Category Archives: Something to think about

Today Is Pentecost

[This post is for my White friends and peers of faith. I write from a Christian lens, but I’m imagining that other faith traditions with martyrs will have connection points.]

The tongues of fire are here, and they are speaking every language, and we are here to listen.

Pentecost is rooted in Easter. And watching the tongues of flame head for the heavens yesterday on the Falcon 9 completed that arc of Easter for me, and made me think again about our Christian Easter story. It’s a tough look into humanity—the crowds calling for Jesus’ death, the betrayal, the torturous murder on the Cross.

When you think of the Easter story, who do you imagine yourself as?

I would always imagine myself as one of the disciples, not one of the ones whose name rolls off the tips of our tongues like Paul or Thomas. Not one of the betrayers, either. We don’t like to put ourselves in stories as the antagonists. Although, a few years ago, I started to feel like I would have been Peter, because I have a strong self-protective mechanism. I could have told a white lie about not knowing Jesus a few times.

And then the last couple years I started to feel most like I’d be one of the people yelling for Jesus’ death. I have a comfortable life and I wouldn’t have been throwing it away to follow a crazy person. I would have noticed injustice, but tried to “work within the system” to fix it. I wouldn’t have wanted a revolution. Jesus was revolutionary.

The interesting thing about this moment is that we are putting ideas about what kind of people we are—justice-loving people, kind people, people who want us to all work toward equality, people who follow Jesus—up against the discomfort in how we feel about what’s happening around us. We share words that may not be words of justice—they might be words that lay blame on others and protect ourselves from having to do the work of gaining equality and giving up our own privilege.

Equality sounds good, but the work is scary. Windows are broken.

I had hoped that the white moderate would understand that law and order exist for the purpose of establishing justice and that when they fail in this purpose they become the dangerously structured dams that block the flow of social progress. I had hoped that the white moderate would understand that the present tension in the South is a necessary phase of the transition from an obnoxious negative peace, in which the Negro passively accepted his unjust plight, to a substantive and positive peace, in which all men will respect the dignity and worth of human personality. Actually, we who engage in nonviolent direct action are not the creators of tension. We merely bring to the surface the hidden tension that is already alive. We bring it out in the open, where it can be seen and dealt with. Like a boil that can never be cured so long as it is covered up but must be opened with all its ugliness to the natural medicines of air and light, injustice must be exposed, with all the tension its exposure creates, to the light of human conscience and the air of national opinion before it can be cured.

In your statement you assert that our actions, even though peaceful, must be condemned because they precipitate violence. But is this a logical assertion? Isn’t this like condemning a robbed man because his possession of money precipitated the evil act of robbery? Isn’t this like condemning Socrates because his unswerving commitment to truth and his philosophical inquiries precipitated the act by the misguided populace in which they made him drink hemlock? Isn’t this like condemning Jesus because his unique God consciousness and never ceasing devotion to God’s will precipitated the evil act of crucifixion? We must come to see that, as the federal courts have consistently affirmed, it is wrong to urge an individual to cease his efforts to gain his basic constitutional rights because the quest may precipitate violence.

Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., Letter from a Birmingham Jail

As White Christians we have a lot of reckoning to do with how we’ve upheld racist systems in the past and continue to do so with our judgments, our inactions, and our self-protections. Luckily it’s Pentecost, and the flames of the Holy Spirit will speak to us in a language we can hear. Let our hearts and our lives be open to receiving the message.

Imaginary Things

A close-up of a bright pink rhododendron in full bloom with a bee nestled in deep to collect pollen.

There is pollen swirling in the street like a flocks of swifts. It’s caking the bottom of our shoes with its yellow chalk. It’s smearing my brain like muddy hands on glass. It’s trying to slow me down, change my pace, make me old.

I’m not good at taking nature’s lead.

I want to be out in the world. I want to prune my garden with the swift strokes of a thousand shears. I want to drive up the Gorge and put my cheek on the necks of the horses I love. I want to see my friends and hug them so tight they lose their breath, but not quite so tight I crack their ribs. I have to say that last part out loud to remind myself of the line of restraint when the time comes.

Do you ever in your pandemic-brain rabbit holes think about the fact that the screenplays for our next ten years’ worth of movies are being lived right now? Wretched heartbreaks, death, solitude, some sort of mash up super-casting of marshmallow storylines. Will they tell the stories of how racism and sexism built a castle out of inequality that crushed some and let others make sourdough bread?

I feel like I’ve been sucked into a pool of glitter. The glitter is up my nose and in my hair. The silver linings aren’t the bright edges of puffy clouds, but a thousand reflections of sunlight on cut and colored metal. I can’t take my eyes off the dancing light, it’s breathtaking, and at the same time I’m desperately picking it out of my toes and washing it out of every crack but it stays and stays.

The Best Day of 2019

There were many. And if I catalogue them my heart will fill with the helium of gratitude and fly off into the sky until the sun or the air pressure bursts it into a thousand vaguely biodegradable pieces. This is the gift of memory and nostalgia.

But one day.

There’s a favorite spot for hiking the boys and I have in Hood River. We don’t actually hike. We adventure to places that have interesting views or nooks and meadows to explore or hills for sledding. To get to these payoffs there may be a mildly noteworthy amount of walking.

We went to our favorite spot. When I say “our favorite spot” in relation to anything, it refers to a place I take my children that they cannot opt out of. Their actual favorite spot is the arcade. I hate the arcade.

Our favorite spot is up high, over the river. There are little paths and hills to scramble up. There are drop-offs. I do not like heights. But it’s fucking beautiful.

K-Pants begged to go to the top of the triangle hill that juts out over the meadows.

There’s this thing I do when I find something terrifying. I yell to myself in my head, “YOU’RE DOING SOMETHING TERRIFYING! YOU’RE DOING SOMETHING TERRIFYING!” I’m more open to terrifying things now. They are eye-level with the rawness and stimulation of parenting.

At the top of the little path of the scramble-up hill K-Pants’ soul left his body. He wanted my phone to take photos and video. I hadn’t brought it with us. I could see the car like a beetle down below in the parking lot—phone inside.

There are so many streams of consciousness and so many little decisions in living each day. As a group we decided Boy Woww and I would go down to the car, leave K-Pants on the hill, and come back with the phone. “YOU’RE DOING SOMETHING TERRIFYING! YOU’RE DOING SOMETHING TERRIFYING” leaving your child on a hill.

Hill

I love him. Very very much. He doesn’t admit that he loves me except in Mother’s Day cards and birthday cards. He took this photo of me from on top of the hill.

Hill down

I love him.

Book: “The Black and the Blue” by Matthew Horace

I don’t like book clubs. Half the month I feel guilty about not getting the book, and the second half I feel guilty about doing Sudoku instead of reading. But as a solitary freelancer and parent to three young people, I do crave getting and sharing book and show suggestions from like-minded grownups. So I’m starting some new short posts about what I’m reading, listening to, and watching. It’ll be a photo + quote and maybe some quick thoughts. That’s it. Life is wild. I hope you’ll add suggestions for what engaging, thought-provoking, or hilarious stuff you’re taking in, too. So here we go…

What I’m Reading: “The Black and the Blue: A Cop Reveals the Crimes, Racism, and Injustice in America’s Law Enforcement” by Matthew Horace with Ron Harris

Matthew Horace worked as a law enforcement officer at the local and federal level for almost 30 years. He criss-crosses the country interviewing law enforcement leaders, sharing their personal stories, and offering important commentary on how these stories reflect on our larger policing issues and racism in America.

As I made my way north up Interstate-95, I thought about deadly police interactions with African-Americans and the difference in the two drug crises [crack and opiods]—one perceived as black and the other as white. Whether unconsciously or intentionally, American society is suffused with a racial bias that must be eradicated. When it comes to ailments and needs in the black community, the response is punitive and lacking. The incidents we routinely encounter which would be unacceptable in the white community, are shunted aside, ignored, or explained away, as if we were throwaway people, as if our lives didn’t matter. Our lower life expectancy, higher infant mortality, higher rate of chronic diseases, lower income levels, and higher unemployment rates are all interrelated. These same dire statistics have been the underlying cause of black riots since the 1960s. Police are merely the flash point, the most immediate intersection between abrasive and discriminatory policies and the black public.

I thought about my fellow officers who are upset or feel betrayed about a movement that is directed at fighting against police. But my brothers in blue are wrong. The suspect has once again been misidentified. These protesters are not saying white lives don’t matter or that police lives don’t matter. Everything in America—from educational institutions to social networks, television, news, films, financial markets—says white lives do matter. Instead, the message is a demand and a plea for society to embrace African-Americans’ humanity. Black lives matter—too.

[…]

The wrongs inside police departments Are not about a handful of bad police officers. Instead, they reflect bad policing procedures and policies that many of our departments have come to accept as gospel. To fix the problems requires a realignment of our thinking about the role police play and how closely they as a group and as individuals are knitted into the fabric of society. Do they stand apart from societal norms or will they uphold their motto of “To Protect and Serve”? Are they to be looked at as men and women who sweep up the refuse left by our refusal or inability to tackle societal problems, or are they partners in our efforts to provide a vibrant and supportive community for all? The decision is ours.

Find it at your local library. Or get it at our local, independent bookseller Powell’s: click here.