The Allure of Cowardice

A great American poet once sang:

"I'm not a coward I just never been tested
I like to think that if I was I would pass
Look at the tested and think there but for grace go I
Might be a coward I'm just afraid of what I might find out"

Ok, maybe the Mighty Mighty Bosstones aren't exactly what you think of when I read "great American poet," but hey, me still likes the ska, and besides, the tune takes me back to high school. Moreover, this is the lyric that comes to mind whenever I reflect on the Costa Concordia disaster and the cowardice of her fleeing captain.

From his cringe-inducing dialogue with the Italian Coast Guard to eye-witness reports, it looks like Captain Francesco Schettino was tested and did not pass. His cowardice was shameful in and of itself and all the more so if it cost additional lives. His actions are deplorable, and we can all hope that he'll face the appropriate legal and professional consequences. Yet, as we rush to condemn, joke, or muster up talk-show host outrage, we should keep in mind that we may one day be tested as well. We should be careful with our judgments.

Cowardice is an ugly vice, especially when we look at it from the outside. But when we face the choice between self-preservation and self-sacrifice, self-preservation can look smart, wise and even beautiful. Have you ever been in that situation? I know I have. Nothing as dramatic as a sinking boat, of course. It could be as benign as lying to a colleague or a family member to hide your own mistakes, or avoiding confrontation someone who is stronger than you. Even when it means refusing to do what's right, it's alluring to protect body, dignity and reputation. The boat begins to shift and break and suddenly the lifeboat makes more sense than all those things we learned in Sunday School. Like most everything else we call sin, it's ugly, but in some perverse place that's very natural to us, it's understandable.

Of course, I know some people who are naturally courageous. They make the best sea captains and soldiers, police officers and pastors, not to mention any other career that involves confrontation and risk. If this describes you, then know that I envy you. C.S. Lewis wrote somewhere that courage is the virtue that enables all of the other virtues. You have a shorter path to self-sacrificial love. For the rest of us, the Costa Concordia tragedy is a call for reflection: what would we have done? Would we have elbowed aside the old and the young for a place in the lifeboats? Or would we have risked our necks so that others wouldn't have had to? More to the point, are we avoiding commitments, confrontation, responsibility or love out of fear, and what can we do to overcome this?

I have a few ideas. First, be honest with yourself. I'm an expert at rationalization. It's not good to allow cowardice to hide behind intellect. The truth is our friend, and the sooner we look it in the eye (an act of courage itself, albeit a private one), the better.

Second, friendship is a great help here. I know most guys have a story from school or university where, having confessed our fears to ask a girl out, our friends egg us on and encourage us to make the step. The same thing can happen with any of the circumstances I described earlier. Have safe friends where, between beers and laughs, you can talk about the places where fear has us trapped. Cowardice is weaker against numbers.

Finally, Christianity has a great thing called repentance. If we've given in to cowardice, sometimes it's too late to undo it. Other times, we just can't go through with what we ought to do due to fear. In both instances, we can take frightened hearts to the Cross of Christ. There's a great old hymn called "Rock of Ages," where the choir sings to Christ to "be of sin the double cure, cleanse me from it's guilt and power." If cowardice is too big to crawl out of on your own strength, well, Jesus died on the cross to break sin's power over us. You can confess your sins to Jesus, and he will help you grow in courage. Second, if the guilt of a cowardly act is stuck in your soul like a bee sting, well, Jesus died on the cross to take our guilt as well. Repent and believe the Good News, follow him, and grow in courage. After all, if sacrificial love is the most excellent example is courage, then what is more courageous than the cross?

Nones and Lovers

I've been wanting to write about Eric Weiner's New York Times column on Americans and God since it came out in December, but I've been busy doing other things, like trying to work for a living and thinking up warm-weather holiday songs. And the truth is, I wanted to give it some thought, because I think it's worth responding to as a Christian. Weiner represents a form of non-belief that is probably more prevalent than the faith of convinced atheism. He's undecided, a self-described "None." What's a None? Well, here:

We Nones may not believe in God, but we hope to one day. We have a dog in this hunt. Nones don’t get hung up on whether a religion is “true” or not, and instead subscribe to William James’s maxim that “truth is what works.” If a certain spiritual practice makes us better people — more loving, less angry — then it is necessarily good, and by extension “true.” (We believe that G. K. Chesterton got it right when he said: “It is the test of a good religion whether you can joke about it.”) 

I suspect that Nones number even more than the increasing number of people who check "none" on the surveys. I bet that many who cross "Catholic" or "Protestant" or "Muslim" or whatever belief are practical Nones, the cultural inheritors of a religious faith without significant bearing on their thoughts, decisions or prayers.

Weiner's "Noneness" is more nuanced than the None who just hasn't thought much about the afterlife between work and family and recreation. After a "health scare", this "rationalist" began to explore faith. In doing so, he went on a literal spiritual journey, traveling the world to sample the varieties of religious experience, which he chronicled in his book Man Seeks God: My Flirtation with the Divine. At this point, I should make clear that I haven't read Weiner's book, and answers to the questions and criticisms  I'm about to write may be found there. Nevertheless, his Times column has made a statement about the Nones' view of religion in America, and it's worth addressing.

For starters, let me say "amen" to the None's strong discomfort with the cross-pollination of piety and politics. While there have been times when the church should have done much more (I don't think Weiner would argue with Dr. King here), and I've wrote here before how unimpressed I was by large Christian gatherings using lots of (self-serving?) superlatives in their marketing. It's the sort of thing that would have made me want to clutch Noneness like a life-preserver had I not already been spoken for.

Weiner himself thinks humor is important, and I agree with him (note my heading). He thinks that "precious few of our religious leaders laugh. They shout." Yes, I hear them shouting too. I hear them shouting every time CNN talks to the latest loudmouth to draw a crowd or some doomsday prophet gets much more media attention than they deserve. But I can testify that while every church will have its sour-faced mice, much laughter can be heard between the pews. I grew up in a laughing family, surrounding by laughing people, and all of them thought you could know the Lord personally and would be happy to talk about it. We Christians run the whole gamut of emotions if you take the time to get to know us. In fact, I'm going to go out on a limb and disagree with Weiner's Chesterton quote: "It is the test of a good religion whether you can joke about it." Well, every religion can be joked about, and the best jokes come from within the ranks. Rather, it is the individual's jokes that are the test of his own character. Are they capable of joking? And when they do, is it in the right time and place for the best effect? Or are their jokes there for reasons of poison, to prey on the innocent and to build themselves up at others' expense? As some religious guy wrote somewhere, for everything there is a season. If you're a None genuinely seeking God and you visit a church that seems incapable of humor (and I've been there), give it one more week to make sure that your perceptions aren't clouded by a bias against the kind of people who show up there every Sunday (I have to watch myself there too). But once it's proven that the jokes are either unavailable or inappropriate, run (don't walk) to the exit. Bad humor's a good reason to find another church, but it's be a poor reason to try and put distance between yourself and God.

If Weiner has distance between himself and God, humorless blowhards have contributed to it. He needs a new kind of religious leader. He writes:

The answer, I think, lies in the sort of entrepreneurial spirit that has long defined America, including religious America. 

We need a Steve Jobs of religion. Someone (or ones) who can invent not a new religion but, rather, a new way of being religious. Like Mr. Jobs’s creations, this new way would be straightforward and unencumbered and absolutely intuitive. Most important, it would be highly interactive. I imagine a religious space that celebrates doubt, encourages experimentation and allows one to utter the word God without embarrassment. A religious operating system for the Nones among us. And for all of us.

A Steve Jobs' of religion... sounds nice doesn't it? It sounded nice to me until I began to unpack the analogy. I'm a fan of Apple products, and I am using one to write this blog post. But as sleek, hip and user-friendly as they are, they aren't for everyone, as Microsoft's "I'm a PC" commercial slyly picked up on. Weiner's religious space wouldn't be something for all of us. It would be one more niche in a crowded market. Furthermore, high-technology is effective to the point that it is individualized, that I can sit alone in my computer which is my own electronic kingdom, filled with my apps and my favorites and my bookmarks and social networking sites where I can pay attention and ignore people at my own leisure without fear of boredom, pain or small talk. It's straightforward, unencumbered, intuitive and interactive because it's mine, made in my image and serving my purposes and, for the small price of targeted advertisement, I can be as spiritual and unspiritual as I want, I can experiment, celebrate my doubt or my faith with no book or leader to tell me that I might be in any way off base (and if they do, I can simply delete their comment). I can utter whatever the hell I want, because as far as I'm concerned, I'm alone.

Christianity, to my daily dismay and glory, has a different user experience. It involves other people. I go into a church and I sing songs and say prayers and listen to words with all sorts of people. People with the wrong politics, the wrong interpretations, the wrong family traditions, the wrong styles, the wrong jokes. Their flawed behavior is rarely intuitive and often encumbers me. It's interactive, alright, but the interaction involves me putting aside my desires and agendas to meet other people where they are. It can be very tedious and often takes years to fully feel like part of a Fellowship (and having recently moved, I'm feeling these bruises once again), but it is well worth it. To sing and pray together with someone else in the presence of Almighty God... to have actually done that makes it worth it to come back and drink from the fountain, again and again. Weiner contrasts the private and public nature of religion, but his conclusions are too individualistic. Spirituality is private and public, yes, but knowing God is a communal experience - it's community with Him and with everyone else who has taken the plunge. It's there that we "become more loving" and experience "human grace."

I sympathize with the Nones' desire to remain outside all of this. I sympathize, because I detect something in them that I know in myself: a fear of commitment. Let me explain by way of politics. I confess that I find it difficult to commit to a particular political viewpoint. While living in Washington, I knew people who delighted in this commitment. They had strong politics, and they could argue them so well that I would be convinced until I talked with my next friend who had a different view. Everyone was right, and they could prove it. Moreover, the incivility and ill-humor of our political leaders and the media's appetite for scandal and provocation makes me feel about politics the same way Weiner feels about religion. But at the end of the day, I have to vote. I have to check the box next to the candidate I think is best and which statue or bill sounds the most reasonable. If I don't participate, my voice is completely marginalized and I miss out on the privileges of representative democracy.

Much like politics, religions have their loud blowhards and people who take what I feel is an uncomfortable delight in having strong opinions. But the responsibility for my participation does not rest on them - it rests on me. Commitment to God is less like buying an iPad and more like getting married. It's all encompassing, and we don't get to sever our ties when confronted with suffering, discomfort, other people or the fact that it's often us that needs changing. But the reward, and Christianity's key selling point, if you will, is love. Indeed, the Bible says that God himself is love and that all of God's law is summed up in loving God and loving each other. We're invited into this love through an act of love. Jesus died on a cross 2000 years ago that we may experience God's love through communion and fellowship with him, even when we're humorless blowhards with bad politics. The question then, is not whether we have the right operating system. It's whether we embrace Love or none.

Germany's Next Top President!

Everyone back home in the good ol' USA is on the edge of their seats, watching the state by state results of the presidential primaries, but here in Germany, we've got some presidential problems of our own. The Republican candidates are going out of the way besmirch the President's and each others' credibility, dragging each other through the pigsty of dirty politics, half truths, contradictions and comparisons to a horrible-sounding place called Europe. Meanwhile, Germany's own President has jumped in the mud himself, and the media is piling it on.

Now, wait, you might say - isn't Germany's President that yellow-haired woman who keeps dragging her feet every time it's time to bail out a Mediterranean country? Nope! That's actually Germany's Chancellor, and she's the one with the real power. Germany's President is more of a Ceremonial figure-Head of State who gets to make speeches and sign legislation. The current President is one Christian Wulff, who, while governor of one of Germany's states, evidently accepted a cheap loan from a friend. A bit slimy, but slimier still when he threatened the Bildzeitung with "war" should they publish the story. This enraged the rest of the media so much that they united in calling for his head and focused their esteemed pages on the President instead of more important things, like the possible economic collapse of the Eurozone and play-by-play reports of "Jungle Camp," a c-celebrity, eye-candy reality TV show (ok, at least they saved room for that). Thus, if the German media get their way, Wulff will admit that he is no longer honorable enough to hold the post and step down.

The question, of course, is who would fill the vacancy. Well, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls of all ages and socioeconomic backgrounds, I am happy to announce my candidacy! With your help (especially if you happen to be part of the Federal Commission), I'll be the most honorable President the Federal Republic of Germany has ever seen. I look forward to being a figurehead - smiling, signing things, giving speeches and taking people to lunch while everyone else works to keep the Euro from unraveling. It's a tough job, but, as they say, somebody's gotta do it.

Now, let's discuss my qualifications:

1. Great hair - Thanks to my Italian barber, my hair is both honorable and presidential. 
2. Speeches - I give great speeches. For evidence of this, let me submit my "Toast to the Lassies," which I gave at my Scottish friend's Robert Burns Supper. 
3. Political openness - I will happily represent whichever honorable party chooses to nominate me, and take their advice in choosing judges and things like that (Again, I'm much better at the ceremonial parts of the position. I'll leave the important parts of the job, especially if it requires research, to my staff). The phrase "honorable party" excludes both the extreme right and the extreme left. However, I look great in black, red, yellow, green or pirate. (Herr Kretschmann, rufen Sie mich an - ich habe Zeit!) 
4. Experience with Foreign Dignitaries - The Federal President has an important role in welcoming dignitaries before they get down to business with Madame Chancellor. Hey, that's exactly what I did during my internship in DC! Score! 

Now, I anticipate some drawbacks. You might be saying, "Um, Mr. Un Till, the Federal President must be German and older than 40. You are neither." Well, let me respond to these uncivil accusations. 

First, let me address the age thing. Yes, it's true, I am not yet "over the hill" as they say. But, having a child has aged me at least ten years. Now that I'm a dad, I go to bed early, wake up early and avoid fast food. Moreover, I've become irritable, especially after 8:30pm. I've never listened to Justin Bieber, Katy Perry or Bon Iver, and I think most of the new technology out there, what with the fancy touch screens and portable readers and Facebook timelines, is strange and intimidating. I may not have a gray hair on my pretty little head, but trust me when I write this: I am old at heart. 

Now, the citizenship thing is a bit more complicated. But I did have a German (though a big part Estonian) Gramma, and I'm married to a German girl and I have a half-German daughter. In any case, this is another good reason for the German and American governments to follow the Economist's advice and and allow me to have two passports. 

So, what do you think? Will you join my campaign to restore honor to the Presidency?

Two questions - I realize one of the perks is a mansion in Berlin, but my wife is a Swabian, and from what I've read, her kind is not welcome there. Can we move things to Stuttgart?

Second, how's the pay?

Notes on a Funeral

1. The Deceased

On December 30th at the age of 90, Oma Lore died. My wife's grandmother was the last remaining on either side of the family. Here is what I wrote about her in an email informing my parents' of this significant event.

I wanted to let you know that [my wife's] grandmother (and [my daughter']s Uroma) went to be with the Lord last night. She passed away in the apartment below us while we were fast asleep after our weary travels. She leaves a big hole in all of our lives - she always reminded me of our Granny, sweet and devout, someone who allowed Christianity to work in her heart her entire life so that she truly loved and treated people well, even as she didn't now who they were. This morning, her nurse (who, not knowing the news, came for her usual visit) told [my father-in-law] that she was one of her favorite patients - a breath of fresh air after treating so many people who spend their last moments bitter and resentful. I'll especially remember her for the pure delight with which she received [my daughter]. The two of them were good friends (and sometimes partners in crime when it came to sneaking chips and sweets). She rarely remembered me, but she always remembered [my daughter], and [my daughter] was always happy to see her. At breakfast this morning, I told her that Uroma is "away" and is now with Jesus. I'm not sure how much she understands, but between the emotion that fogged the room and the all the jetlag, she's been both clingy and especially sweet. 

There's sadness, but there's relief and joy in her parting. She was in a lot of pain, and she had often said that she wanted to go home. We had a sense that she was simply waiting for it to end. [My father-in-law] and his sister gave her so much love at the end of her life, taking turns caring for her that she never needed to be sent to a home and making good use of the flexibility both of them have. That being said, I'm also happy for them that this work is complete. She was, of course, a quiet housemate (and she was old enough that she couldn't hear our music or baby crying or whatever), but we would hear her praying every night.  While age had broken down most of her faculties, she never lost the ability to pray. Every night, she would sit in her bed and talk to Jesus, blissfully unashamed that her neighbors could hear her. Now, just like Mary, the sister of Martha, she's sitting at his feet.

She is on the tail-end of the war generation. The scars of the Third Reich and World War II can still be seen and felt in Germany, but those who have lived through it are becoming fewer in number. One of those scars was on her husbands' eyes. He was just twenty when he was called to defend Germany in 1945, and combat with the Allies cost him his eyesight, bringing him into the community of the Kriegsblinde, war blind. Oma Lore was the nurse who would escort him home from the center where he learned to function. He loved her, and was delighted to learn that they were from the same town. His first marriage proposal was rejected, because she was not sure if he was strong enough in his Christian faith. When my family talks about him, he reminds me of GK Chesterton's thankfulness and wonder. Blindness from a war that wasn't his idea to begin with (and killed some family members) could have embittered him, and everyone would have understood. But he remained thankful for life, working as a masseur, growing his garden, reading Tolstoy and searching for wonder (my wife said he was always great for conversation). He's a model to me, the blogwriter who can dwell on failures, bad decisions and bitter pills. Perhaps that's what convinced Oma Lore to become a blind man's wife. Now both of them stand before the Lord in a place with no war or blindness. Their bodies healed.

2. The Organ

I don't get to traditional churches that often - you know, the ones in the middle of most European towns and in American towns in Norman Rockwell paintings with huge, beautiful towers (we go to a more modern church), but the organ and organist at St. Blasius's in Plochingen are lovely. C.S. Lewis, who cut his teeth on Wagner and classical Greek poetry,  had a bias against organ music and hymns, but my tastes are simple enough to delight in the beautiful sounds which played Oma Lore's favorite hymns to bring comfort to my family. In fact, as someone who plays a mere guitar for church, I was a bit envious that one man could make so many sounds and combine them so beautifully. With almost every other instrument, you need the support of others to reach those deep basses and soaring trebles of competing volumes. One organist, his arms, legs, feet and fingers dancing effortlessly across the great machine, filled the church with the sounds of an entire orchestra.

3. The Sermon

The pastor told Oma Lore's story from her perspective (think what I wrote in the email, but as if he were channeling her to tell it in sort of a spoken-word poetry). It wasn't a theological treatise (though I enjoy those on any occasion) nor was it an old time religion alter call (here I'm less of a fan), but her life was a Gospel message. The pastor knew that by simply echoing her years, he was casting seeds at the hearts of all of us in the pews, shivering in the January cold between pieces of art. I hope we listen.

4. The Cemetery

The Cemetery at St. Blasius's is a beautiful record of history of this town. So many names marked, memorials to the war dead to a classmate of my wife's who lost her life to a car accident a long time ago. Oma Lore's family grave is on the front row, right next to the path. But in one of her later acts of charity, she asked that she and her husband be buried a few rows back. Why? Well, the Germans are very good at tending their graves, and there's a special pressure to keep the tombs on the front row spic and span. She felt that pressure herself with the family grave and didn't want to extend it to her descendents. Of course, given her love for everyone and their love for her, not to mention her husband, I trust that this site will remain well-visited and well-flowered.

We lined up in the rain a few rows back. There was a funny moment when the wind turned my large, red umbrella inside out. Everyone else stood in line and waited to scoop dirt into the grave while I hopped around like Charlie Chaplin trying set things right. Though if I made a scene, no one behind me was in the mood to comment on it. I was in the front of the line, because I married into it. There were plenty of people behind me who knew Oma Lore better than I did. One of the mysteries of marriage is that it's a mystic bond, not just to one person, but to her family as well. My umbrella, properly scolded, was now in place and I leaned against my wife as she, with a beautiful expression (this was a sort of sadness that shown through as beauty) dropped her flower into the hole in the ground.

5. Coffee and Cake

After the ceremony and burial, the family and the guests met at a local restaurant for traditional coffee and cake. This included delicious buttered pretzels and yeast buns with raisins. My 2-year-old daughter, who took her nap during the ceremony, rejoined us. After devouring rolls and pretzels (please, please don't give her coffee!!! I don't think anyone did...) she ran around the restaurant. I followed her, watchfully. Once again, I told her that Uroma was with Jesus. It's still hard to tell if she notices the loss of her good friend, the one who would sneak her potato chips while her health-conscience parents weren't looking, the one who she last saw being carried out of the house by medics. She ran around the restaurant like she would run Oma Lore's apartment, delighting in good food and the attention from older relatives. Having already been through a huge move and a couple of long family visits, she is indeed aware that large parts of her life (like the American side of the family) are not here, but they are elsewhere and can be seen in pictures and skype conversations. At the restaurant, she tested the different steps and doors and tried to sneak into the kitchen. How does a two-year-old feel the absence caused by another kind of distance? The mood at the restaurant was light, all things considered. This was not the funeral of a life cut short, but of a life well lived and loved.

6. Should we mourn?

Sometimes, we Christians become concerned when we find ourselves doing something natural. Often, it's in our pleasure - can we enjoy good food and drink, for example? (Yes, if we do so well) But there's also the question if we should mourn at a funeral. There was a charismatic guy at our high school who would lead prayer meetings at the flagpole. He once said he wanted his funeral to be a big, wild party (and presumably, no frowns). Then he would go on to prophecy about his future children. Less flamboyantly, Oma Lore herself once told my wife not to cry at her funeral. She would be in a better place, and I believe that she is. I wonder if, on her last day, Oma Lore saw a vision of Jesus, scars and all, telling her, "today you will be with me in paradise." 

But mourning has precedent. We know it does, and we ache with the loss of people we know and even some of those we don't know. In the Bible, Paul writes to the Philippians that had his friend Epaphroditus not survived his horrible illness, he would have experienced "sorrow upon sorrow." Jesus himself wept at the funeral of a man he would call back to life only moments later. (C.S. Lewis beautifully pictures this at the end of The Silver Chair in the Narnia series, with the lion/Christ-figure Aslan crying over the death of King Caspian. I wanted to quote it, but it seems my copy of the book is on a different continent.) Death is a final reminder what the fall hath wrought, that this world, full of sin and separation from God, is not as it should be. Death reminds us that it took a death to be reconciled to God, and though death is defeated, though Paul mocks it by asking, "where, o death is your sting?" we cannot help but be sad. There is nothing contradictory in a crying Christian, but our tears lead us to our Comforter. A Christian funeral is a bitter drink of mourning and hope, of sorrow and joy, of cross and Resurrection. We cry, yes, we mourn deeply (it's ok to!), but we are comforted.