Masks have been a part of ancient indigenous cultures such as the Aztecs and Mayas for centuries. Warriors were trained as Jaguar Knights who wore spotted pelts and masks to frighten their enemies, or Eagle Knights who wore feathered headdresses and masks that had prominent eagle beaks. This history was undoubtedly part of the inspiration for lucha libre.

The sport became popular in 1933, when Salvador Lutteroth González founded the Empresa Mexicana de Lucha Libre (EMLL). Like Big Time Wrestling in the U.S., the athletes are heroes or villains, and the crowds cheer wildly for their favorites. It has become a cross between a soap opera and an athletic event, as each match is staged and conforms to a storyline, but the competitors are doing amazing flips and dives and somersaults while they play their parts. Today, the lucha libre wrestlers are everywhere — TV commercials, print ads, and cereal boxes. Their stories have been turned into comic books, films (you may have seen Jack Black in Nacho Libre) and children’s cartoons.

I tried to see a lucha libre match in Guadalajara last year, but I couldn’t arrange a time to go. This week I finally saw a spectacular show in Arena Mexico, “The Temple of Lucha Libre” in Mexico City, where shows have been performed since 1956. In the match that I attended, the story drew an explicit connection between ancient Mexican creation myths and the roles of the wrestlers. Much like Greek and Roman mythology, the gods of the Aztecs and the Mayans were involved in human disputes or arguments with each other, leading to the showdowns that the wrestlers depicted, and explaining the creation of the sun and moon, corn and the agave plant.

The show itself was wild. The music and drumming was loud and virtually constant, and the crowd cheered and booed with every kick and punch and body-slam. It began with dancers in native dress and a big screen cartoon that explained the story, followed by the wrestling itself. As the drama intensified, so did the drums and the screams and jeers from the crowd. There were families with children having a blast, eating pizza and popcorn while wearing masks that were available for purchase. The high energy show didn’t stop until several matches had been completed and the arena erupted in colored streamers and confetti while the wrestlers received an ovation from the crowd. This was great fun, and is not to be missed if you are in Mexico City.

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One of the central themes in the story is the idea of Zeus’ Law — essentially hospitality to strangers. This is the Greek concept of Xenia (“guest friendship”). The way this was understood was that the proper way to behave is to give food and shelter to a stranger first, and only later to ask who they are and where they came from. The law is rooted in the mythical idea that the gods sometimes travel among people while disguised as mortals. It is in this disguise that they can judge the true worth of a person. Or, as Odysseus says in the film, “the clearest view of men is from below.”

The way Odysseus was treated by those he encounters on his journey provides a number of examples of following or disobeying this law.

The worst violation of Zeus’ Law is by the Cyclops Polyphemus, who doesn’t welcome Odysseus and his men, but rather traps them in his cave and turns a few of them into tasty snacks. Eating your guests is in no way hospitable.

Later on, Circe seems to welcome Odysseus’ men with food and drink, but the tainted concoction she serves them turns them into pigs. This betrayal of their trust is another way to mock Zeus’ Law.

The book contrasts this bad behavior with examples of how we should be acting. When Telemachus, Odysseus’ son, welcomes a stranger, he gives her food and drink and only later asks her identity. Similarly, when Odysseus returns home dressed as a beggar, his servant Eumaeus welcomes him without hesitation and shares his meager meal.

The idea of hospitality as critical to moral living was carried forward in Biblical literature. The Bible treats hospitality as a spiritual practice rooted in God’s own welcome of humanity. There are several places in scripture where hospitality is emphasized.

Hebrew Testament

Leviticus 19:33–34 (NRSVUE) says: “The alien who resides with you shall be to you as the citizen among you; you shall love the alien as yourself, for you were aliens in the land of Egypt.” This command is grounded in Israel’s own history. Because the Israelites had experienced life as vulnerable outsiders, they were to extend compassion to others.

Deuteronomy 10:18–19 describes God as one who: “…loves the strangers, providing them food and clothing. You also shall love the stranger…” Hospitality is therefore not simply a human virtue—it reflects God’s own character.

Abraham: The Classic Example

Perhaps the best-known story is in Genesis 18. Abraham sees three strangers approaching. Before knowing who they are, he runs to them, washes their feet, prepares a meal for them and gives them a place to rest. The visitors turn out to be messengers from God, and Abraham receives the promise that Sarah will bear Isaac. This story teaches that hospitality may become an encounter with God.

The New Testament

Jesus continues the teaching of hospitality in the New Testament.

In Luke 10:25–37, the Good Samaritan not only helps the injured man but also pays for his lodging at an inn. Hospitality extends beyond one’s own home to ensuring another person’s well-being.

One of Jesus’ strongest teachings appears in Matthew 25:35–40, when he says: “I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me…” Jesus identifies himself with strangers and those in need. Hospitality toward them becomes hospitality toward Christ.

The Greek word often translated “hospitality” is philoxenia:

• philos = love

• xenos = stranger

Literally, it means “love of strangers.” Its opposite is not simply inhospitableness but xenophobia—fear of strangers.

Closing the Door

In our own country today, perhaps due to xenophobia, we are treating the stranger as a threat rather than a guest. U.S. policy focuses on detention and removal of strangers (foreigners). Asylum seekers, those threatened in other lands, are being treated as criminals and deported in record numbers. Even those who hold Temporary Protected Status, people who have already been received into our community, are having their status revoked and are being deported.

These political actions are already having unintended results. American farmers and restaurants are having difficulty hiring workers. Colleges and universities who previously brought in the brightest minds from around the world to work on scientific research are unable to continue valuable programs. And the U.S. military is no longer receiving the same level of support from many countries across the globe. To say nothing about the ill will that we are developing.

Jesus says, “I was a stranger and you welcomed me …” In America, we’re no longer doing that welcoming. We need to change, or, as was shown in The Odyssey, we will suffer the consequences.

By 1860, Chicago became the country’s rail center, with access to water ways and a geographic advantage, linking the East and West. Almost immediately, national markets developed for livestock, grains, and other goods. Between 1870 and 1900, Chicago grew from a population of about 300 thousand to nearly 1.7 million.

So it is no wonder that one of the finest railway museums in the country is in Union, Illinois, a little more than an hour outside Chicago. It is called the Illinois Railway Museum (IRM), and it is run by volunteers. This is not the kind of museum that just talks about a subject and shows pictures and historical documents. It has all of that information available, but the best thing about this place is that a visitor can experience the trains — you can see, touch, and ride them.

The IRM is located on about 120 acres, and has its own rail spur that is used to take visitors on a 20 mile ride on a steam train in passenger cars that are over 100 years old. Volunteers have refurbished these train cars and all the engines, and new donations of cars and engines are constantly building their inventory of equipment.

Riding in a car pulled by an old steam powered locomotive is an experience for all the senses. It is loud and smoky and there are moving parts everywhere. The ride shakes over the old railroad tracks, and there are steam whistles and puffs of smoke billowing out into the sky.

The museum has exhibits of luxurious private cars built for industrial barons and Pullman cars that took people on overnight trips out west. There are gigantic snowplows that could clear tracks of snow that was 10 feet deep, and single person cars used to speed individuals down the tracks. It includes everything from great freight trains to intercity commuter cars. Some of the exhibits focus on train signal devices, or model trains, or station signage.

If you have an interest in trains, or history, or just want to learn about railroads, this is a great place to visit.

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I wrote it the first time because I had just read Jon Moolamem’s book Serious Face (which I highly recommend), and one of his essays got me thinking about clouds. I’ve always loved looking at them and imagining that their shapes looked like something (“That one’s a bear.” “No, it’s a dog.”), but I haven’t been one of those folks who could tell what types of clouds I was seeing, or what the types meant.

When I am in an airplane, the clouds are endlessly fascinating. At times they seem to go on forever.

I always thought that clouds were made of water vapor, but that’s not exactly true. Water vapor is pretty much invisible, but as it rises on warm air currents and cools, it turns into tiny water droplets or ice crystals, which are so small that they float in the air. That’s what clouds are made of.

Clouds are classified into three main groups, with lots of sub-groups. The main groups vary by the height of the cloud.

The highest group, Cirrus clouds, usually are related to good weather. Cirrostratus clouds are thin enough that you can see light through them, and they often cover the whole sky. Cirrocumulus clouds are little white puffs that look like cotton balls, and are often lined up in rows.

Of the Alto group, Altostratus clouds are darker, usually gray or blue, that are associated with storms. Altocumulus clouds look gray and puffy, and are normally found in groups. They can point to upcoming thunderstorms.

The lowest cloud group are the Stratus clouds, which can cover the entire sky with what looks like fog. They may be accompanied by light drizzle. Stratocumulus clouds are rows of gray clouds with blue sky visible between them. Little precipitation comes from these formations, but they can turn into Nimbostratus clouds, which can bring rain or snow. Nimbostratus clouds are still low, but they look like a gray, wet layer.

Others

Cumulus clouds are individual puffy clouds that can start low and move higher as they grow. When they get much larger they can form Cumulonimbus clouds, which can span several height levels, and bring heavy rain or snow. These are the clouds you see during thunderstorms.

I only recently became aware of Cumulonimbus clouds that can be generated by a large wildfire. These are called Pyrocumulonimbus clouds, which have two nasty properties: they can produce lightning, which can start new fires, and they tend to create high winds that can fan the flames.

I still look up and think, “That looks like a car.”

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I used to feel certain that as a world, we were on a path toward greater knowledge, greater opportunities, better health, and more peace. I felt that the small parts that I played in this grand drama were at least pulling in the right direction. Now I’m not so sure.

Our situation in the world feels more uncertain than it’s been for many years. They tell me that the Doomsday Clock is closer to midnight than it has been since World War II. I can’t count on our government maintaining the same policies from month-to-month or even day-to-day. Things that I used to believe were obviously true are not any longer. Foreign nations used to be our friends. I can remember crossing over into Canada to watch hockey games with my dad and my brothers, and it was a simple process. Now we have an ongoing war of words with Canada, and a new bridge near Detroit has not been dedicated by the United States. We used to call nearly every European nation an ally. Now we appear to be at odds with almost all of them.

I wasn’t around during the buildups to the World Wars, but our current situation feels comparable. Nations are jockeying for positions of power, and violence is being used as a substitute for negotiation. There is an anxiety that is related to all our uncertainties because we can see some large cracks developing in the foundation of our world order. Something big could happen, because many small things are clearly happening. My concern is that this big thing could be harmful to all of us.

It is a comfort to have some things that you can rely on. When those things go away, it begins to feel as though you are walking on quicksand. I used to believe that I lived in one of the best countries in the world. Now I would have to qualify that. I used to believe that people were generally good and kind. Now, I still believe that, but it seems like a number of people are at least confused, and possibly are being deliberately misled. What used to be called common decency is no longer common, and can’t be assumed.

I also feel a great deal of uncertainty about my own future. Years ago, I didn’t worry too much about whether I was doing the right thing, or whether I was putting my energy in the right place. Now I feel an urgency to do something new in my life, to see new places, to speak a different language, to learn about new cultures, to help other people, and to try to be a better person, and the clock is ticking. I don’t know how to do all those things. I still feel obligations to continue things that I have already started, and I don’t know how much time or energy that I will have to start something new. I also want to learn more. I’ve always enjoyed learning, and maybe that one thing has remained consistent.

I’ve been noticing that I’m praying more lately. Maybe the loss of certainty is leading me to get closer to God. There are a variety of ways to do that, and I’ve explored many of them already. The practices that seem to do the most for me are those that stretch me intellectually and emotionally. Sometimes it’s just a song that can set me off in a new direction. This may be one more way that God takes something negative — the drastic change that is creating uncertainty — and transforms it into a path to greater faith. It may be that a meaningful life doesn’t rely on certainty at all.

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After my recent experience watching my friend Greg die, I have been acutely aware of how quickly it can happen, and how the losses pile up. The first things to go were all his hopes and dreams. He had plans, even if they weren’t all concrete ones — travel, days in the sun, fun with loved ones, a normal life.

It makes me think about how this new health scare will play out. I think about all the books that I want to read, all the conversations I want to have, and all the ways I would like to experience life. Then there are the people I care so much about. Will I have time for those relationships?

Another friend was traveling overseas and had a heart attack. She is recovering, thank God, but it just reinforces the idea that anything can happen at any time. We think we have time to do the things we want to do, but we may not.

I sometimes ask my clients the question, “If you had only one week (or day, or hour) to live, what would you do?” It is a question designed to discover your priorities. What is important to you, and what are you ignoring as you go through your daily routines?

The Summer Day by Mary Oliver

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean —
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down —
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

https://www.saltproject.org/progressive-christian-blog/2015/6/29/the-summer-day

Maybe the most important thing that came to mind as I thought about my mortality was the big question: Is it true? Is there life beyond this life? As much as I believe this, as much as I have dedicated my life to belief in God, there is still doubt, because none of us can prove it. I go back to the scriptures and I can only imagine the awe and the amazement of the first disciples who witnessed the resurrection, and almost immediately there is a part of my brain that wonders if it is true. The historical record shows that thousands and thousands of people radically changed their lives — and what else could do that?

We will never truly know, of course. That’s why we call it faith. There are other possibilities — our lives after death may be so different as to be unrecognizable. Our spirits may go on in ways that we cannot imagine. What I am beginning to understand more clearly than ever is that my time to live in this way, in this body, in this moment in history, is limited, and I better figure out what I want to do with it.

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Risk vs. Risk

To decide whether to operate or not, the basic idea is simple: is there a greater risk to waiting, or surgery? The risk of waiting is that the aneurysm might burst, which can be fatal. The risk of surgery is an adverse outcome, including stroke or death.

Risk of Waiting

There have been lots of studies which show that the risk of rupture or dissection increases with the size of the aneurysm. The risk of rupture for an aorta in the normal size range (<= 3.2cm) is almost zero. At more than 4.5 cm, the risk of rupture increases by more than 6300 times, but it is still low (0.3% per year). At a size that is greater than 6cm, the risk of rupture or dissection is approximately 14.1% per year.

There is some controversy about these numbers. The American Cardiology Association and the American Heart Association have published new guidelines as of 2022 that suggest that intervention may be appropriate at smaller sizes. Another difficulty is that making measurements inside the body is not exact. Different types of scans can yield different results.

Risk of Surgery

The surgery to replace part of the ascending aorta is long and complicated. Practice makes perfect, my mom used to say. While hospitals are not perfect, their adverse outcome rate declines with the number of similar procedures performed each year. Most hospitals do less than 5 ascending aortic replacements in a year, and their mortality rates can be nearly 5%. For high volume surgical centers, their adverse outcome rates can be as low as 1%.

Just the Facts, Ma’am

The statistical comparison isn’t easy. 1% is less than 14.1%, so at higher diameters, it is safer to operate. But at 0.3% per year, the calculation is a little different. The one year risk is actually higher for surgery. But over five years, the rate of rupture rises to 1.5% for waiting, while the surgery risk stays at 1%. The reality is that both of these numbers are low. The chances that I can live without surgery or a rupture are pretty good. They are both great bets at a casino. But in a casino, you only lose some money. Here the stakes are higher.

Other factors

The logic that I’ve presented so far makes sense to me. There are other considerations that make things harder. There is no guarantee that a surgeon at a high volume center will take my case. I might be considered a riskier patient due to a number of possible conditions — size, diabetes, high blood pressure, and I’m a Cubs fan. They may advise me to wait until the aneurysm gets to a certain size, continuing to get scans every six months.

Psychological impact

I’m already anxious about this whole situation. Two weeks ago I felt just fine, and now I feel like I have a time bomb in my chest. Every little twinge gives me a start. I’m not sure that I want this feeling to continue. On the other hand, there’s no guarantee that if I have the surgery I won’t feel the same way, wondering if the new artificial blood vessel will hold.

The bottom line

My main interest is living the rest of my life with relative independence. I don’t want to lose my ability to think or to be a burden to others. I also don’t want to be afraid of picking up a bag of groceries or a small child. I’m unsure of how to proceed. I plan to talk to more experts, get more opinions, and do some more reading. If it does get larger, even then it feels like this will be a tough choice.

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[Electronic voice] Welcome to Verizon. Are you calling about the number that you are calling from today?

> Yes.

How can I help you today?

> I would like to cancel my Hulu bundle.

I would be glad to help you with that. In order to verify your account, I will be sending you a text message. Please open the message, click the link, and press allow. Then submit.

> Okay. [I clicked and allowed and submitted.]

Thank you for verifying your account. [A live person gets on the line.] Let me put you on hold while I pull up your account.

> Sure.

[3 minutes pass.]

Hello. Thank you for your patience.

I have looked at your account, and the Hulu bundle that you are currently subscribed to is a no-fee perk from Verizon.

> Right. I would like to cancel that subscription.

The subscription is free. It is a part of your account.

> I understand, but I want an ad-free version of Hulu, and Hulu tells me that the account must be cancelled by Verizon in order to change my plan.

I see. Let me put you on hold while I look into this.

[5 minutes pass.]

Mr. Campbell?

> Yes.

I cannot find a way to cancel only part of your current plan. Let me put you on hold while I research this a little more.

> Okay.

[Muzak starts to play. After 2 minutes, the call is disconnected. I called back.]

[Electronic voice] Welcome to Verizon. Are you calling about the number that you are calling from today?

> Yes.

How can I help you today?

> I would like to cancel my Hulu bundle.

I would be glad to help you with that. In order to verify your account, I will be sending you a text message. Please open the message, click the link, and press allow. Then submit.

> Okay. [I clicked and allowed and submitted.][Pause. A live person gets on the line, with a thick Indian accent.] I cannot complete this operation without the authorization of the Primary Account Holder.

> I am the primary account holder. I am calling from my number on the account.

I’m sorry, but that number is not listed as the primary account in our system.

> Wait a minute. I’m the owner of the account. I’ve already been disconnected from your system, and the other agent was able to verify my account.

That may be the problem. Your account may still be open.

> Okay, but that’s a problem on your end, not mine.

Can you please give me your account number?

> Sure. [I read my account number.]

I’m sorry sir, but this number is not listed as the primary account in our system. If you can just get the primary account holder on the line …

> Can I speak to your supervisor?

Yes, sir. Let me put you on hold while I locate a supervisor for you.

> Fine. [5 minutes pass.]

Sir?

> Yes?

Our supervisors are all working with other customers. Would you like me to have the system give you a call back in one to two hours?

> No. I’ll wait.

Yes, sir. Please stay on the line. [4 minutes pass.]

Sir?

> Yes.

Thank you for your patience. Our supervisors are still busy. Please give me two more minutes.

> Okay.

[4 minutes pass.]

Hello?

> Yes?

Thank you for staying on the line. It will still be a little while before a supervisor is available. Can you give me your account number again please?

[I give my account number.]

That number is still not registering in my system, and I won’t be able to help you until the account is verified.

> I thought you were finding a supervisor.

Yes, but we still need to verify your account.

> [Now I’m mad.] Okay, forget it. I’ll call back later.

But sir, we can have the system call you back …

> No thanks. Good-bye!

[I hang up, and then I called back, trying to get someone who could verify the account.]

[Electronic voice] Welcome to Verizon. Are you calling about the number that you are calling from today?

> Yes.

How can I help you today?

> I would like to cancel my Hulu bundle.

I would be glad to help you with that. In order to verify your account, I will be sending you a text message. Please open the message. Click the link and press allow. Then submit.

> Okay. [I clicked and allowed and submitted.]

Thank you for verifying your account. [A live person gets on the line.] Let me put you on hold while I pull up your account.

> Sure.

[3 minutes pass.]

Hello. Thank you for your patience. I understand you would like to cancel your Hulu bundle.

> Yes.

I don’t believe we can cancel that, as it is part of your account.

> Hulu tells me that you have to cancel the account, as I am paying for the service through you. All I really want is to get the no-ads version of Hulu, but they won’t let me change my subscription until you cancel the old one.

Ok, let me look into that.

[3 minutes pass.]

Hello?

> Yes?

Thank you for remaining on the line. I have looked into this, and we are not able to cancel only a portion of your account.

> But …

In order to cancel the subscription, we can either change you over to a new cellular plan, or cancel your cellular plan. Can I tell you about our available plans?

> But I don’t really want a new plan. I just want you to cancel this free subscription.

Yes, but I am not able to do that. If we set you up with a new plan, then this perk will be automatically cancelled.

> [Deep breath.] Okay, tell me about your new plans.

[I switched to a cheaper plan, and got rid of my bundle. Then I was able to get onliine with Hulu and get a no-ads version of the channel so that we could watch The Bear without an ad every three minutes. I think I ended up actually saving a little money, even though it cost me a little sanity.]

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So now it is my turn.

My wife has bugged me for months to get a $49 heart scan, the kind that lets you know if you have plaque in your arteries. One of our relatives had one, and they sent him directly to surgery. It saved his life.

My scan showed that while I have clear arteries, I have something called an ascending aortic aneurysm. Basically, one of the biggest arteries in my body has stretched like a balloon, which could be very dangerous if that stretching continues. Aneurysms can burst, which can be fatal. I think of it like a bulging spot on a tire — if you don’t fix it, you might have a blowout.

I’m in the middle of my first waiting period. After that first scan, I was told I needed a better CAT scan, but it wasn’t available right away, so I have it scheduled for two weeks away.

Meanwhile, I’m consulting with Dr. Google and Dr. YouTube, who tell me that none of this is good news. It seems that the experts have decided that aneurysms that measure 5 cm or larger (about 2 inches) should be surgically repaired. They reported mine right at 5 cm. There is some discussion about the size criteria — some say 5 cm, some say 5.5, and some say even smaller. So the exact size matters, which is why I’m getting a more accurate scan.

The surgery is serious. It is open heart surgery, where they crack the chest and use a heart-lung machine to keep the patient alive while they replace the defective artery. The procedure takes 4-5 hours. I used to be the chaplain on a heart unit, and I know how arduous the recovery is. It takes weeks, and months more before the return of strength and energy.

My reactions to this have been all over the map. We tell people that the most common reactions to a severe stressor are fight, flight, or freeze. My reactions to this have been laugh, cry, or feel faint. I’ve been praying a lot, but I’m not clear about what to pray for. I’ve been thinking about death, and whether I’m closer to it than I thought. I’ve had thoughts about all the things I would still like to do, and all the people I love. I’m a little on edge. (Scratch that. I’m a lot on edge. I got mad at Lisa for the way she loaded the dishwasher.)

Thinking about dying is scary, but it’s not really death itself that bothers me. It’s the pain and embarrassment and weakness and yuckiness that is involved in the process of dying. I want to be independent. I don’t want to get to the point where I can’t think straight, or I need help to do normal tasks.

I also know that this is part of life. There are no guarantees. Greg had cancer, I’m going this weekend to visit a friend who has ALS, and I’ve seen hundreds of others struggle with various illnesses and conditions over my career. Every one of us is on a countdown timer. My aneurysm is opening my eyes to all the ways I love life, and what a blessing it is to be alive. I guess I’ll be wrestling with my heart stuff for a while. I’ll write about it as it develops.

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Even when it is expected, death is a shock. One second, there is life, and the next, the spark is gone and the person we knew is a memory. As the grieving begins, the next shock is that life continues. Bills must be paid, food prepared, and gas put in the car. We take the time that we can to remember, and to be with others who loved him, and to share comfort where we can. But life continues to intervene.

There is value in the rituals that we have created — the funerals and memorial services, the prayers and the cards and the gatherings. They remind us that life is short, and we must share our kindness and our caring while we can. They also allow us to take a moment to contemplate the spiritual questions that we often ignore. What happens next? Is it true that we live on, or did someone make that up?

I choose to believe that death is not the end, that the sentence that is our life is punctuated not with a period, but rather a comma.

The Apostle Paul said it best:

For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. (Romans 8: 38-39)

Rest in peace, Greg.

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We don’t really do much. We reposition him, make sure he gets his meds on time, offer him something to eat or drink (which he generally doesn’t want), keep him clean, and sit with him. He isn’t talking much now, so much of our time with him is sitting quietly, or talking to him hoping that he can hear us, or talking to each other. I find myself praying a lot. I pray that he won’t be in pain, I pray for the right words, I pray for peace for his husband and all those who love him.

The root word for “lucid” is the Latin lucere, meaning “to shine” or “to be bright”. This verb traces back to the Latin noun lux, which means “light”. Greg has always been the brightest light in every room he entered, so it is disconcerting to see that light flickering on and off. There are times when it is clear that he is with us, and other times when his eyes may be open, but he is somewhere else. I wonder what he is thinking and feeling. He has always been so sharp — I wish I had some clue about his thoughts in this situation. Is he impatient for his next step? Are we helping or hurting?

Friends are coming from out-of-town, and others from down the street. There is a parade of caring folks who feel the urgency of this time, and want to see him before it is too late. There are so many that they can’t all be accommodated — he just doesn’t have the energy. It’s a time for a lot of memories to be shared, and we’ve been laughing at some of the things Greg has done or said. We’ve also been shedding tears for what’s happened and the wonderful person we are losing. At the same time there is gratitude for an amazing life and the way he has touched each of us.

Some of the most important things that people do during this time are the smallest tasks — loading the dishwasher, cleaning out the refrigerator, making sure that the garbage is out. Lots of visitors bring food, which is a welcome treat. Each small job accomplished is one that Greg’s husband Danny doesn’t have to do, one more moment that they can spend together. It has been a blessing to see all the ways that people want to help.

I’ve been finding myself wondering about all the things we don’t know: How will I die? Will it look like this? What happens next? As much as I have faith in an afterlife, what does that look like? Can we communicate with our loved ones after death? I know many people who swear they have had signs and even messages from deceased loved ones. I’ve had the personal experience of feeling called by God. Is that stuff real, or is it some quirk in our psychological makeup? I don’t know any of these answers.

As we spend time together, emotions are running high. Everyone is waiting on edge for something to happen, looking for a sign of distress, or some change that indicates that things are getting worse. We all know that the eventual outcome will not be good, but this period of waiting feels difficult. I know that no matter how much I try to hide it, I don’t have much patience with others. I don’t want to hear one more comment from someone who doesn’t really know what they’re talking about, or who is just repeating something they read on the internet. I find myself getting short with people, or not giving them as much attention as I should. It’s also exhausting, which adds to my impatience. There is too much to do, and not enough time to do it. Yes, I’m struggling with this, but so is everyone else, each in their own way.

I understand why we spend this time together. This is one way we can give back to someone who gave so much to us. It’s a time to show our respect, a time to deeply feel the emotions around this loss, and to be available to support each other. It’s terrible, and confusing, and lovely all at once.

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And while it is encouraging to see the outpouring of support for the LGBTQ+ community, there is still a great deal of work to be done to ensure human rights for all. There are only 23 states that have enacted laws to protect LGBTQ+ individuals from discrimination in housing. The ACLU is tracking 530 anti-LGBTQ+ state bills across the country. While the right to marry was decided in the 2015 Obergefell v. Hodges case, the Supreme Court has been petitioned to overturn this decision by some religious groups such as the Southern Baptist Church and some conservative legal groups. The fight is not over.

Trans rights are under attack in several areas. Some states are trying to ban gender-affirming medical care for youth, and to restrict it for adults. VA hospitals no longer offer therapy, wigs, or prosthetics for transgender Veterans. Government sponsored insurance no longer covers transition surgery. There are attempts in Texas and North Carolina to ban transgender individuals from using public restrooms that they prefer. In Kansas, a bill was passed to ban gender self-identification on driver’s licenses and other identification documents. The fight is not over.

Transgender participation in sports continues to be controversial. Some states have banned trans women from taking part in school events, and more legislation is pending. Social conservatives take advantage of voters’ uncertainty around this issue to make it a prominent campaign focus. The most egregious action that some groups have taken has been to restrict information about the issue. The discussion of sexual orientation and gender identity has been banned in schools in Florida and Texas, all manner of books have been banned, and preferred pronouns that do not correspond to biological sex cannot be used in Idaho, Montana, or Tennessee. The fight is not over.

It wasn’t that long ago — in 1969 — that police felt that they could raid gay bars with impunity. That resulted in the Stonewall Riots, and the beginning of a movement. June is Pride Month, a time to celebrate and a time to remember. But there are about 1.3 million adults and 300,000 children in the U.S. who identify as transgender. Their rights need to be protected, and all of our freedoms need to be preserved. The fight is not over.

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The feeling of nakedness occurs when we are covering something that we don’t want to be revealed. Often these things say something about us that we are not proud of, or that we don’t like. The Wizard of Oz is fully clothed but experiences nakedness when his trickery is revealed, and he continues to try to cover it up, saying, “Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain.” The difference is shown in the story of the Garden of Eden, where prior to their disobedience Adam and Eve were unclothed but didn’t feel naked, but later felt naked and ashamed — not of their bodies, but of their actions.

To feel nakedness requires a feeling of shame. When I wander through the locker room after swimming, there is plenty of nudity, but no one feels naked, so far as I can tell. Shame develops from social standards and practices being stretched or broken. As a culture we work hard to keep the sexes in different boxes, with different rules and expectations.

Upon closer examination, the deeper issue may not be nudity itself, but vulnerability — the experience of being seen, known, and potentially judged by others. Physical exposure becomes psychologically significant because it symbolizes a more profound form of exposure: the possibility that others may see who we truly are and find us lacking.

At the heart of shame lies this fear of judgment. The anxiety surrounding nakedness is not merely fear of the body, but fear that one’s choices, character, or identity may be evaluated and condemned. Shame emerges when a person perceives themselves as differing from a cultural or personal expectation. In this sense, shame is relational and social; it depends upon standards that exist within communities, families, or moral systems.

However, not all shame necessarily reflects truth. If a culture imposes arbitrary or unhealthy expectations, a person may experience shame even while acting rightly. In such cases, shame can become misleading. Rather than signaling moral failure, it may simply reveal internalized social pressure. This has often occurred in some religious communities, who were critical of a particular sexual orientation or political view. When a person is genuinely acting in accordance with what is right, the more appropriate response may not be shame at all, but indignation toward false or distorted standards.

Invisibility

For many people, the fear of nakedness pushes them to try to be invisible. Sit in the back row so you won’t be called on, follow the crowd so that you blend in, and never, ever make waves. The difficulty with this strategy is that by not being seen, it is likely that you will not have to experience nakedness, but you also will not be selected — for a project, or a promotion, or even a relationship.

This leads naturally to the question of shame’s opposite. Confidence, innocence, dignity, and acceptance all offer partial contrasts, yet integrity may stand as the truest opposite of shame. Integrity reflects an alignment between the self and moral reality. It is not merely self-acceptance or social approval, but the experience of living consistently with personal values grounded in objective morality.

Human beings deeply desire to be fully known. There exists a longing to be known by another person, by God, and even by oneself. The tension between concealment and openness lies near the center of human existence: people simultaneously fear exposure and hunger for authentic recognition. To be fully known takes courage. We have to make ourselves vulnerable in order to be seen, and therefore subject to the opinions of others. If we don’t take this step, we will be relatively safe, but will not be all that we can be.

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Wherever I first saw it, his art has become one of my favorites, and I started to seek it out. I went to his glassblowing workshop in Tacoma, Washington when my son was living in Seattle. Just recently I saw a very large show of his work at the Frederik Meijer Gardens and Sculpture Park in Grand Rapids, Michigan. The number of pieces on display both indoors and in the park is overwhelming.

In 1962, Chihuly began studying art in Florence. He started glassblowing in 1965, and received a scholarship to attend the University of Wisconsin-Madison, where he earned an MS in sculpture. In 1976 he was involved in a head-on car accident that resulted in him becoming blind in one eye. Since that time he has famously worn an eyepatch.

His artworks range from naturalistic to otherworldly. Some of my favorite pieces remind me of sea creatures, but in wild colors. He has developed a technique for drawing on glass using glass of a different color, and has incorporated glass into fiber art in some installations. The pieces also come in a variety of sizes, from kitchen bowls to giant outdoor pillars.

Chihuly gets negative reviews from some people who find the work repetitive, or who criticize it because he doesn’t make every piece himself. He hurt his shoulder in a surfing accident, so cannot hold the heavy glassblowing tube. He now supervises over 100 artists who blow the glass and shape it to his specifications. For every negative review, however, there are many effusive ones. It is reported that he has a net worth of over $10 million, with some of his individual pieces selling for more than $50,000.

Chihuly is experimental and meticulous. Several walls of the exhibition at Meijer Gardens were covered with his sketches and instructions to his team of glass artists. Part of his genius is finding ways to create these elaborate structures such that they don’t fall apart.

When I visited his studio in Tacoma, I was able to see a small part of the elaborate process that goes into creating one of his works. The art is distinctive. I can tell right away when I see a Chihuly. And once you see one, you can’t stop seeing more — he has over 400 permanent exhibitions around the world, and many more temporary ones. I hope you get to see an exhibition. I’m looking forward to the next time.

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And the flowers come out. Trees bud, the landscape turns green, and color is everywhere. In Holland, Michigan, it is time for the annual Tulip Time Festival.

The Tulip Time Festival began in 1929, as residents of Holland gave homage to their Dutch heritage, and started celebrating. There are wooden shoe dancers, a quilt show, a fine art exhibit (winners can be seen here), a Tulip Time run, and several parades. The city plants hundreds of thousands of tulip bulbs each year, and the results are spectacular. Fields of brightly colored flowers can be found in many of the city parks, and tulips are planted in houses on every street.

The festival was cancelled for the first time in 2020 due to COVID, but returned in 2021. Thousands of visitors head to Holland to join the fun. We headed to Holland for this year’s festivities, and had a good time (although the two-hour long parade was a little much for me). It was fun to see a full-size windmill and to eat some of the local fare.

The Tulip Time Festival has been named “The Best Small-Town Festival in America” by Readers Digest. It is worth a trip.

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There have been many more since then — Lamb Chop became famous as a character on Captain Kangaroo, and of course the most famous sock puppet of them all is Kermit the frog, created by Jim Henson, and improved by various technologies that allowed him to walk and dance. They say that Henson was inspired by some of the earlier TV shows.

At about the same age, I had a teddy bear named Timmy that I had made during a class project at school. It wasn’t fancy — just two pieces of cloth sewn together with yarn. My teacher had even pre-punched holes in the cloth, so we wouldn’t have to really sew, just push the yarn through the holes. We stuffed these bears with cotton, sewed them up, and once I drew a slanted smile on his face it became one of my cherished toys.

Sock Monkey

I was surprised to learn that one particular kind of stuffed toy which was part sock puppet and part teddy bear has a deep connection to Illinois. This is the sock monkey.

A sock monkey is traditionally made with a pair of red-heeled Rockford work socks. The socks are the Nelson Knitting Mill’s red-heeled socks, and the red heel becomes the mouth of the monkey. In 1869 John Nelson of Rockford, Illinois developed the first seamless sock-knitting machine. In 1932 the company added a red heel that became famous. During the depression, the sock monkey became all the rage as these toys could be made at home.

There is even a Sock Monkey Museum (sockmonkeymuseum.com) in Long Grove, Illinois. They display over 2000 different sock monkeys, and visitors can make their own on site. Not to be outdone, the Midway Village Museum (midwayvillage.com) in Rockford hosts an annual Sock Monkey Madness Festival, including — of course — a sock hop.

There is something sweet about the idea of old socks being repurposed during the depression to make toys for children. It relates to our creativity and the sentimental value of a childhood memory. The world can feel very complicated now, but there is still something to be said for simple pleasures.

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There are entire books related to the idea of social interest, so I’m not going to go into much detail here except to say that in general social interest is about improving the world. This sounds like an impossible task at first, but the idea is that it is done just a little at a time by a lot of people. It doesn’t have to be a huge project. Choosing to make one person’s life better does it.

Social interest means the ability to see oneself as part of the human community, care about others, cooperate, and contribute in some meaningful way. Adler talks about having “an interest in the interests of others.”

As I look at our world today, there are an awful lot of places where social interest seems to be missing. So many of the people making headlines are out to advance only their own interests and increase their own wealth. This selfishness and the associated narrow view of the world is harming our society and fragmenting our communities.

The social interest that Adler advocates requires something different — selflessness, or even sacrifice in the service of a greater good. Adler was not a Christian, but some of these same themes show up in the Bible.

If you look at the lives of the saints, you don’t have to be a person of faith to recognize that there is something special going on in their lives. Their belief was that they were making sacrifices, living simply and even facing death, so that others could be saved. Sometimes their sacrifices cost them everything. In these stories of the saints we see powerful examples of people who lived for others.

You don’t have to go that far back to see similar examples: Martin Luther King, Jr., John Lewis, first responders during 9/11, smokejumpers, and those elected officials who vote for unpopular bills are all making sacrifices for others. Think about some others: People who donate a kidney to a co-worker, mothers who get up in the middle of the night to care for a sick child, or volunteers at homeless shelters. These are the people that make the world go ‘round.

The next time you are feeling down or are looking for something to do, you might ask yourself one of these questions: Does this increase connection? Does this help life move forward? How can I be of service? The answers might just lead you into a better way of living, as your own social interest is developed.

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There are other days when everything seems to be going okay for me, but I hear about something awful happening in another part of the world. A bridge collapses, or a tornado hits. Even worse are those times when I find out that our country has decided that what we want is more important than the life of a child who is in the way when we drop a bomb. Those actions that I don’t understand kick all the appreciation right out of me.

Then there are the normal days. The days when I go to work, or sit down to write, and things generally go according to plan. If I don’t pay attention, I won’t do much appreciating on those days either. I’ll be paying attention to whatever I’m doing, or wherever I’m driving, and those things will take up all my bandwidth.

I am mistaken on those days. I’ve missed it.

There was an opportunity on even the worst of these days to notice something good. And I missed it by not paying attention. Appreciation is related to mindfulness and noticing what is going on in the moment. We can still be grateful later on, looking back, but in that moment something happened that I could have enjoyed and appreciated, and I didn’t. I should know better.

When Paul wrote to the church in Thessalonika, he had been beaten, imprisoned, threatened, and had every reason to be discouraged. But he wasn’t. In fact, the opposite — he was giving thanks. My belief is that his gratitude was due to his faith. Even people who don’t believe the same way that Paul did can benefit from gratitude, however.

There are a variety of studies that show that gratitude improves subjective well-being. It’s not that hard to improve your sense of appreciation. Chade-Meng Tan is an engineer who worked for Google. He talks about finding “thin slices of joy” every day. These can be anything from noticing the comfort of sitting in a chair to enjoying a sip of water when you are thirsty. These experiences may only last a few seconds, but over time and with practice, you begin to notice that they occur very frequently. This is a way to experience more gratitude in your life.

There are plenty of other ways that you can add to the times you are appreciative in your life.

• Journal about things that you are grateful for.

• Think about someone you are grateful for.

• Write down 3 things you are grateful for before bed each night.

• Write some thank you notes.

All of these exercises put you in a state of gratitude.

During this season, I’m reminded more frequently to be grateful. The buds and the blooms help me to see a little differently. Take a walk, and pick a few things to be grateful for along the way.

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The truth is, there is no “just” involved. Everyone is different, and their concerns are often complex. One person heard that I use hypnosis for some patients, and wanted me to treat their obsession with checking the locks and doors in their house every night before going to bed. His wife was getting frustrated because he would spend almost an hour going outside, trying the doors, coming back inside, checking the locks on the doors and windows, and then repeating the process. He “just” wanted to get hypnotized so this behavior would go away. What he didn’t mention when he made the appointment was that he had been stationed in Iraq at a forward outpost that had been attacked in the middle of the night, or that his first apartment when he returned to the states was robbed while he was at work. When I told him he likely needed treatment for PTSD, he said, “So you can’t fix this today?” No, I said, it would take more time. His issue was too complex. He never came back.

Many of the problems that we face in this world are not simple. Political issues are not simple. If they were, we would all have cheap health care and safe streets at night. Peace in the world is another example. If we could all just become non-violent overnight, things would be much better. But conflict occurs for a great variety of reasons. Resources are not distributed equally. People can be ruthless or illogical. It turns out that these problems are not complicated, exactly, either. Instead, they are complex problems. Let’s look at the differences:

Simple processes

A simple process is like putting together a piece of furniture from Ikea. There are instructions, and if you follow them closely, the great majority of the time you will end up with a table or a cabinet or whatever. Parts of the process may fail, like a screw may break, but there will be a clear reason for the failure, and the fix will be easy to identify. In simple systems, there may be a number of steps to follow, but the result will always be the same. If you put piece A into slot B, you will get a table. In simple systems, cause leads to effect.

Complicated processes

A complicated process has many of the same characteristics as a simple process, but the number of steps required for the desired outcome is much greater. Building an airplane or a car or a computer is complicated. Most of the time the process is broken down in to a series of parts. While it may take thousands of operations to complete, if the instructions are followed exactly, the end result will be a Maserati or a rocket ship or an iPhone, much like the Ikea furniture. Complicated questions have a limited number of answers.

Complex processes

A complex process has unlimited complexity, with a huge number of variables. There is no cookbook solution, no matter how complicated, that will do. The human brain, the stock market, and politics are all complex processes. You can make the same exact change to these systems multiple times and get different results each time. Why can’t we make traffic flow at a consistent speed all the time? Why can’t we cure cancer or the common cold? Why do weather forecasters get it wrong so frequently? The answer to all these questions is that these are complex systems, and there will never be a guarantee of success. To engage in a complex problem, it requires a lot of adaptation to change as it occurs, experience in dealing with the problem at hand, some artistry, and possibly a little luck. This is why we value people who have expertise in areas like medicine, law, and natural sciences. Their experience can lead to better solutions even in the face of complexity.

Some of the messiness of a complex process comes from the fact that small changes can have large effects that are unpredictable. All of the parts of a complex process feed into each other and can create loops that multiply the effect of a small change. Complex processes can’t be solved, like complicated ones. They have to be managed, which requires human expertise and the flexibility to make decisions on the fly as the system is working.

Managing Complexity

The biggest difficulty that many of us have in facing a complex problem is the uncertainty involved. Unlike a complicated problem, we can never be sure that we are doing exactly the right thing, or that the problem will ever be solved. Think about raising a child. We do the best we can, but our kids are eventually on their own.

As our world gets ever more complex, we are going to have to get used to living in a gray area. This may help explain why so many people are polarized — being on one side or the other is more comfortable than being in the middle, where the messy reality is.

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On the first Tuesday of every month, we have a peace vigil at our church. We pray, we share some thoughts, we read poetry, and we sing a capella. It doesn’t feel like enough, but it is something.

While we pray, bombs drop. The president says, “a whole civilization will die tonight” if Iran doesn’t give in to his demands. These sound like the words of a villain in a comic book. It is Lex Luthor with bad hair, or an overweight Riddler.

Our problem is that we have no superhero to fly in and cuff him. While the ordinary people of Iran suffer, our Congress does nothing to stop him, and is even considering giving him more money for missiles and drones.

During our prayers, I think about the people in Iran who are dying. Does our unstable leader believe that they are a threat? Do they have as much sway over their government as we do? If so, then we are targeting the innocents, because even with a large majority of the U.S. opposed to this war, we haven’t found a way to stop it. So we pray, and we feel betrayed.

What Trump is doing is criminal. Targeting civilian infrastructure is a violation of the Geneva Conventions. The Conventions get quite specific: article 52 says that civilian objects shall not be the object of attack, and article 54 prohibits attacking objects indispensable to civilian survival like food, water, and agriculture. Yet these are the very targets that Trump threatened.

Years ago our human society decided that it is wrong to say “All is fair in love and war.” People who hold to this proverb are saying that achieving their goals is worth any cost, even the cost of their own integrity. This is what we are witnessing today. Trump may achieve his goal of destroying Iran’s military ability, and his goal of enriching himself, but the cost has been extraordinarily high — the loss of allegiances with countries that have lasted for decades, the loss of credibility in foreign relations, the development of new enemies who may become future threats, and the loss in some quarters for the respect of human life. We are already seeing some of the effects of his erratic behavior, as no one knows whether they can trust the cease fire agreement that was pulled together at the last minute.

In America we feel this as a shift in our pride. While it may not be completely lost, and there may be some who are thrilled by our demonstrations of military power, for many in our country we no longer have the deep sense that we are on the right side of history. There is now an uncertainty, a question about whether we have stepped back from being “a beacon on the hill” to something less — just one more competitor scrabbling for power and control.

Our prayers help us to remember that there is something more that is worth working for, and even sacrificing for — goodness, righteousness, justice, and peace. A certain part of our leadership considers this naive. They believe that only power and might will win in the end. It is sad that we don’t hear about the ambition to be honorable or admirable any more. It is heartbreaking that empathy is no longer valued. We only hear about winning or losing. What people with that perspective don’t realize is that they have already lost.

So we keep praying, and we add the zero-sum gamers to our list. Please join us. Say a prayer today — something like, “Thy will be done.” Or if you don’t believe in prayer, maybe you could write a letter to Congress. That’s a kind of prayer too.

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