The Ghosts of Your Social Mistakes

Lillian Eichler Watson was a copywriter in the early decades of the twentieth century who asked, “Are you haunted by the ghosts of YOUR social mistakes?” Well known in her time for her rewrite of The Book of Etiquette, she also wrote The Book of Conversation, Volumes 1 and 2.She provided guidance for polite conversation: “Politics and religion are dangerous subjects, for they may cause ill feeling even in the most cultivated company.” 

As I remember the Christmas dinners of my childhood, Lillian’s counsel was seldom heeded, much to my Aunt Florence’s chagrin. Our extended family crowded into the Harris dining room, and somewhere between the ham and the chiffon cake, conversation began to get heated, helped along by what I later understood to be liberal splashes of alcohol. Politics, religion, the Buffalo Bills, economic woes, the Vietnam War, the hippies and draft-dodgers who were sending the country to hell in a handbasket – no topic seemed off-limits. My siblings and I were the youngest of the cousins, and as I got older, I prided myself on being able to follow the dialogue and even contributing my opinion from time to time. I doubt we came to consensus, but the conversation provided some great dramatic moments before Aunt Florence chased us all into the living room to sing of peace on earth, goodwill to men.

Fast forward to the end of 2019, and many people were dreading the conversations around the dining room table during holiday gatherings. Saturday Night Live offered glimpses of what it might look like if the “I” topic was raised, with Chris Redd’s character warning: “Dad, c’mon, you’re going to rile everyone up.” When Kenan Thompson began to talk about Bad Boys III, Redd responded that he’d rather talk about politics instead!

For those needing help in preparing for those potential discussions, a website was launched on Christmas Eve to provide talking points for winning arguments with “that liberal snowflake relative.” Not sure what’s out there from the other side, but there’s probably something. 

To add more fuel to the politics/religion fire, Mark Galli, the long-time editor-in-chief of Christianity Today, published an editorial that drew so much attention that it crashed the CT website for a time. The responses were immediate, some relieved that a prominent Christian magazine was finally speaking out about the moral character of leadership, while others pointed fingers of judgment at Galli and CT for being “a progressive rag.” Jerry Falwell Jr. (Liberty University) argued that if Jesus lived today, the elitist liberal wing of evangelicalism that CT supposedly represents would call him “a smelly Walmart shopper.” Huh?

CT’s president, Timothy Dalrymple, later wrote to explain why the editor-in-chief spoke out, and why the conversation must continue as a “flag in the whirlwind.” I don’t think Dalrymple was making a connection with Frank Herbert, the author of the science fiction favorite Dune, but CT has definitely experienced what Herbert described: “When religion and politics ride in the same cart, the whirlwind follows.”  

Dalrymple asked an important question, no matter what decade. “With profound love and respect, we ask our brothers and sisters in Christ to consider whether they have given to Caesar what belongs only to God: their unconditional loyalty.” He was also clear in his hope for the days ahead: “We at Christianity Today believe we need to relearn the art of balancing two things: having a firm opinion and inviting free discussion. We need, in other words, both a flag and a table.”

Author Julianna Baggott believes “that one of the most damning things about our culture is the adage to never talk religion and politics. Because we don’t model this discourse at the dinner table and at Thanksgiving, we don’t know how to do it well and we’re not teaching our children about the world and about how to discuss it.” 

Christmas dinner 2019 is history, but 2020 will bring new opportunities to consider faith and how it intersects with the governance of our community and country. Galli’s words provide a compass: “Remember who you are and whom you serve.” Dinner, anyone?

Ripples of the Kind Heart

It’s been fifty years since a teenage girl accepted a position as the pianist for The Salvation Army in Tonawanda, New York. By the following December, I was learning the ropes of bell-ringing at the Army kettle outside Twin Fair in the throes of a Western New York winter. And the rest, they say, is history – or, in this case, her-story.

Christmas in The Salvation Army combines a focused fund-raising emphasis, a response to community need through the distribution of thousands of gifts to children and their families, and the desire to provide meaningful worship experiences as well as ministry opportunities to volunteers who come alongside in such generous ways during the season. It is an exhausting work to facilitate, yet is a beautiful thing to witness, especially when you’re no longer in charge of the entire mission. Retirement is good!

Others have similar experiences of long hours of seasonal work.The big box stores are open now with extended hours, and customers who think nothing of leaving a trail of unwanted items in their wake. Small businesses depend on holiday sales to carry them through the lean winter months, and many proprieters whisper a prayer that the next customer will put them over their goal for the day. Sellers of Christmas trees work long, frigid hours in hopes they estimated the right number of trees for the season, knowing their product will have no value after December 24.

While those in retail will close for Christmas day and then will be back at it for Boxing Day sales and the dreaded returns line, The Salvation Army worker and the Christmas tree seller will be able to “close the book” on Christmas 2019 by the 24th, packing away the kettles and bells for the next season, and abandoning the remaining trees to the chipper.

One night, many years ago, one of those abandoned trees found renewed life. The story goes something like this. Friends of ours had been serving those who depended on the Salvation Army’s help in Manhattan, a herculean task, and by Christmas Eve, they still hadn’t gotten their own family tree. Finally turning out the lights and locking the doors, Bill headed towards the Christmas tree stand set up in a corner of his regular parking lot. For weeks, the lot attendants did double duty, collecting parking fees and selling Christmas trees as they warmed their hands over the fire burning in the rusty barrel. On this dark evening, the glittering lights were dimmed, and only a handful of trees remained, most of the Charlie Brown variety. “I’ll take that one,” Bill said, pointing to the best-looking one of the rejects. Handing over his money, with a tip for the chilled seller, he headed home, relieved to have found a tree.

Returning to the City after the holidays, Bill chatted with the parking lot owner. “I’m so glad you kept the stand open late on Christmas Eve. If you hadn’t, I’d still be in trouble with my wife.” The owner looked surprised. “We closed at 3 p.m. on Christmas Eve,” he said. Apparently one of the street people who frequented that neighborhood was staying warm over the fire, and became the recipient of our friend’s largess. Even without knowing it, Bill had blessed another. 

Through my Salvation Army work over the last fifty years, I have watched with awe as people have blessed other people in these late December days, sometimes without even knowing it. A quarter – or a twenty – in the kettle, a gift in the Toys for Tots bin, a hand-knitted scarf, the packing of a food basket, a kind word, a welcome embrace, a story heard, a burden lifted: these blessings have been extended from churches and union halls, school corridors and cavernous warehouses, and in both prosperous and struggling communities, neighborhoods and homes. 

I love this image from Amit Ray: “The ripples of the kind heart are the highest blessings of the universe.” This Christmas, I’m picturing those ripples forming powerful waves of compassion across a dry and weary land, not just for a few days in December, but as we choose daily to bless another. A blessed Christmas to you.

A Christmas Hallelujah!

The Ashland County Mental Health and Recovery Board has been sharing words of wisdom for the holiday season. Their #1 hint? “It’s important to take the pressure off of yourself so you can focus on enjoying your time with friends and family. Don’t set high expectations, because you may be let down if the holidays aren’t ‘perfect.’”

I’ve always been a “let’s make a memory” person when it comes to Christmas, often with high expectations for family togetherness. With two young boys, we traveled to camp where Christmas trees were available – all we had to do was cut them down and transport them. After one of those trips, I memorably cut the top off our tree and then salvaged it with the help of duct tape. One year we invited four other preschool families to our home for a cookie decorating party, cutting out cookies on the kitchen table and decorating them in the dining room. That was a remarkable afternoon.

The year we acquired the Kroc Center property, we strolled the streets around Cook Field, caroling and distributing cookies to our new neighbors. For our first (daytime) Christmas parade in Ashland, I handed out bells to a group of a dozen kids, promoting the Christmas Kettle Campaign of The Salvation Army. What was I thinking?

By the time I had grandchildren, I was stoked. We were going to make amazing memories together at Christmas if it killed me! We’ve created ornaments, decorated cookies, toured the Christmas lights, visited Santa, shopped at the dollar store for mom and dad, and even decorated a gingerbread house or two.

With a free evening beckoning last week, I picked up the lovely Madelyn Simone (9) and the delightful and determined Elizabeth Holiday (4) for some memory-making Christmas fun, no babies allowed. We’d make gingerbread houses and Rice Krispie treats shaped into candy canes. They could help me put up decorations, and we’d eat supper at our house before it was time for Madelyn’s dance lesson. What a wonderful evening we would have together. 

Well . . . As we opened the gingerbread house kits, the first hint of trouble came as Lizzie prepared to take a big bite out of the roof. “No, don’t eat that, Lizzie,” I quickly said. Within minutes, frosting was coming out both ends of Madelyn’s frosting bag, while Lizzie was methodically eating the candy dog bones that were to decorate her gingerbread dog house. We managed to get the sides of the houses to stand up, and Lizzie stuck the candy dog on her doghouse door, only to eat that as well when my back was turned. While their creations looked nothing like the images on the boxes, at least the gingerbread didn’t break.

I put the butter and marshmallows in the pan for our second project, and as I turned around, there was Lizzie, having shed her clothing, ready to take a bath – not on my agenda, but OK, what could it hurt? I ran the water, got her settled, and by the time I returned to the kitchen, it was smoky and the marshmallows were toast. What an Epic Fail of a night. 

Time for Plan B. How about a Christmas light tour and the mall food court for Chinese? Even though it wasn’t what I planned, nor was it what I expected, I will always remember the look of wonder on Elizabeth’s face, as each display brought an exuberant “O my goodness,” “Wow,” or my favorite, “Hallelujah!” Sweet and sour chicken and lo mein never tasted so good. 

It’s good to plan. As Yogi Berra said, “If you don’t know where you are going, you’ll end up someplace else.” Yet especially at Christmas, the “someplace else” may just create its own “Hallelujah” memory.

I haven’t made cut-out Christmas cookies yet this year. I wonder what kind of memories we could make with all the grandkids? I’ll send Larry to a movie, Madelyn has experience with frosting, Lizzie can be in charge of candy decorations, and with a bit of help, maybe the babies can sit in their high chairs and sprinkle colored sugar. I can’t wait – Merry Christmas and Hallelujah!

Tarnishing a Reputation

As a regular contributor to an international publication for our denomination, I was chatting with the editor when he told me, “You do know that some readers see you as ‘that radical woman.’” No, I didn’t know I’d earned that label, but after sitting with it for a while, I rather liked its ring. I was working hard to find my voice as a woman amid a preponderance of male authors, so the female part fit. As for “radical,” the word’s etymology is “from the root,” and given the transformative nature of the early work of my denomination, I took that as a compliment, even if it wasn’t meant as such.

Apparently I had gained a reputation for stirring the pot. I’ve done that from time to time on the pages of the T-G too, nudging my readers to look at social issues from a slightly different perspective than they may have before. One example was writing about the face of homelessness as a woman and her child whose entire belongings were contained in two black garbage bags. It’s been suggested I stick with feel-good grandbaby columns, but I just can’t every week – I’ve got to live up to “that radical woman” calling.

A reputation is understood to be the beliefs and opinions that are generally held about someone. Mr. Rogers had a reputation for kindness. Mother Teresa is remembered for her compassion. In one split second, Miles Garrett went from stellar defensive end to a helmet-swinger. Monica Lewinsky? In refusing to sign an autograph, she said, “I’m kind of known for something that’s not so great to be known for.” No matter what else she does in life, her name will be forever linked with what happened in the Oval Office when she was twenty-two. As Joseph Hall concludes, “A reputation once broken may possibly be repaired, but the world will always keep their eyes on the spot where the crack was.”

I remember sitting in the kitchen of my childhood with newspapers spread across the table, the chest of the ‘good’ silverware open before me. A soft cloth in hand, I’d dip into the odorous pink cream, using elbow grease to remove the tarnish from the blackened knives and forks. We use the same word about reputations, suggesting that someone’s reputation has been tarnished. 

During the House Intelligence Committee’s hearings, Rep. Devin Nunes used another image, warning that the day’s session would “smear” the reputation of Ambassador Soundland. Hearing his words, my first thought was of  grape jelly, but it fits for reputations as well.

Tarnish can be removed, and sticky jelly can be washed off, but reputations can also be ruined forever. Like toothpaste, once it’s squeezed out of the tube, it can never be fully restored, whether that sullied reputation is based upon facts or upon rumors and innuendos.

In recent weeks, the American public has learned of a woman waking to the nightmare of a tarnished, if not ruined reputation. She spoke of her painful experience during the same congressional hearings in which Nunes spoke of a smeared reputation. Former Ukrainian Ambassador Marie Yuvanovich has been a long-term employee of the State Department who, by her own report, has moved thirteen times and served in seven different countries, five of them hardship posts. While serving in Ukraine, she was removed abruptly, told by Deputy Secretary of State Sullivan there had been a concerted campaign against her. Even though the State Department fully understood the allegations against Yuvanovich “were false and the sources highly suspect,” it is likely she will be remembered by history for the circumstances of her removal, not for having served “capably and admirably” for thirty-three years as Sullivan noted. For her sake, I hope this isn’t the end of her story.

Abraham Lincoln said: “Character is like a tree and reputation like a shadow. The shadow is what we think of it; the tree is the real thing.” Perhaps in the midst of all that is shaking around us in these days, we can look more carefully at the tree, its roots and its fruit, rather than the imperfect and faint representation that a shadow can convey.