The Peacemaker

The following is an article written by a good friend of mine.  It is a very personal reflection on his life and the lives of his colleagues. Because I believe his words speak to an important truth that is so rarely heard anymore, I am going to share them.  One reason we are given the privilege of enjoying our own merry Christmases is because peacemakers like him are out doing their job.

“I wish I was a messenger and all the news was good.”

That is a quote from one of my favorite Pearl Jam songs called Wishlist. Every day I open up my news feed on various media outlets looking and wishing for some good news. Unfortunately, we live in a world that often only focuses on the bad news, from a bad economy, homelessness, unemployment, and poverty, to the daily murders and violence that seem to be corrupting our planet like some sort of deadly virus. It is easy to understand why so many have lost hope in humanity.  However, I want to shed some light on some good news you may not see on your local news channel, or Facebook, Twitter or even at your local watering hole.

          Every day in every nook and cranny of this great country, there are thousands of nameless, faceless men and women getting ready for work. It starts the normal way, with a shower and getting dressed. These men and women put on their pants the same way as everyone else; they strap on their boots, comb their hair and get dressed. For them, now, a “switch” has been activated in their minds as they begin strapping on their tools.  They will put on a hot and uncomfortable protective vest restricting movement which will be worn for the next 12-16 hours. Notice how I didn’t say bullet proof vest… which is because there is no such thing.

 Next is the uniform, either brown or blue, that they will make sure looks sharp and will pass any spot inspection. The badge attached is a symbol of their commitment to protect their community at any cost. Then it is time for the 15 -20 pound duty belt. This belt contains a gun that they pray every day they don’t have to use, a couple pairs of well used handcuffs, at least one flashlight, a radio, a Taser, and anything else one can fit on a size 34 waste. Now that they are physically prepared, they begin to mentally prepare themselves for their shift. 

          The next step is the most important and difficult. They walk downstairs to explain to their kids why Daddy or Mommy won’t be able to make it to their Christmas play at school, or birthday party or baseball game, or any other meaningful event they have missed over the years. If they are lucky enough to still have a spouse, they give them a kiss and tell them they love them and promise to see them in the morning. They tell them this, both of them knowing it is not something they can promise. Tragically, so far in this year 114 men and women have been unable to keep that promise, not to mention the countless others who have been badly injured or mentally scared at the very hands of those whom they swore to protect.

          They then drive to work and begin to settle into their shift. They start out dealing with the effects of politicians and leaders that don’t seem to have their back unless it is an election year. They are bogged down with red tape, paper work and legal issues handed down by the bureaucracy of government. They see humanity at is frailest moments and some of its most evil members. They see a fractured mental health system that has left so many broken and lost. They see horrific traffic crashes that take so many innocent lives. They see children with no loving, responsible parent to teach them, love them, or take care of them. They see the horrible effects of drugs and alcohol and how both are destroying our families and communities.

          They are cussed at, spit at and despised, not for their own actions or words but because of a hate filled lie that police officers are racist pigs and are only here to harass the public. They are forced to make split second life or death decisions and are expected to be perfect every time.

 If, for example, they use their Taser, someone will say they should have used their baton. If they use their fist, someone will say they should have used their Taser. If their lives are in jeopardy, and they fear they will break that promise to their wife and kids and are forced to used their gun, they will then be crucified by people who have never walked in their shoes but are quick to tell them how to do their job.

          God willing they will get off work somewhat on time at the end of their shift, drive home, kiss their kids and go to bed. Now, here is the good news.

About 10 hours later these brave men and women will do it all over again. They will do it not for money or fame, or because they are out to get anyone. They do it because they took an oath to protect their community, enforce the laws of this nation, state , and local communities. They do it because, without them, who else would?

Who else will handle those accidents? Who else will protect those abused children or elderly? Who will stop and help change those tires in the middle of the night, or catch those armed robbers or murderers?

 It is time for the good, honest members of our communities, politicians, and media members to stand up and support these brave men and women of Law Enforcement. We are in a symbiotic relationship with the public. The public need the police to do these jobs no one else wants to do, and we police officers surely cannot do our job without the public’s support.

          I am very proud to be called these names: Police Officer, Crime Fighter, Cop, and, most importantly, Peacemaker. “Blessed are the Peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.”

Listen

What’s your best move?

This was the question I posed to my crew of three-year-olds in Sunday school a few weeks ago.  We were introducing a lesson on the best news ever—Christmas—and to get their attention, the curriculum suggested we have the preschoolers act out their “best move” in front of their peers.  Best dance move, best ninja move, whatever.

 “Mooooo!”  An impish student quickly responded.

“What?”

“Mooooo!”  He answered, and I quickly understood.  He was a cow.  He thought I’d said “best mooo.”  Oh.

“No, not moo.”  I replied.  “Your best move.  Move.  Like your best dance move, or, like, in soccer, or basketball, you know, your best move.”

But by then it was too late.  They’d been spooked.

“My grandpa has cows at his house.”

“I rode a horse once.”

“Moooo!’

“Can I do my best ‘Mooo?’”

“We eat cows!”

“MOOOO!”

“Chocolate milk comes from cows.”

I’d been trained to teach adolescents, not three-year-olds, so we skipped that part of the curriculum.  We moved on.  No more moves.  Time to color angels.

Now, fast forward to this past week, when many area students took their final exams.  The following is a paraphrased example of a conversation between me and a room full of freshmen taking these high stakes tests for the first time.

“OK, so go ahead and put your name on the top of these tests, followed by the class period, followed by today’s date, which is Dec. 19^th.”

“Do you want us to put the date on it, too?”
“Yeah, if you would.  Go ahead and put today’s date on the top next to your name.”

“What’s today’s date?”

“Today’s date is December 19^th, 2014.”

“But I thought it was the 20^th.”

“Nope.  The 20^th is tomorrow.”

“Isn’t tomorrow the first day of winter?”

“That would be Monday.”

Pause.  “Do you want us to put our class period on it, too?”

“That would be cool.  Next to your name, maybe?”

“Where at?”

“Right there at the top of the paper, where it says ‘Class Period.’”

“What’s today date?”

And so forth.  Also, just so it doesn’t seem like I’m picking on people younger than me for not listening, keep in mind you are reading a column written by a guy who once accidently deleted an entire semester’s worth of college work because I honestly didn’t understand the concept of trashcan icons, mostly because I honestly did not pay attention in a class entitled “Introduction to University.”  Don’t judge.  It was 1997 and I was working in a crowded sweat-house of a room called a “computer lab.”

But I digress.  Continuing, I often refer to these breakdowns in communication as “disconnects.”   As a former student myself who spent years studying the nuances of the English language, I often use the word “disconnect” because it’s so neutral.  It’s so inoffensive and beige.  For example, if I make the following statement to a parent or a colleague, “Hey, there seems to be a real disconnect between my instructional goals and young Jojo’s performance in class,” what I often really mean is, “Jojo isn’t listening.”

            It seems our world is full of “disconnect.”  Despite the plethora of gadgets available to help us communicate, one wonders how much authentic communication is really taking place.  We often spend so much effort trying to be understood, we hardly have the energy left to understand.

Which is unfortunate, too, because listening is a pretty big part of communicating.  Based on my experience, I would argue it’s the most important part, because occasionally people will ask, “Where do you get your ideas?”

And the simplest answer is, “From life.”  From listening.  Those of you who know me know I am not a big talker.  I’m not noisy.  In fact, I once had a rather astute supervisor who planned on releasing me to purse alternative professional options because he assumed, because I was so quiet, that I must also be fairly stupid. 

A few months later he himself was released.  I stayed put.

Regardless, the few positive marks I’ve left in this world—as a parent, an educator, a writer, a husband—are primarily by the grace of God, and secondly due to my willingness to listen.  I can write an occasionally readable column because I’ve simply been willing to just shut up and take notes.

 In contrast, the numerous times I’ve stumbled can generally be traced back to not paying enough attention to the details in front of me.  Such as most of the 1990s.

In closing, many of us will actually celebrate listening this holiday season.  We will celebrate a God who listened to a dying world in desperate need.   We will celebrate a God who listened to a crying people, and who sent into this world a wonderful counselor to save us from ourselves. 

Good things often happen when we listen.

Perhaps we should make it our “best move” this New Year to pause awhile and hardly make a move at all.  Just be.  Just listen.

If nothing else, it might help minimize our funny cow noises.

Narrate

In the summer of 1871, half a decade before his violent death, George Armstrong Custer was commissioned to write a series of articles about life on the American Plains.  “My purpose is to make my narrative as truthful as possible,” Custer remarked in a letter concerning the assignment. 

The word “narrative,” then and now, is often used synonymously with the word “story.”  Although a narrative can be merely an account, or a telling of a series of events, the term also often implies a literary quality.  A narrative, in the literary sense, at least, has a beginning, middle, and an eventual end.  Narratives generally contain struggle. Struggle implies conflict, and conflict requires at least two opposing forces.

What happened in Ferguson, Missouri this past August was tragic.  What has happened since the death of Michael Brown has also been terrible.  However, neither the shooting nor its aftermath can be truly understood by themselves.  Just like anything else that has ever happened, these events transpired and must be considered within the framework of the much larger narrative of American history.

As we all know, one of the great crimes in our nation’s narrative was slavery.  Slavery, of course, is not an American institution but has been a vice for most of human history.  American slavery was relatively unique, however, in that it was so closely tied to race.  Racism did not lead to American slavery.  American slavery was caused by a demonic combination of geography, economic specifics, and human greed. 

Slave owners, just like anyone else, like to sleep at night, and therefore it became cognitively necessary for them to view their carnal property as less than human.   Over time, this cognitive dissonance caused collective brain damage.  Slavery poisoned America, and although the nation is no longer actively drinking the stuff, we are still suffering from the effects.

With this in mind, the fatal violence that occurred between Michael Brown and Officer Wilson on August 9 seems to fit within this broader American narrative.  An unarmed black teenager was gun downed by a white police officer in a state that has had more than its fair share of race issues.  It was an act of violence that has been perpetuated countless times throughout the history of our country.

The problem with the shooting, however—at least as it pertains to this discussion about the broader narrative of American race relations—is that the facts surrounding the event simply do not fit neatly into that narrative.  All of the evidence available, from the autopsy to the ballistic report, strongly collaborates with Officer Wilson.  Based on those rather annoying facts, the grand jury very reasonably decided that Officer Wilson basically did what he said he did.  He acted in self-defense.  He used deadly force, which was part of his training, to protect himself and his partner from an individual he considered to be a threat.

Thus, these facts do not fit into the narrative that perpetuates the belief that a militarized police force continues to use deadly violence against a minority population to ensure the status quo.

Which is not so say that just that very thing has never happened, or that it does not happen in some cases.

It just did not happen in Ferguson, Missouri this past August.

Unfortunately, the facts standing in the way of that unsubstantiated narrative clearly have very little effect on those who have exploited the event for their own destructive ends.  For some individuals, their own version of the story becomes more seductive than the actual story itself.

However, while we are on the topic of unsubstantiated narratives, let’s quickly consider another one before closing.  

There is another American narrative that says that Lincoln freed all the slaves in 1863, that Dr. King had his dream a hundred years later, and that everything has been pretty cool ever since.  The problem with this narrative, though, is that it doesn’t really fit the facts, either. 

Returning to the toxin analogy, if you poison yourself with alcohol on Saturday night, you’re going to feel pretty rough around the edges on Sunday morning, and maybe even on Monday afternoon.  The first African slaves came to this continent in 1526.  The Civil war ended in 1865.  That’s over 300 years of outright poison consumption chased by another century’s worth of Jim Crow.  That’s going to cause a hangover.   

These facts, of course, are not meant to excuse bad behavior by anyone, regardless of their race.  They are also not designed to minimize the crucial influence each person has on their own destiny, regardless of their background.  These facts merely serve as a reminder that American history is complicated.  American history is not and has never been a mere picture book story easily understood without serious insight.

Life might seem easier to understand if we stick to the old storylines, even when they no longer read true.  However, like Custer, our goal should always be to make our stories as truthful as possible.  We can ignore a reality that does not fit into our version of events for only so long before we find ourselves surrounded by an unfamiliar present.

Before we find ourselves, ironically enough, surrounded like our scribe General Custer himself, who once, quite confidently, believed in a narrative that claimed “There are not enough Indians in the world to defeat the Seventh Cavalry.”

It turns out his narrative was untrue, which is something to consider the next time we watch the news.