Peel It Away

Stop. Close your eyes. Hold your breath. Take your fingernail and scrape around the edges of YOU until you find it—the thin silver sheet that represents your soul. Scratch at it, peel it away, remove it, hopefully in one piece, fold it carefully, put it away. And wait. Wait for better times. This is one way to make it through trying times like these. For without a soul, you won’t know. You won’t care. You won’t feel. Truth, lies, right, wrong, good, bad, hurt, pain, compassion, discernment…nothing will matter. You will just trail along, unaware.

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Little Metal Hearts

I could go buy a little metal heart, engrave the word CHRISTIAN on it, and clip it to my cocker spaniel’s collar. She could run around and proclaim to the world she’s a Christian. But to my knowledge, she has never made a personal choice for her spiritual destiny.

Anyone can wear a label with a noun on it. It doesn’t mean anything.

It’s when you turn that noun into an adjective that it begins to mean something.

As little Baptists we were brainwashed with that adjective. We were loved with it, and we were beaten over the head with it.

“Out of James 1:22, comes a call for Juniors true, who will live for Christ the risen Lord. Listen to this trumpet call, ringing out to one and all, be ye doers of the Word. Be ye doers of the Word, be ye doers of the Word, be ye doers of the Word. And not hearers, not hearers only, be ye doers of the Word.

I sang that song at least 156 times in the Junior Department of my Sunday School class on the second floor at the First Baptist Church.

“Be ye doers of the Word.” It’s repeated in the chorus four times. That means I sang that command at least 624 times during my formative years between ages nine and eleven.

At that young age, did I know what it meant? You bet I did. It meant behavior. We weren’t just supposed to read Bible verses and listen to the Bible taught in a Sunday lesson or preached in a sermon.

We were supposed to walk out of those church doors on Sunday and live the principles of the Bible every day of the week. It was our guide, our code of behavior. It taught us how to act and how to treat others. It also made clear how not to act and not to treat others. We failed on occasion, and quite often. After all, nobody’s perfect. We got in trouble, got spanked, had to stay in at recess at school, got grounded, got detention, but by damn, we knew right from wrong.

What the hell has happened to those of us who grew up in the 1950s and 1960s because, now, collectively, we don’t know. We don’t know right from wrong. We have no moral code. We as a Christian people forgot about hearing and DOING. Or at least, that’s how we act.

In 2016 we lost our moral compass.

Nowadays, the end justifies the means. Situation ethics—without the love for fellow man—is the way we roll: each isolated situation gets its own moral decision based on what feels right in that moment. I mean, if the economy of our nation is good, we can support, defend, and adore immoral and unethical behavior. Where did this come from?

I think about us as little Baptists with our white gloves, white patent shoes, Tonette permanent curls, flowered hats, and white leather Bibles with a picture of Jesus inside.

What has happened to us in our religion?

Why was it so easy to throw away the doing of the Word, the believing of the behavior set forth in the Word? Why can we not discern right from wrong? Why are we floating in the wind and following any new wrong fork in the road?

We keep on wearing that little metal tag with CHRISTIAN on it, and maybe we are the noun. But what happened to the adjective?

Think about it. It bears some study and pondering. Are we in some type of new religious movement, and does it have a name? This is something that has bothered me for a long time, but in the last two years, it has become a great stumbling block. I’ve thought about it, read about it, prayed about it, talked with others about it, sought answers in deep conversations, poured my heart out, and looked in the right places for answers, but for the life of me, I cannot mesh the little Baptists we were with the old grownup Baptists we are today . . . or any denomination, for that matter. What has happened to make us turn to hearing and following a man rather than hearing and doing and following God?

I know, and get your panties out of a wad, I’m not talking about every single Christian. I know there are some with vision and mission and followship. But the whole, the collective Christian community, the Church, has given not only their votes, but their lives in support and defense and adoration of a behavior that is far, far against the Word we sang about as little Baptist Juniors.

I don’t want to be saying all this stuff. I’d rather be liked by old friends and even family. I’d rather be popular and not the target of Christian-labeled hate arrows. I’m too old to be hated and mocked. I could choose to pretend things are good and happy and right. But they’re not. And so I’m not going to sit on the fence, and I’m not going to sit silent. And at this point in my journey, I’m impervious to the arrows. I see, and I need to say. My goal is to try and be nice about it. I’m sure I will fail at times, and forgive me, as I’m desperately searching and trying to reach a greater understanding of exactly what being a Christian means today. It doesn’t mean what it did when I was a young Baptist.

I don’t think we’re quibbling about politics. I think we’re quibbling about religion.

Because if religion worked and Christians stood for what they learned to believe in, we wouldn’t be in this mess today.

I so hope we as a collective Christian community can find a way to turn those (NOUN) cold, flimsy, metal heart tags into (ADJECTIVE) Christ-likeness and looking to the behavior in his Word as our guide for belief and action and followship.


Name-Calling

By the time I was six years old and in the first grade, I’d learned to not call people names. If I did it, I got in trouble. I learned to do unto others as I’d have them do unto me. I learned it was important and right to love other people and to treat them kindly.

In elementary school, I learned the name put to bad behavior toward others—bullying. I learned that bullies put others down to lift themselves up. I learned that bullies have problems within.

I learned rules from the Bible—at home, at Sunday School, and at school. I learned not to bear false witness against people. That means lying, speaking falsely and unjustly, or deceiving.

I read the commandment: “Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain.” What does that even mean? I used to think it meant saying God’s name with a cuss word.

But looking more deeply, does it mean to use God’s name in a wrong and empty way, to assign authority to beliefs and behavior in his name, when said beliefs and behavior are not of him and are contradictory to the Bible? Does it include our claiming to be of him, when we believe things or do things or support things that are obviously not of him, thus bringing shame to his name and damage to his character?

In our new world 2017 AC, name-calling is apparently accepted. Putting people down, saying false things, saying any adjective that will stick with that person for all time . . . it’s the new thing to do. I don’t like it. I’ve done it, and I don’t feel good about myself when I do. But even in the world of good people, of Christian Evangelicals and conservative Christians, it is given a go-ahead. Somehow, some way, Christians are willing to close their Bibles, put them on dusty shelves, and open their hearts in support of the one leader in our country who is so adept at name-calling. And not only that, they assign the name “Christian” to that one.

I just don’t understand. I really, really don’t.

But to help everybody out, The Failing New York Times has provided a list of examples. We can consult this list to learn how to effectively name-call—how to break the bones of our enemies, or even the ones who’ve legitimately called out something wrong we’ve done or said. After all, in our new world, we must get them back!

Here are a few examples of slams and slurs to draw from as we go about our days:

Low-energy Jeb Bush. Lyin’ Ted. Little Marco. Liddle Bob Corker—incompetent, couldn’t get elected dog catcher in Tennessee. Leakin’ James Comey—a leaker! Sloppy Steve Bannon. Cryin’ Chuck Schumer. Dummy John McCain—has done nothing! Total Dud John Kasich. Sleazy Adam Schiff. Al Frankenstein. Failed Presidential Candidate Lindsey Graham—I ran him out of the race like a little boy. Kooky Roberts. Pocahontas. So Totally Biased Shep Smith. Dope Brit Hume. FoxNews Flunky Charles Krauthammer. Unelectable Jeff Flake—toxic, weak, sad. Little Rocket Man. Hillary-flunky Meryl Streep—one of the most over-rated actresses in Hollywood. Ruth Bader Ginsburg—her mind is shot. Really Sad Mitt Romney—a total joke. Low-Life Lisa Belkin. Dumb as a Rock Mika Brzezinski. Very Weak Paul Ryan.

Here’s a link to 421 people, places, and things our president has insulted on Twitter—a complete and ongoing list. Thousands of slams and slurs! This is our brave new world and our newly molded Christian mindset.

Nobody’s perfect. We’re all guilty of something. We’ve all sinned. We’ve all done this maybe a little. I did in my teen days and lived to regret it. But this list . . . this seems like an awful lot of name-calling.


Tampax, Tunnel Vision, and Tangibles

My son was five when, unbeknownst to me, he retrieved used Tampax applicators from the bathroom trash, put four or five together like a long, white telescope, and went on a back yard adventure. A giant yard of big, old trees, sand box with trucks and buckets, a two-story playhouse, and a swing set, but all he could see through his invention were a few oak leaves, the wheel of a Tonka in the sand, the yellow seat of a glider. Yet he was intent on his narrow scope of exploration.

I kept watching him out the back door—focused, looking for treasure, a mind full of pretend. I kept asking myself, “What in the world is he looking through?”

I think he was smart to invent an instrument for viewing his surrounds, but I don’t think those white cardboard applicators joined together gave him a complete view of the world around him. Looking through that long narrow tube, my little boy could only see what that little round hole at the end of the applicators showed. He had tunnel vision.

Tunnel vision is extreme narrowness of viewpoint resulting from concentration on a single idea or opinion, to the exclusion of others.

I can’t help but notice that there are many adults in this world now walking around looking through Tampax applicators. They see one idea or one object at the end of the tube and pick on it, scratch it raw, and then beat on it until it bleeds. They have no peripheral vision, none whatsoever, and concentrate to a fault on one grain of sand out of all the world’s beaches—one tiny inanimate object over all of humanity. I keep shaking my head and saying, “What is wrong with them, and why can’t they see more?”

We live in a time of tunnel vision and tangibles. People like tangibles—real things, palpable, things you can see, touch, even hear, pick up and hold or easily wrap your mind around. Simple and familiar tangibles attached to one meaning and experience include: a football, a tuba, trumpet, drum, cymbal, banner or flag.

People just can’t see beyond the viewfinder of the Tampax applicators; they can’t see intangibles or abstract things. They attach to the material item single-mindedly and focus on its color, sound, texture, and what they personally think about it. They build anger and hostility as they look to hammer and hurt everyone else who doesn’t see the item like they do. There’s no understanding or empathy outside that one object, even though there’s an infinite world of possibilities. I keep shaking my head. “Why can’t they see the big picture?”

I remember the movie Patch Adams. My other son (the one who was given a real Fisher-Price Adventure Tool Set after it was discovered what his brother used for exploration) was in that movie. I think of the scene in which Arthur Mendelson, an elderly, eccentric, intellectual patient ran up wildly to Patch and held up four fingers. “How many do you see?” The staff thought the old man was crazy, but Patch pursued his question. Mendelson told Patch to look beyond the fingers, to look at him, and by gazing through, Patch saw the fingers double. By looking at the four fingers, Mendelson said, “You are focusing on the problem. If you focus on the problem, you can’t see the solution.” This was a charge to see more, to look at the whole, to see what no one else sees, to see an answer. “See what everyone chooses not to see … out of fear, conformity, or laziness.”

My friend, writer Chance Chambers says, “I will not hold flags and ceremony (tangible items) in higher regard than human lives. A song doesn’t mean more to me than freedom and the right to live without fear.”

I don’t have a lot of hope that a lot of people can embrace this. Most are very content with their Tampax applicators, and we’ve just got to let them play, pretend, and cry in their own little, narrow worlds.


The Know Nothings

Are you a Know Nothing? I’ve been called a Know-It-All, but this is different. It was a political party a hundred sixty years ago. Ever heard of it? Read on.

“Its origins lay in a succession of anti-foreigner and anti-Catholic secret societies, culminating in the Order of the Star-Spangled Banner, and finally in the Know-Nothing, or  American, Party.” (John D. Hicks, A Short History of American Democracy, 1946)

The effects of that party are still felt today.

The “Know Nothing” movement was a nativist political party that operated nationally in the mid-1850s. Nativism is a policy that favors native inhabitants as opposed to immigrants. It was a secret society, and there were rules about joining—initiation rites, hand signs, and passwords. Members had a pureblooded pedigree of Protestant Anglo-Saxon stock, and they vowed to reject all Catholics. They weren’t supposed to talk to outsiders about the secret society. If asked, they responded with, “I know nothing.”

This secret society rose to prominence in 1853 and included more than one hundred elected congressmen, eight governors, a controlling share of half a dozen state legislatures, and thousands of local politicians. Party members supported:

  • Deportation of foreign beggars and criminals
  • A 21-year naturalization period for immigrants
  • Elimination of all Catholics from public office
  • Mandatory Bible reading in schools

Their aim was to restore their vision of what America should look like with Protestantism, temperance, self-reliance, and American nationality and work ethic enshrined as the nation’s highest values.

In the early 1800s, immigrants trickled into the country, but in the decade following 1845, 2.9 million immigrants poured into the United States, and many of them were of the Catholic faith. All of a sudden, more than half the residents of New York City were foreign-born, and Irish immigrants made up 70 percent of charity recipients.

The cultures clashed, fear spread like fallout riding a wind current, and conspiracies abounded. According to the Smithsonian Magazine, “All Catholics and all persons who favor the Catholic Church are . . . vile imposters, liars, villains, and cowardly cutthroats.” One author claimed to have gone undercover in a convent and published a book spewing conspiracies, such as priests were raping nuns and strangling any resulting babies. She was proved to be a fraud, yet her book sold hundreds of thousands of copies. People want to believe conspiracies. As a result, churches were burned, and Know Nothing gangs spread to cities around the country, from New York to Cincinnati to Louisville to New Orleans to San Francisco.

“The Know Nothings came out of what seemed to be a vacuum,” according to Christopher Phillips, professor of history at the University of Cincinnati. “It’s the failing Whig party and the faltering Democratic party and their inability to articulate . . . answers to the problems that were associated with everyday life.” (Does this sound like today, or what?)

The Know Nothings, according to Phillips, displayed three patterns common to nativist movements:

  • The embrace of nationalism (exalting one nation above all others and placing primary emphasis on promotion of its culture: PUT AMERICA FIRST)
  • Religious discrimination (Protestants against Catholics, instead of current-day Christians against Muslims or Jews)
  • Working class identity exerting itself in conjunction with the rhetoric of upper-class political leaders (LOCK HER UP, PUNCH HIM IN THE FACE, BUILD THAT WALL, BOMB THE SHIT OUT OF THEM, GET THAT SON OF A BITCH OFF THE FIELD, MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN)

I’m not going to apologize for the use of bad language because these are words used by the President of the United States, and they should be good enough for all and appropriate for use at political rallies, in the media, and in our schools and churches.

“One can’t possibly make sense of [current events] unless you know something about nativism,” Christopher Phillips concludes. “That requires you to go back in time to the Know Nothings. You have to realize the context is different, but the themes are consistent.”

It’s interesting what you can find in your mama’s college history book from 1946 if you go looking.

 


Nashville Women’s March: Peace, Unity, Love

I held one end of an American flag banner against the rail of a viewing porch on the Pedestrian Bridge high above the Cumberland River. That’s how I met Alma Sanford. She and her daughter brought the banner with them and displayed it throughout the Women’s March at Cumberland Park, the walk downtown on Second Avenue, and in Public Square Park. I passed the flag corner to my friend Susie to hold as we both shared in this historic event. Twenty thousand people gathered in Nashville to stand for “right” in America.

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Alma Sanford is a retired attorney and political consultant. After she stopped practicing Law, she has worked in the areas of government service, political campaign management, event planning, and member of many boards, such as the Nashville State Community College Foundation to raise funds for student scholarships. I got this information from LinkedIn; she told us to look her up. She worked on current Nashville Mayor Megan Barry’s campaign. She told me this.

Alma is also a founding board member of the Tennessee Woman Suffrage Monument, Inc. According to LinkedIn, she:

“Prepared all initial legal documents for incorporation, application for non-profit status and planned first fundraiser. Participated in the selection of the sculptor Alan LeQuire, who was commissioned to create the monument to the Tennessee women suffragists who successfully gained the state of Tennessee’s ratification of the 19th Amendment. The monument includes 5 women that are 9 feet tall that will stand on a base of 3 feet…in Centennial Park in Nashville…”

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The 19th Amendment gave women the right to vote in 1920, the year before my mother was born. In other words, my grandmothers in their early years did not have the right to vote in the United States of America. Thank God for strong, bold women who stood up and spoke out! After 1920 white women could vote. In the late 1940s when my mother, a white woman, moved to Mississippi, she had to take a civics test and pay a poll tax to vote.

That was to keep black people from voting. Thank God for bold and strong African-Americans who stood up and spoke out for their rights in the 1960s! I lived it and watched it in the Mississippi Delta in my young years. My public school was segregated until 1965. In the 1970s I watched – yes, saw with my own eyes – black people getting off the sidewalk of an old Mississippi town when white people approached, lower their heads, and shuffle. It was a way of life there. My God! In the 1980s I sat in the public library of a small Mississippi Delta town looking at books with my children and watched the librarian refuse a book to a little girl of color and tell her, “You know you can’t check out a book here. Go’on now.” My God! My first act of activism was calling the main library director and reporting that incident. It was handled appropriately. Silence would have done nothing. We’ve always needed protestors in this country.

Sometimes it takes a strong, loud, collective voice to make the government more responsible and responsive to its citizens.

As reported, the “Women’s March Is The Biggest Protest In US History As An Estimated 2.9 Million March.”

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In Nashville, twenty thousand marched. There were almost as many men as women. There were babies and children and dogs, and I heard there was one goat. I came to tears when I saw walking in front of me a woman who had to be in her 80s. Another touching moment was seeing a little girl all dressed in pink, sitting and resting on a pink poster. Another touching moment was seeing three Mexican workers, maybe facing deportation, in a downtown building stop their construction activity and stand in windows videoing the marchers. There was one woman in a wheelchair, worried about pre-existing conditions removed from health care.

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We didn’t all agree on the same issues. We marched for our own reasons. Why did I march?

  1. For my granddaughter. I have twin grandchildren—a girl and a boy. I want her to grow up with the same rights and standing and pay as he will have. We’ve come a long way there, but we’ve still got a way to go. I know. My husband died. I am single. I try to live in this world, where many men still look down on women, and where many women still believe their place is in the home cooking for their men and look down on other women who work and who are dealt a different hand in life.
  2. Against bullying. I don’t want my granddaughter bullied by little boys on the playground, who may think they have a right to now, because our new president does this on a daily basis. I refuse to ever be bullied by a man again. Yes, it happened, and apparently they figured I was a strong woman because seven of them came to take me down. I was right, and they knew it, but they also knew they could bully me into shutting up.
  3. Against sexual assault. Our current president has a history of sexual assault, which he has bragged about. He believes he has the right to do what he wants to women because he has power and wealth.
  4. For facts over fiction. Because this is my writing life: seeing truth, dealing with the facts, not making anything up, speaking in my voice. I know Fake News when I see it.
  5. For education and the arts and humanities. Because this is my life. I’m a teacher by degree and experience. I’m a writer and editor and exist in the literary community. We stand to lose a lot here with the incoming administration.
  6. For health care and a women’s choice for her own body. I am against abortion. But I am for birth control, for a hysterectomy if a woman needs one, and for abortion in the case of rape, incest, and the life of the mother, which I might add that my Baptist denomination was always for, too. We have some nutcases in the incoming administration, and I don’t trust giving them the rights to make these decisions, as we in Tennessee did with our lawmakers.
  7. For the environment. We have scientific documentation, and we know the chemicals that harm us. We need to be careful here. We stand to go back fifty years.

I stood up yesterday for and against these things. It was a wonderful, inspirational, peaceful, happy, accepting, unified, respectful gathering. As Susie said, we stood for peace, fairness, and respect for every human.

And today, hate came. Someone told me, “You are very sadly misrepresented by the celebrities you allow to speak for you…There are unspeakable injustices in this world and millions and millions of women would take our injustices in a heartbeat. The celebrities who were speaking to this movement were hate-filled and vulgar. You are lumped under that umbrella in the media…” This came out of the clear blue. It was fabricated, made up, a misrepresentation of me and my mission. I heard no celebrities talking about this. I think for myself.

And so what is that. Bullying. It’s a form of bullying. It’s what I marched against.

We need more Almas in our America. We need people in cities all over the world standing up for our now backward-and-downward-sliding America. We need yesterday’s good, strong, peaceful, determined, bold, collective voice continuing to speak out against the wrongs America is sliding into.

We don’t need the hate and division caused by fear of something outside the box or fake and negative-slanted news or radical misguided religion. I am so saddened and hurt to see it come to this.

But I will rise up, shake it off, and continue to stand for what I marched for.


Silence Is Acceptance

I shared this on Facebook because I thought it was powerful. This is someone else’s story – not mine – but in 7th grade, I would have never spoken up at all. Would you have? Would you now?

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“A few of us choked out some words . . . but were immediately squashed.”

Silenced.

Everybody I know has basically told me to shut up. Some of them hate what is happening in our country and are hurting and disturbed, too. Some are loving it. Some just plain have no clue and are happy to have a new Savior that can heal everything from a headache to lack of a job. Some just vote for the R Party no matter who’s running.

I keep telling them that I can’t be quiet and I can’t not say anything if I see something distressing. Something wrong. Something completely against the Bible I grew up with and the teachings of my parents and church and school. Something that makes a mockery of the way I raised my children and the stands I took as a classroom teacher.

I believe SILENCE IS ACCEPTANCE.

One little thing happens. One lie is told. You sit back and let it go. Another lie, another ill-meant action, and you turn your head and pretend not to see. Another and another. It becomes easy to slide into a pattern of silence, of closing your eyes, of ignoring wrongs, of taking the position, “It doesn’t do any good to say anything.” It becomes easy to just smile and sit back and let your character melt at your feet.

I read Anne Frank’s diary several times in junior high and high school. Every time I read it, I thought: How could people let this happen? How could they hate this one group known as Jews? How could the rantings of one madman lead to so much destruction and death, when there are so many good people out there?

Now I know.

I also thought: This kind of thing could never happen in my country.

Now it is.

SILENCE IS ACCEPTANCE.

“Don’t ever let anyone tell you that what you see with your own eyes isn’t happening.”

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I’ve climbed those narrow steps behind the swinging bookcase up to the secret annex in Anne Frank’s house in Amsterdam. I looked out the window at a tall church steeple nearby. I refuse to go back again to a place created by hate, fear, and silence, so near to God.