Influence

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.