Songs of Pain and Hope

(From the DA years)

This is my first entry since moving to Philadelphia.  It has been an interesting past couple weeks settling in and getting trained to be an Assistant DA. 

I have learned that we have a serious drug problem in the city as well as having the dishonor of being the handgun murder capital of the world.  The very first trial case I got was a drug possession case located in the Kensington neighborhood in Northeast Philadelphia.  That neighborhood is considered one of the worst sections of the city and where our youth group goes for missions every year.   Apparently, there also is a drug combination called pancakes and syrup (Percocet covered with cough syrup).  Each neighborhood has its own brand of crack cocaine (AI, Superman, Badboy – trademark of boy grabbing crotch and flicking you off).  

The system here is difficult to work in.  Many charges get dropped due to lack of evidence and witnesses not showing up to testify.  There is much intimidation in the various neighborhoods of the city.  The judges here are erratic at best.  Some of them are fair and patient, while some are just too full of themselves to dispense justice.  The defense lawyers are one of a kind.  There have been times where I feel that a good majority of them will go to hell.  I understand that the Constitution guarantees each person the right to legal representation and that correct procedures must be followed before convicting someone.  But there comes a point where these procedures are being solely used to circumvent justice and where a person can no longer hide behind the principle that he or she was just doing his job.  Some of my colleagues here are no better than the defenders.  Prosecutors have a reputation of being merciless and I can see how some of us deserve that label.  Imperfect people seeking imperfect justice. 

My first appeals case (the unit in which I work) is a case involving a drug dealer.  In doing my research to write the brief, I found a case where the victim, a little boy, was forced to lick the excrement off his abuser’s toilet paper.  

After these first few weeks, I am firm in my belief only the Spirit of God can change our cities.  When all is said and done, I believe that Christians will be held the most accountable for the poverty, crime, and other problems of our society.  Although we may not stand on the street corner dealing dope or sodomizing children, our inaction and willful ignorance will eventually condemn us in God’s eyes.  I wonder if the cross is enough to save us from this sin.  

Last week, I went to the King of Prussia Mall in Valley Forge.  That is a beautiful and affluent section of the state just ten miles west of the city.  I was hobbling crossing the street (after hurting my foot in one of our softball games) when a driver got very impatient with me and honked at me because of my slowness.  His daughter at the back of the car subsequently flicked me off as they drove away.  I figured they should spend more time in the city, especially Kensington, to learn some perspective on life. 

On the brighter side, the food in Chinatown is great as expected.  There is an amazing amount of great Chinese restaurants and bakeries.  The food is cheap and plentiful.  I haven’t had my first cheesesteak yet, but will be going next week.  I also saw a little child walking down the street with his mom when I was walking to court my first week.  I told his mom that he was a cutie and she was very thankful.  These people are worth serving.  

Pray for peace.  That’s no joke.

I used to ponder more on the question of why a loving God or universe whose arc was supposedly bent to the light would allow so much evil to exist.  I don’t really spend that much time on that question anymore.  My time is better off watching The Crown or Taco Chronicles on Netflix.

My prosecutor mentor, whose father was a Lutheran pastor, once told me that he either no longer believed in God or was ambivalent of a loving one because of all the cases he worked on.  He once told me the facts of his worst one (it was bad), but strangely (at least in my opinion), it falls short of mine.  Yet, when he was narrating his wife’s last days, he is quoting Scripture to me.  On my end, I don’t think what I saw shook my faith much.  It was actually other experiences that did.  But that’s for another time.

There is this pretty famous Christian-inspired poem / story titled “Footprints in the Sand.”  You could find it engraved on all sorts of items in the Christian bookstore.  In the poem / story, a man and God are walking on a beach representing the man’s life.  The man remarks to God that during the rougher / darker moments, there was only one set of footprints.  The man accuses God of abandoning him,  God replies “That’s when I carried you.”

My interpretation is different.  In my version, God replies “I did leave you alone, so you could learn to be strong.”  A friend asked me how Nelson Mandela became so strong.  I said that’s easy, he practiced.  Men like him don’t stand up or resist because they are strong.  It’s also the other way around.  They are strong because they stood up and resisted.

No need for a history lesson here, it’s true of many of the great people who’ve lived.

I had the best high school teachers.  In fact, the only teachers I’ve kept in touch with are my high school ones – no college, law school, etc.  and only three.

The fourth would have been my European history teacher, Mr. Baxter.  A subject that was decently interesting.  On a side note, the kids’ favorite classes are library (this isn’t even a subject!) and art (ok, I can live with that).  

Mr. Baxter was a big black man.  A former tank commander.  Loud, moody (one time someone or other had upset him, so he sulked the whole period and refused to teach).  My friend told me he used to refer to less academically oriented students as something less than flattering.  

He had interesting tastes in music, knew his subject inside out, and made us memorize these maps of locations and rivers (really hard to identify on photocopies).  He also attended our events, not an easy feat for a teacher.  He cared.  I got to play the opening to Hotel California for him and his wife at a concert.  He was impressed.

He and I didn’t get along initially.  Back then, I had already learned to put on my armor.  He saw the real me when he wrote up some incendiary question on missionaries.  I have little love for the savior types, but without missionaries, a good number of my family wouldn’t be educated.  So I wrote an equally fiery response.  And to my surprise, he loved it.

He once wrote one line on an interim report that I will never forget – “A future leader of men.”  That’s it, one line.  No reference to my academic performance in his class.  Whether he meant it or not, for an immigrant kid, it has been tattooed in my heart.

Mr. Baxter died of cancer when I was in law school.  Servant.  Molder of men and women.  Hero.  Human. Immortal.

I once asked the girl I lit the candles for which Star Wars character I reminded her of.  She replied Yoda and Anakin.  The former because I taught and the latter because I went for what I wanted.  Perceptive.  But probably not quite on point.  My college students did hum the Imperial March when I entered the classroom.

The one character I identify with is actually a relatively minor one – Count Dooku.  While technically a Sith, he is there because he is fed up with the bureaucracy of the governing order and the Jedi sworn to uphold and defend it.  His lightsaber is uniquely curved and his ship is a library – reflecting his old soul.  While on the dark side, he still possesses an elegant nobility and sense of justice.  Very much like Javert or Rommel.

A church leader said he couldn’t quite put his finger on what I believed.  It is gray because life is like that.  My favorite character in the HBO classic series, The Wire, chronicling the drug war, isn’t one of the law enforcement characters, but Stringer Bell, the second in command of the drug cartel.

Anyways, each Jedi has to build his or her own lightsaber.  The color of the blade differs and can reflect the personality of the bearer.  The Sith’s are traditionally red to reflect unchecked emotion.  Luke Skywalker’s original one was white but his new one is green, possibly signaling growth or maturity after losing a hand while battling his father.  I wondered whst the color of mine would be.

I thought it would be something that mirrored my own ambivalence about many causes.  Purple, grey, orange.  Or a dark blue to reflect the law enforcement side which I truly believed in.

The color, however, that comes to mind – possibly from God – is interesting and something that did not occur to me immediately.

Gold.

But we all know who wins in this world.  The selfish, conniving, petty, ignoble, vicious.

Until they don’t.

There’s this Psalm, the 73rd one.  Unlike most of the rest, this one wasn’t written by David but by Asaph, a court advisor.  He describes how evil seens to triumph and how he has washed his hands in innocence.  How angry and disappointed he was in God.

But when he enters the sanctuary of God, he realizes their ultimate end – destination.

The Psalm concludes – Whom have I in heaven but God?  And earth has nothing I desire but Him.

One of my favorite U2 songs is All I Want Is You.  I used to scribble the lyrics on my Calculus homework and my teacher was quite amused.  It is a gorgeous haunting song.  I used to tell my musician friend that it is about God as much as it is about a human.

All the promises we make

From the cradle to the grave

When I all I want is Y

There’s this quote used in NYPD training that goes something like a hero walks the tightrope between light and darkness, order and chaos, sacred and profane, good and evil.  We love our hero quotes but this one really stood out because of it requiring more contemplation and thought.  On the surface, this sounds counterintuitive as one would imagine that a hero would walk strictly in the light, maintain order, and represent what is good.  While I think part of this is about understanding the other side to combat or address it more effectively, this is more about non-duality or being able to hold competing ideas, values, or perspectives in one’s being simultaneously.

Richard Rohr writes that one must be able to hold the tension in many things in life.  Intuitively this has often made sense to me.  That’s why it’s hard for me to fully embrace the Republican or Democrat side.   They are both wrong and right.  They both play games and whatever they accuse the other side of doing, they themselves do.  

I’ve written about this previously but I think people should learn to properly swear and pray.  Think about it.  It is power.  Even Jesus said you cannot be lukewarm.  It makes you nothing.  It makes you useless.  It makes you a waste of space.

It’s about walking that line.  If not, you’ll end up with the costume jewelry rather than the real thing.  The fog rather than the ocean.  The ritual rather than the faith.  The false story rather than the legend.

I turned 30 in Boston, the summer before my second year there. I rarely wrote outside of my academic and professional obligations until the past few years. Over that period, I became a father of two amazing children. Much of what I wrote was about them and my hopes, dreams, vision for their lives. This period also coincided with my service with the NYPD – a true honor and privilege to be a part of a historic and storied institution.

This one is from those years.

My daughter and I had a father-daughter breakfast this morning after a tough day yesterday at her out-of-school activities.  Among various topics we discussed were the relationship between chess and soccer, how parents and children are continously growing into their roles, and why the best player isn’t necessarily the best leader.  

The last topic was generated by her out of nowhere.  She said that being a leader is always doing the right thing and being a leader is hard. 

On our walk to church, I then told her that leadership is among the most difficult things to do, if not the most.  That some people would not be grateful and even hate her.  I also told her that at times, God wouldn’t seem to care as well, but she should still try do the right thing regardless.  She replied that is what leaders have to do.  In my mind, I felt a mixture of emotions – sadness, pride.  And Alan Moore’s line “Not even in the face of Armageddon.”

(From the Boston years)

“You got a dream, you gotta protect it. People can’t do something themselves, they wanna tell you that you can’t do it. You want something? Go get it. Period.” 

The words of too many people have filled my heart with the determination to accomplish what I know is mine by right and destiny.  Contrary to what some have said, it’s not about proving others wrong; they are not even worthy of my consideration to have their opinions be examined.  It’s all about becoming, growing, and claiming my unique image and imprint of God.  In sum, it’s about proving God right, not others wrong.