Speaking of wine...

I did not realize that there were still states where wine could not be sold in grocery stores. All of my wine buying days have been in Florida, Germany, D.C. and Virginia, where wine and grocery go together like soup and sandwich. Indeed, Suburban Orlando has only recently become the type of place where you would fine a wine boutique.

In today's New York Times, Marco Pasanella, an owner of a small wine shop in Manhattan, reacts to New York's decision to allow grocery stores to sell wine. I have to agree with him. Allow grocery stores to sell wine, but allow the wine boutiques to to sell food. (by the way, doesn't the fact that his name is Marco Pasanella make you want to buy a nice red from him?)

In the name of the Rose

Yes, it's happened before, but there are more violent threats from French wine-growers, according to The Economist's Charlemagne. This time, it's about a decision in Brussels to allow European wine producers to mix red and white wine to produce pink wine more cheaply. This would allow the Europeans to better compete against cheaper New World alternatives.

What do you think? Would relaxing wine standards cause French wine to "become Coca-Cola"? Or, does it not follow, as Charlemagne suggests, that the invisible hand would water down good wine?

I agree with Charlemagne in one respect: I'm not that big of a pink wine fan. Could anyone recommend a good one that would change my mind (I'm no expert, but red, dry Spanish wines have always suited me).

Is identity reallly such a bad thing?

A good way to understand the belief-fatigue in a post-modern culture is to watch the film Downfall (must-viewing for non-Germans considering ministry in Germany). Downfall depicts the last week of Hitler's life in the famous Berlin bunker, based on the memoirs of his personal secretary (who only died very recently). The film is not so much about the monstrous nature of Nazism (though it does not attempt to cover its monstrous nature), but a dark depiction of men and women holding on to their faith in a dark man and a dark system to the very end.

Among many painfully memorable scenes is one about two Nazi youths, a boy and a girl (perhaps 15 or so), who fight nearby in the trenches against the Soviets. There are few soldiers left, so old men and children are defending Berlin. When it is clear that the Soviet army would overrun the city, the two youths commit suicide. The girl has the boy shoot her as she raises her arm in a final Nazi salute. The boy then shoots himself in the head.

The lesson that many in Europe seemed to take from the war is that belief is not safe. The Nazis bunkered in Berlin died for their faith. People fought wars because they believed in things: their nations, Nazism, Communism, Capitalism, their interpretation of civilization or religion. The post-moderns concluded that in order to preserve peace, we should avoid commitment to any such meta-narrative.

This stands in contrast to the American lessons of World War II. It seemed like belief in country and the righteousness of our cause enabled our eventual victory. Unlike Europe, we walked away stronger. Americans had a strong sense of identity, and most saw nothing wrong with a strong religious or political identity.

That might be starting to change. Strongly identifying with with a country or party or faith is starting to look more and more unappealing. Perhaps September 11 and Islamist terrorism have something to do with it. Perhaps it was President Bush, whose strong religious and national identity helped him get elected, but whose politics from Iraq to New Orleans to the economy has made such identity look foolish. Perhaps ideological bickering among our leaders makes no sense in the wake of an economic crisis. There are likely more positive reasons as well. The rise of mass communication and travel exposes us to more points of view that may challenge the identities we once have. Many of us are tired of it. Paul Graham, observing fruitless religious and political arguments online, is too.

One of Brian's "daily dozens" a couple weeks ago included a Paul Graham essay arguing that we should avoid identity as much as possible.

His begins with observing the seemingly inevitable breakdown of civility when religion comes up on an online forum. He observes, "no thread on Javascript will grow as fast as one about religion, because people feel they have to be over some threshold of expertise to post a comment on that." Mr. Graham goes on to make the same point about politics.

I mostly disagree with this statement. The Internet surely attracts its share of loudmouths for whom anonymity frees to post whatever they want. But the problem with religion and politics is not one of expertise. Indeed, religion and politics are "for the people." Many of us have attended a religious education class every Saturday or Sunday (or Friday) since childhood. We have been educated in civics, politics and history. Perhaps I can be forgiven for thinking that Javascript has less dimensions that these subjects.

Nonetheless, I feel no small amount of sympathy for avoiding identity. I hate being identified with anything undesirable or foolish. I live in the epicenter of American politics, and I have good friends working on Capitol Hill (for both parties) and in the administration. Many are intelligent and passionate. I am often reluctant to plainly state the few political views I do have. When conversations turn to political discussions, I often fear I don't have enough factual information in my arsenal than those working in political think-tanks with information and experts at their finger-tips. Moreover, I hate being boxed in or pegged down. (I pointed this out to my boss in Germany one time as we were going over my Myers-Briggs results. He said that is a typical response from my personality type)

Like Mr. Graham, presumably, I have a strong distaste for "talk-radio" style political or religious discussion, with all its labeling and appeal to anger and hate. But Graham takes it too far. "People can never have a fruitful argument about something that's part of their identity," he writes. Later he says, "More generally, you can have a fruitful discussion about a topic only if it doesn't engage the identities of any of the participants."

Is this where identity necessarily leads? Idea dodge ball with no end in the best cases? War and terrorism in the worst?

Like, I said, I have a lot of sympathy for post-modern identity-fatigue. I despise fruitless discussion, and I certainly fear terrorists and ideologue politicians. But history has too many examples of people whose very identities played a role for the good. We cannot seriously ignore this. Of less importance, my life has been filled with fruitful, challenging conversations about subjects that all participants identified with.

Mr. Graham's conclusion causes me to wonder about his choice of friends. Do none of them have strong identities, religious, political or otherwise? Has he never once had a fruitful conversation about these issues with them? I worked in Christian ministry in Germany. Essentially, it means I have a strong religious identity, and it was once my profession to talk with others about it (something I still enjoy doing, though I have less context these days). I challenged many identities, and many people were perfectly willing to challenge mine. At the moment, I can think of only once where the conversation was unfruitful due to identity, and the person in question seemed all wrapped up in being unaffiliated. Before my stint in Germany, I went to college. I had all sorts of conversations, both fruitful and fruitless, about religion, politics, you name it. Has Mr. Graham ever taken a philosophy class? Was there not one person in the class who identified with a certain philosophy who could engage in fruitful conversation about it?

Let's move to history. Think of people who really worked for the good in history. Francis of Assisi. William Wilberforce. Abraham Lincoln. Mahatma Gandhi. Martin Luther King. Mother Theresa. These were persons of strong identities, whose identities helped them undertake monumental tasks for positive change. Their identities did not lead to stupidity. Their identities led them to a kind of courage too few of us have.

I think the problem is not identity, but of maturity. The Apostle Paul speaks of this when he warns the Romans of "zeal without knowledge." I would argue that this knowledge includes an understanding and appreciation for basic morality - the golden rule, found at least paraphrased in most religious school of thought: "do unto others as you would have them do unto you." Zeal without knowledge is behind many violent acts, religious wars especially. Zeal without knowledge remains popular because it is politically useful and makes good television. Talk radio tends to wind it up, and the Internet allows us to express our zeal about anything without taking time to learn and appreciate. Maturity takes time and process and work, whether one is learning javascript or theology.

Perhaps Spiritual maturity would help here as well. Paul again teaches that the Holy Spirit provides this. The fruit of the Spirit, writes Paul to the Galatians, "is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control." It's disheartening that the loudest of Christians often posses so little of this. But I know I want to identify with the fruit Paul describes.

So, if we want to avoid being dumb (or fanatical or violent), we can keep our identities as small as possible, as Paul Graham suggests. Or, we can have strong identities, but commit to maturity.

Yes, I am an amateur

In high school and college, I was part of the swing-dancing fad. We used to go, wear khaki trousers and pay our cover fees and swing the cute girls from youth group all over the dance floor. But we remained amateurs. There was, however, a class of the professionals. I don't think these people had any sort of social life outside of swing dancing. They wore zoot suits, until zoot suits became too cool. Then they wore trendy, butt-enhancing jeans with tight t-shirts and Puma sneakers. Whatever they wore, their styles, combined with their excellent grasp of the "lindy-hop", communicated to all of us that they were the kings of the dance floor. I knew I could never live up to their standards, not without sacrificing any other extra-curricular activity that gave meaning to my soul. (that did not keep me from being jealous, as you probably already have guessed) Nevertheless, I still had fun as an amateur. Dancing remained beautiful, a way to connect and find your self in a rhythmic structure of artistic expression.

The other day I was described as a competent generalist, well read in all I do, but never an expert in any one thing. But the writers at Soul Shelter gave this comforting article on amateurism. I have been to jam sessions where I could play some rhythms on my guitar to keep from sounding cacophonous, but could never be on the in crowd. Yet, I love Soul Shelter's description of this folk festival. Yes, there were probably some amazing musicians. But there was a spirit that managed to celebrate everyone without excluding anyone. It appears loving and giving, where everyone, for the love of the music (or the dance, or the words, or whatever art form you choose), can still celebrate greatness, and have a part to play. It's comforting for an amateur who is well aware that his blog contributes nothing of professional value. But in my blog I can appreciate good writing, attempt to be a good writer, and celebrate, all for the love of the word itself.

Yes, I know. I'll keep practicing.

Best of DC

Hey DC residents - don't forget to vote in the Washington City Paper's "Best of D.C. 2009." I especially think you should give some love to our own Peregrine Espresso.

Yancey on the Election

A couple of months after the fact, Philip Yancey offers his reflections about the election of President Obama and the complicity of Evangelicals in racism (something he writes more extensively about in his book Soul Survivor). Living in Washington, I especially appreciate his last statement:

"Some evangelicals are wringing their hands about losing access to the corridors of power. Maybe it's time for us, too, to work from the bottom up."

Among the Least of These

Every spring, when I was in elementary school, I would spend a weekend at a rural Virginia ranch with sort of a Christian scout troop from my church. One of the couples who lead our group had a girl, probably a teenager at the time, with Down's syndrome. I remember one night, after our group was particularly rambunctious and disrespectful to her father, her mother tearfully explained the sacrifices, the physical and emotional toll it had on him to raise her.

Every Tuesday at 6:15 AM, when I was in high school, I met with a group of guys before classes. We met at Burger King, ate greasy breakfast food (one of the guys would have a Whopper for breakfast each week), read from the Bible and held each other accountable. As bad a wrap accountability groups have (fairly) gotten in Christian circles, the memories here remain to me a special time of honesty among friends. One morning, one of the guys openly shared that he was worried God would give him a mentally handicapped child. This would not be in the near future, of course - we are all teenagers who were abstaining from sex. But he was worried a mentally handicapped child would wreck the future world of marital bliss (and of course, sex) that we all so eagerly desired. It was an honest statement, particularly among a group of Christians who knew we were called by Jesus to love the least of these, which must include the handicapped. Whatever spiritual benefits may come from a situation, the task itself seemed monumental. We were not alone.

Last week, I read this sobering post from Judith Warner's excellent New York Times blog, "domestic disturbances." (man, someone teach me to write like her) In Nebraska, a law was passed that was meant to "keep desperate new mothers from abandoning their babies in dumpsters by offering the possibility of legal drop-off points at 'safe havens' like hospitals." It turns out, most of those who took advantage of the law abandoned, not unwanted babies, but teenagers with severe mental health problems. It is an eye-opening testimony to the lack of mental health care in our national and local structures.

Indeed, if my wife and I had a child with severe mental or physical health issues, we would likely be better off than many. We are not rich, but we should remain upwardly mobile (our current economic difficulties aside). We are blessed with healthy community here, and we would seek it elsewhere. Our capacity for handling hardship on our own is very limited, but we have help in family, friends, church, and if we are really paying attention, God.

Beyond structures of community and government, my hope rests in this, that if God helps you to love the least of these, you better know love Himself. I thought about this as I read the Economists obituary of Christopher Nolan. Mr. Nolan was amazing. Behind his crippled body dwelt an amazing mind, full of stories to tell. But for me, the hero of his story is his mother, who held him not just as he wrote novels and poetry, but as he ate and used the bathroom. Few of us will ever be able to produce such beauty with words, but her love made it possible, and he lived a fuller life.

I've also been encouraged by Henri Nouwen. You probably know the story. The Dutch priest had many things I wish I could have: he was a well-respected academic with teaching positions at elite universities. He used his position to write amazing books and support social justice. But his final joy was found when he left all of that to work at a home for the mentally disabled. He found a community of people who showed him God's love as he never knew it. A good book on this theme is Adam: God's Beloved.

For us Christian, all this means, beyond social or political policy, to embrace God and his way, above our own plans. The arrival of any family member with a mental or physical illness will shatter our own plans, often in ways God used for the good. It also means the difficult, but by faith, rewarding task of knowing and loving the least of our own community.It means hoping in a Savior who will one day put everything right.

I'll end with a small disclaimer - these thoughts are half-baked musings and reactions to several things I've read or thought about recently. I cannot in any way pretend to understand the trials and joys of taking care of such need as I have been describing. But there is a real possibility that some day I will. There is much more to say on such a theme, and I am nowhere near qualified to say it.