I’m a Creep. I’m a Weirdo. I Don’t Belong

Years ago, there was a woman in my community that I learned to love. She was in her late 50s, was short and overweight. Uneducated and slow of mind, she lived on small disability payments.

When she was young, various men wandered into her life, using her, getting her pregnant, and then abandoning her. She had several children but all of them had been placed in foster care when they were toddlers by the state. She wasn’t able to parent or take care of them properly.

Mary attended the church where I was the minister. I would often check on her during the week. Sometimes she would ask me to change a lightbulb she couldn’t reach, or explain a bill she had gotten in the mail.

In return, she would bake a loaf of bread and bring it to my wife and me and our baby son. She would walk across town to deliver it. Still, it was always warm and delicious.

Ostracized by most people she lived a quiet life in her tiny house, which she kept clean and welcoming. Knitting and baking bread were her joys. But loneliness was her closest companion.

There is song by the band, Radiohead, about a guy seeking love he couldn’t have. Some of the lines are these:

“You float like a feather

In a beautiful world

I wish I was special

You're so very special

But I'm a creep

I'm a weirdo

What the hell am I doin' here?

I don't belong here”

There are people whose lives are so small and isolated they often feel they don’t belong. They live and age in solitude, without family or friends. Often they are individuals difficult to like or love. Addictions, disabilities, poverty, lack of education, an absence of social skills, mental illness, a history of abuse, they languish in needs unmet, desires unfulfilled, love lost.

They become invisible to us, or dismissed by us.

I’m guilty, too. I pass them on the corners of busy streets with their cardboard signs. Some, perhaps many of them, are frauds. And I justify my passing them by with that mental reasoning.

But the health of our humanity relies on the consistent exercise of our compassion.

In our day, with this infestation of anger and hatred, of elitism and arrogance, of demanding rights we have abused, we fail so utterly in being humane, approachable, tender and patient with others.

There have been ugly periods of history where humans have lost the humility of their own mortality and the brief beauty that life at its longest can be. The fall of the Roman Empire. The Catholic Inquisition. The American Civil War. The South African Apartheid.

These were barbaric times when the preciousness and reverence for the lives of others were replaced with cold indifference and cruel acts of inhumanity.

Today, we Americans face a crossroad in our brief history. Will we learn to see the Mary’s around us. Be human and compassionate. Revive the purpose of our hearts. Feel again the warmth of being gentle and loving to others not like us.

We have been inching along another way, dark and forbidden. If we keep going we will be lost in another history of casualties and catastrophe.

But if we turn back and take another road, the way of learning our lessons, the light will lead us. And we’ll find again the meaning of being human.

We are Made for Human Connection

There are words from Brandi Carlile’s song, “The Story,” that I might sing, and perhaps you, too. “All of these lines across my face Tell you the story of who I am So many stories of where I've been And how I got to where I am But these stories don't mean anything When you've got no one to tell them to” You don’t have to be single or alone to feel the depth of those words. Someone in a longtime marriage or relationship might feel them, too. The voyage through life takes each one of us through an assortment of experiences. Some of them ennoble us. Some crush us. Some lift us beyond ourselves and carry us into the lives of those who need us. And some carry us to those we need. Some experiences are burdens. Others ease and encourage us. Some leave us baffled and unsure. Some build confidence within us and are so affirming that we grow in substance, in courage, in tenderness, and sympathy. As we age, the lines in our faces can represent the hurts we have not yet resolved. Or t

If I had five minutes to evacuate--what would I take with me?

If I was told there was a bomb in my building and I had five minutes to evacuate my apartment I’d grab a grocery bag and quickly toss these items into it: 1. A photo of my grandparents, Mom and Pop and me, when I was 15 years old. I learned what love is made of from them. I learned what it is to be kissed on and hugged in arms so tender they felt like God’s arms. I discovered self worth from those two angels in human flesh. Of all the people in my life, they were the ones who made me feel I counted. Honestly, whatever capacity I have to love others came from them. 2. A sentimental, dog-eared, stars in the margin copy of Pat Conroy’s, “The Prince of Tides.” It is a book I have read three times and often return to for its wisdom. It is a harsh, profoundly tragic novel, the story of a family so broken and tortured by such flawed and wounded people that it is sometimes difficult to turn the next page. And yet it is the story of such Herculean courage and endurance that you want

Do we need a new country?

Have you seen the elaborate, stylish, opulent television commercial for Cartier? The original commercial seemed to go on forever, a full three minutes. They have shortened it now, but it still drips with ostentatiousness. It is conspicuously pretentious in spite of the beautiful music and the sleek panther and the stunning scenery and the elegant model dressed in a striking red gown. The commercial takes the viewer through an amazing montage of dreamy landscapes and famous cities and spectacular stunts while moving past a giant expensive watch and finally to a glittering diamond bracelet modeled by the woman in red. Each time I see it I keep wondering who the target audience is. It seems to be such an over the top expression of unbridled greed and materialism gone ape. In a time when much of the world is starving and millions are still out of work here at home it seems bizarre that Cartier would spend what has to be millions on a television commercial celebrating 165 years in

The Unclad Soul

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