Campaign 2008 - Fault Lines, Fissures and Fractures

“So even though wisdom is better than strength, those who are wise will be despised if they are poor. What they say will not be appreciated for long.”
- Ecclesiastes 9:16 (New Living Translation)

I suspect the internecine warfare is about to begin in earnest. Newt Gingrich recently appeared on “This Week with George Stephanopoulos.” In response to a question about the possibility of a brokered convention selecting him as the Republican nominee he said:

“I think the brokered convention would pick one of the people who had filed for president, but I think the process, after all, it was... You know, Abraham Lincoln was running third and won the convention. He didn't come in first on the first ballot, and so, I think there's nothing unhealthy about the Republican Party having a serious discussion. We are at the end of the George W. Bush era. We are at the end of the Reagan era. We're at a point in time when we're about to start redefining -- as a number of people started talking about, starting to redefine -- the nature of the Republican Party, in response to what the country needs.”

I actually like the idea of a brokered convention. The king makers, however, don’t. The day after Gingrich made the comment, Rush Limbaugh took him to task:

“Is there a Gingrich coalition that has replaced the Reagan coalition? For that matter, what is the McCain coalition? If we're going to have a new era, what is the McCain era? What is the Huckabee era? What is their winning coalition? They don't have one. You know, all this sounds like Third Way kind of talk, the triangulation of the Clinton years in the nineties. But I don't know what the McCain era would be, and I don't know what the Huckabee coalition is. They don't have a coalition. They're out trying to get votes of independents and Democrats. They're pandering to moderates and independents.”

A couple of things became very clear to me after reading both transcripts. First, there’s a fissure about ready to pope wide open in the Republican Party. Second, the battle is really less about the heart and soul of the Party than it is about who is going to wield power and call the shots.

Limbaugh made it clear that he dislikes the ideas of Mike Huckabee and John McCain as much as he dislikes the things Newt Gingrich has to say, for principally the same reason. He claims that he wants to move the country, and the Republican Party, to a position left of center. He does everything in his power to paint the three men and those who support them as anti-conservative, anti Declaration of Independence, and anti-principle.

The truth is, conservatism is not a monolithic movement, subject to the dictates of a small, elite ruling class. Conservatives are automatons; they’re people. In 1980 Ronald Reagan rebuilt a movement. He swept into power with the support of blue collar Democrats and social conservatives. Were they his base? I don’t know, but I do know he could never have been elected without them. I suspect a good number of them are Mike Huckabee and John McCain supporters today.

I think Newt Gingrich was trying to express the challenge he sees in the Conservative movement. Like him, I think it would be healthy for the Republican Party to have the discussion about where we’re going. I think the first order of business if, or when, that conversation takes place is to determine what role the Reagan Democrats and social/religious conservatives should play. The great conservative ideas will remain, tried and true. But the coalition, built so skillfully by Ronald Reagan, will not again flourish again until those who call themselves leaders see that conservatives must “endeavor to teach humanity once more that the germ of public affections (in Burke’s words) is ‘to learn to love the little platoon we belong to in society.’ The task for conservative leaders is to reconcile individualism- which sustained nineteenth century life even while it starved the soul of the nineteenth century – with a sense of community that ran strong in Burke and Adams.”

It is that sense of community that is driving some away from the conservatism practiced for far too long. Some years ago George Bush spoke to a gathering of supporters. In thanking them for their support he said, “I see here a gathering of the haves…and the have mores…or as I like to refer to them – my base.” I think what we’re seeing played out right now is a battle of the “little platoons.” It’s the social/religious conservatives and the Reagan Democrats versus the haves and have mores.

I’m hoping that the convention is brokered and we can have the necessary conversation. Perhaps we can reconcile our differences. On the other hand, it may be that our differences are irreconcilable. Whatever the outcome, it won’t be made by Rush Limbaugh or the Party’s king makers. It will be made by the “little platoons” of social/religious conservatives and Reagan Democrats.

Huck's Army - Youth Will Be Served

“People grow old only by deserting their ideals. Years may wrinkle the skin, but to give up interest wrinkles the soul. You are as young as your faith, as old as your doubt; as young as your self-confidence, as old as your fear; as young as your hope as old as your despair. In the central place of every heart there is a recording chamber. So long as it receives messages of beauty, hope, cheer and courage, so long are you young. When your heart is covered with the snows of pessimism and the ice of cynicism, then, and then only, are you grown old.”
- Douglas MacArthur

I’ve had some friends ask me whether or not Mike Huckabee can win the Republican Party’s nomination or win the general election against what appears to be the Democratic juggernaut. They cite all the things that appear to be negatives to them. He’s too Populist. He’s too Evangelical. He’s not Evangelical enough. He’s not like Ronald Reagan. He’s a traitor to the conservative cause. He’s too folksy; he makes “crass jokes about Metamucil that strip this campaign of its dignity. He doesn’t always hold the Party line. He’s a “librull.”

I’m sure that as this campaign progresses the lists of labels and epithets will grow.

While they don’t say so, they probably think I’m a misguided fool, an idle dreamer, for supporting Mike rather than Fred Thompson or some other rib-rocked conservative. In their minds, the same labels they apply to Mike Huckabee must also apply to dreamy-eyed supporters like me.

Let me mount a defense for idle dreaming.

One of the striking things about the Mike Huckabee campaign is the way that young Evangelicals have become one of his primary support bases. In a recent New York Times op-ed, David Kirkpatrick noted:

“His (Huckabee’s) singular style — Christian traditionalism and the common-man populism of William Jennings Bryan, leavened by an affinity for bass guitar and late-night comedy shows — has energized many young and working-class evangelicals. Their support helped his shoestring campaign come from nowhere to win the Iowa Republican caucus and join the front-runners in Michigan, South Carolina and national polls.”

“And Mr. Huckabee has done it without the backing of, and even over the opposition of, the movement’s most visible leaders, many of whom have either criticized him or endorsed other candidates.”

Well, Hallelujah! Let youth be served.

By the time our next president is sworn into office something seismic will have happened in America. We may have our first woman president or we may have our first African-American president. If/when it happens I also hope something is written about the dramatic shift that’s taking place in the Evangelical movement. The old assumptions about values voters no longer apply, at least for the young. They’re no longer marching to the orders of Pat Robertson or James Dobson, and they’re tuning out Rush Limbaugh. Does this mean that the ideals of the values voters are dead? Hardly. What I believe it represents is a movement coming back to its roots. Young people, as is their wont, are listening with their hearts.

While Republican strategists and king makers criticize the movement, those energized by it or engaged in it see it as something healthy and fresh, a movement that’s come “for such a time as this.” The old guard, too long drunk with political power, is being overwhelmed by something they never anticipated in the heady days of Moral Majority. The new wine and the new politics are bursting the old wineskins and partisan calculations.

I’ve tried for days to let the old guard see what I see. I’ll try once more. The young Evangelical isn’t interested in the politics of division. The young Evangelical is interested in the politics of hope and up. The young Evangelical isn’t interested in the notion of unfettered wealth. The young Evangelical is interested in stewardship and service. The young Evangelical isn’t interested in creating enemies. The young Evangelical is interested in building alliances. The young Evangelical is every bit as patriotic as his elders. He’s committed finding the narrow way where his politics and faith make sense, where they’re in balance. He’s weighing everything not only with his head, but also with his heart.

Giving way to history is difficult. When the new comes, the old often doesn’t want to give way, but give way it must. Dissatisfaction with the old ways, fueled by a youthful faith, has fired the imaginations of a new generation that wants to build a new future. The result is a movement that’s coming alive, like Ezekiel’s dry bones. The passion of youth is being re-kindled. Bone is being knit to bone; flesh and sinew are forming. And breath, a fresh voice, is being heard across the land.

I grew up in the days of Dylan. Even now, at sixty-five, I find myself occasionally humming the old anthem:

“Come mothers and fathers throughout the land
And don’t criticize what you can’t understand
Your sons and your daughters are beyond your command
Your old road is rapidly agin’
Please get out of the new one if you can’t lend a hand
For the times they are a changin’.”

I feel the freeze breeze of change against my wrinkled face and I feel once more young and alive. It feels good. There’s something to be said for being young, for being an idle dreamer; there’s something marvelous in hoping against hope. The actuaries say that I have about fifteen years left. I hope that at that time, whenever it is, it will be said of me that he lived, and died, young.

Parsing the Parson - Campaign 2008, Mike Huckabee, and the Evangelical Vote

“Had I but serv’d my God with half the zeal

I serv’d my king, He would not in mine age

Have left me naked to mine enemies.”
- William Shakespeare (Henry VIII, Act 3, scene 2)

When campaign 2008 is all said and done there will be, as there always are, enduring fictions that live on. I think one of them will be that a candidate’s religion doesn’t really matter. Those who propagate it will do so quite skillfully. Many of them will be conservatives.

Back in October, eons ago now, Mike Huckabee had this to say to a gathering of values voters in Washington, D.C.:

“It’s important that people sing from their hearts and don’t merely lip-sync the lyrics to our songs,” I think it’s important that the language of Zion is a mother tongue and not a recently acquired second language.”

There have been two especially interesting reactions to those words. At the grass roots level, the response has been straight from the gut. People who like Mike say they like him because…..they like Mike. In the rarified air of Republican Party power the response to Mike Huckabee has been every bit as visceral. They’ve cloaked their contempt in what they call reason and conservative principles. They claim that it has nothing to do with his religion. But, as they say here in the Bible belt, “That dog won’t hunt.” They’re parsing and rationalizing, which can, for the unskilled and un-knowing, be dangerous. Kinky Friedman once observed that “a rationalization a day keeps the shrink away.” I think that’s where the Republican movers and shakers are right now. They can’t figure this “I like Mike” thing out, so they’ve taken to rationalizations when they should be engaging in a bit of soul searching.

For years now, the Republican Party has presumed upon the values voter, particularly the Evangelical. But Mike Huckabee represents something new. There’s a fresh wind in the air; the days of presumption may be coming to an end. The old appeals from the Party’s center of gravity don’t seem to be working. The scorn (Huckster Mike, Pastor Mike, “librull,”) only seem to be adding fuel to the fire. The frenetic attempts to label don’t seem have enough glue to stick.

What those attacking Mike Huckabee fail to see is that the phenomenon is less about him than it is about his supporters. This is becoming, if it wasn’t already, a movement. Mike Huckabee is simply responding to the sense a lot of us Evangelicals and political populists have been feeling for quite a while. The sense of abandonment and disconnect by the party powerful has been palpable.

How has it come to this? Mike Huckabee’s detractors say that it’s because he and his supporters have betrayed conservative principles. Huckabee supporters like me are saying, “Nonsense. Someone has moved and it isn’t us.” In 1953, Russell Kirk outlined what he termed the “six canons of conservative thought.” They were/are – (1) Belief in transcendent order which rules society as well as conscience (2) Affection for the proliferating variety and mystery of human existence (3) Conviction that civilized society requires orders and classes (4) Persuasion that freedom and property are closely linked (5) Faith in prescription and distrust of “sophisters, calculators, and economists (6) Recognition that innovation may be a devouring conflagration rather than a torch of progress (see Russell Kirk’s The Conservative Mind – pages 8 and 9). I’d be willing to wager that the vast majority of Huckabee supporters would agree with those principles.

Why, then, have so many Evangelicals, values voters who adored Ronald Reagan, flocked to Mike Huckabee? Is it all as simple as a matter of common faith? Is all this groundswell nothing more than a religious huckster playing pied piper to his fringe flock? Huckabee detractors can portray it like that if they like, but they do so at their own peril. This movement goes far deeper than that.

The depth of the movement may not be evident on the surface, but it’s there. For example, while we believe in temporal order, our roots sink more deeply into the notion that transcendent order (see principle one) is paramount. The practical outworking of that belief in policy terms means that while we believe that we have a duty to solve the illegal immigration problem and our porous southern border, we don’t believe that firing up the busses and rounding up twelve million souls is, in transcendent terms, an acceptable policy position. When it comes to the notion of “affection for the proliferating variety and mystery of human existence,” we Huckabee supporters stand second to none. We are pro-life, in all the richness the term suggests. We believe in order, and even class. But, we also believe that principle is all too often used as an excuse for economic elitism and obscene profits gouged out from the backs of “the least of these.” We do believe in class, but we also believe in the transcendent idea of conscience. In keeping with principle five, we don’t place abiding faith in “sophisters,” calculators, and economists. We refuse to let them explain away our moral obligation to account for the guy who cuts cows or works bussing tables in our economic paradigms. We believe in the notion of freedom and its link to property. Many of us have read the work of F.A. Hayek, but we’ve also read the Acts of the Apostles. Finally, like our Founding Fathers, we believe that change for “light and transient causes” is all too often folly. But, we also believe that those things that are eternal/immutable should have a profound effect on how we live our lives and on public policy (see Malachi 3).

At our core, we Mike Huckabee supporters are true believers in the conservative cause. We haven’t moved. In fact, we’d like to think that we’re trying to re-introduce the notions of soul and human faces into the movement: We’re conservatives. We believe in Chesterton’s “democracy of the dead.” And, we believe that men ought to “participate in a natural and moral order in which they count for more than the flies of summer.”

Will the Mike Huckabee groundswell continue? I don’t know. Does it matter? Yes! From the grass roots a call for the Party to regain its soul has been sounded. Despiet notions to the contrary, the call hasn’t come from a shallow place. The Mike Huckabee movement goes far deeper than its detractors can imagine. They can ridicule it and laugh it to scorn. They can try to bring it back in line. But, it’s too late. The movement has found its voice. The dry bones are coming to life. The Republican Party would do well to listen.

Time for a Metamucil Moment

“Before I refuse to take your questions, I have an opening statement.”
- Ronald Reagan

I got the following comment on yesterday:

“Please write a post with the title “Why Mike Huckabee Should Be President.” I know you are fond of him, but I don't get why I should be. Sell me. Pitch me. Hit me with your best shot.”

The comment came from Minnesota, land of the erudite and phlegmatic, land of Eugene McCarthy, Garrison Keillor, Jesse “the Body” Ventura, Warren Burger, J. Paul Getty, Winona Ryder, Charles Schultz, Bob Dylan and Walter Mondale.

I can’t tell whether or not the commenter really wanted my best shot, but then, Minnesotans are a hard lot to figure out. Aren’t they the folks who elected Jesse Ventura governor? And wasn’t it Jesse who spent a good part of his adult life festooned with feather boas, prancing around a wrestling ring in leotards? What possible pitch could I make on behalf of Mike Huckabee that would top that?

What is it about Mike that makes him so appealing, anyway? What’s the logic behind his improbable rise?

One of the assumptions that seems to be built into the questions about him is that he’s all personality and no substance. It’s a false assumption. For those who care to, Governor Huckabee has outlined his positions, listed here, on a myriad of issues, including international affairs, sanctity of life, education, taxes, immigration, etc. - nineteen in all. Fred Thompson, by comparison, has only outlined eleven, Rudy Giuliani fifteen, John McCain eleven, and Ron Paul a one size fits all - hide in the closet isolationism.

But, there’s more to Mike Huckabee’s appeal than position papers.

Why do I like Mike so much? For the same reason I prefer Shane over Sergio Leone’s “spaghetti westerns?” For the same reason I prefer “It’s a Wonderful Life” at Christmas time over “Bad Santa.” For the same reason I prefer Michelangelo and Vermeer over Andy Warhol and Jackson Pollock. For the same reason I prefer Dublin over Paris or Prague over Amsterdam. For the same reason I prefer baseball over football. For the same reason I prefer Pentecostalism over my Episcopal roots. For the same reason I prefer the politics of uplift and inspiration to the politics of axe grinding and sterility.

That may not make much sense to the esteemed and learned in the Republican Party, but I don’t think it needs to. I like Mike! I like his vertical politics. I like Mike! As Forrest Gump said, “That’s all I’m going to say about that.”

This morning on MSNBC, Governor Huckabee was asked to comment on Fred Thompson’s attacks in last night’s Republican debate. “I think Fred Thompson needs to take some Metamucil,” Mike responded. You gotta’ love a man like that.

Hopefully, Fred will take the advice. He needs a good “constitutional.” Come to think of it, it might not be bad advice for some of Mike Huckabee’s detractors in Minnesota. A dose or two or ten of Metamucil might help loosen the strangle holds their leotards and feather boas have on them.

Breaking News - Our Media is Broken

“Come writers and critics
Who prophesize with your pen
And keep your eyes wide
The chance won’t come again
And don’t speak too soon
For the wheel’s still in spin
And there’s no tellin’ who
That it’s namin’
For the loser now
Will be later to win
For the times they are a-changin’”
- Bob Dylan (1964)


My wife Nancy and I had a few exhilarating moments at the expense of pundits, pollsters, and media darlings this morning. The talking heads got it all wrong in New Hampshire, There’s something refreshing about seeing the experts getting their collective comeuppance. Watching them all scramble in a frenzied attempt to find excuses for their folly just warms the cockles of my heart.

There’s breaking news in America this morning. Bang the drums and sound the trumpets. Our media is broken. Hooray and Hallelujah!

There’s breaking news in America this morning. The people have decided to take the reins of command back.

For far too long now our media have been operating on empty, believing that the American public dangles at the end of their webs and ratings schemes like marionettes. New Hampshire may just be one in what a guy like can only hope will be a long string of media failures proving just how wrong they’ve been. All that we’ll need to make our joy complete then is watch the gut wrenching, hand wringing, and flimsy excuses that’ll surely follow.

The primary beneficiary of our morning delight was MSNBC celebrity Chris Matthews. As reported by the Associated Press, Matthews was downright angry about the failure of pre-election polls:

“Anger expressed by MSNBC’s Chris Matthews about pre-election polls that pegged the Democratic primary wrong led to an exchange between him and NBC anchor emeritus Tom Brokaw shortly before the end of that network’s coverage Tuesday. Matthews suggested the polls’ methodology should be investigated.”

The more I read the words, the more histrionic they seemed to be. Come on, Chris, join the ranks of adults in America. Stop whining. Get a grip on reality. The last thing we need is another investigation, even if it’s all meant to be in fun or pull a ratings coup. There’s plenty of that going on in Washington already. In fact, there’s so much of it going on that our elected leaders are failing miserably at conducting the people’s business.

Trying to inject some sanity into the whole mess, Tom Brokaw made the following suggestion:

“You know what I think we’re going to have to go back and do?” Brokaw said. “Wait for the voters to make their judgment.”

Well, glory be, someone gets it. Archaic as it may seem to Matthews, our Constitution still means something. “We, the people,” continue to attach ourselves to the nasty old notion that we’re the ones making the judgments. We’re the ones pulling the levers.

You’d think that Brokaw’s advice would have ended the discussion. Wisdom should have dictated that Matthews say something like, “You’re absolutely right, Tom. I’ve been a fool not to see the obvious.” But, fools rush in where angels fear to tread, and Matthews somehow decided to prove that he’s conspicuously foolish:

“Matthews responded: “What do we do then in the days before the balloting? We must stay home, I guess.”

I didn’t watch the show, but if I had I think I might have braved the winter chill, opened my windows wide, and screamed a la' Howard Beale, “Go ahead, Chris make my day; make my life! Please stay home. I’ll lobby MSNBC to put you on a ten year paid sabbatical. I’ll even provide the duct tape for your mouth.”

In fairness to Chris Matthews, it needs to be noted that he’s just part of a larger whole. Since the turning of the millennium we’ve been subjected to Bill O’Reilly and his talk of pinheads and popinjays, “el Rushbo’s” mega dittos and theatricals, or Lou Dobbs’ shameless posturing. The truth of today is, America has had enough. If only our media could see it.

Here in Emporia the reality hasn’t sunk in at the Emporia Gazette either. In last night’s edition, Chris Walker, editor, owner, mover and shaker, citizen emeritus professed a sense of puzzlement or amusement at America’s new found fetish for change:

“The latest buzz word is “change,” and all the candidates are trying to sell themselves as bringers of change.”

“If you look back in history, presidential candidates promising change is nothing new.
Historically, politicians have talked about bringing change to improve health care, reduce energy independence, cut taxes and raise the working class. Sound familiar?
It is too bad that politicians promise big changes, but in the end, nothing really changes.”

I’m sure that Chris Walker and the good folks in the Gazette newsroom would dispute it, but I detect a little bit of jealousy in the voice. Americans, including Emporians, are saying that we want change and that we’re seeing through the media masks. It’s almost as though a light has been turned on or an alarm has sounded, like ping of the carbon monoxide detector I plugged in downstairs in my dining room to protect me from deadly, unseen vapors that might be wafting through the air.. We’ve figured it out. Our media is colorless, odorless, tasteless, deadly. The reality has set in. The days of them sifting endlessly through the details, parsing, spinning, and then barking out the marching orders to the public are dying. There’s a fresh breeze in the air right now and it’s not about the media, pollsters, or pundits. It’s about us – “We the People.”

Now, that’s breaking news!

Let the Politickin' Begin in Earnest!

“Prejudice is a great time saver. You can form opinions without having to get the facts.”
- E.B. White

The New Hampshire primary is history. The net result on the Republican side of the ledger is that we have an old Phoenix who’s risen from the ashes, an aristocrat with two silvers and a gold, and a populist/preacher who just won’t seem to go away. The Republican race is still wide open.

As it has been since the beginning, experts are still dismissing Mike Huckabee’s chances. He seems too populist in his economic views for the Republican elite and he's too religious and fundamental for just about all the pundits. Mike’s response is the same as it has been since the beginning. He’s moving on to Michigan, where there are lots and lots of blue collar workers who’ve lost their jobs to someone “over there” they’ve never met before. And, then there’s South Carolina, with all those Baptists, Pentecostals, and assorted holy rollers. These are the constituencies, the Reagan Democrats and the values voters, that the Republican Party has presumed upon since 1980. It’s been a dangerous assumption, based on the flawed notion that as long as the powerful occasionally dropped a crumb or two off their table of wealth the folks wielding the assembly line tools and toting the leather-bound King James Bibles would continue to toe the Party line. Well, as Porgy once famously said, “It ain’t necessarily so.”

I’d be foolish to say how my candidate will fare when the last “trump” is sounded on election 2008, but I do feel bold enough to proclaim that the high and mighty in the G.O.P. had better wake up to a new reality. They can skewer Mike Huckabee all they want, but that won’t change things. They can dismiss his following as a bunch of Jesus freaks, tattooed assembly line workers, or “ham and eggers” till the cows come home, but the fact is – Mike has struck a chord. His message is hitting the mark.

For weeks now, the Republican elite have been parroting the nonsense that Mike Huckabee is a delusional fool. To them, he’s nothing more than a “smallstate governor who doesn’t believe in Darwin.” That’s not likely to change any time soon. In fact, the attacks on his populism, religion, guitar playing, and God knows what else are probably going to become more intense as the campaign wheels continue to roll. But, that’s alright. As Mike said to Jay Leno last week, “If a fella’ can’t stand the sight of his own blood, he shouldn’t be in politics.”

So, as a Huckabee supporter feeling his oats, I say, “Let the politickin’ begin in earnest.” My candidate has gotten to where he is right now without money or conventional political wisdom. There’s no need for him to start genuflecting to them now. Like David with his five smooth stones, he’s shed the approved Party armor and set out across the valley, armed with a powerful message. In about a month we’ll probably know whether or not David got Goliath or vice versa. But, for right now, as it has been for a couple of weeks, the stars and planets still seem rightly aligned. Mike Huckabee is alive, kickin’, pickin’, and politickin.’ And, the fact that he’s now rattling the cages of the high and mighty makes it all the sweeter. Ain’t politics grand!

Populism 2008 - Revenge of the Cow Cutters and Clerks

“The farmer who goes forth in the morning and toils all day, begins in the spring and toils all summer, and by the application of brain and muscle to the natural resources of this country creates wealth, is as much a businessman as the man who goes upon the Board of Trade and bets upon the price of grain.”
- William Jennings Bryan

Another day, another primary. Sometime later tonight the good people of New Hampshire will let the rest of us know how they feel about election 2008. If the polls are right, it appears that Barack Obama will win the Democratic primary and John McCain will win on the Republican side. Mike Huckabee, my candidate, is projected to come in third or fourth. Pundits are saying that Mike is going to head to South Carolina, where he has a strong support base made up primarily of foaming-at-the-mouth fundamentalists and populists like me.

One of the interesting things playing out here is that some of the rules seem to have changed. Gender politics is out. That’s good. If Hillary Clinton wins her party’s nomination it should be on the merits, not her gender. The politics of race is also out, and oh, isn’t it time. If Barack Obama wins it will because he has stirred something in the American soul and because he’s being judged by the content of his character. I suspect that Dr. King is smiling down from heaven.

This brings me to the theme of populism, which seems to be sending shivers up and down the spines of the high and mighty, particularly in the Republican Party. From George Will to Larry Kudlow, the masters of the Laffer Curves and excel spreadsheets have sprung to the attack against the populist rabble. Hence, defending the I.R.S. against the assaults of Mike Huckabee and his barbarian hordes has become mainstream Republicanism.

Pundits are wondering why so many of what used to be Republican Party stalwarts are flocking to a guy like Mike. They can’t seem to see the obvious, even when he tells them what it is. And, this is it. He looks and acts more like the guy in the plant getting laid off than the guy who’s laying him off. He’s speaking to the man or woman who makes cupcakes on the other side of town here or the guy luggin’ beef carcasses around over at Tyson. He’s speaking to the retiree making six bucks an hour up at the Wal-Mart because his pension or social security check just won’t stretch from payday to payday. He’s speaking right to the heart of the matter and they’re responding. He’s not coming armed with spreadsheets, with complicated macros designed to hide some of the wicked truths the working poor here have to face. He’s not being followed by batteries of fawning accountants armed with briefcases. He’s not asking for the seal of approval of the Republican illuminati. Like Obama, Mike Huckabee is talking about change, and the message is beginning to resonate.

For the life of me, I can’t understand why the power brokers can’t see this.

Back in my undergraduate days I met a young guy who was quite enamored with Nietzsche and his ideas of “ubermensch.” He really believed that crap, and spent an inordinate amount of time trying to convince me that it was a great idea. Each time he did, I would try as politely as I could to ask him and his friend Nietzsche to come out and play in the traffic for a while.

I think that same advice holds true for those who are now spending an inordinate amount of their time excoriating Mike Huckabee and his populism. Come, you high and mighty, take a walk down Sixth Avenue here in Emporia, Gaze at the hovels owned by slum lords raking in the profits as you do. Come and play in the traffic. When you’re done, take a minute or two to gander at some of the numbers you’ve bypassed in your calculations – 18% poverty rates, low median incomes, low paying jobs. Top that all off by going back out into the streets and you’ll see that it all has a human face. If you really care to see it, you’ll see a curious mixture there. You’ll see dignity in the faces, pock marked by the fear of losing a job. You’ll see furrows on the brows, etched in by the incessant fight against the numbers. You’ll see the things your spreadsheets, briefcases, and Wall Street talk don’t take into account.

When I first moved out here to the Kansas Flint Hills in 1999 I didn’t understand the appeal that populism has in this part of the world. Nor did I understand how deep the loyalty of people here ran in the Republican Party. Nor did I understand how subtly the populist message had been twisted into something it was never intended to be. Oh, there were voices of dissent, like Thomas Frank’s. He saw then what a lot of us couldn’t. Like the slick raking in the money at the three card monte table, the Republican establishment had convinced the cow cutters, farmers, and clerks of the Heartland that everything being done was for their benefit:

“Over the last thirty-five years the Republicans have transformed themselves from an aristocratic minority into the nation's dominant political party, a brawling, beer-drinking buddy of the working man. The strategy by which they have won this triumph is instantly familiar and yet so bizarre it's sometimes hard to believe it's actually happened.”

Well, this is William Jennings Bryan country. Populism still has a great deal of appeal out here. The experts and party elites say that’s Mike Huckabee’s problem. Folks out this way disagree. They say that’s the Republican Party’s problem. Like Dylan, they’re saying that “the times they are a changin’.” The gilded Republicans need to close their briefcases and turn off their spreadsheets long enough to see that populism is back and that it may be back with a vengeance.

Words Really Do Matter

“A good person produces good things from the treasury of a good heart, and an evil person produces evil things from the treasury of an evil heart. What you say flows from what is in your heart.”
- Luke 6:45 (New Living Translation)

In a New York Times op-ed this morning, Bill Kristol made the following observation about Republican presidential candidate Mike Huckabee:

“Huckabee went on to pay tribute to Obama for his ability “to touch at the core of something Americans want” in seeming to move beyond partisanship. And, he added, Senator Obama is “a likable person who has excited people about wanting to vote who have not voted in the past.” Huckabee was of course aware that in praising Obama he was recommending himself.”

The phrase that really struck me was “to touch the core.” I think Bill Kristol got it!

Ever since Mike Huckabee began to rise from obscurity in the campaign, pundits have either been trying to explain him or explain him away. The truth of the matter has been that the phenomenon has been less about the candidate and more about what’s at the core of millions of Americans responding to his message.

In his victory speech the other night he alluded to the prairie fire that’s being kindled here in America’s heartland. For the powerful and connected in this country that may not have meant much, but to many of us it registered powerfully. Something’s being kindled in our hearts. When he says his campaign isn’t about him, but about us, we believe him. When he repeats those wonderful words, “We the People,” something stirs in us. Mike Huckabee’s speaking to our hearts!

The other night I listened to the Democratic debate. Hillary Clinton, in a feeble attempt to ward off the power of Barack Obama’s stirring oratory, said that it is deeds, not words, which matter in this campaign. That’s true – deeds do matter. But, those words, coming from what appeared to be a soul bereft of true belief at its core, fell to the ground. They never hit their mark. Hillary Clinton doesn’t have the ability to inspire, if she ever had it at all, and it’s evident in her rhetoric. That’s no match for true belief, being expressed by a true believer. Barack Obama has stirred something in the hearts of the Democratic Party’s faithful, in the same way that Mike Huckabee has stirred the hearts and imaginations of many Republicans.

There’s a powerful truth being played out here. Words do matter. Hillary Clinton can dismiss them. Pundits can try to explain them away. But, words do matter. If they didn’t, why on earth would the prophets of old have spoken from the pits of despair or at the gates of Zion? If words didn’t matter, why did the words of Isaiah and Jeremiah cut so deeply to the quick of a nation that had abandoned its call to be a “light to the nations?” If words didn’t really matter, why on earth did John the Baptist march up and down the Jordan River calling sinners to repentance? Why did the hungry, thirsty, downtrodden, sick, weary, the grieving, the heavy-laden, or the lost respond so overwhelmingly when Jesus uttered simple words like “Come unto me.”? If words don’t really matter, then the Sermon on the Mount is nothing more than a set of flowery catch phrases with no real meaning at their heart.

Words do matter! The words of our Declaration of Independence matter. The words of the Gettysburg Address matter. The words Abraham Lincoln spoke at his second inaugural matter. They’re transcendent. They speak to our hearts.

Words do matter. To a nation gripped by fear, Franklin Roosevelt’s words, “The only thing we have to fear is fear itself” mattered. To a nation on the brink, Churchill’s words, “We shall fight them on the beaches” mattered. To a nation weary of cold war and the threat of nuclear annihilation John Kennedy’s words, “Let the word go forth, from this time and place, to friend and foe alike, that the torch has been passed to a new generation of Americans” mattered. To America, mired in racial strife, Martin Luther King’s call for us to realize the dream of national brotherhood mattered. Words do matter.

Words do matter, especially when they’re spoken from heart to heart.

What Hillary Clinton and many pundits have not been able to grasp is that this campaign isn’t about them. It’s about us! Mike Huckabee and Barack Obama have begun a heart to heart dialogue with the American people. The communication is direct. They’ve bypassed the chicanery and the political tricks. There’s no triangulating. Their words matter because they seem to understand that we matter. They understand that the stakes in this election are far higher than who is going to be powerful, control the dialogue, or who is going to occupy our national mansion. They understand that this election may well indeed be about our heart and soul.

I suppose that Obama, Huckabee, and those responding to their words can be dismissed as idle dreamers. Those who do so do it at their own peril. From Joseph being sold into bondage by his brothers, to the prophets, to Jesus, to the apostles, to our founding fathers, to Lincoln, to J.F.K, to Martin Luther King, the dreamers and their dreams have always prevailed. Their words have become memorials, testimony to the truth that words really do matter!

Comfortable in My Delusions

“And sometimes it seems that all I have to do is worry
Then you’re bound to see my other side
But I’m just a soul whose intentions are good
Oh, Lord, please don’t let me be misunderstood
- The Animals (1965)

I read a piece by George Will a while ago. He’s a good man, a skilled writer. I admire him. In the piece, he lit in to Mike Huckabee. He spent a bit of time playfully skewering Huckabee’s “fair tax” plan. Then he dove in, with this carefully aimed broadside:

“Huckabee fancies himself persecuted by the Republican “establishment,” a creature already negligible by 1964, when it failed to stop Barry Goldwater's nomination. The establishment's voice, the New York Herald Tribune, expired in 1966. Huckabee says “only one explanation” fits his Iowa success “and it’s not a human one. It's the same power that helped a little boy with two fish and five loaves feed a crowd of 5,000 people.” God so loves Huckabee's politics that He worked a Midwest miracle on his behalf? Should someone so delusional control nuclear weapons?”

I’d say that was meant to hurt, wouldn’t you? It’s clear that Mr. Will has a great deal of contempt for Mike Huckabee’s populism and what he perceives to be Huckabee’s application of his evangelical faith.

I’m an evangelical, a Mike Huckabee supporter. I take it, by extension, that I’m probably every bit as delusional as the candidate I’m backing. About the only defense I can muster is that I’m content in my delusions.

I don’t know what Mr. Will’s delusions are, but I feel quite comfortable in sharing some of mine. I’m a Boston Red Sox fan. From the early fifties, up until the “Curse of the Bambino” was finally laid to rest in 2004 I actually believed that my beloved Sox were the best team in baseball. I never could understand how a team as un-talented as the New York Yankees would win just about every pennant. I know they had Mantle, but we had Teddy Ballgame. They had Moose Skowron, but we had Jimmy Pearsall. And, sure, Yogi was a pretty good catcher, but so was Sammy White. I was delusional, for sure, but so were millions of others in Red Sox nation.

But, more to the point, I share some of Mike Huckabee’s delusions. I actually believe that the Almighty Himself does take great interest in our political campaigns. I’m even delusional enough to believe that God actually cares about the poor and the downcast. If I read Holy Writ properly, I think that Jesus himself was downright delusional in this regard. I must be a raving lunatic, then, to think that the Sermon on the Mount is more than just a bit of flowery rhetoric. And, I’m probably as mad as a March hare to believe that the parable of Lazarus and the rich man is every bit as instructive for politicians, plumbers, pig farmers, paleontologists, pipe fitters, Pharisees, and pundits today as it was two thousand years ago.

Mr. Will cites statistics to prove that Mike Huckabee is a lunatic. The middle class is decreasing in size, he asserts, because more and more are moving into the economic stratosphere. I suspect that’s true in Foggy Bottom and Silicon Valley, but here in the Heartland it isn’t. I think if Mr. Will were to take a short walk down Sixth Avenue here in Emporia, Kansas he’d see that the fastest growing businesses are the payday loan shops that gouge the men and women who cut cows down at Tyson Foods with exorbitant interest rates. He might get to see what a town looks like when about twenty percent of a town’s families are living in poverty. He might get to see a lot of low wage workers living in shanties at the mercy of slum lords. He might get to see the anguish a lot of folks here feel when they see jobs being shipped offshore or blue collar workers being displaced by someone who is willing to do their job for a couple of bucks less an hour. I think Mr. Will might come spouting statistics, but folks here might then remind him that it was either Mark Twain or Benjamin Disraeli who said that there are three kinds of lies: lies, damned lies, and statistics. But then, a lot of this city’s working poor are every bit as delusional as Mike Huckabee and evangelicals like me.

I could go on about Huckabee’ “fair tax” plan, but what’s the point. I’m not quite delusional enough to think that it’s ever going to happen. Our bloated government, with its enormous appetite for our hard earned money, isn’t going to let go any time prior to the Parousia, and they probably won’t want to let go then, either. No, the I.R.S isn’t going away. Not that it shouldn’t. We Christians like to think of things like that as hoping against hope, more like pipe dreams than delusions.

The more I think about it, the more comfortable I’m becoming in my delusions. I think I might even be in good company. Weren’t Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel, Amos, Micah, and Habakkuk all delusional men? And, my Lord, think of John the Baptist. Why, all that foolish talk of the man with two coats giving one away, the axe being laid to the root of the tree, or the nonsense about broods of snakes and vipers. Absolutely, stark raving mad. And, what about the Apostle Paul and Peter, the first “Vicar of Christ?” Wasn’t it Paul who called himself a “fool for Christ?” And, finally, there’s Jesus himself. Wasn’t He considered by many to be a madman? Didn’t his enemies accuse him of being in league with the devil?

They say confession is good for the soul. Well, I’ve owned up to some of my delusions and must say that it’s true. I feel quite good right now. The only thing I have left to do is to impose on some of my fellow evangelicals and ask them to shed some of theirs. I think it might be time for us to shed the delusion that “Rush is always right.” I think it might be time for us to shed the delusion that Rush Limbaugh, Bill O’Reilly, and Sean Hannity aren’t our resident theologians or puppet masters. I think it might be time for us to shed the delusion that our theology and world-view doesn’t, and shouldn’t, spring from the wellspring of the Republican National Committee. I think it might be time for us to shed the delusion that Jesus is some sort of un-caring, un-feeling cosmic capitalist who thinks the sun rises and sets daily at Republican Party headquarters.

And, I think it might be time for those in power who have for too long assumed our un-questioning allegiance to the Grand Old Party to disabuse themselves of that delusion. Events in Iowa were quite revealing. There’s a fresh breeze blowing in the political air. Down has become up and up has become down. Hope and vertical politics, at least for a few days, have triumphed over the power of mammon. It feels wonderful. Given that, I’ll continue in my current delusions, thank you.

It's in the Blood!

“To be persuasive we must be believable; to be believable we must be credible; to be credible we must be truthful.”
- Edward R.Murrow

I’ve spent months trying to escape the political stirrings in my blood, but I can’t escape them. They’re products of my New England birth and up-bringing. I occasionally tell people that my Democratic Party credentials were tattooed into me a few days after I was born. It was a routine procedure in Massachusetts back in those days, much like circumcision. It was one of the first rights of passage. Later in life the passion born in ritual was fired by the visions of Camelot, the New Frontier, and Tip O’Neill’s affable ways. I became a true believer. The Great Society and LBJ’s guns and butter economy threw cold water on the coals and Richard Nixon damned near extinguished them. Jimmy Carter re-invigorated them for a year or two, but his shallow humanism eventually overpowered his toothy smile. I gave up. I kept voting, but there was little passion in it for me. It’s been that way, off and on, ever since. My need for political sustenance has been tickled, but never requited.

But there’s something different about this election cycle. There seems to be a fresh wind blowing in the political air.

In a recent debate, Mike Huckabee was asked what Jesus would do about immigration or some other testy twenty-first century issue. The question was designed by some media Pharisee intent on trapping the evangelical in his religion, the type of question religious leaders of Jesus’ day tried to entangle him in. Well, as quick as you could say, Render unto Caesar,” Huckabee responded, “Jesus was far to smart to ever become a politician.” Somewhere in the Great Beyond I think the Almighty Himself must have smiled and whispered, “Well done, good and faithful servant.”

There’s something very refreshing about seeing someone who considers himself wise being proven a fool by the very person he considers to be the fool or huckster. Very refreshing indeed!

I suppose it might be fair to ask why Mike Huckabee wasn’t smart enough to avoid politics. But, you might as well be asking why “fish gotta’ swim and birds gotta’ fly” or why Willie Sutton robbed banks. Mike is doing this because it’s in his blood, just like saving humanity was in Jesus’ or like Camelot and the New Frontier are in mine. In evangelical terms, or in the language of Zion, it’s called the quickenin’ or the anointing. It’s there because it’s there.

On the other side of the coin there’s Barack Obama. He’s taken on the mighty Clinton machine and has won the early battle. It’s good to see the mighty fall. The sight of an honest liberal cutting the conniving Hillary to the quick is a sight to behold. About all she’s been able to do to this point is to plagiarize Obama’s stump speeches, connive, lie, distort, and pretend to be sincere. Obama speaks of hope. Hillary talks about going back to the future. Obama lays claim to the mantle of change. Hillary tries to steal it. It’s self evident. She has little or no soul to bare. All she can do is pretend to be the things she’s not and hope the Democratic Party faithful are stupid enough to buy the slickly presented package. The problem her handlers have, though, is that all the slickness they apply isn’t hiding a thing. It’s just mixing with the grease oozing from her innards. Iowa was an early test and she failed it miserably. I think the same thing might happen in New Hampshire too.

I’ve tried to avoid my political instincts for months now, but Mike Huckabee’s improbable rise from obscurity and Barack Obama’s playing David to Hillary’s Goliath has re-energized me. I have to admit it. I’m a political animal.

I would have loved to hit cleanup for the Boston Red Sox in my younger days, but there wasn’t room on the roster for a no hit, no field wonder like me. I once considered becoming a corporate big wig, but the thought of shuffling paper from one desk to another never really appealed to me. I thought a few times about becoming a civil servant, but the thought of eventually going postal disabused me of that notion. I even thought once about becoming the president of the United States, but the inevitability of being hated by my enemies, friends, neighbors, and countrymen was too much of a cross for me to bear. So, I settled into a fairly normal American life – eight hours of work a day, a modest salary, a good wife, and friends.

I’ve tried the casual pursuits. I’ve tried fishing, but found it pretty boring. I’ve been asked in this part of the world why I don’t own a gun, at least for protection’s sake. About the only response I can offer is that I traded the M-16 the government loaned me years ago for a thirty-three ounce Louisville Slugger, Kirby Puckett model. That seems much safer to me than a gun. After all, I reason, I could never beat myself to death with that Louisville Slugger if or when push came to shove.

I’ve tried the casual pursuits, but things for me always come back to philosophy, theology, and politics. It’s in the blood. It’s now early in the 2008 election cycle and I’m finding the politics once again stirring in my veins. I’m feeling the heat and passion once more. God help me, I love it so.

Last night I made a donation to the Huckabee campaign. Hopefully it will buy him and his staff a few more shoelaces to fend off Mitt’s attack dogs. The last time I did something like that was back in the seventies and I was working on the Jimmy Carter campaign. Maybe my luck will be better this time around. After all, how many times in a man’s life can he hitch his wagon to a horse that looks like a thoroughbred, but runs like a nag once the politicking and campaigning are done?

Can Mike Huckabee win? I don’t know, but it doesn’t matter right now. Can Barack Obama dismantle the Clinton Machine? I don’t know, but it doesn’t matter now either. As of today, the stars and the planets seem to be properly aligned. Truth, honesty, and sincerity seem to be winning out, at least for now. I may have to face the bitter reality 300 Spartans had to face at Thermopylae. The barbarians do storm the gates and the good guys all too often lose. Hillary and Mitt could have the last laugh. They may win the prize and in the process dismiss us as religious fools or hopeless dreamers. But that’s alright. We’ve bloodied their noses and it feels good. Right now, we’re still standing and hoping, and hope somehow always find a way to spring eternal. We may be fools and dreamers. But, as Huckleberry Finn said, “ H'aint we got all the fools in town on our side? And ain't that a big enough majority in any town?”

Emporia and Refugee Resettlement - A Social Cauldron Ready to Explode

“The making of an American begins at the point where he himself rejects all other ties, any other history, and himself adopts the vesture of his adopted land.”
- James Baldwin

Here in Emporia, Kansas there is a social cauldron boiling. Catholic Charities in Kansas City, along with our State Department, Tyson Foods, and state social service agencies are moving this city toward becoming a refugee resettlement center, particularly Somali refugees who have been bounced from place to place ever since they arrived here in America.

When the announcement was made public in the Emporia Gazette on November 3rd the backlash was palpable. Some in power claimed that the reaction was stemming from hatred and racism. While Emporia, like any community, has its share of racists and bigots, the claim made by those who should have known better was a categorical lie. The overwhelming majority of the people who live here are of good will, eager to lend a helping hand to those in need. They’re not racists or xenophobes. This is a good and generous city.

The thing that got people upset was the fact that Federal bureaucrats, a large employer, and social service agencies seem to be making decisions about our collective futures without our consent and with little regard to the impact their decisions will have on us.

There’s going to be a meeting tomorrow night so that the public can make its concerns known. That’s the reason given and I hope it will actually go according to that plan. But I know enough about politicians and bureaucrats to be concerned that they intend to monopolize the time and tune out our concerns. We’ll see.

I’ve prepared something to say at the meeting. I’m not sure I’ll get to share it. So, I’ve decided to post my thoughts on my blog. They express what a lot of us here are feeling. For those who read this blog, please get the word out. People in positions of authority and responsibility are acting recklessly, doing great damage to those they say they want to help and to the communities affected by their reckless behavior. What’s happening here is being duplicated in other small towns in this country.

The transcript follows, in full.

In Monday’s Gazette Pat Kelley said rightly that this is a time for us to get answers. But, like most things Pat Kelley says he got the little things right and the big things wrong. He said in his editorial that the root to the problem that brings us here is fear. While that may be the case for a few, most of us are here because our trust has been betrayed. That is the truth and that’s why we’re here.

We’re not here because we’re bigots, racists, or xenophobes. We’re here to get answers to questions we have, not express hatred. We’ve come to extend the hand of brotherhood, not hatred.

It’s unfortunate that some in positions of trust and authority have labeled those who question in such a manner. This issue should occupy the highest moral ground, but some are using it as an opportunity to misinform, mis-label, and use political sleight of hand. Because of this they have lost that high ground.

I don’t believe it’s too late to climb that mountain, but I can say with certainty that time is of the essence.

How have we gotten to this point? It’s taken years and the moral failures that have broken the chords of trust are everywhere. What is being played out here in Emporia is being played out against the backdrop of international failures on a grand scale. International institutions that were founded on the premise of international justice have rejected their mandates in favor of inaction and greed. We’ve seen Rwanda, North Korea, Darfur, and the Balkans. We’ve witnessed the food for oil scandal and profit schemes built on the backs of the world’s poor and needy. The betrayal of trust has been monumental.

Americans have tried to fill this void. For my Somali brothers and sisters I want to remind you that it was a mission of mercy that originally bound us together. When international institutions failed, we felt compelled to step into the void. America, as it had done in the Balkans, came to relieve the suffering of Muslims, not compound it. What we did was in the best American tradition. Or motivation was justice and mercy.

Since those early days in Mogadishu America has kindly offered opportunity to the oppressed of Somalia. We’ve opened our doors. Unfortunately our national institutions have betrayed our trust here as well. Our State Department, with all the institutional power at its disposal, has given the Somali people a few days of orientation and then sent them pillar to post throughout America. They’ve used what bureaucrats call unfunded mandates. Many of us see this as a way for them to wash their hands like Pontius Pilate of old. When the inevitable backlash has come they act as though they’re surprised. Just what did they expect? Did they expect us to believe there would be no price tag? This is not a self-funded endeavor. Someone is going to have to pay for this and it does not appear that it will be those who’ve waved their magic wands in Washington, D.C. While we in Emporia and other communities will have to wrestle mightily with how to come up with the resources necessary, those who have set this chain in motion will be eating sumptuous meals in Foggy Bottom, reflecting on their own virtue. The betrayal of our trust in this area is every bit as monumental as the international failures.

Closer to home, in Kansas City, a service agency has taken up the mantle. On November 3rd Steve Weitkamp of Catholic Charities told the Gazette that in the future he expected Emporia to be developed as a refugee center. He further told the Gazette, “I expect that there will be direct re-settlement here.” “If re-settlement starts here, that will expand our role. ... I also see at some point the office here could possibly become cut loose from us and become an office on its own, applying for funding. If the numbers of refugees increase, it is possible the local office would apply to Washington to become a sub office.”

If the people of Emporia felt powerless and betrayed in the face of Federal mandates, it was all compounded with that declaration. Many Emporians now felt that decisions about their futures were being made without their consultation or consent. Those feelings of betrayal were, I believe, justified. We’d like to believe that Catholic Charities’ motives are benevolent, but I must be honest and say that I and others have serious misgivings in this regard. I see a bureaucracy hungry to become larger. Mr. Weitkamp’s statement of November 3rd says as much.

For many of us this seems to be a case of things being set in motion with little regard to the people of Emporia. I doubt that Mr. Weitkamp knows much about us. He probably doesn’t know that our poverty rate is over 17% or that our household incomes are far below the Kansas and national averages. He doesn’t know my wife’s mother, an eighty-eight year old widow living on a small pension and caring for a developmentally disabled son. Each day when my wife and I visit her she recounts the ways she tries to save money. “Lettuce is 10 cents cheaper at Aldi’s.” “I don’t like going to Wal-Mart because it costs more gas money to get there than it does the other stores.” “Phil, could you fill my car up with gas. I heard the price is going to go up two cents a gallon later today.”

Do these agencies really want us to believe that this is going to be a cost neutral venture? Do they really believe us to be rubes, so gullible that we’ll swallow anything fed to us without consideration to its effect on us? We’re being told that there really won’t be much impact. We simply don’t believe that’s credible. Adding 1,000 refugees to an already high poverty city is clearly going to compound our problem. In fact, based on the numbers, it could have as much as a three percent impact. Our poverty rate could increase to as much as twenty percent. Is that Catholic Charities idea of a cost-neutral solution?

And, the movers and shakers seem to be stunned by the backlash. Why in God’s name would that be so? It seems to me that it can only be because they’ve hatched their plans without any regard for the citizens of this city. I doubt that Catholic Charities even considered my wife’s mother or many other Emporians when they set their plan in motion. I doubt they even cared. The moral bankruptcy in that position is evident to me.

Our largest employer, Tyson, has given many Somalis employment. They’d like us to believe that their purposes here are noble. Well, that dog won’t hunt. Tyson’s purpose is profit, pure and simple. If their purposes were so noble, why have Tyson and other corporations in the meat processing industry caught the attention of Human Rights Watch? Is Human Rights Watch wrong when they say categorically that minorities are being pitted against each other, Somali against Hispanic, Hispanic against Vietnamese, minority against minority, all in a relentless drive to profit? Are they wrong when they say that employment abuse is close to pandemic? Who are we to believe? Tyson or Human Rights Watch?

And, to compound things, any time someone raises questions Tyson issues veiled threats about leaving for friendlier shores. It’s tantamount to corporate extortion. It’s “either stay in line or we’ll leave you high and dry.” This is a morally bankrupt position and deserves to be condemned in the strongest terms.

Caught in the middle of all this are the people of Emporia and Somalia. We’re caught in the crossfire of moral bankruptcy and neglect. It’s being left to us to pick up the pieces passed from institution to agency to employer. What should have been a chord of brotherhood has become a chain of abuse of power passed down to its lowest level, to you and me. It’s up to us to fix what has been broken.

I’d like to close with a word to my Somali brothers and sisters. The overwhelming majority of Emporians have great empathy for you. Most of us don’t know a great deal about your history, but we know enough to understand the long, painful journey that’s brought you here. We know that you came to Somalia as bondsmen and lived for generations at the mercy of slave-masters. We know that you’ve been left by the international community at the mercy of war-lords. We care. As I said earlier, it was a mission of mercy that originally bound us together. This country was willing to expend its blood and treasure, our sons and daughters, on your behalf. Those who fell had families and dreams of a better life, but they were willing to lay them down for you. For many of us the pain of seeing Americans dying on the streets of Mogadishu in 1993 is still searing. That pain may be our most powerful bond, the pain of your history and the pain of our sacrifice. I think it may be the place where the olive branch of brotherhood could be extended here in Emporia.

One of the unfortunate lessons you’ve learned from our government officials, service agencies, and others in authority is that you’re entitled. You’re entitled to benefits. You’re entitled You’re entitled to respect and dignity. You’re entitled…You’re entitled…You’re entitled. That’s only half-true and half-truths can be exceedingly dangerous. That’s only half the great American equation. The other is that along with the benefits come responsibilities to our neighbors, our communities, and our nation. That sense of responsibility comes from a heart of gratitude. We’ve learned over time that a life focused on entitlement eventually leads to a life of serfdom. We recognize that to whom much is given much is also required. I believe it would be good if you would join us in that sense of responsibility and gratitude. We’re willing to extend the olive branch. The door of opportunity has been opened to you. I hope and pray that you will open it gratefully. I believe a good place for you to begin is for you to express your sense of gratefulness to the American people for the sacrifices they have made on your behalf. In all of the dialogue to this point I’ve never heard any sense of thanks from the Somali community expressed. It may be felt, but it hasn’t been expressed. This would be a good place for us to begin healing the pain of our shared history. I believe it would be altogether fitting for you to thank the American people, who have given their sons and daughters so that you and your families could shake the yoke of oppression. If we start there, I believe the chords of brotherhood can bind up the wounds that still prevail. If we don’t, misunderstanding and mistrust will continue to fester. If we start there I believe the sacrifices made by American families on your behalf will claim their true meaning.

The olive branch is being extended; you’re being invited to sit at the table of brotherhood. Please, in the name of God, accept the invitation.

Reflections on Gratitude

“That is why I tell you not to worry about everyday life—whether you have enough food and drink, or enough clothes to wear. Isn’t life more than food, and your body more than clothing? Look at the birds. They don’t plant or harvest or store food in barns, for your heavenly Father feeds them. And aren’t you far more valuable to him than they are? Can all your worries add a single moment to your life?”
Matthew 6:25-27 (New Living Translation)

I woke up this morning in the after-glow of Tampochocho. The cares and burdens of modern life here in America haven’t yet been able to choke out the roots of those wonderful days.

At about 8:00 A.M. I left for Wichita to have the Veteran’s Administration review my current medications and to get some of them refilled. Being a veteran has some benefits for which I’m very grateful.

By 8:20 I was passing by mile marker 109, one of my favorite places in all the world. Any time I pass by that wondrous point I get a sense of my own smallness, which I believe is very healthy for the American soul. I gazed off to my east. There was a stiff breeze from the south, about 20 to 30 miles an hour, which caused the tallgrass to bend toward the north. The wind stopped momentarily and the tallgrass stood erect, like platoons of soldiers coming to attention on command. I took it as an opportunity to pull the car over, stop, and meditate on the beauty before me. There, a sense of peace and well-being overwhelmed me. I was so keenly aware of being under the great umbrella of grace, sharing the moment with the birds of the air and the lilies of the field, basking in the truth that as it is with every grain of sand, every hair on my head is numbered. It was a quiet, yet powerful moment.

At 8:40 I resumed my journey. For the next fifty miles or so the grace and peace of the day settled in. It was as though the gentle fire of everlasting life was beckoning me on. As one mile marker gave way to another, I saw faces of loved ones in my mind’s eye radiating back the love of God to me. There was my wife Nancy, my sons and daughter, my brother Bill, his wife Marilyn and their children. Thom, the young Vietnamese student who lives with Nancy and me, was there. My sister was there, as were my grand-children, Ashley, Josh, and Rebecca. So were Pastor Mike and his wife Jannie. Gerald Clock and Larry Hayes were there at mile marker 81, close to El Dorado Lake. Not far behind was the rest of the group Nancy and I had gone to Mexico with. And, so it went. With each face that passed gently past my view I sensed God’s love mirrored in each.

I arrived at the Robert J. Dole V.A. Hospital at 9:40. By 10:00 I was sitting in a waiting room, a newly anointed member of “Team Three.” A few minutes later the call came, in a quasi military fashion – “Dillon!”
I wasn’t sure whether or not to salute or stand at attention and wait for orders. “That’s me,” I replied.
“Right this way, Mister Dillon. I’m Lisa and the adventure begins here.”

Normally I feel a chill in a doctor’s office, but today it was different. The overpowering sense of everlasting life that had beckoned me down the turnpike seemed to be there in the room with me. I felt, as John Wesley famously said, “strangely warmed.”

The routine proceeded. My blood pressure was 125 over 70, or “right on the old bazoo,” as Lisa put it. “No fever.” “Ears clear.” She peered intently into my eyes. “They’re a bit red, looks like you either have allergies or you’ve been crying.”
“Little happy tears,” I confessed. “Just something that happened on the turnpike.”
“I see. Well, next I get to ask you some questions.”
“Shoot.”
“Any family history of diabetes?”
“No.”
“Heart disease?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Do you smoke?”
“Gave the habit up forty years ago.”
“How about alcohol?”
“A couple of glasses of wine a year or a nice cold Heineken occasionally after I mow the lawn on a hot summer day.”
Then, she broke the routine, with what seemed an odd question. “You don’t suppose you could pray that we’d all get tomorrow afternoon off so we can get an early start on visiting relatives for Thanksgiving, do you?”
It took a moment for the question to register, then realizing it was a perfectly good question I said, “Absolutely…Sure thing…I’ve got an in with the Almighty.”
Lisa smiled. “I kinda’ had a feeling.”

By the time it was all said and done, I’d gotten a pneumonia shot, blood tests, and a complete thumping of the tires. I think I got a clean bill of health. Along the way I got to meet a lot of wonderful people. Their faces, like the familiar faces I’d seen along the turnpike, mirrored back the love of God I was feeling as I’d made my way south. There was Doctor Khanam, a young physician from Bangladesh and Bao Linh Duong, a pharmacist from Vietnam. In the pharmacy waiting room I got to sit with an old band of brothers. Most looked worn and weathered. Their pot bellies and the graying temples had become their latter day badges of honor. Some were in wheelchairs, some carried oxygen bottles. I felt a bit out of place. I don’t have any of the visible scars of service, only memories, most of which were healed years ago. I offered a few silent prayers for those I saw and spent another few moments expressing my gratitude for the good health I have.

On the trip home to Emporia the grace and peace once more overwhelmed me. This time it came in short waves, with the faces once more passing into view. The small happy tears flowed at mile marker 71…and mile marker 92…and then again at mile marker 109.

I’m back home now and the keyboard I’m typing on looks like it’s lit up by heavenly, neon lights. The warmth of everlasting life seems to be filling the room.

Come Thursday friends and family will be in for Thanksgiving dinner. I’m not sure how long the glow will last. I hope forever, but I don't really know. There are a few words from a Van Morrison tune that express how I feel right now – “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if life was like this all the time.” Not knowing whether the fire will still be burning a couple of days from now, I feel compelled to express my thanks now. I’m grateful for faces…I’m grateful for the opportunity to lift small, silent prayers to heaven for bands of weary brothers and clinic nurses…I’m grateful for living under the great umbrella of grace and love… I’m grateful to be living in the presence of the sparrows that fall and the lilies of the field…I’m grateful to know that while I will one day wither, like that grass that withers and fades, that my days aren’t fully numbered yet…And, most of all, I’m grateful for light of everlasting life.

The Poverty of el Norte

“I know all the things you do, that you are neither hot nor cold. I wish that you were one or the other! But since you are like lukewarm water, neither hot nor cold, I will spit you out of my mouth! You say, ‘I am rich. I have everything I want. I don’t need a thing!’ And you don’t realize that you are wretched and miserable and poor and blind and naked. So I advise you to buy gold from me—gold that has been purified by fire. Then you will be rich. Also buy white garments from me so you will not be shamed by your nakedness, and ointment for your eyes so you will be able to see.”
- Revelation 3:15-18 (New Living Translation)

About a week and a half ago I embarked on a great journey along with twelve other members of Victory Fellowship Church in Emporia, Kansas. Our express purpose was to put a concrete second floor on a sister church in Tampochocho, Mexico, about a thirty hour drive south of where we all live. We went to minister and were ministered to.

I’m back home now and I’m spending some time dealing with sensory overload. We who participated witnessed and experienced so much it’s impossible to say what the high points were. Words just fail to express it all.

Was it being able to see a nineteen year old young man named Antonio, who had overcome so many obstacles in life, lead seventeen people to living faith in Jesus Christ as he and I wandered around the city square in Axtla on a beautiful Sunday afternoon? Was it seeing a woman who had been tortured by pain and unable to even stand rise by the power of the Spirit and walk, leap, and praise God? Was it seeing the desperate hunger and need filled as Jesus lovingly responded to the desperation and hunger? Was it seeing a little lame girl, Griselda, ask us to pray with her for a pair of shoes so that she could go to school and for a Bible so that she could read all about Jesus? Was it seeing the gratefulness etched on the faces of the Nahuatl (pronounced nah-what) men and women cupping their hands as they received the gift of a small bag of frijoles at the close of the meetings? Was it witnessing the power of the Holy Spirit as it surged in waves through the crowd? Was it seeing these shy, unassuming folks come alive as the wonderful mix of worship and salsa wafted through the night air? Was it in the harmony of men and women from different parts of the world working together to complete what seemed to be the impossible task that had been set before us?

There was so much that we witnessed and experienced. Words fail to express it all.

I’m struck by the powerful temptation to get back into the American routine of wealth and complacency. Why not just let CNN and Fox News and CSI and American Idol and IPODS and Tommy Hilfiger and fast food get us back into the rut of American normalcy? Why not just let Rush Limbaugh or the high powered politicians continue to do our thinking for us? Why not just make Tampochocho another inconvenient speed bump along the road of American wealth and reality? It’s very tempting to clutch desperately to my loyalty to wealth and convenience and forget what I witnessed in Tampochocho.

I’m tempted, but I know I can’t.

As we entered Mexico last Saturday I was particularly struck by the fact that in the midst of poverty there is also staggering wealth. There seems to be very little trickle down in the globalization that's sweeping south from Nuevo Laredo to Monterrey. I was also struck by the truth that God always responds to hunger. What raw economics fails to do, Jesus does! He feeds the hungry, the poor, and the broken. He responds to the cries of the afflicted. I saw this with my own eyes. I witnessed it.

As we came back into the United States Friday afternoon a kind of reverse polarity swept over me. My natural eyes saw the enormous wealth, but my spiritual eyes saw the real poverty that rested on the deceit of earthly wealth and riches. The condos and the 5,000 square foot homes of America appeared more like shacks of Mexico in that light. I think it might be a way of seeing things in the proper light, in the light of a kingdom where up is down and the first shall be last.

On the long journey north I saw the sights one normally sees along America’s highways, the Burger Kings and Cracker Barrels, the truck stops, the sit-down restaurants and high-rise office buildings. They’re the familiar symbols of America’s power and wealth. Other less frequent symbols accompanied them. They’re called mega-churches. As we wound down the highway they became more and more frequent, with neon signs and electronic message boards beckoning the “needy.” Their parking lots stretched for what seemed to be miles and their spires extended far into the heavens. They were impressive sights indeed.

A day earlier I’d heard the strains of the old sixties ditty – “I don’t care if it rains or freezes, as long as I got my plastic Jesus, sittin' on the dashboard of my car.” One after another the mega-churches came into my view and passed just as quickly as they’d come. With each passing I couldn’t help but wonder how many plastic Jesus’s were being sold inside the walls of some of these monuments to man’s faith in himself . Down to our south, in the minimalist view we had of Tampochocho, the Nahuatl were praying for the Holy Ghost to fall on them and praying for a pair of shoes or a Bible to read, and God was responding to the deep need and hunger. On the U.S. side of the border, inside too many of the mega-churches, too many people are praying for expensive trinkets, like the prophets of Baal cutting themselves in a futile attempt to get the fire to rain down from the heavens. Jesus is all too often being peddled as some sort of cosmic errand boy. So, it’s Jesus, satisfier of wandering desires, Jesus dispenser of electronic gadgets, SUV’s, and Cadillac Sevilles, and Jesus enabler of professional goals. In too many others, based on what folks are hearing there, you wouldn’t be able to recognize the real Jesus and the real Bread of Life because He’s being drowned out by the artificial stuff that’s being sold. It’s all too much like the bread you get in the grocery stores these days, full of artificial ingredients. You can take a piece of it and roll it into a little ball of junk. About the only thing it’s good for is for throwing into the water and feeding the carp. There, for one hour on Sunday, you get to hear tales of “the ground of all being” or “considered consequent eschatology,” messages too profound to understand delivered by men in frocked coats. Their booming baritones belie the emptiness of their messages.

By now some of you are probably gnashing your teeth. You’re thinking I’m just a judgmental old fool. “After all,” you say, behold our wealth and power, that’s our proof that everything is just fine here in el Norte. All I can say in response is that I’ve seen what I have seen. America is on the brink of judgment! A spiritual famine is about to descend like the locusts that swarmed over Egypt of old.

America is fast becoming a place where Ichabod is being written over many of its doors. Could it be that we’re fast approaching the place where those with eyes to see and ears to hear are saying, “Stay away from most of the religion of el Norte, it’s dead. Don’t eat the stale bread being offered and whatever you do, don’t drink the water.” Could it be that the time has come for missionaries who have been the beneficiaries of the work of the Spirit in Tampochocho and other poor villages to our south to stream north across the border to give drink to the thirsty and bread to the hungry in the vast American wasteland?

If so, what is our role in all of this?

I see this and I’m becoming convinced that Victory Fellowship and other little beacons of light are being called to be those small pockets of spiritual wealth and generosity in what is becoming a spiritual wasteland, a place where the prayers offered aren’t for the IPOD we just can't live without or the designer outfit to die for, but for the fire of the Spirit to fall and hide our nakedness, a place where our cry is not “Give me!” but “Here am I Lord, send me,” a place where repentance replaces demands for things that cannot soothe the hunger or satisfy the thirst.

That’s what Tampochocho meant to me. I’ve fumbled as best I could for the words to describe that meaning. I realize that they fail. I pray that the Spirit will give them life and meaning, that the fire will continue to burn and that we all will heed God’s call to become the people He desires us to be.

Chords of memory

“There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are messengers of overwhelming grief...and unspeakable love.”

-Washington Irving

On our way back from Kansas City this morning we passed under a small group of firefighters positioned on the overpass at mile marker 160, which is about thirty miles north of Emporia. They were energetically waving large American flags at the north and southbound traffic below them. Nancy, her developmentally disabled brother James, and I waved at them as we made our way under the bridge. As soon as we passed, I felt a lump in my throat and the warmth of tears welling up in my eyes.

I remember that September day six years ago the firefighters on the overpass were commemorating; I’m sure you do to.

I remember the overwhelming grief I felt as I thought about the terror that the innocent men, women, and children, who had begun that day anticipating vacations, business meetings, or a visit to grandparents, must have felt in the agonizing moments leading up to the impact of the planes.

I remember those occasional times when Nancy and I would take an evening trip from our home in Denville, New Jersey to share a meal at Pal’s Cabin, an eatery situated just across the river from lower Manhattan. I remember the times Nancy and I would gaze across the river at the Word Trade Center and the rest of Manhattan that it towered over. The lights seemed to be beckoning anyone who wanted to partake of its bounty and opportunity.

How often since that terrible day have I cried out from the unseen depths of my soul? How often have I wished that I’d had the power to just make it all stop? How often have we all? The silent screams and the agony must now be as numerous as the stars in the heavens. But, now matter how often we cry out, we cannot change the reality of September 11, 2001. The power of our collective retrospect and hindsight are no match for the power and resolute evil of Osama bin Laden’s rank and file. We cannot take history and put it into freeze-frame.

I remember trying to sort through the questions that some raised in the years after the attack. Was it our imperialism, as those in the terrorist camp and many on the American political left have claimed? Was it, and is it, true that America is the source of all the evil in the world? What acts of imperialist aggression had the mothers, fathers, and children who died at the hands of the terrorists committed? And what of the rest of us? How culpable were we? Was it true that our support for Israel is at the heart of every terrorist grievance? Was it true that America was (and is) nothing more than a world-wide instrument of terror, imposing its evil will on the rest of the world?

It’s impossible for me to fathom how clinging to teddy-bears, gazing at New York from the observation deck of the World Trade Center, or dreaming of going to Disneyland could be construed as acts of imperialist aggression, but logic can sometimes turn on its head and make good seem to be evil and evil good. The camel can indeed be pulled through the eye of the needle.

I’ve heard all the claims and I see them as feeble attempts to revise history or freeze-frame morality. The more I hear them the angrier I get. I remember what happened on September 11, 2001 and when I hear terrorists and terror’s apologists blaming the innocent my blood boils.

I also remember American resolve in the months after the attack. We seemed to be united. But, it was a flimsy fellowship. Time, failed strategies, personal hatred, politics, and personal agendas have evaporated all of that. We’re divided. Some now blame George Bush. Some blame American imperialism. Some claim that America is a Nazi state and deserved everything it got on September 11th. Some say that those defending us are actually betraying us.

Somewhere, possibly in Pakistan, Osama bin Laden is also commemorating September 11th. In a video released today he lionized one of the hijackers responsible for this monstrous crime. Sensing that our will and courage seem to be failing, he used it as an opportunity to recruit others to his cause:

“It remains for us to do our part. So I tell every young man among the youth of Islam: It is your duty to join the caravan (of martyrs) until the sufficiency is complete and the march to aid the High and Omnipotent continues.”

Yes, I remember September 11th, 2001. I remember the grief we all shared. But I also remember the righteous anger. I remember how keenly and rightly it was focused. We knew who the enemy was then. Today, however, in the shadow of Afghanistan, Iraq, the lust for political power, presidential aspirations, failure in some measures, success in others, slander, and character assassination, our collective anger has turned inward. The one thing we should have remembered about September 11th seems tragically to be the one thing we’ve forgotten. September 11th did not happen because of American foreign policy. September 11th was not some monstrous way of the sins of our fathers being visited upon us.

The war on terror that followed the September 11th attack, being waged from Kabul to the Sunni Triangle to America’s Main Street, is very real, and very deadly. It’s not the figment of some politician’s imagination, nor is it the result of our failures and sins, either as individuals or as a nation. We must remember that, find our way back together as a nation, and then bring this war to a just conclusion.