So Australia may be far from a lot of you, but in spirit we are not so far away that we can buffer ourselves from the realities of this world. My email and newsfeed have shown in past days, over and over, the orange jumpsuits and faces of the 21 men who were beheaded by terrorists in Libya last week. I could not continue to talk about my own journey without acknowledging those whose earthly journey has just ended–and another one begun.

For those of you who may have missed this, all but one of these men, mostly young men in their 20s and 30s, had crossed the border into Libya from impoverished hometowns in Egypt so that they could work and send money home to their families (the last man, a Ghanaian Christian believed to be Matthew Arayiga, was also in the area for work). They were kidnapped by members of ISIS (aka Daesh) at the end of December and in early January. Reports of those who witnessed the kidnappings say these men were targeted because they were Christians (evidenced by crosses tattood on the inside of their wrists, a common practice among Copts). I can’t bring myself to watch the video, but the accounts I’ve heard of the justifications Daesh announce in it make no sense: it was in retaliation for the killing of Osama Bin Laden (as if these men had anything to do with it), it was because Egypt has been fighting the Daesh and these men were members of the hostile Egyptian church (“the nation of the cross”). What’s clear to me are a few things:
a) they were targeted because they were Christians, and because, with the exception of one, they were Egyptian Christians
b) their deaths, though untimely and brutal, demonstrate a faith that leaves me speechless, and
c) that those deaths are no less heartbreaking, regardless of what they demonstrate.

This story first caught my attention, of course, because I am a Copt. It also caught my attention because my faith in God and in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ are central to who I am. And it was central to who these men were, too. So central, that by all accounts, their last words as their lives were ending were prayers and pronouncements of that faith. All they would have had to do is renounce the God of Christianity and who they believe Jesus Christ to be, and these extremists would, by the dictates of their own laws, have had to spare these men’s lives.

Imagine for a moment being cut off from everyone and everything that can protect you, knowing that you will undoubtedly die unless you say some words. “They’re just words,” your sense of self-preservation might shout, “say them and take them back later when it’s safe to do so!” How strongly would you have to reject the idea that you could deny your Creator (Matthew 10:33)? What faith would it take to give these men the courage to go through with this? [What] do you believe so deeply that you would die rather than deny it? Could you do have done this? Could I?

Yet this story is also about these men who were human beings with loves and personalities and dreams and families. Because of this horrendous act, mothers and fathers will be grieving, wives will be widowed, brothers and sisters will grow old without their siblings, children will grow up without their fathers, friends without their lives’ companions. These men were in Libya to try to provide for their families, and the guilt and anger their families and friends must feel now–well, I won’t pretend to understand. My heart breaks and my minds goes numb just thinking about such sorrow.

It is, incidentally, this profound and senseless loss, this brutality, that has prompted such universal discussion about human rights. It’s too obvious to state that innocent people, civilians who have kept to their own matters, should not be killed by others trying to make a statement (political, religious, or otherwise). But we do not yet live in an ideal world, where we all live full and fulfilled lives.

We Christians talk a lot as about treating this life as only the beginning of a life of the spirit with God, after this earthly life is over. (The saying that we’re spiritual beings having a physical experience has always rung true for me.) We all know our days on this earth are numbered. Many of us forget that, attaching too much importance to careers, or health, or countless other attractions that this life can hold. These men, I’m sure, did not want to die with so much and so many to live for, but like so many Copts before them, they died knowing that this was not the end, and with this, I will try to be at peace.

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Some of the sources I’ve relied on:
Article in the New York Times
Statement by Bishop Angelous
Of course, an online search will yield dozens more viewpoints.

I was having a conversation with a colleague recently about the decreasing ability people apparently have to carry on civil conversation when they disagree. Do we know how to have difficult conversations? As a society, do we have a lot of opportunities to practice having these conversations?

The cynical side of me says no: just look at all the talking heads and political pundits talking over each other and cutting down each others’ points. It is good entertainment: having made more jabs than the other person, one pundit can come out the clear winner. We like clear winners in a world that is otherwise gray. More personally, look at how we tend to drift towards people who think like us, and scoff, roll our eyes, or shut down when we encounter opinions we don’t agree with. (I’m generalizing of course: not everyone is this uncomfortable with difference.)

But that’s my second point. My first point is that, when I was having this conversation with my colleague, he said something that started me thinking. He said (and I’m paraphrasing) there is nothing wrong with having these disagreements, because there is not always an answer that is acceptable to everyone. Sometimes we value compromise and everyone getting along so much that we don’t allow for the fact that people are fundamentally different, and that we should not try to conform everyone to fit one way of thinking. Of course I agree with that, but my question is this: is there any benefit to even having dialogues about these differences? Not for the purpose of changing one side’s mind, but for the purpose of really understanding how each side reached the conclusions that it has reached? And if so, how do we do it in a way that is constructive, not destructive?

Or maybe he meant that sometimes one side’s position turns out to be just wrong. In which case, let the facts speak for themselves; no reason to get upset or self-righteous over it. The problem, of course, lies in how the facts speak. The adjectives that are chosen and which statistics are provided can lead to two completely different statements of the “facts.” How any of us understand a situation is colored by what we knew about that subject already, what we want to believe about it, and how it is presented to us. It is the rare and rigorous mind that is able to distinguish the facts from the personal beliefs associated with those facts.

So given that, I think it is all the more important that we as a society learn to have dialogues expressing why our opinions are what they are in a setting where others will disagree. This is hard, I realize. It’s much easier and more comfortable to stay where we know we will hear our opinions reaffirmed. But the older we get, the more, I hope, we realize that while there are some really wacky ideas out there, most opinions with which we disagree are not complete nonsense, but rather that their holders have looked at the same set of facts through a very different, and often not entirely absurd, lens. When we start to have conversations that don’t reaffirm our beliefs, but rather challenge them, that is when we really begin to think. Many possibilities emerge, including that our mind is not changed, but we now better understand and can articulate why we believe what we believe, or that we realize we have been looking at the facts with a very tinted lens, or that we believe the same thing as the other person but express it differently.

So back to my second point. How do we actually have these difficult conversations? Even if we can be calm and speak respectfully, how do we respond when someone else is simply throwing out insults? I think there are a few key principles to follow:
1) Focus on the ideas and arguments being presented, and avoid insults which serve no purpose but to alienate or rile up the other side. I know a person whose m.o. in most debates is to push buttons by insulting and accusing. It’s entirely annoying and completely unproductive.
2) No ad hominem attacks. Insist that others avoid the same. Listen to the words, not the speaker. Just because you don’t like someone, it doesn’t mean that what they have to say is worthless.
3) Seek to understand. Check your assumptions about what a person means, and ask clarifying questions with a mind to truly understanding the source of their belief/anger/frustration.
4) Listen. If you are moderating a discussion, make sure to create space for quieter voices to speak. If there is no moderator, be deliberate about not dominating the conversation with restatements of your position, but rather encouraging other(s) to explain theirs.
5) Know thyself. If you are speaking with someone who you cannot tolerate, or if you find yourself defending a position you are not sure you want to defend, walk away. Unless you are at a point where you really can (or at least want to) achieve understanding (see #3), you are more likely to do more damage than good.
What other principles are important? I’d love to hear your thoughts…

Our culture values risk-taking. It may be because, as a nation of pioneers and immigrants, it is in our genes to walk on unproven ground, or because success stories of risks taken are glorified in our media and national lore. The point is: taking risks is generally viewed as a good thing.

This viewpoint, by the way, is a privilege: a cultural privilege, if you will. There are plenty of people in the world for whom basics: safety, food, clothing, shelter, and perhaps a small emergency fund, even if they have them, are very easily threatened or lost. Doing something to risk losing them is simply reckless: you are thankful for what you have, and you are careful to keep what you have. The idea that you should take risks seems quite irrational and unnecessary from this point of view.

So what does risk have to do with privilege (an assertion I may or may not have made in my last entry)? Again before I answer this question, I have to pause for an explanation. Many of the examples I have given thus far of privileges and risks are of material and other creature comforts: jobs, food and shelter, etc. I list these because they are the easy, and the most visible, privileges to point out. I’ve resorted to them perhaps more than I ought to. I said it in my last entry, and it merits repeating: there are different kinds of privileges, and risks to correlate with them: Material privilege/risk, social privilege/risk, personal privilege/risk, etc. Materially, you may be privileged with a stable or well-paying job, money, etc. Socially, you may be privileged with close and loyal friends, or a large and loving family, or a supportive community. Personally, you may be privileged with confidence, health, intelligence, a firm faith that helps you weather life’s storms. etc. And many of these are invisible: a person who doesn’t have the typical markings of privilege may in fact consider themselves very privileged in one or more of these other ways.

There is no clear answer to this question unless you also look at a third value in this privilege-risk equation. It is, well, values. (Pun intended.) What is most important to you? What are you not, or less, willing to risk or to lose? The defining question, in other words, is: for whom, or for what, are you taking this risk? Does the risk you are taking advance your life in the ways that matter most to you?

Here’s an example: if what you value most, and the way you are most privileged, is the wonderful and strong relationships you have with family and friends, and you take a material risk (by taking a job, for example, which is less secure or potentially pays less than your current job) in order to have more time and closer proximity to friends and family, you are acting in line with your values and taking a risk on a less valued aspect of your life.* Is it really a risk? Do you regret the move if the job doesn’t work out? Probably not, if your relationships are richer as a result. And the third part of the equation, privilege [of relationships], is even greater, or at least the same (ie, you are still privileged with a strong social network). 

But what if your values and your privileges don’t line up? To continue with the same example, what if you still value your friends and family above all else, but those networks are not very strong, or are troubled by some unhealthy dynamics/relationships? Your privilege lies instead in the area of your aptitude, and your resulting career, which is a very stable and lucrative one. What if you still make the same decision, based on your values, to take a lesser job because it will allow you more time and energy for your friends and family, difficult as some of those relationships may be?

Now do you regret it? If you still value those relationships above all else, then the answer is still no. It’s a more complicated no, because our society teaches us to hold onto our privileges– particularly the visible, material ones–unconditionally. 

I know how I answer this question, but let me post it out there, in case anyone has gotten this far into my rambling (and thanks, by the way): do you live according to your values, or to preserve your privileges? 

Sometimes, it is choosing our values over our privileges that is the riskiest choice we can make. And that, ultimately, is the connection I see between privilege and risk.
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*Please pardon the cliche example. As I write today, I lack the imagination to come up with a more interesting one.

“To whom much is given, from him much will be required.”
Luke 12:48

At work this semester, I’ve been talking with college students about privilege. Have we been privileged in some way? Educationally? Financially? Socially? The word “privilege” carries mixed meanings: having privilege is generally recognized as desirable, but depending on context and tone, being labeled as privileged can also induce guilt or defensiveness. This is especially true for people who are expending energy and time figuring out who they are and what they want their life to be–aka, college students–but it can also be true for those of us who have crossed into full-fledged adulthood. Many are past the stage where they–we–feel guilt for the privilege we have, and others still struggle to acknowledge that we have any privilege. Either way, it’s allowed me to spend a lot more time articulating my thoughts about a topic that’s been on my mind for some time.

First off, there is of course the viewpoint that, if you’re lucky enough to have money, health, intelligence/aptitude, a stable home life, or any other privilege that opens doors for you in life, then you’re fortunate, and you can leave it at that. You owe no one anything.

I disagree whole-heartedly. None of us, no matter how smart, strong, charming, etc., has gotten far in life alone. Someone cared for and sheltered us, someone helped us with homework, someone paid, or helped pay, for our education. Someone connected us with someone who got us that career-making internship, someone was there for us when we needed the emotional support. To make Simon and Garfunkel’s point, to say “I am an island” is simply fooling oneself. 

This is all pretty elementary stuff. But I needed to lay it out as groundwork for my next entry, on risk. Well, maybe it’ll be on risk. I can’t completely articulate yet the connection between privilege and risk, but I hope to explore it in the next entry. 

Until then!

The Modern World and Intuition Preferences Are Not Friends

It is the end of October in an election year. Like many people, I have spent far more time than I usually do reading political analyses and thinking about candidates, the issues our country is facing, its future direction, etc. No, this is not going to be another political post. It will, however, be an observation of the me who sits before the computer, reading some article or another, when the pressures of the day demand that she be doing something more actively productive (like blogging, perhaps).

One of the oldest personality assessments in the country is called the Myers-Briggs (MBTI). One of the spectra on it is sensing-intuition. This places people on a scale of highly preferring sensing (over-simply: detail-oriented) to highly preferring intuition (seeing the big picture first). I prefer intuition (I), if not highly. An inside joke among MBTI-ers is that someone who prefers “I” will be mid-sentence and suddenly say, “oh, look at that bird,” and their attention is suddenly transported away from the conversation. I can’t count the number of times that happens in a day — but my husband could probably tell you how many times, per conversation, that happens.

What’s my point? Oh yes, the point. Well, this is an age of information overload. Email, internet, magazines, good old TV and radio, billboards, yard signs, bumper stickers. In words and pictures, something is always demanding our attention, screaming at us its importance or desirability. And sure, some things are easy for us to ignore, especially if we don’t have an interest in them.

But what about things that pique our curiosity? Interesting things that aren’t evil or a waste of time per se, but don’t exactly help us accomplish our goals (professionally, spiritually, personally, etc)? (Those who are still students, of course, have the luxury of making the life of the mind a main priority in life.) These topics have some tangential relevance to our lives or our interests, and it is so easy to become distracted by them. For a consumer of words and writing, like yours truly, these things take on an allure that can make us push aside the more mundane yet necessary tasks before us. Result: we fall behind. (And as someone who prefers “J,” on the MBTI, I hate to fall behind. Very much a planner and check-lister, I am.)

So I can bemoan the information overload of modern day life–and then I can discipline myself to stay focused, efficient. In other words, I ought to buck up and carry on.

 But in a reflective moment, I have to ask: do I really want to live a life where I can leap, carefree, down the rabbit hole of words and ideas, with no regard for how long I’ll be there or how far it takes me? Do I want a life where every day starts with a nice hot cup of coffee or tea, and a couple hours to read spiritual reflections, the news, other things which are important but not urgent? A life that allows me to think about and discuss ideas for hours? For a month, maybe two, this would be heaven, in theory. But then the full picture emerges. What would disappear from my days for this to happen? I am a mother of young children and the wife of an amazing man. More time with books and ideas means less time hugging my children, laughing at the frankly hilarious things they say or do, less time trying to make my husband laugh, talking to him and discovering, these many years later, the person he is. It would mean less time caring for all of them, and doing things that matter to me, like my work, service at my church, maintaining friendships.

No, in the end, I choose my life. This is a chapter of life that holds fleeting treasures. My children will not always want so much time with me, and my health will not always be good. I am blessed to have this life, this time, and if the sacrifice I must pay is that a few [tens of dozen of] interesting books and articles have to go unread, then I will pay it, for the reward is priceless.