Let the Cycle Be Broken

I made my mother curse yesterday.

While I admit that first sentence was a cheap literary hook, it is nonetheless true. I was asking her about her father and more pointedly how he talked to her. I wanted to hear the actual words, not just the ‘blankety-blank’ she’d said before. Apparently he had quite the dark vocabularic collection. I’m not sure where my grandfather learned to talk in that way but I’ve heard his father was a sailor. Maybe it was passed down. One thing is certain. It did not pass down to my mother.

While I appreciate the many traits that both my grandparents passed on to my mom, it is difficult to understand why the mere sight of my mother seemed to incite her father to anger. In his defense it seems he had some mental issues and even checked himself into a mental health facility for a rather drastic treatment of a frontal lobotomy. As he seemed unable to keep regular work, due to this or because of the times – it was early in the Great Depression - there was seldom adequate food, clean clothing, and no semblance of a regular schedule of mealtimes or bedtimes. My grandmother, although a self-educated woman only formally completed  the eighth grade.

Studies show that children who are raised with this kind of abuse dole it out to their offspring. By all rights my upbringing should have been similar or even worse. Nothing could be further from the truth. In fact, if you had speculated on what kind of life my mother was going to have after growing up in a home where absolute squalor and verbal abuse dominated, you would be off the mark.  That is why I never heard her repeat those words until yesterday, and only at my urging.

You see, at a young age she transferred her affection to her heavenly Father and imitated Him instead of her earthly father. She was a pastor’s wife during my growing up years, and a gentle loving mother. She has maintained a warm relationship with her siblings. In what could be her retirement, she owns partnership in a local Business College, teaching and giving encouragement and guidance to students who have lost their way, both in life and employment. She hosts coffees for the neighbors in her community, encouraging the women, often giving money here or there to people who need it. She holds a bachelor’s degree and is by far the most well-read in her peer group. My mother, a soft-spoken and extremely articulate woman has spent her 84 years in giving back to the world and her God. Not only that but all four of her children are successful, upwardly mobile citizens who have followed her example of faith and altruism. I’d call this breaking the cycle.

The Gospel According to Who?

The British are clever.

They've created a story with a built-in revolving cast of characters that has continued to appeal to the masses for multiple generations. 

I'm not sure that the fan mania over Doctor Who has as much to do with the clever, yet sometimes cheesy story lines, or the superb casting and riveting, attractively interesting characters, although as a shameless Who devotee I enjoy all these elements.  It occurs to me that there might be something subtler at work. There are some elements of our ancient belief system that have informed the writers of the series, and this is the reason I believe we 'get it'.

EVIL 

There is evil afoot in the Doctors's Universe. The bad guys are many: from human fears personified as doll-monsters, hideous figures with terrifying piranha-like teeth for faces, statues that come to life only when you're not looking, walking snowmen, to the Daleks, super robotic machines whose only goal is to "exterminate" the Doctor and all he stands for. I'll spare you the pedantic parallels. 

SPACE AND TIME

The Doctor flies through the universe as a reincarnating (read resurrecting)Time Lord in a machine called the Tardis. It is labelled, ironically? as a police call box painted a royal shade of blue. When a new character discovers the Tardis they often remark in surprise, "It's bigger on the inside!" The idea that there must be more than the here and now creates the most puzzling mystery for all of mankind (almost as puzzling as the actual identity and name of the Doctor). We are trapped in time and space, yet we instinctively "know", or at least we hope there is more to both time and space than we have heretofore been able to fully understand. Oh, and did I mention that the Doctor knows the future? I promised to spare you the parallels but I can't help myself.

 

RESCUE

The concept of rescue and or redemption strikes at the heart of all good narratives. It forms the basis of every hero figures' main purpose. We love a hero almost as much as we identify with the victim figure. In every episode the Doctor saves someone. 

MYSTERIOUS / MISTAKEN IDENTITY

The fact that he is a rescuer certainly doesn't mean that all relations with the Doctor are warm and fuzzy. We don't even know his real name, and when he morphs into the new Doctor, the physical form is new and unfamiliar. He is often percieved as harsh and unfeeling, devoid of mercy and love just before he saves the day, often sacrificing himself in some way. "Is he mad or is he right?" his followers ask, and as one exasperated companion of the Doctor observes, "He'll get us out of here. The difficult part is not killing him before he can."

He is the ultimate savior type, even though in some episodes we are not sure that he will prove trustworthy or that he will be capable of coming through, there is no doubt that we want him to. Danger, peril, even death and suffering run rampant, especially when the Doctor is around. But one thing is clear. He is not called the Doctor for nothing.

Coming Back

A stranger for a time to the traditions and habits of my faith, I crawl back on tender knees and ask my Father if He has minded too terribly that I took a Sabbatical from the trappings of a world that had grown too narrow, too dusty, and too cramped for my bursting lungs. The only guilt I have is from the echos of mortals I can't seem to emulate in their self-flagellation, their view from the bottom. 

He seemed to say, "We've been here all along. But then, for that matter there's nowhere that we aren't. You haven't gone so far after all. Glad you got some air."

Does anyone understand this? 

Three Deaths in Retrospect

I was five, fifty years ago when my grandfather, John Pierce Richardson died. I would eventually understand that president John F Kennedy, nicknamed, "Jack" was shot and killed the same day. Later in life I would discover the writings of Clive Staples Lewis, also known as "Jack" and realize that he too passed to his Maker on that day. Ironically, my grandfather resided in Washington DC and  is buried in Arlington Cemetery, a burial that had to be delayed because of the president's burial.

President Kennedy's death had no immediate impact on me but his shocking murder left an indelible mark on the nation that no one can escape; to encapsulate in contrast - a glorification of the Oval Office and the tragic sense that even the leader of the free world is mortal.

The world is richer because of the scholarly and brutally honest writings of Lewis, and I personally have considered him a 'faith and doubt mentor' of the finest order. His untimely death was certainly a sad day.

All of these men affected parts of my life, and of the three, as you might expect, my grandfather's life has had the biggest impact on mine, but not for the obvious reason that I was his grandchild. While the words of Lewis have both soothed and troubled my soul, the words of my grandfather have had a far different impact.

I never knew my grandfather; I only saw him once, and that one time is just a vague memory, aided by my mother's account of the visit, and a photograph I've seen in which he stands behind the bending form of my grandmother, a silent observer. I only know that he was a resourceful man and talented musically, trained as a concert pianist. For some reason, he suffered from either mental illness, or a consistently negative outlook. My mother recalls mostly angry profane words directed towards herself and her brother. That sad fact led to her glorious conversion to Christianity, to the Heavenly Father who speaks peace and love towards his children, when she was a young child.

Several months before her father died she felt a strong compulsion to write him a letter telling him of her faith and reaching out to him in a way she never had. It was a difficult choice, but she made it, not knowing of his illness and consequent death at fifty five (my current age).

There had been no form of faith in her home. Yet, it is from her that I receive the example of faith in living form, and my grandfather's model notwithstanding, a steady stream of loving and affirming words. She epitomizes the opposite of what she received.

So on this day I mourn three, but rejoice in the day, and what it has brought me.

Downton Abbey: Season 3 Spoiler Alert

In case you missed it - Downton Abbey Season 3 - episode 4 spoiler alert!!!

The sad reality of death in childbirth shocked me out of the British fantasy world I am usually in, while watching Carson try unsuccessfully to keep all things proper and Granny rendered almost speechless.

Despite all appearances to the contrary, the rich are not in control of life and death. Nor are their capable servants. God alone holds that power. Sybil uttered a feeble attempt at faith before she died, the first I have heard of any such connection of God that was meaningful, although the trappings of religion can be traced everywhere in the daily lives of the Earl and his family. From the careful attention to tradition, church sacraments, and male  responsibility, to caring for those under the Earl's employ, to the church that owes its patronage to the Abbey itself, to the strict moral code the pervades every scene, all these elements have their beginnings in the Christian faith, the faith that a modern England has nowadays abandoned almost entirely, its cathedrals and abbeys notwithstanding.

As a person of faith, I find myself wondering as I watch what part (if any) a personal faith has in the lives of the Earl and Lady Grantham, and what (if any) changes, the death of a child will have on this. I expect a cursory mention of Sybil's eternal destination at least, after the raw grief and shock subsides. The window into DA is never wide enough for me, I suppose. Since I've got my head stuck in, I want to know everything!

In Hope of a Better America

I have a dream.
It is a faintly fading dream, but it is by no means dead yet.
I dream of parents patiently explaining or calmly restraining their small children in public instead of verbally abusing them through the grocery aisles.
I dream of schools where students use praise for each other and their teachers instead of profanity.
I dream of teachers who are involved with the students lives and work in tandem with parents to educate the whole child, instead of using 'homework' which masquerades as rigorous teaching to cheat the students out of a home life.
I dream of an America where it is acceptable to speak openly about your personal faith, and where judgement is directed inward, instead of  towards those who may disagree.
I dream of politicians laying down acrimonious accusations and instead taking responsibility for their actions and expenditures.
I dream of businesses honestly offering services and products made locally for a decent profit, instead of bilking the public by promising more than they actually deliver and abusing people in other countries to turn a cheap trick on their customers.
I dream of  banks and financial institutions who use George Bailey as a role model rather than Mr. Potter.
I dream of charity organizations whose CEO's aren't embarrassed to report their earnings instead of making a killing off the heartstrings of America.
I dream of consumers who live within their means instead of blaming their high personal debt on the economy.
I dream of a place where winning the lottery isn't the total sum of the American Dream.
I hope I'm still sleeping, because I haven't seen it yet.