What Can We Do?

The surest sign that we are made for something better than suffering and death is our absolute shock, aversion and puzzlement when faced with monstrous evil.   We do not understand the deliberate destruction of the beautiful or the innocent.  Further, when faced with that final reality, we come easily to see that everyone is beautiful and innocent; that we don't want anyone to die.  

This past week's killing spree left everyone holding their own children a little tighter.  We should recognize how precious and fragile the soft hand of a 6 or 7 year old is, and how much we should treasure when they want us to walk with them, read one more story, or fix just a little more breakfast.  

But when evil manifests itself so gravely in our midst, (even when protocols and policies and laws were properly enacted to protect against such unthinkable acts), we wonder what should we do?  What could we do?  What must be done? 

There will calls for gun control restrictions. There will be calls for better mental health care programs.  Both are reasonable responses and if politicians can be reasonable, perhaps some societal good shall come from a great evil. However the real work cannot be done on a societal level, because what happened was not the end result of society, it was an act that is outside of society, it came from inside the heart of a single person.

If we need proof that society is full of people of grace, we need only look at the custodian who ran through the hall warning teachers, or the kid who led his class friends out, or the teacher who lied and died to protect her students or the principal, or any of the adults who sought to keep a touch of normal in an unnormal situation, to preserve a touch of childhood when the world had gone mad.   There are far more people seeking to be light in the worst of situations, than those who seek to create the ultimate darkness. 

There is a terrifying unspoken element to this story, that each of us contains within us, a heart capable of darkness.  Not the same darkness, but there are all kinds of ways that we contribute to the isolation, loneliness, darkness, hunger and thirst of the world, by our words, by not talking, by our refusal to act, by our refusal to get involved.  Getting involved in the world is a dangerous thing, it is messy. Furthermore, if we do act, we will not be the same.

But the everyday courage of going out your door and engaging other people, as you shop, as you park your car, order food, help with homework, greet a teacher, see a neighbor or sit in a pew, these are the little acts of love that can knit and mend 1000 cuts if they are repeated every day all our lives.  We cannot stop sin in any hearts but our own, but we can encourage grace in others as we live by our lives.   So read a story, decorate your home, make gifts, give generously, hug fiercely, feast with your family, pray through your anger, pray through your frustrations, pray through the tedium that eats at good will and good humor.  It is the only way to be a light against the dark that seems often to gather and grow.  

Everyday courage is love in action.   Everyday courage involves meeting actual people and seeing them as beautiful, treating them as worthy of preserving, of serving, of walking with them, reading one more story, fixing one more breakfast.   Everyday courage sees Gollum as Smeagol and hopes he can be saved.  Everyday courage hopes even the killer of all these beautiful people, has found healing and forgiveness and peace, because everyday courage recognizes that "Many that live deserve death. And some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them? Then do not be too eager to deal out death in judgement."  even when it seems easy to judge.

What can we do?  Light the pink candle, celebrate Advent, and be the people of hope, who do the everyday things with everyday courage.    

The Perfect Call for This Day and Age

In case you've missed it, this past week a perfect game was lost because of a bad call.  Pitcher Armando Galaraga of the Detroit Tigers pitched a game that was one bat away from history.  Then Jim Joyce the umpire missed the call with the Cleveland runner and called him safe at first, when replays clearly showed him out.  For those who don't love or get baseball who say it's just a game, I say "Yes and no." 

Yes.  The game is just one of many.  Yes, it ultimately does not change the world. Yes, there are countless other more things, more exciting, more important, more vital. 

And No. This was an opportunity at history, at perfection, marred by human events.  So I feel for the pitcher who just gave 26 perfect performances only to have the 27th robbed as the umpire clearly muffed the call. 

And No because the real story was the next day.  It's part of why Baseball still matters and still means something, because there are moments like this that the broader world gets to see and given the level of vitriol, preening and self righteous puffery that we witness on a daily basis, having real people on a big stage matters immensely.  

The Umpire (Joyce), went to the locker room immediately after the game to apologize and Galaraga hugged him and accepted it.  He also apologized again the next day when Galaraga came out with the line up.  He shed tears. He even said, "I cost this kid history."

And No again, it isn't just a game because Galaraga did not call for a reversal of the call.  He did not demand his perfect game, he did not demand a pound of flesh for the loss of his moment. 

There is a lesson in this moment of baseball, about the way we return to civility and class as a society, as modeled in the Pitcher and the Umpire. A mistake was made. It cost the pitcher permanently. The umpire apologized, heartfully. The Pitcher accepted. The game went on and life went on and baseball was all the richer for the absence of a perfect game that was perfect; when perfect gentlemen responded as gentlemen should.


I know there are cries for the call to be reversed, but this would be a disservice to baseball and to my way of thinking, all of us. There are bad calls. The game goes on. Life is like that; the content of our character is revealed by how we respond to bad calls, to unlucky breaks, to perfection not being recognized; to not making history.

The fact is, that there are far more men like Jim Joyce the Umpire and  the pitcher Armando Galaraga than we know.  They just don't make the news because peace or the lack of open conflict isn't a news item. There are far more moments when we don't make history, when we are asked to accept apologies or our own sense of right and wrong requires us to give them. The little story of a blown call gives me hope for our society as a whole.  As long as good women and men keep coming forward with quiet dignity and fighting to do or say the right thing despite having the Kitchen sink thrown at them and people did boo and in some cases, threaten the umpire and his family despite calls from Armando not to be angry; civility will eventually be welcomed as a relief from the constant preening spinning, bickering and self righteous acid throwing that currently pretends to be this nation’s discourse. 

Given the fact that men like Armando and Joyce exist, I can hope.   Play ball.

Withering Heights in the Windy City

I now know why God gave me these nine children.

It was to preserve my life.

This past weekend, my husband surprised me with a trip to Chicago for our 19 year anniversary. My parents agreed to watch the horde. Left to my own devices and without the benefit of a to-do list, I quickly reverted to pre-child form, engaging in such selfish activities as sleep, eating food without sharing and mentally preparing to do any manner of self indulgent recreational activities like museums, shopping and haircuts.

Then the dutiful part of me whispered, “You should do something that is unique to this town. You can shop or eat or get a haircut anywhere.” To which, the veteran mom answered, “Oh yeah? Then why is my hair in a permanent ponytail and my wardrobe consist of tee-shirts my son has outgrown and shoes my daughter no longer fits?”

“You’re overweight.” The nag voice hissed, “So you obviously find time to Eat.” “No, I just don’t find time to exercise.” I smart mouthed back, but the idea of doing something I could do nowhere else lingered.

The Cubs weren’t in town, and I don’t like the White Sox. I didn’t want to go to the pier and be reminded of all the children I have by other people’s kids. So I had to pick something touristy. There was the Sears Tower, the tallest building around that had just opened a Lucite deck where you could walk outside the building and look down. Perfect!

Clearly, outside the protective influence of my children, I harbor destructive impulses. The seven block walk towards the tower, allowed for me to either build up the nerve or have an attack of common sense.

I considered the reality of the Lucite bridge 1,400 feet up above ground with the unforgiving gravity in between. The debate was back on, was it brave to go on the bridge? I mean, it was obviously safe or no one would be allowed on it, but since it was obviously safe, how was it brave to step out on it?

Then I considered the reality, that it would feel brave because my eyes would see the drop, and I would feel afraid. How long did one have to be on the bridge to show bravery? I mean, if you went on the bridge but shut your eyes so as to not be afraid, wouldn’t that defeat the point? Wouldn’t also putting a toe on the bridge for 2 seconds also defeat the point? What in fact was the point?

How would standing there and yelling “Hah!” At Newton’s law of gravity when in fact I was supported by a Lucite deck certified to be safe and having housed countless others, indicate courage when I was in fact doing nothing but standing on a floor outside? I decided all would be made clear by actually doing the act.

I bought the ticket. I took the elevator. We took the tour. The Lucite deck I’d decided to conquer was in the Sears Tower. I had gone to the John Hancock. There was a screened in deck where one could look out and feel the rush of the sky. It was beautiful but absolutely non threatening. What did all of this prove?

God looks after me in my absent minded impulsiveness.

Now I’m going home where it’s much safer.