Where Are You?
One of my first cars was a Chevy. A large 8 cylinder 1972 caprice with over 150K miles that carted me around during my ‘long hair’ days. Back then I did all my own work on my car. One time in particular, the more I worked on it the worse things went. Undeterred, I continued forward, replacing this and that only to find myself with a pile of “spare” parts and a frustrated attitude. After replacing most of the car, I finally gave up and brought in a professional. Within minutes he had the car purring like a kitten for about half the cost of my replaced parts. A minor cost and ten-minute fix. If only I had known. At least all the new parts looked good.
I have always felt that diagnostics is 90% of fixing anything. From cars to people we often neglect to see clearly the things about ourselves that lie at the source of our problems. We become content with managing symptoms and endless activity as a substitute for dealing with issues below the surface. The expression “The lawyer who represents himself has a fool for a client” points to our inability to see ourselves clearly and our need for outside help and an honest appraisal.
I think it is telling, even prophetic, that the first question God ever asked of man was, “Where are you?” In the garden God calls out to Adam, who is cowering for fear after his failure. “Where are you?” I assure you that Adam’s location was not a mystery to God; rather it was hidden from Adam’s own view of himself. In the ensuing conversation God uses the dialogue to help Adam see the unhealthy fear Adam had towards God, who loved him. This fear of God becomes a wedge between Adam and the source of his healing and happiness.
I am one of those guys who would be content driving lost for hours before asking directions. The heart of the problem is not that I do not know where I want to go or even that I do not know the directions. The problem is, somewhere I lost track of where I was and now am completely confused as to where I am. If, for example, I wanted to drive to Manchester, NH and believed I was on Hampton Beach, I could begin by getting the directions and methodically planning out the trip down to the ‘potty breaks’ for the kids. But when I start the car and drive into the Pacific Ocean, I realize my starting point was not Hampton Beach at all, but somewhere with a 90210 Zip code. The first task of every GPS system is to find its own location. Every journey requires knowledge of where we are in order to succeed. It is the Pacific Oceans of our lives that help us understand that we are not where we thought we were. Our disappointments and pain in life, weather physical, mental or emotional, can often be God’s gift. Pain in life can be God’s alarm, helping us wake up to where we really are.
For example, say I have another one of my migraine headaches. I could choose to take aspirin, lots of aspirin, cases of aspirin. As long as I focus on the symptom, the pain, I will be distracted from its source. If I use the pain as a signpost (diagnostics) I might find life-saving knowledge of a growing tumor. Aspirins are good, but not as an end in themselves. Our pain can be, should be, a means to a greater end, the signposts leading toward a deeper, more permanent healing. Self medication (aspirin) to control symptoms (headache) can often be a gradual downward slope of dependency. The further you travel, the harder to get off.
Another example: say the headaches are due to stress, anxiety, resentment, envy or frustration in the workplace or a loss of work altogether. Or maybe it’s at home, a lack of intimacy in marriage, money, rebuilding after divorce or empty nest, feeling alone and disconnected, lost or left behind. Maybe a death has left you feeling bitter, life’s fun only a memory. Is there an aspirin that can cure that headache? Where do they sell that? Well, they don’t…. at least not at Walmart.
The healing to life’s most painful sources is in relationship. Whether you call a professional like I did with the Chevy or you talk to a trusted friend, whether at work or at home, at church or in the bar, to talk about it begins the healing process. What’s the worst that can happen? You stop the car, walk into the 7 eleven and ask for directions. The teller thinks, “This guy has no idea where he is,” and he is correct. Why are we so afraid of judgment from others? Better to drop the pretense and pride and get back on the road. One of our greatest mentors, the late Fred Rogers, said, “If it is mentionable, it is manageable.” What a true saying. If it can be spoken, the healing can begin.
Others can help us see what we cannot about ourselves. Jesus spoke emphatically numerous times that it is the secret things, the ones hidden from view, that torture us internally. Find someone, pay someone, but for the love of Christ, talk about it. There are few things more destructive in a person’s life than something that can not be discussed. As we explain it, we diminish its power over us.
I have always found prayer and my relationship with God to be a deepest source of consolation. I am not talking about church, but rather a deep personal confidence in His companionship here and now and throughout life. However, God alone is not enough. In the Bible it is clear that there are no lone rangers. God intended that He would work through others on our behalf, bringing us trusted friends and professionals with whom we can share, unafraid of judgment or gossip. Such friends are hard to come by but with God’s help and our willingness, He can lead us to them and them to us.
As I go about my day, it amazes me how much pain we have learned to tolerate and hide. We are a society of professional symptom managers. Knowing the source of these symptoms is the beginning of defeating them. We defeat them by bringing them out into the light of day and allowing God to help us exercise them through trusted relationships. Diagnostics is 90% of fixing anything, especially people. I believe that God continues to call out to us as He did with Adam with the same question: “Where are you?”
Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.
Matthew 11:28
Ornan’s threshing floor is a selection of journal entries, sermon parts and pieces, and writings by Stephen Carey, pastor of Main Street Mission.
Main Street Mission is a non denominational Christian inner city outreach ministry located at 57 Manchester St. Manchester NH.
Cocaine
Context: Cocaine is the retelling of an experience at rodeo camp.
“Let’s give a big cowboy and cowgirl yahoo to our bronco riders. This is a good time, ladies and gentlemen, to take a bathroom break and head on over to the snack bar. The bull riding starts in ten minutes,” came the announcement from the loudspeakers.
“What is his name? I mean, really, at least I should know his name,” I said.
The rodeo hand looked in disbelief. “His name? How’s about’s if I make formal introductions here.” A spit of chewing tobacco travels my way.
“Hey cow, this here is …. augh … so cowgirl, what’s your name there?”
“Steve,” I said reluctantly.
“Hey cow, this here is Steve. He wants a ride, nice and gentle like. Once around the ring, no rough stuff” said the rodeo hand.
The announcer said to his assistant, “Stan, who is up on the first run of bullfighters”?
“Well, we have the five circuit pros, which should give us a real show. They are riding some ass-kicking beef. Oh, and six or seven riders from the local bull riding school who will be riding the tamest of the stock. All in all, it should be a fun show”.
“What is that thing” I said, pointing to the three-foot long pointer with a forked end the rodeo hand was holding.
“What thing, cowgirl?” he replied.
“Quit calling me that! The poker thing in your hand,” I said.
“Well cowgirl, it’s what we call the ‘motivator.’”
“I don’t understand,” I said, impatience in my voice.
“Don’t sweat the small stuff,” he replied. “Get yourself ready, prime up with the rosin and approach the shoot, mount the bull and try to relax. Remember you can never use too much rosin”.
“Stan, give me the listing on the bulls and bull riders” said the announcer to his assistant.
“First up is number 55692, named ‘Damnation.’ Very nasty. Butch has him and should do well, if of course the bull doesn’t throw him out of the gate and crush his skull,” said the assistant.
“Well, give the clowns the heads up” said the announcer “I don’t want blood in the dirt today, not one drop. This is a family show here.”
“Welcome back, ladies and gentlemen,” said the announcer into the microphone. “Give a warm welcome to our bull riders. First up is our own Butch Henderson. Butch, who happens to be single, ladies, hails from Oklahoma has been riding bulls since before he could walk. Butch will be riding ‘Damnation.’ Good luck with that, Butch”.
Releasing the microphone button, the announcer asked, “Who is next?”
“Bull number 478324” came the assistant’s reply, “This is the beast that broke Cyle’s leg last month. Weighs in at 1400 pounds of nothing but nasty.”
“Perfect,” said the announcer, “who is the rider?”
“Not sure,” said the assistant, “let me check on that.”
“Well hurry up, the gate opens in 3 minutes” barked the announcer.
“Gosh, he is big” I said.
“Yea, big, right. So ‘Steve,’ when the gate opens you know what to do, right?” said the rodeo hand.
I answered, “Where is my class instructor?”
Quick came his reply, “Focus here Steve. Remember, he pivots left, your left arm goes where?”
“Above and left,” I replied.
“Right!” he said.
I countered, “I mean above and right, right?”
“No I mean, correct.. above and right is right, I mean correct, got it,” said the rodeo hand. “Just try to remember everything you’ve learned in the school and you’ll be fine. He goes right you go right and vise versa. More rosin?”
“He is smashing my leg into the door” I replied, “is he angry, he seems very, very angry.”
“Well, he’s just anxious to get going, that’s all,” said the rodeo hand.
“Lets give a big hand to Butch! Better luck next time Butch. And lets give our rodeo clowns a big round of applause. Great job guys,” said the announcer into the microphone.
Releasing the microphone’s button, the announcer asked, “OK, so who is our next rider?”
“Umm, Steve Carey,” said the assistant.
“Never heard of him,” said the announcer.
The assistant replied, “Well, he’s on the list.”
Pressing the microphone button, “Ladies and gentlemen please welcome our next cowboy Steve Carey. Steve is one of our braver men. He will be riding Cocaine, weighing in at 1400 pounds of deeeeadly fun. Let’s give him a warm high country welcome.”
“His name is Cocaine. His fucking name is Cocaine!” I said.
“Take off your hat and wave,” demanded the rodeo hand.
“What?” I responded.
“Take that fuckin hat off your fuckin head and wave at that fuckin crowd, cowgirl,” he replied.
“I think I am going to be sick,” I said.
“Wave that fuckin hat cowgirl, now!”
It’s hard to know what happened next. Each separate thing blended together as one in time and space. The ‘motivator’ was jammed into the gonads of the beast and the button pushed. The door along our right side opened as 20 amps of electricity danced along cocaine’s private parts. With too much rosin I was hopelessly attached to him with my right hand, my left hand, waving a cowboy hat above my head.
Velocity, incalculable velocity. I am thrust forward with a force unknown to me. Launched into lower earth orbit, cheeks pushed in waves towards the back of my whiplashed neck.
Sky, blue , cloud
The back of cocaine’s neck, brown, fur or hide, thick, dusty. I feel his anger between my legs, simple anger. Maleficence without ulterior motives, just kill, kill, kill.
Sky, blue, hand pulled from arm, arm from shoulder.
Airborne
Face into back of cocaine’s neck, nose wet with blood, hard to breathe
Pain
Hide in face, nose, mouth filled with hide
Sky
Arm leaving shoulder
Airborne
Pain
Face in hide of cocaine’s side
Pain
Airborne
Sky
Dirt
Feet dragging
Arm stretched, wrist pulled
Dirt everywhere
Sky
Hooves in chest
Pain
Dirt
Under cocaine
Clown
Sky
Dirt
Clown
Sky
Clown
Colored Barrel
Words “Hang in there Steve, I got you,”
Dirt
Clown
Colored barrel
Sky
Words “He’s coming back at us for another pass, get ready to move”
Dirt
Gate opening
Barrel flies through air
Cocaine
Clown, pulling, pushing
Open gate
Foot dragging
Hat, I see my hat
Clown
Through Gate
Very angry Cocaine slams into closing gate door
Dirt
Sky
Clown
Closed wooden gate
Clown
Sky
Darkness
The announcer said to his assistant, “Fuck, so much for blood on the ground. I thought you said he was a circuit pro.”
Pushing the button on the microphone, “And lets give a big cowboy and cowgirl yahoo to our outstanding rodeo clowns. Ladies and gentlemen, these guys are the unsung heroes of rodeo. Now let’s all focus our attention on gate number 5 where our next bull fighter…”
Voices. “…a miracle it wasn’t…”
Blurred light
Voices. “…He’s coming around, get the…”
“Well, the good news,” said the doctor, “is that there appears to be no permanent damage. A broken wrist, broken nose, a couple of cracked ribs and lots of bruises, but all in all you’re going to live.”
“Apparently,” he continued “there was a screw up with which bull you were to ride. Your bull, or actually cow, Molly, was assigned to a pro. His bull, Cocaine, went to you. After 30 seconds of being dragged around the ring the clowns were able to untie your hand from his neck. Too much rosin, they said. Just glad your okay, son. They tell me you now hold the record.”
“What record?” I asked
“Well, it seems,” said the doctor, “that you rode Cocaine for 30 seconds, which for him is the record. You could say you spent 30 seconds on Cocaine.”
Gee, doc, thanks, thanks a lot.
15.41647
Context: 15.41647 was penned after listing to a news article about Reinhold Hanning. It won first place in a writing contest. The topic regarded the significance of numbers.
“This is such a stupid assignment,” said the high school student. “A thousand words to talk about some stupid numbers! It’s just stupid. I mean make up your mind, words or numbers?”
“Your assignment,” said the teacher, “is to write about the significance of numbers using words as it pertains to the news article and the individual you were assigned. Numbers are to words as exclamation points are to question marks.”
“That’s stupid,” said the student. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” the teacher replied, “numbers help us understand our world; they provide definitive answers to our questions. They help us know who and what we are in ways that cannot be disputed. They help us see clearly what we value.”
“Fine, whatever,” said the student. “I just don’t get the math, I mean really, what’s the point?”
“The point is, those who forget history condemn themselves to repeat it!” said the teacher. “One of the reasons we learn is to avoid mistakes.”
“So is this math or history?” said the student.
“Yes, absolutely,” said the teacher.
“Fine, whatever,” spat the student. “What’s her stupid name again?”
“No name is stupid; all names are sacred just as yours is to you” shared the teacher. “Hers was Helen, Helen Katz.”
“And how is she important?” said the student.
“She is one of the 170,000,” answered the teacher.
“Right, so they killed her?” asked the student.
“Yes, they killed her,” said the teacher. “She was your age when they took her, you know.”
“Took her from where?” asked the student.
“From her home and family, her friends, from everything and everyone she knew,” replied the teacher.
“My age?” said the student.
“Yes, a teenager,” replied the teacher.
“Why does any of this matter?” replied the student. “I mean really, it’s ancient history.”
“It is more than history. She was real, actual and true,” responded the teacher. “What happened to her, to them, is a part of us, who we were, who we are, and who we will become. You could be Helen, Helen could be you.”
“Whatever” said the student, a bit of hesitation in her tone. “Can we just get it done? So it’s 5 right, 5 years? So 5 times …. How many weeks in a year?”
“52,” replied the teacher.
“Right, so…um…wait let me get my smartphone,” the student said. “K, K, K the calculator is up and …. 52 right? So 5 times 52 is ….260 weeks with 7 days in each week is um ……….1,820 days.”
“And the hours, the minutes?” said the teacher.
“1,820 days with 24 hours each is 43,680 hours, times 60 minutes in each hour is 2,620,800.” The student answered. “So this guy gets over two and a half million?”
“This guy?” said the teacher.
“Right, that Hanning dude,” said the student.
“That Hanning dude?” answered the teacher.
“Right, the Reinhold Hanning dude gets over two and a half million minutes in the slammer,” shared the student, “but what does that have to do with Helen whatshername?”
“Helen Katz,” the teacher answered. ”Helen is represented by the number ‘one’ because she is one of the 170,000,” said the teacher, “so we divide to find her.”
“Right, divide the number of those he helped to murder into the time he was sentenced to serve for that crime,” proclaimed the student. “Ok so almost done here….the 2,620,800 minutes is divided by the 170,000 people….Um…it’s 15, the answer is 15, I got it!!!”
“No,” responded the teacher, “the answer is 15.41647.”
“So I rounded a little, so what?” said the student.
“Remember this is a real person we are talking about with hopes and dreams just like you,” said the teacher. “This is Helen’s life, her time on the planet. Your missing .41647 could have been her family, her future, her husband, her grandchildren.”
“Did she have a boyfriend?” said the student.
“Do you?” answered the teacher.
“Right, of course she did, but I thought you said she died in the camp when she was young?” replied the student.
“Yes she did, but all her possibilities are within those numbers,” said the teacher. “Think about what the 15.41647 represents. What does that number mean?”
“Well I guess it’s …. um, minutes, right?” answered the student.
“Yes, but minutes of what?” demanded the teacher.
“Minutes of…um…time, jail time for….each murder he helped to commit. Oh gross, gross, gross!!!! He helped murder all those people and for each of them he will spend only 15.4 whatever minutes in the jail? Oh God this is soooo wrong,” cried the student. “He helped murder Helen and for that he will spend less than 16 minutes in jail…!?!?!?!?”
“Exactly,” responded the teacher.
“This is outrageous! Who knows about this?” cried the student.
“Well, you do,” replied the teacher.
“No,” snapped the student, deep indignation in her voice, “I mean like the police or someone who can do something about it, someone who can speak for Helen, someone with authority.”
“If you have done the math the numbers give you the authority to speak,” replied the teacher. “I think Helen would have been proud to have known you.”
“You think so?” quietly replied the student.
“It seems you have found some words to help express how you feel about these numbers,” said the teacher.
“If I speak for Helen,” said the student thoughtfully “can I send what I write to Detmold?”
“I would be glad to pay the postage,” replied the teacher.
“I think I may need more than 1000 words,” replied the student.
******************
“DETMOLD, Germany — A 94-year-old former SS sergeant who served as a guard at Auschwitz has been found guilty of more than 170,000 counts of accessory to murder on allegations he helped the Nazi death camp kill 1.1 million Jews and others. The dpa news agency reported that the Detmold state court sentenced Reinhold Hanning to five years in prison, though he will remain free while any appeals are heard.”
Source: CBS News. (17 June 2016). Guilty verdict for 94-year-old former Auschwitz Nazi guard.
Helen Katz was killed upon arrival at Auschwitz on May 31, 1944. She was 13 years old.
https://www.ushmm.org/wlc/en/idcard.php?ModuleId=10006547
Amen
Amen was an op-ed article written on 10-16-17 in response to gun violence.
I nearly fell out of my chair during New Hampshire Public Radio’s “The Exchange” last Friday when Ben Beauchemin of Wicked Weaponry in Hooksett called in. He spoke of the need for the gun industry and the gun culture (all gun owners and users) to “self-regulate.” As a member of the gun culture, I would like to say, “Amen.”
It is shameful that it takes a Sandy Hook or Las Vegas incident to marshal public opinion towards common sense gun legislation. Regardless, here we are and I am thankful for any progress made towards sensible, reasonable Second Amendment legislation.
Beauchemin compared a possible, reasonable requirement to that of driving a car. Imagine a “Driver’s Ed” for gun owners. With our current laws you can buy a gun without knowing which end the bullet comes out of, you can keep it hidden in your back pocket as you walk down Elm Street, or God forbid, a child can find it in a shoe box under your bed, loaded, without a lock.
I had this “Driver’s Ed” conversation with my mother. She told me of the political battles, regulatory Armageddon and federal takeover promised by those who were threatened by the requirement of licensing drivers and car registration within the States and federally in the 1930s. In the end, a federal mandate won out, licensing and auto registration became law, and today children are not learning from their drunk uncles how to drive. All forms of sport or entertainment that carry a powerful, final outcome with such a minor physical motion (squeezing a trigger or starting an engine) require some type of education. All professional associations self-regulate their members, issuing licensing through required education and apprenticeships and removing those who do not respect their mandates.
Where is the problem, then? As I see it, when the ink was wet on the Bill of Rights, firearms were a reality, but the automobile was yet to be invented. There is no amendment regarding automobiles because they did not exist. Those who pushed for common sense car and driver requirements did not have to reinterpret the Constitution. Common sense gun legislation must fight not only the NRA and their motives, but also those who see the Constitution as etched in stone. The Constitution has evolved through the years with those who live within its boundaries. Its border lines should be as fluid as the needs of the people it serves as they grow into a deeper maturity, discover new ways of seeing old issues, and apply new technologies.
They say, “An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure;” I might add, “An ounce of education is worth a pound of prevention.” There is no prevention without education. Education is the essence of preparation and the beginning of change and transformation. To all those who have hoped for a more moderate voice within the gun culture, a voice for reasonable regulation and empowerment through required gun education, I say, “Amen.”
10/16/17
Stephen Carey is the Pastor of Main Street Mission, a nondenominational storefront church that has served the inner city of Manchester at 57 Manchester Street for the past 18 years. Steve can be reached at StephenPJCarey@Gmail.com
I did it!
I did it! was an op-ed article written on 2-16-18 in response to gun violence.
Our hearts are once again breaking for the 14 students and 3 faculty who died and those injured at the hands of Nikolas Cruz and an assault weapon in Parkland, Florida.
As the pundits pun and the commentators comment, more is gleaned about the weapons, the ammunition, the killer and his mental state, and his unknowing acquaintances or friends, I get a sense that we have been here before. The outrage and brokenness, the crying and emotional travail, is just so familiar. Oh, that’s right, we were here just a couple of months ago, and a couple of months before that too, and then there was that other one, where was that…oh that’s right, Sandy Hook.
It seems that we have a very convenient and deliberate way of packaging these incidents into digestible bits of information which when combined with time, permit our collective memories to dismiss them. We move on without ever dealing with real issues, the issues which could lessen the impact of our next incident, an incident which most certainly is on its way.
As the news spends its time figuring out how, why, and who might be responsible, I might point the finger in a different direction. The finger of blame belongs squarely on me. The man or woman in the mirror did it. I am the one who has forgotten the last time, that is on me. I am the one who did not call the Governor’s office and contact my representatives outraged at the state of gun legislation in New Hampshire and the U.S. Yes, I did it. I allowed myself to go back to my life after the last heartbreaking horror show without confronting the issues that may have made a change.
What then can be done? First, I resigned my NRA membership. The power of this lobbying organization over our Government is out of balance. Although I am a part of the gun culture, I draw the line with the amount of financial control the NRA has in Congress to hire, to fire, to create, and to back or block legislation.
Second, the repeal of a rule that aims to block people with mental disorders from buying guns by President Trump on Feb 28th was, in my opinion, its own sign of mental illness. For the Republicans to ignore the potential impact of this repeal is unconscionable. Our Republican friends in Concord must be made to recognize the need for such mandates.
Third, in 2015, 75% of Americans were in support of background checks for gun sales. Recent polls put the number around 90%. Why is it that 90% of Americans cannot get what they want from their elected officials? Who is working for whom here? Background checks just make sense.
Forth, those who forget history condemn themselves to repeat it, but those who deliberately refuse to study, remember and evaluate the past and its trends are hiding something. In 1996, a Republican Congress threatened to strip funding from the CDC unless it stopped research into firearm injuries and deaths because the NRA accused the CDC of promoting gun control. As a result, the CDC stopped funding gun research, which had a chilling effect far beyond that agency, drying up all money for almost all public health studies of gun issues nationwide. How then is it possible to have an honest debate about preventing gun violence when we can’t study it? Lifting this ban on the CDC is essential to discovering how to deal with the problem of guns in our State and Country.
This may not be the last time some horror like this happens but it will be the last time I look in the mirror and know I didn’t do anything about it.
2/16/18
Stephen Carey is the Pastor of Main Street Mission, a nondenominational storefront church that has served the inner city of Manchester at 57 Manchester Street for the past 20 years. Steve can be reached at StephenPJCarey@Gmail.com
Maewyn Succat
Maewyn (pronounced My Win) Succat was not a particularly religious 16-year-old boy born to upper-middle-class Italian parents who raised him in a loving home enjoying the finer things of life. One day while celebrating with friends at a villa on the coast of Wales, he was taken, kidnapped, and brought to Ireland to be ransomed or, if no payment was made, sold into slavery. For six long years, Maewyn lived in the snowy, rocky hill country of Ireland as a slave tending his master’s sheep. He said of those years, “His constant companions were cold and hunger.” It was during those long, lonely years that Merwyn found a spiritual awakening. “I used to stay out in the forests and on the mountain, and I would wake up before daylight to pray in the snow, in icy coldness, in rain, and I used to feel neither ill nor any slothfulness, as I now see, the Spirit was burning in me.” After six years as a slave, Maewyn fled. Now a fugitive on the run in a foreign country, a price on his head, he made his way to a port and begged passage on a ship bound for his home in Britain.
Once home with family and friends, he felt unsettled in his old life. Restless, like a set of clothes that no longer fit, Maewyn knew pain and suffering had changed him. Once aimless and without direction, Maewyn now felt a deep passion and purpose in helping those who had enslaved him. Rather than finding employment in the family business or going to school, he went to a monastery and studied as a priest. After 12 years, Maewyn changed his name to Patrick (father), and he returned to the shores of Ireland (where he was still a wanted fugitive) with love and compassion in his heart for those who treated him with such brutality.
Today we celebrate Saint Patrick’s Day with green beer and stories of snakes (or the lack of them); however, the powerful, positive impact made by this hero of the faith is a debt few of us understand or appreciate. In his book How the Irish Saved Civilization: The Untold Story of Ireland’s Heroic Role from the Fall of Rome to the Rise of Medieval Europe, Thomas Cahill outlines the value of Saint Patrick’s contribution, not the least of which includes the bibles we enjoy today.
Most of us will never know the pain and suffering of someone like Maewyn, but we can relate to their feelings. They are feelings of isolation and loneliness, anxiety, and financial insecurity. They are the feelings of injustice, anger, and hatred that become the temptation to lash out, fighting fire with fire and push back against the “other.” They are the feelings that justify exclusion, segregation, and even violence.
How do we travel the distance from where we are to where we want to be? How does Maewyn become Saint Patrick? Many in Maewyn’s shoes would have embraced bitterness and resentment from unthinkable abuse, kidnapping, and cruel slavery, petition the government and launch an attack, seeking revenge. Saint Patrick did not. Many would have gone back to a life of ease and comfort, feeling they were “owed.” Saint Patrick did not. Many would have considered circumstances insurmountable and withdrawn. Saint Patrick did not.
After the hardships of this past year, past four years, do I have the compassion to reach out to those who supported, condoned, and helped orchestrate that hardship as Saint Patrick did? Will I forgive them, releasing them of my resentment, frustration, and anger, actively seeking them out as the objects of compassionate ministry? Have I even considered the damaging nature of allowing the toxin of bitterness to make its home within me? Do I require political repentance before offering my love and friendship, waiting for them to “get it,” or will I act first extending the love of Jesus?
When I look at my list of “heroes of the faith,” those I admire and try to emulate, they all seem to have some version of Saint Patrick’s story, most notably Jesus.
Luke 23:34 Jesus said, “Forgive them, Father! They don’t know what they are doing.” They divided his clothes among themselves by throwing dice.
Honesty requires me to admit I am not who I should be. Thanks to examples like Maewyn, at a minimum, now I can both see the road ahead and, with one step of forgiveness and empathetic compassion, begin the journey towards my healing.
Pain, sorrow, and suffering can give birth to many things. In Saint Patrick and so many other heroes of the faith, we find an example of the letters in red:
Luke 6:27-28 But I tell you who hear me: Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, and pray for those who mistreat you.
Pain, suffering, and sorrow find their redemption in acting upon their opposites. Just as fighting fire with fire celebrates destruction, so resentment is dissolved by forgiveness and release. The softness of a whisper quells anger. Hatred and bitterness are crushed beneath the loving light of compassion and mercy. Fear gives way to faith, and grace is greater than all injustice. Even though we confront evil with positive action, only walking towards His light will free us from our personal, internal darkness.
Are you angry? Are you resentful and bitter over the past? Are there those whom you cannot or will not forgive? Maewyn Succat would tell us that with God’s help, there is a Saint Patrick within, waiting to be released.
The “Single-Issue Voter Club” and the fight against gun violence
An evil time loop repeating itself over and over again, a Groundhog Day from hell, that’s what it must be. Today it is San Jose, yesterday it was Boulder, before that Atlanta, and tomorrow, my town or your city, my parent, your wife, our children. We have been here before; this is far from the first article I have written about the insanity of our current gun legislation (or lack of it) and the idiotic interpretation of the second amendment by the far right and a compelling moral argument for change.
Yet here we are again and again and again. The pundits’ pun and the commentator’s comment, more is gleaned about the weapons, the ammunition, the killer and their motives, their mental state, acquaintances or friends, the outrage and brokenness, the heartbreak, the crying and emotional travail, it’s just so senselessly repetitive. It seems that we have a very convenient and deliberate way of packaging these incidents into digestible bits of information, which, when combined with time, permit our collective memories to dissolve and dismiss them. We move on without ever dealing with real issues, issues that could lessen the impact of the next incident, an incident that is most certainly moving toward us with the speed of a bullet shot from a gun.
So instead of writing another emotionally charged, morally outraged article and adding to the endless barrage of outcry, I want to offer something different. Please, for the love of God, for the sake of those not yet killed by the next mass shooting, consider becoming a “single issue voter.”
It’s like a club, “The Single-Issue Voter Club” and my single issue is “common sense gun legislation”. Since sensible gun legislation is a deeply political issue, its solution is equally political. Throughout the history of our country and government, only one thing has proven powerful enough to bring about comprehensive political change and that is political pressure. Political pressure moves political mountains and is born of political will. Despite the good intentions, emotional appeal and moral outrage, the outpouring of guilt, finger pointing and sorrow, only political pressure can change the political landscape. When political will is fractured, political pressure becomes diluted. Since the large majority of Americans support sensible gun legislation, the potential is there for change; however, only by focusing that political will can it be realized. By focusing on one issue with concentrated tenacity, running all issues and candidates through that paradigm, political pressure can be brought to bear, and political change realized.
The last election is a good example. I had several issues that were important to me, more than important, part of my core belief system. Issues of right to life, police training, taxation and a host of important concerns were running through my head as I cast my ballot. Being an independent voter, I was able to vote across the aisle in both the primary and general elections, picking my candidates according to their positions, a shopping list of issues both red and blue.
But I have changed my dynamic by voting to bring pressure on only one issue first and foremost “common sense gun legislation”. I am following the advice of Barack Obama. The day after a shooting spree he said those who support gun control would “just have to, for a while, be a single-issue voter” if gun laws in America were ever going to change.
Stating in a press conference: “Here’s what you need to do: You have to make sure that anybody that you are voting for is on the right side of this issue,” if politicians oppose gun safety measures “Even if they’re great on other stuff, you’ve got to vote against them.” If we recall the battle over slavery, no amount of moral guilt shaming and emotional outrage was able to pierce through the self-interest of confirmation bias in the slave holding south. Only sheer political will and arm twisting on the part of Lincoln and his team won the day. Reluctantly and against their will the south was forced to change.
And is this not the essence of our faith? In Luke 9:62 Jesus teaches us to commit with more than words by going “all in”.
“Anyone who starts to plow and then keeps looking back is of no use for the Kingdom of God.”
Speaking of “use” and “usefulness”, James says in 2:20
“You fool! Do you want to be shown that faith without actions is useless”?
Useless is the definition of complaining about the world as it is without taking the actions required to change it. Faith requires us to meet this evil not with prayer alone but prayerful action and determination. If you feel helpless to do anything about the current state of gun violence in our country consider the action of your vote and speak out against gun violence with it. Yes, there are many issues of dire importance, however within the Single-Issue Voter Club, first and foremost each candidate is sifted through the “Stop Gun Violence” lens.
Universal background checks
Red Flag Legislation
Mandatory waiting periods
Gun Licensing and training
Assault style weapons ban
High-capacity magazines and silencer/suppressor bans
Funding of the CDC for research into national gun violence
These are the questions I ask of a candidate before any other considerations including “democrat or republican”. Further: do they support groups like: https://everytown.org/ https://www.preventioninstitute.org/
I have committed to support these groups before any political party because I am a single-issue voter. Only then, after these considerations are vetted, other political and societal issues are addressed.
I know it is hard, even heartbreaking to put pressing concerns on the back burner but this is what it will take to change gun laws in America and now is the time. Yes, we are outraged, but what are we willing to do about it? Are we willing to postpone other priorities and passions, sacrificing them now to change America’s future gun violence? I wish you might join the “Single- Issue Voter Club”.
I assure you that when America’s gun laws do change it will not be due to eloquent articles, emotional appeal and moral outrage, it will be due to pure political pressure, arm twisting and expedience by those in office, pressure put on them by those who were willing to sacrificed other priorities to accomplish what no moral outrage and eloquent speech could.
So, let’s make it happen now. How many more horrors must we endure, whose town, city, or child will tomorrow’s mass shooting take? I beg you, join me in the “Single Issue Voter Club.”
Stephen Carey is the Pastor of Main Street Mission, a nondenominational storefront church that has served the inner city of Manchester at 57 Manchester Street for the past 20 years. Steve can be reached at StephenPJCarey@Gmail.com