Where Does It Begin? How Will It End?

I had to wipe my tears with a crumpled-up napkin I'd found in the glove compartment.  I was driving to the mall so my kids could run off some excess energy at the indoor playground, and my son asked me why I was crying.  When I told him it was because of what I'd heard on the radio, he--quite sensibly--opined that "Maybe we shouldn't listen to this radio station [NPR] any more."  I smiled and told him that would make sense, but Mama had to know what was going on in the world.

And what was going on that made me cry in the car was the news that 20 elementary school children in Newtown, CT were dead, along with six adults from their school, and the shooter.  Since then it's been revealed that the shooter's mother was a teacher at the school, whom he'd also shot and killed at home earlier in the day.

I could only wonder what kind of person would do such a thing.  And what kind of world do we live in that produces such people?  Because this was not an isolated event.  Sure, the fact that it was an elementary school was a new twist, but earlier this week someone shot up a shopping mall in Oregon.  Two weeks ago a young man shot his father with a bow and arrow as he taught class at a community college in Wyoming (after fatally stabbing his father's girlfriend at their home).  A few months ago someone else shot up a Sikh Temple in Wisconsin.  And a month before that, someone else shot up a movie theatre in Colorado.  Why do so many people resort to indiscriminate violence as the solution to their problems?  Why are they so unaware or uncaring of the pain and suffering they'll inflict on people who are in no way responsible for the wrongs committed against them?

Not long after arriving at the mall playground, I saw part of the answer.  Three boys, all the same age or not much younger than the majority of victims at Sandy Hook Elementary School, were running around pretending to shoot everyone with their index fingers.  And laughing as they did it.  When one of them pointed his 'gun' at me and I shook my head 'no,' he yelled, "Bang bang!"  He was about six years old.  I informed him sternly that guns are not toys, and it's not a fun game to pretend to kill people.  His two friends overheard me and came over, pointed their index fingers at me, and opened fire, apparently now with semi-automatic index finger-guns.  Then they ran away, laughing.  The mother of the two boys who came later, who were apparently brothers, was sitting nearby and saw the whole thing.  She was smiling.

A little while later, after the boy who 'shot' me first had left, my son Spencer began playing with the brothers.  Very quickly I found myself having to give him the same lecture I'd given the first boy.  I told him that I understood he was playing with those other boys, but he wasn't allowed to play that game, and if that's all they wanted to do, then he'd have to find someone else to play with.  They began just chasing each other, sans guns.  I would have preferred him not to play with them at all, but he has to learn to pick his own friends, and he was obeying me.  I know this because I was watching.  Closely.  Unlike the other boys' mother.

After a couple of minutes, Spencer came over crying.  One of the brothers had pushed him.  I told him that if he did that, then he wasn't really a friend, and he shouldn't play with him.  But Spencer is forgiving (or at least really enjoys playing with other kids) so he went back.  The boy's mother either didn't know what had happened, or didn't care.  A little while later Spencer was crying again.  This time the boy had pushed him off one of the climbing structures, and Spencer had landed hard on the floor.  The boy's mother pulled him over to her seat and told him to "Go say you're sorry."  The boy refused.  His mother sat him down next to her and told him he couldn't play anymore until he said he was sorry.  I told Spencer that even if he did apologize, I didn't want them playing together anymore.  Spencer agreed.  The other brother came over and invited Spencer to play with "just me."  Spencer went.  The 'pusher' saw Spencer and his brother playing and got up from his seat.  His mother asked, "Are you going to say you're sorry?"  The boy said he was, so she let him go.  He went in the opposite direction of Spencer, clearly with no intention of apologizing.  His mother watched him go, shook her head, then went back to playing with her phone.  I watched the little hooligan make his way around the play yard back to the climbing structure, where his brother and Spencer were playing, now joined by my daughter Naomi.  And then I heard a banshee shriek I know very well.  This boy had now pushed Naomi off the structure, too.

The boy's mother made him stay with her this time, but kept him occupied with snacks while she gave her other son a few more minutes to play.  When it was finally (mercifully) time for them to leave, the boy who hadn't pushed my kids threw a temper tantrum, and only promises of pizza and ice cream (for both of them) could entice him to leave the play area.

That child probably won't grow up to be a mass murderer.  But what did he learn today?  He learned that after you push and hurt other children, you get pizza and ice cream.  He learned that bad behavior, even violent behavior, doesn't result in negative consequences. And he'll remember, when things get difficult when he's older, how much fun it was to run around and pretend to kill people, and how much easier life was back then.

What mothers do matters, but we're not the only ones who influence our children.  Sometimes we do our best to teach them proper behavior and give them plenty of love, attention, and guidance, and they still turn out to do these horrific things.

I'm noticing a trend.  It's too early to begin to speculate about motive regarding the Connecticut shooter, but we do know a few things about him.  He was 20 years old, and has been described as quiet, reserved, and highly intelligent.  He came from a loving home, and had no known criminal record.

The Oregon shooter was 22 years old, and was described by friends as being a really nice guy in high school, popular with the other kids, and having a heart of gold.  School administrators described him as having average talent and earning average grades, with no record of disciplinary issues.  The only trigger anyone can point to is the fact the he had recently broken up with his girlfriend, though he'd seemed to be dealing with that OK.  His dream was to move to Hawaii.

The Wyoming guy was 25, had a Bachelor's degree in Computer Engineering, a Master's degree in Electrical Engineering, and was working a low-end, blue-collar job for a utility.  He lived in a rooming house and was described as shy and socially awkward.  He also had Asperger's Syndrome, which he believed his father 'gave him.'  He had no criminal history.

The Wisconsin shooter was 40, and had a history of behavioral misconduct and affiliations with hate groups.

The Colorado shooter was 24, and had been studying for his Ph.D. in neuroscience until he withdrew from the program after failing his oral exams.  He was described as quiet, responsible, and nerdish, raised in an upscale section of San Diego and once worked at a summer camp for needy children.  He'd never given any indications of problematic behavior until his academic career began to fall apart.

With the exception of the Wisconsin shooter, they were all promising young adults.  Most came from loving homes.  They were all most likely raised to believe that they could accomplish anything they set their minds to, and were encouraged to pursue their dreams, expecting they'd be successful.  Two were well educated, but found that in real life, you don't automatically get on the team just because you showed up at tryouts.  In the adult world you have to work hard, and sometimes hard work isn't enough.  You still have to deal with disappointment, despite your best efforts.  And when things don't go your way, you don't get to throw a temper tantrum and have someone offer you a cookie to stop.  Two specifically targeted a parent.  Only one is still alive today.

As parents, we want to protect our kids, but we also have to teach them how to cope with things not working out the way they want.  In order for them to learn to deal with disappointment, they need to sometimes be disappointed, and that means we have to let them fully experience it.  We can comfort them, but we can't fix it for them.  We have to let them know that some behavior is simply not acceptable, and punish them for it, even if it inconveniences us.  We have to let them know that they must meet certain expectations, and they don't get a prize or a passing grade just for trying.  The world doesn't really care about their self esteem once they're no longer children or teenagers.  Life can be harsh, it can be unfair, and we're doing them a real disservice if we lead them to believe otherwise.  And even when we do all that, we still have to help them navigate through childhood in a culture that expects absolutely nothing of them until they're 18 or 22, at which time they are expected to be fully-functioning adults.

In the days and weeks to come, there will be talk about gun control, increased security in the schools, zero tolerance policies, anything that might better protect us from the monsters who sadly aren't imaginary.  Those are worthy and useful conversations to have.  But what we really need to talk about is a culture that actively discourages children and teenagers from preparing for life as adults.  Take away the guns, and those who want to kill will use knives or bows and arrows.  Increase security at the schools, and the criminals will find ways to get to their targets, and everyone else will become accustomed at a young age to living in a police state.  Let's not waste too much time with the symptoms; we need to address the cause if we're ever going to end this.

All I wanted to do yesterday was hug my kids.  I know I wasn't alone in that.  I want to protect my kids from those horrors.  But I won't turn off the radio, even when it makes me cry, because that's the world we live in, and I have to know what the reality is if I'm going to live in this world, and prepare my kids for it.

10 Rules for Being Politically Obnoxious on Facebook

It’s election season again, and the attacks are in full swing, both among the political professionals and their devoted followers on social media.  However, I’ve noticed a few people on Facebook engaging in posts and comments that are simply unacceptable for the current political and cultural environment.  Now, I realize there is a certain freedom in the online world that’s lacking in real life, however there are rules which must be followed if one is going to successfully destroy all hope for intelligent debate and informed citizenry.

Rule #1:  Ignorance is Power.  If you don’t know all the facts, then they can’t trouble you.  You already know everything you need to know about everything, because you read something someone posted about it once.  As long as you can loosely paraphrase a soundbite that supports your position, you have all the information you need.  It’s a waste of time to research actual statistics, read actual reports, or listen to actual speeches given by the person you don’t want to vote for.  As long as you avoid actual facts, no one can contradict you.

Rule #2:  Choose Your Sources Carefully.  Obviously not everyone is an expert on everything (only a few brilliant souls like myself can claim that).  Therefore you must sometimes find reliable information elsewhere.  Online is best, because if it’s on the web then it must be true (unless it was planted there by the ignorant followers of the other party).  Be sure to seek out bloggers who share your opinions or paid political organizations that specialize in masquerading as grass-roots organizations.  Their newsletters can always be trusted to be completely factual and accurate.  After bloggers and hired guns, entertaining talk show hosts are good sources.  Conservatives should go to Glenn Beck or Rush Limbaugh for information, and liberals should get their news from Jon Stewart or Stephen Colbert.  If you must rely on an actual news organization, be sure to choose one with an obvious bias towards your opinions.  Fox News is best for conservatives, and MSNBC is best for liberals, though liberals have more choices due to the liberal bias of the entire mainstream media.  However the more outside sources you consult (liberal or conservative), the more different interpretations you’ll be exposed to.  Pick one or two sources and stick with them exclusively.

Rule #3:  Limit the Debate.  Only one issue matters: the one you care about.  Dismiss any arguments against your preferred candidate that try to change the subject, and drive home the importance of your facts by stating your strongest opinions and then using the words, “END OF DISCUSSION.”  (All caps is very important here—see rule #4.)

Rule #4:  USE ALL CAPS WITH ABANDON.  A generally accepted understanding of online etiquette is that using all capital letters is equivalent to yelling.  Since we’re trying to drown out all opposing opinions, we want to be as loud as possible.  Use all caps to ridicule or deride an argument or the individual who made it (it doesn’t matter which—see rule #5), or to emphasize that you won’t be swayed from your opinion NO MATTER WHAT!!!  (Extra exclamation points also help to increase the volume of your online rant, so feel free to use them excessively, as well.)

Rule #5:  There is No Difference Between a Person and Their Position.  Since a person is completely defined by their political beliefs, we are free to judge people based on their political postings.  If you think someone’s opinion is stupid, then they are stupid, too.  If you think someone’s opinion is immoral, then clearly they are immoral, as well, and you have a moral responsibility to inform the entire online community of their depravity.  Do not humanize people who think differently than you; they’re nothing more than faulty opinions that need to be shot down and made to go away.

Rule #6:  Go Negative.  Anyone with any common sense at all already knows why the person you want to vote for is the only reasonable choice.  Therefore it’s a waste of time to extol the positive attributes of your candidate, and you should only focus on what’s wrong/immoral/evil about the other candidate, his or her entire party, and everyone who supports them.

Rule #7:  Sweeping Generalizations are Always Accurate and Appropriate.  If one person holds any given position, that person’s entire political party and all other supporters must hold that same position.  You are free to assign whatever motives you wish to why they hold that position (the more nefarious the motivation, the easier it is to ridicule it and the person as well—see Rule #5).

Rule #8:  If You’re Losing an Argument, Switch to Another Topic and Pretend You Didn’t.  Sometimes a really annoying online adversary will somehow be able to defend his or her (wrong) position while poking very real holes in your (obviously right) position.  When this happens, change the focus of the debate to something you can win, and pretend it’s the same debate.  This allows you to completely disregard the minor victory your opponent thinks they may have won, and also has the added bonus of annoying your opponent so much that frequently they’ll just shut up and go away.  That means you’ve won.

Rule #9:  Disregard All Information From Sources You Don’t Use Yourself.  This is related to Rule #2, but applies more specifically to any sources cited by someone you’re debating.  Any data or information they bring up from a source that doesn’t align with your preferred bias completely factual and unbiased source is irrelevant and can be dismissed.  Unless they can use your own preferred sources for their information, it’s not worth discussing the matter with them.  (If they can use information from your own sources against you, then you need to tell them how they’ve twisted and misinterpreted the data, are too stupid to understand it, or else change the focus of the argument, as detailed in Rule #8.)

Rule #10:  There are No Human Consequences.  Issues like war, hunger, poverty, health care, mental illness, unemployment, and family values are ideologies to be enforced, and real people aren’t affected by the consequences of these ideologies.  Therefore you should make light of these issues and the people who claim to be harmed by your view of them, because mockery strengthens your argument.  People who disagree with you aren’t really human anyway, and should be mocked, insulted, and demeaned (see Rule #5).

By following these rules, you can help silence those who are seeking intelligent debate.  More and more people will become disillusioned with the political process and simply disengage, leaving the decisions to be made by the loudest and most obnoxious extremists out there.  We’re well on our way down that path already; please do your part to accomplish this important goal.

What Communion is All About

Look at the word.  COMMUNION.  It suggests community, something that brings people together around a common event.

But communion is one of those things that tends to separate more Christians than it unites.  Should it be restricted to members of one's own denomination or congregation, or open to all baptized Christians?  Should baptism itself be a prerequisite?  Should communion be celebrated with leavened bread or unleavened?  Grape juice or wine?  Individual cups or common chalice?  Should it be brought to people as they sit in their seats, served to kneeling parishioners from behind an altar rail, or handed out from the center aisle assembly-line style?  Should it be reserved for those who have a proper understanding of what it means?

It's easy to get caught up in the debate; after all, partaking of the body of Christ is not something to be done lightly or casually.  But all these questions serve to break down the body of Christ, rather than help knit it together.

This morning I was reminded of what communion is really all about by none other than my own not-yet-communing four-year-old son.  For once I wasn't preaching, and I had given my husband the morning off by taking both kids with me to church.  They both went up for the children's sermon, where they were treated to an object lesson about how communion is supposed to be a welcoming experience.  The pastor talked about how some people were allergic to wheat, and so couldn't share the communion bread, which wasn't very welcoming to them.  He passed out a bag of gluten-free crackers and invited each child to eat one, while he explained how some of those crackers were put on the altar alongside the bread, and available for anyone who couldn't eat wheat so they could still share in the Lord's Supper.  He also talked about grape juice being available in the same way, but by then he had lost the kids' attention, as they were busily and happily munching on their crackers.

Of course my son had to ham it up.  When it was his turn to reach into a bag and take a cracker, he did so with a huge smile on his face and, before the pastor (and, more importantly, the pastor's microphone) got out of range, he took a bite and said, "Mmmmm, yummy!"  Of course this was picked up and broadcast over the sound system.  But given all the other things he could have said into the microphone (we've recently begun distinguishing between 'grown-up words' and 'words Spencer can say'), I just laughed along with everyone else.

The smile never left his face, and he asked his sister next to him if her cracker was yummy, too.  She nodded that indeed it was, as crumbs decorated her lips and chin.  The sermon ended, and the kids came back to join me in the pew.  As Spencer approached I noticed that he still had a piece of cracker in his hand.  This kid has already established that he is one of the world's slowest eaters.  But before I could tell him to hurry up and finish his cracker, he reached his hand out to me, cracker pinched between his thumb and forefinger, and he said, "Here Mama.  I saved this for you."

You could have knocked me over with a feather.  I noticed several women nearby grinning with their eyes shining, and I realized that their expressions probably mirrored my own.  I said to him, "The pastor gave that to you.  Don't you want to eat it?"  He replied, "I saved it for you.  Eat it, it's yummy!"

What could I do?  I took the bit of cracker and ate it.  I gave him a big hug and thanked him, and tried not to cry.  It was definitely one of those moments when you forget all the temper-tantrums and the time-outs and the messes, and you're just so grateful and proud to be Mama.

It wasn't communion per se; the words of institution weren't said, and there was no prayer or ritual.  It was a gift shared among a group, and even as Spencer relished its goodness, he wanted to share it with someone who wasn't there to receive a portion of her own.

Does Spencer understand the Lutheran understanding of the 'real presence of Christ' as distinct from the Catholic understanding of transubstantiation as distinct from the Calvinist understanding of eucharistic symbolism?  Most assuredly not.  But does it matter?  Did the disciples have to pass that test on the night in which Jesus was betrayed?

Spencer received a gift, and he enjoyed and appreciated it, and he knew it was too good to keep to himself, so he shared it.  If that's not what communion is about, then what is?

Are We Really a Colorblind Society?

My husband has always said that if I ever came home from preaching and announced that my children's sermon went really well, he'd want to know who I was and what I'd done with his wife.  I'm horrible at children's sermons.  Really.  Really.  Horrible.

But I came home from preaching this past Sunday, and announced that my children's sermon went really well.  As promised, he demanded to know who I was and what I'd done with Karen.

I was using the day's passage from Ephesians as my inspiration: Ephesians 2:11-22, to be exact.  It's basically talking about how those who were outside the covenant have been brought in because of Christ, and that all who have been brought together in Christ are now one, with all former hostilities replaced by peace and reconciliation.  A nice passage on unity and equality before God.

I called the kids up to the chancel area where they took their usual seats on the step I fell off of a few weeks ago (yes, it was embarrassing), and then I stood facing them.  I called the assisting minister over to stand next to me, and I asked the kids to name everything they noticed that was different between Gary and me.  They had a bit of an advantage because in deference to the high heat and humidity--and lack of air conditioning--I'd used my pastoral authority to place a temporary ban on albs, so the only 'uniform' in sight was my tabbed clerical blouse.  They noticed that I was wearing a black shirt and his was blue, and they noticed that I was a girl and he was a boy.  They noticed our different shoes, different hair, and even though we both wore glasses, they noticed that our glasses were different styles (that's some pretty decent observation!).

Next I called our two acolytes to come and stand in front of the kids, and asked them what differences they saw between those two, or between any of the four of us.  I was the only girl, the acolytes were younger than me and Gary, they had different hair, and I was the shortest one standing (yes, both acolytes were taller than me).  But none of the kids called out the biggest difference between the two acolytes, the whole reason I'd dragged them (without warning them first) into this demonstration.

No one observed that one had black skin and one had white skin.

I finally named that difference once the kids had run out of observations, then asked what all four of us had in common.  When they couldn't come up with anything, that's when I launched into my lesson about how we're all beloved children of God and all those differences they'd observed don't matter, and that we're all one family in Christ.  Then I prayed a little prayer thanking God for the diversity he'd created, asking for help in seeing everyone as our brothers and sisters, then I sent then back to their seats and went on with my 'real' sermon.

But I was troubled by the fact that no one called out skin color as a difference.  Was it that they truly didn't recognize it as a difference?  Or was it that none of them dared say it, because such a recognition is politically incorrect and socially unacceptable these days?

As much as there's a part of me that wants to believe the former, I can't quite convince myself of that.  In the context of the conversation, there were no value judgments being made.  They were observant enough to notice that the frames of Gary's glasses were metal wire, and mine were black plastic.  Every other conceivable difference was observed.  I just don't believe that the fact that one had the white skin of his northern European ancestors and the other had the black skin of his African birth (yes, he and his family just came to the US about two years ago) escaped those powers of observation.

So that leaves me with the belief that they noticed, but didn't want to say it.  And it wasn't just a bunch of white kids not wanting to point out the sole black kid in their midst; one of the things I really like about this church is that it is fairly diverse.  On that particular morning both acolytes had younger siblings who had come up for the children's sermon, plus there were a couple of other black kids not related to the acolyte, and a few of Asian and Latino heritage.  Caucasian was still the majority, but barely.

Why wouldn't these kids acknowledge racial differences, even in a nonjudgmental, strictly observational way?

I understand that prejudice is taught, and that young children don't respond to racial differences any more than they respond to differences in eye color unless (until) they see others responding differently.  But they do notice.  One woman in my congregation was telling me about her son--when he was much younger--playing in the sandbox with an African American neighbor.  He saw that the boy's skin was much darker than his own, and examined his own feet and legs to see if the sand was turning his skin brown, too.  He wasn't concerned; just curious.  I also understand that frequently when people talk about racial differences, it isn't in a strictly nonjudgmental, observational way.

But is it a good idea to make the subject entirely taboo?

I have trouble believing that pretending something doesn't exist is the way to honor the diversity God created.  Hair, eyes, and skin come in all colors.  People have different experiences and cultural traditions, and sometimes skin color plays a part in those experiences and traditions.  Pretending those differences don't exist and pretending we're all the same dilutes the richness of this creation, and robs us of the opportunity to better understand one another.  Because if we can't ask questions, we're left to make up our own answers, and that can lead to worse prejudices, or at least awkward misunderstandings.

I was never a big fan of Seinfeld, but there was one episode in which Elaine spent the entire show trying to figure out if her new boyfriend was black.  It wasn't that she didn't want to date a black guy; she just wanted to know this part of his story.  She examined every possible 'clue' she could find, and talked about it with all her friends, with one of them (usually George) looking very uncomfortable and declaring, "I don't think we should be talking about this."  The one thing she didn't do was ask her boyfriend.  Here's how it ended.

I would like to live in a society in which race doesn't matter, and I think we can get there (though I also think we still have a long way to go).  But right now we're living in a society in which we pretend race doesn't exist, and I don't think that's a good idea at all.

I'd be very interested to know your thoughts on this.  All opinions are welcome, but as always, please keep it civil.

Pastor Mama

Ever since I first discerned my call to ministry I have been concerned about my ability to maintain dual roles.  To what extent would I be able to have friendships with people within my congregation, especially if I'm serving in a small town and my opportunities for friendships outside of my congregation are greatly limited?  In the community, is everything I do seen as the Pastor of Such-and-Such Lutheran Church endorsing this or that, or are there times when I can just be Karen doing what she likes?  If I ever get married (much to my surprise, this actually did happen), to what extent will my married life be on display?  To what extent does my husband have to fill the traditional role of 'pastor's wife'?  How can I protect my kids' right to be themselves and make their own mistakes?

Over time I worked out the answers to most of these questions.  My internship was in a very small town, but the congregation understood itself to be training a not-quite-yet pastor, so there was never any question about my authority (I had none).  That made it easier to make friends within the congregation, as they were able to see me as a person rather than THE PASTOR.  The congregation where I served my first call was in a good-sized suburb just outside of Baltimore, and there were plenty of opportunities for me to make friends outside of the congregation (the fact that I didn't was my own fault).  However, when I did do something in the community and was seen by someone in the congregation, my activities and behavior were analyzed and subjectively judged by various members based on how they believed a pastor should spend her free time; that was an ongoing problem for as long as I was there.  My husband was allowed to define his own role as THE PASTOR'S FIANCE at the congregation I was serving when we became engaged, as well as at the congregation where I served my next interim (though by the second interim he had graduated from fiance to full-fledged PASTOR'S HUSBAND).  Both interim congregations saw me as THE PASTOR, though they also both recognized me as a human being with a life of her own.  I've come to realize just how rare and valuable a trait that is in a congregation.  The last congregation I served believed it was their right and privilege to define my role as pastor, my role as a a person in the community, my husband's role as pastor's wife, and our role as parents.  I think the only reason my kids were allowed to be themselves was because my son was less than two years old and my daughter was a newborn.  That call didn't last long, and is the reason why I'm unlikely to ever serve in another congregation, and my husband wants nothing do to with church at all.

At the second interim and my last call, I was both PASTOR and MAMA.  But at all times, when I needed to be the pastor, someone else was there to take over the kids.  And when I had primary responsibility for the kids, I could usually put being the pastor on hold.  I've never had to be both PASTOR and MAMA fully and simultaneously.

Until this past weekend.

A few months ago I was asked to serve as Chaplain for Camp Calumet's Moms and Kids weekend retreat.  For some insane reason, I agreed.  So there I was Friday night, showing up late for the retreat because my GPS put me on the wrong side of the lake from the camp.  I'd had to call my husband on my cell phone and ask him to look up where I was on Google Maps and guide me verbally to where I was supposed to be.  This took nearly thirty minutes of me driving a manual transmission one-handed down unfamiliar dark, windy, hilly roads while juggling a skinny little smart phone (no hands-free technology available) with two freaked out kids in the back seat because mama gets a little scary when she's really stressed out.

Needless to say I was not in a good state of mind when we finally made it to the camp, and I was really hoping I was late enough to have missed the devotion I was supposed to lead, because I didn't think I could possibly guide everyone through a calm, relaxing, meditative experience of centering prayer right then.  Unfortunately I hadn't missed it.  Fortunately we did about an hour of get-to-know-you games first.  Usually I hate those games, but this time I was grateful that they allowed me the time to pull myself together enough to lead the centering prayer.

Of course, I didn't get to do any centering prayer.  All the other kids were older and able to at least sit still and quietly during the extended silence; I learned the next day that some of the 9 to 13 year olds actually did the exercise as I'd instructed, and got something out of it.  My kids, however, were 2 and 4, super-excited about being in a new place with new toys and new people, happy to be out of the car after a 3 hour drive, and up well past their bedtime.  I had my hands full keeping them quiet enough to not completely disrupt the prayer.  The fact that this was a group of moms praying probably helped; they're used to tuning out that kind of noise.

The kids were doing a separate activity the next morning when I was leading the bible study, so I was able to be PASTOR with no distractions.  The rest of the day I got to be exclusively MAMA, since our evening devotion got redefined as the call to worship Sunday morning due to a conflict of geography and technology.  (I needed an audio file on my laptop to help with the devotion, which was impossible once a critical mass of moms insisted that the devotion be moved from the room in the conference center where is was originally scheduled to on the beach, tacked on to the end of the campfire.)

The next morning was when my two roles collided.  I was leading Sunday worship on the deck outside of the conference center.  Hymnals, sermon, communion, the works.  My kids had taken a real shine to another mom, who was there with her mother and her 8 year old son, and they graciously agreed to keep my kids with them while I led.  Spencer was fine with that, especially once he realized that this other mom was happy to entertain him, rather than make him sit still in church the way I do.  I decided to just be grateful for the help and not try to make her hold him to my (very-high-but-still-achievable) standards.  But Naomi was having none of it.

The retreat director had found several volunteers to serve as assisting ministers, so after I led the order of confession and forgiveness and the prayer of the day, I got to sit down in the front row for a bit while other people did the readings.  Naomi spent much of that time on my lap, occasionally getting down to go see what Spencer was doing, then coming back to my lap.  She happened to be with her brother when the time came for the gospel reading and my sermon.  I was ten seconds into the gospel reading when Naomi appeared before me with her arms up and a look on her face that told me she knew very well that I couldn't give her a time-out right then, and she was prepared to throw as much of a temper-tantrum as she needed to in order to get what she wanted.  What could I do?  I picked her up and continued to read the gospel as she laid a very contented head on my shoulder.

That head didn't remain contentedly on my shoulder for long.  I was barely into my sermon when I was interrupted by a devastated wail right in my ear.  I looked behind me and saw Teddy Bear (which is actually a pink lamb with a felt flower sewn onto its hand, but Naomi calls him 'Teddy Bear') had managed to launch himself off my shoulder, over the deck railing, and into a prickly bush on the ground below.  The deck was low, but not low enough for me to reach Teddy Bear.  Naomi was demonstrating just how much capacity her two and a half year old lungs had.  I turned back to the somewhat bemused congregation and asked for a volunteer to go get Teddy Bear.  Several of the older kids raced to the stairs, and the one who got there first continued down and around to the bush, retrieved Teddy Bear, passed him to me through the railing, then returned to his seat.  I found where I'd left off on my sermon manuscript and continued on, Naomi once more contently resting her head on my shoulder and holding on very tightly to Blanket and Teddy Bear.  (I think she believed me when I whispered to her that if Teddy Bear fell down again he was staying down, though I know I couldn't have stopped other people from embarking on another Teddy Bear Retrieval Mission if they'd deemed one necessary.)  I preached an entire fifteen minute sermon holding my daughter in my arms behind the lectern that was serving as a pulpit.  While everyone else stood for the hymn of the day, I sat, Naomi on my lap (until she got down to see what Spencer was up to again) shaking my sore right arm vigorously.

She reluctantly stayed with the other mom while I did the communion liturgy, but made herself something of an obstacle during the distribution.  People coming to me for the bread had to step a little to the side and lean over her, because she was standing directly in front of me with her arms up again, wanting to be picked up.  This time it wasn't going to happen.  I can preach and turn the pages of my sermon manuscript one-handed--not so with ripping off small pieces of bread from a larger loaf and handing them to people one at a time.  Eventually I paused in the distribution, put one hand on her head, and gave her my standard blessing for children and others not receiving communion, with a slight deviant addition: "May you always know God's love and care in all that you do.  Now go stand over there please.  Amen."  And it actually worked!  She went and stood over where I told her to.  Ten seconds later Spencer was cutting the line and received the exact same blessing, word for word.  It worked for him, too.

Mercifully the service ended shortly after that.

I am a textual preacher, and the text on Sunday never mentioned Mother's Day.  I never mentioned Mother's Day, or mothers in general, in my sermon.  But what better day to have the preacher preach with her child in her arms?

For all that I've struggled with dual roles, the final verdict is that I am KAREN.  Sometimes I'm a whole host of other things, too.  But on Mother's Day, 2012, at Camp Calumet, New Hampshire, I was PASTOR MAMA.  And I'm good with that.

Christian Families, Motherhood, and Womanhood Series, Part One: Government, Contraception, and the First Amendment

I’ve been spending a lot of time lately reflecting on what it means to be a Christian wife and mother in 21^st century America.  Partly this is because I am a Christian wife and mother in 21^st century America, and partly this is because I’ve been doing a lot of research on the Quiverfull movement for a novel I’m writing.  Watching the political battles unfold in the media have also contributed to this, as once again the candidates’ religious beliefs are being used to condemn, divide, and further alienate much of the electorate who seem to fall on the wrong side of something or the other.

As a result of all this reflecting, I’m going to be sharing several posts on the general subject of Christian families, motherhood, and womanhood, beginning today.  I hope you’ll stick with me, and as always I welcome your comments, whether you agree with my opinions or not, but I do ask you to keep it civil and respectful.  In return, I’m going to put considerable effort into keeping these posts as opinions rather than rants.  So without further ado, here is my Christian Families, Motherhood, and Womanhood Series, Part One:  Government, Contraception, and the First Amendment.

There has been a lot of outrage recently about the Affordable Care Act being managed by Health and Human Services (HHS).  (You can read the original press release announcing specifics of the Act here.)  Specifically the outrage is about the mandate that all employer-sponsored health insurance plans offer FDA-approved contraceptive services without cost-sharing, i.e. free of charge to the women who want them.  The Act does allow a narrow exemption for religious institutions to opt out of the contraceptive mandate, however that exemption did not originally include religious hospitals, universities, or other non-worship specific religious organizations.  At the time of this writing, the Obama Administration has indicated that it intends to recommend a compromise which would extend the exemption to those religious entities, and instead put the onus of free coverage on the insurance companies themselves, requiring them to contract with the covered individuals of exempted employers directly to provide contraceptive services for free.  (You can read the White House Fact Sheet on the compromise here.)

This article published by the National Catholic Register nicely summarizes many of the objections made not just by Catholics, but other Christians and even some Jewish groups.  This quote appears early in the article:  “But all see a major unifier in the mandate’s violation of the First Amendment guarantee of freedom of religion and protection of conscience.”  Some other quotes are:

• “We … call upon HHS Secretary Sebelius and the Obama administration to rescind this unjust ruling and to respect the religious freedom guaranteed all Americans by the First Amendment,” [the Assembly of Canonical Orthodox Bishops of North and Central America] stated.
• [The National Association of Evangelicals] noted that freedom of conscience is a “sacred gift from God, not a grant from the state.” It also said, “No government has the right to compel its citizens to violate their conscience. The HHS rules trample on our most cherished freedoms and set a dangerous precedent.”
• The Lutheran Church-Missouri Synod’s [Matthew] Harrison believes with this “secular assault on those of us who hold traditional Christian values … we have a responsibility to stand up and confess in the face of this opposition. It never has been more the time to stand up than now."

The first problem I see is with the appeal to the First Amendment.  Just as a point of reference, the text of the First Amendment reads as follows: “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.”  There is no mention in the First Amendment of “protection of conscience.”  In fact, there is quite a bit of precedent in the legal history of the United States that state (or Federal) laws that abide by a “neutral law of general applicability” (i.e. the law uniformly applies to everyone and does not single out a certain religion or religious practice) can interfere with the religious liberty of an individual if there is a compelling state interest.  (For an excellent discussion on this topic, read this summary by Richard S. Myers, Law Professor at Ave Maria School of Law.)  In this case the compelling state interest is equal access to medical care for women regardless of where they work.

In regards to the claim that this mandate violates the free exercise of religion (wording that is explicitly included in the First Amendment), this mandate does not require that women must obtain and use birth control that may be contrary to their faith.  To the Orthodox Bishops, HHS and the Obama Administration do respect the religious freedom of all Americans, including those who choose to refrain from birth control, and those who object to religious controls over their access to birth control.  To the National Association of Evangelicals, the government is not compelling its female citizens to violate their consciences (not-for-profit religious organizations do not qualify as citizens).  And to the Lutheran Church-Missouri Synod, there is no secular assault on traditional Christian values; there are safeguards, however, to prevent a religious assault on non-Christian women who hold secular values.

I like the compromise that the Administration is recommending, because it achieves the public goal of providing free access to all women regardless of where they work, and it keeps religious organizations completely out of that arrangement.  The objection I’m anticipating to this compromise is the (probably correct) assumption that insurance companies will increase their rates across the board in order to pay for the women who contract directly with the insurance companies, thus making religious organizations pay for these services indirectly.

Yet the truth is that religious organizations pay for these services indirectly anyway, no matter what.  When a Catholic priest fills a prescription for the antibiotic Amoxicillin, he and his insurance company are giving profits to Teva Pharmaceuticals, the company that currently owns Plan B, which is considered by many conservatives to be an abortion-inducing pill.  Neither the Catholic Church nor any other church can dictate to Teva how they choose to use profits earned on products such as innocent antibiotics, nor can religious organizations dictate to insurance companies how those companies are to use the money they receive on insurance premiums, beyond providing the specific services required by their existing contracts.  So the ‘indirect payment’ argument is a nonstarter.

The fact is that while this country does respect the free exercise of religion, that freedom cannot come at the expense of public wellbeing, and at the moment, the availability of free birth control to women who have employer-sponsored health plans is considered necessary to public wellbeing.  (Whether it should be is a whole other debate, and will most likely be covered in a future blog post in this series.)

All that said, I do believe that there were some valid points made in the National Catholic Register article.  In particular I agree with John Stonestreet, national programs director of BreakPoint, a part of the Colson Center for Christian Worldview, who said the following: “The language of (HHS Secretary Kathleen) Sebelius’ release treats pregnancy as a disease that needs to be prevented. That’s bad news. Despite different stances we (Catholics and evangelicals and Protestants) have on birth control, that language is unacceptable and opens the door to a whole bunch of evils.”

I agree.  Sebelius’ exact words in the HHS press release were “The Affordable Care Act helps stop health problems before they start.”  That quote came immediately after a list of benefits, ending with “contraception without charging a co-payment, co-insurance or a deductible.”  That combined with the title of the press release—Affordable Care Act Ensures Women Receive Preventive Services at No Additional Cost—leaves little doubt that HHS considers pregnancy a health problem that should be prevented.  Interpreting the language that way is not a stretch; what is a stretch is interpreting it any other way.

Clearly I’m in favor of providing free access to contraceptives, but I strongly oppose characterizing pregnancy as a health problem to be prevented.  Pregnancy may not always be a delightful, mystical bonding experience of a mother and her child (morning sickness, gestational diabetes, excessive swelling, back pain, etc. are all medical issues associated with pregnancy that often need to be addressed proactively), but categorizing pregnancy as a health problem that needs to be prevented is the same as categorizing aerobic exercise as a health problem because it results in increased heart rate.  Both pregnancy and aerobic exercise need to be done carefully and wisely, but neither is a health problem to be prevented.

Does the wording really matter?  Yes.  All words matter.  I teach that to my kids all the time.  If you tell a person that they’re ugly, stupid, and worthless, eventually they’re going to believe it.  If the major health service agency of the United States government characterizes pregnancy as a health problem that needs to be prevented, then that too will enter into the public consciousness.  (In some ways it already has, but again, that’s a whole other blog post.  See why I have to make this a series?)  I don’t mind contraception being part of the Affordable Care Act, but I’d really rather it not be included under ‘preventative’ services.

The other point well taken in the National Catholic Register article is the one made by Nathan Diament of the Union of Orthodox Jewish Congregations of America.  He stated, “Most troubling is the administration’s underlying rationale for its decision, which appears to be a view that if a religious entity is not insular, but engaged with broader society, it loses its ‘religious’ character and liberties. … The administration’s ruling makes the price of such an outward approach the violation of an organization’s religious principles.”  At the core of Christianity, Judaism, and (I believe) Islam is the understanding that the faithful must be actively engaged with the world, particularly in regards to charity.  Retreating into safe, private enclaves and ignoring the needs of your neighbors is simply not an option.  Yet the narrowly defined exemption requires exactly that.  (This is somewhat mitigated by the Administration’s compromise, which came about after the National Catholic Register’s article was written.)

In all, I think there’s overreaching by the Administration, and I think there’s overreaching by religious conservatives.  It’s going to take a lot of hard work and humility on both sides to recognize that the United States of America is not a theocracy, however it does need to respect that fact that it has a lot of people who live by strict religious principles.  Let’s try to figure out a way to respect both the religious and the non-religious, and not fight a Holy War over sexual morality.

Which is another topic I’ll be posting on soon.

A Modern Psalm of Lament From a Former Pastor

I spent this past weekend at a women's retreat at Camp Calumet in West Ossipee, NH.  I signed up through my church, and it was a good opportunity to get to know some of the other women I see every Sunday, but don't get to talk to or interact with very much.  I was a little nervous, because I don't do large groups very well, and I don't make friends very easily.

But I'm really glad I went.

If you've been reading my posts for a while, then you know that I'm struggling to recover from a toxic and unhealthy congregation where I served as solo pastor.  I've known intellectually that I was emotionally and spiritually harmed by that experience, but I don't think I realized the depth of that pain until this weekend.

The theme of the weekend was "Psalms: Prayers of the Heart."  The chaplain, Rev. Elaine Hewes, led us in an exercise where we wrote our own psalm, either of lament or of thanksgiving/praise (or some mixture of both).  Not surprisingly, I had a lament in me.  Quite surprisingly, however, the act of writing this psalm touched a raw, painful place deep within me, and I started crying.  Bawling.  Big, choking sobs.  In the middle of a crowded room full of strangers.  I got up and ran to the bathroom, where I tried to pull myself together.  When I thought I had, I went back into the hallway, where I found two women from my church waiting for me, wanting to make sure I was OK.  Just seeing the look of concern on their faces made me lose it all over again, and the next thing I knew I was being embraced and comforted by women whose names I didn't even know (their scarves were blocking their name tags), but such knowledge was completely unnecessary right then.

I was in a much better place after that, and I think it might have been the first real step in my healing, nearly two years after the damage was done.  Not only did it help me realize some things about the nature and the depths of my own woundedness, but it also served to show me that the church is not exclusively the domain of the selfish, vicious, treacherous, and abusive personalities that caused such harm at my last call.

So for what it's worth, here is my modern psalm of lament, written by a former pastor.  It's in the basic form of an acrostic, though you'll see I took a few liberties (poetic license) when necessary.

Accept me, O Lord,

because your people have not.  A

congregation of your followers sought to

destroy my marriage and my faith.

Every day I live with the pain,

feeling their rejection, and my failure to

guide them back to your ways.

Have mercy on me, Abba.

Ignite my faith where it has dimmed, and show me your

justice.

Keep my family together.

Let those who have strayed from you but call themselves by your name

make right their wrongs, and

know that what they say and what they do matters.

Open my heart, O Lord, and heal the

pain that lives there.

Quiet my demons, and

restore my faith.

Show me your faithful, your forgiven people who remain

true to your path,

unable to be perfect, but

very loving, very giving.

Where are you, Lord?

Explain how this can happen in

your Church.

Zeal is yours, Lord.  I'm waiting for you to show it.

Proud to be an Authoritative Parent

Motherhood, like everything else, has its ups and downs.  There are days when my kids make me happier than I ever thought I could be, and there are days when I have to fight the temptation to just leave them at the first Safe Haven I can find.

But there is one downside to motherhood that caught me by surprise, and it's probably the aspect of being a mother that I despise more than any other: having to deal with other mothers.

Mothers are the most judgmental, arrogant, and vicious people I've ever met (and that's saying something when you remember I'm a former pastor!).  Not all of them are like that, but enough of them are that I'm dreading the day my kids start to make friends, and I'm going to have to start dealing with those friends' mothers.

Most mothers (myself included) are convinced that their method of parenting is the best.  That's obvious; why would anyone choose a parenting method they felt was substandard to another method they were aware of?  The trouble comes when they encounter a mother who shares that level of conviction, but subscribes to a different method than the first mother.  Rather than recognize that different people have different philosophies, mothers tend to view any difference in parenting approach as a judgement on their own method, and, by extension, on their own abilities as a mother.  Therefore anyone with a different approach must be exposed as a bad mother before she can expose you as one.

From what I've seen and read, the parenting philosophy most in vogue right now is "attachment parenting."  I find not only the philosophy problematic, but the terminology as well.  Since I'm not an attachment parent, does that make me a detachment parent?  Someone who is actively trying to separate from my very small children, rather than enjoy a close relationship with them?  I don't think so.  I don't think attachment parenting is necessarily bad; I just don't think it would work for my family, and I don't believe that it's the only way to raise "secure, joyful, empathic children."  I don't believe that not following the attachment parenting strategies will harm the connection and trust between me and my children, the way attachment parents claim it will.  Can attachment parenting work?  I'm sure it can, and I'm not going to condemn anyone for subscribing to that particular philosophy, especially since the social pressures to do so right now are huge.  But I don't.

Especially with how I've observed it being used in practice.  Attachment parenting is very child-centered, but according to Attachment Parenting International's website, it's not 'permissive' parenting.  However, from what I've seen from other moms who appear to subscribe to the attachment parenting philosophy, they very much engage in permissive parenting, and it's become just as much a social norm as attachment parenting.  (The fact that Attachment Parenting International felt the need to draw the distinction on their website indicates to me how much the two have become conflated.)

Generally speaking, there are three primary parenting styles: permissive, authoritarian, and authoritative.  Permissive parents show lots of love and affection, accept their children as they are, and make very few demands on them.  Children of permissive parents are often spoiled with little or no self control, expect to be spoon-fed physically and emotionally throughout their lives, and are less likely to grow into independent, socially successful adults.  Authoritarian parents set rules and standards without any flexibility, emphasize obedience, rarely (if ever) show warmth or affection, and feel it's important to exert power over their children.  Children of authoritarian parents usually either rebel and escape their homes at a relatively early age (whether they're ready or not), or else remain dependent on their parents throughout their adulthood.  Authoritative parents set rules and guidelines that they expect their children to follow, but can be flexible when such flexibility is appropriate.  They exercise control over their children without being controlling, and often show love and affection to their children without fear that such expressions will diminish their ability to discipline.  Children of authoritative parents usually grow up to be independent, socially successful, and respectful of authority.

I strive to be an authoritative parent.

Attachment parenting, when done exactly as Attachment Parenting International lays it out, is also authoritative.  However, as I mentioned before, I've usually seen adherents to the attachment parenting model unable to exercise appropriate discipline and/or set boundaries.  Because attachment parenting places such an emphasis on not doing anything to damage the trust and connection between child and parent, many parents fear doing exactly that if they tell a child 'no' and refuse to accept inappropriate behavior.  This makes permissive parenting the social norm and expected default.

And woe to anyone who deviates from the norm.

From the perspective of a permissive parent, someone who is using authoritative methods appears to be authoritarian or even abusive.  Authoritative parents set clear boundaries and high - but reachable - expectations for their children.  Violating those boundaries or not meeting those expectations has consequences.  Most of the time it's pretty non-dramatic.  For example, my husband and I are very polite in our conversations with each other and with our children.  "Please" and "thank you" are regularly spoken by us.  My three and a half year old son (and my almost-two year old daughter, for that matter) has been hearing this his whole life.  When we ask him to do something we include the 'please' and follow it up with 'thank you.'  He knows what's expected.  When he wants something and he demands it ("Push me in!"), we ignore him.  Most of the time he'll adjust his tone and his words on his own ("Excuse me, Mama?" "Yes?" "Will you push me in, please?"  "Of course.")  If he doesn't do this on his own, after ignoring a second demand or sitting too long in silence, we'll prompt him ("How do you ask?"  "Please."  "Please what?"  "Will you push me in, please?"  "That's better.")  It's very simple, and it's pretty non-confrontational.  If he wants something, he needs to ask politely, or he doesn't get it.  We don't expect as much from our daughter, who is just beginning to use one or two word sentences, but we're still setting high but reachable expectations.  ("More!"  "How do you ask?"  "Please!")  More often than not her initial request is "More please!"  We started this at different times with our kids, depending on where they were developmentally; we don't expect more from them than they can do, but compared to so many children of the same age whose parents expect nothing from them, we seem harsh and demanding.

Often the expectations and consequences are negotiated between me and my son (my daughter needs to get a little more verbal before she can enjoy this experience).  If he puts all his toys away after lunch, I'll read him his favorite story.  "But I want to go to the mall playground."  "You would rather go to the mall playground than hear your favorite story?"  "Yes."  "We can do that, but you have to eat your lunch quickly.  If you take too long, we won't have time to go.  So if you eat your lunch quickly, and put all your toys away quickly, then we can go to the mall playground."  "OK!"  He's never not eaten and put his toys away quickly enough for me to not take him.

Such interactions require both of us to be calm and rational.  While very small children are more capable of this than many parents believe, they are also prone to temper tantrums, which is a clear violation of the established boundaries and expectations of this authoritative parent.  Simply put, I don't negotiate with terrorists, especially pint-sized ones who call me 'Mama.'  When my kids throw a temper tantrum, not only do they absolutely not get what they want, they are given to the count of five to shut down the tantrum or they go in time-out.  Both my son and my daughter do standing time-outs facing the corner (for different lengths of time, accounting for the differences in their ages and temperaments), and have been for quite a while.  Once the time-out is over, I tell them why they went in time-out, and how to avoid that in the future.  By this time they're more calm and rational, and they understand that the punishment is over now, and they're more willing to interact in an appropriate manner.  They still don't get whatever it was they were demanding; that ship sailed once the temper tantrum started.  My son rarely has to do a time-out in public anymore, because he's already learned from experience that Mama can find a time-out corner anywhere.  He's also pretty philosophical about his time-outs.  Once he's in there, the only way out is to be quiet, because he knows the clock doesn't start ticking until the screaming and crying end.  My daughter is still learning both these truths, so I'm still faced with the miserable experience of giving her time-outs in public.

My daughter is almost two.  I realize that many parents don't even try to discipline children this young, so the fact that I do is shocking and horrifying to them.  She is also extremely stubborn (she gets it from both her parents) and has a pretty vile temper.  So when she throws a temper tantrum in public, permissive parents who would probably deal with her by hugging her, kissing her, and giving her a sippy of juice and a cookie to calm her down see me instead tell her to "shut it down" and then count to five in my sternest 'Mommy-voice.'  If she doesn't shut it down (she has been more often lately, but she still usually doesn't), I then pick her up under the arms, carry her without holding her close (partly because I don't want her to think she's being cuddled and partly because I'm trying to stay out of range of her wildly kicking feet) and plop her down in the nearest boring corner I can find, facing the wall.  Permissive parents who can't stand to hear a baby cry see me forcing her to stand in time-out while she's screaming bloody murder.  Since their default is to assume every cry or scream is a sign of genuine distress and must be stopped by hugs, kisses, and affirmation, they don't see discipline; they see child abuse.

The way I see it, there are only three possible ways to deal with temper tantrums: appease them, ignore them, or punish them.  I will not reward such behavior, even if appeasement usually is the most expedient way of getting them to stop, because it also guarantees many more of the same once the child figures out that throwing a tantrum will get her what she wants.  For a while I tried ignoring them, but that's not really an option in public, and at home they can last a very long time if merely ignored.  I also want to be consistent, and have the same response at home as I do in public.  Punishing them sends the message much more effectively that this behavior is not acceptable and will not be tolerated.  I use time-outs because I don't believe in hitting, I don't see much point in a screaming contest, and making her tell it to an empty corner is the best way I can think of to get her to understand that no one wants to hear it.  If my kids have a complaint they can tell me about it, using words.  My three and a half year old son is not shy about telling me "I don't like that" or "I don't want to."  I don't put him in time-out for that.  If it's reasonable to change whatever it is to something he does like or is more willing to do, then I change it.  If such a change is not reasonable, I tell him something along the lines of "I'm sorry, you don't have to like it, but you do have to do it" and I tell him why.  And he accepts that and does it and moves on.  He doesn't usually throw temper tantrums to protest something anymore because he knows it's only going to get him put in time-out, and he has a much better chance of changing something if he talks to me about it instead.  My daughter is still learning this.

I'm not looking for the approval of other moms.  But I don't think it's appropriate to let toddlers call the shots.  Personally, I think giving children too many choices or too much control is abusive, because life is stressful, and that's too much responsibility for a two or three year old (or four, or eight, or twelve--you get my point).  Some choice and control is appropriate--my son chooses his breakfast every morning: Cheerios or Kashi.  He picks out his shirt after I tell him whether he has to pick from the long-sleeve or the short-sleeve side of the drawer, and then he picks from two or three pairs of pants or shorts I've selected that more or less match the shirt he's chosen.  My kids have choices that are appropriate to their age, and they're learning that they have some say in the world in which they live, but they don't have total control.  Vegetables are a part of supper whether they like them or not, ice cream is a nice surprise every once in a while but never an earned reward, and temper tantrums get you put in time-out.  As they get older, they'll learn more of life's lessons, but this is a good start for now.

So if you're a permissive parent who doesn't believe that toddlers are capable of self-control, understand that while that may be true of your toddler, it's not true of mine (though if you've never expected it of your toddler, how would you even know?).  Please learn the difference between authoritative parenting and authoritarian parenting (and abusive parenting).  Also consider what you're teaching your child about how the world works, and whether or not they're in for a really rude awakening at some point.

And know that when you threaten to call Child Protective Services on a mother who's enforcing a time-out for her almost-two year old in a corner of the mall playground, you're coming across as a judgmental, arrogant, vicious ignoramus who doesn't know how to handle her own children.  (Yes, that really happened to me last week, which is why this rant is so long.  My apologies to everyone who does recognize that different parents have different philosophies, and thank you for your tolerance.)

Reality TV and Justice

Through an unusual twist of fate which doesn't need to be explained here, last Thursday I found myself stuck in a room for about an hour with nothing to do but watch a TV that was tuned to CNN Headline News.  Given the circumstances that had me in that room to begin with, it would have been inappropriate for me to change the channel.

Last Thursday was the second day after the Casey Anthony verdict, a media circus I'd gone to great lengths to avoid.  Specifically, at the time I was in that room, the judge was hearing arguments about whether or not the names of the jurors should be made public.

I know a lot of people feel pretty strongly that Casey Anthony should have been found guilty of murdering her daughter Caylee.  Alan Dershowitz wrote an opinion piece in the Wall Street Journal (click here to read it) that explained why the outcome was what it was, and a couple of the jurors have publicly stated that as much as they wanted to find her guilty, the prosecution just didn't provide enough evidence to justify that verdict.

Most of the posts I've seen on Facebook, however, as well as comments on online news articles and interviews with 'random people on the street,' suggest that many people are angry about the verdict, believing that Casey Anthony got away with murder.  That's all well and good; people are entitled to voice their opinions, and that's what Faceook, message boards, and interviews are for.

But can we trust people to leave it at voicing their opinions on social media sites, or when asked by a roving reporter?

According to my forced TV-watching, at least one juror had expressed "very serious security concerns" to the judge, and most of the jurors had communicated to him that they wished to be left alone, to keep their privacy.  A juror's family had already reported being stalked by someone angry about the case, and the judge read one comment which involved the writer's wish to "filet the jury, pour salt on them, and feed their legs to a piranha."

The attorneys for the media argued that it's in the public's interest to know who these jurors are, and if there are credible security concerns, the jurors can and should be protected.  The judge feels that these jurors were compelled to come and do their civic duty, and shouldn't have the added burden of an unwanted spotlight being shined on them, recognizing that there is a real risk that people might take out their anger on these jurors.

I find myself torn on this issue.  On the one hand, I agree that there is a danger in making jury anonymity the norm.  As many psychological studies have proven, people get more reckless, less responsible, and sometimes just plain mean when their actions are divorced from their identity.  (Think about how many obnoxious comments you've read on a message board by someone named "RighteousDude447" or something like that.  How many obnoxious comments are posted by someone who puts their actual name?  If you are one who comments regularly, do you do it under your own name?  If not, would having to put your real name change what you would say or how you would say it?)  I don't know that we want to try defendants in front of a jury of RighteousDude447s.  A defendant in this country is entitled to be tried before a jury of his or her peers, and those peers are representative of the community the defendant is a part of as well as the community that has been wronged.  Any one of us could end up as a defendant, rightly or wrongly, and we must rely on the representatives of our community to decide the rightness or wrongness of the charges against us.  The jurors must then take responsibility for their judgment for or against one of their own back to the community which they represent.  Keeping their identities secret means they don't have to take responsibility for their decision.  I agree with the media lawyers' argument that this could cause the American public to lose faith in the judicial system.

That's the argument for revealing the jurors' identities.

Here's my argument against.

We are no longer a civil enough society to expect restraint and self-control from ourselves.  While most people wouldn't get violent against these jurors, there are enough people who would that we must err on the side of caution.  Even without the risk of physical violence, there are enough people who would verbally assault the jurors that I feel their requests for anonymity must be respected.

We are no longer a society that accepts representation.  We want our own voices heard and heeded.  Even as many of us do everything we can to avoid jury duty ourselves, we watch the trial on TV as though it were American Idol, or maybe Survivor.  Or we don't watch it at all, we just listen to the daily soundbites as our news, and we expect Casey Anthony's guilt to be clear and obvious, and we expect the verdict to be what we think it should be, without considering the very specific mandate given to the actual jurors, and the requirements that must be met in order for the verdict to be guilty. And when the jurors do other than what we want them to do, we blame them.  Some of us are willing to hear why, but many of us are too busy reveling in our righteous indignation to be bothered with the facts and the subtleties.  It's not for the sake of the public's trust in the judicial system that people want the names of the jurors released; it's for the entertainment value.  It's as though we're angry about an unexpected plot twist, and we want to take it out on the stars of this new reality TV drama.  But this isn't reality TV; it's reality.  It's life.  It's the judicial system in action, unfortunately confused with shows like Law & Order (and its many spin-offs) which are entertainment.  I read an article recently that reported something like only 12% of high school seniors in the United States can correctly identify the three branches of our government.*  Yet not even knowing that much about the judicial system, hoards of angry people are declaring that Caylee Anthony has been denied justice, and some of those angry hoards hold the jurors personally responsible, with one online article calling them the twelve stupidest people walking in America today.  Would you want to be publicly known as one of the jurors who acquitted Casey Anthony?  I know I wouldn't.

If privacy is respected, the jurors can still choose to come forward.  One that I'm aware of already has, and has given an interview, with her name attached, to ABC.  Two more have spoken to the press under the condition of anonymity.  And yet another one has offered to give the whole, inside story of the proceedings to whomever will pay him $50,000.  That's entertainment, folks.

In time this will all die down, and no one will care about the jurors anymore.  You could say it's just a short-term problem; fifteen minutes of fame only last fifteen minutes, after all.  But some people don't want even fifteen minutes in the spotlight, or they aren't cut out for it, and, with the possible exception of the guy who's willing to sell his story, none of these jurors sought it out.  I'm reminded of Robert O'Donnell, the paramedic who rescued "Baby Jessica" from the well in 1987.  He was just an ordinary guy doing his job, but unlike most rescues by paramedics, this one came with instant nationwide fame.  Very quickly he was forgotten, but his fifteen minutes in the spotlight affected him in unhealthy ways.  A few years later his marriage broke up.  He was accused of abusing prescription drugs, and his career was over.  In 1995, at the age of 37, he took his own life.  Those who knew him insist that his downfall was caused by the media attention surrounding that rescue.  He wasn't equipped to handle the spotlight.  And that was before the internet, and he was known for something indisputably positive.  Can we honestly say that all the jurors on the Casey Anthony trial will handle it better?  Judges and lawyers know the risks of a high profile case, and choose to participate in them for their own reasons (hopefully a sense that justice must prevail, but I'm sure the money's pretty good, too).  Jurors aren't given a choice.

Getting people to show up for jury duty is hard enough.  Lost time at work, childcare issues, sometimes such heavy restrictions on your movements and conversations that your closest relationships suffer...do we really want to add the risk that you will be publicly burned in effigy by RighteousDude447 and thousands others like him?  He might think it's like reality TV, but it could be your life we're talking about here.

*  If you weren't in that 12%, the three branches of our government are Executive, Legislative, and Judicial.

Too Offensive? Or Too Easily Offended?

I am way behind in my reading.  I've got a stack of periodicals that are getting increasingly outdated that I'm working my way through (except for the ones that I eventually throw away without reading, because they're just to irrelevant now).

Right now I'm working my way through the May 17th issue of the Christian Century, which also happens to be the last issue of my subscription.  I like the magazine, and I get a lot out of the articles despite the somewhat liberal Calvinist perspective (I'd always thought 'liberal Calvinist' was an oxymoron, but apparently not!), but I simply can't keep up with a biweekly publication right now.

A regular feature of the Christian Century is the section "Living By The Word," in which a guest contributor writes up a reflection on the upcoming two weeks' worth of lectionary readings.  Quinn G. Caldwell, who is listed as being the associate minister of Old South Church (UCC) in Boston wrote the reflections in this issue.  In his reflection for May 22 he wrote about interfaith dialogue and worship, and he described two ways of going about it.  The first way waters down everyone's faith to the lowest common denominator, so that everyone agrees to only say things that everyone else in the room can agree with.  The other way, which he identifies as his preferred way, allows and encourages everyone to be unafraid about who they are and what they believe.  He writes, "Rather than agreeing not to risk being offensive, we agree not to be easily offended."

I like this approach, and not just for interfaith dialogue.  What would happen if, in general, people worked harder at not being offended rather than not being offensive?  Your personal faith claim of ultimate truth isn't an attack on mine.  My preferred parenting method isn't a critique of yours.  Her strong preference for the culture of a coastal city isn't a slam against his strong preference for the community of a midwestern farming town.  The way one person chooses to live his or her life isn't a judgment on how someone else chooses to live theirs.

I know that in truth, many people would rather be offended, and expect the world to fully agree with and affirm their choices or preferences.  It would be much easier and nicer to live where we never felt like an outsider, or in any way different.  And I acknowledge that sometimes people really are being attacked for their differences, and that is wrong.  But not everything is an attack or a judgment.  Sometimes two people just see things differently, and agreeing to disagree is the only way to fully respect both parties, rather than asking one or both to play down who they are or what they believe.  As Caldwell writes in his May 22 reflection, "[T]he great challenge of our day is not to learn to live with watered-down versions of other faiths, but to live with them in all their fullness.  What could I possibly learn about Islam from a Muslim who's pretending not to be one?"

I'm sure that every time I speak to someone, either publicly or privately, my words could be interpreted as offensive by someone.  Increasingly people who do speak publicly are having to be more and more careful what they say, because someone somewhere is sure to be offended.  As a result, we are saying less and less.  We are not dialoguing with each other about anything important; we are monologuing at each other about nothing at all.  We are not learning from each other, because we're too afraid to say anything.  So we're all retreating to our own safe little enclaves of like-minded people and becoming more and more isolated from each other, and entrenched in our own positions and beliefs, and stagnant in our growth as people, and ignorant in our knowledge of the world.

Back in seminary I was asked to lead a devotional for the Wartburg Association of Students.  I'd found a poem inspired by a verse from John's Gospel, written about a hundred years ago.  The poem used masculine pronouns for God, which was contrary to Wartburg's gender-neutral language policy, but I didn't want to rewrite the poem in the name of political correctness.  So before I read the poem I explained the age of the piece, and that it did include these pronouns, and that I hoped everyone would be able to look past that and hear what the poem was saying.  As far as I could tell, everyone did, and it was clear that despite the presence of the pronouns that some in the room found offensive, by choosing not to be offended by them they were able to hear the beauty of the sentiment that the poet was trying to express.

We can do it.  Something else seminary taught (drilled into) me was this: it's not about you.  Next time you hear someone saying something you don't agree with, don't assume it's an attack or a judgment on you.  Instead, try to hear what they're saying, and understand what it means for them.  Don't demand that everyone else be inoffensive; work a little harder at not being so easily offended yourself.