  "Yes, he was a kind of "lost soul" who had become captivated by a extremist preacher.  But to go to this length?  That wasn't like him."
       How many times have we heard about "loners", or those who "don't fit in", finding their sense of meaning, or belonging, in a group/community that stands outside the mainstream -- perhaps to the extreme?  One of the (almost) universal characteristics of all humans is that we want an identity -- a name. We want that identity confirmed by others. We want to be known. When those most regularly around us don't provide that, then we look to find other communities that will provide what we find missing . . . even if those "communities" may ultimately be harmful to us.
       I have no intention of "excusing the perpetrators" in these kinds of situations, or turning them into victims.  I only want to consider the issue of how much the rest of us do to include those who are not like us, or who have trouble "fitting in"?  When faced with other-abledness, or a different language, or different skin color, or different religious or political persuasion, or [fill in the blank], do we immediately "write them off" and consign them to their "fate" (which, of course, may not be a good for the body politic)? Or do we try to engage, to understand -- not necessarily in order to persuade -- but simply to give them the voice they deserve as another human being, to hear their frustrations and hopes, their longings, their humanity. Perhaps, then, we can help them find a place where they can stand, if not with us, at least not against us.
       We all want to say "Je suis . . ."  And we all want others to hear and affirm that, indeed, we are.  A little compassion can go a long way.

Blessings,

Gary

Look both ways . . .

      The Roman god Janus (pictured above) is "the god of beginnings and transitions, and thereby of gates, doors, doorways, passages and endings."*  Whether or not the month of January was actually named for him is less important than the suggestion that, at any major moment, there were precursors to the moment, and consequences following it. And, so, it is not surprising that, as one year winds down and another begins that pundits and commentators in a variety of disciplines look back at the year past.  We've seen lists of the most important news stories, the most popular films, the best cute cat videos, etc., of 2014.   A couple of the religious news podcasts I favor always address the most significant religious news stories or news-makers of the year; one seeks to identify the most under-reported stories.  And they look ahead to see what MIGHT be important in the year to come.  What I often find missing in ALL of these year-end stories--regardless of source--is some analysis of what we have learned from the reported-on events.
        I started thinking about this when, this past week, I finally watched the movie "The Monuments Men" -- about a team of art historian/soldiers who were tasked with the job of recovering as much as possible of the art stolen by the Nazis in their marches through Europe.  A scene early in the movie shows a discussion between some senior officers debating whether or not it is worth the cost and risk of sending men to find "art".  The suggestion was that such art was old, and/or irrelevant.  Fortunately, wiser heads prevailed and Bill Murray, John Goodman, George Clooney, Matt Damon, Hugh Bonneville and Cate Blanchett were sent on their way!  The "wiser heads" made it clear that there were lessons in the art -- there were lessons in the past -- that made it definitely worth preserving.
        Even more food for thought came from an article about a school in Oakland, CA, where a special education teacher started reclaiming "waste" land on the school property as a teaching tool for her students.  They pulled weeds, recognizing that they were uninvited guests -- the whole process eventually revitalizing the whole school (and neighborhood).  What struck me in the story was her statement: "When you remove something negative in your life, you need to replace it with something positive. I have some perennials and fruit trees we could put here."  The perennials and fruit trees were put in, as well as playground educational art!
       Art -- even what might be called "bad" art -- represents some part of human experience and longing that is worth saving and pondering.  Personally, for example, I don't "get" Rothko, but I can't stop thinking about those huge panels of color.  Or, when we look back at the year(s) past, what are the "weeds", the uninvited guests that we are better off removing or forgetting?  But, equally important, with what do we replace them?  I believe that every experience, every encounter, is an opportunity for bringing forth new life.  Observing is one thing; recognizing a teaching is another.  One simply looks back; the other looks both ways.
       May our new year be full of wonder and learning!

Blessings,

Gary

* http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Janus  'Tis kind of fun to see all the various rites and rituals connected with Janus!

Quiet, please!

      At the end of September our area was blasted by a VERY heavy hail-storm.  My wife was on her way to pick up the kids from school, and the hail was so bad she said that folks were stopping in the middle of the road.  She was able to pull into a parking lot and wait the storm out.  We're waiting to see whether or not our insurance will cover replacing most of the body panels on that car!  Our roof (old cedar shakes) was a mess, as were most of those in our neighborhood.  Roof replacement was in the cards!
      Last Saturday a small army of workers climbed ladders and started tearing off the shakes.  It did NOT make for a calm Saturday.  There was the noise of the shake-removal, the worker's radio (a VERY different station than I would have normally picked!), and the sound of debris hitting the truck.  When the sun finally went down, quiet was restored. What a relief! It remained quiet for several days, as we had snow on the roof.  But mid-week they were back, this time to put down the new shingles. BANG, BANG, BANG!  BANG, BANG, BANG! I'm hopeful that, today, when I get home, the roof is DONE!
      I am not really complaining, as I'm happy that we will have a new roof, providing better protection than its predecessor!  But I was struck by the contrast between the noise of the work and the silence.  I had grown slightly accustomed to the racket.  The silence, while a relief, was almost deafening.  I realized I was breathing differently.
      In a few days, like several other companies and institutions, the University of Denver will close for the last five business days of the year.  The noise, both literal and figurative, of our work will cease.  It's place, for many of us, will be taken by the hustle and bustle of holiday gatherings, noisy New Year's celebrations, intrusive holiday music in the stores, etc.  Quiet, please!
      Yet, at the same time, we will be surrounded by opportunities to find quiet and solitude.  Those of us who live in areas that are subject to snowfall all probably know how quiet even the busiest neighborhood becomes once it's blanketed by snow.  And heading into a park, or up into the mountains, just makes the quiet that much deeper.  I know I'll be heading out of the neighborhood to find that quiet, to be renewed, to take the opportunity to breathe differently.
      May we all find some of the quiet holiday blessings the season affords.
Blessings,

Gary

Wildly inaccurate

 

    "You are wildly inaccurate with your self-evaluation."  So begins Mary Hynes' interview with scholar/blogger/author David McRaney.*  Ms. Hynes was not accusing Mr. McRaney of anything, but, rather, summarizing some of his work . . . which, of course they discuss over the course of the interview.  The first part of the interview focuses on our common tendency to, and benefits of, self-delusion.  McRaney even argues that "People who are brutally honest with themselves are not as happy day-to-day as people with unrealistic assumptions about their abilities."  
       I listened to this interview earlier this week.  And my listening to it was done in the midst of the news of the two grand jury decisions NOT to indict police officers in the deaths of two black men.  In addition I was also a member of a committee planning a division-wide workshop focusing on our implicit biases (the topic had been chosen prior to the Ferguson decision).  Questions, therefore, of bias, prejudice, self-awareness -- all of these have been swirling about me for several weeks.
      As part of the workshop, I (and the rest of the division) was asked to take Harvard's Implicit Association Test.  This survey examines our automatic (i.e., unconscious) reactions/attitudes about a whole range of subjects, from sex/gender to race to weight to Harry Potter vs. Lord of the Rings.  In the midst of all of the tension and protests following the Ferguson decision, I decided to take the "race" test.  The results were not what I'd hoped; my automatic reactions favored European Americans over African Americans.  I took little solace in learning that I'm not unusual in any sense -- that most Americans, regardless of race/ethnicity, who take the test show the same "automatic" response.  This isn't good news.
       Most of us, however, would not want to admit that these are our attitudes -- even if they are unconscious.  And, those who work on the Implicit Association Test generally point out that implicit bias (in terms of race) does not mean racism.  Yet, in general,  we would confirm Mr. McRaney's conclusion:  we are wildly inaccurate with our self-evaluation.  And I think he would agree that this is one place where there are very few benefits to this self-delusion.  Our attitudes (unexamined or not) result in actions we may not wish to own.
       There does, however, seem to be some good news.  Later in the interview, McRaney addresses the question "Which comes first, attitude or behavior?".  After some discussion, he summarizes recent research:  changing one's behavior leads to changed attitudes.  That is, if one causes harm, hate will follow.  The opposite is also true -- good news for us -- if one acts compassionately, care will follow.   The imperative, as he quotes his father, "Act your way to right thinking."
        Our better natures, those commended to us by our various religious traditions, would have us exercise compassion, hospitality and justice to all people.  Perhaps, as we move through the tragic events of the last several weeks and months, and the protests and demonstrations that have followed, we can actively change our behaviors--our actions--and, thereby, change some of our attitudes so that "automatic" actions are just, caring and compassionate.  What a great holiday gift to give our culture.
       
Blessings,

Gary

* Mary Hynes hosts the Canadian Broadcasting System's show "Tapestry".  The interview mentioned here can be found in this episode:  http://www.cbc.ca/tapestry/episode/2014/11/20/the-wayfaring-stranger-lost-found-in-vancouver/.  The interview with Mr. McRaney begins about halfway through the show.

Teach your children/parents well

   Here at the University of Denver, the fall quarter is over (except for those poor faculty members who are still grading exams/papers!).  Yesterday was the last day of finals, and the campus was feeling pretty deserted.  Now we are on to Inter-term classes, workshops, trainings, holiday luncheons . . . six weeks (give or take) of a different pace.  But the last couple of weeks were tense, with students hurrying to get papers in, studying done, exams taken, and res hall rooms cleaned out (no food allowed over break!), etc.
     What those students are NOT doing is lining up outside of my office.  And this seems to surprise some folks, as I often am asked, at this time of year, "Well, I suppose this is your busy time??" And I can honestly answer that, in over twenty years of campus work, I've NEVER had a student come to me during the last couple of weeks of a term because of academic anxiety.  And I'm not alone in my experience, as conversations with colleagues confirm.  And that makes me wonder . . .
      It makes me wonder about the idea(s) of God/spirituality that are behind the question.  The same question is NEVER asked of me in the middle of a term . . . i.e., in a less "stressful" time.  So, is there an underlying assumption that God/religion is just there to get you out of a fix?  Is that what the questioner was taught?  Perhaps, but it hasn't generated more foot traffic to my office.  Or, more generously, is there a belief that a chaplain or spiritual counselor would be able to lend a sympathetic ear during stressful times.  Of these two possibilities, I certainly prefer the latter, but the absence of a line outside chaplains' offices would suggest that that particular belief was not necessarily passed on to the last couple of generations.
     I would hope that today's students haven't being taught that religion/spirituality is a sort of "fire insurance", only to be cashed in when the going gets rough.  Perhaps, given the way "religion" plays out in the "culture wars", many may have been taught (or have learned) that it can useless (at the least) or pretty hurtful (at the most).   On the other hand, I fear that many haven't been taught that there is compassion and empathy to found in religiously-motivated listeners during the hard patches of life.
      I know many students (as well as their parents or other older adults) who don't believe those first two negative lessons about religion, and who DO believe the last positive lesson.  They've been taught well.  I think they know that their religious convictions ARE a support during the hard times, but not only then -- that those same convictions provide a context within which to understand the good times, as well as to provide motivation to support others.  They stop by my office from time to time.
      Clearly, there's still a lot of learning and unlearning to do, even when the academic quarters end . . . and we're all teachers all the time.  I can't help but close with the famous song of Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young, "Teach your children well":

You, who are on the road, must have a code that you can live by.
And so become yourself because the past is just a good bye.

Teach your children well, their father's hell did slowly go by,
And feed them on your dreams, the one they fix, the one you'll know by.

Don't you ever ask them why, if they told you, you would cry,
So just look at them and sigh and know they love you.

And you, of the tender years, can't know the fears that your elders grew by,
And so please help them with your youth, they seek the truth before they can die.

Teach your parents well, their children's hell will slowly go by,
And feed them on your dreams, the one they fix,the one you'll know by.

Don't you ever ask them why, if they told you, you would cry,
So just look at them and sigh and know they love you.*

Let's feed folks on our dreams!

Blessings,

Gary

*Written by Graham Nash, Lyrics from http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/crosbystillsnash/teachyourchildren.html.

Remembering gratefully

    This past Tuesday was Veteran's Day in the US.  As part of our observance at DU, I sponsored a book discussion on Leslie Marmon Silko's novel Ceremony, about the difficulties a half-breed Native-American WWII veteran faced upon returning home.  It was a fascinating discussion, involving former GSSW professor Jim Moran (a Vietnam vet and Native-American) and Zachary Moon (a Navy Chaplain working on his PhD, studying how we reincorporate returning vets).*  Then, later in the afternoon, we had a Veteran's Day ceremony, including an ROTC Honor Guard, the playing of Taps, and with comments from one of our US Army Fellows (in residence at the Joseph Korbel School of International Studies), our Chancellor, Rebecca Chopp, and me.  What follows is the text of my comments.
 
    This morning I changed my Facebook profile picture to that of a young man, 24-years-old, standing in a snow storm somewhere in Belgium.  While the photo itself was probably taken in December 1944, it seemed appropriate to use that photo of my dad on this snowy Veterans’ Day in Colorado, seventy years later.  And while many folks in Colorado will complain about the cold this week — and justifiably so — historians of World War II, as well as that dwindling number of veterans who were there, will talk about the bitter cold of the Ardennes forest during one of the decisive battles of that war, the Battle of the Bulge.
    I don’t know if that young man, when he joined the Army in 1942, envisioned that winter in Belgium.  Like many, he wasn’t sure whether he’d be sent to the European or Pacific theater.  What I do know is that he wanted to be a pilot in the Army Air Corps, but he was sent to Europe before that dream was realized.  He did get to fly — but as a spotter for a Field Artillery Battalion.  
    I doubt that many others suspected that they’d be on beaches or jungles on previously-unknown islands in the Pacific.  Few suspected the horrors of those battles, specifically of that on Okinawa which my father-in-law experienced.
    I say all of this because I doubt that many of those men and women we honor with the title “Veteran” know what they’re getting into.  Even those who enlist during “peace-time” cannot be sure that they will not be thrust into battle, as political winds blow ill.  Yet, for whatever reasons, they DO choose to serve their country.  They take the oath.  They leave loved ones.  Those who return, do so changed — as did my dad and my father-in-law.
    On this Veteran’s Day — this “Remembrance Day” — we remember and honor all who’ve served, as well as those who have served by supporting them, their families and friends.  We are grateful for that commitment.

Blessings,

Chaplain Gary

* For an overview of the book, check the Spark Notes site, and for a recording of the discussion, go to the bottom of this page, and click on "Ceremony"

Hopeful burdens

 

     Last week, I was in Boston attending the annual gathering of the Association of College and University Religious Affairs ("ACURA").  This confab draws together Deans of Chapels and University Chaplains from around the country, meeting on different campuses, and highlights the realities of our work in those different contexts.  We're always treated to good entertainment and good food . . . as well as fascinating presentations and conversations.  Last week was no exception.  Music from Ladino Spain as well as Tufts' "Beelzebubs" (their men's a cappella group).  Tours of sacred spaces at both Tufts and Harvard, as well as a visit to Concord (birthplace of the American Revolution).
       One evening, we were treated to a marvelous presentation by Prof. Davíd Carrasco (Neil L. Rudenstine Professor of the Study of Latin America at Harvard).  As part of his talk, he referred to some of the ancient Mesoamerican mythologies, and how they were depicted in inscriptions and scrolls.  He mentioned the "sacred bundles" of the Aztecs and (if I'm remembering correctly), that they were related to a sort of creation story -- that there was a dispersal of the people, but that, as they went out, the elders were all carrying "sacred bundles" that would help keep their traditions alive, and their people connected.
       I had seen pictures before like the one above, but I had always assumed that the figures were simply carrying "backpacks" or "burdens".  That is, either the essentials of day-to-day living or the fruits of their labors; I had not thought of them as anything "sacred".  In some respects I had thought of them as visual depictions of the saying "everyone you meet is carrying a great burden".*
      Later, however, as I was reflecting on Carrasco's talk of the sacred bundles (and listening to the Guy Mendilow Ensemble's wonderful, transformed and transformative, Ladino music), as well as trying to process all of the news of the day (electioneering, international conflicts, etc.), I started wondering whether the "burdens" we carry might also hold the promise of being transformed into "sacred bundles". So, "Are we carrying 'hopeful burdens"', I asked myself.
      Two of the foundational assumptions of the change theory "Appreciative Inquiry" are "People have more confidence and comfort to journey to the future (the unknown) when they carry forward parts of the past (the known)" and that "If we carry parts of the past forward, they should be what is best about the past".**  My experience, however, is that I often find myself ruminating on the negative parts of the "burden" I'm carrying; that darkness obscures the possibility of light and hope.  It then takes another set of eyes to see what I cannot, and to draw my attention to the hopeful potential that my past experience affords.     A two-fold challenge lies before us, then, it seems to me.  On the one hand, we need to seek out that extra pair of eyes to help us transform our burdens into sacred bundles.  And, when we see someone laboring under a "great burden", to offer our help in realizing hope.

Blessings,

Chaplain Gary

* This is often attributed to Plato or Philo, or some other ancient.  It would appear, however, that it is only about 120 years old, and can be traced to a man named John Watson.
** Hammond, Sue Annis. The Thin Book of Appreciative Inquiry (Bend, OR:  Thin Book Publishing Co, 1998), 21.