High School Reunions: The Agony and The Ecstasy

A reality check--attend your 45th high school reunion.  

Seeing my former classmates was like a look in the mirror.  I look as old as they do.  That was one sobering glimpse.  In my state of denial I choose to believe that my physical appearance hasn't changed all that much through the years.  A reunion asserts loudly and clearly, "You gotta be kidding."

It's a hard adjustment when, if your mind works similar to mine, you remember people like they were, rather than like they are.  I recall "Bill"* as the class playboy; seeing him today I doubt he can even remember the last time he had sex.  "Virginia"* was captain of the cheerleader squad--outgoing and gregarious,blond, body of a goddess.  Add 50 lbs and subtract her personality she only speaks when spoken to. Fortunately, "Steve"** is still charming, confident, debonair, engaging, --the list goes on.  And completely psychotic. 

A 45th reunion serves as a sobering reminder of our mortality.  Of a graduating class of about 70, 10 are deceased.  That seems like a high percentage that the Grim Reaper has claimed for his own.  It reminds me to treasure each day and live it in a full way because I might also be living it in a final way.

I grew up in small-town America, graduating from Hicksville High School.  Seriously.  Upon graduation I left and never turned back,  escaping my sheltered existence and wanting to experience all that life has to offer.  I wanted to travel and explore.  I've lived with all the jokes about Hicksville.  Do you know what it was like to sit in front of a prospective employer and as he is going through your resume he notes aloud, "So you say you graduated from Hicksville High.  Are you trying to be a smartass?"  I do my best to convince him of my truthfulness but he looks at me, squinting his eyes in suspicion.

Truth is, though I don't miss small-town America  I can say with certainty there is a loyalty to each other, a mutual care and pulling together when a friend is down, a camaraderie that is seldom found elsewhere. The reunion reminded me of those glowing qualities in my friends who have remained in Hicksville.

I look forward to the 50th reunion.  I was asked if I would provide the sermon on that Sunday morning.  Talk about planning ahead.  Then it dawned on me.  I was given so much notice because they probably figure it will take me five years to come up with something of substance to say.  

Some things haven't changed at all.

*    not actual name or person

**  my actual name

The Snake and The Church: Each Can be Deadly

Venom is typically derived from snakes, but lately I think you could obtain a lethal dose from many of my fellow believers.  (hiss) 

I am appalled at the vitriolic criticism of President Obama, particularly the scathing attacks by my evangelical, conservative friends.   I am not thrilled with some of his policies, the state of the economy,  the hell of healthcare, etc.   But the hateful posts on fb both frighten and embarrass me.  Just today a friend called Obama "a traitor and "unpatriotic" and urged that he be impeached.  And this is one of the kinder, more gentle posts of late.

Many of these friends regard themselves as patriots, but it appears we are patriots as long as the one in office is the one for whom I voted.  Respect for Reagan, admiration for Bush, absolute disdain for Obama.
What became of Christian civility?  Can we disagree, but respectfully?  Can we challenge the existing administration without resorting to name-calling?  If we claim to be followers of Jesus Christ then shouldn't our conversations, our  social networking be characterized by Christ's qualities of grace-giving, meekness, and mercy?  

Hundreds of years before the birth of Christ, Isaiah prophesied about this coming Messiah and described him in this manner:  "A bruised reed he will not break, and a smoldering reed he will not snuff out. . . "  He will not crush even the weakest and seemingly useless reed nor put out a flickering candle, as little light as it might provide.  That same spirit seems to be missing in many of us, his followers.  In contrast, during this political season we are consumed with crushing and would love to snuff out the political opponent or the enemy.  

Another  friend posted a photo of a gun and a Bible and the caption read (close paraphrase), Two things that belong in every home and neither of which are taught in our schools.   Maybe I am hyper-sensitive but doesn't that urge a violence of spirit?  I daresay that if a Muslim had posted the same photo of a gun and the Koran with the same caption that he would be been castigated and condemned by us, but we apparently have a Christian prerogative to post such things because, after all, we are right.

As Christ followers we are to be flavoring society.  Jesus called us "salt" and "light."  Salt adds flavor to bland foods.  Light shows the way, rather than condemning everyone else's way.  Richard Rohr, in Breathing Underwater:  Spirituality and the 12 Steps,  pegs us well:

Christians are usually sincere and well-intentioned people until you get to any real issues of ego, control power, money, pleasure, and security. Then they tend to be pretty much like everybody else. We often given a bogus version of the Gospel, some fast-food religion, without any deep transformation of the self; and the result has been the spiritual disaster of "Christian" countries that tend to be as consumer-oriented, proud, warlike, racist, class conscious, and addictive as everybody else-and often more so, I'm afraid. 

May God give us grace to avoid our automatic knee-jerk reactions and to hit the pause button before spewing.  

May God work more deeply than that.  God, shape me, form me into the very likeness of Christ.  May my own core, my spirit become loving like yours, so that I'm not merely engaging in behavior management and conversation policing.

I'm Back at the Helm, I Hope

I'm back.  More accurately, I nearly went down with the Titanic.  

I have wrestled with chronic, underlying depression for decades.  Typically, I am aware of it, feel it, but it doesn't significantly impair functioning.  I will have seasons wherein it comes to the surface and I feel its tentacles begin to wrap around my throat, but for various reasons it has released its grip and the dry, barren season tapers off.  Not this time.  

About a year and a half ago I could sense slippage.  I began to neglect responsibility.  I procrastinated more than my usual.  Motivation began to take a hit.  My energy slowly dissipated.  This has been steadily eroding my spirit, my psyche and, to be honest, and has continued to do so.  To clarify and to assuage any of your concerns, I am not suicidal.  I do not contemplate killing myself, I do not formulate plans, blah blah blah.  So knock off any unwarranted alarm.  I just don't give a crap about nearly anything.  Formerly, the task or activities that I wanted to do I now have to make myself do, including this post.

However, I am somewhat excited and maybe hopeful in that after months of writer's drought I am actually sitting at my keyboard and communicating with you.   I hope to continue posting with some consistency. I say "hope to" because while still in the throes of this prolonged dark night of the soul I am hesitant to make any absolute commitments, fearing that if I fail that will further depress me.  

I apologize for the delay, for dropping out of sight without providing any of you followers any explanation.  

There's no doubt about it--I was drowning, feeling like I was going down with the ship.  I'm not suggesting that now I'm sipping pina coladas and basking in the sun.  Not close.  But I do feel some minimal stirring of energy and motivation.  A level of nudging that  previously was not there.  We'll see.

As the song goes, "I'm in the dance band on the Titanic, singing "Nearer, My God, To Thee.""

Who Am I to Judge? Nice Thought, But Impossible

A guy walks  into a bar and orders a beer.  He takes a sip and tosses the rest in the bartender's face.  Sobbing, he says, "I'm so sorry!  I can't help doing that.  It's so embarrassing!"  The bartender sees his sincerity and suggests he sees a psychiatrist. Six months later, the guy is back.  "Are you seeing a psychiatrist?"  With a smile the guy says, "Yep--twice a week.  He's great!"and then throws his beer into the bartender's face.  "Great?? You just threw another beer in my face."  "True, but now it's doesn't embarrass me."


At first I laughed at the joke, but then I began thinking about its ramifications and I suggest that it is a commentary on our culture in general, and a significant segment of the therapeutic community, in particular.  There is a pervasive belief that  there is no objective truth, no absolutes; rather, it is all subjective.  It's all about "what is true for you."  It's all about your own personal truth, which will vary from person to person, so you are neither sensitive nor politically correct if you disagree with or challenge someone's attitude or behavior.  It's all about your "personal preference."  If  I disagree with someone's personal preference I am regarded as imposing my values on them.  


The prevailing sentiment is "There is no moral or ethical absolutes or standards, and therefore who are you to question or challenge or my actions?"  It seems as though the goal is to rid ourselves, free ourselves from this prudish Victorian remnant which we call a conscience.  Tossing his beer in the bartender's face was not wrong or inappropriate. The beer-toss was his personal preference; who are we to judge?  The therapeutic goal was to get over the embarrassment.  The embarrassment is the problem.  Feeling guilty for his actions is antiquated; it interferes with his self-actualization.  


The problem with this predominant worldview is this--we cannot live consistently with that view.  It collapses on itself.  Sure, I'm fine tossing a beer in your face and who are you to judge me--are you going to judge me for exercising my personal preference?  But the minute you toss a beer in my face, how dare you!?! How insensitive and thoughtless can you be!?!  You're such a jerk.  What right did you have to do that to me?


Do you understand the inadequacy of the prevailing worldview?


If you don't, wait til  a guy tosses a beer in your face.

Eating Humble Pie

There are times when life affirms us; there are times when we are reminded there is no hat big enough to wear on our ego.


Last week I had a gentle and made-me-laugh experience of the latter.

My wife and I had a few hours with two of our grandchildren and went to play in a park.  They used their rich imaginations and turned a Jungle-Jim/monkey bars into, as they put it, a "rescue bus."  The scenario they created was that Nana and Papa were in a horrible car wreck.  (Aren't they beautiful kids?)  Their mission was to rescue us and save our lives.  Nana and I were moaning and groaning in life-threatening fashion. I made it clear that we could possibly die if they didn't get us to the ER asap.  "Mary" responded by slapping a band-aid on my hand.  Ok. I'm feeling relieved already.


"Mary" and younger brother "Chad"  assisted us into the rescue bus and Mary hopped into the driver's seat.  I was yelling, "Hurry! Hurry!"  She took off and we were en-route to the hospital.  Suddenly, she said,  "Oops.  We have to turn in here."   I screamed, "What's going on?!?   Why are you turning here?!?"  She replied, " It's the Kentucky Fried Chicken drive-thru."


I know it's gotta be an agonizing decision--KFC or grandma and grandpa dying--but REALLY?


I am feeling much more humble lately.  And I'm boycotting KFC.

A Roxanne Volkert Moment: The Power of Our Words

It came out of the blue—a memory which had remained hidden for over 50 years.  It was a Roxanne Volkert moment.

Some background.  I was raised in a doctrinally rigid, emotionally frigid home and, as a child, felt very insecure and starving for affirmation.  As you can imagine, this led to some very poor choices on my part in my adult years, but I’ve learned and grown. God and I are still working on that insatiable need for affirmation.

 Recently, this memory surfaced and I was transported back in time to when I was a child. Maybe 6 years old.  I’m in church, standing by my mother and Roxanne Volkert approaches.  She was a beautiful woman, a wife and mother,  and through these 6 year old eyes she was a blond angel sent by God. She leans over and smiling at me says to my mother, “He’s such a beautiful boy.”  End of memory. End of any contact with Roxanne Volkert.  I have not seen her in 50 years.  This much I know—her words of affirmation were soaked up by my soul and psyche. Those few words she spoke about me were so powerful that 50 years later I am cherishing them and basking in their warmth.

This is a twofold testimony.  It attests to the powerful abilities of the mind to recall and store God-given experiences.  More importantly, it suggests that our words and actions have much more impact and influence than we realize.  I’m sure Roxanne Volkert was not on a mission to be charitable and reaching out to the down-trodden little Steve’s of the world.  She was simply expressing an affirmation.  She didn’t give it a second thought and surely would have no memory of that brief conversation. But, for me, those words constituted validation and blessing and have stuck with me for decades.

I encourage you to create memories.  You and I have no idea of the power of our everyday words, our acts of seemingly ordinary kindness.  Do not allow words to remain internalized--speak them.  If you get one of those “nudgings” act upon it.  You have no idea the blessing, the affirmation you may be imparting. 

I encourage you to create Roxanne Volkert moments in the lives of others.  You see, those moments last a lifetime. I know that to be true.

The Draw of the Cigarette: Life Goes Up in Smoke

Smoking kills.  But if you package it right, millions will take their chances.


According to the Federal Trade Commission Report of 2006, the annual marketing expenditures by U.S. tobacco companies was approximately  1.25 billion dollars--in 1970.  In 2006, it was 16.7 billion .    In 2008, they spent nearly $29 million each day and 52% more than they spent at the time of the 1998 settlement of state lawsuits against the industry, which was supposed to curtail tobacco marketing.


Yeh, I know.  An individual has a choice; the tobacco industry does not and can not force anyone to inhale.  But they do a masterful job of alluring, enticing, and convincing someone to take that initial drag.  And, in time, the addictive substance begins to alter one's sense of choice.


Smoking is marketed to the child/adolescent and adult market as being cool.  The "in" crowd.  Virginia Slims and others entice girls/women who are assaulted with body-image difficulties.  Men are portrayed as manly and rugged if smoking. Or cool ( my James Dean poster would not epitomize the cool factor if he had no cigarette in hand.)


The tobacco companies spend billions to convince us.


I wish the marketing gurus had been with me last week at the visitation as I stood and wept with my friend, now a widow of three days, as she mourned the loss of her 51 y.o. husband who had smoked for a long time.  Married only 8 years she had found the love of her life only to lose him and with a mere month's notice as the cancer ravaged his body.  


There was nothing cool or manly or rugged about it.  


I would think marketing meisters avoid standing in visitation lines.