Part Two: The Rule Relating to or Consisting of Gold

Immediately upon reading the last page of “To Build a Castle: My Life as a Dissenter” by Vladimir Bukovsky, I dash to the lower level of our home where, hidden from view beneath a sofa table and behind the sofa, are four overspilling boxes of books that I’ve no room to properly house on five bookshelves stationed throughout the house. I pull the sofa out and paw through the books. Ah, there it is, a worn paperback copy of “One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich” by Alexander Solzhenitsyn. I will reread it this week in between sprucing up the grounds which are splendidly springing back to life as the warm weather returns.

I woke last night to a nightmare, which found me fleeing for my life to escape the SVR. It was complicated and required some Devin Nunes-type maneuvers on my part, of nighttime hopping from one vehicle to another and such. At some point I was hiding in a high-tier sleeping bunk when a Russian operative found me. I was unarmed but, lo and behold, hidden in the bunk was a fully loaded military-type pistol. As the male agent slowly neared, it was necessary for him to look up to meet my eyes. I stared right-straight back at him, when it occurred to me that this wasn’t an “it’s you or me” thing. I understood that my immediate reaction encompassed protecting the well-being of my grandchildren (and all of my future progeny) from this Russian agent (and the couple of ghost-like figures he had half hidden in the shadows behind him.) 

It’s you, Rus, or it’s my innocent bloodline, I thought. So I, a pacifist, but sensing I’d simply no alternative, calmly picked up the gun and fired away, point blank, rendering him thoroughly and lastingly lifeless. I woke immediately. I lay quietly in my bed with two thoughts. Which were: Let’s face it, you are not really brave enough to pull that off. And that the actual point of this dream seems to be that we humans are all capable of evil, evil that is committed in the name of combatting evil. And such is the dichotomy of life.

As soon as I posted my March 5 blog, “good vs evil,” I regretted the title. Oh, that’s the worst title, I thought, but too late, sister, you done hit that ‘publish’ command. I sometimes wonder: just who has the right to claim moral superiority anyway? An author who’s done a good job on the dualism theme is Cormac McCarthy in his novel, “The Road.”

(Boy) Are we still the good guys? he said.

(Man) Yes. We’re still the good guys.

(Boy) And we always will be.

(Man) Yes. We always will be.

(Boy) Okay

This father/son conversation follows an incident where… -never mind, I don’t want to spoil it for you. Go read the book.

***

All of which brings to mind an evening when my older grandson was just 3 1/2 years old. I am settling him down, to be tucked in for the night and weaving some sort of tale. Whatever the story is, Older Grandson interrupts me with the question, “Wait, were they good guys?” “Yes, Sweetie, they were good guys.” He nods.

Fast forward a couple of years to a day when I pick Older Grandson up from his after-school Catholic doctrine class, asking, “So, how was it?” “Good,” he replies. A few seconds later he says, “Well, actually it was kind of boring.” I appreciate the honesty.

One day I take Older Grandson to one of those kiddy arcades where children can earn machine-spewed tickets by paying hard-earned money to play Skee Ball and such, then use the accumulated tickets to buy cheap trinkets. We come across a machine that dangles a swath of about two dozen tickets. I look about for someone to whom to call out,”Excuse me, you forgot your tickets,” but no one is near us. My grandson sees my hand reach toward the tickets and says, “Um, but, Grandma, we can’t take those. They belong to someone. That’s not what we do.” He emphasizes the “we” and I know what he means, he means us “good guys.” My hand drops to my side as I say, “I was going to turn them in at the counter, but you’re right, we should leave them there in case the family comes back.” A couple of moments later I confess to him that I’d intended to use the tickets. I hope he appreciates my honesty.

Years later, Devoted Husband and I, with Older Grandson and his family, make a visit to Monticello, Thomas Jefferson’s historic house and plantation in Virginia. As we walk past the slaves’ quarters Older Grandson comments about the injustice of slavery. I think his exact words are “it’s just wrong.” After our tour we stop at the gift shop. Grandson chooses to purchase one of those antiqued copies of the Declaration of Independence. Seatbelt secure in the car, he quickly opens and unrolls his purchase, his eyes zipping across the document as he says aloud, “Where is it? Where’s the part where it says ‘all men are created equal’ ?”

At a family gathering we have a discussion on what my growing-up-too-quickly Older Grandson calls the “ding-dong ditch.” This is where kids ring a doorbell and then run and hide. Some family members think it’s simply a normal adolescent antic, a harmless part of the maturation process. Other family members opine that it’s not something to be overlooked or lightly dismissed, as it is harassment in its infancy. I notice that Older Grandson is alert to everyone’s opinions on a topic in which I suspect he may have, at some point in his young life, witnessed or actually taken part.

***

A couple of weeks ago, I accidentally stumbled across Sr. Helen Prejean on Twitter and now have added her to my ever-lengthening list of Twitterers I “follow.” This puts her up there with Pope Francis, the FCNL (Quakers), Nancy Sinatra, The Gates Foundation, Thich Nhat Hanh, Dalai Lama, The Nelson Mandela Foundation, Merriam-Webster, Senator Al Franken, Chelsea Clinton and such. Twitterers who always manage to admirably and emphatically state their opinions with nary a hint of hate, rancor or vitriol (okay, well maybe some get a bit agitated on occasion, but as long as they never uses any foul language?) At any rate, I’m fussy about whom I choose to follow and if there is too much negativity, I’ll drop you as quickly as I'd drop a bare-handed steaming hot potato. Puhleeze, let's disagree with civility.

Anyway, as you may know Sr. Helen Prejean, author of “Dead Man Walking,” has long advocated for the abolition of the death penalty in the United States. I follow  her recent fervent dedication in attempting to stop the planned systematic assembly line killing of eight men now on death row in Arkansas. (As of this posting, one of the eight has been executed -and as a side note: Did you know that the ‘cause of death’ in an execution is officially listed on the death certificate as ‘Homicide?”)

Having read one of Sr. Prejean’s books years ago, having read an excellent article back in 1997 by Northwestern’s Medill lecturer Robert McClory (about a senseless murder and a grieving mother’s forgiveness), having watched Werner Herzog’s documentary “Into the Abyss,” having given the subject my own heartfelt machination, mastication and digestion, having matured as a human being, I now feel strongly that capital punishment is not a solution for, nor a deterrent to crime. I agree that there are those broken humans who must be incarcerated for life to protect society, to prevent gruesome, senseless killings. But, to punish homicide with homicide? (Another side note: If a death row prisoner should become suddenly ill before an execution the execution, in some states, must be delayed until he/she are physically well again, because you cannot execute someone who is unexpectedly physically unwell. The state must ensure they are in good physical health for their age and health history before killing them.) 

But, what about those who are not where I am in my thinking? I once wavered on the efficacy and the morality of the death penalty. There are different layers, different tiers… Again, who am I to say what others should feel?

Anyway thank you, Sr. Helen Prejean. I am ever grateful for your calm, sensibly reasoned responses.

***

What does it mean to be a good person? Is a person good because they are taught? Is goodness innate? I’ve no answers…

***

This week we celebrate the birthdate of Older Grandson. Oh, and he’s a good kid. Not perfect, mind you, but a perfectly good child. I mean, he might snitch the occasional extra cookie when Mom and Dad aren’t looking. And maybe he pulls his shoes off without first untying them properly. But when faced with a moral dilemma he knows right from wrong. And should he stumble or falter, I’m certain he’d quickly get right back on track, with grace.

‘Cuz we’re the good guys, right, Buddy?

Happy birthday!!! I am so proud of you.

***

More to soon follow in what I hope is the final of my “The Rule Relating to or Consisting of Gold” series.

***

It is vital that we sow the seeds of goodness in order to cultivate justice, foster accord, and sustain integration, without growing weary.
—Pope Francis, 2017

Not to forgive is to be imprisoned by the past. Not to forgive is to yield oneself to another's control. If one does not forgive, then one is controlled by the other's initiatives and is locked into a sequence of act and response. The present is endlessly overwhelmed and devoured by the past. Forgiveness frees the forgiver. It extracts the forgiver from someone else's nightmare.
—Lance Morrow, 1984 essay

The Rule Relating to or Consisting of Gold, Part One

Just past the newlywed stage Long-Standing Husband and I rented an apartment in a six-flat in Chicago’s West Ridge neighborhood. Reflecting back now, I have only fond memories of the six families residing in that building having lived in relative harmony, or at the very least some type of communal balance. Such was our content that within a couple of years, four of the families bought homes in that same neighborhood, within walking distance of one another; one on the same block as the very house we purchased.

There were 25 single-family homes on our block. There was a small synagog on one corner, across the street from which the Rabbi and his family resided. A bit less than 1/2 of the families that were living there when we moved in were still there when we sold and moved 38 years later.

Directly west of us our next door neighbors, for anonymity sake I will call them, the Chayt family, were among the families, like ours, that remained..., hmmm, search for word or phrase... well, long-standing, yes, long-standing. Like our 6-flat neighbors, we got along well with the Chayts. The backyards of our collective homes were fenced on three sides, leaving the space between us open. After many years we hired someone to fence off the space between us. The Chayts were hurt, “Is it something we’ve done? Have we offended you?” they asked. “No, no, of course not. It’s simply to keep our beagle from constantly marauding your yard.” “Oh, but we don’t mind!”

The widowed Mrs. Chayt was a gentle, kind soul, often offering our children a homemade pickle from her endless crock or a slice of freshly baked bread, a piece of fruit. When anyone had the slightest ailment she’d send over her matzoh ball soup. One halloween she presented our daughter with a hand-sewn gypsy costume. It featured a long, wide-tiered skirt, complete with hidden pockets, a matching blouse and headscarf. Mrs. Chayt told me, with a wink and a chuckle, that the female gypsies that frequented the markets throughout her childhood in eastern Europe wore the skirts so they could easily “pocket” the items they stole.

One summer day when the heat was intense and our older two children were dashing about the backyard, she coaxed them with homemade lemonade and taught them to do basic needle work under the shade of her backyard tree. “Is good for them to sit still a bit in this heat,” she cautioned.

Mrs. Chayt always called me, “Maria.” I corrected her a few times, to no avail. At some point I decided that I must have reminded her of someone she once knew with that name. So I became Maria. “Maria, do you want some of my peonies? They are in need of thinning.” “Maria, come. Come, I have something to show you!” I’d happily stop whatever I was doing at the call of my new name, walk across our undivided lots, eager for a chat.

The day she turned 90, her adult children planned a party for her. The hitch was that her birthday fell on Shabbat that year. They’d arranged to prepare all of the celebratory food beforehand, but there was the problem of the coffee, for to start the electric coffee pot violated their Orthodox law. They worked around it by prearranging for me to covertly enter a side door at a specified time that Saturday and surreptitiously plug in the coffee maker.

***

Long-Standing Husband and I are now retired and living in a small enclave amongst many farms. A couple of years ago a group of young Mennonites (or some modern Anabaptist sect that allows for the use of motorized vehicles and equipment) bought some properties near our community.  One of the families opened a cabinet-making company at one of the entrances to our development. Upon the grand opening of their cabinetry business they had an open house which L-S Husband and I attended. We met the owner (let’s call him, oh I don’t know, how about Dwayne?) Dwayne and two of his sons gave us a tour of the spotlessly organized operation. Dwayne’s wife and daughters were there as well serving homemade refreshments. Dwayne explained that 5 or 6 families from a larger sect had moved to this area from a more southern location, as they were looking for farm area where there would be more snow. Go figure? ;)

L-S Husband and I ran into some of the clan last summer at a farm auction we attended. They are always unfailingly sweet and I can’t help but love their look, with the females attired in bonnets and ankle-length pastel dresses and the menfolk in matching pastel shirts and black slacks held up by suspenders. We occasionally drive past Dwayne’s second son during the warmer weather as he mows the culverts. Without fail he glances up, smiles and waves.

***

So where am I going with all of this in the middle of a national identity crisis, in a country that seems to me at risk of completely losing its moral compass and falling victim to questionable Putin/oligarch influence? The Russian government has seen fit, fairly successfully, to infiltrate our media-obsessed brains with lies and hatred, intended to pit neighbor against neighbor. Some of our politicians have been “bought” with Soviet government money so filthy it must be laundered repeatedly… how have we not learned from history?

Well, bear with me a moment…

As a former Roman Catholic, I’ve lived a fairly conservative lifestyle. I’ve been in a heterosexual marriage to the same man (Long-Standing Husband) since my 20s. I obey the laws of our government, pay my taxes, have never defaulted on a loan, have never been arrested, in fact I’ve never had so much as a speeding ticket or moving violation while driving. I no longer practice Roman Catholicism, but L-S Husband and I dutifully took our children to church and sent them to Catholic grammar and high schools. All three received their undergraduate degrees from a Jesuit university. However, despite my attempt to live what I would call a conservative lifestyle, I do not think that this qualifies me to know what’s best for anyone else. I do not think that my choices in anyway make me superior, nor do they make me inferior, to anyone else. A lifestyle is between you and your conscience or between you and your religious beliefs.

My concern, at the given moment, is with politicians who think they have a better idea of what is good for my soul, or anyone else’s for that matter.

So, this is for you, Mr. VP Mike Pence, as it looks as though you are to be our next President, named in succession as soon as the current president of the United States either resigns or is impeached.

I am happy for you that you and your wife are in a committed monogamous relationship. It’s a nice feeling, isn’t it? I applaud you, Mr. VP Pence, as you and your wife certainly know better than anyone what is best for you and your relationship. If you don't care for homosexuality, Mr. Pence, then don't engage in sex with men. It's as simple as that! Stop worrying about what others do. What really concerns me, however, is your seeming willingness, or let me rephrase that, your seeming eagerness to quickly alter our current laws for the purpose of squelching the freedoms of LGBT persons, or for restricting aid to the financially marginalized, or for repealing quality health care for all persons, or for the taking away of affordable birth control options for women, or for the removing of water potability and air quality provisions… must I go on?

I’ve learned many a lesson in life from those of different faiths, like my friend, The Shining One, a Muslim by birth ( https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=4551613852202258879#editor/target=post;postID=3495666843569404898;onPublishedMenu=template;onClosedMenu=template;postNum=1;src=postname ), or my next-door neighbor, Mrs. Chayt, or Dwayne, my new neighbor. You see, Mr. VP Pence, they did not seek to change laws to suit their beliefs, they simply, contentedly lived the lives they chose despite the lack of a corresponding government-imposed law. 

My own examples: I stand in absolute opposition to the death penalty, so I would simply decline to serve on a jury that might impose a ruling calling for the execution of another human being. Additionally, I’m not crazy about the idea of abortion, so I would not have one - at least I don’t think I would, but I really don’t know because I was never placed in that agonizingly difficult, gut-wrenching situation. No, I always had affordable access to birth control, as every woman should. And there is no doubt in my mind that if men were able to become pregnant this would not even be an issue.

Well, that’s enough preaching from an ex-Catholic on a Sunday.

Oh, and one last thing, Mr. VP Mike Pence: This past week Long-Standing Husband went to our local, family-owned bank to make a withdrawal from their outdoor ATM. The ATM is housed adjacent to the handsome bank building, just under a drive-thru overhead covering. However, if you are to enter it at just a certain time when the sun is in just a certain position, try though you might, you cannot read the digital LED-lit options.

L-S Husband pulled into the ATM bay and began his transaction requesting a cash withdrawal and at just that certain moment he could no longer read the output on the multi-function device. One of the two tellers saw his difficulty and walked out to assist him. She used her override capabilities and cancelled the transaction. “There, that will do it,” she said, “I think I have cancelled the transaction. I know it’s hard to read the display sometimes. Come on inside and I will give you the cash that you requested. If there is any problem I will telephone you.”

As L-S Husband retold this event to me when he came home, he happened to mention that Dwayne had driven up to the ATM just as he, L-S Husband, was driving away.

A few minutes later L-S Husband’s cell phone rang. It was the bank teller explaining that she had not cancelled the transaction, however just after L-S Husband had driven away Dwayne had gone through the ATM and discovered the cash sitting in the dispenser. Dwayne parked his car, went inside, and returned the money.

You see, Mr. VP, soon-to-be President Pence, you cannot mandate your idea of morality. Because no matter a person's befief, either they got it or they ain’t.

***

“Judging others makes us blind, whereas love is illuminating. By judging others we blind ourselves to our own evil and to the grace which others are just as entitled to as we are.” 

-Dietrich Bonhoeffer

“Jesus himself did not try to convert the two thieves on the cross; he waited until one of them turned to him.” 

-Dietrich Bonhoeffer

For goodness sake, be a man/mensch, Mr. Vice President, and speak up now for your country's democracy!

Merriam-Webster, where would we be without you, these days!