Tag Archives: faith

Money, Money, Money

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The O’Jays > Abba, but I digress.

I dig this story, “Gift to help cover tuition for students in lab medicine” for a few reasons. Mostly because the donors wanted to remain anonymous. Such a refreshing choice in this “look at me” day and age. I also like how targeted and thought out the gift is. There will surely be positive ripple effects. And of course, the recipients’ gratitude is heartwarming.

Then there’s this. “Michael and Susan Dell donate $6.25 billion to encourage families to claim ‘Trump Accounts’”. Not anonymous, and a very unfortunate name, but a staggering amount that compensates for both of those things.

Both are interesting in the context of this The Nation pod, “Liberal Philanthropy and the Fight for Democracy“. Sentence-long summary, “As powerbrokers of the elite, liberal philanthropists are averse to challenging ‘the systems that spawned them.'” One does not have to be as far left as the typical The Nation reader/listener to conclude that we’re far too dependent on the capriciousness (and ego) of the oligarchy for the infrastructure and safety nets we desperately need. What we need is the the dependability of a more progressive tax structure.

Yours truly just sold some AAPL purchased in 2011. The initial investment was small, but the shares appreciated over 2,000% in the fourteen years, resulting in a large sum. Which I will now gift to several nonprofits.

In revealing that, I’ve violated my fave philanthropic move, remaining anonymous. And, I’ve also sidestepped considerable capital gain taxes.

I can live with those demerits because I do not aspire to be in any pantheon of modern-day philanthropists. My aim is simpler. It’s to honor the memory of those who’ve been generous with me and to transmute the incredible luck I’ve had as an investor into tangible contributions to the common good.

Localism Is The Answer

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Increasingly, it’s obvious that the more “plugged in” to the news, the more “on-line” one is, the worse their physical/mental/spiritual well-being because media algorithms know that outrage is the surest way to attract and keep eyeballs, and thereby sell advertising. As a result, outlandish opinions dominate. And once you and I are sufficiently outraged, we can’t unplug.

So if you and I want to maintain whatever sanity we have, we should intentionally tune out the news. Learn to leave our phones behind on occasion. Step away from our keyboards. Not watch as much t.v., or more likely, stream television clips.

Ignorance may in fact be bliss, but it also empowers those in power, because the more uninformed people are, and the more apathetic, the more free elected officials are to do as they please.

So what are we to do? Localism is the answer. Or a variation of the popular phrase that you no doubt remember, “Think globally, act locally.” Instead, maybe we should, “Think locally and act locally.” I’m advocating for a type of grassroots accountability, starting with ourselves and then branching out to where we live, trusting that if we do right by those we’re in closest relationship with, our county, state, country, and world will be okay in the long run.

So, in this way of thinking, we don’t get embroiled in fighting about national policies or current events. Instead, we recognize that our attention and energy are finite; consequently, we focus on being better partners, parents, and friends to those we live with, next to, and near. We go to the farmers’ market and initiate conversations with those closest to us.

Recently, someone, on-line ironically, asked a great question that gets to the heart of localism. They asked, “Do you know the name of the person that delivers your mail?”

I don’t. Why? Because I’m usually on my computer when she visits each morning.

Clearly, I have a ways to go.

Trying To Keep It Real

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Newish ritual. When Abigail comes at 8p during the week, I take advantage of the evening light and walk towards the co-op and then down the Garfield Nature Trail, popping out on West Bay and up West Bay back to basecamp. A serene 2k. All while whittling down the podcast queue. Since starting this ritual my sleep score has risen a bit. Cowinkydink?

The last “evening walk” pod was an interview with a male family therapist who explained men don’t learn to be vulnerable. Dude, not an original insight, but one that trigged one in me. While listening to him it dawned on me that The Good Wife wasn’t being vulnerable with me about her worsening condition and finite time. At all. And that, as a result, I wasn’t feeling very connected to her. Just the guy who helps her in and out of bed and the wheelchair. The bloke who cooks, cleans, and keeps her calendar.

And so I told her that, and said, “What gives?” And she deflected, saying I wasn’t being vulnerable, which was humorous because I had just defied my gender and communicated a heartfelt feeling. And I told her that too. And she was silent for awhile. And then.

She talked about my first marathon back-in-the-day which went by our street at mile 21 and how I had dropped out and didn’t even make it to there. And how I felt so bad for failing A and J. That it was a perfect opportunity to model toughness and I blew it. And how my beating myself up stuck with her. And she said I always praised her for any toughness she showed. And that if she’s tough now maybe she’ll slow down the disease’s inevitable progression.

Ah shit. Any chance of rewinding the tape? Of a do-over?

I told her I didn’t think toughness would slow down the atrophy, but that it most certainly would make it more difficult for us to connect.

Then she went deeper. Talked about being afraid of dying. About questioning lifelong religious assumptions. About specific anxieties tied to what will happen to her body upon dying.

Which allowed me to return to the old familiar fold of closest confidant and best friend.

I thanked her for her honesty and encouraged her to think about dying as a natural process that happens to her beloved plants, animals, all aspects of nature. To think of it as falling asleep, but not having to wake up.

I said it would be unbearably sad alone, but that she’ll be surrounded by people who love her dearly. People who are much better off having known her.

Right now, I’m the oldest and wisest I’ve ever been, so I don’t expect any of those words to ameliorate her end-of-life anxieties and fears.

But maybe, hopefully, a little.

‘A Pretzel And A Soda At The Pool’

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“Mr. Goldberg, 75, then came across a stranger’s post in a neighborhood Facebook group: ‘If anyone has a family member, friend or knows someone who is elderly and needs help pre-registering or registering online for the Covid-19 vaccine, I am happy to help,’ it said. The person was not asking for money and said, ‘I don’t care how long it takes.’

Mr. Goldberg wanted to contact the stranger immediately, but Ms. Goldberg was more skeptical. ‘You have to give your personal information to make appointments,’ she said. ‘A lot of people get targeted for scams when they are elderly.’

But Mr. Goldberg won the debate and reached out to the stranger, Harriet Diamantidis, a 36-year-old executive assistant who lives in nearby Merrick. Within a few hours, Ms. Diamantidis had procured appointments for the couple at Abraham Lincoln High School in Coney Island, Brooklyn. Ms. Goldberg, 73, remained skeptical until she and her husband showed up at the high school, she said. ‘But we both got our vaccine, and we even have follow-up appointments for the second dose on Feb. 27.’

The Goldbergs have stayed in touch with Ms. Diamantidis, who, it turns out, visits the same community pool they do in the summer. ‘I told her I wanted to send her something, but she wouldn’t accept it,’ Mr. Goldberg said. ‘So now I’ve decided I will buy her a pretzel and a soda at the pool.'”

Faith in humanity restored.

The Greatest Living Christian Apologist

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Tampa to Charlotte. 6B is reading a book about how Christians can pick apart scientists’ arguments and successfully evangelize the masses.

My age, fighting Father Time with the help of a toupee. I can’t help but think how different our lives have probably been. We make small talk, and then in a temporary lapse of sanity I say, “Good book?” And he was off to the races.

He was surprised I knew what apologetics was and quickly informed me that he was supposed to be in First Class with his 83 year old dad who is the “World’s Greatest Living Christian Apologist”. Damn, I didn’t know that was a competition. Where, I wondered, could I find the complete rankings. I have close friends in the ministry, are they in the Top 20 I wondered? And how do the competing apologists keep track of total souls saved? Do you self-report and just trust your competitors aren’t inflating their numbers?

He didn’t know what to make of me. “Are there many other people like you in your church?” In other words. You’re one of those social justice whack jobs I’ve read about. I’ll pray for you.

There was some disappointment that I didn’t know his dad, but hell, he didn’t know mine, and mine was the World’s Greatest Wearer of Plaid Pants. Apparently, his dad built two seminaries and they travel the world debating atheists and others about Christianity. My dad was far too smart to ever hire me.

A Dallas Seminarian who believes in biblical inerrancy, he lectured me about the three different kinds of Christian apologetics and shared some of his strategies for convincing others to think just like him.

I told him about my Nigerian friend who was the most fervent Christian I had ever met and that if he was born 100 miles north of where he was he probably would’ve been an influential Muslim Iman. And that very, very few Christian parents in North America introduce their children to different faith traditions. That when it comes to one’s faith, the time, place, and family in which you’re born is probably even more influential than the Holy Spirit.

But turns out, he’s the exception. He’s talks with his 6, 8, and 10 year old (“started my family much later”) about other faiths all the time and encourages them to ask questions. And I’m SURE if one of them commits to a different faith in the future he’ll be completely understanding.

Lord, please temper my cynicism and grant 6B some humility.

[Remember, eavesdropping is perfectly okay. You just have to expect and accept returns of serve. “I noticed what you were reading,” 6B said with furrowed brow. The Ethicist essay in the New York Times Magazine titled, “Do You Tell a Friend That His Daughter is Having Sex?” Bahahaha!