Now Hiring: Political Courage -- No Experience Needed

Sarah Palin and Senator Ted Cruz recite the Pledge of Allegiance
at a rally in Washington DC. Photograph: Andrew Burton/Getty Images

You know, I keep reading where Ted Cruz and his ilk are "bringing down the House," if not the entire country. 

I agree that the irresponsibility of the fringe elements of Congress is beyond comprehension. But the Republican Party is reaping what it has sowed. If the mainstream Republicans had any guts, they would have stepped up and eliminated this nonsense long ago. Last I heard there were 435 members of the House of Representatives, 232 of them being Republican. How is it that one senator who most people had never heard of six months ago seems to be playing the tune to which many are marching? 

The answer, of course, is not that tough to find. Quite a few otherwise reasonable and patriotic representatives sold their souls to the fringe elements of their party in a cynical effort to retain those votes. It started during the 2010 campaign and proved to be an effective political strategy; the Republicans regained control of the House, though not the White one.  

On Seeking and Hiding

Ayla at Play by Herself

The other day I watched my three-year-old granddaughter playing hide and seek by herself.

My initial chuckle quickly gave way to sheer delight as Ayla proceeded without hesitation to do something utterly undoable. I choked back an impulse to point out to the child that this game requires at least two players.

I was gratified that a few minutes earlier I had been dismissed from any further obligation to play. We had just driven an imaginary car to an imaginary park and had swung on some imaginary swings. I thought I had performed admirably, but then she said, "Okay Papa, you can sit down now and I will play." I retreated to a nearby chair and opened my Kindle, peering occasionally over the top cover to watch as she created worlds populated by mermaids, princesses, and an assortment of "not too scary" villains.

Ayla's universe had changed in the past few weeks because her big sister Ashley had headed off to kindergarten. Having Mommy all to herself wasn't hard to take, but she also developed new play patterns shaped around the fact that Ashley was not available for much of the day. So Ayla was learning how to play by herself, including hide and seek.

I began to reflect on all of this and then I got to worrying about her a little bit. What if she went to hide and couldn't find herself? This could be a serious problem. How long would she lay silently in place before yelling at herself, "I'm under the bed, stupid!" (She's not supposed to use that word, but who's to know? She's hidden after all.)

Then there's the difficulty of being the seeker. If you're looking for yourself you'd hide your eyes and count...one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. "Here I come, ready or not." But you'd already be there, which would tend to take a bit of the fun out of the chase.

Not too much time passed, however, before I knew this little drama was taking on a deeper and more serious significance for me. In my life I know there have been times when I went looking for answers that were already within and did not require searching so much as recognition. And likewise, how often have I hidden in fear or anxiety only to discover that the scary monster, whether green and scaly or the whisper of the wind, was right beside me, counting to ten.

It left me silently humming. (If Ayla can play hide and seek by herself I can hum silently.) The lyrics lifted up from the journey of my life:

         I once was lost, but now am found, / Was blind, but now I see.

These granddaughters are going to be the life of me yet.

And now I think I'll go down to the solitude of my basement and have a vigorous game of ping pong. I beat myself last week and am anxious to get revenge.

Table Tennis for One, Anybody?

The Bird Jumped

Little Bird's World

 [This post is an unexpected sequel to a previous piece, Dancing on the Edge of the Nest. It would probably be helpful to read that one before seeing where this one takes you.]

I stepped out onto the porch this morning with coffee and newspaper in hand. As we do each day, I went to check the status of the robin's nest, gently lifting it down from its hanger so as to see inside.

This time, to my horror and near panic, just as I touched the branch nestling the nest, there was a frantic flapping of wings and a no longer tiny bird flew past my hand, went briefly airborne, and then dropped to our porch's concrete floor. There was an understandable cacophony of clacking, chirping, screeching, as at least five birds descended on the scene, perhaps better referred to now as the crime scene.

I knew the old wives tale that once a human has touched a bird its family has nothing more to do with it. But without time to check Snopes.com, I chose intervention. I took the bird into my hand and reached up to try to return it to its nest. The small bird again flapped its wings mightily and again escaped my grasp, which was admittedly very gentle because of my desire not to hurt its fragile body. This time it sailed a bit into the air, wings extended, before landing in the yard in front of the house. [Quick Fact Update: According to Snopes, the common assumption that human touch of a baby bird drives mother bird away is false. See the documentation here.]

More sirens from the attending birds. I watched as the little thing hopped its way across the yard, accompanied by its entourage, huddling down for a bit and then venturing forward once again. One of the birds flew close in a circle and then landed on the grass within a few feet of the bird. It chirped away as if giving some last minute flight instructions.

Dancing on the Edge of the Nest

My granddaughters have been quite intrigued by the life and death drama playing itself out in the hanging fern on our front porch. They don’t think of it in quite so dire terms, but I’ll bet the two parental robins, squawking their disapproval every time we approach the nest, fear that their very survival is at stake.

And to be honest, the leading indicators aren’t good. The nest was originally populated by three blue eggs, each of them brimming with whatever possibilities any middle class robin born into a good home might hope for. However, the nesting process seemed a bit long and worrisome until one morning we peeked and saw that one of the three eggs was broken, its occupant AWOL. But then we turned our eyes downward and there on the porch lay the first casualty, a crumpled little wisp of a thing resembling a tiny misshapen prune more than a nestling that, once grown, would be seen as the harbinger of spring in all its freshness and hope. I tossed it gently behind the bushes; a full funeral seemed a bit overblown, but I did have a twinge.

The next day a second chance for carrying on the robin family name penetrated its fragile shell and emerged, its beak flapping open and shut and assuming, wrongly, that if we were there it was to bring food. This one seems to understand, unlike its short-lived sibling, that it is best not to dance on the edge of the nest.

Momma Robin, undoubtedly awash in Momma guilt, rained down a hailstorm of squawks whenever danger threatened. I scoffed at her fear of the girls—anyone should know they wouldn’t hurt a flea. More understandable is its suspicion of my brother-in-law, who is living with us on an extended visit while relocating here. He’s harmless too, but he’s a bit restless, wanders out onto the porch in the wee hours, emitting puffs of white papal-like smoke into the fresh morning air, and making unexpected body noises that are much more severe than anything Ashley or Ayla can replicate--thankfully. I’m sure Momma Robin has noticed and is exceedingly cautious as she sneaks worms behind enemy lines.

Breaking News from America's Heartland

Community of Christ Temple
Independence, Missouri, USA

The Examiner is a newspaper that serves Kansas City's eastern suburbs, particularly Independence, Blue Springs, and Grain Valley. There was a day when The Examiner alone satisfied the news appetite of many citizens. Others of us chose to complement it with a subscription to the Kansas City Star.

Today it survives because people like me can't break the habit of receiving its daily fare of cucumber salad recipes, stories about local kids advancing to the state science fair competition, and (yes, I have to admit it) the obituary column.

The Examiner is hanging on, knowing that in the not far distant future the obituary column will likely be reporting its own demise rather than that of its readers. In the meantime we have the opportunity to enjoy some charming disconnects.

On Wednesday, April 24, 2013 the five column banner headline in The Examiner was "Waffle House Getting New Sign." That kind of heart-thumping journalism is not atypical of a good news day for our local paper. But it jarred me, knowing as I did that the international conference of a religious denomination was going on in town. I went to my stack of newspapers, some read and some not, and pulled out the previous day's edition.

On Tuesday, April 23, 2013 the five column banner headline in The Examiner was "Delegates Urge Church to Open Door." The lead paragraph in that article was as follows:

After a weekend of discussion and prayer, national delegates have recommended that the Community of Christ recognize same-sex marriage and ordination regardless of sexual orientation.

At first look it would seem that the action of the national conference of a religious denomination to embrace marriage and ordination of gay and lesbian persons would attract media interest almost anywhere. The fact that the denomination is headquartered in Independence, Missouri would lead one to expect extensive follow-up by the local paper. That it was bumped from the front page, or any page, by the Waffle House sign is perhaps an egregious oversight that speaks to the decline of newspapers around the world.

Or perhaps it means something else altogether, something about faith and culture and social networks and the blurring of all kinds of boundaries in a global society.

Here are a few quick facts that may be helpful to those unaware of the context of this remarkable story. (At this point I should acknowledge that I served for 33 years on the church's denominational staff, and for over eight years as president of the church, departing from full-time service in 2004. While I had no involvement at all in the 2013 Conference, my perspective is obviously shaped by that leadership experience and by my lifelong love of the movement.)

• The Community of Christ is a religious denomination of approximately 250,000 members with a presence in around 50 nations; its world headquarters are in Independence, Missouri.

• The church was birthed in the 1830's as a part of the movement that is commonly known as Mormonism. It shares a 14 year slice of history with that group but separated from it in 1844 and developed an entirely separate identity over time, rejecting many beliefs connected to the Mormon faith, i.e. polygamy, baptism for the dead, secret temple rituals, etc.

• Beginning in the 1960's the church began to examine the significance of its own global expansion, learning from other cultures and authentically engaging with the issues of its own time--considering the role of women, embracing human diversity, and taking on difficult questions of war and peace.

• Those explorations over time led to the building of a Temple "dedicated to the pursuit of peace," the changing of its name to Community of Christ, beginning the ordination of women in 1985, adopting progressive positions on capital punishment, gun control, and human diversity, and engaging in interfaith and ecumenical relationships.

Conference Delegates From Around the World Debate Issues in Legislative Sessions
Community of Christ Auditorium, Independence, Missouri, USA

It was a long journey that led a small religious denomination headquartered in the heartland of America to find itself exploring one of the most conflicted issues of our time. As recently as 1982 the official church policy on homosexuality was entitled, "Homosexuality and Other Sexual Perversions." That policy was replaced by one that described homosexuality as an orientation rather than a behavior. As to ordination, the policy provided for ordination of persons with a homosexual orientation but only if the individual agreed to remain celibate. Few accepted the offer.

Over the past decade or so the church engaged in a somewhat more structured dialogue process whereby members were urged to share their personal experiences and viewpoints with the goal of understanding others more than convincing others. That process became even more difficult because of the church's involvement in the developing world. In Haiti, for example, where the church has thousands of members, homosexuality is illegal and churches that accept it are subject to being delicensed by the government.

The recommendations that emerged from the 2013 USA Conference reflected travel down a long path where viewpoints evolved and where part of the agreement was that we will disagree. New ways of deciding and building consensus undoubtedly contributed to unexpectedly high margins of support once the final votes were announced. It was not the vote of a conference. It was the vote of a journey.

The Examiner was there in the 1970's and early 1980's when the struggles over faith and history, politics and justice, were disputed and where protests spilled into the streets of Independence. By 1985, when the first ordinations of women began, thousands of people became inactive or left the church to form independent congregations with fundamentalist theologies and a desire to cling to conservative interpretations of the church's foundational story.

When I was a kid I used to throw newspapers for The Examiner, never imagining the role it would have in chronicling the story of my own church and to some degree my career. Forty years ago the struggles of this faith community were big news to our hometown paper, which also benefited from protestors taking out full-page ads to register their objections to church polity or beliefs. There was drama, intense dialogue, and even coverage on occasion by the New York Times or Newsweek.

But it is a new day. What I have in view at the moment is the remarkable story of a small but global community that chose to look deeply within itself and to follow a path without map or compass but with a faith rooted in story and compelled by a power not its own.

Perhaps it is a story no longer covered in depth by the local newspaper but it was tweeted and facebooked and simulcast via the Internet for all the world to see. I am immensely proud of my church. The journey is not over, but we can pause for a moment and look back with satisfaction over the road we have traveled.

And if you're so inclined, you might want to saunter over to the Waffle House. I hear its location is well-marked.