Beyond the Spectacle: "Nothing But A Child"

The glory and grandeur of Christmas has passed us by. The wrapping paper is in garbage bins. The more-boring toys lay almost forgotten. Industrious children are already working out the basics to next year's letters to Santa.

People worry about losing the spirit of Christmas to marketers and politicians. I also fear losing the spirit of Christmas to religious spectacle. The aura and the grandeur of the universal Church celebrating the birth of God' son is overwhelming. It can be hard to remember the concrete reality that this is all the birth of a single man born 2,000 years ago in Bethlehem.

Forget the Star. Forget the Choruses of Angels. Forget the Wise Men. Forget the impending wrath of Herod.

The Son of God took on one of the most powerless form's in the Universe- a human baby. His mother pulled him in close to her breast to shelter her baby boy from the challenges of the world.

Most of us have held a newborn baby in our arms. Whether father, mother, family, or friends: we've cradled them in our arms. Felt their breath against our skin. Told them that we loved them and promised them that everything is going to be alright.

That's the concrete reality that I worry about losing. That a baby was born that was unlike any other baby, before or since. But also, completely like every other baby before or since.  As Steve Earle sang, "[T]he miracle they prized was nothing but a child."

That birth would be followed by a life, crucifixion, and then a glorious resurrection. A small religion on the outskirts of the Roman Empire would expand across the world. In the grandeur of all that came after, we cannot lose the incredible beauty of that humble beginning.

The Son of God could have came down from Heaven to announce himself in a chariot of fire, but he chose to give up all of his power for the shelter of his mother's arms.


               
From Father Hans Kung's On Being Christian:

                 Christian does not mean everything that is true, good beautiful, human. 
                 Who could deny that truth, goodness, beauty and humanity exist also 
                 outside Christianity? But everything can be called Christian which in 
                 theory and practice has an explicit, positive reference to Jesus.

                  A Christian is not just any human being with genuine conviction, sincere
                  faith and good will. No one can fail to see that genuine conviction, sincere
                  faith and good will also exist outside of Christianity. But all those can be
                  called Christian for whom life and death in Jesus Christ is ultimately decisive.

                  Christian Church does not mean just any meditation and action group, any
                  any community of committed human beings who try to lead a decent life in
                  order to gain salvation. It could never be disputed that commitment, action
                  meditation, a decent life and salvation can exist also in other groups outside 
                  the Church. But any human community, great or small, for whom Jesus Christ
                  is ultimately decisive can be called a Christian Church.

                  Christianity does not exist wherever inhumanity is opposed and humanity 
                  realized. It is a simple truth that inhumanity is opposed and humanity realized
                  also outside of Christianity - among Jews, Muslims, Hindus and Buddhists,
                  among post-Christian humanists and outspoken atheists. But Christianity
                  exists only where the memory of Jesus Christ is activated in theory and practice.


NOTE: If you can, please take a second and sign this petition to President Obama to make improving the system of diagnosing serious mental illnesses a national priority. We cannot prevent all tragedies, but I believe God wants us to do our best to try. Suffering will always be with us, but we must do our best to relieve it.

Finding the Present Outside of the Sears Catalog

In my childhood, the first of September marked the beginning of the mailbox vigil. I'd scamper across our lawn and swing the mailbox cover downward. Just a couple of letters.  I'd grab them, close box, and trudge back towards the front door. My little brain grumbling, trying to come to terms with the fact that I'd have to wait at least another day for the Sears Catalog.

Each morning, the frost set in a little harder. Summer's green grass yellowed into protective dormancy. Flowers died. Leaves lost their grip on the limbs of the mountain ash tree in our front yard. Then one afternoon, I'd find the mailbox packed full. The Sears Catalog folder over on top of itself. I lugged it across the yard and into the house. I pulled off the wrapped and set it down onto the couch. It didn't take me long to find the toy section.

I'd pour over the pages for hours, until it was time for dinner, and then again until bedtime. The potential fun from each toy would capture my imagination. I'd zip through the galaxy with Star Wars action figures. Launch wave after wave of G.I. Joe's into battle against their cobra-headed enemies. Mix up dangerous glowing concoctions in science kits and line up on the grid-iron with a shiny new "Dan Marino" Miami Dolphins football uniform.

Each Christmas I'd realize that Santa wasn't as big of a fan of the Sears Catalog as I was. When our tastes did line up, the real toys were never quite as fun as I'd imagined they would be. (Note to children: spaceship toys will not take you to space - no matter what the catalog pictures suggest)

How often do we fall into the similar trap of focusing the future possibilities in our spiritual lives. Projecting our selves out to a period in our lives when you'll have more time to help others. Have enough financial security to donate to the church, the poor or other worthy causes. Have more time to pray and read about your faith. Be ready to stand up for those who cannot stand up for themselves. Be ready to love our enemies and beg for forgiveness from those we've injured. 

The eternal - it will be perfect when...

The search for the perfect time and method to interact and serve the Divine is futile.  Zen Master Po-Chang equated this search and the overall search for Enlightenment with "riding an ox in search of an ox."

The time to give is now. The time to serve is now. Waiting until a certain event happens to move forward in your spiritual journey will leave you disappointed as an eight year old boy staring down at a Star Wars' fighter and wondering why it doesn't fly.

As Psalm 118 says, "This is the day the Lord has made; let us rejoice in it and be glad."  

Not tomorrow. Not two weeks from tomorrow or two years from tomorrow. Today.


Note: Please bookmark www.ugandaruralfund.org/how-you-can-help/amazon/ and open it when you want to shop on Amazon. Up to 10% of the purchase price of your order will be donated to help educate and care for orphans in Uganda. It's an easy way to make a huge difference in these kids' lives.

The Danger of Division Through Politics

NOTE: I'm as guilty of falling into this trap as everyone else. For all my attempts to avoid the dangers of identity in order to keep my temper under control, some part of me will always be the guy who jumped from a second-story balcony to a third-story balcony on Army-Navy weekend to confront two midshipmen that wouldn't stop bad mouthing West Point.


My two daughters watch Masha and Medved, a Russian cartoon, on Youtube. It's a cheap and easy way to introduce them to another language. More accurately, it's a way for me to feel better about cartoon time while the kids enjoy the universal humor of a toddler girl pestering a massive brown bear throughout the forest.

As regular as the dusk before the dawn, a creepy political ad always comes on before Masha and Medved. It's an incredible statement that our political system is so awash with cash that the advertisers are willing to dump money into changing the opinion of of toddlers who are Russian animation fans.

The ads always target Senator Jon Tester, a grain farmer from Northern Montana, who's represented our state for the last six years in Washington. A deep scary voice chants a list of alleged atrocities while terrifying pictures of Senator Tester slide and morph across the screen.

My girls always yell, "No, not this one again!" But the path to watching Marsha pester Medved winds through forests of political vitriol and hate. There's no fast-forward. Just more manufactured anger adjusted to reflect the latest polls.

The first time one of the advertisements came on, my oldest daughter recognized Senator Tester. I'd had a breakfast meeting with Senator Tester, Holly Petraeus and some other politicians about the challenges predatory lenders pose to military families. It was too early for a sitter so, I brought the girls.

Rectangular tables with white table clothes were laid out in a square pattern in the conference room. I sat on the far side of the square, directly across from Senator Tester. The girls ducked under the table beneath my feet, content to play with their coloring books and dolls.

Everything went well for the first fifteen minutes, but smiles and even a couple of light-hearted waves started appearing despite the somber tone of the conversation. The smiles and waves were directed at the table cloth by my feet. I lifted the table cloth up and bent down. Sure enough there were two little bodies underneath the tablecloth, but their heads were sticking out the other side - making faces at everyone in the room.

Fiona recognized Senator Tester from the ad, but she quickly phased out all the negative talk against him. Unfortunately, I don't know how many adults would do the same. In my job advocating for people with mental illness and their families, I don't have the luxury of listening to the partisan static. I have to get right down to the actual issues. I have to understand the good and the bad of both parties in order to get politicians within those parties to stand with our families.

In fact, the only bill that I've ever personally help draft for Congress was sponsored by both Senator Tester and his opponent Congressman Denny Rehberg. The divisive political ads would tell you that there's nothing they agree on. I know better.

The partisan fighting and ugly campaign tactics are bad for our country, but even more worrisome is they weight they carry on all the souls that buy into the fighting. Negative political ads stimulate fear and anger for the other politician and their supporters. If the campaign is successful, the fear and anger transform in hatred. The hatred behind that vote is a direct contradiction to Jesus's commandment that, "You shall love your neighbor as yourself." Matthew 22:39.

The section of Leviticus that Jesus was quoting is even more on point. "You shall not bear hatred for your brother in your heart. Though you may have to reprove your fellow man, do not incur sin because of him. Take no revenge and cherish no grudge against your fellow countrymen. You shall love your neighbor as yourself." Leviticus 19:17-18.

Based upon that teaching, political campaigns that stir up divisiveness and hatred are toxic to the human soul, regardless of the political party behind them.

In July of 1968, the late Catholic mystic Thomas Merton warned,  "One has to be pretty critical and independent about all ideas. And come to one's own conclusions on the basis of one's own frank experiences. Both the conservatives and the progressives seem to me to be full of the same kind of intolerance, arrogance, empty-headedness, and to be dominated by different kinds of conformism: in either case the dread of being left out of their reference group."

It's not that these issues aren't important. The powers wielded by our policymakers are critical - truly life and death. But the battle for power between interest groups leads to unnatural divisions and antagonism. A deep anger towards your neighbors based upon your interpretation of their views. You don't have to drink that Kool-Aid in order to exercise your responsibility to vote.

As you prepare to head for the polls. Forget about negative ads and political parties. Instead, think about the relationship between the power of government and the Divine.  "The way God acts in governing the world, which bears witness to such great regard for human freedom, should inspire the wisdom of those who govern human communities. They should behave as ministers of divine providence." Catholic Catechism, Section 1884.

Which candidate would behave as the better minister of divine providence. It's a challenging question that brings up several others:

• Which candidate will best protect children (both born and unborn)? 
• Which candidate will be care for our education system charged with helping our students make the most of their divine gifts?
• Which candidate will be protect our country without engaging in unnecessary wars?
• Which candidate will be the best steward for the planet and all that God's created?
• Which candidates will best protect families?
• Which candidate will best balance the interests of businesses and workers?
• Which candidate will best protect the needy, the sick and the disabled?
• Which candidate will keep our cities safe without unnecessary incarceration?

The answers are yours alone, based upon your education and experience. Don't outsource your decision to a political party or media personality; or let anyone else use the voting booth as a tool to insert hatred into your heart. 

Ranger School Recycle's Lesson in Non-Attachment

Spring 2000

I stood in formation in front of the Fourth Ranger Training Battalion Headquarters with around thirty other recycled Ranger candidates from my Ranger School class. Hours before, we'd watched the rest of our classmates board the buses that would carry them towards the Mountain Phase. 

The Ranger Instructors had went home for the night. The sergeant on duty took roll. Everyone was accounted for.

"You're here for three hours. I want you to police the grounds around the headquarters. The sidewalk is your perimeter. Are there any questions?"

Thirty plus sets of eyes scanned across across the headquarters. The perimeter was clear, but the task was not. What in the world were thirty of us going to clean up around the building for three hours? There was a bed of lava rocks around the building and a stretch of grass extending to the sidewalk. At the most, it would have taken one or two people an hour of cleaning maximum.

"Are there any questions?" the young sergeant asked in a harsher tone of voice.

"No, sergeant!" we replied, covering down on the grass looking for misplaced leaves.

In Ranger School, we'd taken each task seriously or paid the price for it. This task was treated with similar focus, but with the addition of some well-needed calories gained over the couple of hours of leave we'd been given earlier in the day. We swarmed like locusts over the landscape: picking up sticks, cigarette butts and errant leaves.

We scoured a loop around the building in half an hour; then did a second loop for good measure. A few of us did a final loop. We got in formation and our unofficial leader headed into the battalion headquarters to ask the sergeant to inspect our work. Everyone in the group was optimistic that we'd be released early or at least given another task.

The sergeant on duty came out of the battalion headquarters. "So you think you're done?"

"Yes, sergeant," we responded.

"What's that?" he snapped, looking from the steps onto the lava rocks.

I bit the inside of my cheeks and strained to see what he'd found.

The sergeant bent over the rock and picked something up. He raised it over his head. I couldn't see anything "A grass seed, right there in the middle of the rocks that you were supposed to clean up. And another, and another. There's grass seeds all over this lawn - not just in the grass where they're supposed to be."

Is he kidding?

"I said that you'll clean this yard for three hours, but let me make myself clear - it could be longer. If I come back here and find grass seeds or dust in these rocks, then it will be longer. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sergeant!"

The duty sergeant went back into the headquarters and our dejected group went back to work. We stood arms' length from each other and cleaned the section of lava rocks in front of us. I knelt down on my hands and knees looking for each loose grass seed or leaf that looked like it was in danger of falling. I tore the leaves up into little bits and placed them with the seeds between stalks of grass on the lawn. Weedy looking seeds and other debris went in my pocket first and then into the garbage.

I pick some of the shiftier rocks up and then reset them so they lay firmer on the comrades. Any visible piece of black plastic was covered by at least two layers of well-placed rocks. The spring crept across the Georgian sky. My always spinning brain ran out of thoughts - good and bad. Depression, anxiety, and creativity punched their cards and called it a day. Bored into submission by the mindless task.

Eventually, the clock spun around three times. We study in formation. The duty sergeant strolled across the grounds. Not looking for anything in particular. He took a look at his watch and said, "You're dismissed for the night."

I wandered back to our quarters realizing that this might have been the first time in my life when I've been given a major task to do and the outcome truly didn't matter. No congratulations or reward for finishing. No, atta-boy. No nothing. It was just over.

It was a textbook-worthy lesson in how to destroy an individual's motivation. Expectancy Theory holds that motivation is a product of the individual's expectation that a certain effort will lead to the intended performance, the instrumentality of this performance to achieving a certain result, and the desirability of this result for the individual. According to that theory, removing the expectation that a certain effort will lead to a certain result is a guaranteed method of destroying someone's motivation. 

The lesson had worked, but it was only the beginning of the de-motivation process. Our group of recycled losers spent the next several weeks digging holes just to dig holes and putting coats of fresh paint over coats of fresh paint. The removal of traditional motivation really wore on a lot of my buddies, but it had the opposite effect on me. I found freedom in focusing on doing a task well without worrying about the outcome.
The efforts of my entire life had been geared towards achieving outcomes. For the span of those weeks between Ranger School cycles, it was clear that life was about participating in tasks - not achieving rewards. My career as an infantry officer was in jeopardy. My loved ones were time zones away. It was rare for a half hour to go by when I wasn't reminded that I was a failure; yet it was one of the happiest times of my life.

The Dalai Lama said that "Attachment is the... cause of suffering." Zen practitioners and Christian mystics would not be surprised that I found happiness in a situation designed to be miserable. The situation severed my attachment to wordly outcomes, a key task in opening oneself up the the Divine. There was no where to go and nothing to achieve. All I could do was work on the task at hand to the best of my ability. When it was time, I'd be given another task. My role was to follow the tasks set out before me - the Way. In the midst of that experience, I realized that was always my role. I'd just never seen it before.

I've struggled to maintain that outlook throughout the years: do the work that needs to be done without worrying about the final outcome. Care for those that need care, love those that need love, stand up for those who could not stand up for themselves. Not letting the drive for success or fear of losing someone prevent me from truly experiencing the task at hand. 

Unfortunately, it's a painful lesson and it seems to always require relearning. As Father Robert E. Kennedy said, "This noble truth so easily falls from the lips, yet it is a lifelong struggle to see things clearly and to free ourselves from deluded and possessive love."

Night Land Navigation and the "Search for Meaning"

Note: Thanks to everyone who sent me messages and cards over the last few months telling me that the book helped them through hard times or asking me to continue writing this blog. It means a lot to me and gives me a reason to keep writing.


The night sky was dark.  The moon and stars covered by clouds. The black shadows of the thick forest in front of me were even darker. I couldn't use the flashlight attached to my hip. The course rules allowed it to only be used for checking the map or "charging up" the glow-in-the dark direction markers on the compass.

The clock was ticking.  Success in night land navigation doesn't only depend on finding the assigned points.  You've got to find them under the allotted time.

I took a step with my left boot, one with my right, and another with my left. "Fifty two, fifty three.." I counted each left step in order to get my pace count.  Sixty four left steps was approximately a hundred meters.  After each hundred meters, I slid a bead from the top to the bottom of my string of "Ranger beads." Three beads lowered on the string meant three hundred meters. Eight beads meant eight hundred meters. The only way to gauge the distance walked over dark terrain..

"Fifty four, fifty five.." Branches against my face, pushing on my fogging classes. I stepped around a bush, then glanced down at the compass. I was a little off. I rotated my body until the magnetic needle matched up to the bezel's luminous line marking 23 degrees, and then continued forward.

"Fifty six, fifty seven.." My left foot didn't find the ground. I fell down and into the darkness. No way to stop the fall. Not knowing if the fall would be six inches or six feet. My stomach pulled up into my throat. Air rushed by my face.

I landed on gravel. Feet dropping awkwardly; the rest of my body spread out forward.  My left knee and elbow stung from the fall. My hands braced against small pebbles. My mind struggled to find comprehend what the change in topography meant.

Was this the dry creek bed? I wasn't expecting to hit it for another eighty meters.Was my pace count off or my azimuth? Or was this a smaller tributary, something that didn't show up on the map?

I pulled the map out from my cargo pocket.  The red lens flashlight glowed over the clear plastic that encased the map. I was looking for a grid coordinate that was about ten meters from the dry creek bed.  This dry ditch looked like the dry creek bed on the map, but if my direction was off then... I stopped my mind from running down the list of negative possibilities. Assume this is right and work from there.

I couldn't see the glowing destination point from my location. I set an western azimuth along the dry creek bed and then moved forward fifteen steps. Scanning the darkness to my left. Shadows danced in and out of my view, but no light. The destination point would be marked by a partially unwrapped green glow stick. I strained my eyes out into the darkness. Still nothing.

I looked down at my compass and set a reverse azimuth one hundred eighty degrees from where I'd come. I took fifteen steps back to where I'd come. I tried to calm myself. Slow down.  Don't lengthen the steps beyond what I'd taken to get here.

Then fifteen more steps in the other direction of the dry creek bed. The section I hadn't traveled yet. My eyes fought through the darkness trying to find the light. My pulse quickened. I had to be close. The map said it would be about ten meters from the creek bed.

"What if the glowstick fell off the destination point?" The thought was so tangible in my head that it could have been whispered.

Focus on the task. Darkness, compass, map - all I needed to find where I was going. No room for doubt.

"What if the glowstick fell off the destination point? It was probably attached with a little parachute cord and tape. Wouldn't take much to slip loose."

My eyes scanned the night in front of me. Darkness and shadows. I looked to my right. Darkness and shadows. I looked to my left. Still nothing.

"If the glowstick's still in it's wrapper and fell on the ground, then you'll never be able to see it. You're wasting your time.  Go onto the next point."


In all of the night land navigation courses I'd been on, I'd never had the glowstick fall of the point I was looking for, but the thought haunted me all the same. There was more than one time that I'd given up on finding a point, but I always found out later that other people that had found it. The destination was always there and I had the basic physicals tools I needed to find it - the mental part was a whole other ballgame.

Nothing is more toxic than losing faith in your goal, in your purpose. Dr. Viktor Frankl delves deep into this truth in his book, Man's Search for Meaning. The book describes Dr. Frankl's struggle for survival during his three years in Auschwitz and other Nazi concentration camps. In the harshest of circumstances, Dr. Frankl learned critical lessons about the necessity of purpose to human existence.

The prisoner who lost faith in the future - his future - was doomed. With his loss of belief in the future, he also lost his spiritual hold; he let himself decline and became subject to mental and physical decay.

Dr. Frankl's lesson extends beyond the boundaries of the concentration camp into everyday reality. Each of us has to face down the question of our meaning. Why are we hear? The broadest form of this question is a tenet of faith and it is hard to retain a firm grasp on amid the life's difficult, changing circumstances.

We must focus on the meaning of each moment, each situation. What am I challenged by life to do now? Father Robert E. Kennedy describes this dynamic in Zen Spirit, Christian Spirit. "[W]e do not know God's will. We do know that we are to serve, forgive, and be compassionate to one another, but how practically we are to do these things is only revealed to us moment by moment as the circumstances of our lives evolve."

Dr. Frankl provides specific guidance in how to find the meaning in each moment, each situation:

 [T]here are three main avenues on which one arrives at meaning in life. The first is by creating a work or doing a deed. The second is by experiencing something or encountering someone; in other words meaning can be found not only in work but in love.... Most important, however, is the third avenue to meaning in life: even the helpless victim of a hopeless situation, facing a fate he cannot change, may rise above himself, may grow beyond himself, and may by doing so change himself. He may turn a personal tragedy into a triumph.

The purpose is there. It may not be in the place we expect or even in the direction that we're looking, but it's there. It's just a matter of opening our eyes to reality and the tools we have to confront it.


Note: Dr. Frankl had another quote that I couldn't figure out how to work in, but I thought it was too important to leave out. "Live as if you were living already for the second time and as if you had acted the first time as wrongly as you are about to act now!"

Crippling Self Protection

In the end of May 2000, I ran down Mount Yonah with a seventy pound pack on my back and a 240B machine gun in my hands. My squad was at the end of the line of Ranger School candidates traipsing down the mountain to the bus waiting to take us back to Camp Merrill near Dahlonega, Georgia.

My black combat boots land hard on the broken trail. My often-injured ankles had gotten worse and worse throughout the training so I paid close on the ground beneath me wary of a rock or root. I looked up for a moment at the man in front of me to make sure that I wasn't too close to him or in danger of falling back.

I don't know if I landed on something or if my injured left ankle just flopped inward on it's own. Either way, the outside edge of the sole of my boot struck the path first and my ankle snapped. Ligaments and tendons tore under the pressure. A sharp pain tore through my body. I landed hard on the forest floor.

My classmates helped me up. I grabbed my weapon, put on my pack, and hopped on my right leg back down the trail. Two days later, my right knee gave out from the added stress of dragging around my left leg.

The knee healed on its own. The swelling in the ankle didn't go down for months. The podiatrist didn't think I'd ever walk again without a brace. Eventually I did. Surgery followed and then hours of physical therapy. After a few years of healing, I was even able to hike and go on the occasional run, wrapped in protective braces.

But by the summer of 2005, a constant pain had returned to my ankle. It was getting hard to walk. I'd seen VA doctor in the spring, but the only surgical option remaining was to fuse the ankle bones together. I wanted to avoid that at all possible costs, so I wore my brace more often and began to shop for canes. Slowly getting used to that new reality.

One day, I read a newspaper article about barefoot running, and then I saw a similar article in an outdoor magazine. The proponents of barefoot running described how all of the protection of modern shoes, ankle braces, etc. were actually help injure feet and joints by forcing unnatural movements and preventing ankles from developing natural stability on their own. Pavel Tsatsouline, the Russian fitness guru whose inspired the kettlebell explosion, made similar arguments about the dangers of overprotective footwear in his books.

That summer I began working out with barefeet. It wasn't much of a start. Just a few runs on a sandy dirt road below the Elkhorn Mountains. Soon after, I picked up a pare of Vibram Five Fingers to allow me to bring barefoot-style workouts in the gym. It's hard to overstate how much my injured ankle improved when I quit wearing the shoes and braces that were designed to protect them.

The day-to-day pain almost completely went away. Beyond walking without a limp, I was able to activities that I'd resigned myself to never being able to do again. I still have to be careful about overworking that ankle. It'll never be quite the same that it was, but it's been several years since I walked in a store and sized up canes. That wouldn't have been the case if I hadn't decided to stop using some of the protections that I thought were essential.

It's hard to imagine how many times I've had to relearn that lesson in my life and I continue to relearn it. Every injury, great or small, creates a defense mechanism. It doesn't take long for that defense mechanism to become more dangerous than the injury it was designed to prevent.

How many times have we isolated ourselves to protect our hearts. Over-planned our lives to protect from the unexpected. Walled off our faith to protect from it from hurtful challenges and judgments. Numbed ourselves to hide from guilt and grief.

At some point, we have to stop. To put down our guard and experience life - pain and all.

                                                                     ****

William James - "It is only by risking ourselves from one hour to another that we live at all."


NOTE: Please consider making a donation to my team at Montana's NAMIWalk to help us support, educate, and advocate for people who live with serious mental illness and their families. I'm biased, but I really believe it's a great cause. http://namiwalks.nami.org/mattkuntz Thank you!

Reflections Hiding the Depths

I stood on three inches of inflatable surfboard above the Missouri River. My shirt and shorts dripped from falling off before I got the board's air pressure right. The paddle in my hands and the current below pushed forward along of the seven and a half miles from Holter Dam towards Craig Bridge. 

Mountains rise up on each side of the river. They're covered by a mix of dark pine trees, jagged gray cliffs, and prairie grasses. Pelicans fly sorties over fly fisherman. The river reflects the image of mountains as dark curtains opening up to the reflection of the scattered clouds above. Eddies bob and swirl atop the reflected mountains and sky.

The water is deep and slow at the beginning of the float. The current barely moves.  The Missouri's depth hides the bottom from view. The river grows shallower as it crosses around the bend.  The sun pushes through the clouds to illuminate the rocks, sand and weed beds beneath the water's surface. Rainbow and brown trout chase each other across my field of vision.

The sun pulls back behind a cloud. The river bottom disappears as the surface of the Missouri regains the reflection of the sky and mountains above. The wind comes up from the north.  Ripples rise over the water.  The board  shifts under me. I struggle to paddle against the headwind. My legs quiver. My muscles in my back strain with each stroke.

The combination of wind and clouds hid my view of the depths below. It didn't matter. The awkward combination of trying to balance on a shifting board while paddling had my full attention. The river could have turned neon green and I might not have noticed.


Then the wind calmed, the sun slipped out from the clouds. My gaze returned to the river bottom and the fish that danced above it. The sun, the clouds, the depth, and the wind continued to shift my view of the river from reflection of sky, to inky blue, and then greenish river bottom. 


By the end of the ride, I was thinking about how similar those changing views are of our views on life and sacred reality. There are moments in life where it is nearly impossible not to see the outline of the Divine Hand. There are also moments, hours, weeks, and even months where the view is obscured by the distractions of life and the tasks at hand. 

These varying levels of spiritual insight are natural part of the Way and there can be a tremendous amount of power in the moments our vision stops at the surface. The letters of Mother Theresa of Calcutta demonstrate that this incredible woman of faith lived in spiritual darkness from the founding of her Missionaries of Charity in 1949 until her death in 1997. Mother Theresa's struggle to maintain her faith against the darkness was one of the most inspiring acts of spiritual endurance of the 20th century.

Most of us will not experience the darkness of the spiritual struggle on anywhere near the level of a mystic like Mother Theresa, but we will all experience it.  We need to see that darkness that spiritual blindness as an opportunity to demonstrate our faith. To continue forward against the challenges until we fight ourselves back beneath the glow of the Creator's divine light.

For without spiritual darkness, we would never be able to demonstrate that we meet the standard Jesus described in John: 20:31, "Blessed are those who have not seen and have believed."


NOTE: I wanted to include one more quote from Mother Theresa, but couldn't figure out a way to tie it into the post. "My dear children - without our suffering, our work would just be social work, very good and helpful, but it would not be the work of Jesus Christ, not part of the redemption." What a remarkable woman. You can read more about her spiritual struggle in the book Mother Teresa: Come Be My Light.

If you have a minute, please sign/share this web petition to the Secretary of the Army John McHugh to help injured soldiers access service dogs. Your help could make a big difference. Thank you!

Working Amid The Overwhelming Tide: The Oysters' Lesson

NOTE: This post is dedicated to John Cox. I am honored to have called him a friend and colleague. He did an amazing amount of good.




A woman walked into the NAMI Montana office yesterday looking for legal help. We don't provide legal services, but we do refer people to other entities that might be able help. Unfortunately, I realized after a few minutes of talking to the woman that she would never get the justice she sought.


She was disabled and couldn't afford an attorney. She'd already talked with the federally-supported legal services and her case was outside the case the scope of their work.  The case was too complex and causation too difficult to prove for it to appeal to attorneys working pro bono or on a contingency basis.


All I could do was try to be supportive and as helpful as possible. The woman was born into a family torn by serious mental illness. She'd grown up in trauma. A major accident permanently crippled her and left her addicted to painkillers. The story continued. All I could do for her is listen, try to provide some kindness to relieve her pain, and leave her with a silent prayer at the elevator.


The last two and a half weeks have been difficult. While my life has been blessedly calm, the magnitude of the suffering of people that I love and care about has been tremendous. My friends, colleagues, and family have experienced a death, continued grief over another death, a suicide attempt, an incarceration, persecution by military over a hidden wound, and more.


Our extended family experienced one miracle - our newest member's kidneys became fully functional after a number of tests before and immediately after his birth said that either one or both kidneys would never work. It was an amazing prayer-filled event, but it's hard not to question why one life experiences a miracle while another is called home to their creator.


These are powerful currents of suffering and pain, buffeting all in their path. Dark waters churning and pushing against our hearts. Overwhelming our ability to help. Asking us, what are we going to do when confronted with someone's pain that is outside of our ability to fix it?


I think the the natural world provides a parallel. Oysters and mussels survive in some of the most contaminated waters in the world. They anchor themselves to something powerful and then go to work cleaning the water around them. They filter the dirt and toxins through their own body using the nutrients to sustain themselves. 


The oyster does not focus on the magnitude of all the water that surrounds it. It simply serves it purpose, quietly filtering between 25 and 50 gallons of water a day. Individually, that isn't a lot; but a population of oysters can rebuild massive estuary ecosystems. The effect of the cumulative efforts of these humble little animals can be astonishing - well beyond the oyster's ability to perceive.


We need to follow the oyster's example. Anchor ourselves onto something powerful (Faith) and then humbly do as much good as we can each day by serving others. As described in the First Epistle of Peter, "Above all, keep loving one another earnestly, since love covers a multitude of sins. Show hospitality to one another without grumbling. As each has received a gift, use it to serve one another, as good stewards of God's varied grace: whoever speaks, as one who speaks oracles of God; whoever serves, as one who serves by the strength that God supplies—in order that in everything God may be glorified through Jesus Christ." 1 Peter 4:8-11 

We must expect not to be able to relieve all of the suffering that we encounter, but know that we can relieve some of it and set ourselves to that task. 

Rainy Day Push and a Message to Lincoln

A good friend challenged the view of time and destiny that I described in some of my earlier posts. She said that God didn't have a "secret plan" for people because that would attack our free will and free will is one of the basic tenets of human existence.

I don't consider myself to be much of a philosopher so there's no way I'm going to argue against one of the basic tenets of human existence; but I don't think that our situation is always determined by our actions and the chaos of the world either. To use a pinball metaphor, sometimes the Divine tilts the table.


This was one of those times...


October of 2008

I was agitated. I paced around my small office in NAMI Montana's two-room headquarters. The clock on the wall had passed three o'clock. I had a lot to do, but it was getting harder and harder to concentrate. A cold rain poured down outside and our old building's heater were running double duty to keep up. That turned the interior offices, like ours, into steam baths.

I tried to work, refocused, then tried to work again. My mind was barely plodding along. It was hopeless. Eventually, I gave up and walked across the street to Starbucks for a coffee. I was hopeful that a dose of caffeine and some rain on my face would help salvage the remains of the day. I placed my order and then heard someone call my name.

It was Andrew Person, Senator Max Baucus Veterans' Liaison in D.C. We'd met that summer when Andrew had had a listening session for some of the local veterans advocates.

Andrew said that he saw the article about how I'd meet with Barrack Obama while he'd made a campaign stop in Billings.  During the meeting, then-candidate Obama had promised to expand the face-to-face mental health screening program developed in Montana after my step-brother's death across the fighting force. Obama explained that we'd still need to find a way to get Congress to fund the program.

"That's awesome," Andrew said. He's a combat veteran with first-hand knowledge of the need for face-to-face screenings to help men and women in uniform get the help that that they need.

The barista put our coffees on the counter during the conversation. Before going our separate ways, Andrew said, "We should find a way to do some legislation together."

February of 2009

I walked out the doors of the Hart Senate Office Building in Washington D.C. Frigid air greeted me. I was still in awe, but some how managed to put on my gloves and hat.

I took a right towards the National Mall. My feet carried me onward past the towering Washington Monument and the frozen reflecting pool. Only a few minutes before, I'd heard Andrew Person say that he thought we had enough for a bill draft. He'd turn it into the Senate staff and let me finalize it.

I walked up the steps of the Lincoln Memorial and tried to envision where Reverend Martin Luther King had told the world about his dream. I looked up at the statue of President Lincoln. Warm tears ran down my cold cheeks. I didn't know why I was there.

Words came to my lips. "It still works. The country that you died for still works. It's not perfect, but we can still work together to right wrongs."

It had been less than two year's since my stepbrother's death from a PTSD suicide. The grief and anger were still raw, but Congress had begun the process to make sure that the lessons learned from his death would go on to help save the lives of his comrades in arms across the United States military.

I stood there and cried at the base of the monument. I've never in my life felt like such a bit player in a larger plan. None of this would have happened if I hadn't been driven from my office that afternoon by an overworking furnace at the exact time that Andrew was walking into the coffee place across the street.

I know that others will be able to find another explanation for that chain of events, but for me it was a pretty obvious divine shove.

"I will instruct you and show you the way you should walk, give you counsel and watch over you." Psalms 32:8


Note: I had a song going through my head on the way to the Lincoln Memorial. It was "Walk on the Moon" by Great Big Sea. It's a nice boost of encouragement for when the Divine puts you up against a seemingly overwhelming task. Here's a link to the video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OXoalnqD7z4

A Lesson in Love: "Yona, I Can't Hear You?"

I have two daughters. Fiona is almost four and Rowan is two and a half. They share a room upstairs together. Fiona sleeps against one wall. Rowan sleeps across the room against the far wall. Rowan pronounces her sister's name as "Yona."

Rowan called out last night at about 4:30 a.m. "Yona? Yona?"

Silence in the dark room.

"Yona? Yona? I can't hear you Yona!"

"What Rowan?" her sister replied in a soft sleepy voice.

"I love you Yona."

"I love you too," Fiona replied.

Then it was quiet again.


I lay in bed thinking about the sweet, gentle, yet urgent proclamation of love that I'd just heard. At that moment, the most important thing in Rowan's world was telling her sister that she loved her. It couldn't wait until morning. The message was too important.

The world is full of spiritual traditions and philosophies, but they are only an accurate reflection of the Divine when rooted in love. For Christians, the first letter of John provides the clearest statement of this. "God is love, and whoever remains in love remains in God and God in him." 1 John 4:16. And the inverse, "Whoever is without love does not know God, for God is love." 1 John 4:8.

In a confusing world with challenging ethical and emotional problems, Jesus's simple message to "love one another" can be very hard to follow. John 15:17

When confused or lost, it's time to follow Rowan's example and make a simple, gentle, and urgent expression of love for another. It's our most essential task.

NOTE: Please check out the Looking for Answers Through Dirty Glasses book. It's available on Amazon. The Kindle version is free if you have Amazon Prime.

The Greatest Form of Evangelization: The Last Paragraph of An Obituary

I've been personally evangelized to by a people of a variety of different faiths. Some are friends who bring up conversion over coffee. Other holler scripture from the corner as I drive my girls home from daycare.

I've listened to or read some of the greatest proselytizers around, regardless of whether I shared their viewpoint. Many of them I've learned lot from, some I have not; although that's probably more my fault than any flaw in the person or their message.

One form of evangelization always has a deep impact on me. It comes at the end of an obituary of someone that I really admire. The simple statement of where the family will be holding the funeral. That statement usually tells me what religion and pastors helped developed that incredible person. I can't imagine a more powerful testament to the organization's message and process.

In my interpretation, Jesus seems to recommend a similar method of choosing between evangelists in Matthew: 15-20.

Beware of false prophets, who come to you in sheep's clothing, but underneath are ravenous wolves. By their fruits you will know them. Do people pick grapes from thornbushes, or figs from thistles? Just so, every good tree bears good fruit and a rotten tree bears bad fruit. A good tree cannot bear bad fruit, nor can a rotten tree bear good fruit. Every tree that does not bear good fruit will be cut down and thrown into the fire. So by their fruits you will know them.

The good churches will bear good fruits in their parishioners. While their may be outliers, in general the parishioners should be doing their best to "Live as children of the light...[which] produces every kind of goodness and righteousness and truth." Ephesians: 5:8-9.


Last week I read the obituary of my friend Bill Beaman. Bill was one of my friend's fathers that I got to know while working together to help advocate for better care for returning veterans post traumatic stress injuries. While I did not know him as well as many people, I knew Bill well enough to know that he was an amazing man. He was compassionate and humble with a genuine presence of goodness. His obituary described how the retired colonel faced death "with a soldier's courage and his own personal sense of grace."

I wish that I had better words to describe Bill. But, I can clearly state that it's hard to imagine a better testament to Helena's Saint Peter's Episcopal Church than it helped guide the life and principles of Bill Beaman.


NOTE: Please share the book, Looking for Answers Through Dirty Glasses: Finding the Divine in a Challenging World, with a friend that is going through a hard time. It's less than $9 in soft cover and 99 cents on Kindle. 

Dark Night: What An Incredible Time to Be Alive

Helena, Montana's night opens up from my doorstep. Inside the door, the girls have gone to bed and the house is quiet. Outside, the sky is dark. Stars glitter and the moon beams through scattered clouds. An airplane passes overhead. Church bells ring through the chill air.

The porch looks out over Last Chance Gulch, the heart of the miner's camp that grew into a state capitol.  A fire tower stands on the other side of the gulch, a relic of fires that marred the town's early days. Cars pass beneath it. Lovers coming home from a date. Wild ones heading out to the bars.

I see the homes of the rich and government-subsidized housing. There is police station and county jail , along with a library, my daughter's preschool, and a number of businesses and  and a state office building. To the south, the buildings give way to the mountains and pines of the Helena National Forest.

There are grander views in this state, in this town, and even on my block; but this view captures me every time. From this porch, I see the past giving way to the future. Good tugging against evil. Nature pushing back against civilization. Knowledge overcoming ignorance. It's impossible not to get lost in the grandeur of all that humanity.

The Catholic martyr Oscar Romero said, "God and human beings make history." What incredible glory and responsibility lie in those simple words. Each human being acts as a water molecule in the divine river of history. Each sacred. Each essential. Each a part of something greater. Each called to use our God-given abilities to serve our fellow human beings (1 Peter 4:10 "As each one has received a gift, use it to serve one another as good stewards of God's varied grace.")

We've been chosen to participate in a pretty incredible part of history. According to the United Nations, there are over 7 billion people living on the planet today. There were only 4 billion in the mid-1970's when I was born. Those 7 billion people are connected in ways that could not have been imagined even fifteen years ago.

From a numbers perspective, we get to play the game of history while there are more chips on the table than there ever has been before. The stakes are higher. We are going to face resource constraints and health issues of epic proportions. More people will say "I'm hungry" and "I'm sick" over the course of the next few decade than ever have combined during the span human existence. To top that off, we are living in a world full of weapons that could kill us all several times over. The challenges are real and terrifying.

Yet, each of those crises will present an incredible opportunity for us to serve each other and it's never been easier to do good. We can punch in five digits in our phone and donate a meal for a family of refugees halfway across the world. We can spread a message of hope and faith to hundreds, even thousand of people in an instant. We can serve our families, our communities and the world in ways our ancestors couldn't even have dreamed of.

What an incredible time to be chosen to be alive.


NOTE: The Kindle version of Looking for Answers Through Dirty Glasses: Finding the Divine in a Challenging World is only 99 cents on Amazon or free if you're a member of Amazon Prime. I hope you like it.