Democracy: Struggling But Always Our Best and Final Hope

“Many forms of government have been tried, and will be tried in this world of sin and woe. No one pretends that democracy is perfect or all-wise. Indeed, it has been said that democracy is the worst form of government except all those other forms that have been tried from time to time.”     

--Winston Churchill

I’m a democracy geek.

It helps to have been born on election day 1960. To mark that day my paternal grandmother insisted I be named after the very first Irish-Catholic ever to be elevated to the highest office in the land, thus my moniker, “John Fitzgerald”.  

I was a political science major at the University of Massachusetts and the very first homework assignment I received was to read a speech by none other than President John F. Kennedy, on the virtues of public service.

I’m a democracy supporter.

Okay, I did fail to vote in one Presidential election, when I was a young adult, so focused then on the turbulence of my own life that I failed to cast a ballot. But on every other first Tuesday in November since I turned 18, I’ve exercised the franchise and let my voice be heard. For me, voting is like going to civic church.

I will be working the polls come November 3^rd, as I have for the last three Presidential elections. This year I will be masked up and gloved up and face-shielded up behind a wall of plexiglass, checking in voters. Especially now I want to be there in person, as a poll worker for the town. I want to do whatever I can to ensure that votes are cast freely, and without intimidation or bias or chicanery.

I’m a democracy cheerleader.

Yes: I even still sometimes choke up when I sing the national anthem and yes, I fly an American flag outside of my house many days. And yes, I absolutely believe that the way we freely choose to govern ourselves is the absolute best form of government on earth. I’ve no desire to live in a theocracy like Iran or a dictatorship like China or Russia.        

I say all of this not to boast or to brag but to declare that in this time in our civic life—when so many of my fellow citizens are cynical or anxious about democracy—I believe it is still right and good, to love this country and to want the best for it and to remain a true believer in the power of the people to rule.  

That’s the definition of “democracy”: the word comes from the Greek, dēmokratia ; demos meaning "common people," and kratos meaning "rule” or “strength". The people rule. This is the ideal that’s kept the United States going now, for some 244 years. Doesn’t mean that our democracy hasn’t been challenged at times in our history. We’ve been ruled at times by governments and Presidents who thought it their right and duty to act tyrannical or dictatorial, as somehow above the law.

In 1798 President John Adams signed into law the Sedition Act that made it a crime to publish “false, scandalous and malicious writing” against Congress or the president. In 1861, President Lincoln suspended the right to habeas corpus, the Constitutionally guaranteed right that one could not be arrested and jailed without sufficient evidence. In 1942, President Franklin Roosevelt signed Executive Order 9066 ordering the immediate internment of more than 120,000 Japanese-Americans as “resident enemy aliens”.  In 1974, President Richard Nixon resigned in the face of overwhelming evidence that he used the power of his office to punish his so-called “enemies”.

We’ve survived this, and wannabee “kings” before and we will again.  Democracy is far more important than any one person or political party. It’s not perfect but within itself lies the seeds of and power for self-correction, for righting itself even as it sometimes goes so off course.

But democracy’s survival always depends upon a free citizenry to do their part in democracy: to vote, to be informed, to be active in our communities and yes, to even take to the streets and non-violently protest when the government or elected leaders fail in their oaths to the Constitution.

So, I say bring on November 3^rd.  We can handle it as a people, as a nation and as citizens.  The people rule. I still believe in democracy.

Do you?

      

                        

 

Risky Business: Is It Right To Claim the Right To Not Wear A Mask?

“Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn’t go away.” –Philip K. Dick

I’m a risk taker.

So, even though science and real world experience has taught me that wearing a mask around others to prevent the spread of COVID is one of the best ways to stop me from getting sick, or sickening others, still I choose to not wear a mask in public. It’s my personal choice, after all. No one, especially the government, is going to tell me what to do. If I get it, I get it. I’ll take that risk of being maskless.

I’m not a risk taker.

So, even though wearing my mask around others is a pain and even though when I wear my glasses my mask makes them fog up and even though as a hard of hearing person I can barely hear others when they talk through a mask and even though I can’t see another’s facial expression when they are masked, still I choose to wear a mask in public. I won’t take the risk of becoming ill or making another ill, or severely ill, or perhaps even being responsible for the death of another from COVID. I won’t take the risk of being maskless.

Risk is everywhere in this life: that’s what COVID has reminded us of, the possibility that any decision we make might put ourselves or others, or all of us, in danger. Risk, after all, is the cost of living. When we stand on a ladder to clean out the gutters there is always the risk we might fall. When we get in the car and drive there is always the risk we might crash or another might crash into us. Heck, every time I put a slice of bread into my ancient toaster, there’s a risk that this circa 1960 contraption might burst into flames!

But here’s the truth about risk, one we may not think about much. There is personal risk and then there is communal risk.  Personal risk puts no one in danger save for the risk taker. Communal risk puts others in danger, when I choose to do that which also threatens thee.

So, if I choose to stay at home all by myself and drink a quart of whiskey while watching reruns of CSI Las Vegas, I could die of alcohol poisoning. Die from falling down the stairs. Die from choking on my own vomit. Die because a candle I lit is unattended and burns down the house. 

But, even in this extreme imagined scenario, the only person hurt by this risk is me. ME. I don’t take anyone else down with me for having made what is clearly the reckless decision to drink much too much.

But, if I drink that quart of whiskey and then stumble outside to my car and take a joy ride, there is the distinct possibility I could swerve into oncoming traffic and kill not just myself, but others. Kill the police officer who gets hit by another car when he pulls me over for drunk driving. Kill a kid on a bike when I drive up onto a sidewalk.

In this extreme outcome, when I take a risk, others are hurt by my individual decision to drink and drive, especially the innocent. I make a thoughtless or stupid or selfish choice and in the process I bring a world of hurt and pain into the community.  Thus, I take a risk, not just for me but for “we” too, and the potential consequences are real and awful.

This day I can’t get off of my mind the fact that so many of my fellow citizens, including the President, have decided to willfully take communal risks when it comes to COVID, consequences, apparently, be damned. I can’t get past the great heartbreak I feel knowing that if mask wearing had been the nationwide norm for us beginning last spring, so many folks might have lived, instead of died. I can’t understand the reluctance of so many to make a tiny sacrifice  in wearing a mask, and by doing so, to say to a neighbor, “I do this because I care about you and want to keep you safe.” I can’t get past the resentment of knowing how hard I’ve worked and so many others have worked, to follow simple public health rules, while others have decided that the rules just do not apply to them. I can’t describe how angry I am at what a terrible job our so called “United” States of America has done communally, in fighting against a one-hundred year pandemic. 

I wonder what God thinks about all this?

All this waste of life. All this sickness and death. All this chaos. All because we have failed as a collective people, to see the cost of risk and the inevitable outcome of risky behavior, in this risk filled time. 

I won’t take that risk. Instead, I choose to mask. For me. For you. Just mask up. For yourself, but even more important, for others.   

 

 

 

 

 

   

     

  

 

          

 

 

In These Strange Times, Thank God for the Gift of Front Porches

“…[a porch is] the only place where you can feel like you are outside and inside at the same time; out with all of the neighbors and alone reading a book.” 

--Claude Stephens, Professional Porch Sitters Union, Local 1339

It’s not a front porch, not in a real sense, but for me, it is my front porch, the one place, more than any other in this COVID world, that has saved my soul and refreshed my spirit and most important, connected me face to face with other people.

Thank God.

So, if you drive by my mid-1960’s grey colonial home, and look up the steep driveway, at the top you’ll see a mix and match collection of chairs: a cracked plastic red Adirondack and a battered yellow beach lounge chair and two navy blue camp chairs, all settled around my recently purchased fire pit. In the past six months it’s been my go to communal gathering place.  My secular sanctuary.  My spring and summer and now autumnal sacred space.

My front porch.

After hip replacement surgery in June, it was where my family came to visit, bearing gifts of delicious deli sandwiches and ice cold lemonade and the comfort of loved ones. It’s where I meet parishioners for a medium hot, two creams, one sugar, cup of coffee, to talk about the spiritual struggle it is sometimes to live in this weird and odd world we now all call home. It’s the spot where my walking buddies and I settle into for an hour or so of gossip and catch up, after several rounds of exploring my cul-de-sac marked neighborhood. They patiently walk. I limp along.

I hope you have some kind of front porch in your life. We all need that meeting place now.

Because what is not a front porch, absolutely, is Zoom or Google hangout or Skype. It just does not cut it for me anymore, never really has.  I’m grateful for it, absolutely, and yet: I’m sick and tired of looking at my own face while trying to talk to others. Impatient with my computer that invariably tells me “internet connection unstable” and then the faces freeze in a weird funhouse display and I pray they’ll come back. Zoom is one dimensional, a caricature of community in a way, of authentic community and human connection. Sure, let’s Zoom but better yet: come see me in my driveway. On my front porch. Please.

Where is your front porch?

Maybe it is an actual front porch that wraps around the front of your home, with rocking chairs and a table to eat around, and wind chimes and a roof to protect you from the rain. Maybe you have a wannabee front porch like my driveway: a patio in the back, a spot on the lawn, a screened in back porch.  Anywhere that allows you to actually be with people. Be with them for real.  See them smile, up close, and hear their laughter right there, and feel their presence, not virtual, not cyber, but in the flesh.

This week the church I serve had worship outside on Sunday morning, under a tent, our holy front porch, and as we gathered together—masked and distanced but still in the presence of each other--I almost wept at the miracle of this event.  The baby I baptized howled when the water hit his forehead and I don’t think I’ve ever been happier to hear a toddler cry in person. We sang, albeit very quietly, and I marveled at actually sharing my voice with others for real.  When a contingent of motorcycles rode by on Main Street for five minutes, it drowned out my prayers but so be it. Even that roar was a gift.

Yes, I know, winter is coming—UGH! My advice? Get outside, get out on your porch whatever that space looks like, and get together. Meet and greet before it is too late.  

For all too soon, it will be much harder to hang out on our front porches with others: with neighbors, with family, with friends. Some are buying outside patio propane heaters to extend the season. Some folks, like me, bought fire pits. There is something mystical about gathering around a fire in a circle and watching the flames crackle and sputter as smoke rises up to the sky. My plan is to burn that wood until it snows, maybe even after it snows!

If there is any silver lining to glean from this pandemic, it is this: we have been reminded by God, by life, and by circumstances beyond our control, that there is no substitute for in person community. For a front porch.  For the simple gift of being in the real presence of another child of God.

I’ll be hanging out at the top of my driveway until the first blizzard blows, so if you’d like to stop by, there is always an empty chair available.

Thank God for front porches.