THE NEXT POTUS: Systemic/Institutional Racism; An Anecdote

On June 17, 2015 a home-grown, white, racist terrorist entered the Emanuel A.M.E. Church in Charleston, South Carolina and killed nine black Bible-study attenders.  He did so with the express motive of setting off a race war, hurling ugly comments and epithets at the nine even as he was massacring them, according to witnesses.

Much has been said and written in the days since that act of racial terrorism.  Discussions have been held regarding gun control, white privilege, systemic and institutionalized racism, the continued display and use of the Confederate flag, and on and on.

It is readily apparent that we are a nation in deep and serious trouble - with racial problems that we choose to ignore and rationalize away.  Racists are entrenched and angry at being found out and called out for what they are.  White social justice activists are angry and indignant, as if they’ve just realized that we haven’t moved that far beyond Jim Crow.  Blacks, of course, know that we haven’t moved that far beyond Jim Crow.

One of the big issues that has garnered much discussion is the reality of systemic, institutionalized racism.

Many white folks have a difficulty wrapping their heads around that concept.  How, they wonder, if I’m unbiased and decent and don’t discriminate can I be accused of any kind of racism or of benefiting from any kind of racism?  It doesn’t make sense to lots of whites to suggest that the collective society’s bigotry is so ingrained and inculcated that they are unknowingly benefiting from that societal/cultural collective and that blacks are being systemically hurt by that same societal/cultural collective mindset and the resulting actions.

Systemic/institutionalized racism is a silent, sneaky evil… one that I believe many whites would abhor - if they recognized it.  Because it’s difficult to define with precision, many, both white and black, have a difficult time recognizing it and certainly a tough time considering how to counter and to eliminate it.

It is unfortunate that frequently we have to fall back on anecdotes to define, describe, and demonstrate the reality of institutionalized/systemic racism.  That is the purpose of this essay.

First, let me offer a caveat.  This example and all of the attendant implications is dated.  It comes from my childhood, when I was about seven or eight years old, so we’re talking about 56 or 57 years ago.  One of the apologists for racism might say that things have changed dramatically over the past fifty years.  I posit that the changes in race relations in this country have been cosmetic, superficial, and insignificant.  I know that we have elected a black president, but consider what the political and cultural realities have been.  Never in our entire nation’s history has the OFFICE of the president been afforded such widespread disrespect.  The polemic, partisan politics of our country, as they relate to the presidency, have been beyond anything ever demonstrated or experienced in our nation’s history.

In an unprecedented action a member of the United States House of Representatives shouted out during a speech the President was making to Congress and called the President a liar.

There is little doubt in our society today that the hatred goes beyond political stances and actions and that the President is often vilified because of his race.  He is the most threatened President ever, with more than 30 death threats daily.  Death threats toward the President have increased 400% since he took office.  There have been countless attacks on his name and citizenship, in ways more extreme than anything the office of President has ever experienced.

All of this is by way of saying that any changes over the years since Jim Crow have been changes that haven’t really affected the deep nature or fabric of our society and that many of the biases and much of the discrimination that blacks face today is as horrific and as damaging – if less overt – than the discrimination and hurt faced fifty years ago.

I have never told this true story to anyone and anyone besides myself who might recall it is likely dead.

I come from a very poor family, a third generation welfare family.  No one on either side of my family before I was born had ever gone any further in school than the fourth grade.  And neither of my parents had gotten that far.

There was a large age difference, about twenty years, between my mother and my father.  My father had been raised in rural poverty, as had my mother.  My father, at the time of the incident I’m sharing, was working as a day laborer, and my family was on ‘welfare.’

Now the welfare of the day was not food stamps.  Fifty years ago, our nation’s efforts to feed the poor consisted of giving them actual foodstuffs, referred to as ‘surplus food.’  Each week, representatives of welfare income level families in my town would line up at the back door of Eighth Ward School, in Washington, Pennsylvania.  They would bring boxes and bags if they had enough kids to carry the food that was handed out.  Frequently the family would have the kids’ little wagon that got pressed into service for transporting the food home.

The food was as generic as can be imagined, and had no relationship to the food pyramid and the healthy selection teachings that the government recommends today.  Most of the food was canned, in plain silver or gold colored cans and the labeling actually included the words, “Surplus Food.”  The foods handed out included flour, yellow corn meal, rice, powdered milk, cheese (in big blocks), butter, canned peanut butter, canned beef and gravy in two pound cans, and cans of Donald Duck orange juice (why the brand name orange juice with all the other generic foods I can’t begin to imagine).  It was food of a questionable value on any nutritional scale and certainly not luxurious eats by any stretch of the imagination, but it kept you alive.

Now I was a smart kid.  Even at that age, I had some idea of the process involved in the distribution of food on a scale that large.  AND - I also had some perception of the social stigma attached to receiving that food.  Each week, Saturday morning as I recall, I would accompany my mother and my younger siblings with our little wagon to the back door of the Eighth Ward School where a paid USDA government employee and volunteers would hand out the food to the certified needy families, according to established need based on income and size of family.  There was no mistaking the folks in that line, folks at the destitute end of the scale, living on the literal wrong side of the tracks on the wrong side of town…  There was no mistaking that these folks were the poor and the very lowest class, subject to the vagaries of our nation’s mercurial economy in harsh and demeaning ways.

And you would think that life at that station would be a big unifier; that all the folks in the line, beaten down by the reality of poverty and the reality of hunger and the ignominy of standing in line for survival, would bond.  You’d think that we would be somewhat homogeneous, with each of us bearing the burden of dependence on government largesse.  You’d think that such dire straits would make us one; brothers-in-arms as it were (not sisters; remember this was the 1950s; they could vote, but outside the house women weren’t taken terribly seriously).

That particular Saturday morning, I found myself in the line with my family directly in front of a black family.  There was a boy in that family about my age whom I’d never seen before.  Apparently we went to different schools and came from different neighborhoods in the West End of Washington, Pennsylvania.  But we had in common that we’d come to this place for the express purpose of being fed for another week via the benevolence of the government.  He and I talked and got to know one another briefly as our two families waited in line.  Wagons, boxes, and bags were filled in front of us, and we slowly made our way toward the door where our wagons, boxes, and bags would receive the food that would carry our family through another week.

I don’t remember his name.  I never saw him again.  But I can’t forget how the world treated him just then.

He and I were standing side by side as my family got to the front of the line.  The USDA guy and volunteers looked at a typed page that Mom had and at a list that they had.  They started handing cans of meat and sacks of rice to her and she began to put them in our little wagon.

The kid from family behind us and I were standing there, looking kind of loopy - as seven year old kids are particularly adept at doing - when one of the helpers who was handing out food, saw the two of us standing there and stepped up to us.  He turned specifically away from the black kid, and looked very pointedly at me, ignoring the other kid and said, “Yeah, this is a bad time, and things are pretty lousy, but look at the bright side.  You live in a land of promise.  Someday you could grow up to be President of the United States and all this will just be a bad, long gone memory.”

Yeah, it was his way of trying to lift spirits, to remind me that, although I was poor now, it didn’t always need to be like that and I had the potential to rise above this particular day and this particular place.  In a way, I suppose, it was meant to be kind of sweet.

There was only one problem with it.  There were two boys standing there, same age, same apparent station in life, same purpose at that moment, and differing in only one significant external characteristic.  Yet his encouragement and words of support had been directed singularly and uniquely toward me.  His kindness and brief word of hope was for me and not for the kid next to me.

And I have no doubt that had someone confronted him and tried to explain the concept of systemic or institutionalized racism that he’d be thoroughly confused and resentful.  After all, he was handing out food competently and efficiently and civilly to black and white families alike.  He had merely said some random nicety to some kid who happened to catch his eye.

Oh, were there two kids standing there?

And the reason for the slight was that in some deep recess of his mind was the awareness of the reality that the deck is stacked.  Even for these poor kids, even for the families who are the lowest dregs of our economic structure, even for the people who have to stand in line to get food from the government to stay alive, the white kid had the greater likelihood of achievement and accomplishment.  He certainly wouldn’t have acknowledged feeling that way, wouldn’t have known that was the reason for his turning away from or excluding the black kid from his comment.

That awareness and pragmatic reality – that the deck is stacked – is part of our cultural fabric.  And we’re not generally aware of the individual threads that comprise that fabric and the resultant tapestry.  We are what we are taught and that which has been inculcated into us.

There were two kids standing there.  And the white casual observer assumed that one had potential and that the other had less potential.  Why?  Because that’s what our societal indoctrination for the past four hundred years has told us it’s ok to believe.

There’s a truism that acknowledgement of a problem is the first step to solving that problem.  What happens when the problem is SO close that it’s part and parcel of who we are?

How sad that a mass murder is necessary to remind us that the playing field is not level, no matter how decent white America may feel or how decent  we believe ourselves to be.  How sad that a mass murder is necessary to tell us that it’s time for action and change.  How sad that we may not listen, even now.

PROTON DIPLOMACY

PROTON DIPLOMACY - my current response to those calling for military intervention in Syria
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If America is a peaceful nation, then why did we develop the Neutron Bomb - a bomb that kills people, but doesn't destroy buildings - before we developed a bomb that destroys buildings but doesn't kill people?

We need to be a whole lot better at diplomatic solutions and we need to eliminate war as a go-to foreign affairs solution to international conflict.

I propose a new kind of diplomacy for the United States in the new millennium. I call it Proton Diplomacy, for two reasons.
1. It is the opposite of a neutron bomb. If we must take invasive measures in another country, do so with the least likelihood of taking life.
2. It recommends being proactive and preventative.

We need to invoke a diplomacy that has never been invoked in the history of our country before. Imagine a level of intensity and resolve that was manifested at the JFK Bay of Pigs stand-off, only with diplomatic might as our escalation threat, not military intervention.

We need a statesperson who is more willing to be a civil servant than to either accumulate wealth and power or to kowtow to the wealthy warring interests in this nation.

We need to reinvent diplomacy. Those five words are incredibly complex.

There are several things that we need to realign and areas where we need to rethink. Consider just a few.

1. We need to use preventive diplomacy. We need to be allies with as many countries as possible in mutually beneficial relationships.
2. We need to mean what we say diplomatically and stand by it.
3. We need to recognize that traditional diplomacy is not adequate. No nation in the world is upset or chastened when we pull the credentials from their Ambassador and send him/her home. That’s a diplomatic joke that has no meaning for a seriously rogue nation.
4. We need to generate consensus when we use diplomacy and the results of that diplomacy, like sanctions.
5. We need to be serious about sanctions; they need to be like the wrath of God, short of violence. Sanctions need to be swift and serious. If we want sanctions to take the place of war, they had better be capable of making a foe change their minds and actions.
6. Economic sanctions have to be swift and severe, when necessary, and must be decisive. They need to be as humanitarian as possible.
7. Economic sanctions – if we are to be honest – may have to have secondary and tertiary targets. We cannot target one country while continuing to aid or do business with a neighboring country that is funneling resources into the original target country.
8. We need to come up with a way of targeting specific political leaders with non-violent sanctions and actions; FOR EXAMPLE: if there is the possibility of fomenting a bloodless coup, we need to make it crystal clear that we will aid in that effort. Money, resource support to the opposition, garnering support among the nations of the world, sharing of intelligence information and analysis with the opposition. As I said, short of violence, nothing is off the table.
9. Certainly, insofar as we can do so, without serious harm and deleterious effects on the populace, traditional sanctions and embargoes should be utilized, but quickly, surgically and with strength and resolve.

These are just a few, rudimentary ideas. There are many other ways to invoke Proton Diplomacy. This is an area that has never been fully developed or utilized because America has been so unhesitant about invoking military options.

Basically Diplomacy needs to be reinvented. Part of diplomacy may involve non-military aid and presence past a crisis. We need to be prepared to demonstrate a resolve to the nth degree, to a new level and using new methodology and mechanisms that have not yet even been invented (for example, offers to help build or augment a country’s infrastructure, following the successful resolution of the conflict where we’re intervening.

And we need a leader who can commit to that general model of diplomacy. Not sure who that might be on the American political front…

AN EXPLANATION OF INSTITUTIONAL RACISM - AN ANECDOTAL PRIMER

Institutional racism exists when racism is so entrenched and pervasive that the people involved and affected see it as the natural state of affairs.  When institutional racism exists, the person being hurt by racism is unaware of the racism and accepts the situation and the person benefiting from racism is unaware of the racism and accepts the situation.

In modern America, between whites and blacks, we have income disparity, incarceration disparity, hiring and firing disparity, job level disparity, voting accessibility disparity, mortality rate disparity, housing availability disparity, hate crimes and a whole host of pragmatic manifestations of racism.

And there are way too many Americans who are saying that if the blacks are not complaining enough, then racism is solved and ended…

The reality is this: people of privilege, power, wealth and authority NEVER willingly relinquish that privilege, power, wealth and authority.  It’s part of both hard-wired and learned security and esteem needs.

But we should be better than that.  We should be able to rise above both those hard-wired and those learned needs and move closer to the agape concepts of giving without demanding quid pro quo.  We need to accommodate and acquiesce, such that equality can move just a little closer toward becoming a reality.  That means those who are privileged have to recognize that they are privileged and cede some small amount of that privilege.

I am not a saint and certainly not looking to be considered a good example, but an incident that happened to me in fourth grade and my response speaks to our need to step outside the bounds of assumed normal human behaviors in order to begin to achieve some modicum of equity in our culture and society.

It starts in fourth grade with a new teacher.  Since the statute of limitations has passed, I have no reason to hide names.  It was Mr. Ecklund.  Mr. Ecklund was a new teacher of English and was my ‘home room’ teacher.

Mr. Ecklund got called from the room one morning during home room for some reason and – of course – the fourth grade class got rowdy.  There was noise, commotion and everything you’d expect, but this particular morning there was one addition to the mayhem; a paper airplane.

Yes, I threw the paper airplane and yes, it hit a girl in the back of the head, and yes, I found that funny.  But then it’s all fun and games, until someone loses an eye.

Moments later, Mr. Ecklund came back into the room.  Now, I knew the girl who had been attacked by my paper drone.  And I knew that she was prissy and a snitch.  But she hadn’t seen who threw the paper airplane and had no way of pointing me out and getting me in trouble.

What I did not know about the girl who had been hit by the paper airplane was that she had an ax to grind and it did not involve me.  We had a kid in our class named Daniel Kenickie (Yep, just like the name in Grease, we had our own Kenickie).

Well fourth grade first row girl for some reason didn’t like Kenickie.  She actively disliked him and when Mr. Ecklund returned, she took an almost obscene glee in pointing out to Mr. Ecklund that Kenickie had attempted to impale her with a gliding piece of wood pulp parchment…

Due process notwithstanding, Mr. Ecklund – who had probably just found out that his car repair was going to be $500 over the estimate – was in no mood to be trifled with by his new class.  He summarily grabbed the wooden paddle, and summoned Mr. Kenickie to follow him into the hall.

OK.

I was off the hook.  The realities of an unjust system had rewarded me.  I was going to benefit by that very lack of due process and kangaroo court.  I was going to be free of any harm, while the front row girl was smug and satisfied and Kenickie was going to pay the price for something that he hadn’t done, having no idea who the guilty party really was.  I benefited from the brokenness of the system and the institutionalized process.

Whew.

Only, even then in my fourth grade state of education and level of reasoning, I knew that something was not right.  I could sit still, keep quiet, let the whole thing blow over and be none the worse for wear and in a couple days it would be ancient history.  THE WORLD WOULD CONTINUE TO REVOLVE AS IT HAD, AND NOTHING HAD TO CHANGE.  Everybody would accommodate and adapt to their roles and fates.  And I would be in the clear.  I would benefit from the inadvertent structure of the decision making and corporal punishment system in that school.

As they were going through the door toward the hallway where the corporal punishment would be administered, I raised my hand and spoke, without waiting to be ‘recognized.’

“You can’t do that, Mr. Ecklund.”

You would not believe the looks I got from my classmates and from the teacher.

“George, what did you say?”

“I said, ‘You can’t do that, Mr. Ecklund.’”

“Why are you saying that?  Why can’t I do this?  What business is it of yours?  You need to quiet down.  Everybody needs to quiet down and sit still.”

“You can’t paddle Kenickie because he didn’t throw the airplane.”

“But Susie told me that he threw it.”

“Susie’s wrong.  She was facing forward.  She couldn’t see.  She lied.  I know that Kenickie didn’t throw the airplane, because I did.”

Kenickie who had been protesting with all his might, raised a renewed and more vigorous protestation of his innocence.

Mr. Ecklund kind of tossed Kenickie toward his seat.

“You threw the airplane that hit Susie?”

“Yes.”

“Not Danny?”

“Correct.”

“George, why are you saying this?”

Wow, he had me stumped.  My fourth grade values and morality level might have recognized an injustice, but it didn’t prepare me to explain jumping into the line of fire.

“It wasn’t right.  Danny didn’t do it and you were going to punish him.”

Mr. Ecklund wasn’t angry, although I kind of thought he had every right to be.  I’d stopped a natural, normal progression, and thrown a wrench into an otherwise nominally working academic system.  Mr. Ecklund looked at me long enough to make me nervous and I couldn’t tell what he was thinking as he considered me.

“Come with me.”

Alright… no good deed goes unpunished.  Teacher, paddle and I were going to visit the hallway.

Once in the hallway, Mr. Ecklund surprised me by not stopping, but by making a right and heading down the stairs.  I followed, having no idea at this point what to expect.

Mr. Ecklund crossed the central atrium of the old, big school building, headed straight for the Principal’s office.  He pointed with his paddle toward the bench outside the office, then walked in.  I sat.

He was in the office for about 20 minutes, then he came out and said, “The Principal wants to talk to you.”  Then he walked away, returning in the direction of his classroom.

I walked into Mr. McCarroll’s office.  It was large and imposing.  Back then, there was no secretary, no anteroom, no demarcation other than door.  You went from atrium school noises and activity into the sanctum.

Mr. McCarroll was a large, imposing, ex-football player and coach who moved through the academic ranks based primarily on his athletic background.  He was very gentle and very matter-of-fact when he spoke.

“George, sit down.”

I accommodated.  Sitting, I wasn’t getting paddled.

“George, Mr. Ecklund told me what happened.”  I had no idea what had happened, I was still improvising and still had no idea how this would play out.

“Mr. Ecklund said that while he was out of the room you threw a paper airplane.  Is that right?”

I nodded assent.

“And he says that paper airplane hit Susie in the back of the head.  Is that right?”

I was beginning to wish I’d thrown something bigger and more substantial.  I nodded again.

“And he says that she said that Danny Kenickie threw the plane, but then you stopped him from paddling Danny and said that you threw the plane.”

“Yes.”

“Why did you do that?”  Again that question that I was now asking myself.  I obviously had to work on my keeping shut skills.

“I couldn’t let him paddle Kenickie.  He didn’t do anything.  I did.  Mr. Ecklund just made a mistake when he believed Susie, who was sitting in front and didn’t see anything.”

Mr. McCarroll looked calm and patient and soothing.  Why wouldn’t he?  He had a sports metaphor in his back pocket.

“George, let’s say you’re playing football.  (I had, for a brief time in grade school, and was a pretty decent lineman.)  And you inadvertently cause a penalty and the ref doesn’t see who did it, and calls a penalty against an opposing team player.  Now you wouldn’t go to the ref and say, ‘Excuse me, but he didn’t do it, I did it,’ would you?”

That sounded like a trick question and I wasn’t sure where he was going with this, so I used the skill and cunning that fourth grades have used since fourth grade was invented: I stammered.

“Um… um.. er… um… ah… um… um… ah…”
“Right.  You wouldn’t stop the game and try to get the ref to change the penalty from the other side to you, would you?”

More eloquent stammering…

“Well, that same thing is true of life.  Sometimes you just let the system work.  And sometimes the system benefits you and you just accept it and you don’t make a fuss, or try to change it.  You accept that you’ve gotten a break and you take advantage of it.  It’s the way things are, and when the system works to your benefit, you accept it and don’t necessarily try to change that system.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now, go back to class.  And try to remember what I told you.  Sometimes, that’s just how things work and how they’re supposed to work.”

And that’s how my real life morality play ended.
Susie hated Kenickie.  I could live with that.  Passions run deep in fourth graders.

Mr. Ecklund looked at me differently and we actually became friends for my next two years in his homeroom and beyond, when I went to high school.

Mr. McCarroll was careful to speak to me every time he saw me in the hallways and ask how I was doing.  I became adept at being non-committal without stammering.

But what he said was a lie.  To benefit from a system by letting others be injured, despite the system being old and established is wrong.

When we pay the black person more than the white person for exactly the same job…

When we tolerate the arrest of the black youth when a white youth in an identical circumstance would not be arrested…

When we create skimpy budgets for primarily black schools while giving larger budgets to primarily white schools…

And on and on and on…

We perpetuate racism.  We may not be hurting an individual.  But when we acquiesce to a system that benefits the historical racial majority and harms the historical racial minority, we are racist.  When we assume that the system does what the system will do, and that we should stand back and accept it, EVEN WHEN IT SEEMS BENIGN AND BENEFITS US, we are being racist.

And we know it.  Deep in our heart of hearts…  Somewhere deep in our soul, we know it.  Yet we use the system to justify and to rationalize who we are and what gets done in the name of our society and its systems.

And we know it.  And we know that it’s wrong.

BEING PUSHED INTO INSURRECTION

I have a good friend, a conservative (yes, it's possible) with whom I carry on extremely interesting dialogues.
He shared an opinion with me, and I want to share my somewhat angry partisan response with anyone who's interested. I have been brutally honest in my response.
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He said, "I get the sense that a lot of conservatives are feeling "backed into a corner" to the point where violence is beginning to look like a viable option to almost half of them. "

MY RESPONSE
"Backed into a corner..." How? And how should the left be appropriately and adequately servile? By having their personal rights abridged? By having money poured into wealthy coffers while too many poor people hunger and each day more are foreclosed or evicted? By slashing funding for education? By taking relatively inexpensive meals away from children? By legislating limits on women's rights to determine their own health care? By gerrymandering certain voting blocks out of existence?
I am damned tired of a partisan political position based on superiority and exclusivity and greed insisting that they are being 'damaged' by those who call for more equity and justice. If the conservatives feel they are being backed into a corner, that's because that's EXACTLY what the far right leaders WANT them to believe. This is an orchestrated chasm.
Tell me realistically what pressure the left is exerting on the right.
Tell me realistically what understanding the left is failing to show.
And tell me where the left has failed to meet in the middle, while the right diligently reaches across the aisle.
Hell, we have a man in the White House who is a traditional moderate Republican. He fails to use the veto, he fails to use executive orders, he has capitulated on just about EVERY major economic and social issue during his tenure.
OK, time for a little honestly, since we're talking about a subject as monumental as armed insurrection; the right is looking for a reason to fight just to reclaim class superiority, and the sad thing is they don't have to reclaim it. They have it. But in modern American psyche, that's not enough. They want to cement it and see themselves as the conquering heroes of the white, Euro-centric, entitled American dream. Willing to kill because their so-called leaders have told them that the left wants to take away their white picket fence.
We have way too many people in this nation who are concerned about nothing other than themselves (and possibly their family). We no longer house Americans who are concerned about their neighbors, their community, or even their country if their country isn't doing their bidding. And we certainly don't house Americans who see themselves as Christian in the real sense, embracing the idea of being part of all creation and caring about others in the world.
We're now seeing the beginnings of the cyclic return to the Civil War. And all of the phony rhetoric of that era, used to mask the real goals of economic greed and cultural superiority is being replaced with new phony rhetoric, that masks the same goals today as then: economic greed and cultural superiority.
It is my opinion that for the most part and with very few exceptions, the far right has become the very worst that our nation would permit them to be. Self-absorbed, entitled, vain, angry, greedy, with a totally perverted concept of the equanimity of democracy and the decency of Christianity, and willing to kill to maintain their superiority and position. God help us.

JESUS IS DEAD AND WE HAVE KILLED HIM

JESUS IS DEAD AND WE HAVE KILLED HIM

(An edited excerpt from my new book)

Jesus is dead and we – the church and modern American Christianity have killed him.  We have killed his person, his spirit and his teachings…

One of the facets of Jesus that tradition and dogma has wrung from the Gospels is Jesus’ humanity.  In Jesus, we are presented with a Savior who fully sympathized and empathized.  We have sanitized Jesus to some milquetoast palatable Savior, independent of whether he was real or myth.  In doing this, we have lost a Savior who wept, who experienced tremendous sorrow, who evidenced doubt and apathy.  We have hollowed out our Savior of emotion and made him less for it.  No longer is this Savior fully empathetic with our nature, our plight, our sins and our temptations, but this is a Savior without emotional equivocation.  How sad.

One of the saddest traits that Jesus loses when we sanitize him is anger.  We have morphed Jesus into an impotent warm-fuzzy, capable of platitudes, but incapable of angst and indignation and even rage when God is side-stepped, ignored or diminished.  We have killed that Jesus.

Substitutionary atonement is not license. We like to think that in the New Testament, post-Jesus, discussion of faith versus works, that faith is the ultimate test and redemption. That's a very modern American perspective.

We like to think that Jesus never addressed faith versus works, and that we can leave that debate to Peter and Paul. But that's not the case. The entire life of Jesus, as well as the concept of substitutionary atonement speaks to works and not faith alone.

Consider the very first sermon of Jesus… The very first words Jesus spoke in a teaching and preaching situation. Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand. Jesus doesn't begin his ministry with a sermon about belief, he begins with a sermon about works and behavior. Repent. Not repent of your beliefs or repent of your faith, but repent of your ways. Why repent? Because the kingdom of heaven is at hand. God's will is paramount. We are to behave a particular way. Behave…

Consider Jesus very last words. Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do. Not forgive them their beliefs, not forgive them their faith, but forgive them their actions.

From Jesus very first sermon words to his last words on the cross, he was concerned about our behavior. Substitutionary atonement is not license. It doesn't mean that Jesus died, so your behavior, in some wildly relativistic fashion, is every bit as valid as the next person's behavior. It doesn't mean that Jesus was unconcerned about behavior; it means that our behavior needs to be forgiven. And that was Jesus first concern and last concern. The parable the sheep and goats demonstrates that. What will send us to heaven is the way we behave toward others. What will send us to hell is the way we behave toward others. At no other place in the gospel is Jesus quite so clear or definitive or direct regarding what it is that sends us to heaven or to hell.

It is not the gospel that tells us that Jesus was concerned with faith alone, because that's not the case. It is church tradition and our human nature. Consider modern America. Two of the primary political and social issues of our time are gun ownership and the acquisition of wealth without a requirement that the wealth be distributed. Nothing, nothing could be more antithetical to the teachings of Jesus. Yet we believe that we can behave in a way that regards gun ownership and wealth acquisition as valid and good because Jesus forgives us, so my behavior and my motives are just as good as your behavior and your motives.

After all, we pretend, Jesus forgave us and forgives us and wasn't overly concerned about our behavior. That's how we have bastardized the concept of substitutionary atonement. Forgiveness is not license. I can't say that frequently enough. Forgiveness addresses behavior. We have to assume that Jesus was frequently angry with our behavior. The gospel writers tell us that, we see that on a couple occasions in the Gospels. Jesus was frequently frustrated. We see that throughout the Gospels and Jesus asks the question, “How long must I be with this perverse and unbelieving generation?" Jesus was frequently disappointed. When the disciples didn't get it, when they showed a lack of faith and nerve in the ship during the storm, when they failed to stay awake in Gethsemane…

Jesus was angry, Jesus was frustrated, and Jesus was disappointed. Not in lack of faith, but in the behavior of the disciples. His words were constant message and exhortation to behave differently. Behave… Not to think differently, not to feel differently, not to evidence a different faith, but to behave differently. The very fact that he begins his ministry with repent, and ends his life asking that we be forgiven of certain behaviors indicates the importance of behavior to the Christ.

No amount of discussion or debate will negate the fact that Jesus wanted us and wants us to behave differently and that throughout his ministry he was adamant, aggressive, forceful, demanding, supportive, and chastening in his efforts to direct our behavior.

It is sloppy theology, and self-serving wishful thinking to believe that being forgiven for our behavior, is the same thing as assuming that Jesus had no regard for how we behaved.

The disciples were called into accountability for their actions.  Humankind, from the moment of Jesus incarnation, was called into accountability for its actions.  It would be folly to assume that Jesus was ok with any instance of follower or non-follower to behave in a fashion that denied God or God’s reasonable and rightful place in our lives.  It would be similarly folly to assume that Jesus was a happy-go-lucky unconcerned fellow who didn’t really care about how his message was received.  In fact, we need to assume that he perceived himself as scattering seed.  Would he not care where that seed landed or how that seed fared?

Jesus got angry.  We have sanitized the Messiah and don’t generally willingly see that behavior.

Jesus withered a fig tree.

Jesus drove the money lenders from the temple with a whip of cords.

Jesus called the leaders of the church vipers.

Jesus called his best friend Satan.

Jesus called the Syrophonecian woman a dog.

But that Jesus no longer exists.  We have killed him, imagined him out of existence.  Replaced him with some really nice meme, that doesn’t offend, but also doesn’t prioritize a walk with God ABOVE EVERYTHING ELSE.

How I long for a resurrected Jesus who expects loving, committed, decent and meaningful behavior from us.  How I lament his demise.

THE CRUEL, KILLING MINDSET OF THE AMERICAN GOVERNMENT

According to a report in the New York Times, Washington counts all military-age males in a drone strike zone as combatants, unless there is explicit intelligence posthumously proving them innocent.

Now consider that in conjunction with the Administration's recent memo which said that any SUSPECTED American in collusion with terrorists could be killed by the government!

That means that if you are killed, you're guilty.  Period, done deal.  UNLESS after you're killed, it can be PROVEN that you were innocent, in which case you are determined to be innocent -- but dead.

Not unlike the Salem witch trials, where they weighted down and submerged the accused witch.  If she manifested some super power, blew up the dunking device, overcame the guards and survived the submerging, she was guilty and then was killed.  If she did NOT survive the submerging, she was innocent of witchcraft… but was unfortunately deceased.

The super-powered derailing of the dunking test – that never happened.

POSTHUMOUSLY?  REALLY?

ONLY THEN are they counted as a civilian casualty rather than the death of a military person during a wartime engagement?  Fat lot of good (as they say) that does them.

Suddenly where the Florida "Last Man Standing" law came from, is beginning to make sense to me...

Catch 22 is alive and well and as obfuscating and skewed to the benefit of bizarre government behavior as it has ever been.

I guess History really IS written by the winners and survivors.  The dead are either a) witches, b) not witches, c) American citizens who are terrorists, or d) American citizens who are not terrorists; but the United States of America has decided to ‘kill ‘em all and let God sort ‘em out.’