Archive for December, 2005

Last Thursday Short Poem of the year: Milne’s King’s John’s Christmas

I shall not post again until the first week of the New Year.

For the final Thursday short poem of the year (the next one shall "epiph" on January 5), I’m going to stick up the Christmas classic that far too few folks know.  I’m also putting it up for the third consecutive year! My mother recites it every year — it wouldn’t be Christmas without it.  The first Christmas I remember hearing it, I was five. 

King John’s Christmas, AA Milne

King John was not a good man –
He had his little ways.
And sometimes no one spoke to him
For days and days and days.
And men who came across him,
When walking in the town,
Gave him a supercilious stare,
Or passed with noses in the air –
And bad King John stood dumbly there,
Blushing beneath his crown.

King John was not a good man,
And no good friends had he.
He stayed in every afternoon…
But no one came to tea.
And, round about December,
The cards upon his shelf
Which wished him lots of Christmas cheer,
And fortune in the coming year,
Were never from his near and dear,
But only from himself.

King John was not a good man,
Yet had his hopes and fears.
They’d given him no present now
For years and years and years.
But every year at Christmas,
While minstrels stood about,
Collecting tribute from the young
For all the songs they might have sung,
He stole away upstairs and hung
A hopeful stocking out.

King John was not a good man,
He lived his live aloof;
Alone he thought a message out
While climbing up the roof.
He wrote it down and propped it
Against the chimney stack:
"TO ALL AND SUNDRY – NEAR AND FAR -
F. Christmas in particular."
And signed it not "Johannes R."
But very humbly, "Jack."

"I want some crackers,
And I want some candy;
I think a box of chocolates
Would come in handy;
I don’t mind oranges,
I do like nuts!
And I SHOULD like a pocket-knife
That really cuts.
And, oh! Father Christmas, if you love me at all,
Bring me a big, red, india-rubber ball!"

King John was not a good man –
He wrote this message out,
And gat him to this room again,
Descending by the spout.
And all that night he lay there,
A prey to hopes and fears.
"I think that’s him a-coming now!"
(Anxiety bedewed his brow.)
"He’ll bring one present, anyhow –
The first I had for years."

"Forget about the crackers,
And forget the candy;
I’m sure a box of chocolates
Would never come in handy;
I don’t like oranges,
I don’t want nuts,
And I HAVE got a pocket-knife
That almost cuts.
But, oh! Father christmas, if you love me at all,
Bring me a big, red, india-rubber ball!"

King John was not a good man,
Next morning when the sun
Rose up to tell a waiting world
That Christmas had begun,
And people seized their stockings,
And opened them with glee,
And crackers, toys and games appeared,
And lips with sticky sweets were smeared,
King John said grimly: "As I feared,
Nothing again for me!"

"I did want crackers,
And I did want candy;
I know a box of chocolates
Would come in handy;
I do love oranges,
I did want nuts!
I haven’t got a pocket-knife —
Not one that cuts.
And, oh! if Father Christmas, had loved me at all,
He would have brought a big, red,
india-rubber ball!"

King John stood by the window,
And frowned to see below
The happy bands of boys and girls
All playing in the snow.
A while he stood there watching,
And envying them all …
When through the window big and red
There hurtled by his royal head,
And bounced and fell upon the bed,
An india-rubber ball!

AND, OH, FATHER CHRISTMAS,
MY BLESSINGS ON YOU FALL
FOR BRINGING HIM
A BIG, RED,
INDIA-RUBBER
BALL!

The last post of ’05, a note on youth groups and truth-telling

I’ll have one more poem up tomorrow, but this is my last post of 2005.  Hugo will be on hiatus until the first week in January.  This means I won’t be returning my emails after tonight.  A joyous Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, and college bowl season to all!

Sometimes, the gulf between progressive and conservative churches is a vast one.  Check out this piece in Christianity Today: "Broken Trust".  It’s a short story about what happens in an evangelical high school youth group when a leader "falls short" of the mark.  Here’s how it starts:

Thad gripped the Bible on his lap as he sat on the couch, staring blankly at the twinkling Christmas lights on the bushes across the street. Usually he loved the lights, but Pastor Griffin’s words at the emergency meeting last night had completely sapped his holiday spirit. Jason, the youth pastor who had totally energized their youth group over the past two and a half years, had resigned. His fiancée, Courtney, was pregnant.

The news stunned Thad. As youth group president, he’d spent a lot of time with Jason, and he thought Jason was practically the perfect Christian. He had whole chapters of Scripture memorized, led amazing worship times, and preached better than Pastor Griffin. Youth group membership had tripled since he arrived. Courtney helped out with the group, too, leading a Bible study for the girls. They seemed so solid, so faithful. Thad couldn’t be more disappointed and hurt.

I’m always careful not to poke fun at my more conservative brothers and sisters in Christ.  I’ve worshiped with them, worked with them, prayed with them.  I have tremendous respect for the commitment that so many folks have to traditional sexual morality, a morality that so many of them believe to be the only one congruent with the bible message.

At the same time, I read this and rolled my eyes.  I tried to imagine what would happen at All Saints if we learned that one of our youth leaders was pregnant "out of wedlock."  Would any of our All Saints kids be disappointed?  I doubt it.  After all, they already know that most of their adult youth leaders didn’t "wait" until marriage, and they know that we don’t preach abstinence either.  I know many of the parents of our kids, and I can’t imagine many of them being shocked and saddened.

I know full well that even at liberal churches, youth ministers (both volunteer and professional) are up on pedestals.  Our teens watch us carefully; we do serve as role models.  That’s a sacred thing to those of us who serve the All Saints youth.  We know that we could easily disappoint and hurt our kids by breaking our commitments and violating their faith in us.  You see, that’s the issue that strikes me in the CT story.  To my mind, "Thad" isn’t disappointed and hurt because Jason and Courtney are pregnant.  Thad is disappointed because Jason and Courtney preached one thing and then did another.   

Kids take honesty with deadly seriousness.  To most young people, hypocrisy is the most grievous of sins.  In some sense, that makes the task of those of us in liberal churches much easier!  We aren’t expected to live up to a standard of abstinence before marriage.  Of course, we are expected to be faithful in marriage, and if it came out that a youth leader had been unfaithful to his or her partner, that would prove quite hurtful to many of our kids.  More than anything else, teens want to know that those who care for them match their language to their lives.  And whether liberal or conservative on issues of sexual morality, all youth groups can be devastated by a sudden and obvious revelation about a leader’s "real" life.

So as I reread the little story, I realized that All Saints Pasadena isn’t all that far from Thad’s fictional evangelical church.  Yes, we have a different understanding of sexual morality.  But on other issues, we are just as likely to place our pastors and our youth leaders on pedestals, and just as likely to be communally shocked when one of them falls off.

A few years ago, I was happily active in another church. I was asked to step down from leadership when certain facts became known about my living arrangements.  I did so politely and without rancor, but knew that I could not be part of a community that had such a narrow understanding of what constituted holiness and right action.    But the fact that I didn’t like that particular standard does not mean that I reject all standards for those in Christian leadership.  And if the highest standard is to live as an instrument of Christ’s love, the second highest standard is to match what we say with what we think and what we do.  If we can prayerfully embody His radical love, and tell the truth while doing so, we are fulfilling the very special "great commission" given to those who work with youth.

Some thoughts on tokenism and the appeal of being unique

Amanda at Pandagon has a fine post up this morning called "The Allure of Tokenism".  She touches on many things, but especially on the appeal of being the "only woman" in certain work or social situations:

…there’s something appealing about being the token. It’s fun to be special, like you’re the only person good enough in your group to get into the club, even as you intellectually understand that you’re not the beneficiary of sexism so much as the victim of it, since while you’re the Good Enough to Be in the Club Girl, you’re still just the girl. I’ve found myself in that position a few times, and while it’s sort of satisfying to be basically an honorary man, in the long run, it makes you second guess yourself constantly. Women in power then would do well to imitate our male forebears and see to it that we have a number of people around us that remind us of ourselves. Of course, women with that kind of power shouldn’t go so far in imitation as to actually exclude worthy men, but I don’t really think there’s any kind of danger of female domination looming any time soon.

This reminds me of some of the discussion we had around my "All of my Best Friends are Guys" post six months ago.  I said then, and say again:

I think the term feminism encompasses many things, but I’m adamant that one can’t be a genuine feminist if one doesn’t like women!  Wanting to advocate for women in general while not forming genuinely close friendships with other individual women isn’t, I think, authentic feminism.

I’m always struck by how many of the young women I know say with pride "You know, I’m not a typical girl."  What they mean by "typical girl" is some sort of ultra-feminine stereotype with a passionate interest in the superficial and the exterior.  They also, sometimes, seem to associate "typical girl" with weakness, vulnerability, and victimhood. 

I’ve spent a fair amount of time in nearly all-male settings where one or two "token" women could be found.  And over and over again, I’ve seen (particularly from some of the younger ones) this intense sense of pride at being "one of the boys."  When one is the only member of a minority allowed into a club, there’s an understandable sense of flattering uniqueness — "I’m different" can also quickly mean "I’m ‘better than’".  Sometimes, I’ve seen young women jealously guard this privileged status against others.  After all, if lots of "girls" get into the "boys’" club, then being a girl in the boys’ club doesn’t seem as special, does it?   Is it too much of a stretch to compare this internalized sexism to the oft-noted disdain "house slaves" showed for ‘field slaves"?

I’ve felt a different allure of tokenism, too.  I’ve often been the only man in the room doing feminist work.  Given that we set the bar pretty damn low for guys, wherever I go in the feminist world, I can count on getting tons of praise for the work I do.  "We’re so excited to see men taking an interest in feminism", I’m told; "We’re so glad you’re teaching the courses you teach."  That has an unfortunate tendency to puff me up a bit.  It can also lead me, at my worst, to try and defend my "special status" as the rare pro-feminist man.

Years ago, when I went off to teach for a semester abroad in Florence, Italy, my division dean considered giving my women’s history course to a male adjunct.  I remember having very mixed feelings. On the one hand, I am generally supportive of the idea of men teaching women’s studies classes.  On the other hand, I felt threatened.  I worried that this guy (I didn’t know him save through his vita) would prove to be more popular than I, and would rob me of my "unique status" as the college’s one male women’s studies prof.  I was able to work through that anxiety privately, and ended up suggesting we hire the fellow.   He ended up not taking the job, and the course was picked up by a female adjunct.  I’m embarrassed to say I felt relieved.

I’m uncertain if it’s a sign of enduring sexism on my part that I feel more threatened by another man doing what I do than by a woman.   I think it’s more banal than that.   It’s not that I don’t think women teach as well as men. It’s that I’m very conscious that I’m not just a teacher, but a male one.  And especially in gender studies, I’m aware that the sex of the prof matters.  I suppose that like many people, I enjoy being "unique"  — and being a straight white man who teaches women’s studies and gay and lesbian history allows me to feel unusual and special.  That’s not the main reason why I teach, mind you, but it is a kind of psychological fringe benefit of which I am unpleasantly aware.

The way to overcome one’s less admirable character traits is to take "opposite action."  I try and be very proactive about mentoring both young men and women, but I do have a very real interest in raising up young guys to do pro-feminist work.  Years from now, I expect to be on a committee to hire new professors in women’s history and gender studies; I’d love to hire a few of my former students of both sexes.  Tokenism has its benefits, but by its very nature, those benefits accrue only to a chosen few at the expense of the many.

Monday night at the concert hall

Another busy morning with several things to be done. I doubt I’ll have much time for a serious post today.

We went with some friends to see Emmylou Harris last night at the Disney Concert Hall.  She was magnificent, as always (this is the third time I’ve seen her play live.)   As with the last time I saw her, she made explicit reference to her work on behalf of PETA and the Humane Society, and asked that her audience remember the animal victims of Katrina at Christmas.  I clapped enthusiastically when she said this, and heard the young woman behind me mutter, "Oh come on and sing already."  I resisted the urge to turn around and fix her with a baleful stare.

I’m fortunate, I suppose, in that for the most part, I share the politics of my favorite artists.  The music I love most is folk/alt country/Americana; my musical idols range from Pete Seeger to Steve Earle to Dolly Parton and Emmylou.  And though "pop" country has a reputation for flag-waving jingoism (think Toby Keith), the bluegrass/alt. country world is fairly consistent in its left-wing politics.  It’s nice to both admire an artist’s music and his or her political stances, but it isn’t essential.  I loved Merle Haggard, even if "Okie from Muskogee" was an appallingly reactionary song!

I thought a lot about Tookie Williams and his victims last night as I sat and listened to Emmylou.   Since we were in downtown L.A. fairly late in the evening, I thought about the rumours I’d heard about gang violence and retaliation in the event that Tookie was actually executed. I was acutely aware of the comfort of my seat, and the expense of the ticket, and the heaviness in my belly from the  pre-concert meal at a trendy restaurant.  It’s been a long time since I’ve had a really visceral attack of "middle-class white guilt", but somehow, I felt it very strongly last night. 

The solution to that feeling, I’ve come to believe, is not to sit and wallow in it, but get up and do stuff.  And when I look at how much time my wife and I give in volunteering, and I look at the fact that we give a genuine tithe, I’m comforted that we are sharing our good fortune.  But I also know I can do still more, and finding ways to do that will be one of my main goals for 2006.

In any event, Emmylou was magnificent.  I sang "Boulder to Birmingham" all the way home last night, interspersing the lyrics with stream-of-consciousness prayers for those in harm’s way (especially in Iraq) and for those whose motives and actions I struggle to understand (like death penalty advocates and those who wear fur.)

I’m in some noteworthy company…

click here and scroll down.

“A game was always on”: some thoughts on masculinity and television

Here’s something I meant to get back to.

In this comment below last week’s post on football and fandom, Heather writes:

I am someone who could go her whole life never having watched a sporting event of any kind and be perfectly happy and I am engaged to a man who loves sports. He watches the games, monitors the message boards and goes to as many live events as he can, and I resent it. I think it’s time away from our family (I’ve got three kids and we plan to have a child) and from ME. I had a stepfather who’s interest in sports superseded everything else. We couldn’t make noise while a game was on. We couldn’t ask him a question while a game was on. And a game was always on, and I’ve got some anxiety about my fiance and his interest in sports because of this. I don’t want him to have to pencil me in at halftime in order to get his attention. I know I’m not the only woman who feels like this and I feel like it is a feminist issue in terms of how much undivided attention men think they need to give their partners in order to nurture a relationship. I suspect it’s somewhat like housework – men will tend to think the toilet only needs to be cleaned every other month or so, while the women think it’s at least once a week. Of course, not to compare relationships to toilets. How do we close that gap? (I’m somewhat disappointed to hear that your wife is a sports fan since I can’t use her in my defense! :)

As both a pro-feminist and a sports nut, I’m struck by the important points Heather raises here.

Indeed, it is almost axiomatic that millions of men here and abroad prioritize sports over both household responsibilities and "relationship maintenance."   In sitcoms and commercials and on talk shows, we’re shown — over and over again — the classic image of wife or girlfriend trying unsuccessfully to get the attention of husband or boyfriend while he stares, rapt, at a television set.  "In a minute, honey"; "I’ll do it at halftime, sweetheart"; "I know, but this is a very important game" — few among my readers have never heard these words in their families, or uttered them themselves.

I was raised watching sports.  I didn’t play much, really, until I was in my twenties.  (I still don’t think of myself as "playing" sports.  Weight-lifting, Pilates, marathoning, cycling — these somehow seem too serious to be referred to as "play", but that’s probably due to the exaggerated sense of import most endurance athletes attach to their activities.)  But as early as I can remember, I loved watching sports.

Like many men, my love of watching sports was initially connected to my desire to bond with and receive attention from older men.  My Austrian-born, English-raised father (once a member of Cal’s cricket club) had little interest in American athletics, but my cousins and uncles on my mother’s side all did.  As a boy, I idolized my first cousin Scott, eight years my senior.  My earliest sports memory was as a boy of eight watching the 1975 NBA finals with Scott (our local Golden State Warriors won their one and only title that year.)   I didn’t understand basketball, but I knew I wanted to be near my big and wonderful cousin.  I imitated what he said, and tried to pick up on the nuances of the game he loved.  Even now, three decades later, the way I cheer and lament aloud at sporting events is based on what I heard from Scott, his brother, and his uncle (all of whom were mad sports fans).

Like many families, sports-viewing in our family was an almost exclusively male activity.  The women in my large and extended family took little interest in sports.  (Beyond caring that Cal beat Stanford in the Big Game as often as possible).  But while there were few women to be found in front of the television at family holidays, large groups of men huddled around the sets together.  Though these groups were sex-exclusive, they were multi-generational.  Even today, at family gatherings, I’ll see small boys of eight or so sitting with cousins, fathers, uncles, and grandfathers.  And whether they are conscious of it or not, I know that for many of my male family members, the real joy of the experience lies in the rare sense of inter-generational masculine bonding that "watching the game" produces.

The little boys I see rarely understand the nuances of the game.  (I didn’t learn the difference between "zone" and "man-to-man" defense until I was in high school; didn’t understand the "offsides" call in soccer until I was in my first marriage.)  But they are enraptured by the experience of being surrounded by men.  What makes watching sports so pleasant for young men and boys is that while watching the game,  little if any harsh judgment is directed towards them.  If a group of guys go out to play a game of catch, those who are less athletic (as I was) fear ridicule, even from family members.  Actual physical activity reveals weakness; watching television allows male bonding to take place in a much safer, less threatening atmosphere.  I loved that as a child.

Of course, plenty of grown men like to watch sports alone.  That need for homosocial approval may have diminished, and their genuine passion for the game is the main glue that draws them to the TV.  Of course, many guys eagerly look forward to talking "round the watercooler" with other guys about what they saw over the weekend, so in that sense one could argue that at least sometimes, watching sports alone still has homosocial implications!  Think of the extraordinary fascination that millions of men, myself included, have with sports talk radio!  (Is this where I confess my enduring love for Jim Rome?)

But a powerful love for sports is not, as Heather suggests, an excuse for failing to do important relationship work.   This doesn’t mean that men or women who love sports more than their partners do ought to consign themselves to never seeing important games or matches.  But what it does mean is that those of us addicted to sport (mostly, but by no means always, men) will have to prioritize!   "A game is always on" indeed, especially in the era of cable and satellite television.  I can watch Ecuadorian soccer at 11:00 on a Tuesday night, or catch a good Pac-10 women’s volleyball match on a Wednesday afternoon, or watch endless discussion on the NFL network.  But not all games are equally important, and those of us who are enraptured by virtually all sports need to set limits and make compromises.

It’s true that my wife (a former star club soccer player in high school) shares my love of sport, especially soccer and college football.  (We’ve had many a discussion this past weekend of Friday’s World Cup Draw.)   But while she gets excited about "big games", I can zone out in front of the tube while watching the most obscure sporting events.  And I have to be careful not to let my love for passive viewing trump my responsibilities to be emotionally and physically present.  So what I do is carefully decide each week what events I "must see", and what events I can simply read about later online or in the paper.  In other words, I "declare my television" viewing wishes well in advance, so that I can work them around my other responsibilities to the household, to my wife, and to the outside community.   For example, this fall, it meant I had time to watch lots and lots of college football, and very little NFL.  Sundays are devoted to church, confirmation class, and one-on-one time with my wife.   It’s a choice I needed to make, and given all that I get in return, a choice well worth making.

One interesting thing for another post: it seems to me that younger men today are less interested in sports than guys of my generation.   I wonder are interactive video games taking young men away from passive sports viewing?  Anecdotally, I hear more complaints from young women about their boyfriends playing "Xbox" than watching football.   Any thoughts on this shift?

Two quick notes — UPDATED

Like most finals weeks, it’s an extremely busy time and I have very little time to post.  I may get something up later today –or not.

Two quick notes:

My wife and I saw Syriana on Saturday night, easily the best film I’ve seen this season.  (Given that our pace of movie-going always picks up in January and February, that may change.)  I like a film that makes the assumption that the audience is reasonably intelligent and can follow a plot!  I don’t know the whole story behind Participant Productions, but I’m deeply impressed that they’ve turned out three major films (along with three major social-justice campaigns) in the space of just over a month.  North Country, Good Night and Good Luck, and Syriana are all major awards contenders — and all have serious, thoughtful, political messages.  I’m sorry that North Country has struggled, but am happy that the other two have had both splendid reviews and excellent box office.

Also, the governor has not yet annouced his decision on clemency for Stanley "Tookie" WIlliams."  I remain prayerful, but if I look at the issue dispassionately, cannot imagine why granting clemency would be a "smart" move for Schwarzenegger.  He can announce today he’s agonized all weekend, and still allow the execution to go ahead.  It won’t assuage anti-death penalty advocates, but I suspect our numbers are small,  Granting clemency would further damage his already weakened relationship with his conservative base, and I don’t think he can risk that.  I hope I’m wrong, but I doubt it.

UPDATE:  Clemency denied.  I have a little ritual that I go through whenever California executes someone.  I play the Kathleen Battle version of "He’s Got the Whole World in His Hands".  I’m praying for Stanley Williams, his victims, and all those who are involved in tonight’s execution.  I am also asking, as I always need to around executions, for the strength to be kind and charitable today and tomorrow towards those who support capital punishment.  The urge to be vicious is strong in me, but I will not surrender to that temptation.

Quick thought on Tookie

It’s a busy day, but I did want to briefly post about the battle to save the life of Stanley "Tookie" Williams.   

One of the few things I’ve been consistent on throughout my life is my opposition to the death penalty.  That opposition is not rooted in a fear that the innocent may be executed; it isn’t rooted in an ignorance as to the horror of the crimes invariably involved.  It is rooted in the conviction that everyone who participates in an execution is invariably brutalized, even if they aren’t entirely aware of it at the time.  The guards, the wardens, the witnesses, and the citizens of the state in whose name the execution is carried out are all a bit darker, a bit less human, as a result.

My mother reminded me last night of this famous Shaw line that seems most apropos: It is the deed that teaches, not the name we give it.   The message of capital punishment is not a life-valuing message.  As the old bumper sticker says, it makes no sense to "Kill people who kill people to prove that killing people is wrong."  The message of the death penalty is that we, the people, ought to have sovereign power over life itself, and that is a message I believe to be utterly at odds with the Gospel message.

But l’m troubled by the focus on Tookie’s story of redemption.  For me, at least, it makes not an iota of difference whether he has redeemed himself or not.  Obviously, I’m glad he’s done the work he has.  But authentic and consistent opposition to the death penalty must be based on the abhorrence of state-sanctioned murder, not on the perceived virtues of the condemned.  I’m as opposed to the death penalty for the vicious and the apparently irredeemable as I am for the Tookie Williamses of the world.   If Tookie Williams is executed, I will grieve neither more nor less than I do any other execution committed in my name.   

That doesn’t mean I’m not praying for clemency, and I’ve already contacted Gov. Schwarzenegger by e-mail and phone to express that to him.

The Top 5 in ’05

Wednesday, I posted the bottom half of my "Top Ten in 2005" posts.   After some agonizing (I did put up more than 500 posts this year) here are my favorite five.

5.  October 24th’s  Reunion Review: A Note on Memory, Myopia, and Grace. (Link corrected). Excerpt:

The glory of this reunion, for me, was not that I got a chance to "show off" the new Hugo (and, of course, his beautiful new wife.)  The glory was that I got to see my classmates, finally, as human beings.  I had been so intimidated and so awed by so many of them when I was that shy, introverted teen.  I had seen "jocks" and "preppies" and "cowboys" and "cheerleaders", but I hadn’t seen human beings.  I had felt abused and picked on, but I never realized how badly — even cruelly — I stereotyped my fellow students when I was in high school.  This weekend, more than twenty years after I left high school, I was able to see these same people and rejoice in the kind, fun, interesting human beings that they had become.  Heck, I realized that perhaps they had always been those things, and I, in the special narcissism of the high school loner, had just been too judgmental and myopic to see them for who they were.

4. July 26th’s  "Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell" and the Right to a Private History.  Excerpt:

When we marry, we promise each other many things: fidelity, devotion, and a willingness to share all one has.  For many of my generation who come to the altar after years and years of "experience", we perhaps ought to give another kind of pledge: the promise to focus on the future together, not on the past.   Real love rejoices in all the things that have made one’s husband or wife who he or she is today, knowing that without those experiences he or she would be a fundamentally different person.  But despite the often overwhelming temptation to pry, I’m convinced the wisest course is to acknowledge that there are some things none of us need to know, and we can give our partners and spouses the gift of an uncondemned, unchallenged, unquestioned past.

3.  November 7th’s A very long and personal post about men, women, childishness, and responsibility.  Excerpt:

I’m not proud of the fact that I prolonged a sulky and mercurial adolescence for nearly two decades.  I’m not proud of the fact that I chose to spend years and years stuck in the role of the irresponsible boy who wouldn’t grow up, who both wanted women to take care of him and resented the hell out of them for doing so.  But with the help of God and a whole bunch of folks here on earth, I’ve been busy in recent years letting go of these old patterns.   I no longer believe anything is, to paraphrase Barb, hidden too deeply in the psyche to change.  When I came back to Christ, I became enchanted with the idea that we are, as C.S. Lewis writes in the Last Battle, always called "further up, further in."  I see too many of my male friends and family members stuck in patterns set years and years ago; they seem to lack the desire, the willingness, and the faith to change.   But where my faith and my pro-feminism intersect best is in my belief that my conditioning and my biology and my past excuses are not determinative of how I will live my life as a man.  There is no "nature" we have that we cannot overcome, no habits we cannot break, no baggage that we can’t finally zip up and stow away for good.

2. May 18th’s More on older men and younger women, a long response to "Kate".  Excerpt:

Kate, I don’t know you.  But I can tell you I’ve known a few young women who’ve said things very similar to what you’ve said.   And I know that in the end, what many of them really wanted from older men was not a sexual or romantic relationship, but validation and recognition and attention.  In our highly sexualized culture, however, they couldn’t believe that a man would really love them and care for them unconditionally unless they could offer him something sexual or romantic in return.  They shortchanged themselves, and sadly, they found older men who reinforced the notion that their sexuality was the most valuable thing they had to offer.  I don’t know if that’s what’s going on with you.

Adults always tell teens to be patient, and teens get tired of hearing it.  But if I can give you a piece of advice, it is to be patient just a while longer.  Let whatever boundaries you have in place that have served you well stay in place just a little bit longer.  Keep those boundaries in place especially with the men who have a sworn (even sacred) responsibility to care for you as your teachers and mentors.  There’s nothing wrong with wanting.  But there’s much to be gained by waiting, just a little longer, before "taking the next step" with anyone, especially someone considerably older than yourself.  Once you become a legal adult, and (perhaps) are in college, you will begin to meet many different men who will be unlike those you knew in high school.  You might even find someone closer to your age who does share your interests and your passions.  Stranger things have happened.

1.   February 9th’s A beginning attempt at a Christian male pro-feminist theology of appetite — or further proof that I have lost it completely.  Excerpt:

Ultimately, I believe a man’s body is fully his and his alone in a way that a woman’s generally isn’t. I don’t bemoan that fact, nor do I celebrate it.  Rather, I’m increasingly focused on the notion that as  a result of this unmerited privilege,  men have a special obligation to do justice with their bodies.  What on earth does that mean?  First and foremost, it means "do no harm."   Unrestrained male appetite for food, sex, and alcohol, wreaks tremendous devastation on both a small and a global level.    Am I saying that women don’t abuse all three of these things?  Of course not.  But I think it can be safely argued that when speaking of sex and alcohol,  male uncontrolled desire has done far more harm.

I love my body, and not merely because it is "in shape" these days.  I love it because I have arms to hug with and a tongue to taste with and legs to power up a mountain with and hands to reach out with.  But I also recognize that my body is, to borrow a phrase from Stephen Carter, a "bundle of desires", some good, some not so good.  When I indulge myself in the latter, be it with a steak or a visit to a strip club,  my choices are harming other living things.  My right to pleasure stops when it extends to another’s exploitation, another’s degradation, another’s life, or even my own health.

A musing on the church, sexual sin, and giving too much

I was going to blog about Tookie Williams this morning, but I feel compelled to touch on the delicate topic that Jenell Paris has raised at her place in two posts, yesterday and today.  She writes:

I’m also despondent about pastoral scandals (having learned of a few more recently).  I’ve been part of seven churches in my life, and there have been ten pastoral scandals within the orbits of those churches (some at sister churches or related groups). Is that normal? There’s pedophilia, affairs, boundary-crossings, pornography…all are somehow related to sex.

First, I thought it was because they’re all evangelical – so uncomfortable with the body that sexuality is hidden and comes out inappropriately. Then, I wondered about maleness. Sexual inappropriateness is rampant among American men, but for the most part, pastors are one of the only professions in the bar is set fairly high for sexual sins are job-threatening offenses (affairs and emotional entanglements wouldn’t normally get you fired) and in which people expect greater morality from men. In one institution where I worked, a pastor’s scandal was made public, but another office worker (whose offenses were ‘worse’) was disappeared privately. So is it maleness? If women were given similar power, we’d abuse it too – perhaps in different ways, but blaming gender isn’t the answer. My final and most depressing suggestion is that something (the pastorate? the American church? Christianity as we know it?) is just rotten to the core.

Powerful questions. I can assure Jenell that sexual scandals are not unheard of outside evangelicalism!  Obviously the Roman Catholic church has had its struggles, but having spent plenty of time with Episcopalians, mainline Presbyterians, and even ultra-progressive Unitarians, I’ve seen the same sort of tragedies occur within these (theoretically) more "open" denominations.  If there’s a large subsection of American Christianity that has never been touched by sexual wrongdoing on the part of a male leader, I haven’t heard of it.

Here goes a "Hugo theory", and it’s just that, a theory.  I have no evidence to offer beyond a considerable amount of anecdotal experience.  I am convinced that all of us, male or female, Christian or not, are vulnerable to sexual misbehavior.  None of us is born with a perfect sense of boundaries and propriety, and though men and women often manifest their boundary violations differently, we are all ultimately, quite capable of crossing lines we shouldn’t cross.  But I am fairly certain that there is something about the "pastoral personality" that makes many of us particularly prone to sexual misconduct.

The most effective pastors and youth ministers I’ve known (and I’m not just speaking about All Saints Pasadena, but about several other churches of which I’ve been a part) are, of course, "people people."  Though not all good pastors are genuine extroverts, most love the opportunity to connect with their congregations on a spiritual and intimate level.   Almost every young pastor or priest I’ve known has had a real problem setting boundaries with time and emotional energy.  Congregations from the left to the right, from Unitarians to Reform Calvinists, place superhuman expectations on their all-too-human shepherds.  For men and women of any age, but perhaps especially for the young who are new to ministry, it becomes virtually impossible to say "no."   So many needy people want to plug themselves into what they imagine to be your socket of spiritual energy!  (Nowhere is this more true than in youth ministry.)  Most pastors want to be selfless givers, following in the footsteps of Jesus.  They don’t know how to say "no" to the needy, the vulnerable, and the chronically self-absorbed (all churches are full of the latter).  They give and give and give and, as we’ve all seen in our churches, they burn out.

I think that the thing that ties all sexual sin (adultery, pornography, affairs with parishioners, boundary violations with teens) together is a hunger for an experience that is all about us, our pleasure, our happiness.  People who spend their lives in public service are perhaps particularly vulnerable to these sins because they do such a poor job of taking care of themselves.   Over and over again, they deny their own needs and push themselves to the limits of spiritual, physical, and emotional exhaustion.  Their minds and bodies crave rest, but they also crave an experience that is, for once, "all about them."   They long for something that is "just theirs", a time or an activity or a relationship where they don’t have to feel the crushing burden of public demands and expectations.

As anyone who has spent time with a porn addict — or been a porn addict — knows, time seems to disappear when one is "using."  One’s world gets very, very narrow when one is masturbating to porn.  All that matters is the next image on the screen or on the next page, all that matters is one’s own gratification.   It is, perhaps, the single most selfish activity imaginable.  It’s not only intensely selfish, it’s intensely private.  For someone like a pastor or a youth minister, whose career is about public sharing and giving, porn use (and other sexual sin) is at the very opposite end of the human emotional and spiritual spectrum from their vocation.  But because they exhaust themselves so easily, because they are all-too-conscious of the huge expectations placed upon them by their congregants, the allure of sexual transgression becomes all the greater.  It is a perverse kind of emotional balancing, I think, an attempt to restore equilibrium.

I had an old friend who had lost his job in ministry (again, not at any church I’ve named as one with which I am associated.)  He was caught with tons of porn on his church computer, and had regularly visited strip clubs on "church time" (and with church money.)  We talked about what he had been doing, and he said that he justified his behavior by saying "I deserve this."  He had worked so hard for his church, gone so far beyond his job description that he was at church or doing pastoral care work close to 100 hours a week.  He gave and gave and gave.  And at the end of the day — or sometimes in the middle of the day — he thus felt quite justified in "taking a little bit of time for me."  When he would look at porn for half an hour, all by himself, he would tell himself, "This is my ‘me’ time; I deserve this after all the work I’ve done."  On a deeper level, he struggled with shame and the "If they only knew!" anxiety.  It was, he explained, almost a relief when he was caught.

So how can the church address this?  Well, we need to get more honest about the human frailties of all of those who do ministry work.  We need a two-fold strategy that both demands greater accountability for private behavior and "personal time", but also watches carefully to prevent the sort of pastoral burnout that so often precedes sexual scandal.  I think both men and women in ministry need to be partnered with others in their church.  These partners (who should generally be of the same sex and age) will regularly and lovingly ask the "tough questions."  They might use an internet program like Covenant Eyes together. (I use it and recommend it to everyone.)   When they see their partner spending too much time with one person, they’ll confront them — not publicly, but gently and privately.

And when a "fall" happens, the worst option is to have the sinner quickly and quietly leave the church community.   Obviously, if a child has been molested and a crime committed, the authorities will need to be involved and the minister removed for the sake of the victim if no one else.  But in the case of consensual adultery, or pornography, or other less heinous but still serious transgressions, the focus has to be on healing and redemption within the church itself..  Folks who want their priests and ministers on pedestals need a wake-up call; they will benefit from seeing the brokenness of their shepherd.  They may figure out that the laity need to take more responsibility, and that the "priesthood of all believers" involves holding everyone to the same standard rather than demanding Christ-like self-sacrifice from church leaders.  They will get a chance to witness and participate in a journey of restoration and healing, and that will be a powerful sermon indeed.

I’m a "people person."  I naturally gravitate to situations where I can connect with others emotionally, intellectually, and spiritually.   There’s a generous and giving element to this: it’s what makes me a good teacher, a compassionate mentor, and a very loving youth leader.  There’s a darker, more selfish element as well:  I need — and I’m not shy about saying this — a lot of praise, affirmation, and "stroking."    In both my profession and my youth work avocation, I give and give, but I also receive and receive.  As with so many of my brothers and sisters, generosity and narcissism are both part and parcel of what I do and who I am.  Some folks see more of the former, some more of the latter, but my true friends see both and love me in my goodness and my brokenness.  But I have to be careful to ask for help and affirmation even as I continue to give and share!  Pretending to be superhuman, pretending to be like Jesus, will get me no place good and it will get me there fast. (Sorry, Mom and Dad, about the grammar — but trust me, that’s the best way to put it.)

Because of my past, because of my nature, I have really, really good boundaries in place with students and teens and colleagues and fellow volunteers.   I’m careful both in terms of public perception of my behavior and in terms of my own emotions and my own sexuality.  And I know enough that I can’t do this alone.   Both in and out of the college and the church, there are men and women who know me, love me, and watch me lovingly as I watch them.  We can ask each other the hard questions, hold each other accountable, and together, keep everyone safe.  I couldn’t do what I do without them

Thursday Short Poem: Jeffers’ “Inscription”

As I’ve mentioned many times before, I grew up loving the work of Robinson Jeffers.  My boyhood home is a half mile from his famous Tor House.  I’ve had a few of his poems up, but this is one I love deeply — and it is also one about which I am conflicted.

I come from a large family.  We have deeply religious people within the clan, but most of my relatives are thoroughly agnostic.  I was raised by secular humanists (the best and kindest sort), the kind of folks for whom the Unitarian Universalists are the closest they’ll come to making a serious religious commitment.  When it comes to the great questions of life and death and life AFTER death, my family is fairly clear that there isn’t anything to look forward to.   We’re cremated, we are released into the ephemera, and that’s that. I no longer believe as they did, but for years, I shared that conviction.

When I was a young humanist, worried about what happened after death to those of us who didn’t believe in heaven or hell or reincarnation, my mother shared this Jeffers poem with me.  I’ve always loved it, even after I came to believe that I will someday begin a new life, an everlasting one, in another country.    We read this poem at my grandmother’s memorial service, and if I were ever to lose my faith, I would want it read at mine.  Maybe it still should be.

Inscription for a Gravestone

I am not dead, I have only become inhuman:
That is to say,
Undressed myself of laughable prides and infirmities,
But not as a man

Undresses to creep into bed, but like an athlete
Stripping for the race.
The delicate ravel of nerves that made me a measurer
Of certain fictions
Called good and evil; that made me contract with pain
And expand with pleasure;
Fussily adjusted like a little electroscope:
That’s gone, it is true;
(I never miss it; if the universe does,

How easily replaced!)
But all the rest is heightened, widened, set free.
I admired the beauty
While I was human, now I am part of the beauty.
I wander in the air,
Being mostly gas and water, and flow in the ocean;
Touch you and Asia
At the same moment; have a hand in the sunrises
And the glow of this grass.
I left the light precipitate of ashes to earth
For a love-token.

Top Ten in ’05: the First Half

Last year, at the inspiration of Bob Carlton, many of us submitted our "Top Five" posts of the year.  I’m going to be bringing my 2005 blogging to an end very soon — my last day of new posts for the year will be December 14, and then nothing again until January 3.

So call it excess, but I’m selecting ten posts this year with which I was particularly pleased.  I’m putting  up the first five (numbered 10 through 6)  today and I’ll put up the top five on Friday. 

10.  May 24′s A Long Reflection on Moving Away from Home.   Excerpt:

I want to help my students and my teenagers in youth group develop their individual autonomy, their individual selves, their individual identities.  For all my professions of faith, I still see offering people "choices" as among the highest of moral imperatives in a good society.   I want my teenagers to be able to extricate themselves from the constraints of their families and go off to find liberation in the dorms and the leafy green quads of American colleges in, if not another time zone, at least another county!

9.  March 8′s A short post wherein Hugo reveals his Luddite tendencies.  Excerpt:

I am sick and tired of having folks with doctorates in education (Lord help us) tell me that "lecturing is an outdated teaching style."  Well, it’s still a damned effective teaching style if it’s done well.  I put a lot of time and energy into crafting articulate, interesting, lectures, largely because I believe that for most students, it remains the most effective and memorable way to learn.   I do invite discussion and debate in some of my classes, and I welcome questions — but I cling tenaciously to the old-school notion that my job is to be an interesting, compelling, and provocative deliverer of information.

8. October 27th’s "No right not to be looked at": Reflections on lust and male responsibility. Excerpt:

I’m not suggesting that we can create a society where none of us ever gazes at another person with a fleeting sensation of desire.  But lust is about more than passing desire, lust is a conscious choice to not only look for a moment, but to continue to look. It’s the difference between an "appreciative glance" and a "penetrating gaze."  I don’t think it’s a tortuous and artificial distinction, either. I think it’s straightforward and practical, and with discipline, easily applied.  And let me be clear that my goal is not to create a de-sexualized, guilt-ridden society!  My goal is a world where men and boys, women and girls, interact with each other as loving members of the human community, with a sense of responsibility for each other and a commitment to love and protect each other. I want a world where young women can feel validated and seen, not because of their physical desirability but because of their essential worth as human beings.

7. August 11ths’ A Long Reflection on the Good Divorce.  Excerpt:

But I don’t just believe that divorce is an "evil" that can be forgiven.   Though many divorces are bitter and nasty, not all of them need be.  I’ve gone the bitter and angry route (in my second), and I’ve gone the loving, charitable, and (dare I say it) "positive" route (in my third.)  Thus in my own experience, I have witnessed the very real redemptive possibilities that can be found in the experience of marital dissolution.

In this last divorce process, which lasted months, I allowed myself to experience the unique "refining fire" that the end-of-marriage process can offer.  I am absolutely convinced that few other experiences, if any, can force one to confront the realities of one’s own sinfulness and one’s own selfishness!  In that marriage, especially in the drawn-out process which ended it, I faced some colossally uncomfortable truths about myself.   In the safe atmosphere of the therapist’s office, my ex-wife and I confronted each other.  But rather than just "dump", we both took the time to hear what we were being told.    And by doing that "hearing work", we not only validated the other’s experience, we came to terms with facts about ourselves we would never otherwise have seen.

6. January 12th’s Older Men, Younger Women, Integrity.  Excerpt:

Young women need older men in their lives who will respect and care about them, who aren’t their fathers or brothers but who aren’t prospective lovers, either.  They need to know that they bring more to the table than their sexuality.  They need to be seen as complete human beings.  Paradoxically, seeing young women as complete human beings means that in actions, words, and yes, even in thought, older men cannot see them as objects of sexual desire.  That doesn’t mean that we (older guys) shouldn’t acknowledge that younger women are sexual creatures.  But we must (and the burden is on us alone here, fellas) love them with radical unselfishness,and that requires that we ourselves always refrain from sexualizing them. 

I liked these posts — not my top five, mind you, but ones I want to remember nonetheless.  I invite my fellow bloggers to do the same, make their own lists, and we’ll see if Bob Carlton does his compendium again this year.

Carnival of Feminists

The new "Carnival of the Feminists" is up at the Happy Feminist.  Lots and lots of bloggity goodness on a wide variety of aspects of contemporary feminism, ranging from the academic to the sexual to the political, to, of course, the highly personal.  It’s all good stuff.

Blaming the feminists. Again. — UPDATED

Every once in a while, an op-ed gets me unusually angry, and Kate O’Beirne has managed to do it this week with this jaw-dropped at (where else?) National Review Online: Our Boys are Hurting in School.  Thank the Feminists.

O’Beirne is commenting on this piece in last week’s Post by Michael Gurian: Disappearing Act.  Gurian raises the very real issue of declining male enrollment in the nation’s colleges and universities.  His tone is only moderately alarmist:

Colleges and universities across the country are grappling with the case of the mysteriously vanishing male. Where men once dominated, they now make up no more than 43 percent of students at American institutions of higher learning, according to 2003 statistics, and this downward trend shows every sign of continuing unabated. If we don’t reverse it soon, we will gradually diminish the male identity, and thus the productivity and the mission, of the next generation of young men, and all the ones that follow.

Gurian tries, with some success, to identify the real culprits: prison, an increasingly competitive job market, the military, and poor personal choices on the part of many young men:

The young men who are working in the lowest-level (and most dangerous) jobs instead of going to college. Who are sitting in prison instead of going to college. Who are staying out of the long-term marriage pool because they have little to offer to young women. Who are remaining adolescents, wasting years of their lives playing video games for hours a day, until they’re in their thirties, by which time the world has passed many of them by.

Gurian also notes another problem:

Lack of fathering and male role models take a heavy toll on boys, as does lack of attachment to many family members (whether grandparents, extended families, moms or dads).

He also offers some of the more recent data on brain development, suggesting that boys in particular are often ill-suited for what he calls the "industrial classroom" mode of instruction with its emphasis on self-control, neat work, and attentiveness. I’m not enough of an early childhood expert to argue with his theories and his evidence, and I’m prepared to believe that there is much we can do to make classrooms friendlier to rambunctious boys — and girls — who are exhausted and overwhelmed by the results-oriented curricula we force down the throats of the young these days!

But it’s O’Beirne who ticks me off.  She’s angry at Gurian for not identifying the real culprit in all of this: feminism.

(Gurian) doesn’t explain who is to blame for boys’ alienation from our current schooling regime. So I will. It’s radical feminist academics, theorists, and activists.

Huh.  Who knew that schoolteachers in Ottumwa, Iowa, modeled their pedagogy on Andrea Dworkin?  O’Beirne tries to be specific:

Take reading achievement, as one example of what feminism has wrought. With the federal government’s clout and cash, feminists have dictated the rewriting of textbooks to conform to their notions of gender equality. At its 1973 convention, NOW resolved to take “dramatic action” to see that dangerous sex-role stereotypes were erased from textbooks, and within a year they had the Women’s Educational Equity Act to advance their campaign with funding for alternative curricula. The editors, publishers, administrators, bureaucrats, and teachers’ unions that make up the feminized education establishment have eagerly adopted the feminists’ destructive gender agenda.

The result is what NYU psychology professor Paul Vitz calls “Wonder Woman and the Wimp” stories that little boys understandably have little interest in reading. Sandra Stotsky, a reading specialist and research scholar at Northeastern University explains, “Gone are the inspiring biographies of the most important American presidents, inventors, scientists, and entrepreneurs. No military valor, no high adventure. On the other hand, stories about adventurous and brave women abound.”

Hmmm.  Gosh, last time I checked, since the mid-1970s we’ve added a huge segment on Martin Luther King, Jr., to the required school curriculum.  Here in California, we have a state holiday to honor Cesar Chavez, and his life and career are required subjects in our elementary schools.  Unless I’m seriously mistaken, King and Chavez were men with very inspiring biographies.  But they didn’t shoot anybody, and they didn’t have white skin, so perhaps they don’t count in the Stotsky/O’Beirne world.  Sheesh.

Let me be clear:  I am worried about young men.  But young men are not disappearing from our college campuses because of feminism.  They are disappearing because contemporary masculine culture offers so little to support young men.   While young women are increasingly able to take advantage of strong support networks, young men are left isolated.  The problem is not feminism, the problem is a striking lack of interest on the part of older men in mentoring younger ones.

I know many, many wonderful women who are primary, secondary, and college teachers.  A remarkable number of them have strong feminist commitments.  But I see so few men entering our field saying "I want to mentor younger men."   The problem, of course, is not that feminism has made the schools and the universities hostile environments for men.  The problem is that male teachers and professors have failed to take on the same kind of commitments as their female peers.  Young people, I firmly believe, need same-sex role models who care not only about their intellectual development but also about their emotional growth and personal happiness.  The feminist movement, thanks be to God, has raised up a generation of women committed to empowering young girls and inspiring young women.  The benefits have been enormous.

But far too few men show any interest in primary school teaching.  Those men who do teach at any level are much less likely to take a passionate interest in empowering, inspiring, and discipling the young men with whom they work.  As a result, young men in today’s educational system rarely have healthy institutional support from other males, particularly older ones in positions of authority.  (The glaring exception, of course, is in athletic departments — but only a few fortunate young men can really take advantage of that.)

I agree with both Gurian and O’Beirne that the problem is real.  The drop-out rates among young men are far too high; the disengagement we faculty see on the part of so many young guys is a serious issue.  But feminism is not the culprit. The blame lies on men themselves.  Not on the young men who are struggling in school (though their own poor personal choices play a part, especially by college age), but on older men who are too busy, too distracted, or too uninterested to take an active role in the lives of boys.  More and more women have done a generally outstanding job of reaching out to their younger sisters, while we men have, on a national scale, abandoned our responsibilities to disciple and nurture our little brothers. 

The roots of the "boy crisis" do not lie in feminism, radical or otherwise.  They lie in the collective failure of adult men to meet their responsibilities to their sons and brothers, and to take an active role at every level of the education system –  from kindergarten to law school — to nurture, love, and empower young males to grow into responsible, loving, successful, caring adults.

UPDATE:  In my anger at O’Beirne, I essentially conceded all of Gurian’s major points.  Thanks to Jill,  I’ve now been directed to some statistics at Salon that call into question the premise that men are vanishing from our nation’s campuses.

Office parties, small tasks, feminism

So we just had our "end-of-the-semester" holiday party for the Social Sciences division.  Lots and lots of food (Hugo had two brownies and a slice of apple pie).  A great chance to socialize with one’s colleagues and former colleagues; retired members of the division always come back for food and fun.

This morning, one of my students in my women’s studies class asked me, bluntly but politely, if I just "talked the talk" of feminism or if I "walked the walk."  I was clear that to the best of my ability, I do walk that feminist walk.  And lo and behold, in the thirty minutes before the division party began, I found myself in the "party room" setting things up.  I was with six of my female colleagues, but I was the only male prof participating in the "set-up." 

We’re a good-natured department, and like most college departments, we like to eat and drink together.  But almost all of the time, the work of setting up and cleaning up is done by women.  Our secretaries are not asked to help (though they do); most of the women who do this work are also faculty members with the same teaching loads and obligations as their male colleagues.  Today, as I carefully cut pies with a very dull knife and laid out dips and veggies, I realized that I’d rather be in my office checking the Internet.  But I can’t very well preach egalitarianism and then leave the domestic chores of parties to my female colleagues. 

I’m not asking for praise for a few moment’s work.  I’m simply recognizing that it is so easy for me and for other men to "not think" about who puts on the parties, lays out the napkins, slices the cake, and makes sure that the trash can has plastic liners.  It’s so easy to just "disappear" into the office until it’s time to eat.  But even though they aren’t actually present, I often feel the eyes of my students on me; I know they are curious to know if my actions and my words are congruent.  And though feminism is about a good deal more than small tasks of the sort I did this morning, those little chores are not insignificant, either.  Next year, I’m dragging my male office mate with me to "set-up time."