So begins the first line of Hank Williams Sr.’s classic hit, “Your Cheatin’ Heart.” And if your own cheatin’ heart won’t tell on you, someone else’s cheatin’ heart will. Or someone will connect the dots that place your cheatin’ heart in the crosshairs. It’s almost certain.
Almost.
It’s that lure of the “almost,” the bet on the card that says, “You’re an exception; you can get by with it,” that entices the moral gambler to roll the dice.
But the odds are not in lady luck’s favor.
Just ask the recently arrested former and current students at the prestigious Great Neck North High School (ranked among the top 100 best high schools in the U.S., the school boasts of Nobel Prize-winning biologist David Baltimore, filmmaker Francis Ford Coppola, and Olympic figure skating champion Sarah Hughes among its graduates) in Long Island, New York.
These students allegedly paid Sam Eshaghoff, 19, a Great Neck North graduate and now a student at Emory University, between $1,500 and $2,500, to take the SAT exam for them. He did so with great success.
But faculty at the high school had heard rumors that some students had paid another student to take the SAT for them. Then administrators noticed large discrepancies between these six students’ academic performance and their SAT scores.
I could almost hear ol’ Hank Sr., crooning, “Your cheatin’ heart will tell on you,” when I saw the handcuffed Eshaghoff and the other students covering their heads with their jackets as they were being led to the police station.
A cheatin’ heart lurks within each of us, and given the right circumstances, it emerges, muddling our decisions, dragging us into the murky moral mire that begins comfortably enough with dismissing caution, gradually descends into covering mistakes, and ends with perfuming the stench of wrong doing. And stench inevitably draws flies, flies that are attracted to a decaying, cheating heart, a cheating heart that will tell on you, sooner or later.
Cheating rivets our culture to the degree that you may feel cheated if you don’t cheat: If everybody in your reference group is doing it, you may feel left behind if you don’t, penalized for playing by the rules. “If the opportunity is there, take it,” our culture tells us, “regardless of whether it’s right or wrong or who gets hurt.” One of the students at Great Neck North High School said in a report on the NBC Today Show, “If they (the accused students) had the money on hand, and I guess they can, if they have the opportunity, it’s just not that surprising.”
I feel for those students who buckled under the pressure to achieve. They wanted something good, but went about it in the wrong way. They were trying desperately to be something they weren’t by claiming something they did not deserve.
We’ve all been there, more or less, in greater or lesser degrees. David Callahan maintains, in his book, The Cheating Culture, that more Americans are cheating and feeling less guilty about it. And Dan Ariely’s research in behavioral economics reveals that when people in our reference group cheat, we are more likely to cheat. Both truths are causes for concern: Those youth maturing in a culture where cheating is increasingly becoming the acceptable norm will be the ones leading change--- for good or bad--- in American politics and government, as if it could get worse than it already is.
Cheating didn’t begin with the United States; it’s as old as the oldest story in the Hebrew Bible. Eve bought the lie that God was cheating her of pleasure, and in seeking an end run to gratification, she tried cheating God of forbidden fruit, a choice that Adam seconded, landing them both outside the garden of gardens, hiding their shame with fig leaves.
We would do well to remember those original cheaters whenever we are tempted to cut corners in wrong ways. For if you’ve been there and done that (and bought the T-shirt with a capital “C” emblazoned on it), or if only you’ve seen the harm it does to others---you surely don’t want a cheatin’ heart to tell on you.
Contact David B. Whitlock, Ph.D., at drdavid@davidbwhitlock.com or visit his website, www.davidbwhitlock.com
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Till Alzheimer's Do Us Part?
When I first heard Reverend Pat Robertson’s comment, I thought of Ronald Reagan’s response to incumbent President Jimmy Carter during the 1980 presidential debate, “There you go again.”
“There you go again, Pat,” I thought. But Robertson wasn’t in a debate, he was responding to a caller on his television program, “The 700 Club.” This is not the first time Robertson’s statements have placed him in the center of controversy. In 2010 he blamed the earthquake in Haiti on a pact he said the Haitians made with the Devil 200 years ago.
This time he was counseling a man wanting to know how to advise a friend whose wife was so deep into dementia that she no longer recognized him. The man’s wife as he once knew her was gone, and now he was seeing another woman.
"I know it sounds cruel, but if he's going to do something, he should divorce her and start all over again -- but make sure she has custodial care and somebody looking after her," Robertson said.
But what about the vow, “til death do us part?”
Alzheimer’s is a “kind of death,” a “walking death,” according to him.
Robertson was overlooking the fact that while in many cases caregivers do form relationships with others, few seek to divorce their spouse, and in fact, Alzheimer’s frequently brings families closer together. Robertson was obviously thinking of the caregiver more than the patient.
Neurologist James E. Galvin, director of the dementia clinic of New York University’s Langone Medical Center, said in an interview with the New York Times that victims of this horrible disease still tend to recognize those people who have been closest to them. And Susan Galeas, CEO of the Alzheimer’s Association of Southern California, observes that even as victims of the disease progress toward the end stage of the illness, they are still individuals nonetheless, benefitting from loving relationships, enjoying a rich history filled with personal experiences.
Robertson was clearly struggling with the issue. He advised his listener, “Get some ethicist besides me to give you the answer, because I recognize the dilemma, and the last thing I would do is condemn you for taking that kind of action.”
Robertson’s comments, as misapplied as they may be, should push us to think about this issue. Rather than simply pulling the, “Thou shall not divorce card,” and condemning everyone taking that route, perhaps we would do better to recall Jesus’ “new commandment,” the one about loving each other, the one that says “Just as I have loved you, you should love each other” (John 13:34), and ask ourselves how love is expressed for both care givers and patients in the grip of this grim disease.
More of us will be facing this unfortunate dilemma. An estimated 5.4 million Americans have Alzheimer’s disease, and with the number of baby boomers soon entering their senior years, that figure is bound to increase. Nearly half the people over the age of 85 already have Alzheimer’s. It’s the sixth leading cause of death in the United States. It has no cause, no treatment, and no cure.
My conversations with my Alzheimer’s friend move in the same circular fashion: Her mind malfunctions like a record hopelessly getting stuck in the same place, returning to the same beginning. “Now who are you?” she asks for the third time in 10 minutes. I remind her again; she answers the same: “Oh, yes, I know who you are.”
Her eyes fill with tears as she remembers her deceased husband’s love. And then having remembered him, she forgets him.
“How old am I?” When I remind her, she frowns as she reflects, “I just didn’t know people lived that long. I can’t figure out why God let me live this long, too long.”
“The church, your church still loves you,” I say, trying to reassure her of her place with our community.
In an instant, her frown disappears; a smile spreads across her face as her eyes brighten. “The church,” she says as if an old friend has walked into the room, “the church, I’ve always loved the church, I still love the church.”
Instead of thinking of reasons to go on without them, maybe we should look for reasons to go on with them, for when all the memories have slipped away, the love of relationships remains, and even when the present is only a fuzzy haze, they may still feel love, a love as familiar as a well worn glove, often tenderly received even when they can’t remember the face or the hands that give it.
Contact David B. Whitlock, Ph.D., at drdavid@davidbwhitlock.com, or visit his website, www.davidbwhitlock.com
“There you go again, Pat,” I thought. But Robertson wasn’t in a debate, he was responding to a caller on his television program, “The 700 Club.” This is not the first time Robertson’s statements have placed him in the center of controversy. In 2010 he blamed the earthquake in Haiti on a pact he said the Haitians made with the Devil 200 years ago.
This time he was counseling a man wanting to know how to advise a friend whose wife was so deep into dementia that she no longer recognized him. The man’s wife as he once knew her was gone, and now he was seeing another woman.
"I know it sounds cruel, but if he's going to do something, he should divorce her and start all over again -- but make sure she has custodial care and somebody looking after her," Robertson said.
But what about the vow, “til death do us part?”
Alzheimer’s is a “kind of death,” a “walking death,” according to him.
Robertson was overlooking the fact that while in many cases caregivers do form relationships with others, few seek to divorce their spouse, and in fact, Alzheimer’s frequently brings families closer together. Robertson was obviously thinking of the caregiver more than the patient.
Neurologist James E. Galvin, director of the dementia clinic of New York University’s Langone Medical Center, said in an interview with the New York Times that victims of this horrible disease still tend to recognize those people who have been closest to them. And Susan Galeas, CEO of the Alzheimer’s Association of Southern California, observes that even as victims of the disease progress toward the end stage of the illness, they are still individuals nonetheless, benefitting from loving relationships, enjoying a rich history filled with personal experiences.
Robertson was clearly struggling with the issue. He advised his listener, “Get some ethicist besides me to give you the answer, because I recognize the dilemma, and the last thing I would do is condemn you for taking that kind of action.”
Robertson’s comments, as misapplied as they may be, should push us to think about this issue. Rather than simply pulling the, “Thou shall not divorce card,” and condemning everyone taking that route, perhaps we would do better to recall Jesus’ “new commandment,” the one about loving each other, the one that says “Just as I have loved you, you should love each other” (John 13:34), and ask ourselves how love is expressed for both care givers and patients in the grip of this grim disease.
More of us will be facing this unfortunate dilemma. An estimated 5.4 million Americans have Alzheimer’s disease, and with the number of baby boomers soon entering their senior years, that figure is bound to increase. Nearly half the people over the age of 85 already have Alzheimer’s. It’s the sixth leading cause of death in the United States. It has no cause, no treatment, and no cure.
My conversations with my Alzheimer’s friend move in the same circular fashion: Her mind malfunctions like a record hopelessly getting stuck in the same place, returning to the same beginning. “Now who are you?” she asks for the third time in 10 minutes. I remind her again; she answers the same: “Oh, yes, I know who you are.”
Her eyes fill with tears as she remembers her deceased husband’s love. And then having remembered him, she forgets him.
“How old am I?” When I remind her, she frowns as she reflects, “I just didn’t know people lived that long. I can’t figure out why God let me live this long, too long.”
“The church, your church still loves you,” I say, trying to reassure her of her place with our community.
In an instant, her frown disappears; a smile spreads across her face as her eyes brighten. “The church,” she says as if an old friend has walked into the room, “the church, I’ve always loved the church, I still love the church.”
Instead of thinking of reasons to go on without them, maybe we should look for reasons to go on with them, for when all the memories have slipped away, the love of relationships remains, and even when the present is only a fuzzy haze, they may still feel love, a love as familiar as a well worn glove, often tenderly received even when they can’t remember the face or the hands that give it.
Contact David B. Whitlock, Ph.D., at drdavid@davidbwhitlock.com, or visit his website, www.davidbwhitlock.com
Be Careful with those words, they could be your last
“And isn’t it ironic…don’t you think?”
---Alanis Morissette, from the song, “Ironic”
In a month of bad news---Standard and Poors lowered the U.S.’ sterling credit rating, 30 US service members (including 22 Navy SEALS) were killed in the single deadliest loss for U.S. troops since the Afghan war began in late 2001, in Somalia 3.2 million people need food and aid immediately, and the stock market plunges again and again and again (Is this the new normal?)---it’s refreshing to hear a good story, one of heroism, courage, and irony.
Yes, irony.
Antonio Diaz Chacon, the 24-year-old man who saved a 6-year-old girl from a kidnapper in Albuquerque, N.M. last week was rightfully honored as a hero. Diaz happened to be in the right place at the right time when he saw the girl abducted. He immediately hopped into his black pickup truck and chased down the kidnapper, pulling the girl from the wrecked van. The irony is that Chacon, a mechanic, wasn’t supposed to be there to save that little girl, for Chacon is an illegal immigrant. He’s married to an American and has been in the country four years. But getting an attorney to acquire the legal documents required for illegals was too difficult, time consuming, and expensive for Chacon.
At the ceremony where Albuquerque Mayor Berry hailed him as a “hero” and proclaimed the day, “Antonio Diaz Chacon Day,” New Mexico Governor Susana Martinez said Chacon “acted courageously and as an outstanding Samaritan.” But the Governor’s “outstanding Samaritan” acknowledgement is in itself ironic, for Martinez is trying to repeal a state law that allows illegal immigrants in New Mexico to obtain a driver's license. With no driver’s license, Chacon would quite possibly not have had his job as a mechanic, nor would he have been able legally to use his pickup truck to chase the kidnapper.
But Chacon believes he was supposed to be there that day, and now that it’s happened, he hopes people will see that undocumented immigrants aren’t necessarily criminals. Christina Parker, a spokeswoman for Border Network for Human Rights in El Paso, Texas, said the episode "points to the fact that most undocumented immigrants living in the United States are not criminals. Most are just working to support their families and to take away their driver's license would be detrimental to that."
The constant threat of deportation is also detrimental to familial support and well-being.
What would have happened if Chacon had been living in a state that was cracking down on illegal immigrants, say Arizona, Georgia, or Alabama? Would his possible deportation and subsequent absence from his wife and two daughters have been in the back of his mind when he saw the girl thrown into the van? Would he have paused a split second before deciding what to do? Would his wife have hesitated before dialing 911? And would that moment of ambivalence have allowed the kidnapper time to get away?
I hope not; I think Chacon would have done the right thing anyway. But the very fact that in one state Chacon could be a hero one day, while in another he could perform the same act of heroism and be torn from his family the next day, points to the ironies in our immigration system.
The solution towards a path to legal status for undocumented immigrants lies somewhere in that complicated middle ground between amnesty for all unauthorized documented immigrants and criminal prosecution and deportation of them.
Finding that path is not easy, and in light of Washington’s apparent inability to resolve complex issues, perhaps churches could shine a light for them and others. The Scriptures do have something to say about how we should treat the 15 million undocumented immigrants: “You must not mistreat or oppress foreigners in any way” (Exodus 22:21). And when Jesus warned, “When you did it to the least of these my brothers and sisters, you were doing it to me!” (Matthew 25:40), wouldn’t “the least of these” include undocumented immigrants?
The moral majority of Jesus’ day may not have appreciated his inclusion of the despised Samaritan in his story of the Good Samaritan. In their eyes, he wasn’t supposed to be there.
But Jesus put him in the story anyway to teach us a lesson about doing what is right, compassionate, and good to anyone in need, regardless of their legal status.
And there is no irony in that.
(This article was published 8-29-2011)
Contact David B. Whitlock, Ph.D., at drdavid@davidbwhitlock.com or visit his website, www.davidbwhitlock.com.
---Alanis Morissette, from the song, “Ironic”
In a month of bad news---Standard and Poors lowered the U.S.’ sterling credit rating, 30 US service members (including 22 Navy SEALS) were killed in the single deadliest loss for U.S. troops since the Afghan war began in late 2001, in Somalia 3.2 million people need food and aid immediately, and the stock market plunges again and again and again (Is this the new normal?)---it’s refreshing to hear a good story, one of heroism, courage, and irony.
Yes, irony.
Antonio Diaz Chacon, the 24-year-old man who saved a 6-year-old girl from a kidnapper in Albuquerque, N.M. last week was rightfully honored as a hero. Diaz happened to be in the right place at the right time when he saw the girl abducted. He immediately hopped into his black pickup truck and chased down the kidnapper, pulling the girl from the wrecked van. The irony is that Chacon, a mechanic, wasn’t supposed to be there to save that little girl, for Chacon is an illegal immigrant. He’s married to an American and has been in the country four years. But getting an attorney to acquire the legal documents required for illegals was too difficult, time consuming, and expensive for Chacon.
At the ceremony where Albuquerque Mayor Berry hailed him as a “hero” and proclaimed the day, “Antonio Diaz Chacon Day,” New Mexico Governor Susana Martinez said Chacon “acted courageously and as an outstanding Samaritan.” But the Governor’s “outstanding Samaritan” acknowledgement is in itself ironic, for Martinez is trying to repeal a state law that allows illegal immigrants in New Mexico to obtain a driver's license. With no driver’s license, Chacon would quite possibly not have had his job as a mechanic, nor would he have been able legally to use his pickup truck to chase the kidnapper.
But Chacon believes he was supposed to be there that day, and now that it’s happened, he hopes people will see that undocumented immigrants aren’t necessarily criminals. Christina Parker, a spokeswoman for Border Network for Human Rights in El Paso, Texas, said the episode "points to the fact that most undocumented immigrants living in the United States are not criminals. Most are just working to support their families and to take away their driver's license would be detrimental to that."
The constant threat of deportation is also detrimental to familial support and well-being.
What would have happened if Chacon had been living in a state that was cracking down on illegal immigrants, say Arizona, Georgia, or Alabama? Would his possible deportation and subsequent absence from his wife and two daughters have been in the back of his mind when he saw the girl thrown into the van? Would he have paused a split second before deciding what to do? Would his wife have hesitated before dialing 911? And would that moment of ambivalence have allowed the kidnapper time to get away?
I hope not; I think Chacon would have done the right thing anyway. But the very fact that in one state Chacon could be a hero one day, while in another he could perform the same act of heroism and be torn from his family the next day, points to the ironies in our immigration system.
The solution towards a path to legal status for undocumented immigrants lies somewhere in that complicated middle ground between amnesty for all unauthorized documented immigrants and criminal prosecution and deportation of them.
Finding that path is not easy, and in light of Washington’s apparent inability to resolve complex issues, perhaps churches could shine a light for them and others. The Scriptures do have something to say about how we should treat the 15 million undocumented immigrants: “You must not mistreat or oppress foreigners in any way” (Exodus 22:21). And when Jesus warned, “When you did it to the least of these my brothers and sisters, you were doing it to me!” (Matthew 25:40), wouldn’t “the least of these” include undocumented immigrants?
The moral majority of Jesus’ day may not have appreciated his inclusion of the despised Samaritan in his story of the Good Samaritan. In their eyes, he wasn’t supposed to be there.
But Jesus put him in the story anyway to teach us a lesson about doing what is right, compassionate, and good to anyone in need, regardless of their legal status.
And there is no irony in that.
(This article was published 8-29-2011)
Contact David B. Whitlock, Ph.D., at drdavid@davidbwhitlock.com or visit his website, www.davidbwhitlock.com.
Hero Status of Illgeal Immigrants Raises Questions
“And isn’t it ironic…don’t you think?”
---Alanis Morissette, from the song, “Ironic”
In a month of bad news---Standard and Poors lowered the U.S.’ sterling credit rating, 30 US service members (including 22 Navy SEALS) were killed in the single deadliest loss for U.S. troops since the Afghan war began in late 2001, in Somalia 3.2 million people need food and aid immediately, and the stock market plunges again and again and again (Is this the new normal?)---it’s refreshing to hear a good story, one of heroism, courage, and irony.
Yes, irony.
Antonio Diaz Chacon, the 24-year-old man who saved a 6-year-old girl from a kidnapper in Albuquerque, N.M. last week was rightfully honored as a hero. Diaz happened to be in the right place at the right time when he saw the girl abducted. He immediately hopped into his black pickup truck and chased down the kidnapper, pulling the girl from the wrecked van. The irony is that Chacon, a mechanic, wasn’t supposed to be there to save that little girl, for Chacon is an illegal immigrant. He’s married to an American and has been in the country four years. But getting an attorney to acquire the legal documents required for illegals was too difficult, time consuming, and expensive for Chacon.
At the ceremony where Albuquerque Mayor Berry hailed him as a “hero” and proclaimed the day, “Antonio Diaz Chacon Day,” New Mexico Governor Susana Martinez said Chacon “acted courageously and as an outstanding Samaritan.” But the Governor’s “outstanding Samaritan” acknowledgement is in itself ironic, for Martinez is trying to repeal a state law that allows illegal immigrants in New Mexico to obtain a driver's license. With no driver’s license, Chacon would quite possibly not have had his job as a mechanic, nor would he have been able legally to use his pickup truck to chase the kidnapper.
But Chacon believes he was supposed to be there that day, and now that it’s happened, he hopes people will see that undocumented immigrants aren’t necessarily criminals. Christina Parker, a spokeswoman for Border Network for Human Rights in El Paso, Texas, said the episode "points to the fact that most undocumented immigrants living in the United States are not criminals. Most are just working to support their families and to take away their driver's license would be detrimental to that."
The constant threat of deportation is also detrimental to familial support and well-being.
What would have happened if Chacon had been living in a state that was cracking down on illegal immigrants, say Arizona, Georgia, or Alabama? Would his possible deportation and subsequent absence from his wife and two daughters have been in the back of his mind when he saw the girl thrown into the van? Would he have paused a split second before deciding what to do? Would his wife have hesitated before dialing 911? And would that moment of ambivalence have allowed the kidnapper time to get away?
I hope not; I think Chacon would have done the right thing anyway. But the very fact that in one state Chacon could be a hero one day, while in another he could perform the same act of heroism and be torn from his family the next day, points to the ironies in our immigration system.
The solution towards a path to legal status for undocumented immigrants lies somewhere in that complicated middle ground between amnesty for all unauthorized documented immigrants and criminal prosecution and deportation of them.
Finding that path is not easy, and in light of Washington’s apparent inability to resolve complex issues, perhaps churches could shine a light for them and others. The Scriptures do have something to say about how we should treat the 15 million undocumented immigrants: “You must not mistreat or oppress foreigners in any way” (Exodus 22:21). And when Jesus warned, “When you did it to the least of these my brothers and sisters, you were doing it to me!” (Matthew 25:40), wouldn’t “the least of these” include undocumented immigrants?
The moral majority of Jesus’ day may not have appreciated his inclusion of the despised Samaritan in his story of the Good Samaritan. In their eyes, he wasn’t supposed to be there.
But Jesus put him in the story anyway to teach us a lesson about doing what is right, compassionate, and good to anyone in need, regardless of their legal status.
And there is no irony in that.
(This article was publised 8-22-2011
Contact David B. Whitlock, Ph.D., at drdavid@davidbwhitlock.com or visit his website, www.davidbwhitlock.com.
---Alanis Morissette, from the song, “Ironic”
In a month of bad news---Standard and Poors lowered the U.S.’ sterling credit rating, 30 US service members (including 22 Navy SEALS) were killed in the single deadliest loss for U.S. troops since the Afghan war began in late 2001, in Somalia 3.2 million people need food and aid immediately, and the stock market plunges again and again and again (Is this the new normal?)---it’s refreshing to hear a good story, one of heroism, courage, and irony.
Yes, irony.
Antonio Diaz Chacon, the 24-year-old man who saved a 6-year-old girl from a kidnapper in Albuquerque, N.M. last week was rightfully honored as a hero. Diaz happened to be in the right place at the right time when he saw the girl abducted. He immediately hopped into his black pickup truck and chased down the kidnapper, pulling the girl from the wrecked van. The irony is that Chacon, a mechanic, wasn’t supposed to be there to save that little girl, for Chacon is an illegal immigrant. He’s married to an American and has been in the country four years. But getting an attorney to acquire the legal documents required for illegals was too difficult, time consuming, and expensive for Chacon.
At the ceremony where Albuquerque Mayor Berry hailed him as a “hero” and proclaimed the day, “Antonio Diaz Chacon Day,” New Mexico Governor Susana Martinez said Chacon “acted courageously and as an outstanding Samaritan.” But the Governor’s “outstanding Samaritan” acknowledgement is in itself ironic, for Martinez is trying to repeal a state law that allows illegal immigrants in New Mexico to obtain a driver's license. With no driver’s license, Chacon would quite possibly not have had his job as a mechanic, nor would he have been able legally to use his pickup truck to chase the kidnapper.
But Chacon believes he was supposed to be there that day, and now that it’s happened, he hopes people will see that undocumented immigrants aren’t necessarily criminals. Christina Parker, a spokeswoman for Border Network for Human Rights in El Paso, Texas, said the episode "points to the fact that most undocumented immigrants living in the United States are not criminals. Most are just working to support their families and to take away their driver's license would be detrimental to that."
The constant threat of deportation is also detrimental to familial support and well-being.
What would have happened if Chacon had been living in a state that was cracking down on illegal immigrants, say Arizona, Georgia, or Alabama? Would his possible deportation and subsequent absence from his wife and two daughters have been in the back of his mind when he saw the girl thrown into the van? Would he have paused a split second before deciding what to do? Would his wife have hesitated before dialing 911? And would that moment of ambivalence have allowed the kidnapper time to get away?
I hope not; I think Chacon would have done the right thing anyway. But the very fact that in one state Chacon could be a hero one day, while in another he could perform the same act of heroism and be torn from his family the next day, points to the ironies in our immigration system.
The solution towards a path to legal status for undocumented immigrants lies somewhere in that complicated middle ground between amnesty for all unauthorized documented immigrants and criminal prosecution and deportation of them.
Finding that path is not easy, and in light of Washington’s apparent inability to resolve complex issues, perhaps churches could shine a light for them and others. The Scriptures do have something to say about how we should treat the 15 million undocumented immigrants: “You must not mistreat or oppress foreigners in any way” (Exodus 22:21). And when Jesus warned, “When you did it to the least of these my brothers and sisters, you were doing it to me!” (Matthew 25:40), wouldn’t “the least of these” include undocumented immigrants?
The moral majority of Jesus’ day may not have appreciated his inclusion of the despised Samaritan in his story of the Good Samaritan. In their eyes, he wasn’t supposed to be there.
But Jesus put him in the story anyway to teach us a lesson about doing what is right, compassionate, and good to anyone in need, regardless of their legal status.
And there is no irony in that.
(This article was publised 8-22-2011
Contact David B. Whitlock, Ph.D., at drdavid@davidbwhitlock.com or visit his website, www.davidbwhitlock.com.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
In search of Grandma's misplaced soul
The words surprised me, especially since they came from Grandma.
“She says she can’t find her soul, and she’s ready for God to take her home,” my mother-in-law told me on the phone, her voice cracking as she spoke through her tears, trying her best to quote Grandma. By “home” Grandma meant heaven. That made sense. Grandma had not been feeling well for days, and after all, she is one month shy of being 102 years old.
But her words, “I can’t find my soul,” puzzled me. She didn’t say she didn’t know where she was going or that she was clueless about who would take her there. No, she was ready for God to take her home to heaven.
Where is the soul, anyway, and why couldn’t Grandma find hers?
For skeptics like Michael Shermer the soul is located in the patterns of information coded in our DNA and neural memories. In his book, The Soul of Science, he states that “it appears that when we die our pattern is lost.” The soul is the mind and dies when the brain ceases to function: “Either the soul survives death or it does not, and there is no scientific evidence that it does.”
But British scientist Dr. Sam Parnia, in studying heart attack patients, says he is finding evidence that suggests consciousness may continue after the brain has stopped functioning and a patient is clinically dead. Parnia is even conducting research to isolate where in the brain such consciousness is located. Would that be where the soul is?
Although he is by no means a scientist, I wonder if philosophy professor and literary giant, William H. Gass, would agree with Shermer and the scientific skeptics. With his typical piercing intellect, Gass states in his wonderful book of essays, Finding a Form, “I am going to insist that what we sometimes call the soul is simply the immediate source of any speech---the larynx of the logos--- a world without words would be a soulless one…”
Grandma may not have known where her soul was, but she knew she had one and that it lives forever; she may have been momentarily confused about its place--- was it somewhere in her neural memories? between heaven and earth? deep within herself, in whatever gives rise to words, i.e. thought itself?---but she was certain God would take her soul home.
Maybe Grandma was going through something like what St. John of the Cross termed, La noche oscura del alma, “the dark night of the soul,” a painful, lonely time of hardship and suffering when God often seems far away and praying is difficult. When I called to pray for Grandma, she didn’t feel like praying, (unusual for her) but was grateful that I would pray nonetheless.
In the midst of pain and suffering it’s easy to lose our place, forgetting our souls, interpreting the darkness of the night as the obliteration of light, the fogginess of the moment as the suspension of forever.
But God is there even when we have lost our footing and feel like we are hopelessly slipping into an endless quicksand of doubt. St. John in his gospel quotes Jesus as saying that no one or anything can take the soul of a believer because God’s children are safe and secure in his hands: “No one can snatch them away from me, for my Father has given them to me, and he is more powerful than anyone else” (John 10:28-29).
Grandma knew God was there, really, all along, even when she couldn’t find her soul.
When my sister-in-law, Lisa, called her and asked about what Grandma had said, Lisa tried to help her. “Did you mean the nursery rhyme you’ve prayed before, 'Now I lay me down to sleep?’”
“Oh, yes, that’s it, honey,” Grandma said. And then she repeated the prayer with Lisa, "Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. And if I die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take."
If Grandma couldn’t remember for the moment, at least she knew where she could find her soul: safe in the hands of God who will keep it and not take it until he is ready for her.
Contact David B. Whitlock, Ph.D., at drdavid@davidbwhitlock.com or visit his website, Davidbwhitlock.com
.
“She says she can’t find her soul, and she’s ready for God to take her home,” my mother-in-law told me on the phone, her voice cracking as she spoke through her tears, trying her best to quote Grandma. By “home” Grandma meant heaven. That made sense. Grandma had not been feeling well for days, and after all, she is one month shy of being 102 years old.
But her words, “I can’t find my soul,” puzzled me. She didn’t say she didn’t know where she was going or that she was clueless about who would take her there. No, she was ready for God to take her home to heaven.
Where is the soul, anyway, and why couldn’t Grandma find hers?
For skeptics like Michael Shermer the soul is located in the patterns of information coded in our DNA and neural memories. In his book, The Soul of Science, he states that “it appears that when we die our pattern is lost.” The soul is the mind and dies when the brain ceases to function: “Either the soul survives death or it does not, and there is no scientific evidence that it does.”
But British scientist Dr. Sam Parnia, in studying heart attack patients, says he is finding evidence that suggests consciousness may continue after the brain has stopped functioning and a patient is clinically dead. Parnia is even conducting research to isolate where in the brain such consciousness is located. Would that be where the soul is?
Although he is by no means a scientist, I wonder if philosophy professor and literary giant, William H. Gass, would agree with Shermer and the scientific skeptics. With his typical piercing intellect, Gass states in his wonderful book of essays, Finding a Form, “I am going to insist that what we sometimes call the soul is simply the immediate source of any speech---the larynx of the logos--- a world without words would be a soulless one…”
Grandma may not have known where her soul was, but she knew she had one and that it lives forever; she may have been momentarily confused about its place--- was it somewhere in her neural memories? between heaven and earth? deep within herself, in whatever gives rise to words, i.e. thought itself?---but she was certain God would take her soul home.
Maybe Grandma was going through something like what St. John of the Cross termed, La noche oscura del alma, “the dark night of the soul,” a painful, lonely time of hardship and suffering when God often seems far away and praying is difficult. When I called to pray for Grandma, she didn’t feel like praying, (unusual for her) but was grateful that I would pray nonetheless.
In the midst of pain and suffering it’s easy to lose our place, forgetting our souls, interpreting the darkness of the night as the obliteration of light, the fogginess of the moment as the suspension of forever.
But God is there even when we have lost our footing and feel like we are hopelessly slipping into an endless quicksand of doubt. St. John in his gospel quotes Jesus as saying that no one or anything can take the soul of a believer because God’s children are safe and secure in his hands: “No one can snatch them away from me, for my Father has given them to me, and he is more powerful than anyone else” (John 10:28-29).
Grandma knew God was there, really, all along, even when she couldn’t find her soul.
When my sister-in-law, Lisa, called her and asked about what Grandma had said, Lisa tried to help her. “Did you mean the nursery rhyme you’ve prayed before, 'Now I lay me down to sleep?’”
“Oh, yes, that’s it, honey,” Grandma said. And then she repeated the prayer with Lisa, "Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. And if I die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take."
If Grandma couldn’t remember for the moment, at least she knew where she could find her soul: safe in the hands of God who will keep it and not take it until he is ready for her.
Contact David B. Whitlock, Ph.D., at drdavid@davidbwhitlock.com or visit his website, Davidbwhitlock.com
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Thursday, August 11, 2011
Midnight Wherever You Are
It’s been quite a summer for movies: I was hijacked to Bangkok by Hangover II, thankful for the bad bosses I haven’t had in Horrible Bosses, reminded that women can be just as flat-out stupid-crazy as men in Bridesmaids, and glad I’m not anyone but me in The Changeup.
But my favorite film of the summer is one that catapulted me back in time to another era, a golden age. Is there any such thing as a golden age, an age marked by prosperity, happiness, creativity, and achievement? Most of us have a personal golden age---perhaps it’s an earlier day in our life or another age in history altogether. What if you could actually go back to that time in your life or that period in history?
That question is explored in Woody’s Allen’s wistfully charming and at times hilarious, Midnight in Paris. Owen Wilson plays Gil Pender, a disenchanted Hollywood screen writer who visits Paris with his materialistic fiancé and her boorish parents. No one appreciates Gil’s enchantment with Paris or his desire to write a significant novel. “I'm having trouble because I'm a Hollywood hack who never gave real literature a shot,” he admits.
Mostly to escape his company, Gil wanders the streets of his beloved Paris. And that’s when the magic begins. At midnight he tumbles back in time to the Paris of the 1920s, escaping to his personal golden age, the City of Lights that was in that prolific decade of the 1920s the center of the artitistic universe.
Gil encounters a magnificent array of authors and artists and even manages to develop a crush on Pablo Picasso’s mistress. But alas, she mirrors Gil’s own ennui, is dissatisfied with the Paris of the 1920s, and wants to time travel to the Belle Époque, her golden age.
It’s then that it comes to Gil: he realizes the truth in Peter De Vries observation, “Nostalgia isn’t what it used to be.”
It never was.
It’s in the present moment that we live the life given us. The past is never what we think it was or remember it as. Escaping the present by retreating to the past cheats us of the only time we have: now.
Those who lived in what we think was a golden age rarely recognized it as one. And we ourselves lose today anticipating tomorrow, waiting for a better day, never realizing, as Carly Simon crooned, that “these are the good old days.” The adage, “Wherever you are, be there,” is a good reminder for us to wake up and smell the present moment in all its aroma.
But wait a minute, that’s not entirely right either.
We can gain inspiration for the present moment by returning to the past. That’s one reason why people go to the Holy Land, make Renaissance tours of Europe, and visit Shakespeare’s Globe Theater. There is something about being there in that place where something significant happened, if only in our minds, that place and time that beckons us back in hopes of returning to the present with some of that past surging through our veins.
That’s what happened to Gil, who like a fish out of water, was suffocating on the shore (recall his name, Gil), of the wrong era, dying a slow death in fear of a meaningless existence, confused about his role in life, doubting his capabilities as a writer and authenticity as a person. It took someone from the past, Gertrude Stein, to remind Gil of his purpose in writing: “The job of the artist is not to succumb to despair, but to find an antidote for the emptiness of existence.”
But that was only Woody Allen speaking, not Gertrude Stein, right?
Right, but what does it matter? It’s still a magical thinking that returns us to the past, giving us strength and courage for today and hope for tomorrow.
Yes, I believe in that magical thinking: By embracing the past we can return to the present more fit and ready to live the life we were always meant to live now.
And that, in my opinion, is a golden age in any age.
Contact David B.Whitlock, Ph.D. at drdavid@davidbwhitlock.com or visit his website, www.davidbwhitlock.com
But my favorite film of the summer is one that catapulted me back in time to another era, a golden age. Is there any such thing as a golden age, an age marked by prosperity, happiness, creativity, and achievement? Most of us have a personal golden age---perhaps it’s an earlier day in our life or another age in history altogether. What if you could actually go back to that time in your life or that period in history?
That question is explored in Woody’s Allen’s wistfully charming and at times hilarious, Midnight in Paris. Owen Wilson plays Gil Pender, a disenchanted Hollywood screen writer who visits Paris with his materialistic fiancé and her boorish parents. No one appreciates Gil’s enchantment with Paris or his desire to write a significant novel. “I'm having trouble because I'm a Hollywood hack who never gave real literature a shot,” he admits.
Mostly to escape his company, Gil wanders the streets of his beloved Paris. And that’s when the magic begins. At midnight he tumbles back in time to the Paris of the 1920s, escaping to his personal golden age, the City of Lights that was in that prolific decade of the 1920s the center of the artitistic universe.
Gil encounters a magnificent array of authors and artists and even manages to develop a crush on Pablo Picasso’s mistress. But alas, she mirrors Gil’s own ennui, is dissatisfied with the Paris of the 1920s, and wants to time travel to the Belle Époque, her golden age.
It’s then that it comes to Gil: he realizes the truth in Peter De Vries observation, “Nostalgia isn’t what it used to be.”
It never was.
It’s in the present moment that we live the life given us. The past is never what we think it was or remember it as. Escaping the present by retreating to the past cheats us of the only time we have: now.
Those who lived in what we think was a golden age rarely recognized it as one. And we ourselves lose today anticipating tomorrow, waiting for a better day, never realizing, as Carly Simon crooned, that “these are the good old days.” The adage, “Wherever you are, be there,” is a good reminder for us to wake up and smell the present moment in all its aroma.
But wait a minute, that’s not entirely right either.
We can gain inspiration for the present moment by returning to the past. That’s one reason why people go to the Holy Land, make Renaissance tours of Europe, and visit Shakespeare’s Globe Theater. There is something about being there in that place where something significant happened, if only in our minds, that place and time that beckons us back in hopes of returning to the present with some of that past surging through our veins.
That’s what happened to Gil, who like a fish out of water, was suffocating on the shore (recall his name, Gil), of the wrong era, dying a slow death in fear of a meaningless existence, confused about his role in life, doubting his capabilities as a writer and authenticity as a person. It took someone from the past, Gertrude Stein, to remind Gil of his purpose in writing: “The job of the artist is not to succumb to despair, but to find an antidote for the emptiness of existence.”
But that was only Woody Allen speaking, not Gertrude Stein, right?
Right, but what does it matter? It’s still a magical thinking that returns us to the past, giving us strength and courage for today and hope for tomorrow.
Yes, I believe in that magical thinking: By embracing the past we can return to the present more fit and ready to live the life we were always meant to live now.
And that, in my opinion, is a golden age in any age.
Contact David B.Whitlock, Ph.D. at drdavid@davidbwhitlock.com or visit his website, www.davidbwhitlock.com
Thursday, August 4, 2011
“Lord, I want to thank you for my smoking’ hot wife…”
No, I didn’t say it! (My wife warned me if I prayed that publicly it might be my last prayer.) Those are the words of the Reverend Joe Nelms, Pastor of the First Baptist Church of Lebanon, Tn., praying at NASCAR’s Federated 300 Nationwide Series Race in Nashville, Saturday last week. Pastor Nelms became an instant star on the internet with comments about his prayer ranging from “the greatest prayer ever,” to “blasphemous.”
It is neither.
As far as I can tell, it’s simply the heartfelt prayer of a man, in this case a pastor and life-long NASCAR fan (this wasn’t the first time he has prayed at a NASCAR event), who didn’t want to pray what he called, “ the cookie-cutter prayer.” Every NASCAR event begins with an invocation, and like most prayers before public events, they are generally quite the same. And most people don’t pay attention.
But Pastor Nelms woke them. The Bible says we should give thanks in all things, and that’s exactly what Nelms did. He thanked the Lord for Toyotas, Dodges, and Fords, for Sunoco racing fuel, for GM performance, and most of all, as he put it, "Lord, I want to thank you for my smokin' hot wife tonight, Lisa…'"
Actually, Nelms adapted the line about his wife from Ricky Bobby’s (Will Farrell) prayer to Baby Jesus in the movie, Talladega Nights. Pastor Nelms was, I believe, trying to communicate something spiritual in a humorous way.
Our church custodian picked up on it, although he may not have realized it at the time. On Monday morning of last week, as I arrived at church, he summarized the latest weekend news (he does this most Mondays), and at the top of his broadcast was the story of Reverend Nelms’ prayer. My instinctive response was, “Well, is she? (Smokin’ hot, that is.)
“I don’t know,” he said, “she must be to him.”
Good answer.
With all the publicity about his prayer, pictures of the Reverend Nelms and his wife were all over the internet. If by “hot” one means a female that resembles Ricky Bobby’s wife, Carley (Leslie Bibb), or Miss Sprint Cup (any Miss Sprint Cup), then Ms. Nelms isn’t there. And some of the snide remarks posted on the internet made that observation. But they’ve missed the deeper lesson.
If she’s “hot” to Pastor Nelms, that’s all that matters. She, or anyone---male or female--- doesn’t have to fit the American cultural image of “hot” to be “hot.”
Security in a long term relationship must have as its basis something more than mere physical attraction. In a recent poll taken by askmen.com and cosmopolitan.com, half of the men surveyed say they would drop their partner if she gained weight. Twenty percent of the women said the same. Maybe we’ve let the Miss Sprint Cup and Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader image of “hot” determine what’s acceptable and what’s not for us. But sooner or later we will be disappointed.
The important thing is to love and appreciate the one you are with, extending unconditional acceptance in relationships.
It works both ways---for male and female---this expression of gratitude for the one you are with. And there are benefits to being grateful; sometimes it ricochets back in unexpected ways.
When things get a little tense on my home front, as they invariably do in most normal relationships, when an annoying habit of mine (Did I just admit to having those?) grates on my wife’s last nerve, when I see those beautiful eyes start to narrow (signaling anger), her right foot begin tapping (a sign of frustration), her pretty face turning away from me (a sure indication of exasperation, warning me of imminent danger), I know it’s time for the NASCAR PRAYER.
I look heavenward, stretch my arms wide, and utter those words, “Lord, I want to thank you for my smokin’ hot wife.”
Her frown instantly transforms into that familiar cute grin as she coyly turns her face back towards me, rolls her eyes and exclaims, “Oh, you!”
Ahh, God has once again intervened. And lo! I am forgiven.
And then my prayer she doesn’t hear, “Lord, I really do thank you for my smokin’ hot wife…
And for your mercy!”
Contact David B.Whitlock, Ph.D. at drdavid@davidbwhitlock.com or visit his website, www.davidbwhitlock.com
It is neither.
As far as I can tell, it’s simply the heartfelt prayer of a man, in this case a pastor and life-long NASCAR fan (this wasn’t the first time he has prayed at a NASCAR event), who didn’t want to pray what he called, “ the cookie-cutter prayer.” Every NASCAR event begins with an invocation, and like most prayers before public events, they are generally quite the same. And most people don’t pay attention.
But Pastor Nelms woke them. The Bible says we should give thanks in all things, and that’s exactly what Nelms did. He thanked the Lord for Toyotas, Dodges, and Fords, for Sunoco racing fuel, for GM performance, and most of all, as he put it, "Lord, I want to thank you for my smokin' hot wife tonight, Lisa…'"
Actually, Nelms adapted the line about his wife from Ricky Bobby’s (Will Farrell) prayer to Baby Jesus in the movie, Talladega Nights. Pastor Nelms was, I believe, trying to communicate something spiritual in a humorous way.
Our church custodian picked up on it, although he may not have realized it at the time. On Monday morning of last week, as I arrived at church, he summarized the latest weekend news (he does this most Mondays), and at the top of his broadcast was the story of Reverend Nelms’ prayer. My instinctive response was, “Well, is she? (Smokin’ hot, that is.)
“I don’t know,” he said, “she must be to him.”
Good answer.
With all the publicity about his prayer, pictures of the Reverend Nelms and his wife were all over the internet. If by “hot” one means a female that resembles Ricky Bobby’s wife, Carley (Leslie Bibb), or Miss Sprint Cup (any Miss Sprint Cup), then Ms. Nelms isn’t there. And some of the snide remarks posted on the internet made that observation. But they’ve missed the deeper lesson.
If she’s “hot” to Pastor Nelms, that’s all that matters. She, or anyone---male or female--- doesn’t have to fit the American cultural image of “hot” to be “hot.”
Security in a long term relationship must have as its basis something more than mere physical attraction. In a recent poll taken by askmen.com and cosmopolitan.com, half of the men surveyed say they would drop their partner if she gained weight. Twenty percent of the women said the same. Maybe we’ve let the Miss Sprint Cup and Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader image of “hot” determine what’s acceptable and what’s not for us. But sooner or later we will be disappointed.
The important thing is to love and appreciate the one you are with, extending unconditional acceptance in relationships.
It works both ways---for male and female---this expression of gratitude for the one you are with. And there are benefits to being grateful; sometimes it ricochets back in unexpected ways.
When things get a little tense on my home front, as they invariably do in most normal relationships, when an annoying habit of mine (Did I just admit to having those?) grates on my wife’s last nerve, when I see those beautiful eyes start to narrow (signaling anger), her right foot begin tapping (a sign of frustration), her pretty face turning away from me (a sure indication of exasperation, warning me of imminent danger), I know it’s time for the NASCAR PRAYER.
I look heavenward, stretch my arms wide, and utter those words, “Lord, I want to thank you for my smokin’ hot wife.”
Her frown instantly transforms into that familiar cute grin as she coyly turns her face back towards me, rolls her eyes and exclaims, “Oh, you!”
Ahh, God has once again intervened. And lo! I am forgiven.
And then my prayer she doesn’t hear, “Lord, I really do thank you for my smokin’ hot wife…
And for your mercy!”
Contact David B.Whitlock, Ph.D. at drdavid@davidbwhitlock.com or visit his website, www.davidbwhitlock.com
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