Lift Up Your Hearts!

I try to ignore the insane TikTok (and other platform) postings celebrating Charlie Kirk's death, figuring there's a good chance that many of them are either AI-generated or (more likely) people being paid to cause trouble. That kind of thing is real, and it's not new: political propaganda and agitation predate social media by millennia. But it's impossible to avoid it altogether without cutting oneself entirely off from the world; you don't need to stand near a forest fire to be overcome by smoke.

Tragically, there's abundant evidence that much vile sentiment does come from real people who appear to believe the horrific things they are saying, and claim without apology their First Amendment right to free speech. Real people. Real teachers even.

I hear the "freedom of speech" claim a lot, attempting to justify bad behavior, from the merely rude to the heinous. In such situations I'm compelled to point out that no, their actions are not protected as much as they hope by the First Amendment. Constitutionally, they are in most cases protected from governmental interference in their speech, though even then there are exceptions (e.g. yelling "fire!" in a crowded theater, slander/libel, and certain threats). But there is nothing that I know of that prohibits a private enterprise from saying, "Your publicly-expressed opinions are antithetical to the culture and mission of our organization and give us concern that your inability to control them will put the comfort and safety of our customers at risk. Therefore it is time to go our separate ways."

I saw that play out here locally, when Penzey's Spices pressured (and eventually laid off) the employees of our local store who did not share the corporate political positions. And it was the company's right to do so. Only the court of public opinion can prevail against that.

(The Second Amendment is similarly limited: I have the right to "bear arms" but if my local grocery store puts up a sign saying, "No guns allowed" I don't have the right to at the same time carry my pistol and fill my shopping cart. It's complicated; if the Constitution and our laws were perfectly clear, too many lawyers would be at risk of unemployment.)

A shockingly large number of folks have crossed a sacred line in the glorification of cold-blooded murder. I'm not completely comfortable with the people who are exposing these obscene posts and making sure the posters' employers—and in the case of teachers, their students' parents—are made aware of them, but sometimes light needs to be shined into dark places. 

What kind of human being cheers the assassination of an innocent man? If I were a business I would seriously worry about putting such a person in a position where he could do harm to a customer he happened to dislike.

What I really don't understand is the teachers who make such posts. Have they lost their minds? I know a guy who became a teacher after serving honorably in another profession. I was sorry that I could no longer follow his interesting and often wise posts on Facebook, because one of the clear rules of his school was that teachers were to have no social media presence whatsoever. At first I thought that was harsh, but now I see the wisdom in it. Even where social media posting is not forbidden by the school, how can a teacher want to advertise that parents have entrusted their children to one who lacks the common sense—not to mention the common humanity—to refrain from exulting in violent death? Much less the violent death of someone for whom many of their students are deeply grieving?

Young people are often warned to be careful what they post online, because their future may hang in the balance. That's a lesson we all need to learn. Sometimes it's a risk we must take: speaking the truth can be costly. But as the Bible says, it's one thing to suffer for doing good, and quite another to suffer from doing evil.

Sadly, I can't stick my head in the sand and deny that hatred and horrific behavior are real. We have to acknowledge it, be aware of our surroundings, and prepare to face trouble, just as we prepare to face hurricanes, earthquakes, illness, job loss, and other challenges.

Possibly the best preparation of all would be to strengthen our relationships within our families, among our friends, and in our neighborhoods.

There are no guarantees. I can't forget the Rwandan Genocide, where neighbors raped neighbors, friends slaughtered friends, and the man standing next to you in church on Sunday might do unspeakable things to your children on Wednesday. It was a time when political, cultural, and racial lines were drawn hard and fast.

We. Must. Do. Better. "It can't happen here" is a tragic epitaph.

Where do I find hope? In God, first of all. The second is like unto it: In what I know, and whom I know, from my own experience.

We could all benefit from spending less time watching the news and scrolling through social media, and more time looking around at our families, friends, and neighbors. Of the people we really know and interact with, how many actually hold that kind of hatred in their hearts? I have many friends whose political views are sharply opposed to mine—yet by living, working, and playing together we make opportunities to observe and appreciate each other's humanity, and to prove that we have each other's backs in times of need.

That's where the most important reality lies.

Charlie Kirk was on the list for my Heroes series, along with many others I haven't yet written about. Now anything I write is an obituary.

Young, brilliant, and bold, one of his favorite activities was to speak on college campuses, often with an open microphone for students to argue with him and ask questions. I've watched a number of his interactions, and he always seemed calm, polite, well-informed, and verbally on point. He also seemed genuinely to enjoy interacting with the students. I've also heard him in speak in interviews and on podcasts (never in person) and been similarly impressed.

No one knows anything yet about the person who shot and killed Charlie Kirk, but to all appearances, "assassination" is the correct term for this event.

I've been thinking a lot lately about what heroism is, and just what constitutes being brave. It's now more obvious than ever that taking an unpopular message onto college campuses—straight into the lion's den—takes courage of the highest order.

There's no doubt in my mind that Charlie has already received his "Well done, thou good and faithful servant"; it's his wife and young children who need our prayers now.

Requiescat in pace.

(It has been a days of highs and lows.  Right now the lows have left me stunned and sad, which is doing no one any good. Time to take George MacDonald's advice: Heed not thy feelings; do thy work.)

It's time to bring back a post from eight years ago, which I called Leadership. It was inspired by the funeral of a man I wish I had known better.

I've never aspired to be a leader. I learned that in elementary school, when my parents and teacher were talking about "leadership qualities" and I thought, "Doesn't sound like fun to me." I don't mean I necessarily like to be a follower—mostly I like to do my own thing (child of the '60s) and other people can come along, or not, as they wish.

But a man at our church, who died not long ago, is making me rethink the idea of leadership. I barely knew him, but our choir sang for his funeral, and what I learned about him then made me wish I had found a way to cultivate his friendship.

He was accomplished enough for 10 people. He graduated in Mechanical and Electrical Engineering from Princeton. He was a marine, serving in World War II and Korea. He followed that up by working for the CIA, earning the highest possible award for valor. For three years he endured Communist prison camp in Cuba. His civilian life achievements and community activities are too numerous to mention.

And they played bagpipes at his funeral.

Most amazing of all for someone so distinguished, everyone who knew him remarked about his humility. Churches talk a lot about "servant leadership" but apparently this man actually embodied it. He was, indeed, a "humble servant."

And yet....

The other thing said about him was that people did things the way he thought they ought to be done. He was humble, he was gentle, he was soft-spoken—but you didn't cross him. Somehow, he induced people to see things his way without pushing them around, without exerting his power—which is real power, indeed.

What might the world be like with more leaders like that?

As I near the end of Wind and Truth, Brandon Sanderson's 1344-page final book in the first half of his epic Stormlight Archive fantasy series, I am reminded of the following quotation from J. R. R. Tolkien. It is part of The Homecoming of Beorhtnoth Beorhthelm's Son, a play based on a fragment of a poem about a historical battle between the English and Viking invaders.

This is not pessimism, but a call for strength and courage during dark times, which come to all.

Heart shall be bolder, harder be purpose,
More proud the spirit as our power lessens!
Mind shall not falter nor mood waver,
Though doom shall come and dark conquer.

I don't follow Matt Walsh's podcasts, but that's for lack of time, not lack of respect. I find him intelligent and well-spoken, and sometimes quote him here. Not that I always agree with him—he nearly lost me when I found out that he thinks raw milk is disgusting. I was almost one of the 14,000+ people who called him out on that, but decided instead that each of us has a right to be wrong, and let him alone.   

Why have I included him in my Heroes category? Because we need heroes at every level. Maybe Matt Walsh didn't run into a burning building to save a child, but he just took an important stand against the undefined but powerful mob that will use any excuse and any tactic to bring down those who dare disagree with whatever narrative they are currently imposing. I have no problem with calling someone out for saying or doing something that troubles me, but the demand for an apology and public groveling, which is almost always a part of the process, is not only wrong, but a dangerous abuse of power.

I consider it a heroic act to stand up to that kind of pressure. It's not easy. I remember, with shame, the times in my life when I've apologized for things I still believe were not only not wrong, but actively the right thing to do. And yet, shameful though I think my groveling was, I'm not apologizing for apologizing under duress, because the threats were not to me but to my children. The memory, however, makes me all the more inclined to respect people who, as Walsh put it, decline to take part.

In this video, Walsh addresses the firestorm that erupted when he refused to take down an image that someone else posted in a critical response to one of his X posts. Walsh, the mob insists, knowingly and approvingly posted a swastika, because he didn't censor his critic's image.

Now that I know where it is, I find it impossible not to see the swastika in question. But until it was pointed out, I didn't see it at all. I have no problem believing that Walsh didn't either. But once noted, why not take it down? The better question is, why should it be taken down? Even if it had been in plain sight, a normal swastika, while it would have been fine for Walsh to delete an image that someone else had imposed on his X feed, it is wrong for anyone to pressure him to do so. The swastika has been around for millennia and originally meant well-being. This mob would have had us burn our antique Oriental rug because it included these ancient symbols in its design.

Just because someone has reused a historic symbol for other purposes, that doesn't mean it's right to cave in to the misappropriation. Even if I'm the last person in the world to do so, I will still use "gay" to mean "lighthearted," use masculine pronouns as neutral when appropriate, and continue to cringe every time I hear "they" and "them" used as if they were singular. (This means I am cringing frequently while listening to the lastest New International Version of the Bible—not a salubrious situation.) I also insist on singing the old words to familiar hymns rather than the abominations featured in modern hymnals. Take that, "Good Christian Friends, Rejoice!"

This attack on Walsh makes me want to post an image of a swastika loud and clear on my blog, maybe in the company of my nasty-looking image of the COVID-19 virus. However, even if it may sometimes be necessary to fight a bear, it's stupid to poke one unnecessarily, so my more rational side beat down my gut reaction in this case.

The really interesting part of all this is the image itself—which I reserve for a subsequent post. I'll try enabling comments, just in case someone else notices the issue with the picture before I write about it. Please be respectful and refrain from using the comment section for arguments.

Who is Bill Maher, and why does he deserve a place in my Heroes category?

No one who knows the deep extent of my ignorance of pop culture (among other things) will be surprised that until I looked him up on that great foundation of American knowledge and ignorance, Wikipedia, I had no idea who Bill Maher was. Now I know he's a comedian, politically and socially liberal, and a potty-mouth. There are issues on which Maher and I agree, and I've reluctantly come to accept the need to endure crude speech because these days I know so many otherwise highly intelligent and reasonable people who for reasons unknown apparently cannot speak without being vulgar. However, I find modern comedy generally too edgy for my taste, so I'm unlikely to add Maher to my list of favorite speakers.

Thus it was only through a friend (also intelligent, reasonable, potty-mouthed, and one of the funniest people I know) that I heard the following monologue (13 minutes).

What I find amusingly frustrating is that Maher's simple description of spending time with President Trump has people on both sides of the aisle asking, "Has Bill Maher gone MAGA?" No, he hasn't; he's just being a reasonable human being, the way that was standard not all that long ago.

I suspect he will take a lot of heat for being reasonable—lives have been ruined for less—and he knew it before deciding to speak out. But he spoke the truth anyway, and that makes him a hero to me.

An excerpt from Brandon Sanderson's novel, Warbreaker (pp. 490-491 in the hardcover version). It seems fitting for my Heroes series.

Vasher shrugged in the darkness. “Priests are always easy to blame. They make convenient scapegoats—after all, anyone with a strong faith different from your own must either be a crazy zealot or a lying manipulator.”

Vivenna flushed yet again.

Vasher stopped in the street, then turned to her. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to say it that way.” He cursed, turning and walking again. “I told you I’m no good at this.”

“It’s all right,” she said. “I’m getting used to it.”

He nodded in the darkness, seeming distracted.

He is a good man, she thought. Or, at least, an earnest man trying to be good. A part of her felt foolish for making yet another judgment.

Yet she knew she couldn’t live—couldn’t interact—without making some judgments. So she judged Vasher. Not as she’d judged Denth, who had said amusing things and given her what she’d expected to see. She judged Vasher by what she had seen him do. Cry when he saw a child being held captive. Return that child to her father, his only reward an opportunity to make a rough plea for peace. Living with barely any money, dedicating himself to preventing a war.

He was rough. He was brutal. He had a terrible temper. But he was a good man. And, walking beside him, she felt safe for the first time in weeks.

I've made no secret of the fact that I don't like the movie Forrest Gump.  The era of the late 60's and early 70's was a really weird time for our country (and much of the Western world): uncomfortable, ugly, deranged, disagreeable, void of reason and sense.  Quite a bit like the last decade or so, in fact.  Watching Forrest Gump brought all that back, and I appreciated neither the reminder nor what I believe was an attempt to whitewash the times.

You'd think I'd have the same reaction to Pirates of Silicon Valley, which I watched recently, since it deals with some of the same era.  But I enjoyed it thoroughly.  Here's the description from Eric Hunley's Unstructured.

Pirates of Silicon Valley is a 1999 American biographical drama television film directed by Martyn Burke and starring Noah Wyle as Steve Jobs and Anthony Michael Hall as Bill Gates. Spanning the years 1971–1997 and based on Paul Freiberger and Michael Swaine's 1984 book Fire in the Valley: The Making of the Personal Computer, it explores the impact that the rivalry between Jobs (Apple Computer) and Gates (Microsoft) had on the development of the personal computer. The film premiered on TNT on June 20, 1999.

Two things made this a movie I would enjoy watching again.  One is that it shows the good, the bad, and the ugly of that era without either oversensationalizing it or making excuses.  The Promethean heroes who brought the power of computers to Everyman were severely flawed, but they were still heroes.

Even more than that, I loved the movie because it brought back good memories, especially at the beginning.  The early days of computing were messy, but they were also exciting.  I still remember sitting in a small room at the University of Rochester's Goler House, listening to Carl Helmers expounding on the wonders of the Apple 1 computer, which he demonstrated using a cassette tape as an input device.  Porter and I looked at each other and said, "I want to buy stock in this company!" Unfortunately, Apple was not publicly traded then, and when it did go public, we were out of the loop and missed the IPO of $22/share and the chance to turn $1000 into $2.5 million.  (My father did the same thing when he chose to buy our first house instead of investing the money in Haloid, as recommended by a friend who had just visited the company.  Haloid later became Xerox.)  We didn't get rich, but we did enjoy being on the fringes of the wild-and-woolly frontier.

King Arthur and His Knights of the Round Table by Roger Lancelyn Green (1953)
The Adventures of Robin Hood by Roger Lancelyn Green (1956)

Roger Lancelyn Green's assembling and retelling of the stories of King Arthur and of Robin Hood makes me want to read his other collections of ancient tales (e.g. Egyptian, Greek, and Norse); he writes well and provides an excellent introduction to these classic stories. The only negative I would report about these particular editions is that the publisher apparently decided it would be a good idea to append a stomach-turning school-ish section. ("Can you see any similarities between Arthur and modern heroes such as Harry Potter or Luke Skywalker?") Somehow I don't think Green would have approved at all.

One thing I found delightful in both books was recognizing in Green's work echoes of the writing of C. S. Lewis and J. R. R. Tolkien. Not in the sense of copying or imitation, but that they all spring from the same roots.

Another is that these stories of chivalry and idealized behavior make it clear both that heroes are flawed people, and that they are nonetheless heroes.

In the 1950's and early 1960's, when I was young, our hero stories were highly sanitized—and not just those for children. What mattered was the good that was done; negative events and characteristics were largely ignored. Fables are expected to be larger-than-life (think Paul Bunyan), but real people, no matter how amazing, should be, well, real people. It's important to know that God can do extraordinary things with ordinary people—being weak, fallen, broken, and/or stupid is no excuse for not doing the right thing.

Later decades turned the idealized hero narrative 180 degrees. It became de rigueur to take the people we admire and portray them not so much as flawed, but evil; to take delight in showing people at their worst, and pointing out that the good they did might have actually been harmful. This may have been a necessary corrective for a brief time, but it is the worse of the two errors.

Green does not hesitate to admit the flaws, errors, and sins of his characters, but lets their heroic actions shine. It's a good balance.

"I'll take a million court appearances and people calling me names and people hating me just to keep one of those people from getting hurt or killed." — Daniel Penny

Daniel Penny should not have had to endure any of that. I'm pretty sure he would not have if he had saved those lives in Miami rather than in New York City. In Florida, we tend to appreciate those who risk their own health and safety to protect others—as Penny did by restraining a man who threatened the lives of the other subway passengers. It is unfortunate that the man later died, but Penny did the right thing. Many people are saying that his Not Guilty verdict proves that "the system" worked, but he never should have been tried in the first place, much less still be facing a civil lawsuit.

How many people will in the future be hurt or killed because a potential hero will be less inclined to intervene in a dangerous situation? It may be that those who could become heroes fear death less than trials and lawsuits!

You may feel differently about this situation, and that's certainly your right and privilege. But please refrain from saying so here. This post is meant to honor Daniel Penny, and I'm just not in the mood to argue.

Heroes are flawed, often deeply. Wounded. Maybe broken.

What if that's what it takes to make someone into the kind of person who can become a hero?

What if the person you'd never consider inviting to your dinner party turns out to be the one with the skills and the personality to save your life one day?

Bear with me here. The following diversion is relevant.

If there were no other reason for trying to save the endangered species of our planet, consider how many of our best healing medicines have come from nature. What if the habitat we wipe out is the source of the microorganism that will eventually cure cancer? Billions of people in the tropics owe their lives and health to a drug developed from a microorganism found in a soil sample taken from a Japanese golf course!

Discovered in the late-1970s, the pioneering drug ivermectin, a dihydro derivative of avermectin—originating solely from a single microorganism isolated at the Kitasato Intitute, Tokyo, Japan from Japanese soil—has had an immeasurably beneficial impact in improving the lives and welfare of billions of people throughout the world. [Here's the link, for the record, but it's a long and technical paper.]

What if the personality traits we're trying to eliminate turn out to be exactly what's needed to face a crisis we can't even see coming? If there were no other reason for respecting those who don't fit into our own insular social groups, consider that they may be the very people we need when the floodwaters rise.

What if the energy, the aggression, and the "toxic masculinity" we're trying so hard to breed out of our boys turns out to be part and parcel of what gives them the strength and the will to take on a hero's work?

I'm sure the men of the "Bikes and Beards" podcast (of which I know nothing beyond what you can see here) did not set out to be heroes. But when Hurricane Helene hit Appalacia, they stepped into that role as if they had been prepared for it. Maybe they had been.

Bikers? With beards and tattoos? Country folk, with guns? Who would you rather come to your rescue? A Hollywood celebrity? A college professor? A Supreme Court justice?

And yet heroes come in all shapes, sizes, and guises. I wouldn't expect Elon Musk to drive a truck full of supplies on mountain roads, but his Starlink system provides essential communication for devastated areas, from Appalacia to the Ukraine.

We need "all sorts and conditions of men." For selfish reasons, if nothing else.

I'm done with expecting heroes to be perfect. But let them be heroic!

Author S. D. Smith explains that his children's books are good but not safe—and why that's important. Authors like Smith prepare the ground for children to grow into the heroes we will desperately need.

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3)

Rescue the Republic—Join the Resistance

My heart is full.

I still wish I could have been at the event in person. I was not even able to be glued to the livestream, as we were for most of Viva Frei's live coverage of Canada's Freedom Convoy; life was just too busy here on Sunday. Nonetheless, I managed to listen to quite a bit of it as I went about my business, once we got home from church. And I've been slowly catching up on what I missed, now that DarkHorse has most of it available in convenient, bite-sized pieces. In a subsequent post, I intend to publish some of my favorites, so you can easily watch them for yourselves, but if you want to see any or all of them now, you can find them at the DarkHorse link, in more-or-less reverse chronological order.  You could even see the whole event, from the pre-beginning to the closing song, all seven hours of it, here.

Rescue the Republic was a good mix of serious speakers, comedians, and musical groups; I even enjoyed the music, which may surprise some of you, given that it is not what I'd call "my kind of music." And whoever could have dreamed up the idea of putting Jordan Peterson and Russell Brand on stage together? It was magic.

The whole admixture was magic. It wasn't a Trump rally, although there were plenty of Trump supporters among both the presenters and the crowd. There was a large contingent of Kennedy supporters, and those who cheered loudly at any mention of Tulsi Gabbard, and plenty of folks who came not to support a particular candidate but because they are deeply concerned about the situation our country finds itself in. It wasn't a rally about individuals, but about issues.

Nor was it only Americans, because what happens in America affects the whole world. When Brand opened with "My fellow Americans," the line didn't get as much of a laugh as it deserved; not everyone realized at first that Brand is from the United Kingdom. And Peterson of course is Canadian.

Kennedy's slogan, "Make America Healthy Again" was more prominent than "Make America Great Again," though MAGA was well represented. I suspect that most of those at the rally will indeed be voting for Donald Trump (and the foreigners wish they could), because they see him as our best chance in what is probably the most critical election in my lifetime—but that was not what the event was about.

The rally, to the best of my ability to tell from this distance, was a huge success. It was nothing of what I feared, and everything I had hoped for—and more. It was just the right sized crowd, too.

As I watched the livestream, I was at first disappointed that I didn't see the Mall overflowing with a huge, supportive mass of people. But it didn't take me long to realize that this was a human-scale crowd, and it was perfect. A place for encounters with people one might otherwise never have rubbed shoulders with, a crowd as diverse at the speakers themselves, united because they all care so deeply and know they have very important work ahead of them.

Do you know what else I saw?

Joy.

Real, deep joy, in both the crowd and the speakers. I refuse to let the Democrats take over that word, or that concept. I'm sorry, but when I see them talking about "joy," they don't look joyful; they don't sound joyful. It appears forced, as if they're trying to generate a feeling they know is important but with which they are actually unfamiliar. Similar to the difference between the scripted "Joe Biden, we love you" and the love I see demonstrated at Trump rallies.

For all that the Rescue the Republic Rally was about a profound, life-and-death emergency, there was no feeling of doom-and-gloom. It makes me think of Henry V and Agincourt:

We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition:
And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s day.

I fear that those unfamiliar with Shakespeare may misconstrue some of the language, but he today that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother perfectly describes the unity-in-diversity, joy-in-adversity feeling of the rally. These are my kind of people.

My heart is full.