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Juxtaposition – a lesson from the ‘Up’ movie

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Juxta (next to). Pose (to place). Juxtapose (to place next to).

‘Juxtaposition‘ describes a situation where two elements that don’t seem to belong together are placed side by side. The contrast heightens emotional impact, creates irony, conveys a clash of realities, and engages the reader, viewer, or listener more dynamically than if each element was presented by itself.

Drama uses juxtaposition to take us through a process of catharsis that messes with our emotional and rational sensitivities. Shakespeare interweaves comedy with the deepest angst of human experience in his tragedies to increase or reduce the tension. In one brief phrase, “Parting is such sweet sorrow,” he points out the complexities of emotions that may co-exist at the same time.

Two movies to illustrate the concept of juxtaposition.

The first is rather dark. In Good Morning Vietnam (1987), Louis Armstrong slowly and softly sings What a Wonderful World while film footage shows the brutal oppression of civilians and chaotic destruction of war.

The second example is far more uplifting.

Up, the Disney Pixar movie (2009) captures our imagination as it juxtaposes old Carl and young Russell.

Carl is an unhappy man in his late 70s whose major goal in daily life is to avoid people and avoid being dispatched to an ‘old folks home.’ Yet, beneath his cantankerous persona to the world around him, Carl has a heart that is brimming with one desire: to fulfil a promise to his beloved (but deceased) wife Ellie.

Russell is a brash young Wilderness Explorer scout who desperately wants to fulfil his final merit badge. It requires him to give some type of assistance to the elderly. And he won’t take ‘No!’ as an answer from Carl.


Thrown together in a dramatic manner and unable to escape from each other, they share a spellbinding series of adventures and complete a remarkable journey. In the process, Carl and Russell fulfil not only their separate life ambitions but also forge an extraordinary friendship, a depth of relationship that warms the heart and uplifts the spirit. Young and old are blended into a beautiful shared space of doing life together.

Life is full of juxtaposition.

The pain and pleasure of giving birth. The fears and uncertainties, yet pride and anticipation, of walking a preschooler into their first kindergarten class. The bittersweet goodbye to a child heading to college across the country. Opposite sensitivities within you crash into each other.

Personal examples.

I recently had a difficult conversation with a long-term friend. Looking forward to meeting for coffee, I also needed to talk about something he had done that still disturbed me. I hate such times. Who do I think I am to confront him as if I’m on some higher plane of moral judgment. It could get complicated, and messy, very quickly.

Messy did happen to me during the months of COVID-19. Another friend could not resist their missionary zeal to spread the word about how vaccines, masks, government interventions, etc. were all wrong. When that unsolicited zeal (and literature) was directed at someone close to me, in essence interfering in how children should be raised, I ‘lost it.’ No question I should have done the old farmer thing of sleeping on it but I didn’t.

An unpleasant email exchange quickly intruded upon the joys of a long-term friendship. Allies were on the verge of becoming adversaries. How did I get there? Well, I did it all by myself. I couldn’t handle the juxtaposition of the positive aspects of the friendship with the invasion of all the COVID agenda that we viewed in such completely different ways.

A mutual desire for reconciliation did eventually occur. Just moving on without resolution was distasteful to both of us. We are still working through it but there is a lingering negative effect on the purity of the relationship.

Back to my coffee friend. We did a version of ‘just moving on’ and finished our coffee with talk about other things. To avoid the yukky stuff that would arise if we pursued the issue. I think we both figured the rough waters would settle into a backwater of minimal intrusion on our relationship. The future will show if any repercussions for having taken the avoidance approach.

So, you may ask, “Where is the juxtaposition in that story? Right now it just looks sad, like dirt being swept under a carpet.”

Yes, I left the coffee shop with a restless dissatisfaction about raising the issue and getting nowhere. My next stop was the local grocery store. Where a spontaneous exchange with an elderly (probably my age) British lady brought the joy back into my spirit. She was too short to reach a package of creamer on the top shelf of a refrigerator unit. It was almost too high for even me (6’2″) as I had to step on the frame sill to get there. But I succeeded and there were smiles all around. And the lady said, “I always meet the nicest people when I go shopping.” That was me she was talking about. The unpleasant taste of my coffee meeting was jolted by a reminder of goodness from an unexpected source.

Our daily lives are full of opportunities to juxtapose hard, difficult, dissatisfying, discouraging experiences with gentle, rewarding, uplifting, fulfilling engagements if we are open to them.

Two more examples from that same grocery store outing. At the checkout, the lady in front of me apologized for not putting the separation bar down at the end of her line of groceries. “I don’t usually do the shopping so I forgot how it is done.” Again, smiles all around as I assured her it wasn’t a problem.

Then, the lady just behind me noticed the ju jubes I was buying. She asked if they were the sour kind (they weren’t) and shared how she likes the black ones. And how she bought ju jubes for last Halloween but ate all the black ones right away and had to go and buy more for the trick-or-treaters. Yes, you guessed it, smiles all around.

Joy and sorrow. Gentle and harsh. Laughter and tears. Should I carry on or do you get the picture? It’s all there side-by-side every day of life. Seeming opposites juxtaposed – placed right beside each other. And our challenge is to figure out what to do with it all.

Back to Carl and Russell.

One of the most challenging juxtapositions in life is bringing the old and the young together. There are now five generations active in the workforce. Every sector of society is trying to figure out how to make it work well. If crotchety Carl and rambunctious Russell did it, maybe we can too.

“If only . . .” or “At least . . .”? – the power of regret

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It was the women’s individual cycling road race at 2016 Summer Olympics in Rio de Janeiro. Anna van der Breggen (center) won gold “by the width of a tire.” Emma Johansson (on left) got silver. And Elisa Borghini (on right) came in third for bronze. At the finish line, Anna (gold) raised her arms in triumph. Elisa (bronze) gave high-fives to an invisible person. And Emma (silver) buried her head in her hands.

This picture, taken at the medals ceremony, has been used by behavioural psychologists to illustrate two alternate responses by athletes to their placement in the medals.

“If only . . .” vs “At least . . .”

The bronze medalist was euphoric. “At least I got a medal and not fourth


place.” Whereas, in the picture, the silver medalist is projecting the more pensive mood of “If only I had been one tire width faster.”

A more detailed study of all medalists in the 1992 Summer Games affirmed these silver and bronze responses as being typical. In fairness to the silver medalist, she did show smiles and happiness in other photos that day. But this photo demonstrates the disappointment of “If only . . ..” It’s like the silver medalist is saying, “Is this all I get? I came so close.”

The Power of Regret by Daniel Pink (2022).

Pink expands on the human psychology behind these two responses. He talks about ‘the thrill of defeat’ (bronze medalist) and ‘the agony of victory’ (silver medalist). It kind of messes with your mind, doesn’t it. But think about it. Bronze didn’t win but got to stand triumphantly on the medalists’ podium. Silver beat all the top female cyclists of the world except one but, at that moment, could only taste the agony of that victory as the bitterness of defeat.

On the surface, it seems like the ‘At least’ attitude is the healthier one. It gives us a mental and emotional boost in the present moment. Whereas ‘If only’ has a negative effect on present thoughts and feelings. A host of regrets can overwhelm us and take away any satisfaction. Regret. A powerful word.

The power of regret – the ultimate “If only . . ..”

Counter to what we might guess, Pink says it is regret, the ultimate ‘If only . . .,’ that has the most potential power for positive life change. Feeling the discouragement today of ‘If only . . .’ can help us to do better tomorrow. ‘At least’ might preserve happier feelings in the moment but it “rarely enhances our decisions or performance in the future.”

Do I have any regrets, ‘If only’s . . ., ‘ that motivated me to pursue and attain a better result at a later time or place? Do you?

A personal example.

To play the piano has been my lifelong desire. I tinkered with it a few times over the years but never achieved any real progress. After retirement at age 75, I tried again. And it’s not easy. I chose the online instruction route rather than in-person teacher so I may not have enough built-in accountability. Dissatisfaction, disappointment, and even discouragement, are constant companions trading places to sit beside me on the piano bench. If it takes 10,000 hours to become an expert in something, I’m still treading water in single digits. So, what am I saying here?

‘If only . . .’ keeps pushing me forward.

If I can resist the urge to quit, my present dissatisfaction has the potential to become a positive motivator. My ‘If only’ will keep pushing me forward. This makes sense to me. When I settle into “At least I can play chopsticks,” I’m looking backwards not forward. I’m resting in small victories rather than persevering into new realms of challenge. I’m avoiding the pain required for future growth and settling into the pleasure of present comfort.

Going through security at an airport, I overheard one agent saying to another, “I think about the missed opportunities in my life.” I wish I could have heard more. To find out if he was resting in the ‘At least’ of having what appeared to be a stable job (although, from his tone, it seemed there wasn’t a lot of satisfaction). Or was he pondering the ‘If only’ of potentially still daring to reach out to new possibilities with his life? To move past the present dissatisfaction towards a better future.

I think I’m starting to get it.

The ‘If only’ isn’t automatically a bad thing if it becomes a motivator to continue pressing on. And the ‘At least’ isn’t automatically a good thing if it allows me to settle into a state of inertia, an attitude of “That’s good enough for me.”

A few thoughts from Pink’s book,The Power of Regret.

The subtitle for The power of regret is How looking backward moves us forward. It captures the essence of his thesis. A large portion of the book looks at four core regrets common to human experience. Here is a summary line for each one:

1. Foundation regrets – “failure to be responsible, conscientious, or prudent”
2. Boldness regrets – “the chances we didn’t take (as compared to the chances we did take)”
3. Moral regrets – “choices in life that tempted us to take the low road”
4. Connection regrets – “failure to recognize and honour that our relationships with other people give our lives purpose” – Pink says that connection regrets are often the largest, deepest regrets.

So, here we are. ‘At least’ I got this piece written. ‘If only’ my reflections could be of some value to a reader. As I continue this journey, perhaps they will be ‘if only’ I keep growing in my writing ability.

And, when dissatisfaction, disappointment or discouragement slide in beside me, I hope to continue pushing them off the end of my piano bench.

Darrell and Barbara – an encounter with fellowship

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In A ‘problem’ with “Ask Jesus into your heart,” I introduced ‘differentiation’ and ‘integration’ to describe how individuals and organizations work to create their identify. They outline differences to distinguish themselves from others (differentiation) or similarities to show avenues of potential alignment (integration). I shared how Indigenous students in a conservative evangelical college exemplified these two approaches to the question of how Indigenous and Christian beliefs and practices should relate to each other.

Integration is less rigid than differentiation (has fewer ‘final answers’) and casts a wider net for information before making decisions. While differentiation is bound by rules and preconceived notions, integration looks for patterns of meaning from a diversity of inputs. It isn’t an either-or, black or white, dualistic mindset. A powerful example of this tension in evangelicalism has been the issue of guidance and the will of God.

Older conservative evangelicals may remember Garry Friesen’s Decision Making and the Will of God: A Biblical Alternative to the Traditional View (1984). It was a welcome breath of fresh air to some Christians. Outright heresy to others. He challenged the traditional evangelical default view of God’s method for providing guidance: that we must look for a precise, specific will of God, a bullseye, when making decisions (i.e., differentiation).

Friesen offered what he called the wisdom view. It was more permissive in that it encouraged exploring a range of options before making decisions (i.e, integration). It even allowed for the possibility that a young man or woman could have more than one potential life partner out there.

In other words, Friesen’s wisdom view was integrative. It assumed a processing of relationships between relevant variables before making a decision. Whereas differentiation would look for the target’s bullseye, the precise, single answer that would distinguish it from everything else. The differentiated approach definitely attributes more credit to God for decisions. But it also risks leaving the human mind and rational analysis in the margins.

Ironically, the challenge of differentiation or integration in pursuing the will of God is quite relevant to the concurrent problem of determining the relationship between Indigenous and Christian beliefs and practices.

A personal experience of fellowship.

I introduced this experience at the end of A ‘problem’ with . . .’.

Walking on a sandy beach, I heard a light drum beat and saw a man and woman standing on the shore. As I approached them, he stopped drumming and even shifted to hold the small round drum behind his back. It seemed an act of humility to show no offence to me. Respectfully, I asked what they were doing. Darrell and Barbara are an Indigenous couple, ‘people of the water’ from an oceanside reservation* in northern Washington state. They were having evening prayers as the incoming tide once again revealed the rhythms of Creation. I am glad I went for that walk and felt the freedom to approach them. Our time together became an act of fellowship, prayer, and worship.
[*Note – in the U.S.A., native lands are still called ‘reservations’]

Darrell is 62 and Barbara 56. He works in an Indigenous healing center but is transitioning to start a whale-watching business off the northwest coast of Washington state. I asked Darrell to explain how they went about their prayers.

The format was something I had never heard or seen before. There are four parts to the prayers and you stand facing each of the four directions as you move through each part.

First, to the North, you speak to the Creator. Then, to the East, you address Big Brother (Jesus). Facing South, his people address the Spirit of the waters (since they are people of the water). And to the West, you address the ancestors, especially those who have died on the waters. Darrell and Barb had a pinch of herbs in their hands and gave me some to hold as well.

For each of the four directions, Darrell prayed conversationally about everything that any


Christian prayer might include: family, health, work, school, relationships, guidance in life. He expressed thanksgiving for blessings, for provisions from the land, for all creatures of the sky, sea, and earth. I tracked with them as we shifted to each of the four points of the compass. When done, we scattered our herbs to the wind.

Darrell shared some of his spiritual journey. When he enrolled in the U. S. armed forces as a young man, he didn’t know what to put down for his religious affiliation so he said Protestant. Later, he realized that his upbringing was in the Pentecostal church culture. After Army service, Darrell was drawn to Indigenous practices of worship as a fuller expression for everything he wanted spiritually. There was no angst or negativity attached to the personal narrative he shared with me. It was a testimony of how he was actively integrating all experience into a faith and practice that provides him a foundation for life.

Darrell jolted me with another new insight. He talked about praying for the animals and birds as if they are family. When you look at them and ask yourself if they were able to feed their young today, it affects how you pray. Even the ones who poop on your car. You view them in a different way. There was an appealing intensity to the awareness Darrell had for his relationship to nature, an awareness that wasn’t an active concern during much of my religious life.

Never too old to learn.

Our children attended an elementary Open School context with compulsory parental involvement. I risked being a chaperone on a wilderness field trip, something that was definitely not in my wheelhouse of comfort. During a picnic lunch stop, I was accosted by a parent. I’d like to say ‘approached’ but he really was quite aggressive. He knew enough about my background to hit me with something that was obviously a problem to him.

“You Christians take Genesis 1.26-28 and think you have dominion over the earth to pillage and destroy it without regard for . . ..” I had no defence. I didn’t have a philosophy of creation care or a manual of stewardship practice. It took my kids in that open school setting to teach me to stop using styrofoam cups. I still shudder every time I see one. We used to say that you could always tell what parents were on their way to an Open School meeting. They had ceramic cups hanging from their belts.

That parent had every right to be upset about what people had done (and were still doing) to the earth often in the name of God or his supposed purposes.

So, what am I trying to do with this narrative?

I was impressed with Darrell’s humility. He was down-to-earth and tuned in to Creation and Creator in his entire persona. Is it okay if I say I experienced spiritual fellowship with Darrell and Barb on the beach that day? That, as we faced the four points of Earth, I had a stronger sense of connection to the God of Creation, the Christ of salvation (in my worldview), and the Spirit of life. I even had some renewed thoughts about those precious relatives and friends who have gone on before me.

I did not approach my interaction with an Indigenous couple to see how much we differ from each other. Instead, I found myself flowing naturally, and spiritually, into a stronger sense of how much we might hold in common.

I don’t know enough about smudges, sweetgrass or sweat lodges to render any opinions on those elements. I do know that, as an alter boy in the Ukrainian Greek Orthodox Church, I followed the priest in circles around the altar as he shook the chains of his censer to disperse the smoking incense. Its purpose was to symbolize prayers rising to heaven. But many attendees also believed the rattling chains was to get the attention of evil spirits and the smoke was to dispel them from harming the people. This was in a Christian church.

Differentiation and integration. An ongoing process of discovery.

I am glad I went for my walk on the beach that afternoon. The time spent with Darrell and Barbara turned out to be a significant jenga block in my journey of integration and differentiation.

Ah, another metaphor. Stay tuned for a piece on The Jenga blocks of life.

A ‘problem’ with “Ask Jesus into your heart”

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I am 100% Ukrainian on both sides of my parental lineage. Raised in the Ukrainian Greek Orthodox Church and steeped in Ukrainian culture. It was a strong local church community with a large extended family network through heritage and marriage.

From the cradle to the grave.
Baptism of babies had symbolic rites including ‘adoption’ by godparents.


Children attended weekly Ukrainian language lessons taught by the priest. Teenagers learned Ukrainian dancing in the church hall. All of us went through formal catechism. I even became an altar boy who assisted the priest during worship services. In early rural times, weddings lasted a whole week with elaborate rituals. Funeral wakes went for days with the body in the house then removed through a window so the spirit couldn’t find its way back into the house after burial.

Why do I share all these details?
To show that our church culture was intentional in how it did its business and nurtured the next generation. We knew why we were doing the things we did. It was to preserve our heritage, our language, our culture, our Orthodox traditions. To nurture our distinctive elements with strength and godly pride.

Then, when 10 or 11 years old, I went to a Salvation Army summer camp. A major focus was to encourage campers to “accept Jesus into your heart.” Something we never did formally in the Orthodox church. The camp setting made it an easy thing to do. I was preoccupied with selling oranges and chocolate bars at great profit (my parents owned a grocery store). But, by end of week, I did ask Jesus into my heart.

So, what’s the problem?
No problem, really. Just no connection. No organizing context for meaningful followup. I returned home and continued my role as an altar boy, learning the Ukrainian language, and Ukrainian dancing. Not until years later, when 18, did a more dramatic evangelical conversion experience lead me into a fuller context for followup.

An interesting contrast. When I did ask Jesus into my heart, there was no change in my life. I really didn’t understand what I was doing. Yet in my later benchmark moment of giving myself to a Jesus faith-life, I didn’t actually say the words. But there was a depth of connection, a handshake at spirit/Spirit level, that transformed my life. And changed the trajectory of my future. At that point in time, I did know what I was doing (at least spiritually).

I never did like the phrase “Ask Jesus into your heart.”
That’s how I felt during the years of my participation in conservative evangelical culture. It always seemed so simplistic to me. So inadequate. So confusing. Using a metaphor with children without them really knowing what it means. For example, a child was having bedtime prayers with their parent. “Mom, I’m not feeling very well. Can we ask Jesus to move from my heart to my stomach?” If that conversation actually occurred, it would have been a prime opportunity for the parent to demythologize the “Jesus in my heart” syndrome.

Oops! I have just used the word that evangelicals tossed in the face of the United Church in the 1960s when it revised Sunday school curriculum to ‘demythologize’ Bible stories taught to children. Evangelicals were aghast and horrified at the thought of ‘demythologizing.’ Yet we carried on with asking Jesus into our heart.

Do I sound bitter or angry or jaundiced?
I hope not. I am none of those. But I am serious about honesty in how these things happen in church life. Conservatives don’t want metaphor, myth, or archetype. But they use them all the time for explaining things, for understanding non-tangible spiritual truths, for personalizing the faith. Liberals don’t want ‘simplistic’ language. So they try to be overly comprehensive in the breadth of their expressions. A common statement in United Church literature is “We take the Bible seriously but not literally.” So it can become ‘open house’ on what you do with it. Anything goes.

At least some of the so-called differences between religious groups are rooted in the diverse use of language. Using different words, sometimes to explain similar things. Kind of like the 1960s cigarette ad, “I’d rather fight than switch.” Billboards featured smokers with black eyes to demonstrate their loyalty to the charcoal filter of the Tareyton cigarette. Did anyone ever stop to say, “A cigarette is still a cigarette? They all cause cancer.”

Let’s throw in two more words. Quite concrete. Not metaphor. ‘Integration’ and ‘differentiation.’

The ‘battle’ between demythologizing (liberal) and personalizing (conservative) Christianity is based in attempts to differentiate ourselves, our group, from someone else. To show how we are different. And a more subtle agenda often behind such activity is to elevate ourselves as being closer to THE truth than the other guy.

There is an alternative to the conflict that arises from such perceived differences. Can we pull back the veil of language to see what it is that we are actually trying to describe? Is it possible there may be similarities of intent? Are we so fixated on the language that we are blind to the basic premises behind the language? In some ways, that’s what the ecumenical movement in the church world is all about. To try to stimulate simple conversations about things we have greatly over-complicated.

Let me share a specific example of the challenge between differentiation and integration. It involves attitudes towards if and how native/aboriginal/Indigenous religion/culture can be integrated with Christianity.

A conservative evangelical college had a Native Ministries training program for developing church leaders. Students came from diverse Indigenous contexts across Canada. Debate (and emotions) ran high amongst students on whether or not to recognize and integrate Indigenous practices into Christian life and worship. For some, it was totally irreconcilable to the point of even labeling such practices as “of the Devil.” As Christians, they were ‘delivered’ from such activity. Differentiation at its most extreme. To others, there was beautiful potential for some integration. So much symbolic value in some of the Indigenous practices. Remember, all of these students were Indigenous Bible-believing, card-carrying evangelical Christians. It made for exciting classroom sessions.

It is common to assume that what is good for us is also good for the other guy.
And, if we have the power to push it (as male-dominated structures have demonstrated), we invoke our lens of truth on those around us. It reminds me of a news report about Liechtenstein in 1984. It was the last European country to grant women the right to vote. A television crew asked a man standing on a hillside what he thought of the resolution to grant women the vote. He replied, “I’m against it.” You could see his wife a bit further down the hill working in the field. The interviewer asked the man what his wife thought of the resolution. He replied, “I haven’t asked her, but she’s against it too.” Need I say more?

There was a television program that eventually asked contestants, “Is that your final answer?” For those who major in differentiation, it is all too often their final answer. Not only in religion but also politics, childrearing, vaccinations, just about any aspect of life.

How much more attractive to me is another example. One that demonstrates the desire to be open to new learning, to allow for an expanded awareness of truth.

A conservative church congregation went through extended study (including many arguments) on a divisive issue. Participating in the process were two men, both longtime members in the local church and strong opponents to the resolution for a change in policy. One went home after the first town hall meeting and never returned. I speculate he viewed the church as ‘going to hell in a hand basket’ just for talking about the possibility of change. His ‘final answer.’ The second man, after the congregation voted to affirm the resolution, came to the pastor. He said, “I still disagree with the result but this is our church, we aren’t going anywhere else, and I will support the decision.”

Which man do you think demonstrated a humble spirit, a willingness to learn, an openness to expand his awareness of truth? To ‘lay down’ self and allow for integration in the name of unity.

So, there is nothing wrong with asking Jesus into your heart. If that is your church context. But you should know that, in the conservative evangelical culture, Jesus doesn’t want just your heart. He wants all of you. Your head, your hands, your feet. In fact, there may be less evangelical scandals if leaders moved Jesus from their heart to their head.

Do you see the language I’m using here? It’s consistent with the semantic (you’ll have to look it up) orientation of the evangelical group. Again, no problem. The problem starts when there is no instructional followup to explain what you mean. Or when you use that language with other people who aren’t aligned with your group. Don’t be surprised if someone says, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Would you please demythologize what you just said.”

I still run with those who want a Jesus-based faith life.
But I’m not content with all the differentiation that has governed so much of my life. It is refreshing and liberating to expand my awareness of potential avenues for integration. One recurring theme for me is the relationship between Christianity and Indigenous religious beliefs and rites.

A timely encounter.
Walking on a sandy beach, I heard a light drum beat and saw a man and woman standing on the shore. As I approached, he stopped drumming and even shifted to hold the small round drum behind his back. It seemed an act of humility to show no offence to me. Respectfully, I asked what they were doing.

Darrell and Barbara are an Indigenous couple, ‘people of the water’ from an oceanside reservation* in northern Washington state. They were having evening prayers as the incoming tide once again revealed the rhythms of Creation. I am glad I went for that walk and felt the freedom to approach them. Our time together became an act of fellowship, prayer, and worship. [*Note – in the U.S.A., native lands are still called ‘reservations.’]

But that is another story. I hope to publish it next week.

Postscript: After finishing this piece, I went to the internet. Not before but after. I wasn’t surprised that many writers have addressed the topic of ‘asking Jesus into your heart.’ My approach to most of what I put on miles2go is to share what I am thinking, what I have experienced and processed, not to give you an executive summary of what is floating in etherspace.

Her name was Merrilee

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I wish I could find a picture of her. Especially when dressed in her clown costume to do a program with children. She was a woman born deaf but could communicate on levels that surpassed many ‘normal’ hearers. And I believe she was an active agent in saving my life.

It was a good day for flying.

Three other men and I owned a Piper Pacer single-engine plane. In fact, the day of the purchase deal was the same day my wife was giving birth to our firstborn, a son. This was an example (there are many more) of my lack of sensitivity to qualities a loving husband should possess.

My dear wife was in labor in the adjoining room. I was on a nearby phone (a ‘pay phone’ back in those days), handset cord stretched to its limit as I leaned towards her and asked, “Can I buy a share in this plane? Can I?”


It still shames me now to think of the barren state I was in concerning emotional intelligence. Rather than tell me what I deserved to hear at that moment – “Go fly a kite!” – she still exercised undeserving grace in the midst of her discomfort. A few days later, we went home from the hospital with a beautiful son (even though I have always said newborn babies are basically ‘ugly’). And I got to buy my plane.

It sounds so lofty. Me a pilot. My own plane (with three others). The reality was far less exotic. I had my private pilot’s licence but minimal hours of flying. And all that time was in what’s called a tricycle wheel configuration (a Tri-Pacer). A nose wheel put the tail high up in the air to provide the pilot a clear sight directly through the windscreen. And, when applying the brakes upon landing, the plane would push down onto the nose wheel for a comfortable stop.

Whereas the Piper Pacer was a tail-dragger that basically made the pilot look straight up into the sky until enough momentum in takeoff raised the tail wheel. It also had the habit of wanting its tail wheel to flip around to the front while gaining speed to take off. A completely different challenge than the Tri-Pacer.

Yes, it was a good day for flying. And I wanted to practice some crosswind landings.
That is where, instead of landing into the wind, you land with a wind blowing from the side. Which required particular skills to make sure the plane landed pointing forwards. The runway for a crosswind landing that day was quite a bit shorter than the main runway. And it ran straight into a hangar building with a row of planes on each side as you approach the entrance to the hangar.

My first landing was fine. As I came around the circuit for a second landing, I didn’t notice that the wind had shifted and was now behind me. Which meant the wind was pushing me. It would be more difficult to slow down the plane and would take a longer time stopping once landed. I touched down fine near the beginning of the short runway. But that’s when I was in deep trouble.

I can say I was ‘hurtling’ down the runway because I really was. And I couldn’t slam on the brakes as that would cause the dragging tail of the plane to flip right over the front. Sitting up as high as I could to peer through the windscreen, all I could see was a row of planes flashing by on each side of me and the open jaws of a large hangar in front of me.

Merrilee was on her way home from work.
That afternoon, while I was in the sky, she decided to stop at our house to visit with my wife. Their conversation included reference to me being up in the plane. Merrilee, a woman of faith, had a deep conviction to pray for me, especially for my safety. And so they prayed.

Later, after comparing times, we realized that Merrilee and my wife were praying at the moment I was hurtling down the runway towards my sure death. I would run into one of the Ag-Truck planes loaded with fuel and crop-spraying chemicals that lined each side of the runway. Or I would crash headlong into the planes in the open hangar. Either way, there would be a fiery explosion. As an inexperienced pilot, I had no reservoir of automatic skills to draw from.

I can’t say my life went before me in a flash.
It all happened too fast. But just before reaching the hangar, I had a presence of mind to tap the brakes, see a gap after the last plane on the right, and jam the rudder pedal to swing hard right. The plane did a 90-degree turn to the edge of the runway and onto the furrows of the cultivated field next door. It sank into, then bounced out of, one furrow. It attempted to fly again, came down, hit the next furrow and gently flipped with the tail coming over the front. I was hanging upside down, dazed, strapped in by my harness.

A friend came running out of the hangar. Ben was the local funeral director (I know – a bit of irony there). As a pilot himself, he knew that a spark could ignite the plane’s fuel. So Ben quickly switched off the ignition then released my harness. That was my first (and only) experience in life of dropping down suddenly from an upside-down position.

Her name was Merrilee. She was compelled to pray.
At the same time as I was heading towards oblivion with no sense of what to do. Was it ‘the hand of God’ that saved me? Was it a divine Spirit that came over me? I don’t know. And does it really matter? An awareness for action, a presence of mind, came into me to do what I did. And I am still here. 50 years later.

As a Christian, I give thanks to God. And, as a believer in the power of prayer, I also say, “Thank you, Merrilee and Barb.”

Afterword
Not knowing the religious-spiritual-faith orientations of anyone who may read this piece, I am constrained to add a bit of an Addendum here.

To say “I believe in the power of prayer” is not an exclusive belief.
It isn’t just for Christians or other ‘religious’ people. If you can separate it from any biases you may have regarding organized religion, you may even affirm prayer or prayer-like expressions as a universal, inclusive human quality.

The Alcoholics Anonymous 12-Step Program has transformed many lives and been adapted for success in other contexts of society. A core principle is to assume a human connection to a ‘higher power’ that transcends the physical realm of one’s own life. It can be anyone or anything but has to be an entity that takes you out of yourself. If you want to be rather calloused about it, someone has said that it can even be your dog.

The yoga practitioner doing salutations to greet the rising sun at dawn on a Phuket beach. Buddhist monks spinning prayer wheels and offering continuous chants. Hindu rituals on the banks of the Ganges River. Indigenous affirmations towards Creator and Mother Earth. Tibetan prayer flags for the wind to carry positive energy to enrich all creation.

Even the non-religious person who spontaneously utters “Oh my God!” at the sight of a horrific car crash is expressing a prayer. It is a deeply felt cry from one human spirit to others in need. A prayer, a genuine outburst of positive desire for wellbeing in the midst of a tragic life situation.

All of these activities are variations of a common human impulse towards connecting with someone or something above or beyond and outside of ourselves. Recognizing this basic human unction has potential to be a powerful force for learning and growth. It may even influence a life that might otherwise be driven solely by self-directed ego and rationalism.

A Second Afterword
Again, as with other reflections, this piece is growing while waiting to be published on the website. A few days ago, I came across the following newspaper column. It speaks strongly to my above words regarding the universal human unction towards prayer-like activity.

Ken Noskye (1960–2021), an Indigenous freelance journalist, was known for his honest, heartfelt, and humorous storytelling. A member of Sturgeon Lake Cree Nation in northern Alberta, he attended a residential school, suffered lifelong addictions, and spent time in prison.

Even after passing from this life in 2021, Ken’s many readers motivated newspapers to publish his writings again.

The column at left was included in the March 2026 issue of Saskatoon News. Since the small font may be difficult to read, I have repeated most of it below.


The power of prayer has walked me this far in life.
No matter what I faced, I was taught to pray. Whether a person prays in a sweat lodge, church, mosque, synagogue or a temple doesn’t matter. It’s the prayer that matters. I was also taught not only to pray in hard times, but also to pray to give thanks for what I have.

For many years in my younger life, I questioned why I prayed when I felt my prayers weren’t being answered. It was only when I started to clearly see through what has been thrown at me, did I realize it was the power of my prayers that walked me here. These were prayers that came from the heart.

One of my favourite prayers comes from an American Indian chief named Yellow Lark. It came out in 1887. I said this prayer so many times I memorized it:

“Oh, Great Spirit, whose voice I hear in the wind and whose breath gives lite to all the world, hear me. I am small and weak. I need your strength and wisdom. Let me walk in beauty and my eyes ever behold the red and purple sunset. Make my hands respect the things you have made and my ear sharp to hear your voice. Make me wise so that I may understand the things you have taught my people. Let me learn the lessons you have hidden in every leaf and rock.

“I seek strength, not to be superior to my brothers and sisters, but to fight my greatest enemy – myself. Make me always ready to come to you with clean hands and straight eyes, so when life fades, as the fading sunset, my spirit will come to you without shame.”

This prayer isn’t a secret to many First Nations people. I’ve been to many meetings, gatherings and ceremonies where this prayer opens each event. One of the interesting things about First Nations prayers is many are not written down or recorded. Many are memorized and passed from one generation to the next.

It’s been the power of prayer that has walked me this far in life and it will be that prayer my Creator will hear and take me home.

— Ken Noskye

How much is enough? . . . Sometimes ‘less is more’

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This picture reminds me of a childhood experience. An uncle offered me a choice between two coins: a nickel or a dime. He didn’t include a quarter since it would have defeated the exercise. Of course I took the nickel. You know why. I was 5 years old. My awareness for the respective value of things was pretty much oriented towards ‘Bigger is Better!’

Now that I am 70+ years older (and a bit wiser), I’m more able to process the relative value of some things despite their size.


There is a lot of advice out there for people my age to ‘assist’ us in making good and better decisions. Old-people jokes like “Don’t buy any green bananas” aren’t very helpful. Yet I am interested in figuring out how to make wise purchases during my elder years. Especially when this season of life includes that huge intrusive word called ‘downsizing.’ Anyone who has moved to a condominium apartment from 30 years in the same house knows the impact of how much stuff you have and how big or small it is. And so my theme – what do I really need?

How much is enough?
When I do need something (even after major downsizing), is it adequate to buy the entry-level version of a product or do I need top-of-the-line? Will I expire even before the warranty of the new thing I am buying? Is used better than new? To those of you who know the benefits of shopping at Value Village, I admire and envy you. So, how much is enough?

I don’t have a neat and tidy how-to manual for you. But a few personal examples may demonstrate some of the thoughts that go through my mind when I buy stuff these days. And may also illustrate that, quite often in life, ‘less is more.’

A New Electric Shaver

After 15 or more years, it was time to replace my electric shaver. I’ve pretty much always been a Braun shaver loyalist other than brief and somewhat bloody excursions into manual straight razors. Costco carried only the top-of-the-line Braun Series 9 with a hefty $379 (plus taxes) price tag. It definitely was in a class of its own. Multidirectional shaver head. Large brick charger. Even its own little bathtub for cleaning. A lot to pack up for trips. The bathtub would probably stay at home. I looked at the shaver every time I was at Costco. But just could not overcome the barrier of paying that much for something that simply cut the hair off my face.

Browsing at London Drugs one day, I saw the same Series 9 (S9) on sale for $279 (plus taxes). Yes! That was a bit more ‘reasonable.’ So I bought it. The bathtub was quite a mystery to me so I downloaded the manual (of course, there were almost no instructions in the box itself). After letting it sit unused for several days on the bathroom counter, I faced the same mental hurdle as with the $379 version. So I returned it.

When back at London Drugs, I asked to see other options for Braun electric shavers. A young man unlocked the cupboard (yes, these instruments of warfare on your face were considered just as worthy of protection from theft as guns and Bowie knives). He had to stand there while I looked at several other models. And there, to my joy, was a Braun Series 7 (S7). Regular price $269 on sale for $179. I bought it. When opening the box at home, I felt like Goldilocks with the porridge, chair, and bed. “Ah, just right!” Nice and compact. Flexible head. No bathtub. Small charger unit. And my face responded to S7 so well right away. It didn’t need top-of-the-line to be happy.

Postscript: Since writing the above paragraphs, I have been totally satisfied with S7. It is everything I hoped it would be. A joy to shave. And, I may have been a bit hasty in assuring S5 that I would use it occasionally.

A New Toaster

We needed a new toaster at our lake cabin. My spouse and I headed to the local Co-op store. Two toasters were on display. The one for $95 was radiant with chrome and neat ‘bells and whistles.’ The other, for $28, was chromeless and drab white. It had nothing but two little slots (no bagels please), a skimpy push-down lever, and a cheap slide button for degree of crustiness.

I gently took 95 out of its box in a manner similar to the first time I held our bishon frisé puppy. A pup that was supposed to be a ‘lap’ dog but grew to hang down to the floor on both sides of my lap. Shaken out of my reverie by a quiet voice, I heard the question, “And how many more years do you think you’re going to need a toaster?” I was about 67 at the time. It’s probably not necessary to say it was toaster 28 that I carried to the checkout and not 95. And, with my one free hand, I waved a sad goodbye to 95.

To not share the rest of the story would be quite selfish of me. That shopping trip happened about 10 years ago and, since then, 28 has produced a consistent product without complaint. My doubts have turned to confidence and trust. There is no indication of old age in 28 even as it sees me gradually moving into that realm myself. And, with 28 being pure white as was our bichon, I find myself cradling it gently from the shelf to the counter each morning. At least 28 has not grown to hang down to the floor on both sides of my lap.

So, back to the question, “How much is enough?”
As you can see from my two examples, I seem to be moving into a more conservative approach to the issue. Sometimes ‘less is more.’ More satisfying to know you dialed yourself back a little. Exercised some self-discipline. Saved a few dollars that maybe you could be generous with to help someone else. Made a statement to unbridled consumerism that you weren’t in that game anymore.

While holding your version of that $389 shaver or $98 toaster, don’t rush to the checkout station. Pause. Ask yourself the question, “How will I feel when I get home, have a sleep, and look at this thing tomorrow? What will I think then? Will I be glad that . . . or will I wish that . . .?”

If you had gone for the ‘less is more’ choice, there is a good chance you will be glad.

Addendum
I thought I was done with this piece. But it was still in the outbox awaiting publication on the website. So, an experience a few days ago is too relevant to ignore.

A New Electric Toothbrush

Between my wife and my dental hygienist, I was compelled to convert to a battery-operated toothbrush about three years ago. And, with additional loving (wife) and kind (hygienist) pressure, I upped the ante to using it twice a day (sometimes) from just once.

Due to a lack of loving kindness on my part, my toothbrush usually looks pretty yukky and in need of a good cleaning. So, when at Costco recently, I was drawn to the new Oral-B iO model on sale at what I thought was an attractive price. Especially since, in one box, you got two full sets (one black and one white) of toothbrushes, chargers, travel cases, etc. I was quite sure my wife would also love to have the latest Oral-B iO. And, knowing I can always (and often have to) take things back to Costco, I bought the box plus a set of additional brush heads (also on a good sale).

At that point, upon returning home, I put myself straight back into the grip of the new toaster inquiry process. I tried to stress the encroaching old age of my Oral-B set. Thankfully, I wasn’t asked the “And how many more years do you think you’re going to need . . .?” question. That would be like trying to guess when all my teeth would be falling out. But you probably already know where this ended. The two boxes are sitting beside me patiently awaiting their return journey to Costco.

I’m actually okay with it.
My motivating question for this piece was “How much is enough?” And I even included in the title a response: “Sometimes ‘less is more’.” To get to that ‘less,’ there are times when we need external help for making the decision. And we are fortunate if we have people and other positive influences in life to provide that assistance. So that, when we get home (from return trip to Costco), have a sleep, and look back at it tomorrow, we can honestly say, “I’m glad that . . .” rather than “I wish that . . .”

“You can do it . . . !”

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“You can do it, Ron! You can do it!”

Mile 17 or 18 of the New York City Marathon. What’s often called ‘hitting the wall.’ A point in the 26.2 miles where a runner longs to just collapse into a fetal position on the sidewalk. I had already shifted into an even slower gear than my usual non-world-record-threatening pace. On the verge of shutting down completely, my head


hanging down almost waist-level, I saw a man coming at me from the sidewalk. He ran alongside, his face inches from mine, his arms wildly pointing to me then the road, to me then the road, all the while shouting in my ear, “Ron, you can do it! Don’t quit! You can do it, Ron!”

Wow! What choice did I have? My body rose to its usual slouching posture, took a deep breath, and began to pump my arms. He stayed with me for about 10 yards before peeling off back to the sidewalk. But that’s all I needed. I was now at the corner of Central Park on 5th Avenue. I could hear the cheering crowd at the finish line. When I finally crossed that line, my sheer euphoria overshadowed the last few miles of pain. A lifetime experience never to be forgotten.

So, how did that man know my name?
Prior to my first New York City marathon (I did two, you know), I heard about the phenomenal encouragement offered by the 100,000 spectators along the route. If I put my first name on the front of my bib and ran close enough to the sidelines, they would shout out my name as I went by. That was quite an experience even before Mile 18 – to have so many people declare my name. I stayed as close to the sidewalk as I could.

That event happened 12 years ago. Why am I writing about it today?
At the gym this morning, several of the television sets were showing the men’s biathlon at Milano Cortina 2026 Winter Olympics. A gruelling track that moves from heart-pumping, cross-country skiing to perfect stillness for target shooting. Near the finish line, one of the competitors was showing signs of struggle. A man dashed out from the sideline and began to run beside him. I couldn’t hear the words but did see the wild gestures of support. After a few lengths, he faded back into the pack of spectators and the skier pressed on to finish the course.

I’m thinking the man was saying some version of “You can do it . . . ! Don’t quit! You can do it!”

Later this morning, a dear friend phoned to share a new article about the future and implications of artificial intelligence. Much is being written to explore what will be left for humans to do as AI finds its full stride. I am far from qualified to speak to this topic with any authority at all. But I would like to be confident there is one thing AI will never be able to do. That is, to run alongside someone, point a finger in their face, shout with spittle all over them, and exclaim for the world to hear, “You can do it . . . ! Don’t quit! You CAN do it!”

I should end with that emotive high point. But right now some of you are thinking about Nike’s slogan: ‘Just Do It.’ With no disrespect to Nike, I would like to affirm a world of difference between the two expressions. “You can do it, Ron!” came from the heart and spirit of a compassionate human being. He spontaneously jumped in to give strength to a fellow traveller who was losing the battle for achieving a lifetime goal.

The origin of the Nike words, ‘Just Do It,’ was the farthest thing possible from positive, healthy, human interaction. Just before his execution in 1977 for murder, Gary Gilmore said, “Let’s do it.” These dark words, spoken in the darkest of inhuman contexts, inspired an advertising agency in 1988. They adapted the phrase to say ‘Just Do It’ and, as we all know, ‘the rest is history’ for Nike’s global explosion.

‘Just Do It’ has worked for its corporate culture and business purposes. But it smacks of an impersonal, competitive environment. A world of technical and mechanical prowess that, at its worst, assumes a zero sum approach to life where anything gained by one side is lost by another.

Whereas “YOU can do it, Ron!” “You CAN do it, Jane!” “You can DO it, Joey!” – should I keep going? – put your own name in there! – resonates with the depth of dynamic human spirit. It speaks to intensely personal longing and motivation for growth and wellbeing. It declares what it means to be wholly alive and encourage others to be the same. It is the farthest thing possible from facing a firing squad for murder and saying, “Let’s just get on with it.”

Am I upset that ‘Just Do It’ has become such a powerful mantra in sports and beyond? Of course not. All of us need motivational triggers to start or continue life-enriching activity. It’s just interesting to learn more about where things come from. And to me, “You can do it, Ron!” from a total stranger who sees my lagging spirit is so much more personal. Even if it comes with a healthy dose of spittle sprayed in my face.

Mark and Crystal

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It’s a pleasant Sunday morning in September, a year into the COVID-19 pandemic, and I’m heading to church. A contemporary service that meets in an old theatre on a downtown street found in every city. You know the one. The street where ‘less-than-desirable-to-meet’ people tend to hang out.

I was about to walk past this young man and woman when I remembered the biblical Good Samaritan story (Luke 10.25-37). A man robbed, stripped, beaten, and left to die was denied any attention from both the spiritual (priest) and organizational (Levite) gatekeepers of Jewish worship. The priest and Levite both “passed by on the other side.”


You and I may be able to relate to that behaviour. Have we ever been tempted to cross the street to avoid someone who is coming towards us?

Preachers vary in their treatment of these two men in the parable. [Of course they were men – if women, they probably would have stopped]. Some say they were late for ‘church,’ others point out hypocrisy between theory and practice in those who espouse religion. And, of course, maybe it really doesn’t matter what their story was. The focus of Jesus’ parable seems to be not on what they did NOT do but rather on what the Samaritan DID do.

I must make it clear that by no means did all this go through my head as I approached the young man and women on the sidewalk. It wasn’t shaping up to be a case of which parable character I was about to emulate. I just wanted to have a conversation with two people who appeared to be rather comfortable in a somewhat uncomfortable setting. They weren’t looking too bad despite being tucked into the alcove of a building entrance without a blanket on the hard and rather cold concrete sidewalk.

It struck me how Mark was sitting with such a nurturing posture. His arms were comfortably surrounding Crystal with warmth and security. It reminded me of Jesus tenderly holding a lamb.

If you can, enlarge the picture to see Mark and Crystal’s eyes. [Always look at the eyes; they are a window to the soul]. Both have that look of pain from a life that has not gone the way they might wish. But there is also a glimmer of light. I think that glimmer comes from having genuine human companionship even on a hard concrete sidewalk.


A human connection that helps to transcend the harsh realities of a present situation. And even suggests hope that there is potential for life making sense again.

Mark was concerned that I would not think they were panhandling. It was important for him to assure me that he had jobs with painting and moving companies. I didn’t press for more information from either of them. I was glad that they wanted me to think more highly of them rather than less. After a pleasant conversation, I asked Mark if I could buy them something to eat and gave him $20. They consented to a picture and I carried on to church.

In her book, The last human job: The work of connecting in a disconnected world (2024), Allison Pugh calls us back to being a society that “relies on empathy, the spontaneity of human contact, and a mutual recognition of each other’s humanity.” It is quite a provocative title to suggest that to be human is the ‘last’ human job. As artificial intelligence (AI) rapidly develops, a lot more attention is being given to the issue of what is left to be human.

I wonder if that is what Jesus was getting at. What do we see when we look at another person? The priest and Levite saw a potential intrusion to the plans for their day. An undesirable annoyance to be avoided. The Samaritan saw something else. A human being in need who deserved dignity and respect regardless of the circumstances. Regardless how busy he was. Regardless how much it might cost him. Regardless that he may be crossing racial or cultural taboos to even touch the bloodied man. He broke through all of those concerns in a genuinely human manner that put the self-righteous Jews to shame.

Religious people aspire towards righteousness. That includes seeking justice, personal virtue, and a right standing with their God. All good things. The priest and Levite sincerely wanted to fulfil a high-level code of belief and behaviour. The problem was one of focus. Their desire for righteousness got lost in the daily practice of self-righteousness. They lost sight of what Allison Pugh calls ‘the last human job.’ Empathy. Spontaneity of human contact. Mutual recognition of one’s own and another’s humanity.

The priest and Levite needed a refresher course in truths conveyed by the powerful images in both of the above pictures. When I look at Crystal, I see the little lamb sheltered in the arms of Jesus. And, in Mark’s eyes and smile, I see the joy of knowing he is making a difference in someone’s life. Images that the Samaritan would grasp intuitively even as an outsider to all the systems that were supposed to nurture such qualities.

A Tale of Two . . . – “Can’t we all just get along?”

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“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us. . .”

So begins Charles Dickens’ novel, A Tale of Two Cities, set in France and England before and during the French Revolution. Aristocracy. Oppression. Revolution. Reign of Terror. A continual cycle of people grasping for their perceived needs and rights at the expense of others doing the same.

Fast forward from 1792 to 1992. Four Los Angeles police officers are acquitted of severely beating Rodney King (despite video evidence of the act). Days of riot, looting, deaths, and billions of dollars in damage. At the time it was called the most destructive period of local unrest in U.S. history. On May 1, 1992, during a televised press conference, Rodney King made a plea that echoed around the world: “Can’t we all just get along?”

Subsequent analysis of the interview transcript revealed that “Can’t we all just get along?” were not Rodney King’s exact words. Rather, he said, “People, I just want to say, you know, can we all get along? Can we get along?” I suppose the precise words don’t really matter. What does matter is that one person – in this case, the actual victim whose brutal experience sparked the whole mess – is calling out everyone to stop and consider what they are doing.

For the past 30 years, Rodney King has been a powerful symbol of the same forces that Dickens embedded in his narrative. A tale of two realities. The ‘best and worst’ always co-exist side by side. ‘Wisdom and foolishness.’ ‘Belief and incredulity.’ ‘Light and darkness.’ ‘Hope and despair.’ All point to the reality that, as a collective humanity, we have the potential for both ‘everything and nothing’ at our fingertips. Worldviews, biases, choices, behaviours. They determine the nature and extent of our respective contribution or hindrance to improving the human condition around us.

Rodney King had reason to be angry. And he probably was. But in the midst of this personal trauma, he rose above his immediate circumstance and invoked a call to ‘best,’ to ‘wisdom,’ to ‘belief,’ to ‘light,’ and to ‘hope.’ Sadly, a simple call to encourage human care and gentleness wasn’t enough. Brute force prevailed to end the Los Angeles riots.

Now dial back from 1992 to October 21, 1967. A march to the Pentagon in protest of the war in Vietnam. Military police are at a standoff with demonstrators. A young man starts placing carnation flowers into the barrels of M14 rifles. An action captured on film in what has become the iconic 1960s ‘Flower Power’ picture, a powerful symbol of peaceful protest.

Perhaps the new version of Rodney King’s words make even more sense than the first. If ‘just get along’ is so difficult to achieve in this world of conflict, maybe ‘just want to say’ is the best we can do. Perhaps it comes down to an individual making a statement, however small and insignificant, in the face of power. Something that challenges the prevailing condition, resets the picture to one of gentle humanity, genuine relationship, and basic goodness.

“Just want to say” and flowers in gun barrels illustrate the strength of human potential. How even one individual can shift the spotlight from mass power to small, but ultimately even more powerful, human actions. Three more examples come to mind: the Tank Man in Tiananmen Square, Sydney Carton at the end of Dickens’ novel, and Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s final day.

June 5, 1989, in Beijing, China. The Tiananmen Square protests lead to a massive government response. Holding what looks like shopping bags, an unknown man steps in front of a line of tanks. At first the photographer was annoyed. He was trying to get a good shot of the tanks. But international media were captivated by his ‘Tank Man’ picture. It became a major symbol of an individual’s defiance in the face of violent authoritarianism.

In the Dickens novel, Sydney Carton is a rather unsavoury character. Yet by the end he gives himself to die as a substitute for another man. On his way to the guillotine, Carton travels in the same cart as a condemned seamstress. He consoles her fears, comforts the young woman, gives the human touch of a held hand, and offers a parting kiss as she is taken to the guillotine before him. He tells her to look steadily at him and not the ravenous multitude of spectators.

At the end of the novel, Carton’s final words (a silent, internal monologue) offer a powerful moment in English literature. “It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known.” And his final actions vividly embodied those words, and elevated the worst of times to the best.

On April 9, 1945, just weeks before liberation of the Flossenbürg concentration camp, the Nazis executed German pastor and theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer on a makeshift gallows. Witnesses present at the time have testified to the noble manner in which Bonhoeffer met his end. Throughout his imprisonment, he was seen as calm, at peace, and a constant encouragement to others. On the day of his execution, Dietrich knelt to pray in his cell then was led out to the gallows, pausing on the way to comfort a fellow prisoner. Amongst his final words were, “This is the end – for me, the beginning of life.”

When I was teaching high school English many years ago, one of the prominent themes in the literature curriculum was called ‘Man’s Inhumanity to Man.’ (Back then the word ‘mankind’ was assumed to refer to all people – other than when it was assumed to be affirming a male-dominated society). Humans’ inhumanity to humans. The annals of history are somewhat defined by these dual, conflicting realities. Humans behaving in the most inhuman ways upon one another.

A tale of two realities.

The best of times. The worst of times. I am thankful for writers and other artists through the ages who have portrayed this dilemma so vividly. Worthy of more respect are actual individuals who have risen above the mainstream of simple personal survival. Those who have dared to make a statement, often with their lives, that transcends all authoritarian instruments of control and oppression.

Even in the most disturbing, the most depressing, and the most disillusioning times, it is good to remember that the genuine human touch is really the only true and lasting power.

Repenting of Religion

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Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a Lutheran pastor and theologian in Germany, was killed by the Nazi regime just weeks before liberation of the prison camp by Allied troops. In his relatively brief life, Bonhoeffer set out a path for what he called ‘religionless Christianity.’

It was a call to reject ‘religiosity’ and embrace a living and active faith that includes the whole person and affects every aspect of life.

In Repenting of Religion (Baker Books, 2004), Boyd uses Bonhoeffer’s ideas as a challenge to begin practicing a ‘faith-life’ based in love rather than a ‘religious-life’ based on prescriptive doctrines and practices.

From this perspective, he says, “The practice of judgment should be foreign to Christian character.”

If your viewing lens is conservative Christianity, as was mine for most of my life, the following clippings from Boyd’s book should get your attention:

The pharisees of our day will be offended. The church that loves as God loves has to be willing to have their reckless love scorned as compromising, relativistic, liberal, soft on doctrine, anti-religious.

After all, what kind of church attracts and embraces prostitutes, drunkards, gays, and drug addicts? What kind of church routinely has smokers, drinkers, gamblers, and bums ushering during their services, hanging out in their small groups, singing in their choir, signing up for classes, volunteering for ministry and so forth – without anyone immediately confronting their sin? . . . What kind of church blurs the boundary between those who are ‘in’ and those who are ‘out’ to this degree?
The answer, I submit, is a Jesus kind of church.

To love like this, a community has to freed from an obsession with its perimeter – its ability to know or decide who is ‘in’ and who is ‘out.’ It has to be okay with wheat and tares growing alongside each other.
It has to be willing to live in total ambiguity as to who is in and who is out.
It has to live from the center not the perimeter, from the core not the edges.

So, I now either have your attention or you are already gone. Track with me as I summarize the flow of Boyd’s explanation for what gradually went wrong with the Church. He takes it back to Genesis and the Garden of Eden.

When naked and not ashamed, Adam and Eve were free to wander with no restraint other than “Don’t touch the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil!” They ate from all the Garden’s fruit including the Tree of Life which provided for a totally fulfilling relationship with each other and with God. The best way to define this relationship was Love.

It is reasonable to ask, “Why not eat from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil?” A simple answer is that they didn’t need to know how to make judgments based on perceived goods and evils. As long as they were totally nurtured by the Tree of Life, such judgments were unnecessary. Everything was screened through the perfect lens of Love. All of that changed, however, with one bite from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil.

Now Adam and Eve are still naked but ashamed. The fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil has given them the ability to make judgments. And God has a problem. He can no longer allow them to eat from the Tree of Life. In the words of Genesis, “The man has now become like one of us, knowing good and evil. He must not be allowed to reach out his hand and take also from the tree of life and eat, and live forever” (3.22).

This new ability to distinguish between good and evil is now the core of their identity. Adam and Eve have separated themselves from relationship with their Creator. [They may not be getting along too well with each other either]. To eat from the Tree of Life and add eternal life to the mix would make them like God but driven by judgment and not love. Another way of putting it is that love doesn’t need judgment but judgment without love is devastating.

Fast forward to today. This ability to judge prevents us, in ourselves, from fulfilling what we were created to be and do, namely to live in loving relationship with God and others. We have displaced God and moved ourselves into the center. And now we ascribe relative value to things and people based on our human judgments of them as being good or not good in our sight. We draw life from the ‘rightness’ of our beliefs and the ‘correctness’ of our behaviour, and judge others accordingly.

You may ask, “So are we trapped in this dilemma?” Is the fulness of what the Tree of Life offered no longer available? Well, in Christian theology, Jesus is the new Tree of Life as represented on the Cross. He becomes the instrument for raising his followers above the limitations of judgment and restoring them to relationships with love in the center. As the new Tree of Life, he supersedes the dehumanizing power of the other Tree. In Christ we become truly and fully human again.

After an extensive biblical study to document his perspective on judgment and love, Boyd shifts to practical implications of the Church’s need to ‘repent from religion.’

With a no-holds-barred approach, he takes on gluttony and homosexuality. In Jewish culture, not controlling your food appetite was viewed on par with not controlling sexual appetite; both were labeled as “shameless passions.” Boyd wonders, “Why isn’t the sin of gluttony portrayed as the sin that makes America a modern Sodom and Gomorrah?” Yet in conservative evangelical churches, “No one questions the genuineness of the faith of overweight people.” They are generally welcomed into church fellowship without any suspicion – even obese pastors! He asks, “Why is this same gracious mindset not extended to gays?” On the contrary, the mindset of most conservative Christians is that the sin of homosexuality is a deal breaker. It defines who is ‘in’ and who is ‘out.’ The genuineness of their faith is more often questioned or even denied.

For Boyd, the essence of life is not found in correct doctrine or pious behaviour. As important as these qualities are, to base life on these things is religion. The community of faith needs to ask forgiveness from God, and from the world, for being religious. We have eaten from the forbidden tree and constructed our own self-serving sin list to determine who’s ‘in’ and who’s ‘out.’ Instead, we are called to turn from our religion of addiction to the tree of knowledge of good and evil. We are called to repent of placing our self-perceived judgments about ‘rightness’ above the command to love.

Repentance (a decision to turn) is the first evidence that we have stopped eating from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil and, through the Cross of Jesus Christ, have begun eating from the Tree of Life. In other words, we can be restored to God’s original intention of true life and fellowship with Him, with Creation, and with each other.