Last year, I wrote this Strange, Belated “Happy Birthday” to My Sister, Cindy DeBoer:
Walking at the lake today, I encountered a young family. The mom was picking what looked like wild green tomatoes from the weeds by the path. I stopped to admire the pile of fruit. The husband came over. Short and shirtless, he had the sort of build that told me “this man fears few things.” I asked, “Do you eat these?” Smiling, he answered, “Yes, we eat these in our country.” “What is your country?” “Nepal.” “Oh, so you lived at high elevation?” “Yes, we have the tallest mountain in the world.” “You cook these before eating them, right?” (I recognized them as some form of nightshade). “Yes.” “Well, God bless you.” I resumed my walk and sighed, “God, let me meet them again in Heaven.” Later, it occurred to me that if I do meet them in Heaven, they’ll probably say, “You’re Cindy DeBoer’s little brother, aren’t you!” By then, she’ll be known Heaven-wide as the one who loved strangers well, and did more than ask rudimentary questions. She’s my big sister, and I still have a lot to learn from her.
I have just about given up on reforming anyone but myself. Even that is ultimately hopeless. But I do hope to cooperate with the One who can and will reform me. In the meantime, here’s one way I represent the wedge of polarization. Absent humility, and given a desire for power that supercedes any desire for peace, there is a self-feeding wedge that divides “us” from “them.”
It’s probably obvious that I had our current President and his political opponents in mind. This was written a day or two after mass shootings in El Paso, Texas and Dayton, Ohio. It is my opinion that political “leaders” heighten conflict by their careless and uncharitable words. When they resort to “all or nothing” tactics, it feeds anger and a sense of desperation in the general populace. One could easily conclude that Trump’s remarks foment racism (and ARE racist). But I’d argue that when every word coming out of his mouth is branded as racist, and it’s clear to an objective listener that some of the words are NOT (necessarily) racist, that in itself raises tensions. Civil discourse is incumbent on ALL parties in conflict.
I think the following interview between Ben Shapiro (libertarian) and Jonathan Haidt (left-leaning centrist) is instructive both in the insights of Haidt and the respectful responses of Shapiro:
August 5, 2021 Reflection It’s interesting to see how I was thinking about divisiveness in August 2019. What changed over the ensuing two years?
divisiveness INCREASED and
my confidence in pontificating about what is right and what is wrong, what is wisdom and what is foolishness DECREASED
The chaotic dance of ideas in my head is hard to sort out, especially since the mirror by which I reflect on it is shattered. “So, don’t reflect!” says the voice of distraction. “Brush aside that broken mirror. Simply act on what little you do understand! Follow the Master!”
The Master, you say? The Master, as best I recall, was Himself afflicted with the powerful weakness of a human mind. He was so weighed down by thoughts that He needed rest, and at least once fell to the ground along with his sweat like drops of blood. If I’m to follow the Master, should I not expect Him to lead me through similar anguish?
Just now, in a shard of mirrored glass, I saw that one dancer is not to be trusted. He gently offers his right hand, but in a left hand, hidden behind his back, he clenches a vial of poison. Am I really to ignore such glimpses of the dance, not ask the name and origin of the dancer? Should I not at least be wary?
Breakfast calls to me, along with a dozen duties: “Come to me, you who are wary. Brush aside that broken mirror, at least for now.” And I comply.
Postscript: At the beginning of this year, I wrote a three page paper, listing things I’m “churning” about, and shared it with two of my best friends. As I reflect on my current churnings, there may be more bubbles than butter, BUT, reading back over that document, I’m encouraged that there has been progress. If nothing else, I realize more fully now how utterly merciful and gracious God is, how utterly worthless are my efforts apart from Him. Is it useful to churn? The questions in this post are real. The objections are my own! Given my limited intellect, time, and resources, what use is it to reflect on the cacaphony of ideas that fill my head, the chaotic dance I described? Will it make any difference in the long run for one man to become more aware of how much he has absorbed the false, self-contradictory, and idolatrous ideas of his culture?
This poem refers to someone you almost certainly do not know. Don’t even TRY to guess who—you won’t get it right. He appears in the carousel of prideful men and humble men the Lord has lately set in motion before my eyes… pride and humility in the mirror and lessons of life. Underlying image by Enrique Lopez Garre on Pixabay.
Sunday afternoon, I walked around White Rock Lake. The theme of my photography and encounters with people I met turned out to be something like “Coping With Extremes.” There were some beautiful scenes (like this and this), and I had an uplifting conversation with a young runner. That young man turned out to be one of those rare individuals who was as interested in learning about others as in talking about himself. He demonstrated humility despite the fact that he is an ultra-marathoner and independently wealthy due to successful investment(s) in crypto currency. I hope to run into Dillon again someday!
But First This…
Right at the beginning of my walk, I spied an old cyclist whom I had seen two or three times in the past couple of weeks. I had noticed that the panniers on his bicycle bear patches from all over the country. As I tell my sons, when someone puts stickers all over their stuff, it’s a safe bet that they welcome questions. So, I walked up to the guy and said, “Pardon me, I couldn’t help but notice that you have done some travelling. Do you mind telling me about your travels?” I barely had the question out of my mouth when he began a non-stop account of his great exploits. When he took a breath, I asked if I could take his picture, and record our conversation to post on my blog. He didn’t mind at all. So here it is:
LISTEN (this goes on for 11 minutes; you’ll get a good taste of it in the first minute):
Bumblebee gathering nectar from Passion Flower gets his back dusted with pollen from down-facing anthers. I wonder how the pollen then gets transferred to the towering stigma?
I found the “anther” on another site: the stigma-bearing styles bend down at some point and receive pollen that was previously deposited on bee’s backs by the anthers. Here’s an excellent website on the subject: http://www.microscopy-uk.org.uk/mag/indexmag.html
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Photo taken at: White Rock Lake Bike & Hiking Trail
AKA painful after-church entertainment for me and my cousins in the 1970s. The small church we attended had a vacant field by the parking lot. It was full of these pesky things. We’d pick them and then chase each other and throw them at each other. OUCH!
CLICK HERE for an excellent description of the tree, its leaves, and its fruit. I read that the orange part is edible (but I value life, so not sure I’ll try it).
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Photo taken at: White Rock Lake Bike & Hiking Trail
Yesterday morning, our youth minister, Brooks Nesse, preached a terrific sermon. Brooks made a compelling case for why and how older members of the congregation should be discipling younger members. As Brooks said in various ways, we should be reflecting Christ to younger believers, acknowledging Christ’s work in their lives, and challenging them to continue growing more like Christ. The sine qua non of all this is INTERACTION. You can’t disciple or mentor a person with whom you have no contact!
Then I Went for a Walk
It was an oppressively hot summer afternoon, but nothing else was pressing, so I did what I love dearly: I went for a walk around White Rock Lake looking for beautiful things to photograph. Only a few of the wildflowers I have been noticing lately were still blooming. So I decided to concentrate on what those flowers have been busy making all Spring—seeds. The brilliant colors are gone. The soft, delicate petals are few and far between. In their place are the tan and grey of seeds and the white of their wind-catching hair. Delicate has given way to hard, smooth to spiky. Youth has given way to old age.
Or Has It? A Little Wandering Afield
In college, one of my history professors assigned Johan Huizinga’s The Waning of the Middle Ages. We were to write a paper using that book to support either of two claims: that the end of the Middle Ages was either their “flowering” or their “going to seed.” Being a contrarian, I opted for neither, and wrote a paper arguing that 1) it is a mistake to divide history into neat periods (not sure if young Brad would convince old Brad on this one!) and 2) demonstrating that Huizinga’s evidence was inconclusive at best on the question of “flowering” and “going to seed.” The senescence of one age is the youth of another. Doesn’t even nature teach this?
Just three weeks ago, the fields wore a blanket of Queen Anne’s Lace. Before that, in late spring, the light green nests of this plant opened up to reveal white petals on supple arms. Now those arms have folded back in to form a new kind of nest: cages that hold a covey of spiky seeds.
Looking at the those tight nests, I asked myself, “Is this the end, or the beginning?” Are seeds old men or children? It began to dawn on me that what passes for death in flowers is, in fact, the passing on of their life. Old age is giving way to youth.
I’ll Photograph a Sermon
Yesterday, as I set out on a long hot walk, I was thinking about Brooks’ sermon, about the need to disciple younger people. Passing by browning fields, I was also thinking that I’m past the season for capturing the beauty of flowers. But then it dawned on me: just as my eyes have been opened to the beauty of wildflowers that nobody ever notices, my eyes can also be opened to the beauty of how those same flowers transfer life to next year’s flowers. Discipling happens in the field as it ought to happen in our church. I’ll be thinking of Brooks’ sermon for months to come. Old flowers and young seeds will bring it to mind.
Then I Got Home
When I got home after that long hot walk, I thought I’d throw my sweaty hiking pants into the washer. But then I noticed: they were covered with the seeds of Queen Anne’s Lace. Wandering afield to capture photographs, I had brushed up against the older nests of seed. I had interacted with them, come into close contact with them, the sine qua non of discipleship. It turns out Queen Anne’s Lace wants to grow in my own garden.
Good job, Brooks. It was a terrific sermon! It really sticks with me.
This is probably as close as I’ll ever come to synesthesia. I was reading Romans and listening to Bach and Morricone. How I wish I could hear the music in all of them for all it’s worth!
Ever seen a Question Mark? Now you have. That’s the name of this butterfly. This one showed up in my moss garden just after I had watched a cardinal, cedar waxwing, and black capped chickadee perching on the rim of the birdbath facing each other and taking turns splashing in the water. After they left, the great architect Christopher Wren dropped by for a visit. I’m so thankful for this view of God’s creativity from my office window.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY to the best sister a guy could ever have: Cindy DeBoer. You still take delight in what is best in family, friends, and God’s beautiful world.
The passion flower never ceases to amaze me. From a Texas A&M horticulture website: “Roman Catholic priests of the late 1500’s named it for the Passion (suffering and death) of Jesus Christ. They believed that several parts of the plant, including the petals, rays, and sepals, symbolized features of the Passion.”
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Photo taken at: White Rock Lake Bike & Hiking Trail
J.S. Bach has been one of my friends almost as long as I remember. From the time I learned to whistle at age five, his tunes were on my lips. One of those tunes was Wachet auf. I couldn’t have named the tune at that age, nor said what its title stood for, but at least I knew how it went. Like everything else in my simple, orderly world, it began on a downbeat, the very first note in its first bar:
If you read music, you’ll have noticed that five-year-old Bradley had it wrong. Wachet auf doesn’t start on a downbeat, but on an upbeat. But five-year-old Bradley didn’t read music. He only whistled by ear.
And Then He Saw an Ear Nose & Throat Doctor
Just kidding.
For nearly 25 years, I’d cheerfully whistle this tune… always wrong. I learned to read music, even to play piano, though largely by rote. And then one day, I sat down at a friend’s grand piano and my eyes fell on the score for Wachet auf. I tried to play it as I had always whistled it, but quickly realized, “HANG ON! That tune starts on an upbeat:”
Suddenly, I had a new appreciation for my old friend. He was trickier than I had thought! Ever since that day, I have listened more carefully for Bach’s inventive genius.
And So It Is With Other Friends
Here’s what I learned that day, and am still learning: Spend time with friends, getting to know them well enough to see past my assumptions and misconceptions. Go for long walks with them. Sit down together for coffee. Ask them probing questions. If I look at their score and try to play along, I might be in for a pleasant surprise.
Recently, I was talking with one of my sons about someone I admire. “But Dad,” he said “I’ve heard that this person has a really judgmental attitude about [fill in the blank].”
I couldn’t deny his criticism, although I’ve never personally seen the flaw in this hero. My initial response was that an otherwise admirable person might have come to hold a judgmental attitude with some justification. For example, he or she might be responding to what the Bible apparently teaches.
The following morning, I looked out my office window. Noticing the hummingbird feeder, I realized that my son deserves a better explanation.
Old People Are Like Cargo Vessels
Let’s say you’re piloting a C-5 Galaxy and suddenly realize that you forgot to pack your parachute. Obsessively, you initiate a 180-degree turn so you can go back and fetch it. In this huge bird, you’ll cover more than a mile before your broad turn has you heading back home.*
The same could be said for other large vessels, like ocean liners or freight trains. They don’t turn, stop, or —frankly—do anything quickly.
That’s how it is with us old people. We don’t turn on a dime. For better or worse, we’re loaded down with decades of cargo. For an older saint, much of that cargo is precious: God-pleasing habits of discipline and obedience, things that a charitable person might even admire. But some of the cargo isn’t very good. It’s garbage that anyone and everyone would bring on board back when we were young. Back then, nobody—not even virtuous young people—actually thought it was garbage!
Finding fault in an old person is unremarkable. What is remarkable is seeing an old person recognize that some of their cargo needs to be thrown out, and actually doing it. It’s not an overnight process. I have the privilege of observing people even older than myself making this slow but sure transformation. It’s beautiful.
Young People Are Like Hummingbirds
The young person, light as a hummingbird, has little trouble changing directions. He’s not encumbered by decades of wrong thinking. Abandon an idea that he adopted just yesterday? Not a problem. Turn away from an action that hasn’t had time to become habitual? Easy! Almost admirable!
But is this lack of settled vice the same as virtue? I don’t think so. While the young person may dislike what he sees in an older person, he is not really in a good position to be judging the old person. To the young person I say, “Just understand that there, but for the grace of God go you. Some day you, too, may be weighed down by decades of wrong thinking, maybe even judgmentalism. For now, it’s best to acknowledge the weight of goodness in the older person, and pray for their transformation if that’s also needed.”
Hummingbirds are beautiful. So are young people who recognize the weight of goodness in their elders.
*For the nerds, here is interesting data from my friend Bert Howard when I asked him for a realistic minimum and/or typical turn distance for a C5 Galaxy (and the part about going back for a parachute was just my lame humor):
It really does depend on type of aircraft and mission profile… the C5A is more commercial form than other aircraft so would require more distance… the standard rate of turn is 3 degrees per second or 1-minute to complete 180 degrees of turn… formula for radius in feet is velocity in knots squared then divided by 11.26 times the tangent of the angle of bank… I’d think the C5A would hold at about 200-240 knots and use 25-30 degree single of bank… 200×200/11.26x.466 would be about 7,600 feet or about 1.2 nautical miles (6000’ for NM, 5000’ for statute mile).
I am not your missing cat, Rascal. Look all over the neighborhood, under every bush, in every conceivable place in the house. Eventually Mom will find him in the corner of the garage. I’ll still be here.
