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| I wasn't going to go on xanga until I finish my paper (it's a fitting complement to my facebook fast), but I had to post this.
One of the crim law profs here @ HLS, Prof. Bill Stuntz, has lived with chronic pain since I have known him--the last times I've seen him he was in a wheelchair. He was diagnosed with
cancer recently and wrote this beautiful reflection on his blog.
I just thought I'd pass it on.
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More Cancer--Stuntz
My
cancer has been promoted: I'm officially in stage 4. My doctors have
found two cancerous nodules—a euphemism for "small tumors"—one on each
of my lungs. I started chemo this week. Next week, I'll see a thoracic
surgeon who will, sometime this summer, cut those tumors out. Needless
to say, this isn't good news—though, thanks to medical advances
(especially, thanks to those evil drug companies that politicians
regularly attack), it isn't disastrous news either. We'll see what the
future brings.
I don't have any previous experience with this sort of thing, but
judging from what I hear and read, I'm supposed to be asking why all
this is happening, and why it's happening to me. Honestly, those
questions are about the farthest thing from my mind.
Partly,
that's because they aren't hard questions. Why does our world have
gravity? Why does the sun rise in the East? There are technical
answers, but the metaphysical answer is simple: that's how reality
works. So too here. Only in the richest parts of the rich world of the
twenty-first century could anyone entertain the thought that we should
expect long, pain-free lives. Suffering and premature death (an odd
phrase: what does it mean to call death "premature"?) are constant
presences in the lives of most of the peoples of the Earth, and were
routine parts of life for generations of our predecessors in this
country—as they still are today, for those with their eyes open. Stage
4 cancers happen to middle-aged men and women, seemingly out of the
blue, because that's how reality works.
As for why this is happening to me in particular, the implicit point
of the question is an argument: I deserve better than this. There are
two responses. First, I don't—I have no greater moral claim to be free
from unwanted pain and loss than anyone else. Plenty of people more
virtuous than I am suffer worse than I have, and some who don't seem
virtuous at all skate through life with surprising ease. Welcome to the
world. Once again, it seems to me that this claim arises from the
incredibly unusual experience of a small class of wealthy professionals
in the wealthiest parts of the world today. We think we live in a world
governed by merit and moral desert. It isn't so. Luck, fortune, fate,
providence—call it what you will, but whatever your preferred label, it
has far more to do with the successes of the successful than what any
of us deserves. Aristocracies of the past awarded wealth and position
based on the accident of birth. Today's meritocracies award wealth and
position based on the accident of being in the right place at the right
time. The difference is smaller than we tend to think. Once you
understand that, it's hard to maintain a sense of grievance in the face
of even the ugliest medical news. I've won more than my share of life's
lotteries. It would seem churlish to rail at the unfairness of losing
this one—if indeed I do lose it: which I may not.
The second response is simpler; it comes from the movie
"Unforgiven." Gene Hackman is dying, and says to Clint Eastwood: "I
don't deserve this. To die like this. I was building a house." Eastwood
responds: "Deserve's got nothing to do with it."
That gets it right, I think. It's a messed-up world, upside-down as
often as it's rightside up. Bad things happen; future plans (that house
Hackman was building) come to naught. Deserve's got nothing to do with
it.
Why, then, are we so prone to think otherwise? This is one of the
biggest reasons I believe my faith is true: something deep within us
expects, even demands moral order—in a world that shouts from the
rooftops that no such order exists. Any good metaphysical theory must
explain both of those phenomena: both the expectation and the lack of
supporting evidence for the thing expected. The only persuasive way to
get there, I think, is to begin with a world made good that was
twisted, corrupted, bent. Buried deep in our hearts are hints of the
way things ought to be; the ugliest reality can't snuff them out.
Still, that reality exists; it can't be denied. Christianity sees that
reality, recognizes it for what it is—but also sees the expectation,
and recognizes where it comes from.
Bottom line: I don't need anyone to tell me why I'm in the situation
I'm in, and I certainly don't think I merit an exemption from the
rottenness to which the rest of the world is subject.
But I do need to know some things. Three, to be precise: first, that
I'm not alone; second, that my disease has not made me ugly to those I
love and to the God who made me; and third, that somehow, something
good can come from this. My faith tells me that the God of the universe
suffered everything I suffer and infinitely worse. Death and suffering
don't separate human beings from our Creator—on the contrary: those
things unite us with our Creator. The barrier became the bridge: that
is the great miracle of the Incarnation, the Cross, and the
Resurrection. So I need never suffer alone. Job's story confirms that,
far from rejecting the ugliness of disease and pain, God embraces those
who suffer and takes on their suffering. Beauty and ugliness are turned
inside-out. Joseph's story and the gospels alike show a God who
delights to use the worst things to produce the best things. That
doesn't make life's hells less than hellish. But it does make them
bearable.
This isn't just whistling in the dark—at least, I hope it isn't. It
all makes sense to me: it fits the world I see and feel, with all its
shades of glory and misery. And it answers the questions my soul cries
out. "Why" isn't one of those questions.
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| This guy drives me nuts. Is it just me, or is he arguing that we shouldn't have anti-prostitution or money laundering laws because high powered politicians (who, apparently, are all too prone to one or another of these little vices) might be held accountable for their actions?!
Dershowitz conveniently fails to mention how Spitzer used the same laws and dubious investigation tactics to target other high-profile private citizens, a point made by another op-ed writer for the same newspaper.
ugh. I do have some sympathy for Spitzer--after all, we're all hypocrites in one way or another--but arguing that he shouldn't have been caught, or shouldn't have had to take responsibility for his behavior, is just ludicrous.
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| Really appreciated akidreborn's thought-provoking post about social justice...he raised some interesting issues, and it took me so long to formulate a response that I thought I'd post it on my own site 
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I think there is something profoundly disturbing about the sharp division of justice and mercy, and the idea that one is "owed" to people and the other is not. As followers of Christ determining how we are to treat the people around us, rich or poor, what we "owe" to others is not based on our evaluation of that person and his or her choices--rather, it is based on what we owe Christ. If the core imperative for us is to follow Christ, then BOTH justice and mercy are due (or "owed") to the people around us, not because of who they are, but because of who Christ is. In fact, I would say that the mark of Christ's life, and the meaning of His death on the cross, is the divine unification of justice and mercy in a way that human beings could never have conceived of (and that is deeply offensive to most). Can we say that Jesus was unjust when he told the mob, "Let him who is without sin among you be the first to throw a stone [at the woman caught in adultery]" (John 8:1-11)? In a seeming abrogation of the law of Moses (given by God himself), the adulterer in that case ended up going unpunished--was that an "unjust" result? Was Jesus unjust when he performed acts of mercy--which He did constantly, even before He revealed who he was to people (Matt 4:23-24, Luke 4:38-41, 9:11)? Was He unjust when he prayed for God to forgive those who crucified him (Luke 23:34)? I submit that if we as believers look at anything Jesus did and say "that was unjust," then either we judge God (and thereby reject Him as God)...or we re-think our conception of what justice encompasses. In fact, in Luke 7:22-23, Jesus responds to John's question "are you the one who is to come, or shall we wait for another?" by saying, "the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, lepers are cleansed, and the deaf hear, the dead are raised up, the poor have good news preached to them. And blessed is the one who is not offended by me."
I don't think that the sharp distinction between justice and mercy holds at the institutional level, either. Yes, the biblical role of government is to do justice, but I would argue that there is no particular form of government that is inherently just or unjust--the "justness" of a government is judged by the "justness" of the socio-political order it upholds. Jesus and his followers had plenty to say about what a just socio-political order looks like, too. In fact, I would say that this is the single thing that he talked about most in his three years of ministry--the Kingdom, the Kingdom, the Kingdom. It is certainly true that His Kingdom is not of this world, nor should the goal of Christians be to try to establish a political manifestation of the Kingdom on earth. However, I do think that the norms of the Kingdom ought to be the yardstick against which we evaluate the "justness" of our society and government. For instance, when John described the Kingdom to people in Luke 3:10-14, he describes the economics of "enough" rather than "more" ("he who has two tunics is to share with him who has none"), and an elite/powerful class that does not take advantage of its position to crush others and enrich itself (to the tax collectors--"collect no more than you are authorized to do", and to the soldiers--"do not extort money from anyone by threats or by false accusation, and be content with your wages"). This says to me that there is something wrong with a government that creates or allows systematic incentives for this kind of abuse, or that entrenches the economics of "more" without any sort of restraint. Of course, there are different ways to create incentives for behavior through policy (tax policy, especially, is verrry interesting in this regard)--and experience has a role to play in figuring out what policies to put in place, too. I'm no historian, but if I understand it correctly, the New Deal and the decision to extend the purview of the US government to social welfare grew out of the Great Depression and the realization that the charity of fellow-citizens wasn't enough to protect people from disaster.
I understand your concern about instrumentalizing Christianity in service of an ideal like "social justice"...but as long as we as believers have our priorities straight, I have no problem with people seeing Christians doing acts of mercy, serving the poor, and otherwise working against the pulls of power and money in society before they understand who Christ is. Indeed, the whole pattern of interaction between Jesus and the crowds was that people came to him first for healing and acts of mercy--He gave them a chance to "try on the Kingdom" without requiring them to make a decision to follow Him at the outset. Eventually, they did have to decide--and many people left after they figured out what it would cost to follow Him (see the exchange after he feeds the 5000, John 6:26-71). But really that's up to the one who has the words of eternal life.
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| And while he was at Bethany in the house of Simon the leper,
as he was reclining at table, a woman came with an alabaster flask of
ointment of pure nard, very costly, and she broke the flask and poured
it over his head. There were some who said to themselves indignantly, "Why was the ointment wasted like that? For this ointment could have been sold for more than three hundred denarii and given to the poor." And they scolded her. But Jesus said, "Leave her alone. Why do you trouble her? She has done a beautiful thing to me. For you always have the poor with you, and whenever you want, you can do good for them. But you will not always have me. She has done what she could; she has anointed my body beforehand for burial. And truly, I say to you, wherever the gospel is proclaimed in the whole world, what she has done will be told in memory of her."
Mark 14: 3-9
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I read my 2007 journals last weekend in a belated celebration of the new year. Didn't make it through everything, of course--damn, I can be boring!--but I saw enough to recognize a deep incongruity...
I have been blessed beyond all expectation with people who have loved me, invested in me, mentored me, inspired me to pursue big dreams for the Kingdom. I have been taking it all in, assuming that I can work out what it all means through sheer force of will.
Back in October, the Lord led me to Mark 14:3-9, and my understanding of it then was telling:
"The causes we can devote ourselves to are endless," I wrote. "I could spend all my time going to rallies for Darfur, for coffee farmers in developing countries, for Burmese monks, for the victims of predatory lending practices...the list is endless. The poor are always with us, and the resources are limited. The woman only had one bottle of perfume. How did she know what to choose?
"She would not have been wrong to give the money from her perfume to the poor--at some level, it would have been in line with Jesus' teachings about his priorities. But somehow there was a combination here of Jesus, the woman, and her gifts, that made something that was not just 'not wrong,' but something so extraordinarily beautiful that it would last thoughout the ages. That one act was not just good in a generic sense, but it rang true to the very heart of God.
"I guess what this says to me is that we are not called to pour out our lives for generically good things. Choosing the 'not wrong' thing may be 'not wrong' at some level, but it can still completely miss the point..."
I shared this with a mentor of mine, who wrote back that I made it sound like God was administering one of those multiple choice tests where you're not only supposed to choose the "right" answer, but the "best" one. Total LSAT/MPRE/bar exam inanity. "What about love?" she asked me. I wrote back, polite and noncommital--obviously, she didn't get it.
Thinking back now, though, I realize that I was the one who didn't get it. Amazingly, my long journal entry did not mention love at all. My mentor hit the nail on the head--God isn't presenting us with some cosmic multiple choice test to see if we get the best answer. The whole point of the story--what made the woman's act beautiful and moving to Jesus himself--was not that she understood him (as in guessing what he wanted her to do), but that she LOVED him, and expressed her love in a bold, extravagant, unapologetic way.
As someone training to be a professional in a highly intellectual environment, I admit that there is some resistance in me to the idea that love is at the heart of all things. It's the resistance to that familiar fallacy that calling as a Christian is purely "personal," that our primary goal is to "build relationships" with people, that our skills and work have little to do with calling or building the kingdom. I have no intention of falling back into that way of thinking, but acknowledging that love is still central, how do I respond to Christ in love in the professional context? How do I allow my life to be permeated with love? Maybe this is the wrong question to ask because it intellectualizes it again, but the point is--love matters, always and always. It is what makes us beautiful in the eyes of Christ.
I can remember certain times in the past when God's love has been so evident to me that it has shaken me to my core. But that's not usual. Most of the time I feel like it's my will that keeps me going. Having realized that I've been missing the point, though, how can I be compelled by the love of Christ? That's my prayer for this year. Vision, godliness, heart for the poor--OK OK OK, but now I see that at the bottom of it must be love...after all, it is the great Romance that heals the brokenness of the world.
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| Then Moses went up from the plains of Moab to Mount Nebo, to the top of Pisgah, which is opposite Jericho. And the LORD showed him all the land, Gilead as far as Dan, all Naphtali, the land of Ephraim and Manasseh, all the land of Judah as far as the western sea, the Negeb, and the Plain, that is, the Valley of Jericho the city of palm trees, as far as Zoar. And the LORD said to him, "This is the land of which I swore to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob, 'I will give it to your offspring.' I have let you see it with your eyes, but you shall not go over there." So Moses the servant of the LORD died there in the land of Moab, according to the word of the LORD, and he buried him in the valley in the land of Moab opposite Beth-peor; but no one knows the place of his burial to this day. Moses was 120 years old when he died. His eye was undimmed, and his vigor unabated...And there has not arisen a prophet since in Israel like Moses, whom the LORD knew face to face, none like him for all he signs and the wonders that the LORD sent him to do in the land of
Egypt, to Pharaoh and to all his servants and to all his land, and for all the mighty power and all the great deeds of terror that Moses did in the sight of all Israel.
~Deuteronomy 34:1-12
A guide to the view from Mount Nebo...
View toward Jericho--and farther, to Jerusalem and Ramallah.
Roman milestones
Another view from Mount Nebo
The inscription at the base: "And as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up" (John 3:14). The people standing there are Palestinians, showing their children their homeland.
On the way down the mountain toward the Dead Sea (ears popping like crazy--it's 1378 ft below Sea Level)--we saw a bedouin tent in the background...and tonight's dinner. (Just kidding!)
The Jordan Valley and the Dead Sea in the background...
The Dead Sea (taken from the car). Haven't gone in yet, but I hope I'll be able to soon!
The town of Madaba has some incredible mosaics from the early church. This was taken in St. George's Church, a Greek Orthodox Church that was basically built on top of the site of an ancient church. The mosaic on the floor (usually covered with carpets during church services) is an incredibly detailed map of the whole region.
A closer look at Jerusalem on the map.
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