An Election Allegory - A Spiritual Event 2008

The great expression of hope, change and giddy love has passed. The media has now constructed a sedan chair for Obama and is carrying the Anointed One to the new Mecca, Washington D.C. On the four chair handles we have CBS, NBC, ABC and MSNBC. Marching in lockstep on each side of the Anointed One, waving palm fronds and with adoration pouring from their pores, are NPR, the New York Times, the LA Times and a swooning collection of left leaning newspapers. Following behind in raggedy procession are the poor, the underprivileged, the homeless, the lazy, the politically naïve, witless collegiate sophomores and those who still think that the Anointed One ran against George Bush.

On each side of this procession are stands supplying bottles of a new drink created by Moveon.org called “Feel Good Juice” (In tiny print on the label we spot “May cause serious hangover after election.”) and financed by George Soros. In the distance we see Nancy Pelosi and Harry Reid, clothed in gleaming white Roman togas, with outstretched arms welcoming the Anointed One to the new Oligarchy which will bring smothering happiness to all citizens, whether they like it or not. On all sides we hear a mystical, quasi-religious chant by enormous crowds of glazed eyed worshippers pointing toward the heavens. We look up and, behold, the clouds part. There, gazing down in a beatific vision, are the spiritual pillars of this amazing spectacle – The Reverend Wright, Bill Ayres, Louis Farrakhan, Rashid Khalidi and Tony Rezko  (Rezko appears to be clothed in prison garb). Following behind in a gray, lifeless line and linked together by economic chains, are a once proud group of Producers – corporations, entrepreneurs, small businesses and investors. Some falter under the heavy economic chains. Falling behind, they are jabbed with electric Tax Prods wielded by Barney Frank and Chris Dodd.   

We stand in awe of this procession and try to link it with some precedent, some historical event, some memory of things past. Nothing fits, certainly not in US history. But wait! What if the path these people are traveling is a yellow brick road? What if the termination is an audience with and the embrace of the Wizard of Oz? No, that’s too farfetched.  

Passage

I’m lost in space between God and this place.

I look in the mirror and I don’t see a face.

Somewhere, somehow in this meaningless race

I can’t recognize the state of grace.

My sister’s love, a man named Bill

declines each day but he isn’t ill.

His mind, his life, who he was before

slowly exits through some back door.

A man of good life with no score to settle.

A man who was made of very strong mettle.

A man whom I’ve loved for fifty years and more

is now fading away to some distant shore.

He smiles at me not knowing why.

Perhaps just because he was that kind of guy.

I share a word, a thought, of things from the past

but that faint glow in his eyes just doesn’t last.

He’s leaving me now without a goodbye,

with naught a hand waving or a heartfelt sigh.

The light of his life, the juice in his brain

is slowly, slowly, going down the drain.

Why he should leave in this drawn out way

with body still working but mind far away,

leaving my sister and me in dismay.

God tell me, is this your way?

Who knows what the fickle fates decree?

Is it peace, love or feckless glee?

Is it sadness, longing or discontent?

Will my life end with searches ill spent?

Now my sister’s love loses his presence.

Her glimpse of love loses all essence.

Is there in life true meaning to find

or do we just plod on - blind, blind, blind.

Why tell a story?

Before the written word, stories were all we had. They brought forward the past. They knitted together the family, the tribe in ever widening concentric social circles. There was always a wise man, a shaman, who knew and related these cherished stories. Without these stories - histories -  there was no shared sense of community, connection and purpose.

Why is history such a bore? Columbus in 1492? The Hundred Years war? The birth of our country in 1776? Dates, events, movements, wars collated and defined simply as dates and major trends. How boring. Why not promote narrative history filled with the dreams, the character, and the passion of those who create historical events? History should be taught as an ongoing story – a story filled with the emotions and character of the people creating the events which are recorded as history.

Why do children love to be told stories? Why do parents love to tell stories to their kids? It is a simple but vital way to communicate an understanding of the child’s surroundings and their place in it. A child’s early years without stories is a bleak landscape leading nowhere.

We are, at our core, remembering and story making creatures, and stories are one of the chief ways we find meaning in the flow of events.  The magnificent story of the creation and building of our country is the perfect example of the power of a shared story. It is a beautiful story which, in its repeated telling, ties us all together in shared beliefs.

The Bible is not just a collection of inspiring tales, wise advice, warnings and predictions. It is a story. The Old Testament is the ongoing story of a people chosen to produce the Savior. It chronicles and predicts in story form the coming of the Savior. The New Testament continues the story as it describes the life and progress of Jesus as predicted by the Old Testament. It is truly the greatest story ever told. 

A story should never die. The only way to keep it alive is to record it and retell it. Record your stories and make sure they are retold.

Hi, Bush – Spring, 1959

It is a beautiful spring day at Notre Dame University. The main quadrangle is alive with young green leaves and grass. The huge and beautiful magnolia tree in front of the Golden Dome is in full pink, white, and muted red bloom. The sun, the cloudless sky, and the gentle morning breeze hint at a beautiful day. God is in his heaven and certainly at Catholic ND.

I am headed East towards the liberal arts school. The stroll is lovely but I must get there in time for my morning Philosophy 101 class. Philosophy? Come on. This is the all-male ND of 1959. We are macho, football driven and certainly not other worldly. I take my seat in a class of about thirty. The windows to my left are open. They frame a row of blossoming bushes – and in comes the soft breeze.

The Professor - a portly, slow walking, slow talking older scholarly type with coke bottle thick black rimmed glasses – is late. Any time the teacher is late and the class is composed of male teens, the “let’s be quiet and learn something” atmosphere evaporates into load talk and jokes. It’s spring, it’s beautiful, the teacher is late and who wants to talk philosophy anyway.

In shambles our Philosophy 101 professor. He moves slowly toward the desk in the front, seats himself as if in a slow-motion movie, and gazes out the window to his right. When he entered the room, the class went respectfully silent. Then as his silent gaze stretches into minutes the class becomes antsy. Whispers and muffled laughs break the silence. What’s with this guy? This is the classic absent-minded professor type who just sits and gazes out the window. Has he lost it? Does he know where he is?

Silence. After what seems like five minutes, motionless and without breaking his gaze through the window, he says “Hi, Bush.” After a momentary silence given to trying to put this comment into context, the class breaks into laughter. Suspicions confirmed. This guy is nuts. When the laughter dies down, he turns his gaze on us and asks, “Can anyone tell me what I was just doing?” Luckily this challenge goes unanswered. Any answers could have been devastating.

Now he tells us what is going on. He is trying to understand and absorb the essence of “bushness”. He wants to come as close as he can to what makes that bush a bush. He is communicating, or attempting to communicate, with a part of our natural world. I’m sure that most of us are thinking “Good luck. Let me know how that works out.” In spite of this bizarre opening, which did get our attention, this worthy professor goes on to expand on his theme. He does make some headway and he did inspire me to look a bit more closely at all elements of the world around us.

I did like this kind and thoughtful man. One day after class I was walking with him and asking questions. The pace was slow. He was walking on my left as we headed west on the quadrangle. There were some trees closely bordering the walk on his left. He had some books under his left arm. He was deep in thought thinking about a question I had asked. His mind was not on walking and his eyes were not on the walk ahead. He had wandered a bit left and was headed for a glancing blow on a tree. I was tempted to say “Watch out” but thought this would be embarrassing and imply that he couldn’t manage walking a straight line. I should have. Ever so slowly he closed on the tree and then bumped into it. Totally unfazed, he backed off, moved right a bit, and we continued the walk.  I’m sure that this embarrassing incident registered not at all on his deep in thought mind. His autonomic nervous system handled the incident, and it was disposed of and immediately forgotten. I respected this professor who, I suspect, spent more time living in his mind than in the physical world.