After the Marathon bombing in Boston in 2013, the slogan on t-shirts and hats was “Boston Strong.” Much was made of the response of citizens and EMTs and the exhaustive efforts of law enforcement to capture the perpetrators.

I grew up forty-five miles west of Boston and must admit to owning a bit of civic pride as I followed the aftermath and the outpouring of good will from around the nation and world, including New York!

It’s tempting to buy into the bravado of Mark Wahlberg’s line from “Patriot’s Day” where he says “… they messed with the wrong city,” even though in an extended version of the trailer the actual line is something like “Let’s show them they messed with the wrong city.”

Response to tragedy seems somehow susceptible to a certain prideful regionalism, as if the local population is endowed with special qualities that no one else has. We’ve seen similar things in the midst and aftermath of Harvey and Irma, with similar claims for Houstonians and Texans and Floridians.

But isn’t this in reality what humans do, no matter where they’re from? They rise to the occasion, band together, reveal their better angels, do what needs to be done.

Decadence is not a word I’ve ever had reason to be familiar with, experientially. One might associate it with opulence and excess and moral decay- the stuff of Hollywood and drug lords.

The word often gets used when someone is talking about food- something rich, made with five kinds of cheese or pretty much nothing but chocolate.

At home, I have two culinary indulgences- my own pint of Haagen-Dazs and my own large bowl of popcorn. I guess in a relative way, decadence of a sort.

Life is good…

 

Let me join the ranks of the Old Farts Club and add my voice to others who find loud after-market mods to cars and motorcycles among the most annoying and inconsiderate things going.

Apparently, the “safety” argument doesn’t hold water- as in a louder motorcycle will let surrounding drivers know it’s there.

Nice try.  No, this is more about not letting anyone dictate how to live one’s life. It’s about “expressing oneself.” It’s about “look at me,” and “in your face,” and “no one’s gonna tell me what to do.” For all I know, it might simply be about the twisted satisfaction derived from knowing that they’re pissing people off.

To all you rebels out there- just know that when you drive or ride by in your juiced-up decibel machines and disturb a perfectly peaceful morning- or any other time of day- many otherwise law-abiding and mild-mannered citizens are driven to contemplate their own beast mode scenarios.

None of which end well for you.   But you don’t really care about that, do you?

“It doesn’t get any better than this.”

When I hear someone say that, I start thinking about ultimate things and slide into analysis mode. It’s quite a statement to make, and probably, if we really thought about it, one we’d hold in reserve for something more amazing.

I get it, though. I was golfing and fishing with my brothers one year ago and there were moments when it seemed appropriate to offer up this homage to euphoria. I kept wanting to shout, “This is so great!”

But to say it doesn’t get any better than that? I guess I’m holding on to the hope that it actually does.

Not every post here will be so weighted toward “churchy” things, but we sang a hymn recently, a stanza of which got my attention.

For those who are open to the possibility/existence of a God of mercy and grace (and even for those who aren’t), here is stanza 3 of “There’s a Wideness in God’s Mercy,” written by Frederick W. Faber and set to a 19th century North American tune:

For the love of God is broader than the measures of our mind; and the heart of the Eternal is most wonderfully kind. But we make this love too narrow by false limits of our own;           and we magnify its strictness with a zeal God will not own.

The whole second sentence really stood out, especially the last phrase. A reminder, I guess, that we are good at interpreting things to suit our own purposes while ignoring the implications for our life together. We assume a role that’s not ours to play.

I remember a seminary classmate reminding us one day that “God is God and we are not.” Sometimes the best we can do is keep an open mind and “err” on the side of grace.

Nope. Not the kind that involves keeping tabs on the lives of the rich and famous who crave attention and have been fed by a fawning public for so long that they can’t imagine going too long without a compliment and an awards ceremony.

The other kind- the kind that involves looking up and out and being amazed and feeling small and insignificant.

Did you know that 109 earths could fit across the face of the Sun, and roughly 1,300,000 earths could fit inside of it? Did you know that the Sun is just a medium sized star- a yellow dwarf- and that Betelgeuse is 700 times larger and 14,000 times brighter, according to Space.com?

I know- little known facts of lesser known value. But this is the kind of stuff that gets under my skin.

It’s amazing out there. Time to get a telescope.

Probably not this one.

Apparently, not everyone’s gut is on the same page.

Human beings are complicated creatures, which may be why people opt for dogs and cats rather than the more difficult work of parenthood, or human interaction in general.

I’ve never seen bell curves, graphs, or other statistics that verify the accuracy of a gut feeling, and I’ve always been curious as to how things would actually turn out in a clinical study- if such a thing could be studied. Is a gut feeling sort of like 20/20 hindsight, as in “I should have trusted my gut?”

My gut feelings steer me in a certain direction. Sometimes literally, like when we’re on the road and a quick decision has to be made regarding which road we need to take. Other times they act as a moral compass- a conscience of sorts.

It would seem that one’s gut feelings are conditioned on environmental factors, that we are not all inherently gifted with consistent instruction and guidance that lead to consensus on a given issue- say, letting people who were born in this country or brought at a young age, and who know no other place as home- and who have become valuable threads in the fabric of this nation- letting them stay in this country and granting them citizenship.

My gut tells me this is a no-brainer. They stay. It seems only right and proper and fair. Not to mention kind and compassionate.

But people in a position to make a final decision on this issue apparently feel differently. How is this possible?

Human beings are complicated creatures. There apparently is no universal operating system that moves us to speak in unison and do what’s right. “Right” is a moving target, which complicates things.

 

 

I’ve never been a big fan of the word. For one thing, it doesn’t exactly flow off the tongue. And for some reason, it conjures up images of a sheltered, maybe privileged life. The over-used lingo of clinicians and coddled yuppies.

But then I look at the plant I received after a visit to the eye doctor and realize that it needs watering. Again.

Synonyms include tend, foster, cultivate, encourage, develop, strengthen, boost.

Who couldn’t use a helping of these things from time to time?

Is every viewpoint, every opinion, created equal? And who gets to decide?

Is it only fair to consider the merit of every voice that sounds on any subject and appreciatively say, “I hear you?” Or even more, “I value your position?”

Is it all merely a matter of perspective, as if your utterances in support of white supremacy are somehow just as valid as those of someone who can think of a hundred reasons why you’re out of your damn mind?    

I grow ever more certain that I have heard all I need to hear from people who are convinced that the current occupant of the Oval Office can make America great again. 

What more is there to listen for? What more can we yet learn in hopes of being convinced that our Tweeter-in-Chief is anything other than a gigantic ego who seems intent on bringing out the worst in us?

It has become clear that making America great again means nothing more than a return to some era that we left behind for good reason. It is the most clever of slogans, though- ridiculously vague, with a hint of patriotic.

If it’s always a matter of perspective, of every voice carrying equal weight, then we are in big trouble. Because what I see is a gap of unbridgeable width and depth, and inherently unequal voices. Opinions and beliefs so dissimilar in vision and tone that there is little reason for hope of ever finding common ground.

Harvey. Such an innocuous sounding name.

There probably aren’t many pluviophiles in southern and southeastern Texas right now. Some places have received a year’s worth of rain in two days, and there is more to come. The word “biblical” has been uttered, though any connection to the bible may have more to do with people pondering God’s wrath than anything else in Genesis 7.

Prayers for all in Harvey’s path. Let’s leave the hyperbole and sensationalism to the folks at the Weather Channel.

May the rains end shortly, and recovery ensue. Enough is enough.