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by Rector John Graham

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Thursday, July 29, 2010

One night in the summer of 1985, someone broke into the Church of the Advent in Chicago, where I served as Assistant to the Rector, stole a few items, and set a fire. Firefighters got there quickly and extinguished the blaze. A few books, papers and vestments were burned beyond recovery, some woodwork was charred, and the whole building smelled of smoke.

The next day many parishioners came by. A few cried. Before long it struck me that the ones who wept were usually people not much involved in the church’s programs or administration. Vestry members and program leaders took a more business-like approach: What needs to be done? Who do we need to call? What’s our insurance cover?

I felt a little grumpy about this. I said to myself, “What right do they have to be crying? They don’t even put that much time or effort into this church.” I’m not proud of this, but it’s what I thought and felt.

Years later, a visiting Bishop gave a talk for the clergy of the diocese. He said that in the gospels, the people on the fringe of the apostolic fellowship often understood who Jesus was better than the inner circle. The twelve worried about who would get the seat of honor in the kingdom of heaven. Those on the periphery cried out “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me.” I thought back to the summer of 1985. Maybe the non-contributing weepers understood some things better than the committed leaders. The first last, and the last first?

Thursday, July 22, 2010

Here’s a quick-and-dirty summary of a seminal work of history, Louis Hartz’s The Liberal Tradition in America: in this country, the rat race is all there is. The Darwinian struggle for power, prestige, money, or all three, co-opts everything.

Right away we want to say, “That’s not true.” There’s church, culture, community—places of refuge from, even alternatives to, the rat race—right?

Well, yes and no. Let’s be honest. First: rivalry, which fuels the rat race, insinuates itself into every sort of human relationship. Second: this isn’t necessarily bad; there’s such a thing as healthy competition, in public and private worlds alike.

At our best, we’ve found ways to harness the competitive drive to the pursuit of the common good, as best we understand it. We could use some creativity, initiative and courage in this regard these days. Some businesses have a lot of cash on hand. Let’s hope they soon start trying to get a leg up in the rat race by investing, innovating and hiring instead of hunkering down. Some unions have lost a lot of members. A few have started looking for a competitive edge by organizing the unorganized in addition to promoting the interest of current members. St. Paul’s enjoins us to “outdo one another” in showing honor, and finding grounds for “boasting” in acts of kindness and deeds of mercy. A “rat race” of mutual respect, compassion, creativity, initiative? No. Healthy, even holy, competition? You betcha.

Thursday, July 15, 2010

I thought about the rock-and-roller Warren Zevon this morning. He wrote and performed quirky, sardonic, occasionally popular songs during a career that spanned nearly 40 years.

A 1970’s Zevon hit had the protagonist in over his head on a Cuban (mis)adventure; the refrain, addressed to his father, goes:

     I was gambling in Havana; I took a little risk.
     Send lawyers, guns and money; Dad, get me out of this.

Zevon isn’t the protagonist, but he could have been. The refrain probably tells us something about his relationship not only with his father, but with the world.

In 2002 Zevon was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer; he died, in August of 2003, at 55 years of age. When he knew he was dying, he wrote another song, not sardonic at all, but heartbreaking: “Hold me in your heart for awhile.” A different Warren Zevon speaks here. Neither his dad nor the world could give him, nor did either owe him, a way out of trouble. But the most sacred and universal of human duties—to remember, at least for a time—meant everything to him.

I like Warren Zevon’s music a lot. I printed the “Hold me in your heart” refrain in the bulletin for my last service in Chicago. I’m glad that I think of him from time to time.

Thursday, July 8, 2010

My family and I attended Trinity Episcopal Church, a large and prestigious parish in downtown Columbus, Ohio, when I was growing up. I only learned much later that there was a small Episcopal mission, St. John’s Town Street, just a few blocks away, in a neighborhood called the West Side Bottoms.

Last week my mother’s oldest and probably dearest friend, Alma Finley, died. I loved visiting with Alma. Her combination of directness and warmth reminded me of my grandmother. Alma grew up, with my mother, in the Bottoms, a tough neighborhood of poor whites and, later, poor blacks. She moved away as an adult, as did my mother and all their high school friends. But Alma didn’t move as far away as the rest, and she maintained her membership at St. John’s her entire life, supporting the church and keeping up with its goings-on even after she couldn’t get there on Sundays any more.

Alma sometimes talked to my mother with a bluntness that left me slack-jawed, waiting for lightning to strike. Mom took it in stride. Alma knew where Doris came from, so she knew and loved her in a way no one else could. My mom never revealed, at least to her children, the sides of herself that her friend showed us. I already miss Alma a lot.

Thursday, July 1, 2010

How can we know if a war is worth fighting?

Rational analysis takes us only so far. Wars are complex and unpredictable, full of unintended consequences. The “best and the brightest,” especially, can convince themselves that they know more than they do about the course and consequences of a war.

So we turn to the “small people,” borrowing a phrase from BP’s board chair and remembering Lincoln’s maxim: “You can fool some of the people all the time, and all of the people some of the time, but you can’t fool all of the people all of the time.” But Lincoln’s wisdom enlightens only when a war touches all, or nearly all, of the people whose nation is fighting it. A war touches everybody when taxes go up to fund it, and when sons and daughters get drafted to fight it. Otherwise, “the people” won’t have enough of a stake in the war to know they’re being fooled, and to let their leaders know when it’s time to end it.

How long should we stay in Afghanistan and Iraq? Put more sharply: for how much longer will these wars be worth fighting? If more of us had more “skin in the game,” we could reach more solid conclusions. But I don’t see higher taxes or a draft on the horizon, only more borrowing, and more tours of duty for the few, the proud and the brave who are in harm’s way.

Archive

Recent reflections are grouped by month and available as PDF files.

2010

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• March and April
• January and February

2009

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• September and October
• August
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• May and June
• April
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• February
• January

2008

• December