The Ruins of America 2-14-11

Anderson, South Carolina

For forty years it’s been my great joy to travel the world, collecting images out of time; ancient cathedrals, castle ruins, remnants of Roman temples, Mayan pyramids, the laminated tells of long-forgotten civilizations. There’s perverse pleasure to be had in cataloging the detritus of lost worlds. An admixture of curiosity, wonderment, bewilderment, even great sadness and lament washes over me. One cannot but experience melancholy when viewing the likes of Hiroshima at ground zero. What a waste, literally and figuratively.

Psychologists have long recognized the ability of humans to compartmentalize their minds, to safely store toxic experience and memories in hidden recesses of the psyche. Victor Frankl gained fame for his development of logo therapy, articulating methods for coping with life in Nazi death camps in his compelling Man’s Search for Meaning. Zbigniew Drecki’s graphic and stunning Freedom and Justice: Spring from the Ashes of Auschwitz provides a vivid portray of his coping skills in man-made hell. I’ve coped with intensely toxic environments in my own particular way, especially when it comes to cataloging evidence of natural disaster and man’s incivility to mankind.

When getting off a jet in Miami after a journey to Haiti’s Port Au Prince, it’s easy to safely upload intense sensory images into archival storage and move on with my happy life. I have the separation, the compartmentalization of five hours of airtime between my affluent American dream and Haitian reality. While grappling with horrific images of Hitler’s holocaust when walking along the Arnhem River, I know I can tuck tail and flee for twelve hours by jet to the cozy safety of my suburban American trance. There’s no shortage of cognitive dissonance for me when deplaning after long-distance travel to dangerous places on the State Department’s top-ten ‘avoid’ list. Yet, somehow the dissonance dampens and I get on with the happy illusions of my life. Time and distance heal my discomfiture.

Viewing battlefields is not so bad when one has the separation of five centuries from Cromwell’s mayhem or five thousand miles and six decades from Hitler’s havoc. A combination of time and distance provides an illusion of safety. What does one do when neither time nor distance is sufficient to maintain a mirage of safety, when the ruins of civilization are walking distance from one’s nice suburban house?

Recently I was given links to videos cataloging the destruction and loss of Highland Park, Michigan. It once had the highest per-capita income in America; was the fastest growing city in the world, and boasted the highest-rated public schools in North America. Highland Park and nearby Detroit are being held up to the world as haunting icons of the death of a way of life. Now described as the world’s largest ghetto, it’s inconceivable an alloy of greed, violence, drug addiction, and economic and political misconduct of the highest order could render such an astonishingly bleak landscape of cannibalized dreams, looking like Hiroshima’s ground zero in 1945. Only this time there’s no combination of time and distance to dampen my angst. It’s entirely too close to home.

For some days I’ve had a hard time letting go of images of our American heartland, a place where new public policy includes simply running a battalion of bulldozers across cities, burying them, and withdrawing public services, because public coffers have been bled dry. We learned too well from Haiti’s experience under Papa Doc and his son, Baby Doc, who just returned to the Haitian tragedy.

I suggested to the one sending me these links Detroit’s experience is anything but unique. Just ask refugees from New Orleans, South Florida, or Camden, New Jersey, if they know anything about the death of cities. The one challenging my assertion told me his city of nearly 500,000 does not have a single abandoned building. Refuting his claim, I suggested even my little town of 28,000 has a huge inventory of abandoned buildings and burn outs. For two days I went out with cameras to document this all-too-close reality.

Within walking distance of my suburban house I cataloged an astonishing array of ruins, everything from abandoned department stores, rail lines, malls, textile mills, hardware stores, mill houses, even nice suburban houses. In a three-mile span I cataloged approximately two and a half million square feet of residential, commercial, and industrial property under roof now abandoned, burned out, or offered for sale for decades. Two miles further out is another 1.5 million square feet under roof in two dozen buildings. At one time these hundreds of buildings on perhaps a thousand acres employed twenty thousand people. They now provide sporadic shelter for homeless addicts.

Astonishingly, many of the most haunting ruins, open to the weather for decades, are in immediate proximity to downtown. I wonder how it is we spend $100 for an upscale dinner only three hundred feet from ruins of a way of life unknown to the present generation. In aureate sunlight of late afternoon I photographed terra cotta ruins from another lifetime, wondering why I don’t experience the same enchantment that comes with photographing Sicilian castles, why instead a low-grade anxiety laps at the edges of consciousness. Perhaps there’s not enough time and distance to create a mirage of safety.

In the evening while photographing the delightful interior of an intimate restaurant, I could not but wonder about the kinds of table service available to addicts living in moldy cellars of the abandoned department store across the street, to single mothers and infants living in frigid cellars of the roofless hardware store a block away, to the guy living on the abandoned rail platform below me. The images of terra cotta ruins were too fresh. Three hundred feet and two hours just don’t give enough separation for my impressionable brain which prefers denial. I wonder how it is our town was named an All-America City. I wonder who gets to participate in egalitarian images of the good life.

Moody Metrics Analytics, a research group, routinely conducts audits of the fiscal health of states and municipalities. Recent surveys revealed twenty-two municipalities across the country at special risk for financial default. My city made this ignominious list. Our one remaining public swimming pool was scheduled to be closed last month, a victim of poor public policy and planning. Perhaps it can be used as a landfill for the terra cotta ruins of downtown if we can ever afford to take them down.

The Old Testament writings of Nehemiah have long been held up as an example of transformation and renewal possible from the vision and dedication of a single man. While Nehemiah was in Susa, he heard the people in Jerusalem were in great distress, the walls collapsed, and the gates burned with fire. He sat down, wept and mourned for his city, fasting and praying for days. In his prayers he confessed, “We have acted very corruptly against thee and have not kept the commandments, nor the statutes.” Nehemiah petitioned the Lord to remember His promise to the people, “If you return to me and keep My commandments and do them, though those of you who have been scattered were in the most remote part of the heavens, I will gather them from there and will bring them to the place where I have chosen to cause My name to dwell.”

Nehemiah had the extraordinary courage to ask his king for permission to return to Judah and rebuild Jerusalem; even asking for access to the King’s forest. Nehemiah’s account is given to describing the victory that comes from returning to God, seeking His guidance, and trusting him during challenges and conflict. Jerusalem was restored. For twenty-five centuries his account has served as an inspiring example of what is possible when even one individual seeks God to perform the impossible.

One wonders what might be very different for American cities facing abandonment, and fiscal and social crisis. What would be possible for Detroit, Camden, New Orleans, even Anderson, if a battalion of visionaries plowed forward in prayer rather than bulldozers?

If my people who are called by my name humble themselves and pray, and seek my face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin, and will heal their land.

Perhaps one day, as in Nehemiah’s day, it can be said people gathered and offered great sacrifices and rejoiced because God had given them great joy and restored their cities.

Humility - Right Sizing Our Egos 2-6-11

Anderson, South Carolina

The story’s often told of an arrogant ship’s captain on a foggy night demanding another ship give way, believing he had the right of way. Repeatedly, the captain insisted through his radio operator the vessel before him yield to him, pulling rank, ad infinitum; how dare this anonymous voice in the night tell him what to do? Throughout the course of this conversation the voice in the night insisted the captain heed his commands. Eventually, the obstinate voice simply declared, “proceed at your own risk, lighthouse out.”

The all-time aviation disaster remains an event in the Canary Islands thirty-four years ago claiming the lives of more than five hundred eighty crew and passengers, on the ground. Two fully-loaded 747s collided on the runway when an impatient KLM commanding pilot refused to give heed to the insistent warnings of his co-pilot. This ‘celebrated’ event has been a management case-study for decades of system weaknesses that occur when ego is not checked in some fashion. Procedural changes since then allow junior officers and cabin crew to ‘get in the face’ of higher ups when it comes to matters of safety.

The world is presently watching a war of egos, one with potential to engulf the lives of hundreds of millions in a political economic maelstrom. One considered a despot by many observers refuses to give up his place of absolute power, despite the majority demanding he do so. Cairo has become an epicenter for unrest that threatens to ignite the Arab world in a domino-like destabilization of central governments. One only wonders, almost in awe, why one individual would risk the future welfare of a hundred million of his own citizens. One needs look no further than a tiny three letter word - ego. The same observation can be made of every totalitarian state. Ego proves to be more powerful than entire militaries.

Ego, run amok, is easily the most dangerous phenomenon on earth, causing more deaths and misery than any other force, as aptly described in a Canary Island editorial twenty years ago. Students of warfare will quickly concur in the major role of ego in fanning the torrid flames of conflict.

For some years I was in a state of profound neediness secondary to medical challenges. Over time it became clear my brothers were not interested in letting me too close to their centers of gravity. Unspoken was a fear I might remind them of the tenuous nature of life, that I might be as a flea-bitten stray cat looking for food and shelter, perhaps long-term. It actually did occur to me at one time to do exactly that; in a dysfunctional way indenture myself to one or both of their lives, trading my assets for some sort of informal custodial care. I never spoke this out loud but they got the drift very quickly. We have had the barest of contact over the decades.

In the course of time, I found resolution to my iatrogenic challenges and have moved on to a larger brighter place in life. The idea of indenturing myself to one of their lives now seems so remote, so preposterous. I have since been given a large life rich with meaning and purpose, one taking me around the world.

Both my brothers were recently diagnosed with life-threatening cancers. They admit neoplastic death was not on their “Bucket List” and submitted to quickly organized surgery and treatment. I had the audacity to think I could come from a position of strength and actually be useful to one or both of them, even thinking one or both of them might ask me to come out to their home cities to offer moral support. They did not ask. I only found out their state of affairs from Facebook or e-mail. I was not even in their loops. I cancelled a journey to Portland, in part, because I thought one of my brothers would like some moral support from me and I wanted to keep my schedule open.

For one struggling with the same ego issues as the KLM pilot or the naval captain in the north Atlantic, it was quite the lesson in humility to realize my brothers have no need or use of anything I might have offered them. They get on with their lives just fine, without me. Pressing me further into the lesson is realizing they also want me to get on with my life without them.

In the recovery literature, it’s clearly stated self-centeredness is the underlying cause of our problems in life. Ego and self-centeredness are nearly synonymous with each other. Recovery offers a way to overcome the slippery slope of ego run amok. Ego can destroy any of us with the same certainty it did in the Canary Islands.

Selfishness - self-centeredness! That, we think, is the root of our troubles. Driven by a hundred forms of fear, self-delusion, self-seeking, and self-pity, we step on the toes of our fellows and they retaliate. Sometimes they hurt us, seemingly without provocation, but we invariably find that at some time in the past we have made decisions based on self which later placed us in a position to be hurt. So our troubles, we think, are basically of our own making. We are examples of self-will run riot. We must be rid of this selfishness. God makes that possible. And there often seems no way of entirely getting rid of self without His aid. Many of us had moral and philosophical convictions galore, but we could not live up to them even though we would have liked to. Neither could we reduce our self-centeredness much by wishing or trying on our own power. We had to have God's help.

When we take the position of giving our will and lives over to the care of God as we understand him, we are then liberated from the tyranny of ego. I no longer have to fret because others have no need or want of me. I no longer have to become agitated or impatient because others are not doing what I want them to. I can rest in the assurance things are exactly as they are supposed to be in God’s world.

This is the how and why of it. First of all, we had to quit playing God. It didn't work. Next, we decided that hereafter in this drama of life, God was going to be our Director. He is the Principal; we are His agents. He is the Father, and we are His children. Most good ideas are simple, and this concept was the keystone of the new and triumphant arch through which we passed to freedom.

We moved from playing God with a God-sized ego to a place where we simply “sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as we understood him, praying only for knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry that out.” We are liberated from the tyranny of ego run amok and are able to relax into the serenity of genuine humility, no longer having to pretend we are ten feet tall and bullet proof. As a dear friend of mine who is six eight in height says, “I am just an average guy who is above average in height.”

When one realizes one’s place in God’s universe, ego sublimates into the wonder of true humility. Those of us using the gateway of twelve-step recovery will almost invariably find ourselves experiencing the promises to be found in the greatest statement ever made about ego.

"Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted. Blessed are the gentle, for they shall inherit the earth. Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be satisfied. Blessed are the merciful, for they shall receive mercy. Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God. Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of God.”

Journeys in Gratitude 2-5-11

Anderson, South Carolina

It’s hard to imagine getting out of a warm bed in the dark on Saturday morning and then driving in freezing rain to the gym could be anything other than slow torture. Sometimes we are granted wondrous surprises. A gentle teacher occasionally shows up to teach us important lessons of life.

Last Saturday when making a visit to the gym I did so out of a strained form of hopefulness. After having spent the entire night in nearly intractable pain from a yet-to-be-diagnosed muscle disorder, it seemed best for me to go to a place where those present are about embracing life and health, doing the next right thing to strengthen their bodies and minds. For more than five years going to the Y has served as a bit of metaphor for a personal pilgrimage. We go to those places where we believe spiritual, emotional, and even physical renewal and restoration can take place. Millions have gone to Lourdes and Medjugore, seeking healing of diverse kinds. In many ways I have found such with a mere drive of two miles, sometimes in freezing rain in the dark. Significant relief was to be found last Saturday with very tempered and mindful exercise.

Doctors visits and modern pharmaceuticals have me hopeful I might be able to get ahead of intractable pain that sometimes hammers me with a wake-up call when I least want it. Today my night journey to the gym was almost pain free. While waiting for the Y to open, I sat in wonderment and gratitude about how much better I am feeling today than a week ago.

Fr. Martin is a Catholic priest sharing a powerful message of emotional healing for those in recovery from the ravages of alcoholism and drug addiction. Most compelling is his description of gratitude as the queen of emotions. Gratitude is a certain cure for resentment, bitterness, anger, and the other affective scourges making so many of us miserable. When I have those all-too-rare episodes in which gratitude floods over me, colors brighten, music resonates, contentment washes over me; life fills with wonderment.

I’d just suited up and was on a stationary bike beginning an imaginary ride to nirvana when a middle-aged man on a cane made an uncertain trek over to me and in garbled voice asked my name. The next twenty minutes provided a lesson in gratitude. James turns out to have been victim to neoplastic nightmares growing in his head, car wrecks, and calamitous accidents. While sitting in the dark waiting for the Y to open, I was a bit smug thinking myself virtuous just for showing up and being the first one at the door. It turns out James has hobbled into the Y every morning for years, clawing his way back to some sort of meaningful life. For fourteen weeks after a car wreck he was in a coma. For ten years he could not talk. He can now make himself understood. He could barely walk to the stair climber but somehow he manages to pull himself up on it and do a real workout. It seems he too has found some sort of healing here in a place where others are doing the next right thing to strengthen their bodies and minds.

My smugness for showing up in the dark was burnt off by James’ commitment and the gratitude starting to come over me for even being able to get here at all. Gratitude is not unlike a muscle relaxant for the emotions. I found myself being rather grateful for those days when nothing hurts and I am able to do real exercise. Within the last week I had times when I was physically unable to drive a car. Today I can drive and climb. James tells me he never has times when he doesn’t hurt – a lot, yet, here he is, climbing.

King Solomon was reputed to have been the richest man on earth in ancient times and more importantly was considered the wisest. His aphorisms have come down as the pinnacle of Jewish wisdom literature. When asked of the Lord what he wished, if anything was possible, he petitioned for wisdom and knowledge of God, rather than long life, riches, and fame. Because God was so pleased with his priorities he granted him wisdom … long life, riches, and fame. Solomon figured out wisdom empowers those seeking it in doing the next right thing to strengthen their bodies and minds. One can easily surmise wisdom is fertile ground for gratitude. Those with wisdom know a good thing when they see it and are thankful for even the smallest things coming their way. Those with wisdom know life does not always work out as we hope; they respond with acceptance. Many of us are learning in our journey, acceptance is the answer to all our problems today. We learn to be grateful for what is in life, we enjoy the affective relaxant gratitude provides to our souls.

Today I could drive, without pain. But what if I couldn’t? Like, James, like Solomon, sometimes we just need to suit up, show up, and start climbing, even if it hurts.

Every time someone in the gym asks me how I am doing, I go through a short life inventory out loud. I’m above ground today (6,850 people die every day in this country). I got to sleep inside last night (millions of people in the world sleep outside on the ground every day of their lives). I have more food than I can possibly eat (more than a billion of us are in caloric deficiency). I have access to clean hot and cold running water at all times (2.5 billion people never have access to either). I have many people who care about me with the fullness of their hearts (loneliness and social isolation are a public health menace in western cultures). For now I am pain free most of the time (James is in pain all the time and millions more can relate to the emotional stresses of chronic pain). My dad died at age forty-five. I am almost sixty. As far as I can tell, I’m on major bonus time. The inventory comes up positive every time, even if there are times when body parts don’t work right.

Long life is in her right hand; in her left hand are riches and honor. Her ways are pleasant ways. And all her paths are peace. She is a tree of life to those who take hold of her. And happy are all who hold her fast … and the years of your life will be many. I have directed you in the ways of wisdom; I have led you in the upright paths. When you walk, your steps will not be impeded; and if you run, you will not stumble. Take hold of instruction; do not let go. Guard her, for she is your life.

Go to the gym, you might just end up with a lot more than bulked up muscle mass. A guy fighting gravity might come up to you and teach you about wisdom and gratitude, the affective elixir for our souls.

Thinking on Mortality 2-4-11

Anderson, South Carolina

Last week two of my friends decided this world no longer held possibilities for them. At their own hand they walked from the wonders of life, leaving behind fine homes, loving children, and friends. We were left with the scintillating bewilderment that comes only with suicide, seasoned with survivor’s guilt; could we have done anything different to head them off from these violent decisions? How is it people living in physically attractive healthy bodies decide to destroy them?

On the other hand those living large fulfilling lives are often catapulted into downward trajectories of declining health. Weeks ago my older brother was struck by a virulent cancer, even saying if he did not do something at once he’d be dead in short order. He describes being “on a one way journey of no return and no escape.” How is it someone living life so large could be dead in short order, someone who wants to stay alive; yet an Episcopal priest with a fine church, home, wife, and daughters, with grand possibilities would choose to be dead in short order, at his own hand?

My twin brother has been down in South America working as a translator for a group of medical missionaries who set up mobile hospital camps several times of year in the high Andes. He doesn’t want to walk from the wonders of life, yet a few days ago he also found himself compelled, as he puts it, "to go home over the weekend and get on with what looks like the first step of that slippery slope that eventually gets us all ... Feel like I am going down a very long and deep hole.” How does someone full of life find himself consigned to the vicissitudes of a catastrophic cancer diagnosis, while another in a young beautiful cancer-free body decides to destroy it, leaving behind her teen-age daughter, splendid house, and a cloud of people who love her?

Even quantum physicists cannot describe these parallel universes, one in which contestants will give everything they have in order to stay in the game of life, and another in which individuals will cash in everything they have to opt out of life. I am not fully convinced psychologists or psychiatrists are much better at explaining this dreadful reality.

A long-time friend of mine was in Texas helping his brother put up Christmas decorations. He had just preached at his mother’s funeral. While putting out yard decorations my friend stumbled, fell, and subsequently died of a subdural hematoma despite emergency surgery. He died twelve hundred miles from home; his wife of forty-five years is now wandering in a fog.

This weekend I participated in three funerals, one on Saturday and a ‘double feature’ on Sunday. It was a bit surreal to spend the weekend this way; three times in churches on Sunday alone, the cemetery for interment, and three visitations. If my count is correct I ‘had’ seven deaths in January and the present close encounters with my brothers. As if this is not enough, I am presently going through evaluation to determine if I have a neuromuscular monster that is lurking at the edges of my life. There are days when some of my parts don’t work and some days when pain nerves are maxed out.

Does acceptance hold a key to ‘processing’ these catastrophic events, events seemingly stochastic in their nature, even capricious? Can we make any kind of sense of such events while pulled through nine Gs; whipped through life’s barrel rolls? In recovery we make our first step towards serenity and peace by admitting we are powerless over people, places, and things. Cancer, suicide of spouses and children, and veils shrouding our futures are things we have virtually no control of. When we can say out loud honestly that we simply don’t have control of everything in our lives, while yet embracing the wonder of a shimmering sunrise detonating in first light, we are well on our way. Easier said that done, for sure. In recovery we speak of spiritual progress, not perfection. Certainly, no one is going to say “Goodie! Goodie!” when cancer shows up or someone precious to us cashes out, not even those of us far along in our journeys.

In Eastern culture there’s widespread acceptance of death as part of the natural order of things. There tends to be far less fear of death in many nations than found here in America or European lands. In America one can argue fear has become politically correct, often showing up as a great motivator in health and wellness education materials. It certainly has shown up in the acerbic war of words over the ethical and moral merits of euthanasia. Little has polarized America more than this battle to choose.

Chip Ingram, a well regarded preacher, reports Westerners are far more interested in staying alive no matter the physical, emotional and financial costs, than dying well. It’s a battle to the very end. The medical economics literature is replete with evidence that 80% of Medicare dollars are spent in the last six months of life. One of the great challenges in American healthcare is the reality of vast resources being expended to extend quantity of life but yielding no improvement in quality of life. For those being subjected to arterial blood gasses every few hours in an ICU cubicle, while struggling with ICU psychosis, gasping for air, it’s arguable their quality of life is being degraded immensely. Families will often override patient’s written wishes regarding extraordinary or heroic measures to keep them alive – period.

It’s well known in academic circles that physicians have a higher fear of death than non-physicians. The culture of American medical education presents death as the ultimate enemy. Giving a patient over to death is seen as critical treatment failure. Only recently have we seen meaningful numbers of physicians begin to embrace palliative care, admitting to the inevitable and working towards a dignified death free of intractable pain and emotional distress.

Is it possible embracing Eastern thinking with regard to the natural order of things, including death, would result in far less fear of death, perhaps even a significant reduction in the emotional and affective angst that drives some to find a final solution in the very thing we have been taught to dread? A curious paradox. What is not paradox is the recovery message embracing the idea of things being exactly as they are supposed to be in God’s world. Acceptance brings us round the back way to a place Easterners have known for millennia.

Giving up the fight just might free us up to live life fully, even to the very end.

Will Fear Destroy Christian Hospitality? 1-28-2011

Anderson South Carolina

Great joy in alcoholic childhood came from rare journeys to the vast LAX airport with its ultra modern satellite restaurant on Saturday afternoon; watching jets come and go. The airport seemed iconic of possibilities life held, if I could but get away from the prison of alcoholism and drug addiction I lived in. Alas, I never got on planes in childhood to visit wondrous places, but I could fantasize. There was no concept of security; I wandered freely in the terminals, occasionally being allowed onto flight decks of airplanes. In high school we boarded and flew in a wondrous variety of Air Force refuelers, bombers, troop carriers, and an old DC3. Life was not yet cloaked in security paranoia. I even wandered in NORAD facilities and atomic labs at Los Alamos.

Francis Schaefer, a beloved Christian writer wrote a small imperative years ago called The Mark of the Christian. In his concise and compelling work he said Christians have essentially no credentials to authenticate their faith besides their love one for another. Creeds, beliefs, and religious behavior are not compelling in proving the veracity of Christian hope and experience. For decades I’ve wondered why Schafer’s imperative doesn’t seem to translate into widespread practice.

Many hundreds of imperatives throughout scripture charge us to let go of fear and trust God, leaving the driving to Him. The entire foundation of two hundred species of recovery programs rests on the idea that life works when we admit our powerlessness over the affairs of life and turn our lives over to the care of God as we understand him. Perhaps the most compelling of scriptural imperatives is “Let not your hearts be troubled, for in my father’s house are many rooms, I go to prepare a place for you, if it were not so I would have told you.” For those believing in the truth of scripture, we are compelled in no uncertain terms to cease and desist from worry and let Him direct the course of our lives.

In recovery we embrace the idea there are no mistakes in God’s world and things are exactly as they are supposed to be. “I can find no serenity until I accept that person, place, or thing, or situation as being exactly the way it is supposed to be at this moment. Nothing, absolutely nothing happens in God’s world by mistake.” This belief proves fertile ground for the wondrous gifts of peace and serenity. For those coming out of the tortures of alcoholism and addiction, these are the Holy Grail. We are inspired to live in the dynamics of God’s Kingdom rather than the fear-driven madness of mankind’s world. As our recovery literature states, “It works, it really does.”

For decades, countless self help books have been written on overcoming fear in its myriad forms. Finding freedom from fear, anxiety and panic became the stuff of short-lived bestsellers. In 1939 a bestseller was written describing fear as “an evil corroding thread; the fabric of our existence was shot through with it. It set in motion trains of circumstances which brought us misfortune we felt we didn’t deserve. But did not we, ourselves, set the ball rolling? Sometimes we think fear ought to be classed with stealing. It seems to cause more trouble.” To this day this post-depression classic remains a bestseller, every year millions of copies provide experience, strength, and hope to those who have plenty to feel insecure about. Alas, anxiolytic drugs, anti-depressants, anti-psychotics, and mood stabilizers continue as runaway bestsellers.

While attending a Christian medical school at Oral Robert’s City of Faith we medical students were required to live in a gated housing compound on campus, fenced with ribbon wire. Speculation was the gate attendants were armed. Tulsa was yet a benign user friendly city as the Oklahoma City bombings down the road hadn’t yet occurred. Cameras, locked doors, underground tunnels, two way glass, and security personnel were the stuff of local campus legend. For one living in the openness of great teaching hospitals of Chicago, the strictures of a fear-driven environment were stupefying.

Years ago I was in a dark night of the soul, not yet knowing medications given to me by a physician were driving me into some of the greatest torments known to man. Seeking assistance of my priest, I presented myself at the locked door of my church one sunny afternoon for a scheduled counseling appointment. Because of the church’s rampant fear of sexual predators, I was turned away. The priest cited insurance regulations about not allowing male church members to seek counsel with female priests without the requisite chaperones. “Wasn’t I the guy just serving at the altar with you Sunday for the umpteenth time?” I left utterly dismayed. My theological training, licenses; my paperwork and experience weren’t enough to gain admittance into my church at a time of crisis.

Several years ago I invited a woman in recovery to join me at the mega church I was then attending. Driving 250 miles from the coast we made it to the church with seconds to spare. As I was exhorting my friend to hurry across the lobby, the ushers pulled the still-open auditorium doors from my hand and closed them. We were never admitted. Policy states people are not allowed to enter after the preacher starts talking. We left, utterly bewildered, knowing entry into the vast half-filled auditorium would never be noticed by anyone. We never went back.

Yesterday afternoon I was called by a friend in extreme duress. Her recovery has been solid but all of us in recovery have our moments. I invited her to that same mega church, hoping leadership had matured; figuring out the nature of Christian hospitality. We arrived twenty minutes early so there would be no question about late entry. Policy had not changed over the years. At the door an usher gave me a quizzical look, not quite sure of himself. He proceeded to inform me it would be necessary to search my belongings before entering the church or leave them in the outer lobby. Was this a TSA officer? Was I really being asked to submit to a search to enter a church? I wasn’t even challenged when I entered the Mosque of Omar. Why would I, wearing a herringbone tweed jacket, a fine processional cross and tab-collared dress shirt, carrying my small computer case be subject to search while thousands of women with equally sized handbags were unnoticed? Profiling? In bewilderment I refused to submit to inspection of myself or my belongings. We left. I wonder what kind of message this sent to my struggling friend in recovery who is trying to find experience, strength, and hope in the Christian church. I know what kind of message it sends me.

Two tiny Episcopal churches in North Carolina gained international attention because of the creation and installation of Ben Long’s epic frescoes. Despite being in isolated places with no security whatever, these churches have been open 24/7 for thirty years. The priceless art work is quite intact and a generous spirit of hospitality is still found there.

Here in my southern town a cozy Presbyterian church leaves a fine chapel open 24/7. It contains a room with wheelchairs, walkers, crutches, bedside commodes freely available to whoever has need of them. I have often found exceptional hospitality in this church. A small nearby Lutheran in a marginal neighborhood never locks its sanctuary. To the best of my knowledge it’s never had a problem by doing so.

It’s difficult to not wonder what happens in the evolution of churches as they gain size and stature. Tiny churches with the most to lose have not yet embraced profiling, screening, searches, locks, cameras, ribbon wire, chaperones, and draconian policy to secure their borders. It seems they embrace the admonitions to love one another and not let their hearts be troubled.

For people in recovery, stories abound of those who already had the gun cocked, who had their lives spared because messages of hope came to them through the hand of Christian hospitality, at the last minute. They found hope in the veracity of Christian experience rather than a violent solution at their own hands. They live today. Fortunately, my two friends who went with me to that mega-church are not at such risk, but for three others among us, two weeks ago the message of Christian hope was somehow lost in clouds of fear. Fear had the last word. They were admitted to church after all, feet first, at their own hands.

Crime rates increase as population density increases. Bureaucracy proliferates as organizations increase in size. Increasing crime and fear provoke protective regulation. The recent bombing of Moscow’s airport may well make airports all but inaccessible. Increasing rules and procedures may make flying untenable to all but the hardest of us. Saturday afternoons at the airport are but distant wisps of fading memory. Perhaps those wondrous days when we could enter churches and mosques without screening and chaperones will soon recede into discolored memory as well.

We have seen up close what fear did to destroy the most prosperous manufacturing city on earth; where fear infected the masses and they fled to the illusion of suburban safety. Do we want to follow the example of Detroit or do we want to seek a different way? Do we want to put our airports, schools, churches, and lives on lock down? Do we want to extirpate open Christian hospitality out of fear? Can small hospitable churches sustain themselves in a rising tide of fear?

It’s no accident scriptures contain at least five hundred admonitions to let go of fear and let God? It’s no accident Franklin D. Roosevelt in his March, 1933 inaugural address admonished the nation in the depths of the depression, “that the only thing we have to fear is fear itself - nameless, unreasoning, unjustified terror which paralyzes needed efforts to convert retreat into advance.”

We will leave the light on and the door’s always open.

There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear: because fear hath torment. He that feareth is not made perfect in love.

On Creating Wealth 1-22-2011

Anderson, South Carolina

Jesus commented more about money than heaven; it seems he knew where we put our treasure is the same place we put our hearts and affections. In the many years I have been writing essays and sometimes acerbic observations of human behavior, I’ve never had such copious response as was elicited by my recent out-loud musings on the ethics of making money – is it better to make a whole lot of money and then give it away or is perhaps better to give away valuable products and services and create good will, even if at the cost of making money? The sometimes extensive comments suggest out-loud thinking with another round of input has merit, this time looking at money and cash flow as not necessary the last word on wealth creation. It would seem there is merit in considering non-tangible forms of wealth that may well translate in to fiscal wealth at some point.

I received two groups of comments that bifurcated down philosophical lines. By far the larger group said it was a good thing for me to be willing to set aside generating income as a primary motive of doing my creative work. These people saw intangible but valuable merits of doing something with a primary motive of gifting into the community directly. I could perhaps earn $1000 doing a specific photo shoot for a restaurant and then turn around and give the $1000 to some other project or entity of my choice. These individuals see merit in my giving $1000 worth of quality work directly to an entity that could never afford to pay me for it. They suggest in doing this I am generating another kind of great wealth; good will; a sense of sharing and investing in the community. Even secular corporations that exist for no other reason than generating earnings per share understand the incalculable value of good will, even if not directly measureable. I and those who know me well think I do best generating good will rather than cash flow. A substantial number indicate I am getting a far greater pay back than cash provides.

A much smaller group suggests I ought to go ahead and offer my work for sale at whatever the market will bear and then use the generated cash flow for my own charitable or community-building purposes. Some suggest I’m actually able to do more good if I generate large amounts of cash flow and give it away rather than focusing on intangible forms of wealth creation. In a systems paradigm, there is much more to the equation than my own cash flow generation. My goodwill may have the capacity to generate substantial cash flow elsewhere in the community, even if I do not participate in it directly.

If I’m able to give $1000 worth of work to a struggling restaurant and it makes the difference in an effective marketing plan that yields its survival, then I might well have saved several jobs, kept a building from going empty, a downtown from losing a critical mass of business capital and heading down an economic slippery slope. One can extend the thinking endlessly in a systems vein. Keeping that restaurant alive will improve the quality of life for those that want to use downtown merchants and become less car-dependent. It massively improves the quality of life for those that own or work in the restaurant. It benefits the landlord who might lose his building to foreclosure if his primary tenant fails.

Having someone believe in you as an individual or business can be critical to your success. It can energize you sufficiently as to spell the difference between success or failure, especially in economic times that can be profoundly demoralizing and taxing. Gifting a struggling business can significantly boost morale.

Some in the smaller group promoting cash flow as more useful suggest total societal wealth expands and contracts based on entrepreneurial activity. This is certainly true, but perhaps how we measure societal wealth should be looked at more closely.

I can generate societal wealth by going out and murdering people because I was laid off from a failed business. I will create paid work for police, judges, attorneys, jailers, and contractors who build court houses and prisons. People selling concrete and brick and iron rods like it when more prisons are needed. You get the drift. All the societal costs for corrections and criminal activity are counted positively in the Gross Domestic Product. Would we be better off as a society if someone had taken an altruistic approach and done something to keep that business alive and me employed so I did not go on to commit destructive actions that generate GDP? Probably. The social accounting starts to get very murky. Some things are hard to quantify but we do know my homicidal activity would exact a huge financial cost from society. It might be cheaper to keep me happy and employed.

I see two kinds of wealth. The obvious one consists of bits and bytes stored on magnetic platters in brokerage houses and banks, chests full of gold doubloons, and paper currency, shopping malls, rental houses, proven oil reserves. I think the kind of wealth I am after is an intangible one that derives from acts of good will that are non-transactional. If I am stationed in life to generate large amounts of the ‘usual’ kinds of wealth, because I am actually gifted directly to do so, that is a good thing. To try and do some creative work for the purpose of generating large amount of wealth is a bit more problematic. There are plenty of things one can do to generate wealth without having to distort one’s ideals. I find it hard to attempt creative work with my primary motivation being the generation of income. A number of respondents suggest it’s very difficult for them to maintain creative purity or commitment if creativity is undertaken to make money.

There are those of us who create intangible wealth. There are those who create tangible wealth as an entrepreneurial mission. If both are done in a right spirit, then societal wealth can be maximized, all players feeling like they have something to create. The gardener who maintains the beauty of a botanical garden at $7 an hour is just as effective in creating true societal wealth as the CEO of a thriving industrial conglomerate. The retired volunteer who delivers for Meals on Wheels is creating extraordinary value for the community. When we truly come to recognize the merits of all genuine work, we will all be richer for it.

On Making Money 1-15-2011

Anderson, South Carolina

I think all of us who paste words together or do other creative work secretly hope Oprah will invite us onto her set and make us famous in ninety seconds. Given most of us will never get past her screeners; we can then hope our creative work will go viral on the Internet. Failing that we can hope an agent or publicist will do the hard work of promoting our profit-generating potential.

I haven’t been contacted by O and there is not any excess bandwidth being consumed to view my writings or photographs on line. I may receive ten hits on a good day; not exactly a viral phenomenon causing my Internet Service Provider any angst. What did happen recently for me is coming to the attention of a highly successful and very expensive publicist who agreed to take me on as one of her pet projects. In her stable of projects is a well-known billionaire. Life became suddenly far larger. We agreed the terms of a contract and it seemed I was to be essentially branded as a product – specifically as an artisan photographer. A fifteen minute initial consultation turned into more than two hours and we set up other meetings. She was already pulling together printers, videographers, graphics designers, and even lawyers to make all of this work. It seemed I would soon be very busy doing extensive photo work and lecturing for amazing sums of money. I thought this could be the fulfillment of a dream I had twenty years ago. For certain, this publicist had me thinking far outside the box, or did she?

The prospect of suddenly hustling to make a lot of money is overwhelming. The idea that I might wrap my life and energies around making a lot of money is suddenly abhorrent to me. For decades I’ve embraced the idea of building community, using my abilities and resources to build cooperation, wanting to facilitate non-transactional models of interaction between people and organizations. The idea that I might suddenly withhold my abilities and resources unless well compensated for them goes against everything I am about. For a long time I’ve had the great luxury of not doing work for money, instead giving away my talents.

One of the most powerful models of financial behavior for me has been the concept of paying it forward, doing things of great material value for people who cannot possibly compensate me in any fashion. In fact the pay-it-forward model insists on the giver declining any kind of compensation in return for an act of generosity. In the past four years I have built about nine houses, not receiving a penny of compensation for the work. The non-transactional model of building was infinitely more satisfying than working as a paid general contractor ever was.

I am being told more and more that I am really good at photography, that I ought to charge big money for it, that I could make a princely living at it, even ought to be working for National Geographic. Other photographers get incredible sums of money as ‘tuition’ to take people around with them, showing them how to use their cameras. Perhaps the fact I am perhaps getting really good at it is an even more compelling reason to nearly give it away. There is little merit in giving away something that is of little or no value.

The reality is I’ve often found magical activities completely corrupted once I started doing them for money. Working as a volunteer in a Chicago emergency room during my pre-med days as an unpaid volunteer was a wondrous thing of which I could not get enough. The minute I started getting paid for doing the exact same work what had once been wondrous became unskilled grunt work at low pay. My dynamics with physicians and nurses changed for the worse in a nanosecond. When I started doing construction work for money instead of as a community-building effort, it became toxic work that stressed me greatly. Members of the theater board recently attempted to get me to accept money to build sets for pay. I found the idea of going into that black room and building for pay loathsome. Building for free allows me to give a great gift to the community instead of being just one more guy hustling some spending money. I once worked for money in institutional kitchens to survive financially in college. It was just plain old sweaty hot work. I now work in one every week for Meals on Wheels, for free, and it’s magical; something I look forward to each week.

When I photograph a small mom and pop restaurant for free I’m creating good will in the community. The better the work I give away, the better the goodwill I create. I do not need the money I could obtain from my photo work and there is something very satisfying about being able to give something of very high quality to those who cannot afford it. The better my work becomes, the better my gifts become.

Jesus gave us gifts of inconceivable value. He made the choice to stay out of any entrepreneurial dynamic. One cannot conceive of Jesus charging tuition to those who followed him around to learn everything he could teach them. Jesus did a number of things profoundly well. He charged for none of them, often relying on others for his basest needs, even borrowing a donkey for His final ride into town.

Certainly, making money is sanctioned by the sacred texts of many faiths. The parables of the talents found in the New Testament even chide those who would not invest them for good return. I would suggest there are ways of investing talents that will produce great returns on behalf of those around us in our own communities. For me the idea of paying it forward is imperative. If my work will empower others to do their work well and generate streams of income to stimulate our beleaguered local economy, then perhaps I have obtained the greatest return on investment possible. Knowing it is possible the owners of a struggling mom and pop restaurant might get a tiny added economic stimulus from my work needed to survive, keep their business, and their house is a huge payback in my thinking. To challenge these dear people to pay me well for my work would only push them further into despair and perhaps more quickly into closure and foreclosure. As I watch businesses and houses shuttered and foreclosed around me, I can’t but wonder if I am not already receiving a vast return for my work.

After a couple days of agitated thinking I went to meet with my new publicist/agent to tell her I cannot proceed with a plan that has me seeking maximum financial return for my gifts; explaining that paying it forward is the only plan that will work for me. I immediately had great relief and now feel like I can focus on spiritual matters and things much more important than the generation of finance, things like taking really good pictures of restaurants.

I just sold a restaurant image at a very fair price to a retired friend and left the proceeds in a tip jar, in a restaurant. For certain, I have not missed any meals today. I hope those around me don’t have to either.

Mom and pop might be really glad to see you today. They will give it to you your way.