Find the Good and Praise It

I don’t often laud heroes. It’s not that I don’t admire heroism and find inspiration among heroic people. It’s just that for every sung hero there is a village of unsung heroes whose stories are often ignored - military spouses holding a household together while the soldier is deployed; parents driving their children to practices and games, rehearsals and performances, long before they become a star; or the third-grade teacher whose patient insistence enabled that light to come on for a future Nobel recipient. Back in time, many Presbyterian churches would store a “pall,” that would drape over every casket during funerals, to prevent very wealthy people from having copious flowers, compared to whatever sparse arrangements a poor family could afford. It was a way of recognizing our fundamental equality before God and universal dependence on grace. 

However, there is a time to “find the good and praise it.” And I feel like the recent death of Representative John Lewis offers just such an occasion. And while having three past presidents and other dignitaries speak may be the most noteworthy part of John Lewis’ memorial service, we know that in John Lewis’ life there were countless mentors and protectors, those who knew when to give him a scowl and when to give him a smile as he was growing up and discovering the boundaries of who he was. They are the unsung heroes. The three past presidents – representing both major political parties in the US – spoke well about John Lewis’ life, capturing the spirit and meaning of his public life. President Bush pointed to Rep. Lewis’ faith, calling him “a believer willing to give up everything, even life itself, to bear witness to the truth that drove him all his life.” President Clinton reminded us that Rep. Lewis “thought the open hand was better than the clenched fist. He lived by the faith and promise of St. Paul: Let us not grow weary in doing good, for in due season we will reap if we do not lose heart.” 

It was President Obama who really brought it home. Repeatedly emphasizing how kind and gentle Rep. Lewis was, President Obama showed how that kindness and gentleness coincided with Rep. Lewis’ commitment to “good trouble” saying, “He knew that nonviolent protest is patriotic, a way to raise public awareness and put a spotlight on injustice and make the powers that be uncomfortable.” That, of course, is coming from someone who once sat in the office of “the powers that be.” Each of those past presidents found themselves on the receiving end of that “good trouble” along the way. And yet, they could not deny that Rep. Lewis’ motivation was justice, earning him the nickname as “the conscience of the congress.” 

The most fitting words for remembering Rep. Lewis, however, were his own words, penned before his death and published just after. With great respect for a life well-lived, I give the last words to Rep. Lewis: 

When historians pick up their pens to write the story of the 21st century, let them say that it was your generation who laid down the heavy burdens of hate at last and that peace finally triumphed over violence, aggression and war. So I say to you, walk with the wind, brothers and sisters, and let the spirit of peace and the power of everlasting love be your guide.

Mark of St. Mark 

Unmasking Ourselves

I find the following image to be incredibly troublesome.[1]

It seems to indicate two very conflicting notions. On the one hand, wearing a mask is a lovely way to take care of oneself and others during an airborne pandemic. On the other hand, it has been discarded, like so many other masks that I see on roads, walkways, or parking lots. In one image it symbolizes care for oneself and others but also disregard for the earth. Of course it is possible that this mask was originally disposed of correctly and blew away in the transfer of from the trash bin to the garbage truck. But, is it probable that so many masks end up discarded incidentally like that? Rather than look for excuses, I want to let the irony of this mask tell me something about how we roll as humans. It ain’t pretty. 

I can imagine someone discarding this mask saying, “I only got the stupid mask because the stupid store requires it and all I wanted to do is to go get some stupid milk.” I don’t typically overuse the word “stupid” but it does seem to capture the kind of snarly, “this is ridiculous” attitude that some folks feel possessed to yell. I don’t know what to say to such folks. I think everything changes when you have a friend on a ventilator or lose a loved on to this virus. And I cannot imagine why it would take that much personal tragedy to be sympathetic toward all the tragic stories that the numbers of infections, hospitalizations, and deaths represent. But, I suspect that the folks most vociferously doubting the pandemic are also folks who doubt the reality of climate change. I’ll circle back to that in a moment. 

It is my guess that most people discard masks without an attitude of doubt or anger about the virus. I’m guessing that they are folks doing their best with this virus, trying to be safe while maintaining their sanity and going about their business. And yet – intended or not – masks continue to end up along the road or in the oceans, where they will remain for a very long time. And that is a real concern, not just for the sake of aesthetics, but for the state of the earth itself. If you want to read some troubling news, just put “masks and oceans” in your search browser. 

I read many years ago that people tend to choose the ‘urgent’ over the ‘important.’ If that is a true observation, it’s not that people no longer care about the environment, it’s just that we have put it on the backburner, focusing our attention, energy, and passion on the virus. That’s what I see whenever I spot a discarded mask on the side of the road. Someone has forgotten, minimized, or even decided that the catastrophe on hand is more important than the looming catastrophe that is “out there.” 

And that is a crying shame. We can do better.

Mark of St. Mark

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[1] An actual local photo, thanks to Bart McHenry, in response to my “St. Mark Minuscule Morning Moment” on Thursday.