Growing up in Minnesota, I put on my first pair of skates when I was three or four. I was given a chair to lean on and started my life on a rink at my Uncle Fred's house. A few years later, I was skating on the nearby lake, and eventually took up the game of hockey.
The only teams in my youth were school teams - none of this getting up at 4:00 am for an hour's practice, no traveling team, no leagues, no endless tournaments. The season began when it got cold enough to flood the rink - generally after Thanksgiving - and was done in early March.
By the time I got to high school, I loved the game as a below average athlete, played occasionally, and couldn't wait for the school day to end to get out on the ice.
Our equipment was primitive - headgear, thigh pads, knee pads, groin protection, and that was about it. We didn't "lift" the puck, and the slap shot was still to be invented by Bobby Hull of the Chicago Blackhawks when I reached college. In fact at our games, the goal judges stood, unprotected, behind each net, and body checking was fairly primitive and tended not to result in injury.
In my years of competition, I had two hockey injuries: my collarbone fractured when I was checked by a teammate in a practice, and during a scrimmage with another school, one of the opposition held his stick like an axe and managed to hit me between the knee and shin pads, and pieces of cartilage floated in my knee, until age wore them away some years ago.
These days, I watch my favorite game with considerable dismay. Here in Minnesota in the last week, we've had two high school players who were checked from behind into the boards, and they've suffered spinal injuries. The boy will not walk again and may not have the use of his hands; the future of the injured high school girl remains to be determined.
Players have more protection and better equipment; in my view, this leads to increased aggressiveness and heightens the chance of injury. Checking is now central to the game from the early years when young bodies are still growing to the professional leagues, where hockey seems to have become some sort of martial art, and fighting is seen by the "hockey powers that be" as "essential to the game."
I remember when the Russians came to play in the USA back in the 1950s. They didn't check much, but my they could pass the puck and skate like the wind. It was like ballet on ice, and it took us a while to catch up.
Gary Bettman, the commissioner of the NHL, claims that the evidence linking concussion, brain injury, and early dementia has not been proven. The National Football League seems to be approaching the opposite conclusion with a certain studied reluctance.
No matter your views, what we can all agree on is that high school players should not spend their adulthoods in wheelchairs as the result of an unnecessary check. That goes for college and professional players, too.
Hockey is a worthy game without all the tangential violence. With it, it is almost unwatchable. It's time we took the nonsense out of the game and returned to a fuller appreciation of artistry and skill.
Or else....
Update as of 1/26/12
High school hockey officials in Minnesota have imposed several rules changes which will make the game safer for all players. Miscreants will receive far heavier punishment (major penalties, ejection, and suspension; no doubt this will increase the pressure on those who manage college hockey. That written, one wonders whether professional hockey will ever put its goons back in the cave and let us appreciate the beauty of the game without all the miscellaneous physical - forgive me - crap.
Nick
Saturday, January 7, 2012
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Christmastide 2011
It's been a long time since I've written, mainly due to some teaching responsibilities which occupied me from last summer through late autumn and a quite busy stretch in my business - curious given the perceived state of the economy.
If you've read some of these entries over the years, you may remember that back in my radio days in the late 1970s, I began the live broadcast on Christmas Eve morning (9:00 am to be exact here in midwestern America) of "A Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols" from the late medieval chapel of King's College at Cambridge University in Cambridge, England.
And, in fact the course I taught was about that Service...me and several dozen age mates exploring medieval history, kings, craftsmen, musicians, priests...and the service.
The class seemed to go down pretty well with the enrollees, and I had to put in two to three long days each week to manage the eight hour and a half sessions.
But oh, what I learned! And oh, what the members of the class taught me!
Over those months, I became interested in the young Dean of the Chapel who initiated this Christmas Eve event at King's. It was something outside the liturgical boundaries of the Church at that time, but the initial impetus had come from the Bishop of Truro some three decades earlier. He was named Archbishop of Canterbury shortly thereafter and so was in a position to push the idea of this new service forward.
Eventually, the idea fell into the hands of Eric Milner-White. He had attended King's College, taken holy orders, and after working in a school and a poor London parish, he returned to King's as Chaplain in 1912- the number two position with an important responsibility to connect and to serve the students, there being a Dean to oversee the administrative and liturgical aspects of the Chapel.
When World War I began in 1914, Milner-White joined the British Army as a chaplain, and in the next four years he served the men of the Seventh Division in Italy and France...or tried to. This was the era of trench warfare - wet, full of muck, attacks and retreats, blood, illness, and death everywhere. In the "Great War," Britain lost nearly 900,000 men, and an additional 1,666,000 were wounded - in a country of 45 million.
The chaplain general of the time was a very conservative cleric, and Milner-White became something of a trial for him: Milner, as many called him, insisted on climbing into "no man's land" with the troops to rescue the wounded.
As a non-combatant, chaplains were not to engage in such activities. Several times Milner-White was "mentioned in dispatches" and ultimately received the Distinguished Service Order (DSO)...very rare for a chaplain.
In addition, Milner-White prayed for the dead, something of which the chaplain-general did not approve although the men of his unit did.
Finally, in one battle, the officers of the unit were either killed or wounded, and the men asked Milner-White to take command. He did, and this must have been the final straw for Milner's superiors.
In January, 1918 he resigned from the Army and returned to King's resuming his position as Chaplain. In midsummer he was promoted to Dean.
Somewhere along the line, and no one knows where, the idea of holding a Christmas Eve service as a gift from his College to the city of Cambridge came to him. Maybe he knew about the service from Truro, maybe someone else did and put the idea in front of him. We don't know, and he destroyed most of his papers relating to those early post-war years, so we may never know.
What we do know is that in early November of 1918, he held a memorial service for the nearly 200 men of King's who had been killed in the war (two of them fought for Germany). Nine days later the Armistice was signed, and six weeks after that arrived the very first "Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols." It has been repeated every year since, and the dominant theme of the biblical readings is the fall and redemption of us all.
After what Milner had witnessed during his years in the War, the concept of redemption must have been at the front of his mind, what with "the War to End All Wars" just behind him but very much on his mind as it was and is for any veteran who has stared into the face of conflict.
The service has not changed very much since 1918, 'though the world has - and has not.
Strife abounds, thousands upon thousands have died. As I write this, American troops are coming home from Iraq; whatever they have experienced with be with us and our descendants for decades.
The situation in Afghanistan is murky, and its end-game not fully known.
Our country's military has a presence in over 100 countries nowadays; yet peace seems more elusive than ever. Economic distress depresses our mood, and many of us feel broadly drawn sense of insecurity, anxiety, anomie...whatever term you prefer.
Perhaps this Christmas, we might reflect yet again on the possibility of redemption and on what each of us might do in coming days to help us all find "peace on earth, goodwill toward men," and women, and children, and all innocent creatures with whom or which we share this world.
Find a public radio station carrying the live broadcast on Christmas Eve morning; gather your friends and neighbors to hear the lessons and to listen to the great choir of men and boys which has been a part of King's College since the mid 1440s (no typo there, believe me!)
The story of Christmas is a simple one; it may take some effort to open yourself to those ancient words, but give it a try, make a start. It will be worth your effort.
A blessed and happy Christmas to us all.
If you've read some of these entries over the years, you may remember that back in my radio days in the late 1970s, I began the live broadcast on Christmas Eve morning (9:00 am to be exact here in midwestern America) of "A Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols" from the late medieval chapel of King's College at Cambridge University in Cambridge, England.
And, in fact the course I taught was about that Service...me and several dozen age mates exploring medieval history, kings, craftsmen, musicians, priests...and the service.
The class seemed to go down pretty well with the enrollees, and I had to put in two to three long days each week to manage the eight hour and a half sessions.
But oh, what I learned! And oh, what the members of the class taught me!
Over those months, I became interested in the young Dean of the Chapel who initiated this Christmas Eve event at King's. It was something outside the liturgical boundaries of the Church at that time, but the initial impetus had come from the Bishop of Truro some three decades earlier. He was named Archbishop of Canterbury shortly thereafter and so was in a position to push the idea of this new service forward.
Eventually, the idea fell into the hands of Eric Milner-White. He had attended King's College, taken holy orders, and after working in a school and a poor London parish, he returned to King's as Chaplain in 1912- the number two position with an important responsibility to connect and to serve the students, there being a Dean to oversee the administrative and liturgical aspects of the Chapel.
When World War I began in 1914, Milner-White joined the British Army as a chaplain, and in the next four years he served the men of the Seventh Division in Italy and France...or tried to. This was the era of trench warfare - wet, full of muck, attacks and retreats, blood, illness, and death everywhere. In the "Great War," Britain lost nearly 900,000 men, and an additional 1,666,000 were wounded - in a country of 45 million.
The chaplain general of the time was a very conservative cleric, and Milner-White became something of a trial for him: Milner, as many called him, insisted on climbing into "no man's land" with the troops to rescue the wounded.
As a non-combatant, chaplains were not to engage in such activities. Several times Milner-White was "mentioned in dispatches" and ultimately received the Distinguished Service Order (DSO)...very rare for a chaplain.
In addition, Milner-White prayed for the dead, something of which the chaplain-general did not approve although the men of his unit did.
Finally, in one battle, the officers of the unit were either killed or wounded, and the men asked Milner-White to take command. He did, and this must have been the final straw for Milner's superiors.
In January, 1918 he resigned from the Army and returned to King's resuming his position as Chaplain. In midsummer he was promoted to Dean.
Somewhere along the line, and no one knows where, the idea of holding a Christmas Eve service as a gift from his College to the city of Cambridge came to him. Maybe he knew about the service from Truro, maybe someone else did and put the idea in front of him. We don't know, and he destroyed most of his papers relating to those early post-war years, so we may never know.
What we do know is that in early November of 1918, he held a memorial service for the nearly 200 men of King's who had been killed in the war (two of them fought for Germany). Nine days later the Armistice was signed, and six weeks after that arrived the very first "Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols." It has been repeated every year since, and the dominant theme of the biblical readings is the fall and redemption of us all.
After what Milner had witnessed during his years in the War, the concept of redemption must have been at the front of his mind, what with "the War to End All Wars" just behind him but very much on his mind as it was and is for any veteran who has stared into the face of conflict.
The service has not changed very much since 1918, 'though the world has - and has not.
Strife abounds, thousands upon thousands have died. As I write this, American troops are coming home from Iraq; whatever they have experienced with be with us and our descendants for decades.
The situation in Afghanistan is murky, and its end-game not fully known.
Our country's military has a presence in over 100 countries nowadays; yet peace seems more elusive than ever. Economic distress depresses our mood, and many of us feel broadly drawn sense of insecurity, anxiety, anomie...whatever term you prefer.
Perhaps this Christmas, we might reflect yet again on the possibility of redemption and on what each of us might do in coming days to help us all find "peace on earth, goodwill toward men," and women, and children, and all innocent creatures with whom or which we share this world.
Find a public radio station carrying the live broadcast on Christmas Eve morning; gather your friends and neighbors to hear the lessons and to listen to the great choir of men and boys which has been a part of King's College since the mid 1440s (no typo there, believe me!)
The story of Christmas is a simple one; it may take some effort to open yourself to those ancient words, but give it a try, make a start. It will be worth your effort.
A blessed and happy Christmas to us all.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
And Now For Something Completely Different....
It was cold this morning, so I took a little extra time to have another caffeine energizer and happened upon the President speaking at the National Prayer Breakfast. Whenever I have thought about that event over the years - attended by most Presidents since its inception - I wonder things like...well, who goes, is the invocation so long that the eggs and coffee get cold, and who is networking with whom and in what sphere.
Anyway, I lingered long enough to hear the President's speech and was so impressed that I thought you should have a chance to read it. No matter what your political preference, there is a good deal to think about in his words.
President Barack Obama
I want to begin by just saying a word to Mark Kelly, who’s here. We have been praying for Mark’s wife, Gabby Giffords, for many days now. But I want Gabby and Mark and their entire family to know that we are with them for the long haul, and God is with them for the long haul. (Applause.)
And even as we pray for Gabby in the aftermath of a tragedy here at home, we're also mindful of the violence that we're now seeing in the Middle East, and we pray that the violence in Egypt will end and that the rights and aspirations of the Egyptian people will be realized and that a better day will dawn over Egypt and throughout the world.
For almost 60 years, going back to President Eisenhower, this gathering has been attended by our President. It’s a tradition that I'm proud to uphold not only as a fellow believer but as an elected leader whose entry into public service was actually through the church. This may come as a surprise, for as some of you know, I did not come from a particularly religious family. My father, who I barely knew -- I only met once for a month in my entire life -- was said to be a non-believer throughout his life.
My mother, whose parents were Baptist and Methodist, grew up with a certain skepticism about organized religion, and she usually only took me to church on Easter and Christmas -- sometimes. And yet my mother was also one of the most spiritual people that I ever knew. She was somebody who was instinctively guided by the Golden Rule and who nagged me constantly about the homespun values of her Kansas upbringing, values like honesty and hard work and kindness and fair play.
And it’s because of her that I came to understand the equal worth of all men and all women, and the imperatives of an ethical life and the necessity to act on your beliefs. And it’s because of her example and guidance that despite the absence of a formal religious upbringing my earliest inspirations for a life of service ended up being the faith leaders of the civil rights movement.
There was, of course, Martin Luther King and the Baptist leaders, the ways in which they helped those who had been subjugated to make a way out of no way, and transform a nation through the force of love. But there were also Catholic leaders like Father Theodore Heshburg, and Jewish leaders like Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, Muslim leaders and Hindu leaders. Their call to fix what was broken in our world, a call rooted in faith, is what led me just a few years out of college to sign up as a community organizer for a group of churches on the Southside of Chicago. And it was through that experience working with pastors and laypeople trying to heal the wounds of hurting neighborhoods that I came to know Jesus Christ for myself and embrace Him as my lord and savior. (Applause.)
Now, that was over 20 years ago. And like all of us, my faith journey has had its twists and turns. It hasn’t always been a straight line. I have thanked God for the joys of parenthood and Michelle’s willingness to put up with me. (Laughter.) In the wake of failures and disappointments I've questioned what God had in store for me and been reminded that God’s plans for us may not always match our own short-sighted desires.
And let me tell you, these past two years, they have deepened my faith. (Laughter and applause.) The presidency has a funny way of making a person feel the need to pray. (Laughter.) Abe Lincoln said, as many of you know, “I have been driven to my knees many times by the overwhelming conviction that I had no place else to go.” (Laughter.)
Fortunately, I'm not alone in my prayers. Pastor friends like Joel Hunter and T.D. Jakes come over to the Oval Office every once in a while to pray with me and pray for the nation. The chapel at Camp David has provided consistent respite and fellowship. The director of our Faith-based and Neighborhood Partnership’s office, Joshua DuBois -- young minister himself -- he starts my morning off with meditations from Scripture.
Most of all, I've got friends around the country -- some who I know, some who I don’t know, but I know their friends who are out there praying for me. One of them is an old friend named Kaye Wilson. In our family we call her Momma Kaye. And she happens to be Malia and Sasha’s godmother. And she has organized prayer circles for me all around the country. She started small with her own Bible study group, but once I started running for President and she heard what they were saying about me on cable, she felt the need to pray harder. (Laughter.) By the time I was elected President, she says, “I just couldn’t keep up on my own.” (Laughter.) “I was having to pray eight, nine times a day just for you.” (Laughter.) So she enlisted help from around the country.
It’s also comforting to know that people are praying for you who don’t always agree with you. Tom Coburn, for example, is here. He is not only a dear friend but also a brother in Christ. We came into the Senate at the same time. Even though we are on opposite sides of a whole bunch of issues, part of what has bound us together is a shared faith, a recognition that we pray to and serve the same God. And I keep praying that God will show him the light and he will vote with me once in a while. (Laughter.) It’s going to happen, Tom. (Laughter.) A ray of light is going to beam down. (Laughter.)
My Christian faith then has been a sustaining force for me over these last few years. All the more so, when Michelle and I hear our faith questioned from time to time, we are reminded that ultimately what matters is not what other people say about us but whether we're being true to our conscience and true to our God. “Seek first His kingdom and His righteousness and all these things will be given to you as well.”
As I travel across the country folks often ask me what is it that I pray for. And like most of you, my prayers sometimes are general: Lord, give me the strength to meet the challenges of my office. Sometimes they’re specific: Lord, give me patience as I watch Malia go to her first dance -- (laughter) -- where there will be boys. (Laughter.) Lord, have that skirt get longer as she travels to that dance. (Laughter.)
But while I petition God for a whole range of things, there are a few common themes that do recur. The first category of prayer comes out of the urgency of the Old Testament prophets and the Gospel itself. I pray for my ability to help those who are struggling. Christian tradition teaches that one day the world will be turned right side up and everything will return as it should be. But until that day, we're called to work on behalf of a God that chose justice and mercy and compassion to the most vulnerable.
We've seen a lot of hardship these past two years. Not a day passes when I don't get a letter from somebody or meet someone who’s out of work or lost their home or without health care. The story Randall told about his father -- that's a story that a whole lot of Americans have gone through over these past couple of years.
Sometimes I can't help right away. Sometimes what I can do to try to improve the economy or to curb foreclosures or to help deal with the health care system -- sometimes it seems so distant and so remote, so profoundly inadequate to the enormity of the need. And it is my faith, then, that biblical injunction to serve the least of these, that keeps me going and that keeps me from being overwhelmed. It’s faith that reminds me that despite being just one very imperfect man, I can still help whoever I can, however I can, wherever I can, for as long as I can, and that somehow God will buttress these efforts.
It also helps to know that none of us are alone in answering this call. It’s being taken up each and every day by so many of you -- back home, your churches, your temples and synagogues, your fellow congregants -- so many faith groups across this great country of ours.
I came upon a group recently called “charity: water,” a group that supports clean water projects overseas. This is a project that was started by a former nightclub promoter named Scott Harrison who grew weary of living only for himself and feeling like he wasn’t following Christ as well as he should.
And because of Scott’s good work, “charity: water” has helped 1.7 million people get access to clean water. And in the next 10 years, he plans to make clean water accessible to a hundred million more. That’s the kind of promoting we need more of, and that’s the kind of faith that moves mountains. And there’s stories like that scattered across this room of people who’ve taken it upon themselves to make a difference.
Now, sometimes faith groups can do the work of caring for the least of these on their own; sometimes they need a partner, whether it’s in business or government. And that’s why my administration has taken a fresh look at the way we organize with faith groups, the way we work with faith groups through our Office of Faith-based and Neighborhood Partnerships.
And through that office, we’re expanding the way faith groups can partner with our government. We’re helping them feed more kids who otherwise would go hungry. We’re helping fatherhood groups get dads the support they need to be there for their children. We’re working with non-profits to improve the lives of people around the world. And we’re doing it in ways that are aligned with our constitutional principles. And in this work, we intend to expand it in the days ahead, rooted in the notions of partnership and justice and the imperatives to help the poor.
Of course there are some needs that require more resources than faith groups have at their disposal. There’s only so much a church can do to help all the families in need -- all those who need help making a mortgage payment, or avoiding foreclosure, or making sure their child can go to college. There’s only so much that a nonprofit can do to help a community rebuild in the wake of disaster. There’s only so much the private sector will do to help folks who are desperately sick get the care that they need.
And that's why I continue to believe that in a caring and in a just society, government must have a role to play; that our values, our love and our charity must find expression not just in our families, not just in our places of work and our places of worship, but also in our government and in our politics.
Over the past two years, the nature of these obligations, the proper role of government has obviously been the subject of enormous controversy. And the debates have been fierce as one side’s version of compassion and community may be interpreted by the other side as an oppressive and irresponsible expansion of the state or an unacceptable restriction on individual freedom.
That's why a second recurring theme in my prayers is a prayer for humility. Now, God answered this prayer for me early on by having me marry Michelle. (Laughter and applause.) Because whether it’s reminding me of a chore undone, or questioning the wisdom of watching my third football game in a row on Sunday, she keeps me humble. (Laughter.)
But in this life of politics when debates have become so bitterly polarized, and changes in the media lead so many of us just to listen to those who reinforce our existing biases, it’s useful to go back to Scripture to remind ourselves that none of has all the answers -- none of us, no matter what our political party or our station in life.
The full breadth of human knowledge is like a grain of sand in God’s hands. And there are some mysteries in this world we cannot fully comprehend. As it’s written in Job, “God’s voice thunders in marvelous ways. He does great things beyond our understandings.”
The challenge I find then is to balance this uncertainty, this humility, with the need to fight for deeply held convictions, to be open to other points of view but firm in our core principles. And I pray for this wisdom every day.
I pray that God will show me and all of us the limits of our understanding, and open our ears and our hearts to our brothers and sisters with different points of view; that such reminders of our shared hopes and our shared dreams and our shared limitations as children of God will reveal the way forward that we can travel together.
And the last recurring theme, one that binds all prayers together, is that I might walk closer with God and make that walk my first and most important task.
In our own lives it’s easy to be consumed by our daily worries and our daily concerns. And it is even easier at a time when everybody is busy, everybody is stressed, and everybody -- our culture is obsessed with wealth and power and celebrity. And often it takes a brush with hardship or tragedy to shake us out of that, to remind us of what matters most.
We see an aging parent wither under a long illness, or we lose a daughter or a husband in Afghanistan, we watch a gunman open fire in a supermarket -- and we remember how fleeting life can be. And we ask ourselves how have we treated others, whether we’ve told our family and friends how much we love them. And it’s in these moments, when we feel most intensely our mortality and our own flaws and the sins of the world, that we most desperately seek to touch the face of God.
So my prayer this morning is that we might seek His face not only in those moments, but each and every day; that every day as we go through the hustle and bustle of our lives, whether it’s in Washington or Hollywood or anywhere in between, that we might every so often rise above the here and now, and kneel before the Eternal; that we might remember, Kaye, the fact that those who wait on the Lord will soar on wings like eagles, and they will run and not be weary, and they will walk and not faint.
When I wake in the morning, I wait on the Lord, and I ask Him to give me the strength to do right by our country and its people. And when I go to bed at night I wait on the Lord, and I ask Him to forgive me my sins, and look after my family and the American people, and make me an instrument of His will.
I say these prayers hoping they will be answered, and I say these prayers knowing that I must work and must sacrifice and must serve to see them answered. But I also say these prayers knowing that the act of prayer itself is a source of strength. It’s a reminder that our time on Earth is not just about us; that when we open ourselves to the possibility that God might have a larger purpose for our lives, there’s a chance that somehow, in ways that we may never fully know, God will use us well.
May the Lord bless you and keep you, and may He bless this country that we love. (Applause.)
Anyway, I lingered long enough to hear the President's speech and was so impressed that I thought you should have a chance to read it. No matter what your political preference, there is a good deal to think about in his words.
President Barack Obama
I want to begin by just saying a word to Mark Kelly, who’s here. We have been praying for Mark’s wife, Gabby Giffords, for many days now. But I want Gabby and Mark and their entire family to know that we are with them for the long haul, and God is with them for the long haul. (Applause.)
And even as we pray for Gabby in the aftermath of a tragedy here at home, we're also mindful of the violence that we're now seeing in the Middle East, and we pray that the violence in Egypt will end and that the rights and aspirations of the Egyptian people will be realized and that a better day will dawn over Egypt and throughout the world.
For almost 60 years, going back to President Eisenhower, this gathering has been attended by our President. It’s a tradition that I'm proud to uphold not only as a fellow believer but as an elected leader whose entry into public service was actually through the church. This may come as a surprise, for as some of you know, I did not come from a particularly religious family. My father, who I barely knew -- I only met once for a month in my entire life -- was said to be a non-believer throughout his life.
My mother, whose parents were Baptist and Methodist, grew up with a certain skepticism about organized religion, and she usually only took me to church on Easter and Christmas -- sometimes. And yet my mother was also one of the most spiritual people that I ever knew. She was somebody who was instinctively guided by the Golden Rule and who nagged me constantly about the homespun values of her Kansas upbringing, values like honesty and hard work and kindness and fair play.
And it’s because of her that I came to understand the equal worth of all men and all women, and the imperatives of an ethical life and the necessity to act on your beliefs. And it’s because of her example and guidance that despite the absence of a formal religious upbringing my earliest inspirations for a life of service ended up being the faith leaders of the civil rights movement.
There was, of course, Martin Luther King and the Baptist leaders, the ways in which they helped those who had been subjugated to make a way out of no way, and transform a nation through the force of love. But there were also Catholic leaders like Father Theodore Heshburg, and Jewish leaders like Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, Muslim leaders and Hindu leaders. Their call to fix what was broken in our world, a call rooted in faith, is what led me just a few years out of college to sign up as a community organizer for a group of churches on the Southside of Chicago. And it was through that experience working with pastors and laypeople trying to heal the wounds of hurting neighborhoods that I came to know Jesus Christ for myself and embrace Him as my lord and savior. (Applause.)
Now, that was over 20 years ago. And like all of us, my faith journey has had its twists and turns. It hasn’t always been a straight line. I have thanked God for the joys of parenthood and Michelle’s willingness to put up with me. (Laughter.) In the wake of failures and disappointments I've questioned what God had in store for me and been reminded that God’s plans for us may not always match our own short-sighted desires.
And let me tell you, these past two years, they have deepened my faith. (Laughter and applause.) The presidency has a funny way of making a person feel the need to pray. (Laughter.) Abe Lincoln said, as many of you know, “I have been driven to my knees many times by the overwhelming conviction that I had no place else to go.” (Laughter.)
Fortunately, I'm not alone in my prayers. Pastor friends like Joel Hunter and T.D. Jakes come over to the Oval Office every once in a while to pray with me and pray for the nation. The chapel at Camp David has provided consistent respite and fellowship. The director of our Faith-based and Neighborhood Partnership’s office, Joshua DuBois -- young minister himself -- he starts my morning off with meditations from Scripture.
Most of all, I've got friends around the country -- some who I know, some who I don’t know, but I know their friends who are out there praying for me. One of them is an old friend named Kaye Wilson. In our family we call her Momma Kaye. And she happens to be Malia and Sasha’s godmother. And she has organized prayer circles for me all around the country. She started small with her own Bible study group, but once I started running for President and she heard what they were saying about me on cable, she felt the need to pray harder. (Laughter.) By the time I was elected President, she says, “I just couldn’t keep up on my own.” (Laughter.) “I was having to pray eight, nine times a day just for you.” (Laughter.) So she enlisted help from around the country.
It’s also comforting to know that people are praying for you who don’t always agree with you. Tom Coburn, for example, is here. He is not only a dear friend but also a brother in Christ. We came into the Senate at the same time. Even though we are on opposite sides of a whole bunch of issues, part of what has bound us together is a shared faith, a recognition that we pray to and serve the same God. And I keep praying that God will show him the light and he will vote with me once in a while. (Laughter.) It’s going to happen, Tom. (Laughter.) A ray of light is going to beam down. (Laughter.)
My Christian faith then has been a sustaining force for me over these last few years. All the more so, when Michelle and I hear our faith questioned from time to time, we are reminded that ultimately what matters is not what other people say about us but whether we're being true to our conscience and true to our God. “Seek first His kingdom and His righteousness and all these things will be given to you as well.”
As I travel across the country folks often ask me what is it that I pray for. And like most of you, my prayers sometimes are general: Lord, give me the strength to meet the challenges of my office. Sometimes they’re specific: Lord, give me patience as I watch Malia go to her first dance -- (laughter) -- where there will be boys. (Laughter.) Lord, have that skirt get longer as she travels to that dance. (Laughter.)
But while I petition God for a whole range of things, there are a few common themes that do recur. The first category of prayer comes out of the urgency of the Old Testament prophets and the Gospel itself. I pray for my ability to help those who are struggling. Christian tradition teaches that one day the world will be turned right side up and everything will return as it should be. But until that day, we're called to work on behalf of a God that chose justice and mercy and compassion to the most vulnerable.
We've seen a lot of hardship these past two years. Not a day passes when I don't get a letter from somebody or meet someone who’s out of work or lost their home or without health care. The story Randall told about his father -- that's a story that a whole lot of Americans have gone through over these past couple of years.
Sometimes I can't help right away. Sometimes what I can do to try to improve the economy or to curb foreclosures or to help deal with the health care system -- sometimes it seems so distant and so remote, so profoundly inadequate to the enormity of the need. And it is my faith, then, that biblical injunction to serve the least of these, that keeps me going and that keeps me from being overwhelmed. It’s faith that reminds me that despite being just one very imperfect man, I can still help whoever I can, however I can, wherever I can, for as long as I can, and that somehow God will buttress these efforts.
It also helps to know that none of us are alone in answering this call. It’s being taken up each and every day by so many of you -- back home, your churches, your temples and synagogues, your fellow congregants -- so many faith groups across this great country of ours.
I came upon a group recently called “charity: water,” a group that supports clean water projects overseas. This is a project that was started by a former nightclub promoter named Scott Harrison who grew weary of living only for himself and feeling like he wasn’t following Christ as well as he should.
And because of Scott’s good work, “charity: water” has helped 1.7 million people get access to clean water. And in the next 10 years, he plans to make clean water accessible to a hundred million more. That’s the kind of promoting we need more of, and that’s the kind of faith that moves mountains. And there’s stories like that scattered across this room of people who’ve taken it upon themselves to make a difference.
Now, sometimes faith groups can do the work of caring for the least of these on their own; sometimes they need a partner, whether it’s in business or government. And that’s why my administration has taken a fresh look at the way we organize with faith groups, the way we work with faith groups through our Office of Faith-based and Neighborhood Partnerships.
And through that office, we’re expanding the way faith groups can partner with our government. We’re helping them feed more kids who otherwise would go hungry. We’re helping fatherhood groups get dads the support they need to be there for their children. We’re working with non-profits to improve the lives of people around the world. And we’re doing it in ways that are aligned with our constitutional principles. And in this work, we intend to expand it in the days ahead, rooted in the notions of partnership and justice and the imperatives to help the poor.
Of course there are some needs that require more resources than faith groups have at their disposal. There’s only so much a church can do to help all the families in need -- all those who need help making a mortgage payment, or avoiding foreclosure, or making sure their child can go to college. There’s only so much that a nonprofit can do to help a community rebuild in the wake of disaster. There’s only so much the private sector will do to help folks who are desperately sick get the care that they need.
And that's why I continue to believe that in a caring and in a just society, government must have a role to play; that our values, our love and our charity must find expression not just in our families, not just in our places of work and our places of worship, but also in our government and in our politics.
Over the past two years, the nature of these obligations, the proper role of government has obviously been the subject of enormous controversy. And the debates have been fierce as one side’s version of compassion and community may be interpreted by the other side as an oppressive and irresponsible expansion of the state or an unacceptable restriction on individual freedom.
That's why a second recurring theme in my prayers is a prayer for humility. Now, God answered this prayer for me early on by having me marry Michelle. (Laughter and applause.) Because whether it’s reminding me of a chore undone, or questioning the wisdom of watching my third football game in a row on Sunday, she keeps me humble. (Laughter.)
But in this life of politics when debates have become so bitterly polarized, and changes in the media lead so many of us just to listen to those who reinforce our existing biases, it’s useful to go back to Scripture to remind ourselves that none of has all the answers -- none of us, no matter what our political party or our station in life.
The full breadth of human knowledge is like a grain of sand in God’s hands. And there are some mysteries in this world we cannot fully comprehend. As it’s written in Job, “God’s voice thunders in marvelous ways. He does great things beyond our understandings.”
The challenge I find then is to balance this uncertainty, this humility, with the need to fight for deeply held convictions, to be open to other points of view but firm in our core principles. And I pray for this wisdom every day.
I pray that God will show me and all of us the limits of our understanding, and open our ears and our hearts to our brothers and sisters with different points of view; that such reminders of our shared hopes and our shared dreams and our shared limitations as children of God will reveal the way forward that we can travel together.
And the last recurring theme, one that binds all prayers together, is that I might walk closer with God and make that walk my first and most important task.
In our own lives it’s easy to be consumed by our daily worries and our daily concerns. And it is even easier at a time when everybody is busy, everybody is stressed, and everybody -- our culture is obsessed with wealth and power and celebrity. And often it takes a brush with hardship or tragedy to shake us out of that, to remind us of what matters most.
We see an aging parent wither under a long illness, or we lose a daughter or a husband in Afghanistan, we watch a gunman open fire in a supermarket -- and we remember how fleeting life can be. And we ask ourselves how have we treated others, whether we’ve told our family and friends how much we love them. And it’s in these moments, when we feel most intensely our mortality and our own flaws and the sins of the world, that we most desperately seek to touch the face of God.
So my prayer this morning is that we might seek His face not only in those moments, but each and every day; that every day as we go through the hustle and bustle of our lives, whether it’s in Washington or Hollywood or anywhere in between, that we might every so often rise above the here and now, and kneel before the Eternal; that we might remember, Kaye, the fact that those who wait on the Lord will soar on wings like eagles, and they will run and not be weary, and they will walk and not faint.
When I wake in the morning, I wait on the Lord, and I ask Him to give me the strength to do right by our country and its people. And when I go to bed at night I wait on the Lord, and I ask Him to forgive me my sins, and look after my family and the American people, and make me an instrument of His will.
I say these prayers hoping they will be answered, and I say these prayers knowing that I must work and must sacrifice and must serve to see them answered. But I also say these prayers knowing that the act of prayer itself is a source of strength. It’s a reminder that our time on Earth is not just about us; that when we open ourselves to the possibility that God might have a larger purpose for our lives, there’s a chance that somehow, in ways that we may never fully know, God will use us well.
May the Lord bless you and keep you, and may He bless this country that we love. (Applause.)
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Christmastide 2010
One hundred and thirty years ago this Christmas Eve, several hundred people gathered at 10 p.m. in a wooden church to welcome Christmas, as the new cathedral was not yet finished in Truro, Cornwall, England.
The idea for this service was put forward by the Reverend G H S Walpole, and the newish Bishop of Truro, the Reverend Edward White Benson, took up the idea and developed what he called "A Festal Service of Lessons and Carols." And that's exactly what it was - lessons from the Old and New Testaments and music, mainly from Handel's "Messiah."
Three years later, Benson was appointed Archbishop of Canterbury and during his thirteen year tenure spread the word about this service, and very slowly it began to find its way into other churches, even though it fell outside of the liturgical conventions of that time.
And as it does, time passed...quite a lot of time, it turned out.
In 1912, Eric Milner White, a graduate of King’s College, was appointed Chaplain of the college; when war broke out two years later, he joined the Army as a chaplain and served in France and Italy. Toward the end of the war, his unit was heavily engaged, and all the officers were either killed or wounded. The men asked Milner White to take command. He did, and by doing so, violated the role of non-combatant required of clergy in combat. He left the army - or perhaps it was the army which left him - and returned to his previous position at King’s College, and just a few months later was appointed Dean of the Chapel, a position of considerable importance.
In the autumn of the first year of his Deanship, he proposed a "new" service for Christmas Eve - its roots were in Truro, but under Milner White it was transformed; he saw it as part of a new approach to liturgy in the Church and brought three key elements from the service in Truro - a mixture of lessons read and carols sung, readers from a chorister (boy singer) to the Provost of the college (where at Truro the readers were members of the community and clergy), and the idea that the service was a gift from the college to the community. He changed some of the lessons, re-positioned some, and broadened the musical choices, with the somewhat reluctant help of the Director of Music, Dr A. H. Mann (who served at King's in that role for fifty-four years).
And then....and then, Milner White wrote the great bidding prayer; it comes early in the service and includeds these wonderful words: “Lastly, let us remember before God all those who rejoice with us, but upon another shore, and in a greater light, that multitude which no man can number, whose hope was in the Word made flesh, and with whom in the Lord Jesus we are for ever one.”
So on Christmas Eve, 1918, six weeks after the Armistice was declared on November 11th, ending World War I, a congregation gathered in King’s College Chapel, that amazing gothic stone structure begun by Henry VI and completed by Henry VIII, for the first “Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols."
One can only speculate on the feelings of those in attendance as they heard the words of the bidding prayer, mindful as they were of the great sacrifices made by all who took part in the "war to end all wars" but especially by friends - students, staff and professors at King's and all the other Cambridge colleges. Even today, on the eleventh hour of the eleventh month, the memory of all those lost in World War I is honored throughout the United Kingdom.
Nine decades later, we can participate in that same service by listening to public radio... and nine decades later, we should take time to appreciate the poignancy and meaning of that first service and perhaps find relevant links to events in our own time.
The lineage of this service from Truro to listeners around the world is a reminder that small ideas, well, thoughtfully, and sometimes accidentally nurtured, often find their way into our lives - if we lower our defenses and permit them entry. Some of them will survive and become recurring elements in the lives of a few; a smaller number will grow, change, and be meaningful to untold numbers of people in many different parts of our world.
You, faithful reader, have your own ideas about the greater good. To grow them, all one need to is, well, to begin....
In spite of the turmoil which surrounds us these days, the blessings of the season upon you....
Nick Nash
The idea for this service was put forward by the Reverend G H S Walpole, and the newish Bishop of Truro, the Reverend Edward White Benson, took up the idea and developed what he called "A Festal Service of Lessons and Carols." And that's exactly what it was - lessons from the Old and New Testaments and music, mainly from Handel's "Messiah."
Three years later, Benson was appointed Archbishop of Canterbury and during his thirteen year tenure spread the word about this service, and very slowly it began to find its way into other churches, even though it fell outside of the liturgical conventions of that time.
And as it does, time passed...quite a lot of time, it turned out.
In 1912, Eric Milner White, a graduate of King’s College, was appointed Chaplain of the college; when war broke out two years later, he joined the Army as a chaplain and served in France and Italy. Toward the end of the war, his unit was heavily engaged, and all the officers were either killed or wounded. The men asked Milner White to take command. He did, and by doing so, violated the role of non-combatant required of clergy in combat. He left the army - or perhaps it was the army which left him - and returned to his previous position at King’s College, and just a few months later was appointed Dean of the Chapel, a position of considerable importance.
In the autumn of the first year of his Deanship, he proposed a "new" service for Christmas Eve - its roots were in Truro, but under Milner White it was transformed; he saw it as part of a new approach to liturgy in the Church and brought three key elements from the service in Truro - a mixture of lessons read and carols sung, readers from a chorister (boy singer) to the Provost of the college (where at Truro the readers were members of the community and clergy), and the idea that the service was a gift from the college to the community. He changed some of the lessons, re-positioned some, and broadened the musical choices, with the somewhat reluctant help of the Director of Music, Dr A. H. Mann (who served at King's in that role for fifty-four years).
And then....and then, Milner White wrote the great bidding prayer; it comes early in the service and includeds these wonderful words: “Lastly, let us remember before God all those who rejoice with us, but upon another shore, and in a greater light, that multitude which no man can number, whose hope was in the Word made flesh, and with whom in the Lord Jesus we are for ever one.”
So on Christmas Eve, 1918, six weeks after the Armistice was declared on November 11th, ending World War I, a congregation gathered in King’s College Chapel, that amazing gothic stone structure begun by Henry VI and completed by Henry VIII, for the first “Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols."
One can only speculate on the feelings of those in attendance as they heard the words of the bidding prayer, mindful as they were of the great sacrifices made by all who took part in the "war to end all wars" but especially by friends - students, staff and professors at King's and all the other Cambridge colleges. Even today, on the eleventh hour of the eleventh month, the memory of all those lost in World War I is honored throughout the United Kingdom.
Nine decades later, we can participate in that same service by listening to public radio... and nine decades later, we should take time to appreciate the poignancy and meaning of that first service and perhaps find relevant links to events in our own time.
The lineage of this service from Truro to listeners around the world is a reminder that small ideas, well, thoughtfully, and sometimes accidentally nurtured, often find their way into our lives - if we lower our defenses and permit them entry. Some of them will survive and become recurring elements in the lives of a few; a smaller number will grow, change, and be meaningful to untold numbers of people in many different parts of our world.
You, faithful reader, have your own ideas about the greater good. To grow them, all one need to is, well, to begin....
In spite of the turmoil which surrounds us these days, the blessings of the season upon you....
Nick Nash
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Looking Towards Our Silent Night
We need silence now more than ever before. Surrounded as we are by the persistent and loud beating of the drums of politics and commerce, as well as the beeps and tones from the electronic devices which live in our kitchens, game rooms, pockets, purses, and briefcases, we need a break, and this is the perfect time of year to permit yourself to do just that.
Just before I sat down to write this, I went out to shovel the snow off the front steps. It was cold, probably about 12 degrees Fahrenheit; the sun was bright, and no wind...a perfect winter day. (The calendar may suggest late autumn, but it's winter, no doubt about it.
The shovel scraped under the snow on each step, and once in a while, I would have to punch the blade into the packed stuff to break it up so that I could clear it away.
From time to time, I would pause to look around to check on Islay, the beloved Scotty. She seemed to be enjoying the silence as she moved around studying the yard.
After a week involving the loss of heat and hot water in the house when the boiler committed hari-kiri - I found my bit of shoveling in the silence quite restorative.
These few minutes were an excellent reminder that for my own good, I need to time to be outside in the quiet and refreshing (cold better outside than in, I've learned yet again), especially when Islay and go out for the last time before bed and frequently view the array of stars in the black sky, our own silent night, in anticipation of the season of joy to come.
Just before I sat down to write this, I went out to shovel the snow off the front steps. It was cold, probably about 12 degrees Fahrenheit; the sun was bright, and no wind...a perfect winter day. (The calendar may suggest late autumn, but it's winter, no doubt about it.
The shovel scraped under the snow on each step, and once in a while, I would have to punch the blade into the packed stuff to break it up so that I could clear it away.
From time to time, I would pause to look around to check on Islay, the beloved Scotty. She seemed to be enjoying the silence as she moved around studying the yard.
After a week involving the loss of heat and hot water in the house when the boiler committed hari-kiri - I found my bit of shoveling in the silence quite restorative.
These few minutes were an excellent reminder that for my own good, I need to time to be outside in the quiet and refreshing (cold better outside than in, I've learned yet again), especially when Islay and go out for the last time before bed and frequently view the array of stars in the black sky, our own silent night, in anticipation of the season of joy to come.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Islay, Beloved Dog
Today I celebrate Islay the beloved Scottish terrier's birthday and calling it her sixth. Because she came from the Humane Society, we're not sure of the details, so I decided to make them up.
When she arrived in my life, I hadn't had a dog in the house for several years - the last one died just as a hip started its decline, and I felt it would be unfair to have a dog I couldn't exercise properly. After the hip replacement adventure, I began to think about another dog. About that time I got a call about a scotty at the humane society and made the delicious mistake of following up promptly (somewhat unlike me), and Islay arrived in my life.
And nothing has been the same since. After a rambunctious, even wild start, she began to calm, to develop confidence, and - as one would expect from a terrier - manage me from morning 'til night.
This began with a studied shake of her head which caused her id tags and dog license to jingle brightly, and shortly that signal became the sign that it was
time to get up
time to go out
time for breakfast
time to go out again
time for a walk
time for a snack
time to go out
time to go out again
time for another walk,
time for dinner
time to go out
time to go out again
time for a bed time snack.
If the head shake doesn't do the trick, then she leaps up and puts her paws on a knee, and she will do this recurrently until there is an appropriate response. And once I start moving toward the front door, for example, she pushes her cold wet nose into the backs of my ankles. With bare feet in the morning, that strategem still comes as a surprise.
On our walks together, Islay sets the pace, and it is I who tries to catch up. Fortunately we frequent nearby trails used by other dogs and their owners, so Islay has to stop regularly to receive and respond to p-mail. Turns out there is quite a lot of that, but I try not to notice.
When Islay is joyful, generally just before the food bowl is put down for her, she leaps into the air and manages to get several feet of air underneath her, a sort of canine geländesprung, with no intervening obstacle. She amazes me every time she does it.
There was a point when I wasn't too thrilled about the level of skill Islay had achieved in managing me, but I've "moved on," as we say nowadays, and I rather enjoy it. She gets more done, and I have a happy dog.
Some dogs are companions, and that's well and good. Terriers don't put up with that kind of limitation, and they are relentless in being part of the family. Islay sits on the furniture (the better to see what's going on outside), she checks out the neighbor's big dog to make sure that he's OK, and if she comes in wet from the rain, she rolls on her back, stretches out, and does everything but advertise in full color that a towel plus a drying session had damn well better be close at hand. And yes, the dinner plates end up on the floor for Islay to clean up.
She comes to my office in order to greet visitors, observe the local fauna, and water the local flora at every opportunity, and when K and I drive up to the North Shore of Lake Superior, Islay comes with us, sitting on K's knees, her head resting on the top of the glove compartment, or she chooses to sit on the console, sometimes facing forward, sometimes facing backwards.
Islay is the most recent scot in a long line of them stretching back over four decades. I enjoyed them all for their enthusiasm, energy, and sense of humor.
But she is different, and each day I am grateful for her presence in my life, for the laughter she creates, the crankiness she jollies me out of, and the love she shows continuously.
And I hope she feels the same way about me.
When she arrived in my life, I hadn't had a dog in the house for several years - the last one died just as a hip started its decline, and I felt it would be unfair to have a dog I couldn't exercise properly. After the hip replacement adventure, I began to think about another dog. About that time I got a call about a scotty at the humane society and made the delicious mistake of following up promptly (somewhat unlike me), and Islay arrived in my life.
And nothing has been the same since. After a rambunctious, even wild start, she began to calm, to develop confidence, and - as one would expect from a terrier - manage me from morning 'til night.
This began with a studied shake of her head which caused her id tags and dog license to jingle brightly, and shortly that signal became the sign that it was
time to get up
time to go out
time for breakfast
time to go out again
time for a walk
time for a snack
time to go out
time to go out again
time for another walk,
time for dinner
time to go out
time to go out again
time for a bed time snack.
If the head shake doesn't do the trick, then she leaps up and puts her paws on a knee, and she will do this recurrently until there is an appropriate response. And once I start moving toward the front door, for example, she pushes her cold wet nose into the backs of my ankles. With bare feet in the morning, that strategem still comes as a surprise.
On our walks together, Islay sets the pace, and it is I who tries to catch up. Fortunately we frequent nearby trails used by other dogs and their owners, so Islay has to stop regularly to receive and respond to p-mail. Turns out there is quite a lot of that, but I try not to notice.
When Islay is joyful, generally just before the food bowl is put down for her, she leaps into the air and manages to get several feet of air underneath her, a sort of canine geländesprung, with no intervening obstacle. She amazes me every time she does it.
There was a point when I wasn't too thrilled about the level of skill Islay had achieved in managing me, but I've "moved on," as we say nowadays, and I rather enjoy it. She gets more done, and I have a happy dog.
Some dogs are companions, and that's well and good. Terriers don't put up with that kind of limitation, and they are relentless in being part of the family. Islay sits on the furniture (the better to see what's going on outside), she checks out the neighbor's big dog to make sure that he's OK, and if she comes in wet from the rain, she rolls on her back, stretches out, and does everything but advertise in full color that a towel plus a drying session had damn well better be close at hand. And yes, the dinner plates end up on the floor for Islay to clean up.
She comes to my office in order to greet visitors, observe the local fauna, and water the local flora at every opportunity, and when K and I drive up to the North Shore of Lake Superior, Islay comes with us, sitting on K's knees, her head resting on the top of the glove compartment, or she chooses to sit on the console, sometimes facing forward, sometimes facing backwards.
Islay is the most recent scot in a long line of them stretching back over four decades. I enjoyed them all for their enthusiasm, energy, and sense of humor.
But she is different, and each day I am grateful for her presence in my life, for the laughter she creates, the crankiness she jollies me out of, and the love she shows continuously.
And I hope she feels the same way about me.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
A Thought About Concussions
As a society with what I think is an excessive interest in "violent sports," we are finally getting around to confronting the issue of the effects of violence on the brains of the participants...not just at the professional levels but all the way down to school boy football and hockey (among others).
Evidence continues to accumulate that there is more damage to brains than we might ever have thought, and just this week the NFL emerged from its dark cave to assess fines and suspensions against some perfectly terrifying hits in the weekend's games.
The long term impact of the mayhem emerges in depression, forgetfulness, and early onset dementia, among other problems. Lives are shortened, families impacted, and at the pro level, insurance does not apparently support the darkling end of live's journey.
There are those who contend that violence is "part of the game," "why people go to the games," and that mayhem has a long and noble history in our country. Cynically, one might say that those who take that point of view probably played too much football, baseball, rugby, soccer, and hockey themselves.
On the constructive side, we're seeing some improvements in the technology of protection, a more generous view towards those who have been hurt and who are very slowly returning to normal (Justin Morneau of the Minnesota Twins is one recent and local example), and stricter rules governing what is acceptable contact.
A sportswriter recently observed that the way to reduce violence in football is to take away the helmets (think rugby here, friends, with some ear protection and nothing else). Think about it...perhaps we have provided too much protection for athletes and so they take too many risks thinking that it's the other athlete who will be injured.
I have a simpler idea. Let's stop using the word "concussion" and start using the phrase "brain injury." Concussion sounds too benign, but "brain injury" tends to get one's attention.
About a decade ago, I slipped on winter ice and fell backwards on my head. I was probably out for a few seconds, but when I came to I couldn't get up, so I crawled into the building and made it down the hall to the tea room where I found some help - but only after they realized that I was not trying to be amusing on a Friday morning
I called my doctor who asked me lots of questions, then told me to go home and to take the weekend off and - especially - not to make any important decisions until the following Monday. I was a bit surprised by that, but he explained that I would be "goofy," to use his word, for several days.
He was absolutely correct about the goofy part, and I resolved to make every effort to avoid a similar event in future and now try to fall on my butt and not my head.
When I imagine athletes getting smacked in the head a couple of hundred times a season (at any level of competition), I wonder why the hell it's taken us so long to get a grip on the problem of voluntary brain injury. And please don't get me started on those who suffer similar difficulties in places like, oh, Afghanistan and Iraq.
This dreadful harvest of brain injury will be with us for decades unless we work quickly to find better solutions.
Evidence continues to accumulate that there is more damage to brains than we might ever have thought, and just this week the NFL emerged from its dark cave to assess fines and suspensions against some perfectly terrifying hits in the weekend's games.
The long term impact of the mayhem emerges in depression, forgetfulness, and early onset dementia, among other problems. Lives are shortened, families impacted, and at the pro level, insurance does not apparently support the darkling end of live's journey.
There are those who contend that violence is "part of the game," "why people go to the games," and that mayhem has a long and noble history in our country. Cynically, one might say that those who take that point of view probably played too much football, baseball, rugby, soccer, and hockey themselves.
On the constructive side, we're seeing some improvements in the technology of protection, a more generous view towards those who have been hurt and who are very slowly returning to normal (Justin Morneau of the Minnesota Twins is one recent and local example), and stricter rules governing what is acceptable contact.
A sportswriter recently observed that the way to reduce violence in football is to take away the helmets (think rugby here, friends, with some ear protection and nothing else). Think about it...perhaps we have provided too much protection for athletes and so they take too many risks thinking that it's the other athlete who will be injured.
I have a simpler idea. Let's stop using the word "concussion" and start using the phrase "brain injury." Concussion sounds too benign, but "brain injury" tends to get one's attention.
About a decade ago, I slipped on winter ice and fell backwards on my head. I was probably out for a few seconds, but when I came to I couldn't get up, so I crawled into the building and made it down the hall to the tea room where I found some help - but only after they realized that I was not trying to be amusing on a Friday morning
I called my doctor who asked me lots of questions, then told me to go home and to take the weekend off and - especially - not to make any important decisions until the following Monday. I was a bit surprised by that, but he explained that I would be "goofy," to use his word, for several days.
He was absolutely correct about the goofy part, and I resolved to make every effort to avoid a similar event in future and now try to fall on my butt and not my head.
When I imagine athletes getting smacked in the head a couple of hundred times a season (at any level of competition), I wonder why the hell it's taken us so long to get a grip on the problem of voluntary brain injury. And please don't get me started on those who suffer similar difficulties in places like, oh, Afghanistan and Iraq.
This dreadful harvest of brain injury will be with us for decades unless we work quickly to find better solutions.
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