Saturday, July 30, 2016

Ideological Bubbles are for Popping

Four years ago I argued with a woman who was absolutely convinced that Obama hated America. It took me several pages of argument to realize that she was not speaking in hyperbole. She really thought that his agenda was to destroy the country. She did not think it was a secondary effect of a well-intended agenda. She saw a hatred and vicious anger which, even with her help, I never could see. I was baffled. To be completely honest, I remain baffled. I also remain in touch. She is still my friend. Now she is saying that and other similar things about Hillary. And I am still listening. It is not that I think she is right, but I think that understanding her perspective is valuable. Partly because she is a friend and I love her. Partly because she is not alone.

This year, I enjoyed the primary season debates under the hospitality of a friend who hosted conversational commentary. He liveblogged his opinions and we joined in. It was great fun, though it may have skewed my sense of normal politics. The people were mostly a mad mix of left leaning pro-life Catholics and refugees from a republican party gone barmy. Discussion was humorous, irreverent, and not strictly partisan. We were a kind of homeless band.

But as the season goes on, partisanship is rearing and roaring. Election years can be hard on relationships and this year is harder than many. It always feels like something huge is at stake. Campaigns are well funded advertisements designed to make us feel that way and they are very effective. This year a lot of people rooting for candidates on either side insist that this election could be the very last election, unless we vote correctly. America as we know it could disappear.

I have seen several posts admonishing friends with disparate beliefs to shape up or ship out. Unfollow me if. Unfriend me if. Disconnect from me. Go away. You are invading my ideological bubble.

I am not doing it. I am not cutting you off. You can unfriend me or unfollow me or stop contact in whatever way we keep contact, but I am not doing it. You have to be the one. There are exceptions, of course. I have friends who have had pictures stolen and turned into memes. I have friends who have had people accuse and abuse them and their families. There are lines that I will draw to protect myself and the people I love, but disagreement is not one of them. You can disagree with me about just about anything and still find yourself welcome. I want you here. I want to hear from you and about you.

One of these posts struck a nerve yesterday, when a priest friend asked that anyone who is a democrat or is voting for a a democrat should unfriend him. A priest! I have enjoyed debating with this man for years, so I knew we were not on the same page politically. Still, I have read what he writes and learned from him many times over the past few years. Now he wants me to close the door.

He did not say, if you are trolling my page looking for a fight, take it somewhere else. (I can respect that.) He did not say he wants to control the message on his page and so he would not allow comments in opposition. (I would disagree, but understand that.) He said go away. If you disagree, you do not need to listen. I do not need to listen. We do not need to communicate.

I think we do need to communicate, and now more than ever. I think that we need to listen with generosity and love, especially where there is disagreement. I think that the truth can survive a good beating, and it suffers without examination. I think that perspectives matter and choosing to try and understand where another person is coming from is a way of choosing love.

I know it is bad. Not everyone likes debate. That is fine. I don't think everyone has to wade waist deep in the big muddy. But please stop slamming doors.

Saturday, July 16, 2016

Only one in a hundred will share this

Jesus is watching. Only one in ten people will have the courage to share this. I BELIEVE in AnGeLS and I BeLIevE In GoD. Type "I Believe" in the comments and prepare to be AMAZED by the blessings God will pour out on you.

God wants to cure this CHILD. Help us get to a million likes.

Like=1 prayer
Share=100 prayers
Comment "AMEN"= 1000 prayers
She deserves your best. A minute of your time could be the miracle she needs.

I KNOW it is an unpopular opinion in this PC world, but I love AMERICA and I support AMERICAN TROOPS! Did you know only one person in 1000 will share this? That is real COURAGE!

Cancer WANTS to beat this freespirit. God is Stronger. Type AMEN and SHARE!

Please. Stop.

Stop binding God's will to popularity. Stop pretending that it is somehow courageous to share pictures of kids. Stop reducing God's power. Stop.

Stop trivializing real courage and heroism by giving yourself credit for being proud of courageous heroes.

Stop enabling clickbait monsters who steal children's photos to drive up their traffic.

I am begging you. I know most people who are sharing these things have the very best of intentions. I am not accusing. But please consider, who is benefiting and who is it hurting?

Does it help the kids? It might be argued that spreading these things around increases prayer. It might. But you see, it isn't. Perhaps there are a select few truly pious social media missionaries who pray every time they see a post asking for prayer. But most of us don't. We scroll right by. Do you actually think, as many of these posts claim, that liking or sharing these things is prayer? Or is many prayers? That feels vaguely blasphemous and idolatrous to me.

Does it help the meme makers? Ah-ha! Indeed it does. Often these pages are scammers. It seems innocent enough, but these pages are collecting fans for cash. They grow by using content which will be shared. You share, you like, you comment. All these things promote their visibility. When they have grown nice and big they can either sell the page to a marketer or they can use the page to sell other scams. Money is a motivator.

Who does it hurt? It hurts whoever falls for the scams, and lets not kid ourselves. That is a lot of people and it could be anyone.

It can hurt families. I know of one family whose had a child whose picture was used for this spammy, scammy nonsense. It was a cute kid and a pretty popular meme. The trouble? This child had died. That was painful.

It hurts the subject of the picture. Their image is stolen and pimped for money. Even if they never know, that is not OK.

Does it help God? I am not sure I know what would mean. It certainly doesn't help his cause. It is, at best, a poor attempt by lazy missionaries. Often the wording itself is against scripture, which has a thing or two to say about boasting. Hint: it is not good. "None of my friends will share this, but I am proud of my God..." Puh-lease.

The popularity of posts that promise God's blessings if you like and share them is honestly sickening. Who is that God? That doesn't sound like the God I know.

God does ask us to pray for each other. He doesn't need our help. He already knows who needs what. He loves the person you are praying for and he already heard their need. But he told us to pray for each other and he promises he will hear and answer. It is valid to ask why. Why does an all-knowing, loving, omnipotent God ask me to pray for people?

We invite God. We pray for healing. We pray for conversion. We pray for protection. We pray for peace. When we intercede we are doing two important things: we are talking to God and we are forming our own relationship with the loving Father who is listening. "Father, you are dear to me and I am dear to you. I need you." Recognizing your limits and placing your trust in God is freeing. It is humbling, but it is also empowering to engage with the King of Kings.

Of course, social media can be a missionary field. Any interaction with other people can be. And I think it is a perfectly reasonable place to solicit prayer support. I know I have depended on my online village for support more often than I care to consider. I am not asking anyone to keep their faith or their patriotism or their pictures off the internet.

Use your judgement. Good people don't use God or kids or disabled people as marketing tools. Don't lend your social media presence to people who do.


Friday, July 15, 2016

Dear Anxiety

Dear Anxiety,

You haven't beaten me. You beat me up, again and again and again. You kick me when I am down and you tell me terrible lies. You warn me that I will never win. I can't. I should just stay down. You scream at me and make me feel small and helpless. You are a textbook bully.

But you haven't beaten me. 

I am learning to recognize your lies. Remember when you told me that I would never be better? I am better. Remember when you told me that you weren't real? You are. 

When you first showed up and told me I was dying, I believed you. You didn't even need a cause of death. You just showed up and announced that it was all over. You were taunting me in front of my kids. I put on a face for them, but I was cowering. 

We're old acquaintances, but still when you came charging in an running things I did not recognize you. The old anxiety was small and subservient. The old anxiety was timid. The old anxiety would sometimes spark and fan fear into flames, which leapt about painfully but with minimal destruction. When you charged in like you owned the place I did not recognize you and even now I wonder if you aren't a different player who shares a name.

You screamed at me. "Be afraid. Be afraid of death. Be afraid of pain. Be afraid for your kids. Be afraid for you husband. Be afraid for you parents and your siblings and everyone you have ever loved."

When I confronted each individual fear, you simply invented more and screamed louder.

"Don't you know about...?"

Until I didn't know how to argue. Until you were the only voice I could hear. Until your unhinged taunts outgrew my mind. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't get out of bed. I tried to cover you with mind-numbing TV, but you just laughed. I was shaking and vomiting. Remember that?

You're a mean SOB. But you didn't beat me.

You shamed me. You told me I was weak if I needed help. Surely I was strong enough to send you away on my own.

But it isn't weakness to ask for help. Asking for help isn't admitting defeat. I needed help. I needed control of my mind.

With my doctor, I stood up to you. We didn't chase you off the playground; that's is your bully tactic. We just cornered you. We took your power away.

You can stay, but you are not in charge anymore. You can even have a job. Your job is to help me find problems so I can address them before they grow. But I don't trust you anymore, and so for now we are keeping you under lock and key. Two tiny pills every night before bed.

Anxiety, I am winning. You don't own me. And I am not ashamed of the help I needed and continue to need. I am only ashamed that I ever believed your lies and that I ever allowed you to boss me around. 

What if Love is Impossible?

Another day, another horrible story. People are growing numb and it is understandable. It is painful to keep on caring. Is it even possible to keep on loving?

Love your neighbor. 
Who is my neighbor? 
The one who is suffering. 

It isn't written that way and there are so many wonderful details in the story. But the one on top, the most basic is a pretty direct answer to a pretty direct question. Love. 

But it is impossible. Completely impossible. 

I have been in a battle with anxiety. That is a subject for another post. But a piece of what is on my mind is fragility. Because I was having panic attacks daily, often without an obvious trigger, for a time I was very guarded. I could not listen to good music because literally any intense emotional response was likely to trigger a panic attack. I am a person who, perfectly healthy, cries watching the news. I had to stop watching the news. I had to protect myself. I had to be able to cope with my life. I had to be able to get out of bed. I had to. 

Not everyone is battling with anxiety, but everyone has a threshold. Confronting mine is just the detail of my story which put me on this twisty mind path. There is more than enough suffering to meet and exceed anyone's capacity for empathy. It is impossible to love in the way we are commanded. 

Love with compassion and hope. Love which tends the needs of the suffering. Love which is a balm. Love which heals and confronts. 

I want to know how to respond, with love, to the terrorist attacks. I want to know how to respond to racial injustice. I want to welcome immigrants. I want to love. 

Lord, I am listening. I hear you calling me, but I can't. I just can't. I am broken and weak. I am scarred and scared. I want to love, but it hurts and I am afraid. I don't have it in me.  
Dear one, I am in you. I am with you. And nothing is impossible for me. 

“For human beings this is impossible, but for God all things are possible.” Matthew 19:26

We are supposed to love. Pain or even impossibility are not an excuse.

Miracles happen. Peter walked on water. Jesus fed thousands with a Dagwood sandwich. The dead rise. Illnesses are inexplicably healed. People are protected. It happens. Miracles happen. It is a pleasant conceit that He is up in the sky waiting for us to ask for whatever we think we want, and with a twinkle and a wave, we get it. God as Fairy Godmother. But that is not how He works, as any honest person can attest.

Miracles are not universal. Not everyone who needs a miracle gets one. People die terribly. People suffer. You cannot tell the history of the Church and skip over the martyrs. And you wouldn't want to.

Miracles show us that God's power is not bound. He does not need us to be able to explain or even comprehend His actions. Miracles teach us that nothing is impossible for God. They are not an excuse to duck our duties to the people around us; miracles are an object lesson in God's power.

Before I can begin to face questions about what to do, I have to care. How do I keep on caring? How can I keep on loving? How can I avoid numbness? How can I let myself notice and feel for people who continue to suffer? How can I help? I can't. But nothing is impossible for God. And He is with me.