Hopeless or Hope Free? Eric Utne Reads the Times

Hopeless or hope free? Seeing no way forward through climate issues, the founder and namesake of the Utne Reader, an alternative Reader's Digest, describes himself as the latter.

[Photo by Scott Takushi, Pioneer Press]

I heard Eric Utne interviewed on the podcast Climate One about his memoir Far Out Man. The title is both a Boomer equivalent for "awesome, Dude" and a literal translation of his family name.

When the Utne Reader first appeared at my favorite indie bookstore Lemuria (Jackson, MS) in 1984, its headlined articles all excoriated the Reagan Revolution. Though I was intrigued, I didn't touch it, guessing that arguments might shake my faith in my beloved President.

The man Eric Utne turns out to be a gentle soul who abandoned his successful periodical to teach seventh grade awhile, then retire.

Regarding climate and all the other issues on the progressives' catalogue of concerns, Utne sees no room for hope. Now that nearly half the electorate has voted to re-elect a man who shrugged off a quarter-million deaths, he concludes that denial rules; if this crisis can't break the gridlock, no facts, no person, will.

Yet Utne calls himself not hopeless but hope free. If I understand him correctly, someone hopeless has lost only the sort of "positive thinking" that Trump imbibed growing up in the church of Norman Vincent Peale.

Peale's book The Power of Positive Thinking was on my parents' bookshelf, so I understand his idea that you lead best when you exude confidence and enthusiasm. Utne observes that Trump's personal creed seems to be a child's version of Peale's message: that you can make something true simply by repeating it with enough conviction. With money enough to pay a staff of sychophants, that creed has worked for Trump until the election. Ranting to Republican state legislators that the Democrats lost, they cheated, he won, that he just needed to find "some judge" to believe him, he'd never sounded so furiously hopeless.

But what is "hope free?" Though Utne has no hope that his efforts will mitigate the worst effects of global climate change, he makes those efforts anyway. It's the right thing to do, and it's for love of his children and grand-children; hopefulness doesn't enter in.

I would call that acting in faith.

A Dickens Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving may be too early for Scrooge but is certainly a good time for Charles Dickens, especially if you have the chance to see The Personal History of David Copperfield. Director Armando Iannucci,who shares with Simon Blackwell the credit for screenplay, has said that he made David Copperfield's expression of thanksgiving for the characters in his life to be also the director's expression of thanksgiving for Dickens himself.

[Pictured, L to R: Hugh Laurie, kindly demented Mr. Dick, saved by words; Ben Whishaw, despicable Uriah Heep; Dev Patel, title role; Peter Capaldi, chipper con artist Mr. Micawber; Tilda Swinton, high-strung Betsy Trotwood, and, not pictured, Rosalind Eleazar as luminous Agnes.]

Dickens expressed special affection for the story of his eponymous alter-ego, with whom he shares initials, some elements of biography, and a love of words. Though I've not yet read Copperfield, I recognized favorite plot elements and themes from other novels by Dickens that I do know well (Twist, Two Cities, Expectations, Christmas Carol): naive boy, tyrant guardian, a struggle against poverty, time in a brutal work house, memorably despicable villains, and eccentrics galore.

Iannucci makes light work of the numerous twists in the plot, skipping ahead whenever the situation gets too dire. Whatever happens, we see Copperfield writing favorite phrases and descriptions of characters on scraps of paper that he treasures throughout his life, and these words ultimately save him, save a demented friend, and, through the books that he writes, bring him a fortune that he can share in gratitude for the characters who supported and inspired him.

This morning of Thanksgiving Day, I find the whole movie summed up in "The General Thanksgiving" (Episcopal Book of Common Prayer p. 836), which begins "Accept, O Lord, our thanks...":

...for the blessing of family and friends, and for the loving care which surrounds us on every side.

We thank your for setting us at tasks which demand our best efforts, and for leading us to accomplishments which satisfy and delight us.

We thank you also for those disappointments and failures that lead us to acknowledge our dependence on you alone.

I'll add only one very personal note of thanksgiving for Charles Dickens. When I was somewhere around age 8, for no reason I can think of, Mom told me of a paper she'd had to write in high school about humor in Dickens. Repelled by the poverty and casual cruelty in his stories, she complained to her steady boyfriend that the assignment made no sense. The young man, later my father, helped her to see in Dickens the deliciously snarky descriptions and the playfully apt names. The insight that you can find and enjoy humor even in dark places has leavened my life and my love of literature ever since.

Photo: I'm including this photo just because I'm thankful for this very happy dog Brandy. I took the selfie at the top of the stairs when I returned home from a two-day sojourn in Mississippi for my annual Thanksgiving bicycle ride with friend Jason.

Theology for Breakfast: Violence and Wisdom in Scripture

School loomed when I first opened the August-October issue of Forward Day by Day, as I prepared with mounting anxiety for unprecedented classroom conditions. I clung to a routine that included morning worship from the Episcopal Book of Common Prayer. That includes reading scriptures appointed for the day with a little homily from Forward.

More confident now -- though I don't manage to get more than a day ahead in planning the details for hybrid in-class/on-line classes -- I still do no work before I've started the coffee, fed Brandy, and enacted morning prayer.

This issue's most striking readings coalesced around a couple of large themes. August's meditations were by Beth Haun, those of September were by Jason Sierra, and Shirin McArthur wrote for October.

Violence in Scripture Haun takes on Judges 5.19-31, one of those passages that make it hard to say, thanks be to God. "Jael assassinates Sisera in what may be the most gruesome act depicted in the Bible, and Deborah and Barak are singing her praises." She finds that all such Biblical stories are "bound by awe and gratitude." She challenges her reader to think what "wonderful deed" God has done in their life recently. It made me take note how, that week, I was grateful for input from colleagues David and Mary Ann for ideas that gave me a breakthrough in my planning.

Haun also takes on Psalms 21.11, one of many passages when a Psalmist goes off into cursing his enemies. She writes, "The wrath of God sounds terrible -- until we have an enemy in our crosshairs." Recalling that Jesus tells us instead to love our enemies, turn the other cheek, go the extra mile, and never judge, she sighs, "No one ever said following Jesus would be easy."

Reflecting on Paul's saying, "Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good" (Romans 12.21), Haun offers a vision of just how to do that, especially when the consequences of actions can be a mixture of good and bad. Think of evil as "the absence of God," and you no longer have to overcome evil with argument, but "only to announce God's presence." I like to imagine that saying "God is here, now" staves off evil the way a crucifix repels Dracula. Haun asks us, "How will you announce God's presence in your next difficult moment?"

The contrast between gentle Jesus and a rigid Psalmist comes up again when Sierra writes about the Psalmist's boast that he follows a "blameless course" (Psalm 101.2). Sierra observes that the Bible's teaching so much through narrative means that "no directive ... stands untroubled or unquestioned." Even the words of Jesus "cross each other" across the Gospels. Still, there's a path with "signposts," some well within the path and others on the edge.

Dust and Ashes: Job and Sirach The book of Job is so rich in itself that Forward had little to add. There is no umpire between us Job complains to God (Job 9). He asks God, Can you see as a man sees? anticipating the Incarnation (Job 10). If only you would be silent, Job says to his nosy friends, that would be your wisdom (Job 13). On that, Jason Sierra comments that , rather than try to speak for God, "silence is sometimes the better medicine, my presence the only gospel I need to share." The line A mortal...flees like a shadow and does not last (Job 14) corrects Sierra when he feels important; but he also asserts "the story of which we are a part matters -- even our shadows lend movement and life to the forward march of a spectacular universe." The fourth "friend," young Elihu (evidently a late addition to the book) imagines God's sending a "mediator" to "ransom" us from our suffering (Job 32), a miniature theology of salvation, according to the Oxford Study Bible. Noting how Elihu holds back, but gains conviction as he goes, Sierra owns that feeling, and asks "How can we actively invite the unspoken, knowing that God may be seeking to speak to us from unexpected places?" When Job remembers how he was a prominent man of good influence (Job 29), Sierra reminds us not to focus on the great man, but to "understand the world that makes" a Job or an Edison.

Sirach's question The height of heaven, the breadth of the earth, the abyss, and wisdom -- who can search it out? in Ecclesiasticus 1.3 reminds Shirin MacArthur of a surprising view you get when you walk along "Wall Street" in Bryce Canyon, Utah. You can't see it from above, she says, but it towers above you when you hike down the path. Sirach equates wisdom with the abyss because "with both, we cannot grasp the whole [but] only know in part."

Sirach hits home again with another question, How can dust and ashes be proud? Even in life the human body decays." Shirin updates this to cells and atoms, pointing out that our skin cells last only about three weeks. "How can cells and atoms in one body think themselves greater than cells and atoms in another human body, or stone, or tree?"

These readings speak to what the church calls "Ordinary Time," a long stretch of the church calendar that follows Easter and the Ascencion. The readings are all about how we're supposed to soldier on with the Holy Spirit. In this extraordinary time of pandemic and hardened political ill-will, these readings have been a kind of comfort, reminders of how to take death and strife in stride.

Cycling America Virtually: Pocatello, Idaho

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95 miles to Kinport Peak Riding my bike on pavement around Atlanta in relative warmth, I'm marking miles on a map of America. Before now, I've "visited" only places I've been. But, after Jackson Hole, WY, I've struck out to terra non-recognito.

Setting my sights on Reno, Nevada, where my Dad spent the summer of 1968, I've taken a virtual side tour to Pocatello, Idaho. I've never been there, but the map tells me it's in territory of the Niitsitapi tribe, a.k.a. the Blackfeet. Dad spent several months among them when he was doing geological surveys for his PhD in clay minerology. One of my prized possessions as a little boy was an arrowhead from Dad.

[PHOTO: a mash up of a mountain biker's summer shot of Kinport Peak in 2018 and a photo of me that I took in Mississippi last year during my annual Thanksgiving ride with Jason.]

←← | ← || → Use the arrows to follow the entire tour from the start.

Dementia Diary: To Mom, beautiful as ever at 86...

... from Scott, still cute at 61.

That's the gist of the birthday greeting I passed to Mom today via Laura, with Visiting Angels, who has known Mom for around 5 years, now.

Since I took this selfie with Mom early in the year, I've barely seen her in person. Still, she laughs easily when we talk on the phone or have a pre - arranged - socially - distanced - masked encounter as regulations and reservations allow. She sometimes phones to say that she's in a nice sort of hotel or hospital or something but ready to come home. I remind her that this is her home, that she has Laura visiting her every day for several hours, and that the staff knows Mom's memory is shot. "They know you well," I say. "They've nicknamed you 'Princess.'"

Pause. Then Mom will say, "Well, that's how it should be."

On that note, we end the phone call.

The Brick Bible: A Theological Reflection

[I've been reminded how The Brick Bible stimulated lots of feelings and thoughts when Education for Ministry (EfM) considered it for an exercise in theological reflection. I reprint the article from my EfM Blog.]

For our source for a theological reflection, Erica brought a pair of volumes called "The Brick Bible," old and new testaments. She had never looked inside them, almost dreading what she might find: she knows a boy disturbed by what he sees in these books, though her own sons have impressed adults with their Biblical acumen from recalling incidents illustrated in these volumes. It's "brick" because it's all posed with LEGOS! 

Remembering Bert V. Carter

My brother-in-law Bert's favorite phrase was, "It's very interesting." He was always excited to talk about what he'd read recently and about 1960s TV shows. The Fugitive was probably his favorite, but we could bond best over Star Trek.

[Photo: Bert Carter and my sister Kim Carter treated our mother Frances Smoot and me to lunch every Christmas.]

My sister wrote this tribute:

Lifelong scholar and writer, Bert Verdier Carter, Jr., age 64, passed away on October 28, 2020 at Piedmont Fayette Hospital. He was born in Savannah, Georgia, on April 11, 1956, to the late Bert Verdier Carter, Sr. and Darrell Priester Carter. The Carters were always proud of their son.

Bert graduated from Effingham County High School in 1975 and received a Methodist Scholarship to attend Andrew College where he earned his Associate in Science Degree in 1977. While in college he also worked parttime at the Andrew College Library where he met his future wife, Kim Ann Smoot, who was also working there. Bert and Kim would go on to different colleges, but they would meet most Sundays in Macon to study together. They married August 7, 1982.

Bert went to LaGrange College where he earned his Bachelor of Arts in 1978 and Master of Science in Education Degree 1980. A hard worker Bert also worked in the Art Department at LaGrange College under the direction of by Mr. John Lawrence. Bert maintained warm, friendly memories of Mr. Lawrence throughout his life. After, graduation, Bert moved his family to Austell, Georgia, where he taught history at Cobb County High School.

[PHOTO: Kim and Bert with niece and nephew Mary Alice and Craig, ca. 2000]

Always reading or writing in his spare time he explored the histories of several covered wooden bridges in the Atlanta area. He and Kim would hike to the bridges to study the bridges and take photographs. Bert included some of these photographs in his 1995 work, Georgia Bridges.

Another hobby of Bert’s was collecting and categorizing articles, historical facts, and his own personal experiences and memories from the 1960s/1970s from all over Georgia. This work was the groundwork for a larger project, Georgia: Past, Present and Future.

Bert worked for 29 years at KCT, off Fulton Industrial Boulevard, Bert worked in several departments including the lab and quality control. It was a difficult job, at times, but Bert made many good and life-long friends of his colleagues and business associates. He had an infectious laugh and enjoyed a good joke but was also serious when he needed to be. He also had an abundance of concern for others and would be willing to help out whenever he could or was asked. Bert will be missed by all who knew and loved him.

The family will receive friends on Monday, November 9, 2020, 5:00 PM – 7:00 Pm at Mowell Funeral Home in Fayetteville.