160 years ago slavery, and the overt racism behind it, was justified on the basis of the economy. And violence against those who would change it was justified. The Bible was used to justify it.
Not much has changed. We have a president who, while claiming he is not racist, lambasts the country with one racist thing after another. David Duke and other white supremacists see this. They love it. People who are Muslim, or Hispanic, or Black feel this. Crowds at political rallies chant "Send them back!". Racist. By the way, sending minorities back to their country of origin is a central theme of the Aryan Nations. White, Christian, Nationalism is just a contemporary manifestation of the basic tenets of the white supremacist agenda. The Church of Jesus Christ Christian is what the Aryan Nations under Richard Butler belonged to. As a country we should abhor all this, reject it, and work to overcome it. Racism has no place in a free society. Racism is sinful. White Christian Nationalism, if it is not checked, may well destroy both the Church and the Nation. It is that contrary to both democracy and freedom, as well as the message of Jesus Christ.
But the economy is good.
The economy was good for slave owners in the South. It did not justify slavery. Hitler's rise to power in Germany was closely associated with economic recovery from the Great Depression and the consequences of the Treaty of Versailles. Bottom line was that Hitler was 'good for the economy'. That hardly justified the Holocaust.
Two things are reprehensible about the current state of affairs. That otherwise good people will continue to support Trump, in spite of his racists attacks, is one of them. That otherwise good people will oppose any effort to control access to guns as a means of responding to the myriad of mass shootings in our country is another. And in the most recent shooting in El Paso the two issues are married together.
But the economy is good. And we like to collect guns. So to hell with the loss of life. We're content to send our "thoughts and prayers". I can't help but believe that God despises our 'thoughts and prayers'.
But the economy is good.
Except if you're a farmer or any other of the people affected by Trump's trade wars.
But we don't much care about other people's economic plight. The economy wasn't good for the slaves in the South. Just the plantation owners.
There is no moral justification for racism. There is no moral justification for callused indifference to the loss of human life. There is no moral justification for caring more for the economy than the lives and well being of human beings. No Justification. None.
I struggle with how to respond. I live in North Idaho. Trump is popular here. Racism is common place. Guns are BIG. I tend to politely, quietly, often silently, disagree. And in doing so I'm part of the problem.
I have to work with these people, whether in the cabinet shop or when I reopen my own business. And I hesitate to address the issue head on in my preaching or teaching at church, lest the offerings tank.
But economic considerations are no justification for doing nothing.
I can become politically active. The struggle is that in Idaho, my voice is drowned out by the vast majority in this redder than red state. My vote counts not at all, except as a protest. And there is a reason white supremacists have chosen to settle here: racism is widely accepted in this predominantly white society.
But at least the economy is good.
Showing posts with label guns. Show all posts
Showing posts with label guns. Show all posts
Sunday, August 4, 2019
Thursday, March 8, 2018
There but for the grace of God. . .
It pains me everytime that the issue of mental illness comes up with regards to a shooter in a violent crime. This last week it hit close to home, literally, as a gunman opened fire on two officers just a few blocks from our home. The officers were both struck twice, though will recover fully. The gunman was killed in the exchange of fire.
It is reported that he was a depressed and deeply troubled young man. He had gotten ahold of his grandfather's gun, and his erratic behavior raised the concern of his family, who called 911. The arrival of the law enforcement officers triggered a flurry of gunfire. Two wounded. One dead. Its not the way interventions are supposed to go.
My psychologist related yesterday that law enforcement personnel frequently intervene in such situations, and the vast majority of times are able to successfully bring in the person for treatment.
And yet I do find myself wondering if it wouldn't be better to respond first with EMTs or some other personnel than uniformed (and armed) police officers. I am convinced that in some situations the mere presence of law enforcement can escalate a situation to the point where everything is out of control.
This much I know from my personal experience. Brain chemistry matters. And alcohol is certainly no help.
And probably most concerning of all is the reality that there is often an anger lying deep within one who has struggled with mental illness. "Depression is anger turned inward." is one statement I've heard. The isolation one experiences during mental illness, the lack of understanding, perceived or real, and the sense that it's "me against the world" can all lead to a deep well of anger within.
Rage. A violent uncontrolled anger. I've felt it. I've struggled against it. And in my darkest moment I nearly died trying to drowned it in a bottle of Scotch. That night in particular, in the midst of all the ugliness and rage, grace abounded. Karla kept her distance, yet didn't abandon me though she had every reason to. A moment of sanity during a prior episode of drinking a few months earlier had resulted in my requesting my dearest friends to remove the guns from my home.
Rage is never the result of an isolated incident. A lifetime of internalizing emotions, of seeking to silence the beast, results in a pressure cooker welling up inside one's soul. It was only a matter of time. My best friend was also my worst enemy. I had been guilty of trying to drink the anger away for too long, because it never goes away. And yet when you feel that rage within you are frightened. There's not much one can do to remedy it, except for 'nature's cure' as I called it.
What would have happened had those nearest and dearest to me called in the wrong type of help in that moment? It felt as though the whole world was an adversary, a threat, and that I had to mount my defenses against the onslaught. Desperation. Ironically, my drinking that night, though it nearly killed me, at least rendered me impotent after a while. I went from a raging beast to a passed out drunk. The latter was easier to help, in the end. No police required. Just my wife. Some friends. A bishop. A psychiatrist. And admission the next day to the hospital.
The rage continued for a few more days until I was broken down. God intervened.
I'm deeply concerned about the widespread presence of guns in our society for good, personal reasons. It would have been too easy. It would have been too easy to turn a gun against myself. It would have been too easy to pick up the weapon in a valiant, though insane, effort to defeat the perceived adversaries.
I don't know how I would have responded if I had answered the doorbell, packing heat, and discovered the police outside. I simply don't know. A raging bull is hard to predict.
What I do know is that I needed medical and psychiatric intervention, in addition to chemical dependency treatment. . . and I needed it now. I had been calling for help. My bishop was the one who had first responded, actually, the day before. I wish I had calmed down then, but the crisis did not abate at that point.
In hindsight, one of the things that still amazes me is the amount of time a psychiatrist in Seattle gave the following day as he arranged for my admission to a treatment center. I had seen him previously so I was a patient. But clearly he recognized that this was not a time to schedule a future appointment. The healthcare system did not fail me during that moment. I got the help I needed, even though I didn't fully want it.
Back to our shooter. He didn't. A gun. Two police officers who he obviously thought a threat to him. Two wounded, and one dead.
There but for the grace of God, go I. There but for the grace of God, go I.
It didn't have to end like that. In my case, a different script played out. Would that it was always so. Would that it was always so.
It is reported that he was a depressed and deeply troubled young man. He had gotten ahold of his grandfather's gun, and his erratic behavior raised the concern of his family, who called 911. The arrival of the law enforcement officers triggered a flurry of gunfire. Two wounded. One dead. Its not the way interventions are supposed to go.
My psychologist related yesterday that law enforcement personnel frequently intervene in such situations, and the vast majority of times are able to successfully bring in the person for treatment.
And yet I do find myself wondering if it wouldn't be better to respond first with EMTs or some other personnel than uniformed (and armed) police officers. I am convinced that in some situations the mere presence of law enforcement can escalate a situation to the point where everything is out of control.
This much I know from my personal experience. Brain chemistry matters. And alcohol is certainly no help.
And probably most concerning of all is the reality that there is often an anger lying deep within one who has struggled with mental illness. "Depression is anger turned inward." is one statement I've heard. The isolation one experiences during mental illness, the lack of understanding, perceived or real, and the sense that it's "me against the world" can all lead to a deep well of anger within.
Rage. A violent uncontrolled anger. I've felt it. I've struggled against it. And in my darkest moment I nearly died trying to drowned it in a bottle of Scotch. That night in particular, in the midst of all the ugliness and rage, grace abounded. Karla kept her distance, yet didn't abandon me though she had every reason to. A moment of sanity during a prior episode of drinking a few months earlier had resulted in my requesting my dearest friends to remove the guns from my home.
Rage is never the result of an isolated incident. A lifetime of internalizing emotions, of seeking to silence the beast, results in a pressure cooker welling up inside one's soul. It was only a matter of time. My best friend was also my worst enemy. I had been guilty of trying to drink the anger away for too long, because it never goes away. And yet when you feel that rage within you are frightened. There's not much one can do to remedy it, except for 'nature's cure' as I called it.
What would have happened had those nearest and dearest to me called in the wrong type of help in that moment? It felt as though the whole world was an adversary, a threat, and that I had to mount my defenses against the onslaught. Desperation. Ironically, my drinking that night, though it nearly killed me, at least rendered me impotent after a while. I went from a raging beast to a passed out drunk. The latter was easier to help, in the end. No police required. Just my wife. Some friends. A bishop. A psychiatrist. And admission the next day to the hospital.
The rage continued for a few more days until I was broken down. God intervened.
I'm deeply concerned about the widespread presence of guns in our society for good, personal reasons. It would have been too easy. It would have been too easy to turn a gun against myself. It would have been too easy to pick up the weapon in a valiant, though insane, effort to defeat the perceived adversaries.
I don't know how I would have responded if I had answered the doorbell, packing heat, and discovered the police outside. I simply don't know. A raging bull is hard to predict.
What I do know is that I needed medical and psychiatric intervention, in addition to chemical dependency treatment. . . and I needed it now. I had been calling for help. My bishop was the one who had first responded, actually, the day before. I wish I had calmed down then, but the crisis did not abate at that point.
In hindsight, one of the things that still amazes me is the amount of time a psychiatrist in Seattle gave the following day as he arranged for my admission to a treatment center. I had seen him previously so I was a patient. But clearly he recognized that this was not a time to schedule a future appointment. The healthcare system did not fail me during that moment. I got the help I needed, even though I didn't fully want it.
Back to our shooter. He didn't. A gun. Two police officers who he obviously thought a threat to him. Two wounded, and one dead.
There but for the grace of God, go I. There but for the grace of God, go I.
It didn't have to end like that. In my case, a different script played out. Would that it was always so. Would that it was always so.
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