Forward, Always

Progress isn’t inevitable.

In fact, if thermodynamics is any indication, progress isn’t even likely. Think about kids playing with blocks. There are million ways those blocks can be scattered about the space, red and green and blue squares and triangles and rectangles and cylinders piled up in happy chaotic heaps or blanketing the carpet, but there are only a few ways that the blocks can be made into a house or a tower or a castle. It’s much more likely, just because there are so many ways that the blocks can be scattered, that you’re going to find them in a mess underfoot. That’s entropy at work—because there are so many more ways to make disorder than order, everything tends toward disorder.

But we as humans tend to buck universal tendencies, don’t we? We like bringing order out of chaos so much that many of our creation myths are based around a powerful being who does just that. And we’ve had some minor success organizing ourselves over the long arc of history. In fits and starts, maybe, with ideas spread across the continents and civilizations, we’ve found our way to ever more complex societies, or, at least, financial systems. We’ve expanded our horizons and with that expansion has come something like control over the world around us. In this one corner of the universe, on this temporary manifestation of particles in the shape of a globe, we’ve found a way to shape and mold the disorder into something new.

Again here, though, we shouldn’t take a historic tendency as a rule that will be followed regardless of our action, nor should we think too highly of our ability and action. It is difficult to find the balance in our thought between “things will work out” and “the universe is ours to control” because neither is exactly true. Forward motion doesn’t happen without a force, so we must always be in the state of perfecting our union or shaping our souls or doing good works for the benefit of those around us, tasks which are best done in humility and with the understanding that they will never be completely accomplished. We are not powerless in the wide sweep of history. For good or bad, the future is shaped at least in part by us. Our actions matter, especially in times of transition and reshaping. Complacency needs to be guarded against in times like these.

Nor do we have control over all the forces that shape our world. We did not teach the Earth how to spin or the tides to rise and fall. When storms roll in, we are at their mercy. When the ground shakes, we are faced with the precariousness of the things we have built. Even our systems, the ways we think and interact and govern, can have unintended or unexpected consequences outside of an individual or a community’s ability to correct or redirect. There is a deep question about the efficacy of human endeavors and the source of human power that I have found life-changing, but its main consequence in my daily life and thought is that I can no longer affirm with Enlightenment zeal that we can do anything. That new understanding is a good thing, I think. It makes me appreciate what we can do, the astounding things we’ve been able to achieve, and to think more critically about the undertakings we place before ourselves.

Calls to thoughtful action don’t ring as loud as they should. They’re not as loud as chants or bullhorns or the mics on press conference podiums. Thoughtfulness comes across as hesitancy, as weakness. And I know it doesn’t help that I haven’t changed my tone or my choice in words for this post, or that I talked about entropy, which sounds like some random science thing that a teacher maybe mentioned to you one time back in high school. I talked about systems and overarching historical forces and all of those terms are shorthand for bigger ideas that changed the way I think and that I want others to know about and think about. I worry that I’ve fallen into the trap of using elite and out-of-reach language without thinking carefully enough about how the reader will take it.

But I also believe in my readers, in all readers, and in all listeners, too. I believe in humans and our abilities. I have faith in the American people as a whole and having that faith means that I can’t sit still. It means that I have to do something. I have to ask questions and encourage people to take a step back and consider all the options. We can all elevate our kindness game and that is a simple enough call. In every situation, we can begin by asking how we can do that. There’s so much more to be done, but that’s a place to start.

And then let’s dig in. Let’s get complex. Let’s think about ideas so big we eventually need to come up with code words for them just so that we can see a clearer picture of the world around us. It’s a journey we can all take together, that we can all agree to take together.

It’ll be some kind of progress.

Thoughts From the Women's March

The sentry of democracy in action is a young black woman with a pink hat and glasses, calling out hope from the top of a tree. In knee high pink socks, athletic shorts, and tennis shoes, she stands at the ready, directing the people to motion. She is a profound symbol of what brought us all here and we cheer her, but all the while she is perfectly normal, waving off our chants with an abashed laugh and announcing the next update with candor and wit. Tree Girl, this young woman supported by the strong empty branches of winter on the National Mall side of the Air and Space Museum, gives me hope.

On Friday, I made this video:

Yes, it's a little bit preachy and yes, it's a little more Bible-heavy than you want in what is ostensibly an ecumenical if not secular setting, but it expresses my hopes and fears and fights using the primary vocabulary I have available and I won't apologize for that. I am more satisfied with the words I chose to speak in this video than I ever have been before. Near the end, I talk about why I marched in the Women's March on Washington today: to make sure that the voices that haven't been heard are heard. That's a cut from a former version of the script. Originally, I said that I was marching to begin the process of making the unheard heard.

Because, as a former Obama staffer said better than I ever could, today's march should be a warmup for the real work ahead. This march, these marches on every continent around the world, should be a springboard into activism and advocacy, into concrete things you can do to continue making your representative government represent you. This march should inspire people to run for office so that the government of the people, by the people, for the people reflects the people. Now that we have made sure that women, who were so disrespected by this past election, have had their value affirmed, it's time to look to every other underrepresented and under-respected groups of people in this country, to those who had to make their voices heard at Standing Rock and to those embroiled in our ridiculous prison system, to immigrants and single mothers, to underpaid workers, to undereducated students, to people of every color and creed. It's time to focus on the others victimized by the presidential race, to stand with our Muslim brothers and sisters in particular, to again be willing to put our bodies on the line when those who do not love as well as they should begin to take rights away from the most vulnerable among us. These marches must be a first lap around the track in preparation for the marathon ahead.

There were wonderful moments of hope today. There was such kindness among the people who gathered on Independence, and the National Mall, and for streets around. There were generations of women who assembled together to raise their voices, waves of cheers sweeping forward through the collected crowd. There were smart and cutting signs. There was unrepentant sass and acknowledgement of shared difficulties. From the daughter who finally caught up to the rest of her family with a yell of "Mom!" that made half the crowd's heads turn to the five-year-old best friends dancing along to the protest music while their mothers smiled, there were beautiful human moments among the masses. I felt such a jolt of excitement, a feeling that reached deep into my soul, walking down Independence at the beginning of the day, seeing signs that pleaded for inclusion and love. I don't want to minimize any of that. I will honestly probably carry the memory of Tree Girl with me for the rest of my life and I desperately hope she does run for office one day like several people shouted that she should. It'd be quite the story.

But still, I worry. I worry that for many, this was tourist activism, safe social justice. At times, it felt like the physical manifestation of a viral video and it is impossible to know the content of the hearts that clicked "like" on this event. I worry that this was not primarily a march of those who have felt injustice but rather those who fret about its presence on their horizon. I worry that we did not and will not address the issues that weigh more heavily on women of color. I worry that the abundance of uteruses, in art and in slang slogans (and listen, I'm not shy about talking about my uterus), distracted from the real pain that's been integrated into our systems of governance and our social relations. I worry that we shouted and did not listen. I worry that some signs were not kind. I worry about the hatred that bubbles at the bottom of every human heart and I worry that we may give in to that, no matter what our intentions.

Today, millions of people around the globe stood in solidarity with those that have been disrespected and disregarded and that is a powerful and beautiful thing. We should celebrate that. A friend of mine responded to my affirmation that I was going to march with a "Good." and that simple, strong support from him spoke a fire into my gut that I want all of you to feel, an acknowledgement that things aren't as they should be and cannot be allowed to remain as they are. But let's not let ourselves be satisfied with our marches today. Beautiful things can be imperfect things too.

Let's be better. Let's be stronger. Let's get to work.

Pursuing Love

I get the feeling that I'm approaching a season in my life when I should talk less. Actually, most seasons in my life have probably been seasons when I could have spoken less, but I've got a conviction about this one in particular. It comes from an awareness that in many cases and for far too long, I've been a just clanging cymbal. The realization that I really would learn better if I would just listen has been a long time coming, but I think it had to wait until a real desire to learn swept away years of false modesty about my knowledge and ushered in a quieter, more patient heart. It is odd and humbling to watch yourself being built back up, all the sharp edges and disregarded shards of self being made fit for a new creation. This is not to say that it's easy. I hang onto my words, both the ones I write and the ones I choose to speak, like Icarus clutching at feathers and wax. They have been breathtakingly precious to me, but they are not the proper way to fly. I should know this. More often than not, my words have left me helpless as I grasp at the pieces of me, slicing my hands and cutting into others as I attempt again and again a construction project I should know I could never complete on my own.

That's a confession, if you like. There's pride and self-sufficiency wrapped up in a lack of trust that has left me over the course of a lifetime in a perpetual state of affection falling just short of love in even the best of my interactions with others. More often than not, my care for my neighbor has been a vague societal politeness, and even that is more a reflection of the kind people who have surrounded and upheld me throughout my life than any kind of real conviction. Despite all the wonderful things that have come into my life and everything I can be said to have accomplished, through hardness of heart or isolation of mind, I missed out on the most important and life-giving lesson a person can learn. I do not know how to love others as I ought.

I have a suspicion that that might be true for most of us. We may stumble into love in our relationships and friendships and may even succeed in offering love to strangers as we move about the world in our daily lives, but real, intentional, continual love offered to our neighbors (and let me be clear: every human is your neighbor) is something with which we all struggle, I think. And in this season of transition and uncertainty and concern, we could all love better. So this year, in addition to talking less (and I do realize the irony of that statement when I'm three paragraphs into a weekly blog post), I'm going to reflect each day on how I loved those around me. I'm going to use that chapter from 1 Corinthians that everyone uses at weddings because it's surprisingly cutting when you turn each verse into a question.

So, if you want to join me, plan a few minutes at the end of each day to ask yourself:

• Were you patient with everyone you met today? Were you kind?
• Or were you envious, boastful, arrogant, or rude? Did you insist on your own way? Were you irritable or resentful today? 
• Did you rejoice in any instance of wrongdoing today, or did you rejoice in the truth?
• What did you bear today? What did you believe today? What did you hope for today? What did you endure today?
• Did you pursue love today?

It might take a lifetime, but I look forward to the day when I am given grace enough to answer each one of those questions rightly before I go to sleep. It's a goal to work towards, a level of accountability in action to strive toward. It is a clear mirror we can hold up to ourselves and our leaders, both the ones that have been elected and the ones we've inherited, as we seek to build up our people and this nation we've made. Paul wrote those words a couple thousand years ago to a church struggling with disunity and questions of principle. It might be that those cheesy Bible verses hold real power for our lives today.

But wherever you are in your walk or in your lives, whatever you've come to believe, let me implore you to love better, friends.

It might be the only way we make it out of this.

Science and Religion Blog: conversation starters

I promise I'll get back to regular posting next week. Between the holidays, a particularly persnickety stomach bug, and prepping for the new semester, I've been a little drained and more contemplative than expository. But for your reading pleasure this week, I want to introduce you to a new project that my friend, Melanie Dzugan, and I have started for this spring semester: conversation starters. Our first post went live this morning and we plan to post every other week, discussing the best questions to ask when engaging in the science and religion conversation. Finally, the science and religion content for which you have all been clamoring!

One final note: since the conversation starters posts will go up on Wednesdays, I'll be switching my posts here to Tuesdays. The tag for my main blog posts has been Blog Wednesday but this semester, they'll be Blog Wednesday on a Tuesday. I'll continue to share the posts on facebook, so that should catch most of you, but for anyone who follows me and blessedly isn't on that particular social media platform, Blog Wednesday on a Tuesday is the tag you want to look for if you just want to keep up with me.

Cheers, y'all! As a parting gift, allow me to direct your attention to this gorgeous picture of the Sunflower Galaxy, captured by Hubble and featured on APOD:

I could stare at this all day long. Click on the link for even more gloriousness.