There’s a strong emphasis on measurable outcomes in
education these days. School systems can lose operating dollars and even
oversight of their district if outcome targets are not met. Individual schools
get graded on their accomplishments according to a formula that varies from
year to year, and teachers can be threatened with job loss if certain outcomes
are not achieved. Recent state report cards brought this response from Columbus
City School spokesperson Scott Varner: “Anytime we get a snapshot, it’s helpful,
as long as we remember it’s a snapshot. We know what the report card doesn’t
show: the steps we’re taking to push further, to raise those rates.”
Varner’s words ring true for school outcomes and also for the
ways we evaluate people. Job reviews don’t paint a full picture of a person’s
work ethic, production, or interactions with other people. On-line dating profiles
conceal a blemish or two, while resumes are written to place the applicant in
the best light possible. And regardless of what tool is used, some factors
aren’t adequately measured on a scale from one to ten.
So how do we measure value in the life of an individual? I
suppose we could take a peek at the balance of a checkbook, read a resume
listing brilliant accomplishments, or count the number of friends on Facebook. However,
these attainments fail to measure the level of influence an individual has on
other people.
For Rev. Dr. Don Rinehart, there is no need for a report
card or list of accomplishments. The overwhelming evidence of this long-time
Ashlander’s influence has been pouring forth since his unexpected death on
Sunday morning. As a beloved Ashland University religion professor for forty
years and a pastor for more than half of those years, the web of Don’s
influence has spread outward from College Avenue literally to the uttermost
parts of the earth.
In recognition of his powerful yet gentle influence, Larry
and I joined a long line of people on Wednesday night, a microcosm of Ashland,
both town and gown. Calling hours, one of our culture’s rituals of grief, provides
an opportunity to do what’s often called “paying our respects,” greeting the
family and mumbling words of comfort when often there are no words to say. We
do it because it is what we do, as two of the church ladies in “Lars and the
Real Girl” explain: “We came over to sit,” said Sally. “That’s what people do
when tragedy strikes,” Hazel affirmed. “They come over, and sit,” repeated
Sally.
Don and his wife Jan have been ardent, even fanatic AU
sports fans for years, and the women’s basketball team came to greet Jan and
the family, followed a bit later by the entire football team. Remembering how
I’ve struggled over the years to get our three sons to wear ties, I was touched
by their presence and their appearance, a testament to the breadth of influence
Don continued to have even in retirement. Jan stood on tiptoe to receive the
embrace of each of the players, and I’m guessing their strength was a comfort
to her.
The lovely Madelyn Simone is quite interested in the
octopus, and as we’ve watched some National Geographic film clips about them,
I’ve learned quite a bit about the inking behavior of the cephalopod. When fleeing
from a predator, the octopus releases a black ink into the water, obscuring his
presence and spreading darkness outward.
I’ve known some people who behave like the octopus. They have
influence, but it spreads in murky, dark waves. Not so Don Rinehart. As AU
president Dr. Carlos Campo noted, Don was “cut from the cloth of light.” Both
“generative and reflective,” his light, the light that originated in his faith
in Christ, has become like stars, and those stars now shine over local neighborhoods
and distant continents.
We can measure all the outcomes we want. But the influence
of life as evidenced in the last few days is immeasurable. The cloth of light
known as Don Rinehart is gone from our midst, but the stars generated from that
light will shine into eternity. That, my friends, is influence.
