Songs of Pain and Hope

(From the Indiana years)

Tonight, I read some passages by Henri Nouwen.  Nouwen was a college professor and Christian who left his high position to serve the severely disabled in Canada.  His writing on topics such as vocation, compassion, and loneliness are particularly striking. 

He identifies loneliness as one of the most common problems in modern society.  But rather than labeling loneliness as a disease to be cured at all costs, he compares it to the Grand Canyon, a place of barrenness but also of great beauty.  In short, he argues that in loneliness can we find true community and acceptance.  

His writing on relationships is also profound.  He writes that people try to meet their needs through marriage, intimacy, and sexuality.  At first, this works, but eventually people realize that to ask another human being to remove loneliness is an impossible task.  Yet they still try and this leads to resentment, hate, and divorce. 

On compassion, he tells a story about his pet goat that he had in his youth.  He loved the goat and nurtured it as it grew up.  One day, he went to where the goat was tethered and found it gone.  He thought it was stolen and he wept over the loss of his beloved goat.  It was years later though when he found out that his father’s gardener had stolen the goat and killed it to feed his family.  His father never confronted the gardener.  Nouwen writes that loving the goat and his father’s forbearance taught him compassion.  

Nouwen’s thoughts on vocation are also powerful.  He recounts watching stories of AIDS patients and victims of genocide, while feeling guilt and powerlessness.  Yet he says that despite those feelings, he had the responsibility to press on in his calling and to do whatever good he could accomplish.  

What was also interesting about Nouwen was his ability to speak inspirationally to crowds yet go back to his room feeling lonely and deserted.  This is eeriely similar to Janis Joplin recounting her experiences as a performer on stage. (What is the difference between a Christian and non-Christian in this area of life?)  

Nouwen chose to remain celibate (he struggled with homosexual tendencies over his lifetime) but yearned to be special in the eyes of another.  He wrestled with finding true acceptance in the love of Christ. The most striking part about Nouwen was his descending to serve others.  

In our society and even in church, we value and respect those who achieve.  In my former church, a quick look at the deacons and elders of the church reveals that they are people in high positions in life.  When was the last time we saw a janitor or mechanic appointed to serve in one of those positions?  This is not to say all those who currently serve are unworthy (although we are all unworthy in one way or the other).  But this raises a suspicion that as Christians we may not be very different than what the world is.  We tend to equate holiness and godliness with secular success.  I do not believe this is a good thing.

A friend recently told me that I was a crusader for justice.  I replied not at all, that’s not really me.  I am not the marching at rallies, waving flags, chanting, willing to get arrested type.  I value college football and the NFL on weekends too much to spend my time doing things like this.

But I will hold my ground.  Something interesting about my son the following – it”s nearly impossible to bribe or force him to do anything.  In fact, the more you try, the more he resists.  Apples and trees, I guess.

At NYC Investigations, run by a man who embodied Napoleonic complex and had the indignity of being the first ever Investigations Chief ever in city history to get fired by the Mayor for overstepping his authority, I got written up for talking and then not talking.  Kafkaesque.  I just wouldn’t fudge, misrepresent facts, make haphazard policy recommendations for them.  Or rubberstamp their politically motivated investigations of the NYPD.  Or laugh loudly at staff meetings at unfunny jokes.  Or clap loudly enough at the next Ivy League, ivory tower but totally devoid of common sense, street smarts plan.

During my last few weeks before I escaped to the NYPD, I would play a game at staff meetings to see how few words I could get away with saying.  The last meeting, I was oh so close to not saying a word.  My bosses ask me a question at the last minute and I so wanted the zero word record so badly, I just shook my head.  They told me I had to say something.  I think the final record was no more than 5 words.

I was thinking of getting a tattoo upon entering legal practice.  Totally cliche, but it would have been one of Lady Justice.  Not the boring stolid one you’ll see in courthouses or law offices.  The one I had in mind was half clothed (tastefully), about to strike with her sword while dangling her scales over her target.  

I’m so glad I did not go through with it.

I thought I would worship her.  But she proved not to be a worthy or faithful lover. 

One day, the kids will thank me for naming them.  If my parents (who claim to be devout Christians) had their way, the boy would have been Peter Paul and the girl Mary Martha.  Worse and this almost actually happened until I intervened, the Chinese names considered for the girl were many times more appropriate for how shall we put this nicely – ladies of the night.

Names matter.  My understanding is that in some Native American tribes, a member doesn’t receive their name until later or they go on some type of spiritual test or journey.  I think that approach makes a lot of sense – our names should reflect who we are.  Also maybe give us something to aspire to.  Jacob receives a new name after wrestling with God.

My daughter was always going to be——-.  My son wasn’t a sure thing.  I needed to see him pop out before deciding whether he looked worthy of this most blessed and problematic name (the backup was Elijah – also a great name belonging to my favorite Biblical character).  To his credit, the boy looked like a mini Benedict Wong / Kublai Khan in the Marco Polo series and the deal was sealed.

I know that not everyone who reads what I write shares my faith.  I’ve always prided myself on being moderate, independent, and open.  My daughter’s godfather is a devout Christian while my son’s is an atheist.  Nonetheless, I believe that at the end, God, a higher power, or the universe will ask – What did you bring? 

What is your offering?

I’ll bring You more than a song

For a song in itself is not what you’ve required 

You search much deeper within

Through the way things appear

You look into our heart

In a prior life, I drove a lot.  Been to 46 states (missing Alabama, Alaska, Arkansas, Mississippi).  A ton of East Coast.  I-95 corridor, NJ Turnpike, Mass Turnpike, so on and so forth. 

And those Midwest drives.  I would do the 10 hour drive between Maryland and Indiana in a straight shot.  The Pennsylvania Turnpike would be scary, especially in the winter.  Ohio is 220 miles wide on I-70.  Those Springsteen type songs about steel towns and coal mining, all true.

I learned a lot on these drives.  How to minimize bathroom, gas breaks, change CDs in the portable player while presumably keeping hands on the wheel and eyes on the road, handling thunderstorms, snow, hail.  And dealing with the plain boredom and monotony.  That’s how I almost died many times.  To stay awake and alive, I prayed for the girl I lit the candles for.

But I learned mainly about myself.  When you have no one to talk to for hundreds of barren miles, you talk to a combination of God and yourself.  Figured out a lot about faith, life, calling, etc.  My vehicle was a confessional booth, place of meditation, and a sanctuary.

I can barely drive more than a few hours these days.  But once upon a time, the road was like home.

The story of David and Goliath is often narrated as an example of an underdog beating a stronger opponent.  Or that God divinely intervened to ensure a miracle.  

While those interpretations may hold weight, I see things differently.  You see, the only person on the Israeli side that could conceivably defeat Goliath was David.  You cannot defeat a much greater strength with conventional strength that is lesser by itself.   Any other soldier would have been beaten mercilessly.

It takes a shepherd boy trained with a slingshot to win the day.  That was the only real play.  Several years ago, Serena Williams, arguably the greatest female tennis player of all time, faced an unheralded opponent in the final of a major tournament.  No one gave her opponent a chance.  Williams’ game was powerful, she served in the triple digits in terms of miles an hour.  Her opponent served at a much slower speed.

Williams lost.

Her opponent, coached brilliantly, returned every serve and volley in a slow and soft manner, dropping shots so that Williams would have to run a distance to meet them.  Williams did not adapt, hitting the ball harder and harder only to be repeatedly frustrated.  Worn out, she graciously accepts defeat.

This is a timeless and timely lesson.

No TV show can exactly capture the criminal justice system and actors.  Law and Order (in all its iterations) is pretty much the Disney+ treatment.  The two closest in my opinion are Homicide : Life on the Street and The Wire.  Both developed by a former Baltimore Sun crime reporter and a former Baltimore detective who became a teacher.

In Boston, I even attended a lecture on The Wire at Harvard.  Several of the main actors and the real life inspirations for the characters were present, including the real life Omar (Look up YouTube Orioles closer Felix Bautista).  A few civil rights leaders were there and the eminent attorney and professor Charles Ogletree.  I will say this though – I’ve never heard so many uneducated dumbass questions asked at such a unique forum.

The two questions that I would ask someone when I find out they are a fan of the series are the following:

1.  How would you rank the seasons of the series? (3, 1, 4, 2, 5)

2. Who is your favorite character?

For me, it wasn’t one of the cops, judges, or prosecutors.  It was Stringer Bell, the second in command of a drug enterprise.  Intelligent, organized, pragmatic.  Reached for things beyond his grasp.

Too much of a gangster to be a businessman.  Too much of a businessman to be a gangster.  At the end (apology for spoiler), he gets cornered by two hitmen who want to kill him for different reasons (one is Omar).  He is so badass that he briefly tries to negotiate for his life, realizes it is futile, accepts his fate, and goes down giving his killers the order to shoot him.

When the cops search his home, they find a well-furnished apartment with business literature all around.  They wonder to themselves who this man really was.

In my casework, I did not see too much evidence of high level thinking or planning.  A good number of my cases involved poor impulse control, spur of the moment actions, and other premeditated evil motivated by vengeance or lustful depravity (including against children, and also by children – don’t ask).  But once in a while, I saw something that made me go wow.  A Hmong gang in Minnesota had a big brother-little brother program for mentoring – including firearm training and forgery.  In this case, I also saw someone take his last breaths on this planet.

But back to Stringer Bell (played by the inimitable Idris Elba).  I identify with him a lot.  Probably not as ruthless, but I get him and why he did what he did.  When the game is stacked against you, your mind is your greatest asset, weapon, and shield.  Ironic that his death was hastened by his caution – always insisting that doors should be locked/closes, this detail prevents his escape.

Guitars sometimes have names, especially female ones.  George Harrison (one of my favorites, the author of While My Guitar Gently Weeps, inspired by a line from the I-Ching) named his red Les Paul Gibson, Lucy, after redheaded actress Lucille Ball.  BB King named all of his black Gibsons, Lucille, after a dance hall fight between two men fighting over a woman with that name.  The fight knocked over a barrel filled with kerosene and a fire ensued, engulfing the hall with fire.  Realizing he left his beloved guitar behind, he rushed in to retrieve it and the legend was born.

I’ve had four guitars, but only named one.  Jet black, I acquired it after watching Antonio Banderas play the opening song in Desperado with a similar model (he is one talented singer).

I named her Maria.  She wasn’t a top model, but she sounded good.  And looked the part.  I never played her in concert, only in practices.  She still made her presence known.  I performed with her in my pseudo-philosophy class my senior year of high school with a friend (Clapton’s Wonderful Tonight, Gin Blossoms’ Allison Road – miraculously with the soto, and a song I wrote).  I was so shy and unconfident, but I get through.  To my surprise, my classmates applaud at the end.  A few girls come up to talk to me after class.

I gave Maria to a student at church who I taught guitar to.  It was special for him as his sister shared the same name.

I really should name my red one, the guitar I’ve had the longest and played the most, and the one I hope one of the kids will pick up.  Just never gave too much thought to it