Weapons of War

What's your preferred weapon of war?

Every other Sunday, I have the opportunity to lead the discussion / teach our adult Sunday School class at church. As ours is a lay clergy and we serve on a volunteer (or 'voluntold' depending on your perspective) basis, I've had this Sunday School gig for a few years now and it's one I really enjoy. More often than not, I feel like I've come away as the one who has learned the most. Today was no different.

We focused our study on a group of people who, after their conversion, decided to bury their weapons of war and covenanted to never raise them again. As we discussed this, I asked the following questions:

What are the metaphorical weapons of war are you carrying that you need to bury?

Why is it so difficult to bury them?

I stressed the metaphorical bit because the last thing this needed to turn into was a battle royale over the Second Amendment. I mean that would have been fun, but wrong place, wrong time. Even I know that. Although no one ponied up with their own 'weapons of war,' I was cool with that. It meant as an introspective, thought-provoking question. We did have a solid discussion  about the challenges of letting those weapons go. These are often very personal things can they can, oddly enough, actually bring us comfort. This is especially true when they are used as defense mechanisms.

I started thinking about the weapons of war that we carry. Here's a few of them, and this is by no means an exhaustive list:

• The Grudginator: Deployed for ages and a personal favorite of many, this weapon is timeless and is prized for its nasty efficient simplicity. Known for its ability to store up power and feed itself over long periods of time, it is expert in dividing friends and family. It has some wicked side effects, including an ability to blind the good judgement of those who choose to carry this weapon. It is also amazingly unpredictable as to when it goes off. It does have an uncanny ability to explode during family reunions and at the reading of wills.
• The Judge-o-matic XLS: Like the aforementioned Grudginator, this one has been around for ages. It is a wily one too. Once in the hands of people, it embeds itself and gives them a sense of moral superiority that leads in almost every case to the ostracizing of others for the way they act, look, believe, or even love. One of its most profound side effects is rampant intolerance and divisiveness. 
• The Snark Missile: This is a tricky one. In well-trained hands, it can be a funny little devil, deployed in conversation to point out irony or absurdity. More often than not though, it's an invective laden bomb typically deployed to mask the insecurities and discomforts of its user. 

There are so many more weapons that we carry in our own personal arsenals. Like the countless number of warheads that the US and the former Soviet Union amassed, we've got way more in our arsenals than we'll ever use. I know I'm a real big fan of The Snark Missile. To give it up now, during the greatest gift snark has ever been given - the unholy Trump/Pence alliance and the train wreck that is the Republican presidential campaign - my Twitter feed would never be the same. If watching "The Americans" has taught me anything, it's that the Russians had just a hard a time getting to peace with us (US) as we did with them.

Take a look at what you're carrying. What can you do without? Which ones can you bury?

The Enforcer?

Post-mission career choice?

It appears from the picture that we got from TMFKATB in this week's letter that he has been regaling the good people who reside behind the Zion Curtain of his life growing up on the mean streets of Chicago, or the Greatest City in the United States. Per his letter, a member of the Church in his area bought him this gem of a Chicago PD knock off shirt.

I think I should clear up a few things about TMFKATB's "mean streets" experience. Here we go:

Those "mean streets"? Yeah, those were in Naperville, or Naperthrill, or the Dirty 630. The mean factor? Terrifying! It was embodied in the irate pearl-wearing, Volvo wagon-driving hausfrau upset about not getting covered parking in the downtown garage, thus exposing her to the elements while walking to the Ann Taylor store. And tough? You bet! Some of those kids had to ride the bus, the bus!, to high school up until the day they got their driver's license. It's a miracle that any of them made it out alive...

But made it out alive he did and he's telling tales as he serves. This week's letter talked a bit about the service opportunities he and his companions have had in the run-up to Thanksgiving. They spent a bit of time prepping turkeys and meals for distribution. It helped him to see again the needs that exist in the world and to feel the reward of selfless service. He also talked about being introduced to a former gang banger. Hearing that man's stories no doubt put TMFKATB's Dirty 630 experiences into stark relief. But what he found in this man was a good soul and a powerful lesson in not judging a book by its cover. There is good to be found in all of us was his subtle reminder.

It's a good reminder as we enter the Thanksgiving week. We should be grateful for the good in the world. It's there, even if it takes some digging to get to it. There is good out there. It's a blessing for which I'm grateful. I'm grateful for my Chicago cop wanna-be son and for what he teaches me every week.

Will I Ever Learn?

Our inability to remember important life lessons never ceases to amaze me and it was demonstrated to me in the clearest of light last night. Sometimes these moments can take a little while to relate. This is a little bit longer post, so settle in.

It was a long day in Manhattan yesterday, exacerbated by lightly falling snow, a snappy, and not in a good way either, chill in the air, and an unpleasant slog down to endlessly depressing Penn Station at the end of the day to catch some "Theater of Cruelty" service at the hands of our national passenger rail provider. You'll be shocked, shocked I tell you, to know that my train was, wait for it, late in departing. I know, I know, talk about unexpected (and if you believe that, I'm sure Fox News' assessment that the metric system brought down Air Asia #8501 is completely plausible). A late departure meant making my connection in New Haven was going to be dicey as that connection is, in my sad experience, mostly NOT held for the late inbound train. With that in mind, I was sure I was ready to bounce off the train as soon as we hit New Haven so I could bound across the platform and get on my connecting train, assuming it was still there.

As we approached New Haven, my plan was thwarted by a young woman who stood in the aisle blocking the rest of us from moving toward the door. She wasn't budging. My patience was immediately sapped and my alter ego, Judgy Judgerson, made an appearance. Unkind thoughts, yes, let's describe them as that, filled my mind as I waited for her to pick up her bag and move. She did not do so until we came to a complete stop, which was maddening (um, lady, it's a train - no flight attendant was going to shout you down for getting out of your seat before coming to a complete stop). She began to shuffle slowly while those ahead of her were long gone. My displeasure was at 11. And then it happened. I noticed she was moving slowly because of an awkward gait, and with her hand atrophied, I recognized it immediately as some kind of palsy and knew then that my reservation in Hell was now a lock. As she got to the door of the train and seeing the wider than expected gap, she asked me if I could spot her. Feeling sufficiently and rightfully awful, I told her I would do her one better. I grabbed her bag and went out the adjacent door so I could take her by both arms and help her across. That's what I did and I asked her if she needed anything else and she said no. So I made my way across the platform, noticing only then that the connecting train was also late (I know you're stunned). It showed up shortly thereafter and I sat down in a window seat to ponder why I had gotten so irritated so quickly.

As I sat lost in my thoughts, I heard a woman ask if she the seat next to me was open. Turning to say yes, I saw that it was that same young woman. Certainly, I said. She took her seat and we were off. About midway through the trip, she got up to use the restroom (her funeral). I know this because she told the person that she was talking to on her cell phone that is what she was going to do. While she was gone, another woman stood in aisle across from our seats, prattling on to the lady seated there about her failing business. This was 'delightful' banter that none of us needed to hear. None. Of. Us. She would not move as my seatmate came up and just as she approached our row, the train swerved as it is wont to do, and this poor young woman was flipped over the seats, landing with her head wedged between the seat in front of me and the front of my knees. For a split second, I hardly knew what to do. She immediately began apologizing and I kept telling her she had nothing to apologize for. It was apparent though as I tried to move, she was pretty stuck. Another passenger got up, pushing aside the rude woman who was still prattling on about her retail woes and seeming annoyed that this turn of events had interrupted her story, and he managed to get my stuck seatmate by her good arm and as he lifted, I pushed up and we got her up. She could not have been more apologetic. I know she had to be absolutely mortified. I kept reassuring her that she had nothing to worry about.

She sat quietly for the rest of the ride, as did I. All the while, I kept pondering my initial reaction to her on the other train. As we approached Hartford, I asked her if she'd been to this particular station before and she said no. Knowing that this station is not a walk off to the platform, but requires descending the steep steps from the train, I told her I'd like to help her off. I took her bag and guided her to the end of the car. When she saw the steps, she took a deep breath but fortunately, a conductor was there as well to help her. I then walked with her to the elevator and it was there that we parted ways. She apologized once more, for which I once again said there was no need and she slipped away with a simple thank you. That thank you was when i will long appreciate.

As I drove home, I thought about had she heard the thoughts in my head on that first train, she never would have sat down next to me on that connecting train. I wouldn't have had the opportunity to help her out and try and make up for an offense she wasn't even aware I had committed. About thirty years ago, while on my mission in Miami, I had an experience with another young woman afflicted with a palsy who I judged too quickly, and just as wrongly as I had done last night. I learned all those years ago how so not cool that 'Judgy Judgerson' side of me is.

You'd think at my age I'd have learned to reign him in. Last night showed me I still have some learning to do. I hope I won't forget this experience any time soon.