Engineering My Faith

For a while now, I’ve been thinking about what I could do to help the LGBTQ+ community in greater Rolla. I’m a straight, cisgender man, so I’m clearly not a part of that community, which inherently limits my possible contributions. But I have resources and a desire to help, so for the past year I’ve been more seriously looking at needs.

The needs I’ve been able to identify are:

• Dedicated space. Someday, I hope that there is an LGBTQ+ resource center in town, a place people can go to just “be.” I suspect that there are some businesses in town that sort of fill that role, but not in an overt and dedicated way.
• Education and awareness for the larger community. From the “alphabet soup” of the acronym (LGBTQQIAA…), to the prevalence in the population, to the legal rights (or lack thereof), people who are straight and cisgender often have NO IDEA what the reality is. I see this piece as something that I can particularly contribute to, being an educator by profession as well as someone who is still partially (even mostly) clueless and therefore able to empathize.
• Visibility, of both the LGBTQ+ community and allies. Someday, I hope it’s non-controversial for someone to fly a rainbow flag. Someday, I hope that when a teenager comes out, they know they’re not alone. Someday, I hope that someone gay or transgender can confidently go to a doctor or other service provider with no fear that they will be treated poorly. Someday, I hope that talking about sexual orientation and gender identity is just normal, nothing out of the ordinary. Someday.
• Financial support. This idea came from a non-binary person I’ve been working with. They recognize that gender-affirming medical services are expensive and often not covered by insurance. I’m looking into mechanisms that can be used without running afoul of the IRS.

We were all keyed up to have an event today. This is LGBTQ+ History Month. October 11 is National Coming Out Day. We were going to have an educational afternoon, with discussions of the alphabet soup, legal issues, medical issues, and so forth. Ultimately, though, the pandemic forced us to delay. We discussed having a remote version, but that would not accomplish the visibility and community formation goals we have.

So, right now, we just have a Facebook page and a Twitter account (@LgbtqRolla). Better than nothing, but not really enough. We need to get some content out so that people will really engage with it and start forming a little bit of a community. Then someday, maybe we can meet up in person. I’m open to suggestions of other ways to get things started.

I am currently taking a course on the New Testament from the University of Dubuque. Our textbook reading last week was about Jesus and the Gospels, broadly speaking. In church, we normally use all of the New Testament together to get a view of Jesus. In scholarly study, however, each viewpoint is taken first as a self-contained description, and then in comparison. For example, Mark takes up the story when Jesus is baptized, so when studying Mark, we cannot speak about Jesus’s birth and early life. After understanding Mark’s perspective, we can ask, why did he start there? Why did he leave so many things out that are included in other Gospels?

It occurred to me that in a sense, it is like seeing artwork of the same subject by different artists. A good example I found is Mount Kilimanjaro. I found a huge variety of artistic renderings on Etsy.

Here we have a sparse but realistic representation. The artist describes it as “colourful and simple.” A similar option below replaces clouds with trees. Why? What do the two artists intend? This second option is even available with a wide range of colors for the sky, allowing the purchaser to put themselves into the scene, or to put the scene into their home in a way that has meaning to them.

Here we have a vintage map that portrays Kilimanjaro in a VERY different way. Different views for different purposes. All three that we have seen are beautiful in their own ways, useful in their own ways, and tell us about both the artist and the buyer—what they value, what they prioritize, how they expect the artwork to fit into their lives.

I could go on. Some versions have people or animals in them, with varying levels of emphasis relative to the mountain. Some are much more realistic, others much more abstract. Yet all address the same subject.

Humans are storytellers. From our holy books to our daily news, what captivates us is a story. When we hear a good story (or see a good piece of art, which is a visual story), we put ourselves into it. We imagine being a fly on the wall or being one of the characters. We feel what the storyteller wants us to feel.

If we’re not careful, we can easily be led astray by good storytellers who have hidden motives. They show us a warped version of reality, provoke the right emotions—empathy, anger, fear, love—to satisfy THEIR goals. It may be an accurate rendering from a certain angle, but told in an intentionally deceptive way to bring certain features into sharper contrast.

Our task, then, is to make use of different perspectives to get a truer view. A good Christian doesn’t read just one Gospel, but all four, and the rest of the Bible too. A good historian doesn’t just read the “official” version of events, but many writings from both the winning and losing sides, from nobles and commoners. A good citizen doesn’t revere a single news source, but rather gets information from many sources. (I discovered The Flip Side a while back. They send a summary each weekday of different perspectives on a single issue: left, right, libertarian, etc. I highly recommend it.)

One parting thought: Mount Kilimanjaro is in Tanzania. However, the best views of it, the views rendered by most of the artwork, are from Kenya. Make of that what you will.

In Common Call, we are working through the Phoenix Affirmations. These are a set of twelve principles affirmed by a particular group of progressive Christians. We don’t all agree with all of them, but they are excellent discussion starters.

This week, we discussed the second affirmation:

Christian love of God includes listening for God’s Word which comes through daily prayer and meditation, studying the ancient testimonies which we call Scripture, and attending to God’s present activity in the world.

The question becomes, though, how to read Scripture? Whatever religion you may be, there are ancient writings that are revered—the Bible, Koran, Talmud, Bhagavad Gita, Tipiṭaka, and so forth. These writings all date to now-dead cultures. Most began as oral traditions that were eventually written down. Early manuscripts are all fragmentary, and some words are difficult or impossible to translate.

One option is to hand the responsibility of interpreting Scripture off to experts. There is certainly logic in this approach. This was the default position for most of medieval times, if only because of widespread illiteracy in the relevant language(s). This is still the approach in many religious traditions. I will say that when I read certain sections of the Bible, I don’t get a whole lot out of it, without someone else more learned than me to interpret.

But if we are going to encounter the Scripture ourselves, we must be aware of three concepts: exegesis, eisegesis, and hermeneutics. Exegesis is the right approach: encountering the text through the lens of their original context without any pre-conceived conclusions. Eisegesis is far more common: starting with a conclusion and finding text to support it, or reading a given text in a way that confirms our pre-conceived notions. Hermeneutics is the way we perform exegesis. These three concepts need a lot more exploration than I can give them.

The essential notion is this: read the Bible the way it was written, and include the context. When I was young, Mizpah coin jewelry was popular. The Mizpah concept derives from Genesis 31:49: “It was also called Mizpah, because he said, ‘May the Lord keep watch between you and me when we are away from each other.’” People intend it to connote a beautiful emotional bond between friends or lovers who are separated from each other. Yet if you read all of Genesis 31, a totally different view emerges. Jacob is feuding with his father-in-law, Laban. They finally settled it by setting up a heap of stones to witness Laban’s pronouncement (Genesis 31:50): “If you mistreat my daughters or if you take any wives besides my daughters, even though no one is with us, remember that God is a witness between you and me.” So it’s not a sweet emotional bond; it’s a threat.

I’m scheduled to preach next Sunday, September 13. In preparation, I selected the Gospel text from the lectionary, Matthew 18:21-35. It is a parable about forgiveness. The parable itself has plenty of depth and nuance. However, the parable and message is much richer if read in the context of the whole of Matthew 18. Here, Jesus is giving his fourth discourse, instructing his disciples about how to live in community together. The discourse covers a lot of ground regarding our sinful nature, the way we hurt each other, and how to respond appropriately when someone sins against you. (Spoiler alert: we’re supposed to forgive them.) If you just read verses 21-35, you would get just the part about forgiving someone seventy-seven times. But if you just read verses 15-20, you would get just the part about casting out sinners from your fellowship. If you just read verse 20, you would hear Jesus’s famous maxim, “For where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them.”

The Bible is a thick book. The first part was written over a period of several centuries by a civilization that was destroyed. A few additional books were added as that civilization re-built. Then four centuries later, the New Testament was written, mostly by unknown authors (ascribed by tradition, not factual evidence).

So because it’s such a thick book, written by so many people with so many different goals and contexts, in such a foreign culture, it is possible to find scripture to support nearly any position. Eisegesis thrives because it’s easy. Actually encountering the words as written and intended requires humility and the guidance of the Holy Spirit. May God be with you as you strive to encounter God’s Word today.

What does it mean to be “inclusive”? I am part of a team that is working on a major proposal. My little piece of it deals with a “culture of inclusion.” This is supposed to be more than just a checkbox, how-many-women-and-minorities kind of thing. It is supposed to be a pervasive culture where every voice is valued. At the same time, I’m the advisor of a campus ministry that is attempting to be more inclusive. So I’ve given a fair amount of thought to the philosophical, theological, and ethical foundations of inclusion. Maybe that’s overstating it, but anyway, it occupies my thoughts.

A recent column discussed one of the challenges of being overly inclusive. One of the hallmarks of progressive Christianity is avoiding orthodoxy, but that can end up draining away all meaning from the title. That is, there are people who claim to be progressive Christians who do not believe in the divinity of Jesus, or who do not believe in his bodily resurrection. Where is the line?

Let’s go back to basics. Once, the only people who mattered in the Western world were white men. We were the political leaders, scientists, theologians, engineers, everything. Gradually, and certainly incompletely, that has changed. Now at least some other voices are heard: white women; Blacks, Asians, Latinx, and other races and ethnicities; and members of the LGBTQ+ community. Usually those voices are given far less weight than white men, but now it’s more than zero.

As it turns out, people who are not straight, cisgender, white men actually know stuff, too. How about that! Not only do they have something to say, something to contribute to “their” people, but also to society at large.

The foundation of inclusion is humility. A humble person realizes that they don’t know everything. A person can be confident and still humble. That is, they could be confident within some realm of expertise, while recognizing their limits. For example, I had a conversation with someone at another university recently who is putting together a research team. I could confidently say that I have expertise in solar energy and microgrids, but he asked about several other topics that are outside my bailiwick. Or for another example, I recognize that the six courses I’ve taken through the University of Dubuque’s program for certified lay pastors are not even equivalent to a single semester that an M.Div. student takes. I’m only marginally qualified to preach and lead a church—confident enough to try, but humble enough to listen to mentors. Going back to the column regarding heterodox (even heretical) beliefs, humility means listening to modern voices, but not imagining that all of our inherited wisdom is wrong.

A group, organization, community, or society has a culture of inclusion when that humility extends to the realization that knowledge, wisdom, and inherent worth are present in unexpected places. A person doesn’t need to be an insider to be valued. A person doesn’t need to look or act like the rest of the group to have a valid opinion, or to have an insight that others don’t have.

The opposite attitude is assuming that someone who is “other”—Black, or female, or gay—and successful must have cheated. Exhibit 1: the birther conspiracy about President Obama. Exhibit 2: Kamala Harris must have had an affair with Willie Brown and used him to get ahead. It is unfathomable that these two Black people were successful on their own.

Everyone is a product of both their innate capabilities and their environment, including the opportunities they were given. The fundamental attribution error is the tendency to assume other people’s misfortune is due to their personal failings, while our own misfortune is due to bad luck or other people’s bad intents. To expand on the concept a bit, there is a tendency to assume that outsiders’ misfortune is due to their group’s failings, while insiders’ misfortune is due to bad luck or nefarious groups. Thus many whites believe that inner-city Black poverty is because their culture lacks a work ethic, while rural white poverty is caused by globalism and evil foreigners. A humble person would realize that the real world is messy and complicated, and that perhaps they should listen to actual Blacks and other people of color talk about their struggles against systemic racism.

I leave you now with a hymn by Marty Haugen, Let Us Build a House. I love his work—both lyrics and music. This particular version is an anthem that also incorporates “Come Build a Church” by Ken Medema.

August every year is a time of new beginnings. This year, for the first time, I have both of my kids out of the house and off at college; Jesse started class already, and Sam starts in a couple weeks. Rolla K-12 schools (which no longer impact me directly) and Missouri S&T both start classes Monday. This past week was Opening Week, an orientation for incoming freshmen.

This is a fall like no others. Both Pitt (Jesse) and Brown (Sam) are starting the semester online, with plans to eventually have some in-person classes, such as labs. UNC Chapel Hill had students on campus for just over a week before sending them home. Missouri S&T is starting out hybrid; for my class, the in-person classroom only accommodates about 40% of the students, the rest of whom will be online.

Anxiety has been climbing for years. The CDC data are eight years out of date, but other sources indicate that the upward trend has continued. On top of that trend came the pandemic, protests against racial injustice, and partisan warfare over fundamental voting rights. Young people (and older people, too) are right to be anxious about the future.

In a workshop today, Rev. Rodger Nishioka encouraged us to use a disruption framework to understand the COVID-19 pandemic. That is, our lives have not simply been interrupted, after which we would go back to the way things were. Instead, our lives will be fundamentally changed. Even if we have a magical vaccine next month, the fear and distrust will remain; new ways of communicating, behaving, and planning our lives will remain.

And yet in the midst of all this uncertainty, I have reason for hope. Why? Well, there are a few proximate causes. First, Common Call Campus Ministry, and the rest of the partners in the Campus Ministries Association, had an awesome Murder Mystery event for incoming freshmen. Many students had a chance to hear what we’re about and expressed an interest in learning more. Second, a project I initiated, to provide some education and other resources for the LGBTQ+ community in Rolla, suddenly has some momentum behind it. Third, I suddenly have a few new research project opportunities on campus—no money in hand yet, but movement in the right direction.

More fundamentally, though, my hope comes from my past experience with adversity. Eight years ago, Rhonda had MS, but it hadn’t taken over her life yet. Then from December 2012 to sometime in 2014, she went through pure hell with facial pain, and the rest of us went through it with her. Yet we came out the other side, damaged but strengthened. I know my relationship with my kids is different now than it would have been otherwise. They had to grow up fast but rose to the occasion and are better people because of it.

Hope is not some rose-colored-glasses, wishful-thinking good feeling. True hope comes from adversity. When I was young, I was over-confident in my abilities and intellect. It took a little bit of failure to make me appreciate the need for hard work to back them up, but also to realize that a little bit of failure is OK. It’s OK to try something and fail, as long as you keep trying. It’s OK to encounter some setbacks, some roadblocks, some unsolvable problems. Maybe my life didn’t turn out the way I expected it to, and the path I took was not the straight path to success I would have chosen. Looking back, though, I realize that the problems I encountered along the way made me who I am, and that there is a good future for me somewhere out there, even if I can’t see it yet.

²⁸ Do you not know?
    Have you not heard?
The Lord is the everlasting God,
    the Creator of the ends of the earth.
He will not grow tired or weary,
    and his understanding no one can fathom.
²⁹ He gives strength to the weary
    and increases the power of the weak.
³⁰ Even youths grow tired and weary,
    and young men stumble and fall;
³¹ but those who hope in the Lord
    will renew their strength.
They will soar on wings like eagles;
    they will run and not grow weary,
    they will walk and not be faint.

Isaiah 40:28-31

Hope comes from being weary, being weak, and even falling, yet continuing on. God gives me strength. This fall, I don’t know what will happen, whether Common Call and the LGBTQ+ program will take off or the pandemic will crush them. Yet I know that no matter what, I will learn something, and come out better on the other side, as I have before, with God’s help.

According to Great Man Theory, history is defined by the actions of men (always men, not women) who both had innate greatness (skill, intelligence, charisma, etc.) and encountered situations that both developed and called for their particular capabilities. A couple of examples spring to mind: George Washington and Abraham Lincoln. Washington had a set of life experiences that made him into a great general, as well as the temperament to lead a republic instead of a monarchy. Would the United States of America exist without him? Lincoln also had life experiences that somehow prepared him for the presidency, along with the wisdom to surround himself with great statesmen. Would the Civil War have been declared had he not been elected? If so, would another man have succeeded in saving the Union? These questions are, of course, unanswerable. All we can say is that Washington and Lincoln were presidents who had certain achievements.

Humanity has been blessed and cursed over the millennia with good and bad leaders. They have both molded and reflected the conditions of their times. In most cases, we can only judge leadership in retrospect, long after the fact. In 1862, with the nation divided and war raging, would anyone have rated Lincoln among the great presidents? Probably not. There’s also the problem of leaders who did a good job at achieving terrible ends, such as Josef Stalin.

We are right now in the midst of a sea change in national and world affairs. In the 1980s of my youth, the Cold War between the US and the Soviet Union defined international relations. Discussions of economics revolved around the growing threats of Japan as a technological powerhouse and Mexico as a manufacturing powerhouse. By 2001, the Cold War was over; China was emerging as an economic and political adversary; and Islamic terrorism was the dominant national security threat. As these external relationships shifted, domestic politics and the economy shifted as well.

Indeed, America in 2020 faces different, and generally more serious, political, economic, and interpersonal challenges than we did 20, 50, or 100 years ago. We have COVID-19, racial strife, a collapsing economy, and low levels of trust. We need great leaders at every level: national, state, local; in government, industry, the marketplace, education, and religious institutions.

What makes a great leader? The Bible is full of examples of good and bad leadership.

¹⁴ “Now therefore revere the Lord, and serve him in sincerity and in faithfulness; put away the gods that your ancestors served beyond the River and in Egypt, and serve the Lord. ¹⁵ Now if you are unwilling to serve the Lord, choose this day whom you will serve, whether the gods your ancestors served in the region beyond the River or the gods of the Amorites in whose land you are living; but as for me and my household, we will serve the Lord.”

¹⁶ Then the people answered, “Far be it from us that we should forsake the Lord to serve other gods; ¹⁷ for it is the Lord our God who brought us and our ancestors up from the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery, and who did those great signs in our sight. He protected us along all the way that we went, and among all the peoples through whom we passed; ¹⁸ and the Lord drove out before us all the peoples, the Amorites who lived in the land. Therefore we also will serve the Lord, for he is our God.”

Joshua 24:14-18

The recurring theme throughout the Old Testament is that great leaders obeyed God’s commands and bad leaders did not. Yet it was not simply that the leaders themselves followed God; rather, it was the example they set. Great leaders like Joshua praised God and reminded everyone that they should also praise God and follow God’s commands.

The days of theocracy are long past. The US is not a Christian nation now, if it ever was. Rather, we are united by our civil religion, encoded in the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution. Great leaders now are those who elevate the principles of these founding documents and inspire others to live according to those principles, at least in spirit.

Reading the Declaration of Independence reminds me that no matter what I may think of a particular politician, the principles underneath our institutions are still inspirational: all people are created equal; among our rights are Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness; that governments derive their just powers from the consent of the governed.

Old Testament leaders like Joshua, David, and Solomon were complex men who often fell short of God’s desires for them and for their nation. Yet they were held up as examples because they measured themselves against God’s commands. Similarly, great American leaders make many mistakes, but should be judged by how they inspire our nation to live up to our ideals. Do they inspire us to treat all people as our equals, or to treat some people as our inferiors because of their race, ethnicity, national origin, gender identity, or sexual orientation? Do they seek the consent and support of all Americans, or use loopholes to achieve power by other means?

Other organizations have different founding principles, against which leadership should be measured. For example, Missouri S&T is a land-grant university, established under the auspices of the Morrill Act, “to teach such branches of learning as are related to agriculture and the mechanic arts, in such manner as the legislatures of the States may respectively prescribe, in order to promote the liberal and practical education of the industrial classes in the several pursuits and professions in life.” Obviously we have evolved since then, but at a very basic level, Missouri S&T exists for the sake of liberal and practical education, which are essential to the prosperity of a democratic society. All leaders must be measured by how well they inspire the faculty, staff, and students to achieve a better tomorrow through education. Land-grant universities should not be measured by their success in football or basketball, nor by their wonderful dormitories and recreational facilities for students.

I am at a stage in my life and career where I find myself increasingly in leadership roles. My hope, my prayer, is that I will be true to the principles of the organizations that I lead, and that I will inspire others to follow me.

If all goes according to plan, my youngest will move in to their dorm room Tuesday to start their freshman year next week; my own classes will start August 24; and my oldest will start in early September. The nice thing about working at or attending a college is the rhythm of it: the sense that everything starts fresh in the fall.

This year is different from all previous years in ways too numerous to mention, but the same in one big way: young people around the country, and around the world, are beginning not only a new academic year, but also a new chapter in life. Each academic year is a different stage in the process; there’s a qualitative difference between starting your freshman year and starting your junior year.

I am also the advisor to Common Call Campus Ministry, which is a member of the Campus Ministries Association. Common Call is a progressive Christian ministry sponsored by my church, Christ Episcopal, and Hope Lutheran (ELCA). CMA is a collaboration among many ministries of various denominations, ranging from Catholic (Newman Center) to Assembly of God (Chi Alpha) to Mormon (LDS Student Association). We all have very different theology. I think my church would recognize the baptisms given by most (except LDS), but most would not recognize ours. Yet it’s important for us to work together, to visibly display the unity that is in Christ.

My hope, my prayer for my own children, for the students in Common Call, for all young people, is that they find a path to God. The mark of maturity is when you convert the received faith of your youth into your own faith—maybe the same, maybe different. I grew up United Methodist, and the rest of my family is still United Methodist (including my sister, a pastor whose church we’ll be attending shortly). When I was in college, I drifted away, for various reasons but mostly because I didn’t think I needed God. Some years later, when my kids were born, I realized how much is beyond my control, and how much I do in fact need God. When I ultimately re-joined a church, I ended up Presbyterian—different from my youth, but not so far removed.

Do I think my own kids, and students I encounter, should be Presbyterian? Sure. But if they end up Episcopalian, United Methodist, Catholic, Jewish, or Buddhist, so be it. We each have God inside of us, the Holy Spirit dwelling within that connects us to all humanity across time and space. Despite God’s immanence, we are ultimately unable to fully understand the divine. Our human institutions and explanations are approximations, limited views of the infinite.

⁸ Love never ends. But as for prophecies, they will come to an end; as for tongues, they will cease; as for knowledge, it will come to an end. ⁹ For we know only in part, and we prophesy only in part; ¹⁰ but when the complete comes, the partial will come to an end. ¹¹ When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child; when I became an adult, I put an end to childish ways. ¹² For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then we will see face to face. Now I know only in part; then I will know fully, even as I have been fully known. ¹³ And now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; and the greatest of these is love.

1 Corinthians 13:8-13

The closest we can come to understanding God is to love. Love ourselves, love our family, love our friends, love our community, love all humanity. I pray today that young people everywhere will know God by knowing God’s love, and that I can do my part in sharing that love with those I encounter. Amen.

Yesterday, I led a church float trip on the Current River, Cedar Grove to Akers Ferry. We had some teenagers, some middle-aged, and a couple of octogenarian women, whom I will call Alice and Sally for their privacy. It worked out best for Alice and Sally to be in a canoe with me. The river was up: we had a lot of rain Friday, so by the time we got on the river, the flow was 430 ft3/s. (I’m writing the number down so I remember how much is too much.) But I thought we would be OK. And most of the time, we were.

About 40 minutes into the float, the river took a hard right turn. In trying to fend off from a tree, I tipped the canoe. Alice and Sally hung on to the canoe until some people on a gravel bar right there charged in and grabbed them. We all got to shore and managed to recover all our belongings. Sally has kind of fragile skin and got a couple of big cuts. Unfortunately, we didn’t have a first aid kit. But a guy who was there helped out with a torn-up T-shirt and some Kleenex. He bandaged her as well as he could. We decided to have lunch.

After we all recovered, we got moving again. We were fine for more than an hour, then another time, the river took a hard right turn. This time, a branch sticking out grabbed the canoe. The branch, the thwart, my paddle, and my leg were all tangled up together. Alice was thrown clear; someone on the gravel bar jumped in and grabbed her. After I got my leg untangled, the canoe started floating away. Lots of people jumped in and grabbed all our stuff, and two big guys carried Sally ashore.

This time was more serious. Alice had a little scrape; Sally had several, on both arms and both legs. Fortunately, someone among that group was a nurse with a good first aid kit. Also, there was a group of students there from the Missouri S&T Satellite Team (Jill Davis, Donna Jennings, Matt Russell, Kyle Bruer). Jill, a Ph.D. student in aerospace engineering, also had a good first aid kit that she contributed to the effort. People kept piling towels on Alice and Sally (whether they wanted them or not!).

Now the question was, how to get home? Even assuming the rest of our group could help somehow, they were gone. I didn’t realize until later that we were very much the last boat in the group. If we could make it to Welch Spring, we could perhaps ask the ranger there for help. But how to get there?

That’s when Jill jumped in to volunteer. Their group was in kayaks. Kyle would tow hers, and Jill would take the bow position in my canoe. We got Alice and Sally settled down in the bottom of the canoe, and we were off.

It was a pleasant float from there. There were hardly any tight spots, and Jill was accomplished enough to guide us through the few we encountered. When we got to Akers Ferry, she had to run to catch the bus to Jadwin Canoe Rental with the rest of her group. Once Alice & Sally had clean, dry clothes on, and some fresh Band-Aids, they were fine. They even came to church today! Although Sally did need further medical attention at the urgent care clinic after church. We did lose a canoe paddle and a driver’s license, but that’s pretty good for such extreme conditions. Sally lose one shoe, but then some guys found it further down the river and returned it to us!

What was amazing and gratifying to see was the sense of togetherness on the river. There was a realization that we were all in this together, and we all had to work together to care for those who were in trouble. Lots of people acted spontaneously when they saw us dumped out, our belongings floating downstream. The guy who helped bandage Sally the first time gave me clear instructions about what to watch for and what to do. (The other guys on the gravel bar also helped by offering moonshine!) The nurse who did most of the work at the second spot was very kind and caring, and took her time to make sure both women were dry and warm, and that all of Sally’s injuries were accounted for. There was another woman at the second spot whose face I can still see—the anguish in her eyes over the idea that we would need to continue on, and the fear for Alice & Sally’s safety. There was a group there that proposed to be our escort down the river, before Jill volunteered. And of course Jill’s willingness to cut short her trip and help us out, and her companions’ willingness to tow her kayak and otherwise pick up her slack.

I think people are basically good and basically want to do the right thing. Modern civilization has given us many opportunities to NOT do the right thing, though—to ignore the suffering of people around us, or literally to not even SEE suffering people. Too often, people in need are just nameless, faceless “others” who must deserve whatever comes their way. But when confronted by someone who is clearly in need, people want to help.

Oh, and also, Jill is an accomplished student who has won a prestigious award and a fellowship, and Donna also recently won a prestigious award. They are a credit to their department and especially their advisor, Dr. Hank Pernicka. It has been my privilege to work with these and other students on the Satellite Team over the past decade.