There was a fellow named Dexter. Dexter Manley. Dexter was a rather large youth, and very athletic. When he attained his full adult size, Dexter was about 6'5", maybe 265 or 270 pounds. He was unbelievably fast for his size, he was every bit as strong as that size would suggest, and he didn't mind taking or giving hits. He was kept moving through school because he was unbelievably fast for his size, he was every bit as strong as that size would suggest, and he didn't mind taking or giving hits. He had a lot of football savvy.
Dexter went to Oklahoma State University for four years on a football scholarship. His grades were just OK, but they were always OK, because he was unbelievably fast for his size, he was every bit as strong as that size would suggest, and he didn't mind taking or giving hits. Besides, the Oklahoma States and Ohio States and the Southern Cals and (insert any SEC team here) really don't much care about whether their student-athletes learn anything, as long as they learn the playbook.
Dexter went on to the Washington Redskins. His career netted him 106 quarterback sacks, a few Pro Bowl appearances, and a couple of Super Bowl rings. He would have had three, but about a month before what would have been that third Super Bowl he was suspended from the NFL. For life. He'd failed a drug test. For the fourth time.
How could someone so gifted athletically, who had so much handed to him, toss it all away? How?
An interesting tidbit about Dexter Manley came out after he was out of football. Dexter Manley, who went to Oklahoma State for four years, was illiterate. I don't mean functionally illiterate - I know a sadly large number of college grads who fit that description - but "I-can't-read-a-word" illiterate.
Where was that person, in junior high, in high school, or at OSU, who would take Dexter aside and say, "You need to make some other choices in your life. At some point, it's not all fun and games.You'll need these skills you're neglecting." Whoever that person was, he didn't encounter Dexter, or he was encouraged to keep quiet. Because Dexter was unbelievably fast for his size, he was every bit as strong as that size would suggest, and he didn't mind taking or giving hits. He had a lot of football savvy. Too bad he missed out on the life savvy.
To his credit, Dexter Manley no longer is illiterate. And he showed great courage in admitting his problem (in a public hearing, no less), facing his problem, and doing something about it. It's not all clear sailing for him - he's in debt up to his neck - but he faces life honestly.
Would that he were the only horror story about athletes being used up, then discarded by their sports. The NFL is notorious for it. John Mackey was a tight end for the Baltimore Colts. He has a Super Bowl ring also; in fact, he caught a touchdown pass in that Super Bowl. John Mackey was, arguably, the greatest tight end in history. But, if you happen to be around him, he'll put that ring in your face and tell you all about it. And tell you. And tell you. That is, if you catch him in one of his more lucid moments. John Mackey suffers from dementia. He spends his life, when he goes anywhere at all, being led by the hand. Likewise Larry Morris, former linebacker from the Bears. For both, and a number of others, family finances are precarious. There's no health care coverage for former NFLers, unless they can prove that their dementia is a direct result of concussions suffered while playing. Good luck with that.
I still watch football. At the college level I'm a fan of Notre Dame - one of the schools that brings a kid on board with the full expectation that he'll graduate and actually take some classes not taught by an assistant football coach. I also watch the Bears, although that's become a bit of a guilty pleasure. I'm sure the marketing juggernaut that is the NFL won't notice if I stop watching, and I just might.
I prefer baseball anyway. Cubs on. Cheerio!
Monday, April 26, 2010
Monday, April 19, 2010
I'm hoping this will be. . .
. . .the last word from me on chemical dependence for a while. It's a few random observations, drawn from experience or reading or acquaintance.
NO GENETICS, NO ADDICTION. Some doctors and counselors would say it this starkly. Not everybody who has an addict in their family line become addicts themselves. But there are very few addicts who do not have an addict in the family line.
I would not necessarily use this with someone that I thought needed help. The reason is that not everyone who has an addict in the family line knows it. Often it's not talked about, even within the family. Alcoholism still has a stigma, even though it is thought of as a disease - predictable course, predictable outcome. But, if Grandpa died of a heart attack, we're fine with talking about that. And if Aunt Sally passed on because of cancer, we may discuss the entire course of the condition - treatment, symptoms, well into TMI country. But if Uncle Ralph died of cirrhosis - "Shhhh. Uncle Ralph got really sick."
THE ELEMENT OF DENIAL. Many definitions of addiction include a reference to an element of denial. The capacity of the alcoholic to deny and rationalize can be amazing. One may be in a hospital bed, dying from cirrhosis. He's lost family - more than once. He's lost jobs and a business or two. But, even at this moment he still maintains, "I didn't have a problem drinking."
Yes, we can see that. It was the staying sober that you couldn't handle.
ONE DAY AT A TIME is a lifesaver. There's the big sweeping statement we seem so fond of making: "I'll never do THAT to myself again." You've made your mind up, once and for all, and you'll never drink again. . .until tomorrow night. The approach that has worked, time and again, for millions: One Day At a Time. It's not fair that I can't have a Chianti with my lasagna, that I can't have a Brandy Alexander after dinner. I can't have the beers-and-pizza party. I can just have the pizza, and not too much of that. I can't handle the thought that this will be so for the rest of my life. But I can - I CAN - get through today. I can be sober today. I'll worry about tomorrow, tomorrow. I last had a drink December 7, 1985 - but my sobriety hasn't been 24-years-+. It's been single day after single day, a series of single days strung together. Few days go by that I don't want a drink. But, day by day, I have been sober.
GET TO KNOW YOUR HIGHER POWER.AA is not picky about your Higher Power. It can be God. It can be an old windowsill. Our attitude: whatever works for you. Some use AA itself as the Higher Power. AA has helped millions to recovery, and you can't handle your own drinking. That makes them a higher power than you, at least in some sense. I call my Higher Power God - there were, by his grace, too many of just the right people in just the right time at just the right place for me to think of it all as coincidence. Don't ask for my explanation for those who were not so lucky. I don't have such an explanation.
GET OVER YOUR RESENTMENTS. You can't afford them - they're a great excuse for your next bender.
ABOVE ALL, FIND HELP. TAKE ADVANTAGE. I first went to an AA meeting in Dubuque, Iowa. Was I ever hesitant! I parked outside the building, and did a waltz with my van for several minutes. "Am I going in? No? I need to? Not?" Yes - no - out of the van, onto the street, back in the van. I eventually got out of the van and crossed the street. The AA chapter that I went to was in the basement of its building. Just because we have a sense of humor about such things, to get to the basement you had to walk past The Dog House Lounge - one of the busier bars in Dubuque. If the AA person with the key didn't show up, we had to get the key to the AA meeting room - from the bartender.
In my discussing this, it's my sincerest hope that someone who needs some help may know it - that they may recognize the behaviors that they exhibit - that they may recognize themselves in that 14-year-old girl I described earlier, or see themselves as the parent of that girl. Whoever you are, there's help. Please grab it. If you need to, find a way to contact me. I'll try to put you in touch with the needed help.
Thanks for hanging out with me for a few!
NO GENETICS, NO ADDICTION. Some doctors and counselors would say it this starkly. Not everybody who has an addict in their family line become addicts themselves. But there are very few addicts who do not have an addict in the family line.
I would not necessarily use this with someone that I thought needed help. The reason is that not everyone who has an addict in the family line knows it. Often it's not talked about, even within the family. Alcoholism still has a stigma, even though it is thought of as a disease - predictable course, predictable outcome. But, if Grandpa died of a heart attack, we're fine with talking about that. And if Aunt Sally passed on because of cancer, we may discuss the entire course of the condition - treatment, symptoms, well into TMI country. But if Uncle Ralph died of cirrhosis - "Shhhh. Uncle Ralph got really sick."
THE ELEMENT OF DENIAL. Many definitions of addiction include a reference to an element of denial. The capacity of the alcoholic to deny and rationalize can be amazing. One may be in a hospital bed, dying from cirrhosis. He's lost family - more than once. He's lost jobs and a business or two. But, even at this moment he still maintains, "I didn't have a problem drinking."
Yes, we can see that. It was the staying sober that you couldn't handle.
ONE DAY AT A TIME is a lifesaver. There's the big sweeping statement we seem so fond of making: "I'll never do THAT to myself again." You've made your mind up, once and for all, and you'll never drink again. . .until tomorrow night. The approach that has worked, time and again, for millions: One Day At a Time. It's not fair that I can't have a Chianti with my lasagna, that I can't have a Brandy Alexander after dinner. I can't have the beers-and-pizza party. I can just have the pizza, and not too much of that. I can't handle the thought that this will be so for the rest of my life. But I can - I CAN - get through today. I can be sober today. I'll worry about tomorrow, tomorrow. I last had a drink December 7, 1985 - but my sobriety hasn't been 24-years-+. It's been single day after single day, a series of single days strung together. Few days go by that I don't want a drink. But, day by day, I have been sober.
GET TO KNOW YOUR HIGHER POWER.AA is not picky about your Higher Power. It can be God. It can be an old windowsill. Our attitude: whatever works for you. Some use AA itself as the Higher Power. AA has helped millions to recovery, and you can't handle your own drinking. That makes them a higher power than you, at least in some sense. I call my Higher Power God - there were, by his grace, too many of just the right people in just the right time at just the right place for me to think of it all as coincidence. Don't ask for my explanation for those who were not so lucky. I don't have such an explanation.
GET OVER YOUR RESENTMENTS. You can't afford them - they're a great excuse for your next bender.
ABOVE ALL, FIND HELP. TAKE ADVANTAGE. I first went to an AA meeting in Dubuque, Iowa. Was I ever hesitant! I parked outside the building, and did a waltz with my van for several minutes. "Am I going in? No? I need to? Not?" Yes - no - out of the van, onto the street, back in the van. I eventually got out of the van and crossed the street. The AA chapter that I went to was in the basement of its building. Just because we have a sense of humor about such things, to get to the basement you had to walk past The Dog House Lounge - one of the busier bars in Dubuque. If the AA person with the key didn't show up, we had to get the key to the AA meeting room - from the bartender.
In my discussing this, it's my sincerest hope that someone who needs some help may know it - that they may recognize the behaviors that they exhibit - that they may recognize themselves in that 14-year-old girl I described earlier, or see themselves as the parent of that girl. Whoever you are, there's help. Please grab it. If you need to, find a way to contact me. I'll try to put you in touch with the needed help.
God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
The courage to change the things I can,
and the wisdom to know the difference.
Thanks for hanging out with me for a few!
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Peter, do you love me more than these?
Today's Gospel reading for Mass included Jesus' asking Peter three times if Peter loved him, and Peter's three affirmations that he did. It's in John 21:15-19. Please go read that now. I'll wait.
The New Testament was written in Greek. Greek has more than one word that we translate as "love". If you're not familiar with that idea, and you're reading in English, you can easily miss what's going on in this passage. Thanks to Fr. Ed O'Melia at St. Mary's for this insight.
One of the words for love is "Phileos". This is brotherly love, or "buddy" love. It's the root of the name of the city of Philadelphia.
A second word is "eros". We hear that and hear the root of "erotic" and think, "Sex!" And, romance and sex are part - but only part - of what Eros is about. Eros is the love that seeks its own perfection, its own completion, its own perpetuation. I think you can see where the sexual connotations have come from. When the Greek philosophers - most famously in Plato's Symposium - write about love, it's almost always Eros.
Agape is the third term. Where Eros seeks the perfection of the self, Agape seeks the good and the perfection of the other. Eros shows frequently in philosophy. Mention of Agape is rare in philosophical writing, but the New Testament is loaded with it. "Greater Agape has no one than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends." 1 Cor. 13 - the love chapter - is all about Agape.
In the passage from John, Jesus asks Peter three times if Peter loves him. But the sequence of questions and answers is:
Jesus: "Peter, do you Agape me?"
Peter: "Yes, Lord, I Phileos you." I can't do that Agape thing. I'm just not there. I want to be your friend, your buddy.
The second round. Jesus: "Peter, do you Agape me?"
Peter: "Yes, Lord. You know I Phileos you." Peter again takes Jesus' question down a notch. He's not ready for the larger commitment Jesus seeks.
In the third round, Jesus comes down that notch: "Peter, do you Phileos me?" Is that really the best you can do just now? And you can maybe understand Peter's hurt in his answer: "You know, Lord, that I Phileos you."
What looks like a three-time affirmation to make up for Peter's three-time denial becomes something more. It becomes a beautiful story of Jesus' willingness to accept Peter where Peter was. Jesus doesn't send Peter packing. "Feed my sheep" - Jesus accepts Peter and will make use of Peter just as Peter is. Just like he does for us. But, he's not going to just leave Peter as he is. The following passage foretells Peter's conversion, from Phileos to Agape.
I hope I find my way on that path. And, I hope we may seek it together.
Thanks for hanging with me for a few!
The New Testament was written in Greek. Greek has more than one word that we translate as "love". If you're not familiar with that idea, and you're reading in English, you can easily miss what's going on in this passage. Thanks to Fr. Ed O'Melia at St. Mary's for this insight.
One of the words for love is "Phileos". This is brotherly love, or "buddy" love. It's the root of the name of the city of Philadelphia.
A second word is "eros". We hear that and hear the root of "erotic" and think, "Sex!" And, romance and sex are part - but only part - of what Eros is about. Eros is the love that seeks its own perfection, its own completion, its own perpetuation. I think you can see where the sexual connotations have come from. When the Greek philosophers - most famously in Plato's Symposium - write about love, it's almost always Eros.
Agape is the third term. Where Eros seeks the perfection of the self, Agape seeks the good and the perfection of the other. Eros shows frequently in philosophy. Mention of Agape is rare in philosophical writing, but the New Testament is loaded with it. "Greater Agape has no one than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends." 1 Cor. 13 - the love chapter - is all about Agape.
In the passage from John, Jesus asks Peter three times if Peter loves him. But the sequence of questions and answers is:
Jesus: "Peter, do you Agape me?"
Peter: "Yes, Lord, I Phileos you." I can't do that Agape thing. I'm just not there. I want to be your friend, your buddy.
The second round. Jesus: "Peter, do you Agape me?"
Peter: "Yes, Lord. You know I Phileos you." Peter again takes Jesus' question down a notch. He's not ready for the larger commitment Jesus seeks.
In the third round, Jesus comes down that notch: "Peter, do you Phileos me?" Is that really the best you can do just now? And you can maybe understand Peter's hurt in his answer: "You know, Lord, that I Phileos you."
What looks like a three-time affirmation to make up for Peter's three-time denial becomes something more. It becomes a beautiful story of Jesus' willingness to accept Peter where Peter was. Jesus doesn't send Peter packing. "Feed my sheep" - Jesus accepts Peter and will make use of Peter just as Peter is. Just like he does for us. But, he's not going to just leave Peter as he is. The following passage foretells Peter's conversion, from Phileos to Agape.
I hope I find my way on that path. And, I hope we may seek it together.
Thanks for hanging with me for a few!
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Drunken Dad, Boozy Mom
Before I get into my topic tonight I want to say thank you to all who have been reading my blog. The posts have drawn some online comment. I'm grateful for every one. Several people have let me know in ways other than online comments that something I wrote meant something to them. That's incredibly gratifying and moving. Given the limited number of people who know this blog exists, a good number click onto the blog each time I post. (I can see how many. I can't see who!) I love being with you for a few! I hope something I've said has moved you or helped you or just made you laugh. Thanks!
A few posts ago - in "The Power of Addiction" - I mentioned a 14-year-old girl. She's not any particular individual I know, yet she is. She may be someone you know.
Alcoholism obviously affects parents. The two spouses have their routine. This week the husband is the alcoholic and the wife is the codependent. Next week the roles switch. Soon enough, they switch back. Sometimes both are drinking. Sometimes both are defending the other's habit. If this family ever gets into counseling it will be a challenging task for the counselor to determine who is the alcoholic and who is the codependent. For now. Trying to get a handle on this family is like trying to get a drink of water by using chopsticks.
Drinking water using chopsticks is an apt description of the effort by the children to define their own roles. What most 14-year-olds are doing is trying on new personalities, new looks, a new sense of style and of their place, and they try a new one every day, or so it seems. They eventually find the pattern that fits them best. As frustrating as it is for parents, it's all good and healthy. This 14-year-old has never had time for that. How can you even try to define yourself when the whole family around you is constantly playing - and shifting - roles?
So, this one had to grow up way. too. fast.
This daughter is the superkid. Ultra conscientious overachiever, typically a firstborn. She's is a people-pleaser. She's a straight-A student in school. She plays in the band and maybe holds down a job, too. No one could know that there are any issues at all with her. She puts on a "Nothing's wrong!" mask. Few, if any, would ever guess.
Few, if any, would ever guess that she had to get up early enough to see if Mom and Dad got home last night. They did, so the next thing she has to do is clean up the mess. Once she's gotten the vomit out of the carpet she calls Dad's work, pretending to be Mom, to let them know that he's sick. Again. She then calls Mom's work, pretending to be Mom. She hears the lecture that Mom's boss thinks he's giving to Mom. One more time - just one more time. . .
Then she got her younger siblings up, got them to get dressed, and fixed breakfast so they could all go to school, and so she can put that "Nothing's wrong with me!" mask on again.
This can't be the life of a 14-year-old. Almost inevitably the breakdown comes. Sooner or later - the breakdown comes. The form this breakdown takes is unpredictable, but the breakdown does come.
There are other roles that kids in an alcoholic family move into - The Clown, The Lost Child. They'll be the subject of other posts. Please bear in mind that the characteristics of which I'm writing are traits that appear in people who did not grow up in alcoholic homes. People who know me well know that I have a tendency toward the super-responsible, mixed with more than a little streak of the clown. I didn't grow up with alcoholic parents. We all have some combination of these traits.
But a child from an alcoholic home tends to exaggerate - responsible-on-steroids, so to speak, or clown-on-steroids, or really REALLY lost child.
Please also remember that we're speaking of tendencies, not universals. Homo sapiens is a very complex animal, and I would not want to oversimplify.
Thanks for hanging out for a few!
A few posts ago - in "The Power of Addiction" - I mentioned a 14-year-old girl. She's not any particular individual I know, yet she is. She may be someone you know.
Alcoholism obviously affects parents. The two spouses have their routine. This week the husband is the alcoholic and the wife is the codependent. Next week the roles switch. Soon enough, they switch back. Sometimes both are drinking. Sometimes both are defending the other's habit. If this family ever gets into counseling it will be a challenging task for the counselor to determine who is the alcoholic and who is the codependent. For now. Trying to get a handle on this family is like trying to get a drink of water by using chopsticks.
Drinking water using chopsticks is an apt description of the effort by the children to define their own roles. What most 14-year-olds are doing is trying on new personalities, new looks, a new sense of style and of their place, and they try a new one every day, or so it seems. They eventually find the pattern that fits them best. As frustrating as it is for parents, it's all good and healthy. This 14-year-old has never had time for that. How can you even try to define yourself when the whole family around you is constantly playing - and shifting - roles?
So, this one had to grow up way. too. fast.
This daughter is the superkid. Ultra conscientious overachiever, typically a firstborn. She's is a people-pleaser. She's a straight-A student in school. She plays in the band and maybe holds down a job, too. No one could know that there are any issues at all with her. She puts on a "Nothing's wrong!" mask. Few, if any, would ever guess.
Few, if any, would ever guess that she had to get up early enough to see if Mom and Dad got home last night. They did, so the next thing she has to do is clean up the mess. Once she's gotten the vomit out of the carpet she calls Dad's work, pretending to be Mom, to let them know that he's sick. Again. She then calls Mom's work, pretending to be Mom. She hears the lecture that Mom's boss thinks he's giving to Mom. One more time - just one more time. . .
Then she got her younger siblings up, got them to get dressed, and fixed breakfast so they could all go to school, and so she can put that "Nothing's wrong with me!" mask on again.
This can't be the life of a 14-year-old. Almost inevitably the breakdown comes. Sooner or later - the breakdown comes. The form this breakdown takes is unpredictable, but the breakdown does come.
There are other roles that kids in an alcoholic family move into - The Clown, The Lost Child. They'll be the subject of other posts. Please bear in mind that the characteristics of which I'm writing are traits that appear in people who did not grow up in alcoholic homes. People who know me well know that I have a tendency toward the super-responsible, mixed with more than a little streak of the clown. I didn't grow up with alcoholic parents. We all have some combination of these traits.
But a child from an alcoholic home tends to exaggerate - responsible-on-steroids, so to speak, or clown-on-steroids, or really REALLY lost child.
Please also remember that we're speaking of tendencies, not universals. Homo sapiens is a very complex animal, and I would not want to oversimplify.
Thanks for hanging out for a few!
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Fry 'em, drug 'em, hang 'em high
I have a confession to make. When Timothy McVeigh, the cowardly, vicious Oklahoma City bomber was executed, I was as happy as anyone to know it was done. If you're going to have a death penalty, then McVeigh was the poster boy for the reasons. I'm old enough to remember the old Westerns where the bad guy always got his. By God, I still want the bad guys to get theirs.
I said all that to say that I'm opposed to the death penalty. Under any circumstance. For anyone.
I know the arguments for the death penalty. These arguments do not withstand examination.
One argument is deterrence. One aspect of deterrence - individual deterrence - is inarguable. Once you've executed someone, that particular individual is forever deterred from killing. But, on a societal level the deterrence argument falls apart. Texas, Florida and Virginia have the death penalty and use it liberally. Minnesota, Iowa and Wisconsin do not have it. If the death penalty were a deterrent, we would expect the three southern states to have lower murder rates. But, the numbers (murder rate per 100,000 population): Minnesota, 2.1, Virginia 4.7. Wisconsin, 2.6, Florida 6.4. Iowa 2.5, Texas 5.6. There are other factors, to be sure, but those other factors do not change the basic fact: capital punishment does not deter murder.
I mean, seriously: if you had to be downtown alone at night, would you rather take your chances in Minneapolis or Miami?
Ricky Rector was executed in Arkansas. Bill Clinton was governor (I didn't say that either political party is entirely right on this issue). Ricky Ray Rector had his last meal on the eve of his execution. He didn't want to eat his dessert. He wanted to save it for later. He was unaware that there would be no later.
Question for those who think highly of the deterrent argument: How is the death penalty to deter someone who was so mentally challenged that, even when his own time came, he was unaware of what an execution means?
A second reason for the death penalty relates to some foggy concept of the cosmic order of things. The murder disturbed that cosmic order, and the only thing that can set that order right is the state-imposed death of the murderer. A term commonly used for this idea is "retribution" - the making right of the whole thing. Those who use this reasoning need to be able to explain something, though:
What happens to that cosmic order when the person who is executed is innocent of the crime?
My first argument against the death penalty is the imperfection of the judicial system. To illustrate: At the time that Governor George Ryan placed a moratorium on Illinois' use of capital punishment Illinois had executed twelve people since 1977. Illinois had exonerated thirteen - not legal-technicality-exonerated but DNA-and-physical-evidence-exonerated. Thirteen people put on death row for crimes that they did not commit - for which they were not at the crime scene.
What happens to the cosmic order if people who are sent to death row have only a 50-50 chance of actually belonging there? What happens if the odds are 90-10 or any other number less than 100% that you're guilty? And please don't bother with the idea that Illinois juries, Illinois judges, Illinois prosecutors or defense lawyers are any less competent than those of any other state. It's not just a ghastly possibility that at least one person who's been electrocuted - hanged - gassed - shot - injected - was innocent. It's nearly a certainty.
One thing about capital punishment. It not only ensures that the executed one cannot kill again. It also ensures he can never prove himself innocent. Even if he is.
So, my question for those for whom retribution and deterrence are convincing reasons for capital punishment: how many innocent people being executed is a tolerable number for you? If retribution is a legitimate consideration, then when an innocent person is executed, is not retribution due upon the judges, juries, prosecutors, legislators, governors who set the possibility up? How, exactly, is that retribution to be enforced?
The Catholic pro-life position goes beyond the question of abortion. It presents consideration for both the beginning and the end of life. It raises questions on the death penalty. Capital punishment is acceptable - ONLY if the reason is protection of the larger society, AND only if there is no bloodless way to accomplish this protection. Both of the two most recent Popes have been against executions. The American bishops, as a group, have called for the end of the use of the death penalty in America.
I think it's time we caught up to them.
I said all that to say that I'm opposed to the death penalty. Under any circumstance. For anyone.
I know the arguments for the death penalty. These arguments do not withstand examination.
One argument is deterrence. One aspect of deterrence - individual deterrence - is inarguable. Once you've executed someone, that particular individual is forever deterred from killing. But, on a societal level the deterrence argument falls apart. Texas, Florida and Virginia have the death penalty and use it liberally. Minnesota, Iowa and Wisconsin do not have it. If the death penalty were a deterrent, we would expect the three southern states to have lower murder rates. But, the numbers (murder rate per 100,000 population): Minnesota, 2.1, Virginia 4.7. Wisconsin, 2.6, Florida 6.4. Iowa 2.5, Texas 5.6. There are other factors, to be sure, but those other factors do not change the basic fact: capital punishment does not deter murder.
I mean, seriously: if you had to be downtown alone at night, would you rather take your chances in Minneapolis or Miami?
Ricky Rector was executed in Arkansas. Bill Clinton was governor (I didn't say that either political party is entirely right on this issue). Ricky Ray Rector had his last meal on the eve of his execution. He didn't want to eat his dessert. He wanted to save it for later. He was unaware that there would be no later.
Question for those who think highly of the deterrent argument: How is the death penalty to deter someone who was so mentally challenged that, even when his own time came, he was unaware of what an execution means?
A second reason for the death penalty relates to some foggy concept of the cosmic order of things. The murder disturbed that cosmic order, and the only thing that can set that order right is the state-imposed death of the murderer. A term commonly used for this idea is "retribution" - the making right of the whole thing. Those who use this reasoning need to be able to explain something, though:
What happens to that cosmic order when the person who is executed is innocent of the crime?
My first argument against the death penalty is the imperfection of the judicial system. To illustrate: At the time that Governor George Ryan placed a moratorium on Illinois' use of capital punishment Illinois had executed twelve people since 1977. Illinois had exonerated thirteen - not legal-technicality-exonerated but DNA-and-physical-evidence-exonerated. Thirteen people put on death row for crimes that they did not commit - for which they were not at the crime scene.
What happens to the cosmic order if people who are sent to death row have only a 50-50 chance of actually belonging there? What happens if the odds are 90-10 or any other number less than 100% that you're guilty? And please don't bother with the idea that Illinois juries, Illinois judges, Illinois prosecutors or defense lawyers are any less competent than those of any other state. It's not just a ghastly possibility that at least one person who's been electrocuted - hanged - gassed - shot - injected - was innocent. It's nearly a certainty.
One thing about capital punishment. It not only ensures that the executed one cannot kill again. It also ensures he can never prove himself innocent. Even if he is.
So, my question for those for whom retribution and deterrence are convincing reasons for capital punishment: how many innocent people being executed is a tolerable number for you? If retribution is a legitimate consideration, then when an innocent person is executed, is not retribution due upon the judges, juries, prosecutors, legislators, governors who set the possibility up? How, exactly, is that retribution to be enforced?
The Catholic pro-life position goes beyond the question of abortion. It presents consideration for both the beginning and the end of life. It raises questions on the death penalty. Capital punishment is acceptable - ONLY if the reason is protection of the larger society, AND only if there is no bloodless way to accomplish this protection. Both of the two most recent Popes have been against executions. The American bishops, as a group, have called for the end of the use of the death penalty in America.
I think it's time we caught up to them.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Put me in coach. I'm ready to play - today.
In November my wife and I visited our son, his wife and their son, Payton, in Quincy, Illinois. That Sunday I attended Mass at St. Francis Solanus Church. As we left the Mass, someone noted the jacket I was wearing - my Cubs jacket. I'd forgotten - or maybe I hadn't - that, if you're from Quincy, Chicago is a 5 or 6 hour drive across a lot of The Middle of Nowhere. St. Louis is just a short trip south on Highway 61. I was wearing my Cubs jacket to a church service right in the middle of Cardinal nation.
And, yes, someone did say something about it. It was in a fun, kidding sort of way: "You're welcome to join us anytime - and next time you might want to change that jacket." That's the way it was said - in good fun - and that was the way I took it.
I love being part of the Cubs-Cardinals rivalry. Most involved are midwesterners - in heart, if not in location - so we know that this is supposed to be fun - that it's really life's toy department. I count a number of diehard Cards fans among my best friends and favorite people on earth, and I hope they feel the same about me. I don't think too many Yankees or Red Sox fans could say that about each other.
Baseball season's here again. . .
Story's told about an old Cubs' pitcher, Charlie Root. He threw a fastball, and the hitter hit it right back at him - a whistling line drive that hit Root in the face. It knocked out several teeth. Root's manager, Charlie Grimm, was on the mound with the trainer - blood all over Root's uniform, blood all over the mound. Grimm looked into the stands to see where Root's wife was sitting. She was laughing hysterically. When they carried Root into the locker room, Grimm asked Mrs. Root, "Your husband is laid out on the mound, missing teeth, bleeding all over the place. What, exactly, did you find so funny?"
Mrs. Root answered, "Our dinner tonight."
Grimm: "What's so funny about your dinner menu?"
Mrs. Root: "Corn on the cob."
So, the season starts - my fave. We're all hopeful that this can be our year when we all know, good and well, that it'll probably be the Yankees' year again (can I have a big BOOOOO for the Yanks?) Or, as Yogi Berra said, "Deja vu all over again."
And, yes, someone did say something about it. It was in a fun, kidding sort of way: "You're welcome to join us anytime - and next time you might want to change that jacket." That's the way it was said - in good fun - and that was the way I took it.
I love being part of the Cubs-Cardinals rivalry. Most involved are midwesterners - in heart, if not in location - so we know that this is supposed to be fun - that it's really life's toy department. I count a number of diehard Cards fans among my best friends and favorite people on earth, and I hope they feel the same about me. I don't think too many Yankees or Red Sox fans could say that about each other.
Baseball season's here again. . .
Story's told about an old Cubs' pitcher, Charlie Root. He threw a fastball, and the hitter hit it right back at him - a whistling line drive that hit Root in the face. It knocked out several teeth. Root's manager, Charlie Grimm, was on the mound with the trainer - blood all over Root's uniform, blood all over the mound. Grimm looked into the stands to see where Root's wife was sitting. She was laughing hysterically. When they carried Root into the locker room, Grimm asked Mrs. Root, "Your husband is laid out on the mound, missing teeth, bleeding all over the place. What, exactly, did you find so funny?"
Mrs. Root answered, "Our dinner tonight."
Grimm: "What's so funny about your dinner menu?"
Mrs. Root: "Corn on the cob."
So, the season starts - my fave. We're all hopeful that this can be our year when we all know, good and well, that it'll probably be the Yankees' year again (can I have a big BOOOOO for the Yanks?) Or, as Yogi Berra said, "Deja vu all over again."
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Jesus Christ is Risen Today!
The story is told about the driver who ran over the Easter bunny. The driver got out of his car, and went into a panic as he realized what he'd done. "Oh no - oh, my - I'VE RUN OVER THE EASTER BUNNY!!!!" as he stood over the flattened body.
As it happens, this happened outside a grocery store. One person who was leaving the store saw the commotion and ran back into the store. He came out with a spray can. He sprayed it over the Easter bunny's flattened, lifeless form. As he did, the body began to get back into its former shape. Soon, the Easter bunny came back to life and ran down the street, waving the whole time as he went.
The motorist just had to ask: "What was it that you sprayed on the Easter bunny?"
The answer: "Hare restorer for a permanent wave."
Ha ha, death. The joke's on you!
On Thursday, Friday and Saturday of Holy Week, we have a service each day. But we don't have three Masses. We have one. It has its start on Holy Thursday, in the evening. The readings focus on the betrayal, the last supper, and the pending death of Jesus. At the end, the priest strips the altar and the candles are extinguished. Visual symbolism is very important to us Catholics, and the symbolism of these three days is obvious and moving. The people who attend may stay for a period of adoration, but we leave in silence. This is no celebration. There is no point in asking if someone else has betrayed Jesus. We all have, at some point, in some way.
But. . .
Warren Buffett tells a story of an oilman arriving at the pearly gates. St. Peter tells him, "Well, you probably could get in, but we have a special section for oilmen - see? right over there - and it's full. I can't put you in there, and I have no place else to put you. Sorry!" The oilman thinks a moment, then asks Peter: "Can I say just four words to the oilmen in there?"
Peter says, "Yeah, OK. Go ahead."
The oilman at the gate yells at the top of his voice: "OIL FOUND IN HELL!!!!"
A commotion, a rustle, and in an instant St. Peter observes, "There's lots of room in there now. Go on in!"
And the oilman says, "No, I think I'd better follow those guys. You never know. There might be something to that rumor."
Death, you do not win. You are not the last word. The joke's on you.
On Good Friday we enter the church. It's the middle part of that Mass we started the day before, so with very little by way of opening ritual we say a prayer, then we do the readings, and a reenactment of the Passion of Our Lord. That was my part in the Holy Week ceremonies; I read the Old Testament reading and the responsory Psalm. I then was the narrator in the Passion account. It's a simple service and very somber in mood. Again we leave in silence.
Saturday is the empty day. Jesus died the day previous, and he's in the tomb. But then - but then -
We gather on Saturday night. We enter a dark church (the Easter vigil service can't start before sunset.) Since Thursday night, we have been reminded of death and its seeming victory, even over Jesus himself. So, we wait in the darkness. Outside the church, the priest is lighting the fire from which he will light the Easter candle. He lights the Easter candle and proceeds to the rear of the church. We hear one voice:
Lumen Christi. Light of Christ.
And the response from all: Deo gratias! Thanks be to God!
Praised be God!
The priest proceeds to about the middle of the church, and it's repeated: Lumen Christi! Deo gratias!
John Shea wrote, some years ago, a book entitled Stories of Faith. In the back is a poem: The Storyteller of God. I'm not normally a chokey-uppy-teary kind of guy, but every time I read this poem there are points where I have to stop. Please try to find the book and read the poem.
Toward the end of the poem there is dialogue between Death, Sin, and Fate. With Jesus in the tomb, they are debating who rules people's souls now - now that this sign of hope is safely gone and buried. The discussion is ended when, in the morning,
The Vigil Mass closed with the song:
Amen! Alleluia!
HE IS RISEN!!!!
As it happens, this happened outside a grocery store. One person who was leaving the store saw the commotion and ran back into the store. He came out with a spray can. He sprayed it over the Easter bunny's flattened, lifeless form. As he did, the body began to get back into its former shape. Soon, the Easter bunny came back to life and ran down the street, waving the whole time as he went.
The motorist just had to ask: "What was it that you sprayed on the Easter bunny?"
The answer: "Hare restorer for a permanent wave."
Ha ha, death. The joke's on you!
On Thursday, Friday and Saturday of Holy Week, we have a service each day. But we don't have three Masses. We have one. It has its start on Holy Thursday, in the evening. The readings focus on the betrayal, the last supper, and the pending death of Jesus. At the end, the priest strips the altar and the candles are extinguished. Visual symbolism is very important to us Catholics, and the symbolism of these three days is obvious and moving. The people who attend may stay for a period of adoration, but we leave in silence. This is no celebration. There is no point in asking if someone else has betrayed Jesus. We all have, at some point, in some way.
But. . .
Warren Buffett tells a story of an oilman arriving at the pearly gates. St. Peter tells him, "Well, you probably could get in, but we have a special section for oilmen - see? right over there - and it's full. I can't put you in there, and I have no place else to put you. Sorry!" The oilman thinks a moment, then asks Peter: "Can I say just four words to the oilmen in there?"
Peter says, "Yeah, OK. Go ahead."
The oilman at the gate yells at the top of his voice: "OIL FOUND IN HELL!!!!"
A commotion, a rustle, and in an instant St. Peter observes, "There's lots of room in there now. Go on in!"
And the oilman says, "No, I think I'd better follow those guys. You never know. There might be something to that rumor."
Death, you do not win. You are not the last word. The joke's on you.
On Good Friday we enter the church. It's the middle part of that Mass we started the day before, so with very little by way of opening ritual we say a prayer, then we do the readings, and a reenactment of the Passion of Our Lord. That was my part in the Holy Week ceremonies; I read the Old Testament reading and the responsory Psalm. I then was the narrator in the Passion account. It's a simple service and very somber in mood. Again we leave in silence.
Saturday is the empty day. Jesus died the day previous, and he's in the tomb. But then - but then -
We gather on Saturday night. We enter a dark church (the Easter vigil service can't start before sunset.) Since Thursday night, we have been reminded of death and its seeming victory, even over Jesus himself. So, we wait in the darkness. Outside the church, the priest is lighting the fire from which he will light the Easter candle. He lights the Easter candle and proceeds to the rear of the church. We hear one voice:
Lumen Christi. Light of Christ.
And the response from all: Deo gratias! Thanks be to God!
And the light shone in the darkness, and the darkness has not extinguished it.
Praised be God!
The priest proceeds to about the middle of the church, and it's repeated: Lumen Christi! Deo gratias!
John Shea wrote, some years ago, a book entitled Stories of Faith. In the back is a poem: The Storyteller of God. I'm not normally a chokey-uppy-teary kind of guy, but every time I read this poem there are points where I have to stop. Please try to find the book and read the poem.
Toward the end of the poem there is dialogue between Death, Sin, and Fate. With Jesus in the tomb, they are debating who rules people's souls now - now that this sign of hope is safely gone and buried. The discussion is ended when, in the morning,
a stone the size of twelve men
moved like a mountain on its way to the sea
and on the fresh wind of morning
came the Son of Man
Jesus Christ is risen today! Alleluia!
Our triumphant holy day! Alleluia!
Amen! Alleluia!
HE IS RISEN!!!!
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Were you there when. . .
First, a bit of recognition and recommendation. A young friend of mine, Ashly, is writing in a blog. It's called The Crunchy Conscience, and it touches on ways we can be better stewards of this good earth. Please read and enjoy. I do.
For Catholics, Lent does not end on Easter Sunday. It ends the Thursday before - at the beginning of the Holy Thursday evening Mass. For us at St. Mary's, Davenport, that's 7 PM. My, oh my, the Lord does impose a lot on us, doesn't He? Supper here wasn't going to be done by 7, and we're on a fast from the start of this Mass on, so I had to get in my car, drive across town to McDonald's and eat about an hour before we normally eat so I'd be done in time. And, we've put up with fish on Fridays (I like fish when it's not a "hafta"), and confession, and - well, we had the Davenport version of a traffic jam, and, and. . .
Thus was my day after work. And, work - well, let me tell ya. One day after another - do you know I have to get up at 5 - freaking - 30!!! Drag myself into the shower, scrape my face, drive into the blinding sunlight, yada, yada, yada, just to do it all over again tomorrow. What an imposition!
Besides, I've had the sniffles, the sneezes, this miserable head cold. And everyone just insists on not acting the way I want them to, and they don't all want to just talk about how magnificent they think I am - they actually have the nerve to suggest I might do some things differently. There's chutzpah for you! I mean, talk about bad for my self-image. . .
The things I think are such major issues are pretty small change, really and truly. In fact, the things I have imposed on others have been much more onerous than anything placed on me. So, I will be at the Mass tonight. I will be the lector and reader at the Good Friday service tomorrow night. And, I will be at the Easter Vigil Saturday night. Because He never said a mumblin' word about what He did for me. For all of us.
And, if during the past year, or at any time, I have offended, hurt or in any way harmed or even diminished any of you, please know how sorry I am, and accept the most heartfelt apology I know how to offer.
I was.
For Catholics, Lent does not end on Easter Sunday. It ends the Thursday before - at the beginning of the Holy Thursday evening Mass. For us at St. Mary's, Davenport, that's 7 PM. My, oh my, the Lord does impose a lot on us, doesn't He? Supper here wasn't going to be done by 7, and we're on a fast from the start of this Mass on, so I had to get in my car, drive across town to McDonald's and eat about an hour before we normally eat so I'd be done in time. And, we've put up with fish on Fridays (I like fish when it's not a "hafta"), and confession, and - well, we had the Davenport version of a traffic jam, and, and. . .
They led him to Pilate's bar.
Not a word, not a word, not a word.
They led him to Pilate's bar.
Not a word, not a word, not a word.
They led him to Pilate's bar.
But he never said a mumblin' word.
Not a word, not a word, not a word..
They all cried, "Crucify him."
Thus was my day after work. And, work - well, let me tell ya. One day after another - do you know I have to get up at 5 - freaking - 30!!! Drag myself into the shower, scrape my face, drive into the blinding sunlight, yada, yada, yada, just to do it all over again tomorrow. What an imposition!
They nailed Him to the tree.
Not a word, not a word, not a word.
They nailed Him to the tree.
Not a word, not a word, not a word.
They nailed Him to the tree.
But he never said a mumblin' word.
Not a word, not a word, not a word.
Besides, I've had the sniffles, the sneezes, this miserable head cold. And everyone just insists on not acting the way I want them to, and they don't all want to just talk about how magnificent they think I am - they actually have the nerve to suggest I might do some things differently. There's chutzpah for you! I mean, talk about bad for my self-image. . .
They pierced Him in the side.
Not a word, not a word, not a word.
They pierced Him in the side.
Not a word, not a word, not a word.
They pierced Him in the side.
But he never said a mumblin' word.
Not a word, not a word, not a word.
The things I think are such major issues are pretty small change, really and truly. In fact, the things I have imposed on others have been much more onerous than anything placed on me. So, I will be at the Mass tonight. I will be the lector and reader at the Good Friday service tomorrow night. And, I will be at the Easter Vigil Saturday night. Because He never said a mumblin' word about what He did for me. For all of us.
And, if during the past year, or at any time, I have offended, hurt or in any way harmed or even diminished any of you, please know how sorry I am, and accept the most heartfelt apology I know how to offer.
Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
Oh, sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble.
Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
I was.
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