A Christmas Memory

I was born in 1958, so most of my childhood occurred during the 1960s.

Each Christmas Day in that decade followed a set schedule.

First, I would wake up very early in our little house on Memorial Drive in Barnesville. The house rule was that I had to wake my parents up before going into the living room to see what Santa Claus had brought me. This was so my father could arm himself with his Brownie 8mm movie camera, equipped with its panel of spotlights, to film the spectacle. We would then enter the place of wonder, where I would receive the first installment of my Christmas bounty.

Second, we would get dressed and go to the home of whichever Abbott was hosting my mother’s family’s Christmas celebration. If we were hosting it, we’d get dressed and stay home. After enjoying a delicious Christmas lunch, we’d open presents, and I would receive the second installment of my Christmas bounty.

Third, we would drive the ten or so miles to Yatesville, where we would slide into the Ruffin family’s Christmas celebration that was already well underway at MawMaw and PawPaw’s house. We’d open presents, and I would receive the third installment of my Christmas bounty.

By late in the afternoon, I was antsy to get home so I could play with all the stuff I’d had to leave there that morning. We’d say our goodbyes to whatever Ruffins remained and get in the car.

Then Mama would say, “Now Mike, we have to go see Mr. and Mrs. Lashley before we go home. Be sure to thank them for the gift they’ll give you.”

We’d go spend a little while with that elderly couple. They were nice. They would indeed give me a present, and they’d exchange presents with my parents. I noticed that they seemed particularly happy to see my mother.

At some point—I don’t recall how many times we visited them before I wondered enough to inquire—I asked my father why we went to visit Mr. and Mrs. Lashley.

Somewhere along the line I had heard about my mother having been engaged to a fellow named Buster before she married my father. Buster was killed in France in the days following the Normandy invasion, so he and my mother never married.

When I asked about Mr. and Mrs. Lashley, my father said, “Do you remember hearing about your mother’s fiancé, Buster? He was Buster Lashley. Mr. and Mrs. Lashley are his parents.”

I’m sure I responded with something deep, like, “How about that” or “Huh.”

But I’ve given it more thought over the years.

I’ve thought about a woman, who happened to be my mother, and her husband visiting the parents of the man she was once going to marry. I think about them doing so two decades after he died. I assume they had been doing so every year since they got married in 1946.

I think about how as they chatted in the early evening on those Christmas Days, they must have all thought, at least a little, about what might have been, but wasn’t, and about what might not have been, but was.

I wonder if Mr. and Mrs. Lashley sat there thinking, “It could have been Sara and Buster. We wish it had been.” I wonder if they also thought, “We’re glad it’s Sara and Champ.”

I wonder if all of them thought about how the horrible and the wonderful, the painful and the blissful, and the losses and the gains exist side-by-side in this life, and how if you’ll just hold on, hoping, trusting, and trying, putting one foot in front of the other, it will all somehow, someway, work out in the long run.

I don’t know if they all thought about any of that.

But I, the son of Champ and Sara Ruffin, who could not have existed had they not married, sure do think about it.

Advent

The church is in the middle of the Advent season. The word Advent means “arrival.” During Advent, we anticipate the arrival of Jesus Christ.

There are four Sundays of Advent. The fourth and last one is the Sunday before Christmas Day. So Advent is a season to anticipate the arrival of Jesus Christ in his birth, which we celebrate on December 25, the first day of the twelve days of the Christmas season.

Jesus was born 2,000 years ago, so we aren’t actually waiting for him to be born. We are rather waiting for our celebration of his birth.

On the other hand, we might keep in mind the prayer request in the Christmas hymn “O Little Town of Bethlehem”: “O holy child of Bethlehem, descend to us we pray. Cast out our sin and enter in; be born in us today.”

During Advent, we also anticipate the coming of Christ to us. Even if we are Christians, even if we have been Christians for so long that we can barely remember a time when we weren’t, we still need Christ to come to us. We still need him to show us how we should follow him, how we should serve him, and how we should represent him in the world.

I no longer share memes on social media, but if I did, I’ve been seeing one lately that I would. It says something like, “I’m not concerned about putting Christ back in Christmas, but I do think we should put Christ back in churches.”

I know that sounds harsh, but I mean it to be thought-provoking. Both churches and individual Christians would do well to spend time during Advent carefully and prayerfully reading the New Testament Gospels, asking God to help us better understand who Jesus really is and what it really means to be his followers.

I can’t know exactly where such a quest will lead us. But I will say this: we should find ourselves being more committed to giving ourselves away for the sake of other people.

So during Advent, we await the arrival of Christ in his birth in Bethlehem. We also await the arrival of Christ in our individual lives and in our churches’ lives in whatever ways he wants to come to us.

During Advent, we also anticipate Jesus’ second coming. The New Testament teaches that one of these days, Jesus will return to fully establish God’s reign. When Jesus comes again, all will be as God intends for it to be.

We’ve been waiting a long time for Jesus’ second coming. We may wait a lot longer. Or we may not. We can’t know when Jesus will come again.

When we read what the New Testament writers say about Jesus’ second coming, we find them often encouraging their readers to be faithfully active in the meantime. We aren’t to sit around waiting for God to make everything as it should be. We are to be doing all we can to make things as good as they can be.

We do that by sharing God’s grace, mercy, and love with our attitudes, our perspectives, our words, and our actions.

We aren’t able to make everything good and right. Only God can do that, and God will through Christ do it someday.

But we are able to make things better, because the Jesus who was born in Bethlehem is also born in us. If we will get to know him better, we will follow him better. And as we follow him better, we’ll help make our homes, our communities, and our world better.

I think it would be great if, when Jesus comes again, he could look around and say, “Things here are a lot better than they might have been,” and if he could then say to those who follow him, “Well done, my good and faithful servants.”

Thankful

I am thankful for…

…all the people in this big world of ours. I wish I could know them all.

…the few people in this little life of mine. I’m glad I can love them and be loved by them.

…the teachers who taught me.

…the students who teach me.

…public servants who truly serve.

…barbecue, fried catfish, steak, and fried chicken, and for surprisingly good cholesterol levels.

…all the amazing things I’ve learned about God, Jesus, and the Bible.

…the fact that, after over four decades of study, John 3:16 still pretty much sums it up.

…for Jesus being the Savior we need, not the one we want.

…for my Good Wife, whom I never have deserved, do not now deserve, and never will deserve, and who doesn’t like it when I say things like that.

…for my children and grandchildren, who, even if I do someday publish my great novel (I must write it first), will be my greatest legacy.

…for small churches that faithfully meet to worship, to hear the word proclaimed, and to fellowship, and for the pastors who faithfully show up to preach, teach, and serve.

…for streaming television services that make it convenient for me to watch all the great programs I would watch if I had time.

…for one show I have managed to watch—The Man in the High Castle—that offers the necessary reminder that it could indeed happen here.

…for people who don’t act like they know more than they know.

…for people who don’t act like they know less than they know.

…for all I’ve grown past, grown through, and am still—and always will be—growing into.

…for the Beatles. I mean, where would we be without them? Also for Badfinger, the Raspberries, and Grand Funk Railroad. I mean, we’d be fine if none of them ever existed, but I sure like them, so I’m glad they did.

…for National Public Radio, which is more informative and educational than all the television news channels combined

…for our Sleep Number bed. Right now, I’m a 70.

…for all of you who read the words I write and think about them a little bit. I am truly grateful.

Court Prophets

First Kings 22 tells a story about the danger of preachers cozying up to politicians.

The story takes place in the ninth century BC. What had been the United Monarchy of Israel under king David and his son and successor Solomon has become two kingdoms. A king named Ahab rules the northern kingdom of Israel, while Jehoshaphat rules the southern kingdom of Judah. The two kings are meeting to discuss going to war with Syria.

When Ahab asks Jehoshaphat to join him in fighting against Syria, Jehoshaphat expresses his willingness to do so. But he makes a request of Ahab: “Inquire first for the word of the LORD.”

So Ahab calls in four hundred prophets. That’s four hundred preachers.

That’s a lot of preachers.

Ahab asks the preachers if he should go up to battle. All four hundred of them affirm that he should. They guarantee him that God will give him success.

Hearing the unanimous opinion of the four hundred prophets, Jehoshaphat says, “Is there no other prophet of the LORD here of whom we may inquire?”

See, Jehoshaphat knows how this game is played. The four hundred prophets are court prophets. They serve the king more than they serve the Lord. Their job is to support the king in whatever the king wants to do.

They probably don’t even think about what God really wants. Or if they do, they’ve sold themselves out to the king to the point that they assume that God wants whatever the king wants.

Jehoshaphat knows this. He has court prophets of his own. He knows that preachers who hitch their wagon to a powerful politician represent the politician, not the Lord.

But going to war is serious business. Jehoshaphat would like to hear from a prophet who isn’t just going to say what the king wants to hear.

When Jehoshaphat asks if there might be another prophet available, Ahab says, “There is still one other by whom we may inquire of the LORD, Micaiah son of Imlah; but I hate him, for he never prophesies anything favorable about me, but only disaster.”

In other words, the preacher Micaiah always tells the king the truth.

Ahab sends for Micaiah. The messenger who goes to get Micaiah advises him that he should make things easy on himself and agree with what the four hundred court prophets are saying. Micaiah responds, “As the LORD lives, whatever the LORD says to me, that I will speak.”

After some verbal sparring, Micaiah tells Ahab the truth: if he goes to war against Syria, he won’t come back alive.

For speaking the hard truth to the king, Micaiah goes to prison. For telling the king what he wants to hear, the four hundred court prophets go on about their useless business.

We’re told that Ahab does indeed die in battle.

We’re not told if Micaiah ever gets out of prison. But we are told that he represents God well. The Bible honors him for speaking truth to power and for not dishonoring his call by aligning himself so closely to the king that he loses his spiritual, moral, and ethical way.

There are important lessons here for preachers in our time.

First, preachers should be careful about aligning themselves too closely with political power.

Second, if preachers have a relationship with someone with political power, they shouldn’t be yes women or yes men.

Third, if preachers have the ear of someone in political power, for God’s sake, for the church’s sake, for the nation’s sake, for the world’s sake, and for their own sake, they should tell the truth.

As for what that truth is—well, we Christian preachers really should look to Jesus, shouldn't we?

Baby Shark

If you are the parent or grandparent of a young child or children, you know the song “Baby Shark.”

You probably know it even if you aren’t a parent or grandparent. It’s ubiquitous. It’s also everywhere.

It’s even in the world of baseball. Specifically, it’s in the Washington Nationals’ part of the world of baseball.

That’s a part of the baseball world that I usually pay little attention to unless they’re playing the Braves. But now they’re in the World Series and the Braves aren’t, even though the Braves finished ahead of them in the National League’s Eastern Division.

(By the way, I don’t like the wild card. I don’t think baseball teams that don’t win their division should make the playoffs. But I digress.)

But it is what it is. And the Nationals may have won the World Series by the time you read this.

Now back to our story.

Washington’s “Baby Shark” craze started back in June when Nationals outfielder Gerardo Parra started using the song as his walk-up music.

(By the way, I’m old enough to remember when baseball players didn’t have walk-up music. The announcer announced their names and they walked up to the plate. I miss those days. I also despise the designated hitter. But I digress.)

Parra chose the song because his kids like it. That’s a very good reason.

Our grandson Sullivan likes it too. His version is better than anyone else’s version. Our granddaughter Isabella is too young to sing, but if she could, her version would be better than anyone else’s too.

Now “Baby Shark” is a thing in Washington. People at Nationals games do the motions (does “YMCA” have competition? ). Grown people wear shark costumes to the games. Players “chomp” with their arms.

(Such chomping is too Florida Gators-like for my taste. But I digress).

How big a thing is it in Washington? Watch the Washington National Cathedral Organists Play "Baby Shark” and you’ll see how big a thing it is. It’s a very big thing.

You might also watch some Lebanon Protestors sing "Baby Shark.”

Thousands of protestors have been in the streets of Lebanon’s capital city Beirut. They’re protesting about economic conditions and government corruption.

The other day, a mother and her fifteen month-old son were in their car when it became surrounded by protestors. The mother told the protestors that her son was frightened. About a dozen of them sang “Baby Shark” to him to calm his fears.

“Baby Shark” is an earworm song. It gets in your head, and you can’t get it out. It’s irritating.

I don’t really care that it makes Washington Nationals fans happy.

But if it brings joy to children, I’m all for it.

Here’s a thought: what if we judged all of our policies and practices by the answer to this question: is it good for children—for our children, for America’s children, and for the world’s children?

Yes, that just might be a good thing to do, do, do, do, do, do.

The Gospels

I’m in the middle of teaching a college course on the New Testament, and we just finished talking about the Gospels. I’m also about to start teaching another course, this one on just the Gospels.

So I’ve had the Gospels on my mind. This is a good thing.

Here are a few fun facts about the Gospels.

First, they were all written well after Jesus lived, died, and rose again. The Gospel of Mark is probably the oldest of the Gospels, dating to around 70 A.D. The Gospels of Matthew and Luke were probably written ten to twenty years after Mark, and John a few years later than Matthew and Luke. During the years between Jesus’ departure and the first written Gospel, preachers and teachers shared the stories about and teachings of Jesus orally.

Second, the Gospels are all anonymous. None of them say who wrote them. The titles (“The Gospel According to Mark,” for instance) were added later.

Third, the Gospels of Matthew, Mark, and Luke are close kin. We call them the Synoptic Gospels; “synoptic” means “seeing together.” We call them that because of their similarities. Most of what’s in the Gospel of Mark is also in Matthew and Luke, so most scholars think that both Matthew and Luke used Mark as a source. (By the way, Luke tells us right up front that he used sources. It’s in Luke 1:1-4.)

Matthew and Luke also contain a lot of sayings of Jesus that Mark doesn’t have. Most scholars think they had access to a “Sayings Source” (we call it Q, abbreviated from the German Quelle, which means “source”). No such document exists, but scholars infer its one-time existence from the texts of Matthew and Luke. For example, most of what Jesus says in Matthew’s Sermon on the Mount (chapters 5–7) is also in Luke’s Gospel, but the sayings are scattered all over the book. So it seems that Matthew and Luke both had a source that contained those sayings, but each of them organized and presented them in different ways.

Fourth, the Gospel of John is a much different kind of book than the other three Gospels. Most of what is in John’s Gospel isn’t in the other three. Only John has Jesus’ “I am” sayings (“I am the bread of life”; “I am the light of the world,” etc.). On the night Jesus is betrayed, John tells of Jesus’ washing his disciples feet, but not of his establishing the Lord’s Supper.

Fifth, there are four Gospels in the New Testament. They tell the story of Jesus in different ways. You may or may not have wondered why we have four stories of Jesus rather than just one.

Some folks have tried to construct a single story out of the four New Testament Gospels. In the second century, a fellow named Tatian compiled a harmonized version of the Gospels called the Diatessaron (“Harmony of Four”). It was popular for a while, but it fell out of favor. By their ongoing use of the four Gospels, the early Christians decided that four were better than one. (You can acquire a modern version of a harmony of the Gospels, but I agree with the early Christians: four are better than one.)

So why do we have four Gospels? Each Gospel comes from and addresses a different community in a different setting. The writers present the story of Jesus in ways that address the situation of the community for which they are writing. They interpret the story of Jesus in varying ways in order to proclaim the same truth to different communities: the crucified and resurrected Jesus is the Messiah and Savior.

Sixth, two thousand years later, the Gospels continue to challenge, convict, inspire, and instruct us. Christians should read them because they teach us of Jesus and of what it means to follow him. Everyone should read them because they are utterly fascinating.

Seventh and last, the word “Gospel” means “good news.” The four Gospels contain the best news that has ever been told. So I encourage you to read them.

We sure could use the good news today.

Processes and Responses

At 10:00 p.m. on Tuesday, December 12, 2000, the Supreme Court of the United States issued its decision that, on a 5-4 vote, decided the case of Bush v. Gore in George W. Bush’s favor. It was and is a controversial decision. It would have also been controversial had it gone the other way.

Gore had won the popular vote by over half a million votes. But, once Bush had Florida in his column, he had the majority of the Electoral College votes.

I’ll be upfront and tell you—surely to the surprise of no one who knows me and/or reads my writings—that the decision didn’t go the way I wanted it to go. I voted for Gore because I thought he’d be a better president than Bush, so I wanted the Court to rule in his favor.

But it didn’t. And on the next day, Wednesday, December 13, 2000, Gore conceded the election to Bush. As I understand it, Gore had other options. But he chose to concede so the country could move on. He put what seemed to be the nation’s best interests ahead of his personal political ambitions.

I was proud of our nation when no riots broke out in American cities and towns on Thursday, December 14, 2000. While I believed that a flawed system had placed the wrong person in the White House, I was nonetheless grateful that we accepted the results the system had given us.

Half of the American electorate didn’t like the way the Supreme Court decision in Bush v. Gore, and thus the presidential election, turned out. Many Democrats believed that Bush was an illegitimate president. As time went on, a lot of us didn’t think Bush was a very good president.

But we didn’t revolt. We didn’t threaten insurrection. Many of us thought the system had failed, but we begrudgingly accepted the results and tried to move on.

Now, some of you are thinking, “Yeah, but lots of you turned out after Donald Trump’s win in 2016. You didn’t just accept the results and move on.”

You’re right about that. Many of us turned out and demonstrated (I didn’t, but I have beloved family members and friends who did. I try to do my part by writing) because we believed that, unlike Bush, the newly elected president embodied a rejection of fundamental American principles, not to mention basic human dignity. We believed that the threat to our Constitution and to our nation needed to be identified as such.

Now we have reached a point where an impeachment inquiry is underway. We’ll see where it goes. Some of us think it’s necessary, while others of us think it isn’t. That’s a matter of opinion, and everybody has one of those.

Here’s what isn’t a matter of opinion: impeachment is the constitutional process for removing a president from office for cause. The relevant clause, found in Article 2, Section 4 of the Constitution of the United States, reads: “The President, Vice President and all civil Officers of the United States, shall be removed from Office on Impeachment for, and Conviction of, Treason, Bribery, or other high Crimes and Misdemeanors.”

The House of Representatives is charged with passing articles of impeachment, and the members of the Senate with serving as jurors in a trial presided over by the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court. Senators vote on whether to convict or acquit.

This is the third impeachment inquiry into a president that the nation has experienced in my lifetime. The House Judiciary Committee approved articles of impeachment against Richard Nixon, but he resigned before the House voted on them. The House impeached Bill Clinton, but the Senate acquitted him.

We’ll see where the current impeachment inquiry goes.

I’m just asking that we all recognize the legitimacy of the process. This is the process our Founding Fathers set up, and we need to trust it.

If, upon its completion, people who are displeased with its outcome feel a need to respond, I hope we will do so in orderly and peaceful fashion.

You know, like many people did in the Women’s March on Washington on the day after President Trump’s inauguration.

Dead Skunk (Possum, Squirrel, Armadillo) in the Middle of the Road

I tend not to notice roadkill until it’s too late.

I’ll be driving merrily along, and I’ll feel that little bump from running over something that’s already dead.

If my Good Wife is a passenger in the car I’m driving, she’ll cringe when I run over a dead animal. Kindly and gently, she’ll say, “I started to tell you it was in the road, but I figured you’d see it.”

This has happened many times. You’d think that by now, she’d realize her figuring is off.

Actually, I think she has figured it out. The last time it happened, she observed, “I think you’re good at noticing what’s way up ahead, but not so good at seeing what’s right in front of you.”

I think she’s right. (Just in case she reads this, let me add that she’s always right.)

Now, to be fair to me, let me note that I do notice and avoid large roadkill, such as a deer. I’m also pretty good at not hitting live animals.

Still, this strikes me as a good metaphor for the different ways people approach life. Some of us focus on what’s way down the road, while others of us focus on what’s right in front of us.

For example, some Christians are so heavenly minded, they’re no earthly good. On the other hand, some are so focused on here and now, they fail to consider eternity.

Some Americans are so focused on immediate gratification, they forget to consider long-term stability. On the other hand, some are so focused on having enough in their retirement years, they don’t have much fun now.

Some politicians are so focused on what’s good for them in next week’s poll or in next year’s election, they fail to consider what’s best for future generations. On the other hand, some are so focused on future generations that they—well, I actually can’t think of any politicians who are so intent on looking down the road that they fail to consider their own immediate prospects. If you know of any, please let me know.

My point is that we all need to have a balanced way of looking at things. We need to pay attention to what’s happening here and now. We need to be aware of what’s happening right in front of us. But we also need to pay attention to what’s way down the road.

Christians need to lay up treasure in heaven while also working to make life less hellish for those who are suffering, who are oppressed, and who are rejected.

We all need to save as best we can for retirement while also living as full a life as we can right now.

Our political leaders need always to be thinking about the long-term implications of their policies and programs while also considering the effect they’ll have on people today.

None of this is easy, but it’s what comes with being responsible adult human beings.

The road we’re on simultaneously sits right in front of us and stretches way ahead of us.

Wise people will keep their eyes on all of it.

Forty-Four Years Later

In September 1975, I entered Mercer University as a freshman. Mercer followed the quarter system back then, so three courses constituted a full load.

Two of my first three courses were held in Knight Hall.

I was a Christianity major and Greek minor, and Knight Hall housed both of those departments. During my Mercer career, I took, as best I can recall, nineteen classes in that building—all of my Christianity and Greek courses, plus three Sociology classes and one course each in Philosophy and Political Science.

I will always be grateful for what I learned in that building from Professors Giddens, Otto, McManus, Youman, Evans, Quimbao, Albritton, Brown, and Johnson.

I graduated from Mercer in 1978. In the years since, I’ve been back in Knight Hall a handful of times.

Last week, I walked into Knight Hall as an Adjunct Professor. I’m teaching a course called “Engaging the New Testament.”

I’ve been teaching part-time for Mercer over the last few years. To this point, all of my classes have been through what until recently was called Penfield College (they just changed the name to the College of Professional Advancement; I’ll keep calling it Penfield to save energy and words).

I enjoy teaching with Penfield. The students are mainly what we used to call “non-traditional.” They’re working adults who usually come directly from their places of employment to take four-hour long night classes. I admire their dedication and am honored to work with them.

This is the first time I’ve taught in the Religion (formerly Christianity) Department in the College of Liberal Arts in Macon. Most of the students in this class are freshmen. They just finished high school in May. They’re young.

In our first class meeting, I promised my students I wouldn’t bore them throughout the semester with “back when I was a Mercer student” stories. But I said I was going to bore them this one time.

I proceeded to tell them about how I made the long journey (less than forty miles, but it seemed long to me) from Barnesville to Macon. I told them about how nervous—scared, even—I was about whether or not I could succeed in college. I told them about how my mother had died in May before I entered Mercer in September.

I told them about how Mercer had changed my life. I told them about how much my professors meant to me. I told them about how I met my Good Wife there.

I told them how grateful I was to share in their educational experience.

I told them some of my story.

I don’t know their stories yet. I hope I get to learn at least a little about who they are.

I hope their experience at Mercer is as life-changing as mine was.

I hope I make a small contribution to it.

I hope that, if and when they remember me forty-four years down the road, they’ll feel a little bit of gratitude.

I hope they’ll remember me with a smile.

Divisions

In Luke 12:49-59, Jesus says that his coming causes division. He highlights the divisions that occur in families.

By the time Luke’s Gospel was written, such division over Jesus was certainly happening in families. Those who believed in and followed Jesus became alienated from family members who didn’t. Such divisions still happen, particularly in cultures where another religion dominates.

These days, we have divisions in the family of faith. Christians are divided against each other.

Some such divisions have been around so long that we hardly think about them. Some of them are official and formalized, as in the existence of multiple denominations and branches of denominations.

We’re accustomed to some of these divisions to the point of being good-natured about them. People in one denomination might give those in another a hard time, but they’re usually just kidding.

Divisions within denominations, on the other hand, are no laughing matter, and many denominations have faced, are facing, and will face them.

These days we face serious divisions within the larger family of faith. I’m thinking especially of the church in the United States.

In our current political and social climate, Christians have taken up opposing positions. Put too simply, on one side are the evangelicals and on the other side are the progressives.

(As I said, that’s putting it too simply—far, far too simply. But it would take a very long essay to cover the needed caveats, explanations, and exceptions. So we’ll have to settle for the general terms.)

When Jesus talked about the divisions that his coming would produce, he meant divisions between those who follow him and those who don’t.

We are dealing with divisions between people who all believe they are following Jesus.

I’ve had people say to me, “I don’t see how you can be a Christian and take that position.” My response to them is, “Back atcha.”

This is a difficult situation. It is difficult because both sides can’t be right. It is also difficult because once we become convinced that we’re the ones who are truly on Jesus’ side (and that he is on ours), we become entrenched and defensive.

The line between righteousness and self-righteousness can be a fine one.

There are some calls that should be easy, though. For example, people who embrace racism, sexism, and misogyny are wrong, and those who embrace equality, justice, and respect are right. People who act out of hate and fear are wrong, and those who act out of love and hope are right.

How can we move toward being people who truly follow Jesus and thus truly represent him in the current situation and in future ones? How can we be as sure as we can be that we are really following Jesus?

First, we can keep our minds open. There is always more to learn about who Jesus is and who Jesus would have us be. Once we let our perspectives and opinions become set in stone, we get awfully attached to our monuments.

Second, we can keep our hearts humble. We all have a long way to go. It’s best to keep that in mind. Besides, it’s not about being right. It’s about being a follower of Jesus, wherever that takes us. We live and serve by the grace of God. We must take care that we not become proud of it.

Third, we can continually read and study the Gospels. We are blessed to have them. They contain what the Spirit and the early church’s teachers, preachers, writers, compilers, and editors determined we need to know about Jesus. I’d suggest we read at least a chapter a day. We should do so prayerfully, asking God to help us know how we can best follow and bear witness to Jesus.

Fourth, we can think, speak, and act in love, grace, and mercy. If we find ourselves about to adopt an attitude, make a statement, or perform an action that doesn’t demonstrate Jesus’ love, grace, and mercy, we need to stop. Then we need to move on toward attitudes, statements, and actions that do.

Faithfulness to Jesus can create division. We need to do all we can to make sure we are following Jesus as best we can, including in the ways we deal with our sisters and brothers we find ourselves divided from.

(This post first appeared at Coracle, the blog of NextSunday Resources.)

We’d Better Move Over

I recently completed teaching an eight-week class on Wednesday evenings at Mercer University’s Henry County Center in McDonough. My usual route home takes me down I-75 to the Barnesville/Jackson exit.

These days, the Georgia Department of Transportation is resurfacing that stretch of interstate highway. They do the work at night. My class ended at 9:45 p.m.

You do the math.

Luckily, I have these nice apps on my phone to help me. One night, I requested one such app to take me to the best route home. It knew (I don’t know how) that the interstate was a parking lot due to the construction, so it took me on what would have been a scenic route had it not been too dark to see.

On another night, the app said that traffic on the interstate was moving well, so I went that way. The app was right, and I zipped right on down the highway.

Then there was a third night. The app assured me that the interstate was the best way to go.

The app lied.

As a result, I found myself sitting still for half an hour two miles from my exit.

It was mildly irritating. But I was listening to a very interesting podcast, so it was no big deal.

What did bother me about the situation was how unnecessary it was. And it was unnecessary because of—what else?—people.

You see, a few miles before the point where the work began, there were signs saying things like, “Road work ahead. Two left lanes closed. Merge right.”

I processed the information. If road work was ahead, and if the two left lanes were going to be closed, then the suggestion to move over to the right lane seemed a good one.

So I did. And then I rolled along in the right lane for a few miles with people zipping by me in the two left lanes.

I kept on rolling and they kept on zipping—until I stopped rolling and they stopped zipping.

The bottleneck occurred when the people driving in the two left lanes—the lanes that those signs had miles ago—miles ago!— warned them were going to be closed—suddenly needed to get in the far right lane, where I and other people already were because (1) we can read and (2) we have the good sense to take warnings seriously and to do what we need to do to avoid problems down the road.

This is a metaphor for the place in which we find ourselves.

There are all kinds of signs warning us of what’s coming.

There are signs warning us that if we don’t do something, climate change is going to get worse, with ominous implications for our health, the economy, and national security.

There are signs warning us that if we don’t do something, disregard for the Constitution at the highest levels is going to get worse, with ominous implications for our government, our freedom, and our role in the world.

There are signs warning us that if we don’t do something, demagoguery that uses fear and ignorance to create and widen divisions among us is going to get worse, with ominous implications for our society, our politics, and our common good.

There are signs warning us that if we don’t do something, health care problems that come from placing more value on corporate profits than on human lives are going to get worse, with ominous implications for our well-being, our finances, and our stability.

If we don’t respond to the warning signs by doing something positive and constructive, we’ll soon find ourselves stuck with no exit available.

We ignore the warning signs to our own peril, and to the even greater peril of our children, their children, and their children.

The signs are there. We’d better start moving over before it’s too late.

Listen, Learn, and Live (a sermon)

Colossians 1:15-28; Luke 10:38-42

We have a glut of information. Much of it is worth knowing, but much of it isn’t. A lot of it is true, but a lot of it isn’t. A lot of it is helpful, but a lot of it isn’t.

Lots of people want to tell us how to think and what to believe. We all have to be discerning.

Sometimes we find someone who speaks such truth to us that we listen to or read every word they say. Frederick Buechner is such a person to me. Whenever I read his words, I find myself thinking either “That’s true” or “Oh I hope that’s true.” It’s great to have someone like that in your life.

Think about the opportunity Mary and Martha have. Jesus is in their house. They know that Jesus is a great teacher. They may suspect—or they may not—that he is more than that.

(I wonder—if you were in his presence, and if your heart were really open, did you just know there was something about him?)

Mary and Martha knew Jesus personally. They knew him in the flesh.

We don’t have that privilege.

We know more about Jesus than Mary and Martha knew when Jesus came to their house. The knew he was a great teacher. They knew there was something special about him.

But they didn’t know what Paul tells us about Jesus in Colossians. We know that Jesus “is the image of the invisible God” (Col 1:15). We know that “in [Jesus] all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell” (Col 1:19).

We know that Jesus reveals God to us. We know that in God’s grace, God sent God’s Son so we could look at Jesus and know what God is like. We know that in God’s grace, God sent God’s Son so we could listen to Jesus and know what God says.

Paul also said what he wanted for the Colossians, and we want those same things for ourselves and for each other. We want to be “holy and blameless and irreproachable before [Christ]” (Col 1:22). We want to become “mature in Christ” (Col 1:28). We want to become all that Christ died to enable us to become.

How do we do that? We do it by doing what Mary did—by listening to Jesus.

Mary was able to literally sit in front of Jesus and listen to him. We can’t do that.

But we can sit with our Gospels in front of us. We can sit (or stand or kneel) in prayer. We can listen to the Spirit of God that is with us to help us understand what Jesus wants us to know and to do. We can pay attention to our sisters and brothers in Christ who bear faithful witness to who Jesus is.

We can do those things, and we should. It is a shame and a waste not to take advantage of the opportunities we have to listen to and learn from Jesus.

But we don’t listen and learn for the sake of listening and learning. We listen to and learn from Jesus so we can live as Jesus wants us to live.

Jesus said that Mary had, by listening to him, chosen the one thing that was necessary, while Martha let herself be distracted by the busyness of making dinner for Jesus.

This doesn’t mean that we should all just sit around listening to and learning from Jesus and not give any attention to service. Indeed, right before this episode, Jesus tells the story of the Good Samaritan, which is all about offering loving service to someone in need.

When someone needs help, we help. When someone needs a hand, we offer one. When someone is hurting, we comfort them.

Listening to and learning from Jesus will lead us to serve. We will also grow more and more into people who serve for service’s sake and who love for love’s sake. Loving service will come less out of an effort to be who we should be and more and more out of who are becoming as we listen to and learn from Jesus.

As we grow in our knowledge of Jesus, we will become more merciful, more gracious, and more service oriented. We will become more loving, and our ever-growing love will lead us to give ourselves away for others’ sake, for love’s sake, and for Christ’s sake.

When we are trying to decide what to think, what to say, or what to do, we should think about what Jesus would think, say, and do about it.

When a legislative body is debating a law, an important question is, “Does it pass constitutional muster?” Will it hold up in light of the Constitution?

When we are trying to decide if we should think, talk, or act in a certain way, we should ask, “Does it pass Jesus muster?” Will it hold up in the light of Jesus?

We should ask, “Does it pass the test of leading us to love, to show mercy, to offer grace, and—to serve?” Yes, listening to Jesus and learning from Jesus leads us to live a life of service. Listening as Mary did leads us to serve as Martha did—but without the pressure and worry.

The Gospel writers and editors arranged their material on purpose. Notice that Luke tells the story of the Good Samaritan, then the story of Mary and Martha, and then Jesus’ teachings on prayer. This literary structure offers us a good discipleship structure. We help as the Samaritan did. We pray as Jesus taught us to. But the Mary and Martha story is in the middle. Listening to and learning from Jesus is the centerpiece of discipleship.

How do we listen to Jesus? We read the Gospels. We pay close attention to what he did and said. We read the entire Bible in light of Jesus. We deal with issues and draw conclusions in light of Jesus. We deal with people in light of Jesus. We approach life in light of Jesus.

We listen to what Jesus says.

We learn from who Jesus is.

We live as Jesus wants us to live, always growing in mercy, grace, and service—always growing in love.

Our Country, Right or Wrong

I love the United States of America. This is my home. I was born here. I have lived here all my life. I’ve visited a few other countries, but I’m always glad to get home to the good old U.S.A.

To quote the great theologian Chuck Berry, “I’m so glad I’m livin’ in the U.S.A.!”

I love the United States of America. That’s why it makes me happy when we promote equality, practice justice, and foster community. That’s why it makes me unhappy when we don’t do those things.

I am proud of America. I want to become even prouder.

That’s why I sometimes find it necessary to criticize our nation, its policies, and its leaders.

Some folks seem to think that it’s wrong to criticize the current president. But those same folks didn’t think it was wrong to criticize the president who served before him.

Our problem is never with people criticizing the president. It’s with people criticizing this or that president. If we don’t agree with or like the president, we think it’s fine for us or anyone else to criticize him. But if we agree with or like the president, then we think it’s wrong for someone to criticize him.

Our attitude toward criticizing the president is more about partisanship than patriotism.

Loving America doesn’t mean always going along with whatever our leaders choose to do. And being critical of a leader doesn’t constitute hating America.

The idea that criticizing a president or other leader is unpatriotic is itself unpatriotic.

When President Trump ran for office, his campaign slogan was “Make America Great Again.” The slogan implied that America was no longer great. It implied that something was wrong with America that needed to be corrected.

Many people embraced that slogan and the assumptions behind it. Did they not love America? Did someone tell them to go back where they came from?

(By the way, unless we’re ancestors of those Native Americans who were already here when Europeans started arriving, our ancestors all came from somewhere else.)

Some of us believe that the current president’s vision of what makes America great and his approaches to fulfilling that vision actually lessen and weaken the nation. We speak, write, and work against his agenda not because we hate America but because we love it.

I want my nation to be the best nation it can be. I want it to make progress toward living up to its ideals. I don’t want us to settle for less than we can be. I don’t want us to accept division, prejudice, racism, xenophobia, and fear as its norms.

When someone criticizes or protests something that is going on in the United States, they might be criticized as being un-American or unpatriotic. But there are times when not criticizing and protesting is un-American and unpatriotic.

I affirm the statement, “My country, right or wrong.” Whether it is right or wrong, the United States is my country.

I celebrate when we do right. But I don’t celebrate when we do wrong. And the United States is sometimes wrong. When we are, it is still my country. But I want it to do right. I want it to do better.

I want my country always to be growing toward being the best country it can be.

I echo the words of Dr. King in his “I have a dream” speech: “Now, I say to you today my friends, even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream. I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: 'We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.’”

We understand even better than our founders did what it means for “all men” to be “created equal.” We know that it means that all people—female or male, black or brown or white, gay or straight—are created equal.

Our national goal should be for all people to be treated the same. Our national commitment should be for all of us to work together for the common good.

Now, we will debate what constitutes being “right” and “wrong.” That’s when things get really difficult. I know that. I recognize that we can’t all just get along and expect everything to work out. I know that we will disagree and debate.

But we disagree and debate most productively when we start from a place of mutual respect. When we all accept each other as Americans who love our country and who want it to be the best country it can be, we can work toward compromises that will move us ever closer to fulfilling our promise.

“Our country, right or wrong.”

When our country is wrong, we need to work together to make it right.

When our county is right, we need to work together to make it better.

Christian Decisions

I think a lot about something the poet Maya Angelou said: “I’m always amazed when people walk up to me and say, ‘I’m a Christian.’ I think, ‘Already? You already got it?’ I’m working at it, which means that I try to be as kind and fair and generous and respectful and courteous to every human being."

I guess I’d put it like this: “I am a Christian and I’m becoming a Christian.” Being Christian is my identity, but it’s also something I’m growing into. Hopefully, I’m always growing into being a better version of my Christian self.

Taking Jesus seriously is a basic part of being a Christian. I don’t understand how one can be a follower of Christ without taking seriously what Jesus said and did.

By “taking seriously” I mean more than knowing what Jesus did and said, although that’s the starting point. I mean trying to understand what it means to follow the Jesus who did and said what he did and said. I mean applying his life and teachings to my real life in this real world.

When I’m trying to figure out how I should respond to something or someone, what my position should be on an issue, or how I should behave in a situation, I start with Jesus.

What did Jesus do? What did Jesus say? That’s the base line from which I work. My main approach to learning these things is reading and studying the four New Testament Gospels.

Coming to grips with what Jesus did and said isn’t easy. So much of his guidance goes against the grain of what our culture accepts and even, all too often, of what churches and professed Christians practice.

I thought about writing a book called Things I Wish Jesus Hadn’t Said. Then I realized that the people who remembered, taught, wrote, compiled, and edited the books of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John beat me to it.

Some of you are saying, “What are you talking about?” I’d suggest you go read the Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 5–7). Read it slowly. Think about it. Now ask yourself how many Christians and churches really live like that. If you’re a Christian, ask yourself if you really live like that.

I’m sure you’ll answer honestly, so now ask yourself why not.

But as followers of Jesus, we must—we must—ask God, by God’s grace, through God’s Spirit, and by our best efforts, to us help think, feel, talk, and act in Jesus’ way.

That’s what I try to do. I fail, to be sure. Stuff gets in the way. People get in the way. I get in the way. But I keep trying. We should all keep trying.

As I’m trying to understand, accept, and follow Jesus’ ways, I’m also dealing with the real world.

So in any given situation, I try to consider circumstances, history, nuances, variables, contingencies, and so on. I also try to remember that for everything I know, there are roughly ten thousand things (a conservative estimate) I don’t know. I try to remember that, while I understand myself to some degree, I can understand someone else pretty much not at all.

In other words, I try to stay humble. When I pay attention to myself, it’s really not that hard.

So I start with Jesus, who is Lord of my life. I then take what I know of Jesus with me into the real world where I deal with real people, real problems, real issues, and real complications.

And then I come back to Jesus.

I ask—I implore—I beg Jesus to help me deal with people, problems, and issues as he would have me deal with them.

Then I do the best I can.

And next time, I try to do better.

I spend a lot of time wondering, repenting, failing, and trying again. I spend a lot of time going back to Jesus.

To sum up what I’m trying to say about how I try to live as a Christian (and please keep in mind that I haven’t tried to cover the entire Christian life, but rather just the decision-making part): given what I can know about what Jesus said and did (and remembering that I will always need to know more), and given what I can know about what’s going on in real life in the real world and why it’s going on (and remembering that I will always need to know more), what can I conclude about how Jesus would have me think, about what Jesus would have me say, and about what Jesus would have me do (remembering that I will always need to know more)?

Then, by the grace and Spirit of God, I think, say, and do what I think Jesus would have me think, say, and do.

As long as I am here, the process will never end.

It's Complicated

My father, the late great Champ Ruffin, was a good man.

He loved the Lord, he loved his family, he loved his church, and he loved his country.

He served in the Navy during World War II. After the war he married Sara Abbott. They brought me into the world in 1958.

That means I grew up in the 1960s and early 1970s. School desegregation finally came to our small town of Barnesville, Georgia, which was located more or less halfway between Atlanta and Macon, about the time we transitioned from one decade to the other.

It was a complicated time.

I grew up surrounded by racism. But my parents weren’t racists. They taught me to respect all people. When a family member made a racially insensitive comment, my parents reminded me that we didn’t think or talk that way in our house.

I never heard my parents say that school segregation was good or that desegregation was bad. I never heard them say a negative word about another person on the basis of race. When the time came for me to attend my first integrated school with my first African-American teachers in my seventh-grade year, they treated it as just another school year.

I’m grateful.

But then there’s this: both of my parents voted for George Wallace in the presidential election of 1968. I know this because my father told me he did, and my mother, using the excuse that she didn’t keep up with politics, always voted for whomever my father did.

She wasn’t exactly liberated.

My father died in 1979. I was newly married and getting ready to head off to seminary. I wasn’t yet at the point in life where I wondered enough about his thoughts and choices to have deep conversations with him about them.

But now I wonder: how could my father, good sensible Christian man that he was, vote for the racist George Wallace?

My best guess is that, while he didn’t like Wallace’s racial views, he felt threatened by the social changes brought about by opposition to the Vietnam War, the sexual revolution, and even the Civil Rights movement. I imagine that, in a time of great civil unrest, he liked Wallace's "law and order" emphasis. I suspect that he liked Wallace’s stance against the pointy-headed liberals who were trying to impose their will on the South. I think he was frightened by the changes that seemed inevitable. I suspect he just wanted to slow things down.

Times were complicated. Circumstances were complicated. My father was complicated.

I try to remember how complicated things and people always have been, are now, and always will be.

My father died before his only child turned out to be a pointy-headed liberal, so I don’t know what he’d think about me now.

My father was a good man whose fears led him to cast a bad vote. He wasn’t the first or the last person of whom that could be said.

The good news is that Wallace lost.

The better news is that my father later told me he regretted voting for Wallace.

Good folks recognize and admit their mistakes.

On the other hand, he said he should have voted for Nixon…

Small Steps and Giant Leaps

On Thursday, July 20, 1969 at 3:17 p.m., the Apollo 11 lunar landing module touched down on the moon’s surface. At 10:56 p.m. on that same day, astronaut Neil Armstrong became the first person to walk on the moon. Astronaut Buzz Aldrin soon joined Armstrong on the moon’s surface.

I was an almost eleven-year-old boy who was really glad to be out of school for the summer so I could stay up and watch the incredible event take place.

I joined millions of people in being enthralled by the moon landing.

The success of the Apollo project should remind us of what we can do when we put our minds to it.

As Armstrong stepped from the landing craft’s ladder onto the lunar surface, he said, “That’s one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.” The distance from the ladder’s bottom rung to the moon’s surface was small, but it represented a huge leap forward in humanity’s understanding of our place in the universe. For the first time, a human being had set foot on a body in our solar system other than Earth.

We’ve had some fascinating unmanned forays into space in the years since Apollo 11. The two Voyager probes were launched in 1977. Voyager 1 collected valuable data as it flew by Saturn. Voyager 2 did the same as it flew by Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, and Neptune. In 2015, the New Horizons probe flew by Pluto. New Horizons is still way out there somewhere. Voyager 1 and 2 are still even farther out there.

I’ll admit to being disappointed that we’ve not made more progress in sending people into space during the last half century. I hold out hope that we’ll put people on Mars while I’m still around. I’d love to see that happen.

You and I may not be able to make a giant leap for humankind as Neil Armstrong did, but we can take small steps forward, and giant leaps for humankind still happen one small step at a time.

We need to make a giant leap toward greater peace in the world. You and I can contribute to that leap by taking the small step of listening to and respecting those who think differently than we do.

We need to make a giant leap toward protecting democracy and achieving greater decency in our nation. You and I can contribute to that leap by taking the small step of supporting and voting for candidates who will try to do so.

We need to make a giant leap toward making quality affordable healthcare available to all Americans. You and I can contribute to that leap by taking the small step of calling our representatives and asking them to work toward doing so.

Those are just a few examples.

I believe that if enough of us will take enough small steps, we’ll eventually make the giant leaps forward that we need to make.

Our Faith, Their Health

We read about about a man named Naaman in 2 Kings 5:1-14.

Naaman was the general in charge of Syria’s army. He was important and powerful. He also had a disease.

Because Naaman was important and powerful, he had servants. One of them was a captured Israelite girl who told Naaman’s wife about a prophet in her home country who could cure Naaman.

Because Naaman was important and powerful, he had resources. Because he had resources, he was able to set out for Israel to visit Elisha, the prophet the servant was talking about. He took a lot of money and other valuables with him in case the prophet’s services required steep payment. Or maybe Naaman’s health insurance plan included a high deductible.

Let’s imagine a different scenario. Suppose the servant was sick. Suppose she mentioned to her masters that a prophet in her home country could help her. How likely is it that a servant with no privilege and no financial resources would be able to access the healthcare available through the prophet?

I had a conversation a while back with someone who had good health insurance and considerable personal wealth. He had recently traveled a long way to undergo a very specialized surgery for a life-threatening disease. He was telling me that his prescriptions cost him several thousand dollars out of pocket per month after his insurance paid what it would pay.

I asked him what people in his situation would do if they didn’t have a lot of money.

He shrugged.

It was a powerful shrug.

He probably meant it to say, “I don’t know what they’d do,” but it really said, “They’d die.” They would die because they aren’t privileged and wealthy enough to have access to the kind of care he received.

Many reports inform us of problems associated with a lack of access to healthcare or the cost of healthcare in the United States. For example, about 530,000 families file for bankruptcy each year, mainly due to medical bills (that’s 66.5% of all bankruptcies). About 27 million nonelderly individuals are uninsured, and one in five of them will not seek medical care because of concerns about cost. Women and people of color experience harmful disparities in receiving healthcare.

Some of us are like Naaman in that we have the resources to get whatever treatment we need. Some of us are like the servant in that we don’t have such resources. And others of us are somewhere in the middle—we have insurance and access to healthcare, but a serious illness might still cause us considerable financial strain.

Some of you may be thinking, “Now wait a minute. This unit is on ‘Prophetic Reminders: Keeping God at the Center,’ and this lesson is titled ‘God Is Present.’ Why are you talking about healthcare? Don’t the unit and the lesson focus on what God does? Shouldn’t you be writing about how God healed Naaman? Shouldn’t you be emphasizing what God did and does?”

Those are good questions.

God healed Naaman, but God worked through the servant and through Elisha to create the opportunity for healing. The servant and the prophet were both God’s people, and as God’s people they contributed to Naaman’s healing.

Access to and payment for healthcare are complicated issues, and I don’t pretend to know the solutions.

But as God’s people living in the United States in 2019, shouldn’t we be asking how God might want to work through us to make the opportunity for healing more available to everyone, regardless of their socioeconomic standing?

Shouldn’t we want Naaman’s employee to have the same access to healthcare that Naaman had?

(This article first appeared on Coracle, the blog of Next Sunday Resources.)

Consideration

Some of you are familiar with Canadian singer-songwriter Gordon Lightfoot’s 1971 song, “If You Could Read My Mind.” It’s a great song.

The song was inspired by the divorce that ended Lightfoot’s first marriage. In the recorded version of the song, Lightfoot sings,

If you could read my mind, love,
what a tale my thoughts could tell.
Just like an old time movie,
'bout a ghost from a wishing well.
In a castle dark or a fortress strong.
with chains upon my feet.
But stories always end,
and if you read between the lines,
you'd know that I'm just tryin' to understand
the feelings that you lack.

Lightfoot and his first wife, Brita Ingegerd Olaisson, had two children, Fred and Ingrid. At their daughter Ingrid’s request, Lightfoot started singing an altered version of the last line. Now he sings, “I’m just trying to understand the feelings that we lack.” As his daughter pointed out to him, divorce is seldom only one partner’s fault.

Lightfoot changed the lyric out of consideration for his daughter’s feelings. Perhaps he took his ex-wife’s feelings into account as well, albeit belatedly.

Some folks will take Lightfoot’s lyrical adjustment as a sign of weakness. They’ll ask, “Why should he care what anybody else thinks?” Some folks will also take his daughter Ingrid’s request that he change the lyric as a sign of weakness. They may call her a snowflake or something similar.

I think that, while it is right and necessary that we speak the truth, it is good to do so with as much consideration for others’ feelings as possible. It’s always good to think about how our words will affect other people.

I recognize that sometimes that’s difficult. For example, I don’t know how to be considerate of someone’s racist, sexist, or otherwise hateful and prejudiced attitudes, words, and actions. Besides, any consideration I might try to have for them disappears in light of the consideration I must have for those who get hurt by the attitudes, words, and actions of people who practice and promote racism and sexism.

I guess we have to leave the hateful people aside, except for praying for them and trying to offer a positive witness to them. They’re not going to contribute to any solutions, anyway.

Most of us are in this together, though. Being considerate of each other’s feelings is just basic kindness, which we can never have enough of. Even if telling the truth means that I must disagree with or challenge your perspective or position, I don’t have to try to harm you.

But it’s hard to speak the truth in a loving way. That’s true for several reasons.

For one thing, it can be hard to know the truth. The truth we know is the product of our experience. We need to try to understand why we think we know what we think we know. We need to try hard to be as informed as we can be about the facts of a matter.

For another thing, even when we’re convinced, after we try to filter out our unfounded assumptions, inherited biases, faulty conclusions, and emotional reactions, that we know the truth, it can be hard to say it. This is especially true if the truth we need to say is contentious or controversial. We might be afraid that our speaking will make things worse. Or, we might be too considerate of others’ feelings—yes, I think that’s possible—with the result that we won’t risk saying anything that might offend someone, even if it needs to be said.

For a third thing, it can be hard to speak the truth in a way that takes other people seriously—that treats them as equal partners in the human enterprise. The key to being considerate in expressing our viewpoints is to recognize that everyone is a fellow human being and to treat each other with the respect that our awareness of our common identity should produce.

It is unfortunate that we often can’t have civil and constructive discussions about the issues that really matter because our default settings are (1) to take things personally and (2) to attack others personally.

It’s interesting how out of the same mind, mouth, and social media account can come these two statements (or approximations of them): (1) “I’m going to say what I think and I don’t care how it affects anyone” and (2) “How dare you say that!” Too often we don’t want to give others the same respect and consideration we expect.

I believe that one way out of our unfortunate situation is to learn what Gordon Lightfoot learned that led him to change his song lyric: it’s not about you and it’s not about me—it’s about us.

Being considerate is about being kind, and we can always use more kindness.

You may not think that we need to be kind and considerate as we deal with the challenging issues and situations confronting us.

If you don’t, I’ll try not to take it personally.

Mike the Poet

In late spring of 1964, I joined my fellow graduates of Miss Sylvia’s Kindergarten on the stage of the Gordon Grammar School lunchroom in Barnesville, Georgia. 

At a designated point in the midst of all the pomp and circumstance, I stepped forward and, with trembling knees and shaking voice, recited the first poem I ever uttered publicly. It was “The Swing” by Robert Louis Stevenson.

How do you like to go up in a swing,

   Up in the air so blue?

Oh, I do think it the pleasantest thing

   Ever a child can do! 

Stevenson was a pretty good writer. Thinking I could do better, I eventually wrote some poems of my own. It was when I was a student in Mrs. Key’s creative writing class at Forsyth Road School. The one I remember was about space. It was a moving piece with great depth and insight. The closing line was,

The biggest space I know of

is the space between your ears.

I don’t know which of my classmates I had in mind. If you think it was you, let me know and I’ll apologize.

I wrote a few poems over the next half-century, but I’ve only recently begun writing poetry in a disciplined way. I try to write one every week. Some of them are about my life, while others are about my perspective on the world and related matters.

I thought I’d share two of them to let you know where my thoughts have been lately. The fact that they don’t rhyme tells you how deep and serious they are.

The first one is called “Uneven Spaces.” I think it’s about how I want to live.

The sign in the passageway

between the terminal and the plane

said, “Caution: Uneven Spaces.”

It meant, I think, that the junctures

between the passageway’s sections

created a tripping hazard.

It set me to thinking about how

we always need to watch our step

because life isn’t level or uniform.

Some parts are high, some low.

Some are wide, some narrow.

Some are predictable, some surprising.

A problem: if you spend all your time

looking down for the uneven spaces,

you’ll miss seeing lots of amazing things.

Some things are worth the risk

of falling flat on your face.

The second one is called “Hardening.” I think it’s about how I want to grow old.

Three score and ten seems fair.

But if you feel pretty good as you get near it,

four score starts to sound reasonable,

four score and ten attainable, and

five score not out of the question.

Then you think about how

your minor arthritis might become major,

your occasional forgetfulness might become frequent,

and your declining hearing might go all the way down,

and you tell yourself well, none of that would be so bad.

Minor inconveniences requiring bearable adjustments.

But what if you become

more set in your ways,

more stuck in your perspectives,

more callous in your sympathies,

less open in your search for truth?

And you find yourself realizing

you’d rather go sooner with hardened arteries

than later with hardened attitudes.

You may not write poetry. But I hope you take time to think deeply about your life in the world.

We only get to do it once, and we need to find as much meaning in it as we can.

To read my weekly poems, follow me on Instagram at michaell.ruffin.