How to be the classier person in a déclassé online world

This past week I participated in derailing a serious conversation my son was having on Facebook.

It became just another ventfest for people voicing their usual positions, another round of blah, blah, blah that goes absolutely nowhere.

And only one person on the thread made a genuine effort to answer the question that he asked.

I knew I was getting sucked into another debate that would go nowhere. I also knew that the adults involved were re-stating positions they had held for a long time, and that no one's mind was liable to be changed.

But I jumped in there. I guess it felt good to vent.

We don't always treat each other well in these conversations. More to the point, we don't make progress in doing anything to solve the problems we all clearly see. It's just blather.

I admire youth -- youth's seriousness, creativity, and most of all, youth's hope. The question could have been asked by anyone's child. I don't think we honored it.

On a completely different front, I was approached by a guy online in a way that seemed innocuous at first, but turned out to be outrageous. As I've noted before, some people behave in the "safety" of their online universe in ways that they never would behave in real life.

I can't imagine  this fellow going all Anthony Weiner on a colleague, but you never know. People feel free to let their libidos hang out (as it were) online. To be provocative -- I'm not sure that there is a big difference between being sexually explicit online and going off on a political rant.

It's not about convincing someone else (unless you are sharing information).  These eruptions are about relieving anger, or sexual tension, or stress, and making yourself feel better.

This week also saw an intense conversation peter out when it was put to the "reality" test. No matter how often I have these communication events (I'm not sure how to tag them), and I am more and more choosy about whether I have them, I still feel burned when the other person disappears into the ether.

I say that I'm not going to let the poor manners and unchained egos of the Internet change me, but I've already been altered.  

Yeah, o.k.,  I'm not hitting on guys or posting rage-filled reactions to someone else's ideas. But I'm still not where I want to be.

In this regard, a few of my elders have been wonderful teachers. They never post anything to Facebook unless it's edifying. 

A few resolutions, then, for leading a more classy online life. Feel free to add your own. It's a good conversation for those of us who can't keep our mouths shut online. Or maybe it's just a constructive one for me.

1. Think before you post. Consider your audience, the ones who speak up, and the ones who are observing you. Do you want to be known as the "village" blabbermouth?

2. If you err, make it on the side of kindness. Do not post in anger, or in snark. 

3. Not every thought that goes through your head is worth sharing, either on Twitter or Facebook.

Cull relentlessly.

4. Does your online persona match up with your real life behavior? I recently read an article in the NYT book review section about famous writers.  Many of them were outright jerks in real life. There are lots of things I'm NOT good at, but I am obsessed by trying to be the same person in "rl" that I am when I'm raving at you on Facebook.

4 a.  Keep it zipped. You know who you are. No one needs to see you exposed in a tell-all, or standing with your wife, husband or partner at a press conference.  Prudence is often a hidden virtue.  Dangerous behavior can be forever. 

5.  Which brings up another point;  Be honest.  Be truthful with others, but above all, don't start lying to yourself.  That's how we begin to live in ways that are splintered and alienated from our better selves (I'm aspiring to better, and letting God worry about "best"). 

I'm pretty darned good at dishing out advice. Let's see if I'm even better at taking it. You have permission to hold me accountable when I err, as I will now and then. Someone has to...

When it comes to leaving church, we're not just "talking about my generation"

Over the past week, there's been a ton of "water-cooler" conversation  over why Millennials (read: twentysomethings with a bit of thirty tossed in) are leaving the church. Rachel Held Evans got it started this time around (as she often does) with analysis: young people are sick of their parents culture wars, and don't want to be in a church that peddles a bunch of predetermined answers. In addition, they are tired of discrimination against LGBT people, tired of exclusivity and tired of the same old same old, even if it's the same old worship music.

It's not about the hip worship, she admonishes pastors -- it's not about the new new thing covering up the old thing.

Then Derek Rishmawy, who is even more of a Millennial than  Held Evans,  (he's 27, she's 32) came out with his own reflections (after hers went viral.)

i’ll be honest, my initial instinct when I come to pieces like these is to balk a bit. I worry that we can tend to come off as whiny, demanding, or entitled. Even worse, there’s a sort of myopia involved in thinking Christianity must change or die every 30 years or so


Part of the reason young people are leaving the church,  he suggests, is that they don't get the whole idea of the Church, the Bride of Christ, the Body.  Evangelicals have "dropped the ball:" in this regard, he asserts.

While I'm happy to hear what Held Evans and Rishmawy have to say, and I'm paying attention,  it seems to me that a larger point is getting lost here.

Every generation is leaving the church.  Millennials are simply leaving it faster -- or never signing up at all.

Here's a quote from Pew's  Research on Religion and Public Life Project "Nones On The Rise." That came out last fall, and caused some consternation among those who run religious institutions. The quote below suggests a steady erosion in religiosity among Americans in their forties, fifties and sixties:

 Generation Xers and Baby Boomers also have become more religiously unaffiliated in recent years. In 2012, 21% of Gen Xers and 15% of Baby Boomers describe themselves as religiously unaffiliated, up slightly (but by statistically significant margins) from 18% and 12%, respectively, since 2007.

And we're not even talking about people who claim to be a part of a faith, but never, or almost attend a house of worship.

So what's going on?

I don't pretend to have the answers, any more than Held Evans or Rishmawy do (they might be slightly more confident, but youth does that for  you). 

I do have a few notions. And before you get curious,  I'm not targeting any church in particular. including my own. I happen to love my congregation simply because it is, often, so imperfect. We let our rough edges show. 

But I'm weird that way -- a lot of people want smooth and shiny, a nice rose that goes down easy instead of a biting red.

So - a few ideas.

First of all, we may be trying too hard to get potential attendants  in.  People aren't attracted by showy programs and clever marketing.  They can see right through that.  That includes mass evangelism programs ( not at all my aesthetic, though they do have their appeal to some, I confess.)

Secondly, it might be useful for churches to examine what drove some members of older generations out in the first place. As a member of a tiny, tiny, and shrinking denomination (at least here in America),  I find the wars of the past two or three decades an utter disgrace.  They reflect poorly on liberals and conservatives alike.

I'm a convert -- and a priest, and I considered leaving. When we divide and seek to conquer, we aren't following Jesus. Episcopalians complacent about the way things have turned out might want to look a those empty pews and inner city churches turned into chic condos. Conservatives might want to check out the ongoing splintering among their own, and ask themselves if the "prize" of a sanctuary "untainted" by female and gay clergy was worth the battle. 

I'm not at all sure that, many times, we offer people what they really want.  I'm not saying here that people always want what is good for them, or what the Gospel demands of them.  But those who are broken (aren't we all?) need to be met where they are.  Yes, they are often grimy, and yes, a lot of what they've done ain't purty -- but plenty of times I take a look in the mirror myself and see smudges.

Churches need more transparent and even more transient leadership -- in many congregations, leadership seems to recycle itself, with the same people in the same positions year after year.

Finally, I long for a church where we can be truly honest with one another. I WANT to hear about internet porn on Sundays. I want to hear about people who struggle with their sexual identities.  I want to hear about alcoholism and mental illness and marriages in trouble. Not necessarily from the pulpit, mind -- that's a lot of  stress to put on a pastor.

But he or she ought to feel comfortable or holy uncomfortable, speaking up and out when the Holy Spirit calls. 

Then I want to hear about Jesus, and what He's doing in people's lives.  But our tendency is to start with the good stuff -- and never get to what's really bugging us. 

What if vestry members and deacons, pastors and choir section heads could be open about their fears and doubts and know that they would be accepted and encouraged in love? What if we weren't so darned clubby about who we welcome into such confidences?

There's no guarantee that such profound honesty will bring people of any generation back, encourage them to remain -- or to begin.

But perhaps it's time we took a tough look at ourselves,  instead of wondering "what's wrong with them"? 

Review of 'The Light in the Ruins' by Chris Bohjalian

I gotta tell ya -- I usually avoid books featuring a lot of violent events like the plague.

As someone who is sensitive to nuance and detail in life (as a journalist one becomes trained to ream it up from the cosmos),  I'm also way too prone to take it in from novels.

I know I've missed some good stuff -- but I don't feel obligated to stay up to date on every dark excursion into  someone's subconscious (or attempt to exploit the huge female market for horrifying tragedies inflicted on mothers, gag me).

Chris Bohjalian is wonderfully different.

His acute, poignant and yet sweetly comic character study, an early novel titled "Water Witches," hooked me.  He's got an eye for the telling detail and a masterly way of showing empathy for his characters, no matter how bizarre their beliefs or behavior.

Plus, he lives in and loves Vermont, the lovely terrain of my childhood summers.

 In addition, from what I can tell, at least superficially, he seems to take  criticism thoughtfully, a genuine mark of character.

When I saw that my editor had Bohjalian's newest novel on his crammed reviewing bookshelf, I asked for it.  Those of you with a taste for dark realism and suspense, with the added frisson of a doomed love story, will probably rip through it in one sitting.

Just don't read it late at night. And keep the lights on.

http://www.philly.com/philly/entertainment/20130728_A_terrifying_thriller_in_2_decades.html

As gay marriage gains support, what's going on with people of faith?

A day or so after the Supreme Courts' momentous decision in the DOMA case, I spoke to a professor of mine who is a lesbian (her partner addressed our class).   The move to allow, if not affirm, gay marriage as the law of the land felt like it had happened fast, I said.

"In less than a generation," she said.  That's remarkably swift for this kind of cultural change.

In an atmosphere of heady optimism for gay marriage supporters, Nate Cohn of the New Republic sounded a cautionary note (you can find a link to his analysis in my commentary). To my mind, he makes some very good points.

While it's hard to predict the course of history, while one is living it, this is a crucial time for Americans, particularly American Christians.

Will increasing support for gay marriage among Catholics and mainline Protestants change minds among conservatives?  Or are we looking at another "wedge" issue, like abortion, that will divide Americans for generations to come?

In this commentary I stick close to the numbers (though statistics are as diverse as the people doing the polling).  In the ones to follow, you'll hear from some scholars and writers as they grapple with the question: what next?

http://lancasteronline.com/article/local/876112_Column--Shifting-tides-in-gay-marriage-debate.html

The acceptable bigotry of the anti-religious

When I told someone that I was a religion writer, he asked me if I was "deeply religious."

Let's just say that this online question is resonant of many other such conversations.  I can usually guess at the agenda behind it.

Are you....intolerant? Are you a prude? Are you narrow-minded? Will you try to convert me?

Are you responsible for ALL of the ills that afflict Western civilization?

I paused a minute.  I took a deep breath.  I puzzled over all the possible answers, including - whaddya mean?

Then I answered that I wasn't any of the stereotypical things people might imagine when they think about a "religious person." I valued the topic enough to have the conversation in "real life," I added.

I know the picture -- I'm sure that you do, too.  It's a particular favorite of some doctrinaire liberals.

To be fair, the religious right, with sometimes antiscientific bent, hasn't helped (though, trust me, I don't like it when the religious left gets involved in political machinations, either).

Then, of course, there is radical Islam, and various New Age philosophies constructed mostly of wishful fluff.  Sexual abuse. Racist philosophies.  Anti-Christians who call themselves church members, like Westboro Baptist...it's easy to see why religion, particularly Christians who wield political power, get a bad rap.

Yet why is it so acceptable for anyone with a pretense to an IQ above 100 to re-enact a new Inquisition?

This isn't limited to potential romantic partners. I run into it a fair amount among the intelligentsia in academic institutions, too.

I'm guessing that you do, too.   As Americans, we continue to polarize and splinter every which way.

 The antipathy towards people of faith as a class  is just one more way of saying "I'm different from you -- and proud. " Not to mention more intelligent, more tolerant, and generally higher quality.

On the other hand, I enjoy a chat about faith, and no-faith, when the parties involved can trust each other, and cut each other some slack. Intellectual curiosity, and a discerning ear and heart, are almost always good things.  That take a special sort of person, though --  someone who is flexible, smart, and genuine.

The odds are pretty good that I won't hear from this person again -- and that's o.k.  I don't need to change his mind. If I do hear from him, though, I'll give him a little extra credit for being able to imagine a universe in which not every person of faith is a prejudiced moron.

Because, in general, I'm not. I hope that he's not, either.

Waiting it out

How do you manage this?

How do you ever let them go?

Parents of teenage sons (o.k., let's be honest, mothers of teenage sons) I need help. Advice.  Encouragement. Perspective.

The first week, it wasn't quite so bad. After all he and his friends were only away for a week. Actually, five days, but who is counting?

Then his dad and I drove him to Boy Scout camp.  I didn't really need to go with the two of them, but, ya know, leaving me behind wasn't really an option, either.

I missed you, Mr. C., I said to him as we sped towards Maryland.

"I missed you too, Mom" he said (if you have a teenager at home, you know how rare these words are, and how treasured).  Then, with the resilience and optimism of the young, who see nothing but blue sky before them, he commented: "But you have me here for an hour."

After Boy Scout camp, another week flew by. Now he's about to return from the youth group teaching camp in the city.

He and his dad leave on vacation for another week Saturday.

When my son is gone for this long,  I start to feel disoriented.  I miss him inviting me to see some college humor YouTube video, or watching an old movie together, talking at dinner or discussing current events in the car on the way to Wegmans or church.

A perfectly normal size when he is here practicing his drums in the basement or reading "Les Mis" on the safe across from mine, the house seems way too big without him.

Don't get me wrong. I miss my daughter, too -- but it's different.

With her, my job is still convincing her that she isn't old enough to move into an apartment with the boy she thinks she wants to marry and set up shop.

She's closing the doors faster than I can reach them to swing them open.  They are opening naturally for her brother.

With him, to be candid, my big job over the next three years will be learning to let him go to his own life.

The time to develop my own isn't looming down the pike somewhere.

It is here.

The job seems harder for single parents who don't have the buffer or comfort of a spouse. As an introvert, I also find that it takes some emotional capital to make new friends and seek new companionship.

But it's part of what is going to make his journey towards adulthood successful. I know that.

I'll be really pleased when I see him blossom into the wonderful young adult he's going to be.

But for now, I'm ready for the summer to be over. Even though it isn't.

The language of love

I've lost two really good interview opportunities this year --both because the writers were so mistrustful of my ability to report their words correctly that they insisted on responding in an email.

No dice, babes.

It wasn't personal. They'd never heard of me (no, I'm not that famous). I'm just weird, right?

Fact is, I try to stay away from email interviews as much as I can (if the interviewees are in Italy or in prison,  I make an exception).

If it is arrogance on my part, it's a kind of twisted, principled arrogance.

Written responses are about as useful as press releases.

I don't know why we have such trouble communicating in our culture, but problems abound.

So does temptation.

Temptation to cut corners. Temptation to come up with the cutting comment.  Temptation to

It seems to me that technology is responsible for a lot of the problems we have.

Or maybe it's the way that texting and emails (yes, that old fashioned form of conversation) and yea, even Facebook, have played into our human tendency to default to shorthand instead of the painful task of sorting things out face to face, or heart to heart.

Why talk when you can text?

Why tell someone you are hurt when you can just ignore their emails?

Why confess that you kind of like having them around there are all these electronic toys to play with?

Techno-toys make it easier to cover up our vulnerabilities, but we are still as frail as we were before we had access to them.

It's not that talking about sensitive topics is easy.  When two people have skin in the game, it can be a virtual minefield.

That's where grace and acceptance and a certain degree of self-understanding come in -- as well as the healthy release of shared laughter.

That kind of openness is rare, but it's real. You can probably count on one hand the people with whom you have it.

It is, at bottom (au fond, as the French put  it), the language of love.

The language of creating and creator.

Of solo and duet.

Of nettle and flower.

Of waiting and ripeness.

Of parent and child.

Of a friendship just begun and a marriage of forty years.

It is holy ground on which  someone will see us for ourselves (as much as we see anything or anyone clearly), and still say, when the tears have been dried and the laughter stilled: "I love you."

It is presence itself.