On Hold and Keeping Place

Navigating the facts and opinions of Our Current Moment can be a daunting task: you can always choose one news source, I suppose, but that becomes it’s own echo-chamber.  So it’s nice to find sources that can give a critical eye without registering too much contempt for any one side.  Yuval Levin (of The Fractured Republic and A Time to has been that for me, I think.  A fellow for a DC think-tank, Levin writes well from a conservative perspective that seemed balance because it is wonderfully realistic.  Last week, Levin wrote about the federal government’s initial response to Covid-19.  What he says is true of leadership on many levels:

So how is the executive branch doing in responding to the crisis? The easy answer is that it seems to be struggling and overwhelmed. But it is worth thinking through just what ought to seriously trouble us about the failures of mobilization against the pandemic so far, and what would be better understood as an unavoidable consequence of the sheer immensity of the problem—which, after all, the president didn’t cause.

Disaster response confronts modern, liberal societies with a profound challenge. On the one hand, the core promise of Enlightenment, liberal civilization is that it will build systems—scientific, technological, and political—that will protect us from the ravages of nature and keep us safe, healthy, and prosperous. When nature threatens to overwhelm our defenses, we expect and demand that these systems will mobilize to respond. However immense and unexpected the danger, we treat failures to answer it swiftly and effectively as instances of gross incompetence.

On the other hand, the same liberal framework also promises us a great deal of personal freedom. And that sort of freedom requires constraints on what government can do to us, and even for us. To foster an environment friendly to liberty, competition, and dynamism, government will, we expect, mostly enforce uniform rules, address unmet needs, and let a hundred flowers bloom.

But a government friendly to freedom in these ways will have real trouble responding to massive, unexpected dangers on our behalf. It won’t be able to instantly mobilize so as to flawlessly evacuate millions from the path of a terrible storm or to swiftly rescue earthquake victims, or to stop an aggressive pandemic in its tracks. We wouldn’t really want a government that could do all that at the drop of a hat—after all, what would that government do with all that power the rest of the time?

And then:

What we should want, therefore, is a government that may be overwhelmed by a vast, unforeseen problem at first but will then be able to quickly mobilize, learn from mistakes as it goes, and in relatively little time work itself toward massive and effective action. Such a government could capitalize on the advantages of freedom to deliver on the promise of keeping us safe. This is a lot to ask, but it has been the general pattern of successful American government responses to crises—be they wars, economic calamities, or natural disasters.

This is the standard against which to measure our response now. That our lives are disrupted is not a failure of government. That it takes time to gear up is not the president’s fault. The question to ask is not what our very way of life prevents us from doing, but what we should be good at that we aren’t doing well.

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Yesterday Levin posted another piece over at The Atlantic that is a good and appropriate follow-up, I believe.  Part of what has made Our Current Moment so frustrating, at least when attempting to consolidate things, is the realization that experts from multiple fields should be considered into the mix: nothing exists in a vacuum.  And that’s a big reason why ethics is so important . . . and why differing categories of ethics can be both illuminating and frustrating.  In this piece, Levin speaks of the “hard pause” and the “soft start” and the need for some kind of framework moving forward.  (Turns out I’m a big fan of framework, and every day at work shows it – though not always as clearly as some might like.)  He writes:

We know we need to keep people at home to slow the spread of the virus and ease the strain on hospitals. But then what? This is where a general definition of success can help, allowing decision makers to prioritize among discrete political, scientific, economic, and logistical steps.

In the absence of such a framework, the purpose of some of the government’s policy responses has been unclear, as has the relationship between the public-health and economic measures Washington is taking. Policy makers are acting as if we face a binary choice between letting a deadly disease run rampant or strangling our economy, making every proposed course of action seem irresponsible. In fact, their objective should be precisely to avoid such a trade-off, by defining the relationship between our aims.

The purpose of our strategy should be to create a sustainable way to live with the virus, not secure its total defeat. We could not have achieved that sustainable balance by gradually gearing down our society from normal life, because in the meantime we would be erring on the side of danger and exacerbating the enormous burdens on our health system. Instead, we need to gear up from a drastic shutdown of American life. That drastic shutdown is what we are now engaged in, and it makes sense. But gearing up from that, starting relatively soon, has to be our goal.

Right now, we need to pause. In order to restrain the spread of the virus, we have put our lives on hold—with work, school, and play all shut down to let us keep our distance from one another. That means that public policy intended to enable this phase must aim to let people keep their place in our national life until they can return to it.

I like the idea of “on hold and keeping place” for times like these.

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If you’re more of a video person, here’s a recent C-SPAN interview with Levin.  It’s just under an hour, so it’s long, but it also builds on the things he has said over the last week.

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Lighting a Candle

Last week I mentioned Andrew Peterson’s Local Show as going live and online in light of Our Current Moment.  A number of other artists have also gone online to share things with followers and fans.  Today, and just in time, I learned about Andy Gullahorn and Jill Phillips doing some “shows” throughout the week.  I’ve been a fan of both for some time (even saw Phillips years ago at a free concert in Texas), so it’s neat to see them live and online.

Here’s a pre-recorded version of a song from Gullahorn’s latest album, “Light a Candle” from Everything As It Should Be.  The couple sang the song near the end of this afternoon’s set (and right before Phillips’ “I Am”).  It also features Gabe Scott and Andrew Osenga (another long-time favorite).

We’re about thirty minutes from starting a stay-at-home lockdown here in Honolulu.  The rest of the state will join in after midnight Wednesday morning.  Beyond one dermatology appointment on Wednesday, it could be a good number of days before I head out of the neighborhood.  Either way, we plan on starting online learning next week.  It’s an interesting and unimaginable juxtaposition of things.

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“When Sorrows Like Sea Billows Roll”

From a February 1994 concert at the Family Broadcasting Corporation:

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“For the Sake of Your Love”

Book of Common PrayerIt’s taken a few days, but I think I’ve found a decent morning routine for “spring break” that could easily last me for the next month depending on how school scheduling works out.  A good almost hour-long walk in the morning followed by cleaning up and then something for breakfast while reading Scripture in line with the Daily Office.  Beyond that, it’s reading or checking in on people or looking into the news.

It’s been interesting to see new routines pop up online these last few days.  From what I can tell, Facebook has mediated most of it: artists and churches moving things once done face-to-face onto an online portal of some kind.  Just this afternoon (Hawaii time) Andrew Peterson started a daily reading from the first novel in his Windfeather Saga (which I actually bought a few days ago and now wonder if I should just listen instead).  Writers like Alan Jacobs have pointed out that a number of services that have daily liturgies have moved those liturgies online.  Jacobs’ own church is posting their morning prayer service each day.  He recently shared an excerpt from The Book of Common Prayer, A Biography that speaks to the significance of such church services throughout history, particularly in light of what he calls the “consolatory effect” of such service.  He writes:

So days were begun and ended in communal prayer. In institutions that featured chapel services — the colleges of Oxford and Cambridge most famously, but also public schools, preparatory schools, the Inns of Court — and where attendance was mandatory, this rhythm of worship was still more pronounced. Cranmer’s 1549 order, which would later undergo significant change, begins with the priest reciting the Lord’s Prayer “with a loud voice” — this in contrast to the old Roman practice, which likewise began Matins with the Lord’s Prayer but instructed the priest to say it silently. After centuries of liturgical prayers being muttered in low tones, and in a language unknown to the people, the new model demands audible English. After this prayer comes a beautiful exchange taken from Psalm 51: the priest says, “O Lord, open thou my lips,” and the people reply, “And my mouth shall shew forth thy praise.” Then “O God, make speed to save me” calls forth the answer, “O Lord, make haste to help me.” Such echoes and alternations are intrinsic to the structure of liturgical prayer: praise and petition, gratitude and need. The whole of the Matins service repeatedly enacts this oscillation.

He goes on to talk about the “collects” that were often placed near the end of such liturgies and how they often spoke of a request for God’s safety with the coming fall of night, which is something that can seem beyond us because of our 24-7 culture. Such prayers were also a part of Evensong (of which I am fondest).  Jacobs continues:

This was the context in which people came to Matins thanking the God “which hast safely brought us to the beginning of this day,” and the context that determines the sober mood of Evensong. One can easily imagine the felt need to come together in church, before the fall of night, to beg God’s protection, and indeed Evensong, which begins with a shortened version of the exchange that opens Matins — “O God, make speed to save me”; “O Lord, make haste to help me” — concludes with a collect frankly admitting the fear of the dark, in a prayer so urgent that it even forgoes the customary decorous address to God and rushes straight to its petition: “Lighten our darkness we beseech thee, O Lord, & by thy great mercy defend us from all perils and dangers of this night, for the love of thy only son, our savior Jesus Christ. Amen.”

While I mourn the temporary closure of churches for worship (which many see ameliorated by these online services, I much more miss the possibility of some kind of sacred space that is now “off limits” because of restrictions.  That might sound a little odd coming from a lifelong Baptist because, yes, the people are the church.  But there’s something about the structure of certain places or certain liturgies that connect us both with God and with the communion of saints that isn’t always evident in flavor-of-the-week worship.

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I love two collects in particular.  The first is the “Collect for the Presence of Christ”:

Lord Jesus, stay with us, for evening is at hand and the day
is past; be our companion in the way, kindle our hearts, and
awaken hope, that we may know you as you are revealed in
Scripture and the breaking of bread. Grant this for the sake
of your love. Amen.

I also love this “prayer for mission” that is often added to evening prayer:

Keep watch, dear Lord, with those who work, or watch, or
weep this night, and give your angels charge over those who
sleep. Tend the sick, Lord Christ; give rest to the weary, bless
the dying, soothe the suffering, pity the afflicted, shield the
joyous; and all for your love’s sake. Amen.

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Where Allegory and Story Converge

From a letter of Tolkien’s to Sir Stanley Unwin dated 31 July 1947 (written in response to comments made by Rayner Unwin):

Merry and PippinI cannot bear funny books or plays myself, I mean those that set out to be all comic; but it seems to me that in real life, as here, it is precisely against the darkness of the world that comedy arises, and is best when that is not hidden.  Evidently I have managed to make the horror really horrible, and that is a great comfort: for every romance that takes things seriously must have a warp of fear and horror, if however remotely or representatively it is to resemble reality, and not be there merest escapism.  But I have failed if it does not seem possible that mere mundane hobbits could cope with such things.  I think that there is no horror conceivable that such creatures cannot surmount, by grace (here appearing in mythological forms) combined with a refusal of their nature and reason at the last pinch to compromise or submit.

Which then brings Tolkien to the question that has haunted his work from the beginning: is it allegory?

There is a ‘moral’, I suppose, in any tale worth telling.  But that is not the same thing.  Even the struggle between darkness and light (as he calls it, not me) is for me just a particular phase of history, one example of its pattern, perhaps, but not The Pattern; and the actors are individuals- they each, of course, contain universals, or they would not live at all, but they never represent them as such.

Of course, Allegory and Story converge, meeting somewhere in Truth.  So that the only perfectly consistent allegory is a real life; and the only fully intelligible story is an allegory.

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“All Shall Be Well”

Today was a little more productive than yesterday.  It started with a neighborhood walk (which was good because most of the rest of the day brought rain). Then I made my way to the classroom to get ready for the next few weeks.  After spring break, we’ll be going “online” for at least two weeks, which means I need to get some paperwork taken care of and some prep done before getting to the actual “real” prep.  The evening was spent eating a wonderful dinner with neighbors in honor of Saint Patrick before playing with dominoes (which is not the same as “playing dominoes.”)

After years of never quite lining up with the necessary timing, I was able to “attend” one of the “Local Shows” sponsored by Andrew Peterson and the Rabbit Room.  They live-streamed a show from four different locations, with each “act” performing about four songs.  Here’s the first song from Andrew, recorded at another concert, “All Shall Be Well.”  An appropriate song for the big picture and our current moment.

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Caution: Mulligan Necessary

You know how I mentioned that it can take some time to move from “school mode” to “spring break mode”? Well, that was especially true today, most likely because of the rainy weather and the clouds of world and local news.  Sunday night was for a former student’s wedding reception (a great time).  Then I made my way to the neighbors’ to win a game of hand-and-foot.  I slept in as much as I could before making what could be a final trip to Ala Moana for a while.  Did some reading, had an almost-normal breakfast, and ran some errands around the area.  Made a second trip in the afternoon, this time downtown for some lamb kebabs and a quick WalMart run.  Then it was home to eat and play some dominoes.  Even still, I got nowhere near done what I had hoped.  Which is why tomorrow will hopefully be something of a mulligan day for me.

The unexpected news of the day came when I learned that the Killers have a new album dropping in May and that the first single, “Caution.”  Here’s the “visualizer video” for the song.  The song lines up with some of the best of the band (“Dustland Fairytale” and most of Battle Born for me).  The album is titled Imploding the Mirage.

Praying for a better day for everyone tomorrow.  So many balls in the air, so many different scenarios at play.  And that’s just things on an interpersonal level.  There are so many pictures needing to be framed, all of them significant, just some more than others.

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Downshifting (or the sense of a life)

stick shiftThere’s this intermediate state between the end of a quarter and a real sense of being “on break” that is always tricky for me to navigate.  Part of that difficulty comes from times where I go (almost) straight from the classroom to the airport for a school trip or a trip to see family and friends in Tennessee.  The difficulty often manifests in three-day weekends for me, too.  And that’s because daily life without school feels very different than daily life with school.  The whole sense of life is different because time itself works at a different pace.

So I’ve learned to at least try and navigate that intermediary state better.  At lease I know that it exists.  Quite honestly, I’d like to try to minimize the transition time so I can feel  little more “normal” with the day-to-day.

This idea of “downshifting” is taking on a new layer in light of societal response to Covid-19.  I ventured out a couple of times today via the bus to have as close to a normal Saturday as possible (because who knows when I’ll get one again, right?).  Things were a little quieter in most places (the udon shop I dropped in for take-out was almost completely empty, which was sobering).  I decided against a movie (mostly because there wasn’t anything with a big enough draw for me . . . I caught Onward last week).  And so I went to the gym, grabbed some coffee, got some good reading done.  Then I went home and cleaned the bathroom and organized the cupboard to handle some of my supplies for the next few weeks.  I even got a nice, early-evening walk in before catching up on this week’s episode of The Flash.

It’s nice to regain a sense of a life.  It can be hard to have or feel when you’re in the middle of the school year (and definitely at the end of a quarter or semester).  I get a better sense of a life when I’m home with the folks or visiting my neighbors.  But then I also have to find that sense on my own, when those doors aren’t open and the opportunities don’t present themselves.  It’s a good rhythm to find, obviously elusive, and one that reminds you of a whole other world lived at a different pace.  I’m hopeful that I’ll handle it well this time, no matter how long or short it lasts.

(image from advanceautoparts.com)

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The Long and Short of It

Scrolling through social media can be daunting and depressing in even the best of circumstances.  How much more daunting and depressing it can be in times of concern and crisis.  But it can also be of some comfort, as it reminds you that there are people “out there” thinking and writing things that need to be articulated.

I’ve come across two pieces that bring a healthy Christian perspective to our current moment with Covid-19.   The first piece, which is “the long of it,” is a fairly comprehensive essay by Andy Crouch, of The Tech-Wise Family“Love in the Time of Coronavirus” gives voice to a healthy perspective on things, particularly in light of what this means for churches and for Christians hoping to be a witness in our time.  From the section titled “What Should We Communicate,” Crouch asserts:

In shaping culture, nothing matters as much as action that carries symbolic weight. Sometimes this symbolic action takes the form of concrete steps, but sometimes it is simply well-chosen words and images. It may seem like our most urgent need is to make decisions, and of course we cannot neglect the decisions that are ours to make. But just as important for moving the horizons of possibility are what we say, how we say it, and even how we appear to others as we say these things. The way we communicate will shape the choices others make, and how they approach their own decision-making.

This means that all of us have a primary responsibility as leaders, as far as it depends on us, to be well-rested, soaked in prayer and contemplation, and free of personal fear and anxiety. We need to start and end each day as children of our heavenly Father, friends of Jesus, and grateful recipients of the Holy Spirit. We need to pray for genuine spiritual authority, rooted in the love that casts out fear, to guard and govern our lives as we lead, and trust that God will make up what is lacking in our own frail hearts, minds, and bodies.

The piece ends with the question “What Can We Hope For?”   He begins by stating that “[w]e have an unprecedented chance to act redemptively in the midst of crisis and fear.”  This ties back to the diagram I shared a few days ago from Praxis (and that you can find here).  From there Crouch asserts that “[w]e can reclaim the household as the fundamental unit of personhood, the place where we all are best known and cared for.”  He adds:

In this time when large gatherings have shaped our imagination of what “church” is and means, and even more so when media and celebrity have colonized all of our imaginations and made us think that true influence and value is somewhere else, we have a window of opportunity to rebuild the foundation of all real love and care — a circle of people, related to one another as brother and sister, who know and are known, love and are loved, and who move out in service to the world.

This can be an indescribable gift. And if we steward this gift well, not retreating into protective huddles but assembling in small, welcoming communities of love, we may even realize a third, most audacious hope.

That third hope is that “[w]e may see the revival of genuine Christian faith and discipleship, and the renewal of the church of Jesus Christ in the United States.”

The whole piece is a worth a read or two (and more than worth heeding on multiple ways.

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“The short of it” can be found in a recent newsletter post by Matthew Lee Anderson.  In “On Living in a Pandemic Age,” Anderson looks to the writings of C. S. Lewis and Augustine to find wisdom for the current moment.  He writes:

What if the fear that we have now, though, is itself evidence that we have feared the wrong thing all along? Consider Augustine’s exposition of Psalm 85:11 (86 in most Bibles): “Lead me in your way, Lord, and I will walk in your truth; let my heart be so gladdened as to fear your name.” We shall someday have a gladness that is free from fear, Augustine contends—but the present insecurities of this world mean that our gladness is imperfect and that fear is necessary. “If we are completely secure,” he writes, we “exult in the wrong way.” The fear of the Lord disrupts that security, by reminding us of the passing nature of this temporal world. This fear is especially important to cultivate in the midst of blessings: “Whenever our undertakings prosper, my brothers and sisters, we should be the more fearful.” This is true even of those things which “prosper for us in the affairs of Christ and true Christian charity.” Make a convert, and remember to take care. Defeat an intellectual foe, and pay heed to the present troubles. “Our rejoicing must not make us careless…” Augustine contends. “Let us not expect security while we are on pilgrimage.”

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I mentioned the bittersweet sense of ending the quarter yesterday.  I stand by that.  Regardless of what happens next, this is some kind of turning point for contemporary culture.  I like the forward thinking Crouch displays because it actually transcends what is normally thought of as “forward thinking.”  And I like Anderson’s post because it reminds us of the big picture and the wisdom of those who have been “on pilgrimage” before us.  Some journey.  Same destination.  Similar terrain.  It’s a good road to share.

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Still Growing Young

This live rendition of Rich Mullins’ “Growing Young” improves on an almost perfect song.  I like the acoustic vibe.  And a little bit of Chesterton is always a great thing.

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