How Does It Happen?

Have you ever wondered how good and decent German people chose to align themselves with Hitler?

Yes, there are sociological and cultural explanations for what happened in Germany that led to Hitler’s determination to take over the entire world. But what I am asking is how did an individual turn from his or her ordinary life to endorse Nazism.

Take an example. Herr Schmitz, as we shall call him, was a hard-working man. He arose in the morning, ate his breakfast, took his lunch made by his wife, kissed her goodbye and headed off to his job. His hausfrau stayed home to raise their children, kept their home neat and tidy, and had dinner ready when he returned home. Exhausted from a hard days work, he was thankful that he was fortunate to have a job.

When did Herr Schmitz first hear Hitler’s rants and plans for world domination?  Did a co-worker say to him: you ought to hear this guy. He is quite a leader to listen to.

I ask myself the question because my family could still be living in Germany – as some of my ancestors are German. My mother could have been Frau Schmitz. If they had not immigrated to this country, would I have met my husband, whose immigrant grandparents were all German?

Our heritage must be written all over us. I remember walking into a restaurant once with him when  traveling in Germany. The waitperson assumed we were both German and handed us a menu written in German.

But my family stories are not all happy ones. During WWI, my grandfather, who was the youngest son, was literally run out of the southern Minnesota town because he had a German-sounding name. Losing the successful hardware store he started and ran. He never recovered financially, doing odd jobs to support his family. Ironically he was not German, but Dutch.

My father was drafted during WWII, leaving my motherr with a three year old and an infant son. As a member of the Navy, he served on a troop carrier - going back and forth across the Pacific. Hitler had aligned himself with Japan and with Mussolini, broadening his efforts to rule the world. My life was changed forever by these events, leaving a deep mark across my soul.

So I return to my question. What went on in the heart and soul of German individuals as they became swayed to Hitler’s rants? What would I have done if I had been a German woman in the thirties watching the changes going on around me? Would I have dissented and risked my life living under a tyrant? Or would I have kept my mouth shut and pretended I had little interest or knowledge of my country’s political climate?

The world we live in today is so chaotic. Shootings of innocent people occur too often in so many countries. Or  a truck is used as weapon and driven into crowds enjoying Nice, France. A place where I have fond memories of strolling along that same street.

Curious, I looked up the definitions of end-times – Armageddon and Apocalypse. After much devastation, Armageddon heralds a new millennium of peace.  Apocalypse is total destruction of humankind. And I ask myself if we are living in the Apocalypse.

Yet, we need to hope. The message of doom and gloom preached by the GOP candidate for president does not match with reality. Ready access to death via the internet does not reflect the lives of so many decent and hardworking people – tragic as those deaths are. And the leadership of brave women and men, who don’t remain silent, but speak the truth as they see it.

Nelson Mandela was one of those leaders. All those years he spent in a wretched prison cell and solitary confinement, he finally emerged with wisdom and courage to bring about great change. I ask myself if I would have had that kind of courage after so many years of prison? Let the following words resonate within you:

Prayer – Nelson Mandela Funeral  – 2013

Beyond the absence, there is hope.

Beyond the pain, there is healing.

Beyond the brokenness is wholeness.

Beyond the turmoil there is peace.

Beyond the hurting there is heaven .

Beyond the silence, beyond the silence. .

God speaks:

Be strong, Let your heart take courage,

All you who hope in God (Ps. 31)

The Senselessness of Orlando

All week I have been turning over in my mind so many why and how questions. Random, incomplete thought without order or pattern.

Until today when I asked myself why it was so important for me to find answers for what happened in Orlando?  Did my unconscious mistakenly believe that if I found answers, I could somehow put this horrific slaughter behind me and return to the predictable patterns of my daily life?

Naming that I might have personal motives for the need to understand led me in a more coherent direction. Perhaps this search for understanding is a futile attempt to find some peace with one man’s abhorrent act. Believing that somehow our knowing will prevent another similar event.

The media has been filled with speculation. The FBI is meticulously investigating.  Necessary to do, but probably not preventative. Like any disease, a cure for violence depends more on the meta-reasons angry individuals take up guns.

Yes, this man was likely conflicted about his sexual preferences. Yes, he was an increasingly angry man who abused his first wife. Was he mentally ill? Depends on how mental illness is defined. One can be utterly sane and still be violent. And mental illness is not predictive of acts of violence.  Was he a truly devout Muslim? It looks like he was not. Was he really radicalized by ISIS or was it just a ruse he used to justify to himself the slaughter of so many people?

He was not an immigrant but a US citizen. Barring immigrants would solve nothing. Nor would preventing people who are Muslim from entering this country prevent acts of terrorism. In this country, terroristic acts have been have been committed by people who “belong here” by virtue of their citizenship.

Yes, there are too many guns in this country – and loose rules allow their easy purchase.  But in recent terrorist attacks, guns used were legally obtained.

The truth is that we live in a culture of violence. Just watch commercials advertising TV shows. Listen to the vicious slander of this presidential campaign. And lest we think this violence is an American problem, we need only to listen to the news from elsewhere. Today Belgium is on high alert. And a UK MP died because a man used a gun to shoot her down.

Answers to all these questions would not satisfy our deephunger to really know what happened in Orlando and elsewhere.

Precious lives lost, many of them young adults with so much left to give to the world and their community. Friendships ended in their deaths and families grieve.  Their lives will never be the same..

However, it is not jst people directly affected by what happened. No matter what we eventually come to know about why all this senseless slaughter happened –neither will our lives be the same

Fear, Greed, and Artificial Eyelashes

Springtime and the courting begins. Sometimes it is a lovely sight. Western Grebes “skate” across the water in pairs - a sight to behold. Pairs of Canada geese, with the male carefully watching over his bride prevent any “wanna-be” suitors from stealing her away. Robins that begin to sing their hearts out at 4 am – outside my bedroom window.  

Sometimes all this courting can become brutal. Usually male birds fight with each other to win over a particular female. She pretends to ignore the battle – while out of the corner of her eye, she is secretly cheering for the stronger male to win.

This morning I saw something I’d never seen before. Looking out a window, it appeared a female cardinal had broken a wing and was fluttering around on the grass. A male cardinal was attentive to her plight. But as I watched, the flurry of feathers was two female cardinals fighting with each other – presumably to drive away the other female and claim the male cardinal for herself.

Who says it is always males who fight with each other for territory and mates. The men competing with each other while women tend the children and pay careful attention to their pots over the fire. Sad to say, women have their own wars as well for dominance and "territory".

This morning's paper had a long article about artificial eyelashes – (for women, of course)! One line caught my attention: the claim that such lashes enhance a woman’s femininity. What? Are women supposed to hide who they really are behind some kind of allure in order to attract men? Isn't who they are deep inside enough?

After finishing reading the paper, I sat down to my computer. Since my email address does not indicate whether I am a girl or a boy, I get an interesting selection of spammed email. Breast augmentation and low-T. Russian women, who can hardly wait for me to click on their site and meet me. Married women looking for affairs. And in the evening, there are those TV ads for long- lasting erections – delivered by women with purring, seductive voices.

After I cleaned out my spammed email, I went to serious news. Refugees fleeing the devastation of war. Russian jets dive-bombing American military ships in international waters. Religious wars in India where Hindus are attacking Muslims. The increasing phobia toward Islam in this country.

Underlying so much of these seeming disparate items are fear of the other and territorialism.  Issues among humans that go back millennia. Like the pair of female cardinals fighting over one male. Perhaps these female cardinals should invest in artificial some-things to make themselves more alluring! Artificial eyelashes?

I don’t think I ever made eyes at my husband. After all these years, he still tells me I am beautiful. And I tell him that he is one handsome dude. We fell in love as we grew up together. When we married, we promised to stay together through “better or worse.” As anyone who is married will tell you, marriage is tough. Honeymoons do not last long. But I wouldn’t trade him off for anything.

We have both grown since in naiveté we promised ourselves to each other. Now we are figuring out how to grow old together. With bodies that bear little resemblance to younger days when we climbed mountain trails and slept under the stars in the wilderness. I don’t think artificial eyelashes fluttering in his direction or medications for him could enhance  the bond between us!

As for the rest of the world – the theory is that humanity has been evolving into something better. Some days I wonder when I read the news, which is far more brutal than two female cardinal fighting on my front lawn. But then a flicker of hope inside reminds me of kind deeds done without any expectation of return, friendships and my precious family. The goodness of people surrounds me when I pay attention.

A few years ago, I went with a group to Ireland where we visited ancient sites in the Republic of Ireland, the stuff of legends. We learned something of the Irish fight for independence from Great Britain. However, what sticks most in my mind was our time in Northern Ireland.  It was a year after the Peace Accord was signed, signifying the end of the Troubles.  The driver of our small buus (as he called it) had never been in Northern Ireland – where a few miles translated into a huge distance for him. We stood at the gates of Stormont, the parliament building where the Accord was signed.  And our 65 year-old driver wept.

We drove down a street in Belfast and slowed just enough to allow a highly-ranked police constable to board. He talked with us about the Troubles – while we were followed by an unmarked police car for our safety. We saw barbed wire scanning towers and still-divided Catholic and Protestant neighborhoods.

Later, a former IRA fighter, who had turned to peaceful means to work with young people, talked with us from his perspective about the terrible times that pitted people against each other. When we re-boarded our small bus to return to the Republic of Ireland, small boys threw stones at us – because our license plates identified us as coming from the other Ireland.  

Slowly these two countries have worked to heal from the Troubles that took too many lives. They give us a model to construct our own ways to make peace and to learn to live together with people who are different from us.

This presidential campaign has dug deep into peoples’ psyches to mine fear and hatred. May we learn from this time to find better ways to improve the lives of people, rather  than living out our own version of the Troubles.

And those artificial eyelashes? You guessed right. They are not on my shopping list. I do not need to pretend to be someone other than who I am.

Where Did That Come From Anyway?

When I was growing up, I was taught that after we died there would be a time when we would experience bodily resurrection.

Fine idea, but . . .

At that time at my small town church, we had not yet entered the "donuts and coffee" era. So after church, folks would gather at the base of the church steps and chat. Catching up on all the gossip and the like. There was an old fellow (really old) who would shuffle down the steps and make his way to his car parked along the curb. His clothes were dull beige - and his car a dull beige. The conversation would stop and all eyes turned toward him.  Since he was hard of hearing, he had no idea everyone had become silent.

He would hoist himself into the driver's seat, hold down both the brake pedal and the accelerator, and start his car. Slowly he would inch out onto Main Street and head for home - the car roaring away. Of course no one wanted to be anywhere near him - in case his foot slipped off the brake and he and his car would go full-tilt ahead.

My teenage conclusion. This man already had a decrepit body and he was still among the living. Who in their right mind would want to be raised from the dead with such a body! I decided that the adults somehow got this bodily resurrection idea all wrong.

I imagine all of you can relate similar conclusions that you made as you were growing up - and like me never shared them with The Grown-ups.

As an adult I have gathered to myself many opinions about a whole host of things. Hopefully I have been wise enough to have based those opinions on real life data - not on childish assumptions. And hopefully, I also am wise enough to change my mind when I discover my conclusions no longer hold.  

This presidential election has raised the question in bold letters: why do people ascribe to such and such assertions made by various candidates. What if one candidate said the world is actually flat and not round, would this candidate's supporters nod their heads in agreement?

News analysts have been trying hard to figure out why some of the fervently-held beliefs have captured the minds of so many people. Especially when many of those beliefs and opinions fly in the face of reason. Real-world data doesn't seem to matter. Rather there is a "I want to believe this about the world" mentality operating.  

We live in a time when the amount of existing data is overwhelming. Our personal filters help us screen out this overabundance until it feels manageable to us. I have been surprised at the number of friends who have said that they no longer watch the news at all - because it is simply too much, depressing, or  raises their blood pressure.

Fact-check was invented to sort out exaggerations, distortions, and downright non-truths. I imagine the idea of fact-checking would have been puzzling to the grown-ups when I was a child. But it certainly would not have been helpful to me when I watched that very elderly man fire up his car and roar down the street.

We ask ourselves where did that idea come from anyway? Why do I ascribe to it? 

How does it help me cope (or not cope) with a rapidly changing world? 

How do I know who I can trust? 

What do I do with the opinions I form? 

Sometimes it feels like walking into a very noisy restaurant and having to shout to be heard by one's companions. The poet Wendell Berry writes about when he feels overwhelmed:

            I go among trees and sit still . . . what I am afraid of comes . . . and the fear leaves me . . .

Perhaps we all need more still places and trees in our lives.

A Blessed Life

 What do writers do when they are at a loss for words

about something significant in their lives?

They write – and the words come.

On the twenty-seventh of February at 11:15 am, Father William Mehrkens died. He was surrounded by those who loved him – and they read and sang together. The last song was Let Justice Roll Like a River. Then someone whispered to him in Ojibwa: Giga-waabamin Miinawaa Bizaan igo gaye giin 

(I shall see you again. Peace be with you too).

Our years of living on the East coast were tumultuous and an education for the two of us growing up on the prairie. The March on Washington. Wandering the streets with others in shock and disbelief when JFK was assassinated. Sitting on the Jersey side of Manhattan the night the power grid failed and seeing the darkened city. Tap water that would make Flint’s water seem like a clear mountain-stream.

Now it was time to find a safe place to raise a family – a peaceful place. When a job opened up in the North Woods, we did not hesitate. Here we could begin a new life.

Leaving behind New Jersey’s heat of 105 degrees, we set off across country. Less than an hour after arriving at our destination, a fierce wind blew through, wrapping a canoe or two around trees and toppling other trees across town. If we had been looking for a sign, this was it. There was to be no peaceful life for us! But we were tired after the long drive and not looking for signs.

It was just a year after Vatican II. Father Bill Mehrkens embraced new winds blowing through the Church – as unexpected as a wind-storm in northern Minnesota. Within days he and my husband met. They were a matched pair of change-agents. It was the beginning of fruitful ecumenical work together.

In these days after Father Bill’s death, we have searched for words to describe him. After fifty years, it would seem to be an easy task. Instead what we found were seemingly contradictory sets of words. Looking more deeply, these “contradictions” were exactly who Bill was.

Humble, modest, and kind. A fiery and passionate social activist. Sometimes getting into trouble for standing his ground. A long list of accomplishments – though he would never enumerate them. At the same time, he never stood out from the crowd. Ego? It was never a visible part of him.

Perhaps the best description of this good man was that he lived the Gospel. He did not just talk the Gospel. Feed the hungry – he did so. Take in the homeless – he did so and was threated with jail time if he did not stop. Once he gave his coat away to someone needy – as well as the coat of a fellow priest. He sought out injustice. Then acted to rectify what he saw.

A healing person, he was sent to Red Lake Reservation after an earlier priest committed horrendous acts of destruction in the Indian burial ground. There in his early 80’s, he again brought about change – and learned Ojibwa. While I could not master passable Spanish at half his age.

Asking ourselves what Bill would have to say to us about his passing from this life, I think he would say: live the Gospel in whatever way you are called. And don’t spend your tears on me, but on the world that needs you.

I am sure Father Bill did not spend much time thinking about the legacy of his life. He simply did what he felt called to do.

He was a blessed and ordinary-extraordinary man. And his presence blessed the lives of so many of us.