No, she did not say yes

My son was two months old on an April day 20 years ago when I decided to go shopping. 

I'd heard about a shooting at a high school in Colorado, in suburban Denver, called Columbine High, and I'm sure I thought something like, "How awful!" before I went about my day.

I remember coming home and while stopped at the stoplight at the CVS near my house, hearing on the radio that the kids were coming out, running out with their hands raised.  I thought, thank goodness it's over.

Then I went home and turned on the TV.

Later, I saw the first report of  "25 dead."

I felt sick. 

Later, the figure was revised to 12 dead.  The twelve included the two shooters. 

"Columbine" is actually the name of a flower.  Since April 20, 1999, "Columbine" has become synonymous with "school shooting".

My son has grown up under the shadow of Columbine and the other school shootings that have since taken place.  I don't think we'll ever shake that shadow.  Once a Pandora's box of evil is opened, there's almost no way to shut it.

There's one myth, however, that I wish we would lay to rest:  the myth that Cassie Bernall was a martyr for Christ. 

In the first reports of the Columbine shooting, it came out that Cassie, who was in the library--where most of the killings took place--was asked by one of the shooters, "Do you believe in God?" She answered, "Yes," and she was shot and killed.  (I heard this story on NBC the day after the shootings.)

Evangelical Christians seized on this story because it embodied everything they love:  someone standing up for the cause of Christ who was not ashamed to say "yes, I believe in God" in the face of death, and who was killed for their belief. 

There's just one problem with this story.

It's not true.

Craig Scott, whose sister Rachel was one of the twelve who was murdered, was in the library that horrible day.    Investigators took him back into the library and asked him to recreate what happened, and when asked, where did the voice come from that said, "yes", he pointed away from where Cassie Bernall had been hiding under a table and toward where another student, Valeen Schnurr, had been. 

In addition, a teacher in the library who'd called 911 left the phone line open for eight minutes.  Events in the library were caught on that 911 tape. 

What actually happened was that Eric Harris looked under the table where Cassie was, said, "Peek-a-boo," and shot her.  It was a few moments later, when Valeen Schnurr began screaming, "Oh, my God?" that Dylan Klebold asked her if she believed in God. She said "yes" and when asked "why", she said, "because I believe and my parents brought me up that way."  Valeen was shot but ultimately survived.

Cassie's mother, Misty, wrote a book about her daughter, titled "She Said Yes".  Misty described her daughter as a teenager who'd become rebellious and nearly suicidal.  But in the last year of her life, she turned back towards her faith.  Cassie's father said that after Cassie attended a weekend church retreat, that she'd come back a completely different person. 

I don't believe that anyone deliberately set out to tell a lie about Cassie Bernall.  I've long believed that the events of that horrible day played out like a game of "telephone" where something is repeated down a long line of people and details are changed with every repetition.  It takes time and effort to gather up all the pieces of evidence and lay them out in order to figure out what really happened.  I think that by the time evidence was sifted through, arranged, and the final report written, Cassie's supposed "martyrdom" had so embedded itself into public consciousness that it would be difficult, if not impossible, to correct the impression that she truly had "laid down her life for Christ". 

Later in 1999, Family Christian Bookstores came out with a line of T-Shirts and keychains with the slogan, "Yes I Believe In God".  That was the moment I developed a distaste for Christian merchandising (known also as "Jesus junk".)  To me, that line of merchandise was a blatant attempt to capitalize on a horrible event. 

Ten years ago, journalist Dave Cullen published his book "Columbine", which is considered the definitive account of the Columbine shootings.  He devotes several pages to Cassie and the story of her alleged martyrdom. 

Between Cullen's book, the final report on Columbine, and the testimony of several witnesses (including Cassie's friend Emily Wyant), the evidence shows that it's time to lay this myth to rest, once and for all:

Cassie Bernall did not say "yes" when asked "do you believe in God".
Valeen Schnurr said "yes" when asked "do you believe in God".
Cassie Bernall was not martyred for her faith in God.
Cassie Bernall was murdered by a sociopath who also shot many other people before finally killing himself.
Cassie Bernall discovered faith in the last year of her life.  She did say "yes" to God.
Cassie Bernall is not a martyr. 
Cassie Bernall did not say "yes" and die.
Valeen Schnurr said "yes" and lived.
People did not initially intend to lie when reporting that Cassie said "yes, I believe in God".
Some people did, however, refuse to correct the impression when the facts proved that story wrong. 

Cassie deserves to be remembered as a daughter whose life ended too soon.  She deserves to be remembered as the person she was, a girl who lost her way for a while and who found it again. 

But despite what some people--and unfortunately, some of those people are Christians--would want you to believe . . . no, she did not say yes.

Just my .04, adjusted for inflation. 
  

Shakespeare was right!

"First thing we do, let's kill all the lawyers."  -- Henry VI.

I have never been more in sympathy with William Shakespeare than I am after six days of working on the transcript from a rather hot place down under.  I'm debating at the moment whether it was from Gehenna, Tartarus, or Hades.

It consisted of 296 pages and 32 video clips.

Yes, you read that right.  Thirty-two.  (That sounds more daunting that it actually turned out to be.  A new clip started whenever testimony started or one of the lawyers objected and they needed to conference with the judge.  And I hate to disappoint all fans of Law and Order, but while the lawyers I listened to were very passionate about the side of the case they were arguing, they were also very respectful to each other at end when they were trying to figure out what the order of business was going to be next day.  Anyone listening for a fight on any of the depositions I proof will be sadly disappointed.)

This is the first trial transcript I've ever proofed.  Normally I proof deposition transcripts, where the lawyer for one side talks to a witness from the other side to get their side of the story.  They will then use the information gleaned from those depositions to build a court case for trial.  My depositions run the gamut from malpractice suits to car crashes to suits against nursing homes or assisted living centers.

This particular trial was a civil case that's been going on for some time.

Now, I know that the American legal system is usually a good system.  I know that we need lawyers, and judges, and fair representations.  And I know that proceedings must be put on the record, and since you have to have an accurate record, that is why you have court reporters, and scopists (the people who edit the raw notes from the court reporter) and proofers like me, who make sure everything is spelled, punctuated, and formatted properly.

My problem with this specific transcript was, specifically, the conferences with the judge.

More specifically, the parts of the conferences that I couldn't hear because the lawyers were talking in whispers.

The lawyers were talking in whispers because they were arguing their objections out of the hearing of the jury.  I get that part and it's part of court procedure.

But their conferences were part of the record . . . and if I can't hear what they're saying, I can't just make something up and put it down!

By the end of the second or third day, out of frustration, I downloaded a free video/audio player with a sound booster, hoping that I could use that to clear up some of the things I couldn't hear.

It did help some.  But even with the volume turned up as high as it would go, and even with a sound booster that supposedly boosted volume up to 125%, there were just some times I could not hear what I needed to hear.

(This is why I am against electronic recording replacing a real, live court reporter.  What happens when the recording doesn't pick something up?)

I just finished this job a few minutes ago and sent it to the people I work for, saying that I did the best I could and that I have never been more in sympathy with Shakespeare's admonition, "first thing we do, let's kill all the lawyers."

(No lawyers were killed or harmed in the writing of this piece.)

Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.

So a Clint walks into a bar . . .

TV host Mike Rowe was sitting at a bar the other night.  When the man beside him asked for "a Clint," his ears perked up.  What in the world was a Clint?

The bartender asked the same thing, and the man reached into his pocket and handed the man a business card.  After reading it, the bartender said, "One Clint, coming up!"

His curiosity now totally aroused, Mike turned to the man and asked, "What in the world is a Clint?"

The man handed him his card and said, "Keep it.  It might come in handy sometime."

On that card is a specific recipe for a very specific drink.  The recipe, for the curious, is two shots Campari, one shot vodka, one slice of orange, and soda water, in a tall glass with ice.  

"Are you the Clint for whom the drink is named?"  Mike asked.

He was. 

"And have you also grown weary of describing a drink no one has ever heard of?"

He was.

They fell into conversation, the type of conversation that men often have when sitting at bar over drinks. Mike learned that Clint had spent his career in law enforcement.

Specifically, he'd been in the Secret Service.

Whoa. 

"Did you ever know a guy named John Barletta?"  Mike asked.  Mike was lucky enough to have met Barletta, a former Secret Service agent on Ronald Reagan's detail. 

Clint knew John Barletta many years ago, describing him as a "good man." 

"Did you read his book, Riding With Reagan?"  Mike asked.

"I sure did," Clint answered.  "He was absolutely devoted to the Reagans."  

Clint, by now, had received his "Clint," and he and Mike drank a toast to the memory of John Barletta, who'd died recently. 

Had Clint ever been involved with Reagan, Mike asked.

"No," Clint explained. The last president he'd guarded was President Ford. 

Before that, he'd been on President Nixon's detail.

And President Johnson.  

And President Nixon. 

In fact, he'd started with Dwight Eisenhower.

"You must have some stories," Mike said.  

Clint did. And does. 

He's written a few books, and one of them is about a woman you may have heard of.  

Does the name Jackie Kennedy ring a bell?

Clint's last name is Hill.  This is the man who, on November 22, 1963, rode on a running board on a car behind a limousine that usually had a bubble top on it . . . but because the weather had cleared up, and it was a fine, sunny day, with temperatures in the low sixties, the decision was made to leave the bubble top off.  

An hour later, after a final, fateful, zigzag turn past a six-story building, Clint Hill heard, bang.

Instantly, he thought, danger.

He was off the running board.

He doesn't remember the second bang because he was focused on getting to his protectee.

The third bang sounded three-quarters of a second before he climbed onto the back of the limousine.  

Jackie Kennedy grabbed his hand. She pulled him up while he pushed her down.

He is the one that saw the gruesome injury to President Kennedy.

He is the one who turned and gave a "thumbs down" signal to the agents behind him.

He is the one who clung to the back of the limousine, protecting Jackie Kennedy with his body, while the limousine raced down the Stemmons Freeway towards Parkland Hospital at speeds up to 80, maybe 90 miles an hour. 

He is the one who said, "He's dead," as they arrived at Parkland.  

He is the one who offered his suit jacket to cover President Kennedy's head, because he knew that Jackie didn't want her husband's head exposed like that.

And he is the one who made the phone call asking for a casket, who said, "This is the President of the United States. Give me the best casket you've got."

He was there for all of it.  

He's written his story in Mrs. Kennedy and Me, Five Days in November, and Five Presidents.

He's carried the guilt for years, telling himself, if I'd just been faster, I could have taken that bullet and JFK would still be alive.  

Only recently has he come to realize that, in his words, the shooter had all the advantages that day.  The Secret Service had none.

This is a man that deserves to have a drink named after him, and deserves to have every bartender in the world make it for him. 

Right after Mike Rowe posted his encounter with Clint Hill, Clint's book, Five Presidents, knocked Andrew McCabe's book The Threat off the #1 spot of Amazon's best-seller list.  

We need heroes in this day and age.  And we need to be reminded of who those heroes are.  The ones who will throw themselves over the back of a car, who are willing to take a bullet for someone.  Or even those who sit at a bar and engage a stranger in conversation, a stranger who might need that listening ear.

I'm going to swipe Mike Rowe's ending words to his Facebook post.

Carry on, Clint.

Carry on.

Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.

Blogging with Mark, Introduction and Chapter 1

My BFF recently challenged me to read the book of Mark to get to know Jesus better.

She wants me to do a book report.

I thought, "I'll see you your book report and raise you a series of blog entries."

So, here we go:

The Gospel of Mark is allegedly the first Gospel written.  This Bible.org article gives its date of authorship as sometime between AD 64-69.  If we accept 33 AD as the date of Jesus' crucifixion, we have a book written some 30-40 years after the fact. 

While there's disagreement among scholars as to who exactly "Mark" was, a possibility is that he was a disciple of Peter.  From the Bible.org article about the book of Mark:

"Papias (the bishop of Hierapolis A.D. 140) wrote in his last work (Exegesis of the Lord's Oracles) the strongest evidence for Marcan authorship tied to Peter:

The Elder said this also:  Mark, who became Peter's interpreter, wrote accurately, though not in order, all the he remembered of the things said or done by the Lord.  For he had neither heard the Lord nor been one of his followers, but afterwards, as I said, he had followed Peter, who used to compose his discourses with a view to the needs of his hearers, but not as though he were drawing up a connected account of the Lord's sayings.  So Mark made no mistake in thus recording some things just as he remembered them.  For he was careful of this one thing, to omit none of the things he had heard and to make no untrue statements therein."

(Bear in mind the words "though not in order".  Mark isn't necessarily concerned with telling Jesus' story in strict chronological order.)

Mark is not a comprehensive biography of Jesus.  Rather, it's Jesus' "highlight reel".  Its first audience was to Christians in Rome, mostly Gentiles. Bible.org points out: 

1. The book translates Aramaic expressions (see Mark 3:17, 5:41, 7:11,34; 9:43, 10:46, 14:36, 15:22, 34.)
2. It explains Jewish customs (see Mark 7:-4, 14:12; 15:42)
3. It uses Latin terms, rather than Greek (see Mark 5:9; 6:27; 12:15, 42; 15:16,39.)
4. It tells time in Roman terms (Mark 6:48; 13:35)
5. He is the only one who identifies Simon of Cyrene as the father of Alexander and Rufus (see Mark 15:21, cf. Romans 16:13.)
6. It uses very few quotations from the Old Testament and very few references to fulfilled prophecy. (Why would Romans care about what a Jewish holy book predicted?)
7. Mark, at the end of Jesus' crucifixion, has a Gentile--a Roman centurion--proclaim that "surely this man was the Son of God".
8. There's a tone in this Gospel encourages Roman believers who were both encountering and expecting persecution (see Mark 8:34-38; 9:49; 13:9-13) 
9. He assumes that his readers are familiar with the main characters. This gives him room to deal with theology and "he writes with more of a theological interest."
10. He addresses his readers by explaining the meaning of certain actions and certain statements (see Mark 2:10,28; 7:19)
11. He doesn't include a genealogy.  

So, let's dive into the text and see what it has to say:

Mark introduces his book as "the beginning of the good news about Jesus the Messiah, the Son of God."The words "good news" here are a translation of the Greek euangeliou, a version of the word euaggelion.  "Gospel" literally means "God's good news."  Mark is not writing a book of bad news, but of good news.  I think sometimes we forget that "gospel" is "good".

In verse 2, Mark includes one of his few Old Testament quotations, first from Malachi 3:1-- "I will send my messenger ahead of you, who will prepare your way," and then from Isaiah 40:3, "a voice of one calling in the wilderness, 'Prepare the way for the Lord, make straight paths for him.'"  I'm reminded here of this song from Godspell.  What Mark is doing here is talking about John the Baptist, saying, "It was written, the messenger is coming to say, prepare for the Lord."  In other words, "He's coming!  Get ready for him!"  Like, when your favorite rock group is coming to town.  Or when your favorite show is coming back after a break.  

So here comes this character, named John the Baptist (or, John the Baptizer), "preaching a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins."  And he gained quite a following, because v. 5 says that the whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem went out to hear him. Which makes me wonder what was so attractive about him as a speaker that the whole countryside and all of Jerusalem would go out to hear him.

But he was very clear:  "After me comes the one more powerful than I, the straps of whose sandals I am not worthy to stoop down and untie."  Guys, I'm not even good enough to take his shoes off.  But he's coming.  I'm baptizing with water.  He's going to baptize you with the Holy Spirit.

So the crowds leave, wondering, "Okay, who's the guy? Who's the person we're waiting for?

This is when our main character shows up.

If the words, "Jesus, Son of God" weren't hint enough, we should know that something's up about the guy when he comes to John the Baptist and he's baptized in the Jordan.  

In my imagination, I see Jesus standing in line with the rest of the people waiting to be baptized, waiting his turn just like everyone else.  Then John sees him and his eyes turn to saucers.  "You're here!  You're the guy!  But I'm the one who ought to be baptized by you!  What are you doing here asking me to baptize you?"  (I'm borrowing from the book of Matthew here.) 

Over John's protests, he baptizes Jesus.  And heaven is torn open and the Spirit descends on him, like a dove.  (I'm sure there's some symbolism here, given that it was a dove that Noah sent out at the end of the flood.)  And he heard God saying, "You're my Son.  I love you.  I am pleased with you."

So what does he do?

Give a Rocky-esq, fists-thrust-high-in-the-air pose while, "We Are the Champions" plays in the background?

Nope.  "At once," the Spirit sends him out into the wilderness.  Who besides me sees a large finger pointing, "That way"?  What's interesting is that the Greek translated "sent out" is the word ekballei, from the word ekballo, meaning, among other things, "I drive out, I throw, I cast, I banish."  An entry in Biblehub.com clarifies the meaning of this verse:  "to lead one forth or away somewhere with a force which he cannot resist."

I'm not a Greek scholar, but either Jesus didn't have a choice but to go out into the wilderness, or he allowed himself to be thoroughly compelled by the Spirit to go.  

I've also never visited the Holy Land.  I have, however, been out West to the desert, and a comment my husband made sums up southwestern Utah/southeastern Nevada/northeast Arizona perfectly:  "You throw a body out here, and the body will never be found."  I guess it's a good thing I'm not Jesus, because if I were Jesus and I were compelled by the Spirit to go out into that sort of terrain, I'd probably be asking the question, "Uh, excuse me, you said I was your Son, you loved me, and you were well pleased with me.  So what are you doing, sending me out into the middle of nowhere?"

Verse 13 casually comments that Jesus was in the wilderness forty days, being tempted by Satan.  I could probably last forty minutes in the wilderness being tempted by Satan.  But I'm not sure if I could last forty hours, let alone forty days. Forty days is about five to six weeks.  Some people with cancer have a chemo regimen that lasts six weeks.  

Six weeks alone.  Six weeks with nothing but wild animals to keep you company.  ("Hello, lizard.  Have we met before, or was that one of your brothers or sisters?")  Six weeks full of rocks, and dirt, sun beating down on you by day and then shivering at night.  And the whole time, being tempted by Satan.  I know in Matthew and Luke, when they write of this event, they mention three specific temptations of Jesus.  But in my mind, that doesn't preclude Satan poking his head over a rock at other times, saying, "Hello, Jesus, remember me?  How about turning that rock over there into a nice loaf of unleavened bread?  You can do it."  And doing this over and over and over.

Fortunately, at the end of the sentence, Mark says, "angels attended him."  I imagine it would have been a relief for Jesus to see them show up. 

Jesus shows up again after John is put in prison.  We don't know why John was put in prison, perhaps this is a fact that Mark assumes his audience already knows.  But anyway, Jesus shows up again, and his announcement is:  The time has come.  It's here.  The kingdom of God has come near.  Repent and believe the good news!  Or, "repent and believe in the gospel".

"Repent and believe in the gospel", in the Greek here, is "metanoeite kai pisteuete en to euangelio".  Metanoeite means "to change one's mind or purpose".  Pisteuete, here, comes from pisteuo, meaning, "to believe, entrust."  Euangelio is the same word Mark used before, in talking about "the good news about Jesus".  

Jesus says, "change your mind, change your purpose, believe the good news.  Trust the good news.  The kingdom of God is here.  Repent and believe!"

When Jesus was baptized, he was in the Judean countryside.  But when he shows up again in public, he's now in Galilee.  He makes a visit to the Sea of Galilee, where he meets two fishermen, Simon and his brother Andrew, throwing a net into the lake.  We don't know from the text if this is the first time they've ever met, or if they've met before and Mark just doesn't mention it.

But for some reason, this call, "Come, follow me, and I will send you out to fish for people," was enough to make Simon and Andrew drop their nets and say, "I'm in!"  Maybe it was nothing more than, "We're wet and dirty, and fish stink.  I'm tired of these wet, stinky clothes.  Let's go fishing for people!"

I don't know if they were "casting a net into the lake" from a boat or from shore, but if they were in the boat, can you imagine Jesus yelling out, "Hey!  You two!  In the boat!"

Two scraggly heads of hair poke up, and Andrew probably tells Simon, "Be careful!  Don't drop the net!  You know how much this cost?" 

"You want to fish for people?  Follow me!"

Simon to Andrew:  "Grab an oar, brother!  I'm in!"

Andrew:  "Me, too!" 

The water splashes as the oars churn up the surface.

A little farther down the shore, they run into two more men, James and John, the sons of Zebedee.  And since they were all fishermen, they probably all knew each other.

"Simon!  Andrew!  Who's your new buddy?"
"I'm Jesus.  You want to fish for people?  Follow me!"
James and John, probably also with scraggly hair and wet clothes, look at each other.  James wrinkles up his nose at the smell of fish, then says, "Let's go!"

They leap over the side of the boat and wade to shore, while Zebedee yells after them, "Hey!  Where are you two going?  You can't make a living by fishing for people?  And what does that mean, anyway, 'fishing for people'?  Come back here!"

Okay, my account of the scene is probably rather irreverent.  But what makes four men leave their boats behind -- what makes four men leave behind a secure job, leave behind their father, leave behind the life they'd known and been trained for to follow a man who promised to teach them how to fish for people? 

I wonder if Mark's audience thought, "They did what?  And why?  Let's keep reading."

Jesus and his disciples show up next in Capernaum, and on the Sabbath, Jesus goes into the synagogue and starts teaching.  And apparently he's no ordinary teacher.  "He taught as one who had authority, not as the teachers of the law."  In Greek, Jesus taught as one who had exousian, from the Greek exousia.  As used in v. 22, it means, "physical and mental power; the ability or strength with which one is endued, which he either possesses or exercises".

What in the world did Jesus have that the teachers of the law didn't?  What did Jesus have that amazed his hearers?  And how could they tell Jesus had it?  

Maybe they knew it when they heard the shriek in the synagogue:  "What do you want with us, Jesus of Nazareth?  Have you come to destroy us?  I know who you are--the Holy One of God!"

Picture this:  Jesus sitting in the "seat of the law", giving his lesson, when somewhere out of the blue, no warning, you hear a shout.  I don't know about you, but if I heard, "What do you want with us?  Have you come to destroy us?"  I'd be worried.  And when he screamed out, "You're the Holy One of God!" I'd either think the screamer was nuts or I'd be scared to death of Jesus.

Jesus' answer (my paraphrase):  "Shut up and get out of him!"

Which the spirit did, leaving with a scream.  The man lays huddled on the floor, maybe curled in a ball, with the crowd in the synagogue probably being afraid to get near him.  And they're all looking at each other, asking, "What's going on?  This guy has . . . authority!  He even tells impure spirits to leave and they do!"

The Twitter feed explodes and the video is posted on YouTube.  Or perhaps it was livestreamed on Facebook.  Well, at least, the 1st century version of Facebook.  Because "news about him spread quickly over the whole region of Galilee."  When someone orders an impure spirit out a man, and it goes, and you see it happen  . . . 

The best advertising is word of mouth, and the word of mouth--the Galilean grapevine--goes into effect.  "You heard about this guy Jesus?"

In the wake of the excitement at the synagogue, Jesus goes home with Simon and Andrew, and James and John come along. I wonder how long it took them to get home, with people pointing at Jesus, saying, "He's the one!  He cast out the impure spirit!"  Is it possible that he fought a crowd of fanboys to get to Simon and Andrew's house?  

And when they show up at Simon's house . . . they find Simon's mother-in-law ill with a fever.  I wonder if Simon mentioned her while they were on the road.  Did Simon think, hmm, if Jesus can throw out that unclean spirit, can he make my mother-in-law well?  (And since Mark calls her "Simon's mother-in-law" that also tells us that Simon had a wife.  What did they think of Simon's friend Jesus, who caused him to abandon his profession in order to do this crazy new job of "fishing for people"?)

Jesus' response was to not just tell the fever to "get out of here", but to go to her, take her hand, and help her up.  This is a doctor with a compassionate bedside manner.  I cannot see Jesus jerking this woman out of bed.  Rather, I see him saying, "Here, let me help you up." 

Can you see the reaction when she realizes she's well? 

I had a fever on the Fourth of July.  I felt awful.  All I wanted to do was lie in bed and sleep, and the last thing on my mind was to make dinner for everyone.  If I had to get up, I was just waiting to get back into bed.

But when Simon's mother-in-law got up, she knew she was well.  In fact, her first response was to wait on them. "Slow down!  You just got out of bed!" "But I feel great!"  And she probably wanted to show her gratitude to the man who made her well.

The Galilean grapevine, already humming with the news of Jesus, this man who taught with authority and drove out an impure spirit, went into overdrive.  "Not only did he handle that impure spirit, he healed Simon's mother-in-law!"

So that evening, after sunset (in other words, after the Jewish Sabbath was over), Jesus heard the murmurs outside and poked his head out to see a crowd filled with people ill and demon-possessed.  Imagine the E.R. on Chicago Med.  People lying on homemade stretchers, or being supported by someone as they tried to walk.  The hands of the blind groping out towards Jesus.  People seizing or foaming at the mouth, screaming.

Mark says that "the whole town gathered at the door" and that Jesus healed "many who had various diseases".   You had the blind shouting, "I can see!  I can see!"  Or a deaf man jumping at the sound of the crowd, then realizing he could hear.  The lame jumping off their homemade stretcher and maybe breaking it in half.

And then you had the demons; the ones who knew exactly who it was they were dealing with.  "Hey, you're -- " the rest of the sentence being cut off as Jesus orders them out of their host.  He wouldn't let them talk, Mark says, because, "they knew who he was".  

So if he was the Son of God, the Messiah, and people had been waiting hundreds of years for him . . . why doesn't he let the demons speak?  "I don't want your PR.  I don't need your PR.  I'm the Son of God, and I'm the one that gets to decide the time and the place when I tell people.  No one manipulates me into doing anything before my time."  

So after the whole town comes to the door, and Jesus spends the evening healing people, he goes to bed.  Finally.  And then he gets up before sunrise, and goes off to a solitary place, and prays.  Who knows how much sleep he got the previous night? 

And when Simon and "his companions" (probably John, James, and Andrew) came looking for him, and say that "everyone's looking for you?"  he says . . .what?

"Let's go somewhere else so I can preach.  That's why I came."

What?  You don't go back?  You don't make a public appearance on demand? 

No, apparently Jesus will not be manipulated.  His mission is not to hang around one place. So he moved on.  And he continued to travel throughout Galilee, preaching and driving out demons.

And while on his travels, he met a man with leprosy.  The man begged, "If you're willing, you can make me clean."

In the most recent translation, it says that Jesus was "indignant".  I don't understand why they used this word.  To me "indignant" sounds like "Jesus was offended," like, "What do you mean, 'if I am willing?'" said in a huff.  The word here is splagchnizomai, meaning literally, "to be moved in the inward parts"  He was moved.  The suffering of others affected him.  Jesus was not above it all.  

He told the man, "Be clean!" and immediately, the man was clean. 

But when Jesus ordered him, "Don't tell anyone but go to the temple and offer the sacrifices Moses commanded," he went out and started talking about what Jesus did.  The result?  "Jesus could no longer enter a town openly but stayed outside in lonely places," . . . and yet, the people still came to him from everywhere.

I sometimes wonder if Jesus felt like our modern celebrities feel at times.  He couldn't go anywhere without being bothered.  Everyone wanted a piece of him.  Everyone wanted a favor.  Oprah would have wanted him on her show.  Barbara Walters would have begged for an interview.  Or Anderson Cooper.  TMZ would have their nightly "Jesus sightings".  Producers would have wanted to follow him around with cameras, maybe pitched a reality show idea to him.     

At the close of this first chapter of Mark, we have a man in demand.  We know he can heal.  We know he can cast out demons.  We know is a preacher.  We see him going from town to town.  We see a man with authority.  We also see a man who will set the time and the place where he will reveal that he is the Son of God.  Jesus, the man, will not be manipulated.  He can be moved, like the man with leprosy moved him, but he will not be manipulated.

Thus ends Mark, Chapter 1.

Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.

Oh, who made the hairbrush?

Apparently, asking the question, "Who invented the hairbrush?" is now considered racist.

I recently posted a meme listing the names of black inventors, what they invented, and the date they invented it.  One of the names on that list is a Lydia O. Newman, who allegedly invented the hairbrush in 1898.

The first comment that followed came from Person A, who said, "The hairbrush as we know it was 'invented' (or modernized) in 1777, in England."

I thought, Hmm, I wonder if she invented a particular type of hairbrush.

Another item on the list was the door stop, allegedly invented by Osbourn Dorsey in 1878.

Person A commented, "Door stops also go back to the 1770's, so what is the door stop on this list?"

The next comment came from Person B:  "Wow, do you have any reason to be so dismissive of the achievements of African-American inventors other than racism?"

I was floored.  I happen to be acquainted with Person A.  Person A is white.  He is also Jewish.  If he's racist, he's hidden it well from me.  Person B is a white female I'm only acquainted with through FB, and who does not know Person A. 

I said, "Um, this person is a friend of mine.  I'd be careful before you accuse him of being racist."

Person B:  "His comment was racist."

Person B went on to say, "He can find by Googling that patents were issued for the items on the list.  Attempting to dismiss them as not being inventions in racist."

I told Person B that Person A was a friend of mine; she didn't know him, I did.

And then I told her, "STOP. NOW.   I don't appreciate your name calling."

Person C, an African-American male who I'm also acquainted with, and who Person A is also acquainted with, then joined the conversation with:  "The comment did come off dismissive.  I can't speak to intent although I can't see [Person A] intentionally meaning it that way."

In response to Person A's question of "how did it come off as dismissive?", Person C explained:  "When the first comment that follows a post about African American achievements is a statement about how they didn't do what was posted, it leaves the impression that the achievement didn't really happen and that it's giving credit for something that African Americans didn't actually do.  I don't think you [meaning Person A] meant it in that way, but that is the taste left in the mouth.  It follows the history in this country of demeaning and dismissing achievements by anyone who has dark skin . .. to say we've not contributed anything to the success of this country."

Person D, a white woman who isn't acquainted with Person A, B, or C, added,  "Take a deep breath and maybe get a glass of wine . . . step away from deep thinking . . . NOT everything is racist or meant to be racist."

Person D added a few comments later:  "Then carry on with the baragge [sic] of keeping racism alive and well and to the forefront . . . MLK will be turning over in his grave because we have stepped waaay back since the civil rights movement . . . meanwhile no one seems to have a problem with murdering babies . . . But since it's black history month . . . lets [sic] drum up racism instead of celebrating the amazing things that people actually contributed . . ."

Person C responded with:  "You are deflecting.  Murdered babies aren't apart [sic] of this discussion.  You need to focus."

I responded to Person D with:  "I happen to know [Person C].  He's African-American, a friend of mine I know from college, and I happen to think he's raised a good point that we need to think about."

Later, I told Person D, "STOP.  These are friends of mine who have differing perspectives and I think they need to be heard."'

All of this over the question of "who invented the hairbrush?"! 

(At this point, I'm stifling the urge to break into, "Oh, Where Is My Hairbrush?" from VeggieTales!)

I can appreciate Person A's comments about "who invented what".  It's important, when we pass around stuff, to know whether or not we're passing around accurate information.  I will need to check if there's inaccurate stuff on that original list I posted.

I can also appreciate Person C's comments.  I don't know what it's like to constantly have my achievements dismissed and denigrated.  I don't know what it's like to have achievements of my race, my culture, my group of people constantly dismissed or mocked or made fun of.  I can't speak from that perspective.  Person C can.

I also have "history" (borrowing a quote from Person C) with Person A and Person C.  That helped in the conversation.  I could listen a lot better to Person C because I have a "history" with him.  Person C also didn't come in automatically assuming and accusing someone of "racism".

I can handle a discussion.  What I resent are the automatic accusations of racism AND the automatic accusation of "you think everything is racist".

Person B has unfriended me on Facebook.  There's a sense in which I'm sorry, because I genuinely like her. On the other hand, that was her choice, and I'm not sorry for standing up for my friends.

And oh, to answer the question of "who invented the hairbrush?"

I did a quick Wikipedia search and found this article about Lyda D. Newman.  While she didn't invent the hairbrush, as in, she was the first person to create it; she did invent a hairbrush that could be taken apart and easily cleaned.  She was awarded US Patent No. 614,335 on November 15, 1898.

So I was right.  It was a specific type of hairbrush that she invented.

Now that I've settled that, I may go to work on the doorstop.

In the meantime, if you want to have a conversation about African-American history, achievements, etc. go right ahead.

But if you call me or any of my friends racist, you had better be prepared to back that accusation up with some serious proof.  Otherwise, I will call you out on it.

Because "who made the hairbrush?" shouldn't necessarily devolve into an accusation of "you're racist."

Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.

Blackface apology

Back in 1982, I went to a church Halloween party.  I had just turned 19, I was in college at FSU, and the guy I went with was also an FSU student about the same age.  He and I both went to the same church.  When we got together to talk about our costumes, he suggested that we go as Raggedy Ann and Andy.  I have red hair, so it was a good idea for a costume.

When other people would ask what we were going as, I would tell them, "Oh, Raggedy Ann and Andy," and they'd say something like, "How cute!"

The night came, and we showed up as Raggedy Ann and Andy.

A black Raggedy Ann and Andy.

My date had the idea that it would funny to tell everyone that we were going as Raggedy Ann and Andy and show up as a black Raggedy Ann and Andy, and I went along with it.  I think a couple of other people knew what we were going to do also.  We had shoe polish and we put it all over our skin, including our faces.  In fact, when we arrived, my date came down the hill from the parking lot with a boom box on his shoulder.   I even remember that the song playing on the boom box was Toto's "Africa".

Everyone laughed, and we had a good time.

Back then, I had never heard of the term "blackface".  And although I may have been slightly familiar with the term "minstrel show", I had no idea that it was considered controversial; that it, according to Wikipedia,  "lampooned black people as dim-witted, lazy, buffoonish, superstitious, and happy-go-lucky."

It was years before I realized that what we had done was Raggedy Ann and Andy in blackface.  And unfortunately, it took longer before I realized exactly how offensive that could be. (Incidentally, the church I attended was racially mixed.  Our campus minister at the time was African-American, and he never said anything to me about my costume.  No one else did, either.)

I've thought about this in light of a photo that's recently come to light in Virginia governor Ralph Northam's 1984 medical school yearbook (two years after the party I attended), of two people, one dressed in blackface and the other in the robes and hood of the Ku Klux Klan.  Northam first apologized and said that he was in the photograph, "in a costume that is clearly racist and offensive", then said he wasn't sure if he was either person, and now says that he's not either person, even though he did once darken his face for a Michael Jackson dance contest.

Because of that photograph, people are now calling for his resignation as governor.  The photo inflamed feelings that were already riled up about his comments concerning late-term abortion.  (I'm not discussing that particular issue in this blog entry because, frankly, I'm worn out from the recent abortion wars and I don't want to get into it here.)

I don't know what these people were thinking, but even in 1984 Virginia, you had to know that dressing up as a member of the Klan was not cool!!

(Side note:  Governor Northam said that he only put a little bit of shoe polish on his face because "you can't get that stuff off."  Gee, I seemed to have no trouble with getting shoe polish off of my face. <sarcasm font.>)

I don't know what Ralph Northam may or may not have been thinking.

But here's what I have to say about my very brief experience with blackface:

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry I dressed in a way that has been used to mock and make fun of African-Americans.

And although I can honestly say that my intention was not racist, that my intention was not to make fun of African-Americans, I can absolutely see that that costume would be offensive.  This is not something I would do today.  Nor would I encourage anyone else to do it.

If you were at that party in 1982, I'm sorry for my costume.

If you were an African-American at that party in 1982 and you saw me in that costume, I'm sorry I wore it.  I'm sorry if you were hurt, and I'm sorry that I was the one who was the agent of that hurt.

I'm especially sorry if you saw me in that costume, and you were offended and hurt, and didn't feel like you could say anything to me.  To be honest, if you had at that time, I probably would not have understood why my costume was so offensive to you.  Just because no one ever said anything to me doesn't mean that you shouldn't have been hurt or offended.

At 19, I was young and stupid, and I hope I've learned better about what can be -- and often is -- offensive to others.   I don't want to be a racist.  I don't want to be deliberately offensive to people.  I don't want to be unkind and uncaring.

Should the governor of Virginia resign his office over a photograph?  I really don't know.

But an apology over my blackface costume in October of 1982?

That, I can do.

Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.

Life sucks, but . . .

Let's face it, guys:  Life sucks.

I had an appointment with my counselor yesterday, and at the end, I said that right now, certain parts of my life just plain sucked.

Government shutdown?  Sucks.
Kid with autism?  Sucks.  (The kid doesn't suck, but dealing with autism day in and day out?  Sucks.)
Financial concerns?  Sucks.
Current events?  Sucks.

On the way to my car, I thought, Jesus' life sucked, too.

I mean, think about it.

No home of his own, sleeping on the ground, persecuted, criticized, betrayed by a friend and abandoned by the rest of them, convicted and executed for things he never did.

Sucks.

And that was when the following verse dropped into my mind:

"In this world you will have trouble.  But take heart!  I have overcome the world."  (John 16:33, NIV)

I thought, That's it.  That is how you deal with the fact that life sucks.

"In this world you will have trouble."

Translation:  Life sucks.

Jesus never said that life would not suck.  Life is going to suck.  Period.  If it sucked for Jesus, the holy Son of God, it is going to suck for us.  Period.

"But take heart!"

You can translate that as "be brave, take courage, be courageous, etc."

Why?  If life sucks, and it sucked even for Jesus, why be brave?  Why can we have courage, take courage?

"I have overcome the world."

I have overcome.

Not, "I will," but "I have."

Jesus said all of this before the garden of Gethsemane, before he heard the muttering of the soldiers coming for him, before the torches lit up the trees, before Peter swung his sword and cut off Malchus' ear.

"I have overcome the world."

I wonder how many times he thought this while he was being marched towards Pilate, standing on trial, listening to everyone accusing him, lying about him, while the whip cut into his back and sprayed blood and bits of skin and bone on the ground.

My Merriam-Webster dictionary app defines "overcome" as a transitive verb meaning "to get the better of".  When I read that definition, I don't see a shiny Jesus holding up his hand and saying in this holy-sounding voice, "Take heard, I have overcome the world."

No, it's a Jesus that says, "Ha!  Gotcha!  I have overcome!  Yeah, things suck and they're going to suck, but guess what?  I'm the Son of God and I have gotten the better of things.  I win!"  Not an, "na-na-na-na-na-pfffth", but, "I win!  No one has gotten the better of me; I have gotten the better of the world.  Ha!"

John 16:33 isn't going to solve our financial problems.  It won't miraculously reopen the government or make autism easier to deal with.  But maybe, just maybe, it will put a new spin on the outlook that I have.

"I have overcome."

He has overcome.

He got the better of the world, and so will we.

Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.