Call Waiting

On July 14th, France’s National Day, better known as Bastille Day, we were trying to enjoy an impromptu picnic at Grenoble’s Parc Mistral. A handful of us had gathered on the dry cement of a local  monument, playing cards as we waited for the fireworks to start. It had been raining off and on all day, and a recent break in the weather had given us hope that the annual municipal  “feu d’artifice” display would go through as planned. But as we waited, a last minute deluge just before dusk sent everyone scurrying for cover.  We reluctantly headed home, disappointed that after hours of waiting, we would not see any fireworks this year after all.

Little did we know, that 380 kilometers away in Nice, there would be those that evening whose enjoyment of fireworks would end in something far more horrible than disappointment. A different kind of dark cloud loomed over this gathering of families and children, that would also see people fleeing for cover but cast a sickening and horrible dark pall over the festivities of an entire nation. Ironically, if the fireworks in that city had been cancelled as it was in ours, a tragedy might possibly have been avoided.  But instead, as the smoke of the last fireworks dissipated in the clear coastal skies over the Promenade des Anglais, hatred in the form of a man and a large rented truck prematurely ended the lives of 84 innocent people and seriously wounded scores more.

The carnage was nearly incomprehensible. As many bodies lay motionless, strewn here and there in the wake of the attack, one off-duty paramedic instinctively tried to get to those who urgently needed medical care. But he was held back by police who had created a perimeter around the scene, fearing that the vehicle which had just torn through the crowd could be full of explosives and go off at any time. He shared how he began hearing a faint chorus of unanswered cell-phones, the blue light from their screens eerily illuminating the darkness from the pockets and purses of the deceased.

One can only imagine the feelings of desperation and dread of family and friends, quickly having been alerted by the media of what had just taken place, on the other end of those unsuccessful phone calls. As I thought of these loved ones, I also couldn’t help but make the comparison to God’s attempts in these trying days to reach out to France. Like a loving Father, he too is desperate to connect with those who are exposed to the attacks of an enemy. But too often, those He loves and wishes to speak to are unable to hear His call because the events of life have rendered them unresponsive and spiritually dead.

What is it that holds me back from rushing to the aid of those who lay numb and immovable in their personal pain and agony?  During danger and crisis, many people run away as they go into self-preservation mode. But for those called and trained to rescue and heal, there is no place for fear, indifference or inaction in the face of tragedy. We are surrounded every day by victims of a real and relentless devil who is raging in his attempts to indiscriminately kill and destroy. And it should break our hearts, as it does God’s, that His calls offering help and concern go mostly unanswered.

The Museum of Me

News from France this week broadcast bizarre images of Paris residents navigating boats down flooded streets. Tourists who would normally be shopping, were now sopping.  Due to torrential rains, the Seine river, which snakes through and around the capital, had crested at 20 feet above normal, shutting down metro lines and closing many tourist sites. The City of Lights, now had become a city of plight, as many visitors were forced to rethink their itineraries, cancel tickets and have a literal damper put on their dream vacations.

In an unprecedented move, curators at the Louvre had to move to higher ground 150,000 artifacts and works of art that had been stored in the basement of the famous landmark in order to save them from potential damage.  Who knew that a museum that already boasted 380,000 individual cultural treasures, all accessible to the public, had so much more hidden below the surface?  It took a disaster to bring what was hidden out of its unexplored recesses.

Have you ever noticed how a crisis tends to bring to the surface of our lives things that we maybe did not realize were there?  We usually keep the best looking and most interesting part of us

accessible above the surface. But it’s what we either consciously or unconsciously keep buried in the dark storerooms of our soul that we deem unfit to be viewed by the public. And they usually stay where we want them -  safely tucked away under lock and key. That is until a flood of stress or worry forces them to higher ground and we become acutely aware and unmistakably uncomfortable with what is being dredged up and dusted off.

I turned 51 this year and a recent deluge precipitated some murky swirling deep waters. And let’s just say I was keeping some old bones (I prefer to not use the word skeletons) where I knew my emotional elevator rarely went.  Before I knew it, though, old and unpleasant musty things from my private stockpile of memories and experiences were being hauled up from sub-terrain of my past. It was unanticipated and uncomfortable. These historical articles had not been sanitized or polished and were definitely now unprotected.

But the truth is, it was their previously undetected hiding place that actually made me more vulnerable. Those unsightly relics are now getting a proper cleaning and actually look pretty acceptable next to the old exhibit’s standard fare. There’s now a bit less lying in the underbelly of my life that makes me liable and I’ve found that what I considered too ugly or damaged is actually worth more than I thought when seen in a better light. In the Museum of Me, I’ve found it’s just best to get everything out into view while remembering a couple of things. One, don’t expect that everyone will be able to accurately appraise every article’s real value; and two, every artifact from our past together makes up a rare and unique collection that has to be seen in its entirety to be truly treasured.

Titles and Deeds

en·ti·tle·ment

/inˈtīdlmənt/

Noun

"Having a right to something or believing that one deserves to be 

given something”

planoun  en·ti·tle·ment  \-ˈtī-təl-mənt “the condition of having a right to have, do, or get something; the feeling or belief that you deserve to be given something

No one looks the way I do

I have noticed that it’s true

No one walks the way I walk

No one talks the way I talk

No one plays the way I play

No one says the things I say

I am special

I am me  

(nursery song sung by Gen Y children from 1978-1997)

It is said that today’s generation feels the greatest sense of entitlement ever. This may be in comparison to previous American generations who prided themselves on pulling themselves up by the bootstraps and telling each other “There’s no elevator to the top, just the stairs”, not to mention enduring shoe shortages and  horrific blizzard conditions on that walk to school.

But if you come from France, entitlement is still alive and well and has been for centuries. It’s interesting to note that entitlement has the word “title” in it. And pre-revolutionary France was full of folks with important titles. From Duke to Marquis to Comte to Baron, anyone who was “someone” had a title. And as a result expected a high degree of special treatment and privileges in society as a member of the noblesse. Titles breed entitlement and entitlement needs titles.

France severed themselves, quite literally, from this social structure during the guillotine-crazed revolution. What emerged today is a strongly socialist form of government where the super rich are taxed at up to 75% to help pay for a social welfare system that takes care of citizens of the republic from cradle to grave. This has produced another kind of entitlement. People expect their government to take care of each and every one of their needs.  35 hour work weeks, six weeks of vacation a year and a pension at age 60 is the expectation of every person. Oh, and fresh bread baked daily with 365 varieties of cheese is also high on the list.

And there lies the irony. No, not that every leap year leaves you one cheese short. But the society that did away with an elite class of title-bearing narcissists never completely eradicated the spirit of entitlement. Which brings us to a current generation of American kids who are all about fairness and equality. And who seldom hear a no from moms and dads that want to be pals more than parents. Or lazy students who are given  C’s by teachers afraid of holding them back lest they damage precious self-esteem. And let’s not forget how every player nowadays gets a trophy from the coach just for participating. Even birthday party invitees go home laden with  a goodie bag, because God forbid they would have to watch the birthday person get something and they walk away empty handed.

We’ve created a culture where everything must be fair. No one is to be held in higher esteem than another. Hard work or talent cannot be allowed to cause those less diligent or less capable from feeling any twinge of inferiority. So our American brand of egalitarianism-on-steroids has actually engendered a high degree of entitlement, like France. We’ve produced little, and not-so-little, modern-day Dukes and Duchesses with every bit of expectation of something for nothing as any spoiled Renaissance-era  Countess.

And this culture has found its way into leadership, both in the office chair and the church. Today’s generation of emerging leaders have inherited the maximum for the least amount of work than any other before them. The less one works for what they have, the more the intangible things of leadership, like  respect and influence, are simply expected to come with a title like manager, coordinator, or pastor.

The great egalitarian experiment has failed because it produces new leaders who have neither the capacity for nor the knowledge of the kind of hard work that goes into earning the respect and influence necessary to lead successfully.  I don’t have to bother to earn respect if my sense of fairness says I deserve as much as the next guy with the same degree or a similar position. It’s always so much easier have a title and then tell people what to do than it is to earn trust and respect through sacrifice and hard work. and leading through influence.

Jesus eschewed titles, special treatment and honored seats at the table. He worked hard, served tirelessly  and loved intensely. The result is that whether you called him Rabbi, King, Messiah, or friend - he had people who would die for him and followed him to the ends of the earth. He laid down His titles and never expected fairness because there’s nothing fair about an innocent man being ruthlessly executed. So it's always worth remembering that the only thing that truly puts us all on equal footing is the level ground at the foot of the cross. Nobles and nothings, murderers and moms all find there the same grace which makes them equally worthy of His love. And that's not fair. But it sure is fantastic.