This memorable line was spoken by John Kennedy on January 20, 1961, as part of his inaugural address, considered to be one of the most highly regarded inaugural speeches in the history of our country. Kennedy encased those lines in the stirring conclusion of his address: 

       Let the word go forth from this time and place, to friend and foe alike, that
       the torch has been passed to a new generation of Americans—born in this 
       century, tempered by war, disciplined by a hard and bitter peace, proud of
       our ancient heritage—and unwilling to witness or permit the slow undoing of
       those human rights to which this nation has always been committed, and to
       which we are committed today at home and around the world.

       And so, my fellow Americans, ask not what your country can do for you--ask
       what you can do for your country.

Kennedy had given much thought to what he might say in his inaugural address. He pondered the disparities between those who are free to speak and pursue their dreams, and those who are trapped by poverty, existential circumstances, or even worse, by political domination and authoritarianism. Those thoughts led him to another remarkable line in his address:

       If a free society cannot help the many who are poor, it cannot save the
       few who are rich.

Kennedy's words rang like the bells of eternity awakening all off us who had been drowsy in our sleep and unconsciousness. But here began the awakening of a new generation, summoned by a leader we could respect, an individual who himself had served in peace and war, a generation who came in a new way to value the hardships of those who came before us, and those who gave their lives that others may be free and able to pursue their dreams in the brief life given each of us by our Creator.

John Kennedy called us to serve—in combat if need be, in the halls of justice if so elected, in the schools of learning, in the down-to-earth jobs that make our wheels go round, and in the splendid board rooms of our banks and corporations. Kennedy knew the smallness of our planet; its vulnerability, and the coming impact of the destruction of habitats. And in face of the challenges, Kennedy called the young adults of that time to step up and volunteer, whether it be the military or the Peace Corp.

I was part of that young generation. I rallied to Kennedy's call to oppose our segregated institutions, to bring peace and opportunity to the world, and to go to battle if need be.

And so it was that I took upon myself that challenge, readying myself for service with a degree in economics and a commission as an officer in the US Army. Now, with all candor, I confess I supposed I might well serve my country in a desk job in some administrative position in the many Army posts where such service would be necessary.

But such was not to be my fate—or destiny. Oh no, the military deities that decide such things decided I would serve my country as an officer in the field artillery, and furthermore, that I would report to the 76th Field Artillery stationed in Korea at a post with the name of Camp Saint Barbara, who happened to be the patron saint of the field artillery. And this is the prayer of St. Barbara:

       St. Barbara, you are stronger than the tower of a fortress and the fury of
       hurricanes. Do not let lightning hit me, thunder frighten me or roar of
       cannon jolt my courage or bravery. Stay always by my side so that I may
       confront all the storms and battles of my life with my head held high and 
       a serene countenance.

So there I was in Korea, serving as an officer with the 76th field artillery when our troops were awakened on November 23, 1963, by Kennedy's Secretary of Defense, Robert McNamara, who informed us Kennedy had been killed. Shock reverberated throughout our unit. No one knew what to expect. Was this the first act of a foreign power that would then follow-up with a massive air-land-sea attack? Was it a coup attempt? No one knew. I recall my first response was how to respond to an attack, and only a few hours later could I collect my thoughts, and in particular, my deep, deep grief over the loss not only of my President, but the Commander of our military, and—perhaps most important—a heroic figure who had given his all in battle and highest service to our country, and issued a call to serve.

Now I collect myself on this Memorial Day to recall another line from the many spoken by Kennedy.

       The ignorance of one voter in a democracy imperils the security of all. (From his 
​       address on voter participation.)

Once again my friends who share my story and my communication in these blogs, I am happy to say I remain as steadfast as ever in Kennedy's call to service as well as his warning that ignorance can imperil the well-being of our democracy. His call and warning, no doubt, reverberate in your mind as well, reminding us of the torch that has been passed to each of us.

May the light of resilience, hope, and courage burn brightly in your homes this Memorial Day 2025. 

What determines the character of our life? Out of sight and hearing, deep underneath the preoccupations of our mind, a dynamic works to shape our personality. How else do we understand that even with identical twins, talents, interests, and values may differ. Each twin claims features of uniqueness—likes and dislikes, even diseases such as diabetes, Parkinson's, schizophrenia.

Often in my work as Jungian analyst, I encounter individuals who puzzle over some part of his or her life not shared or even valued by other family members. We all have pondered the events and times when we wondered, "Was I adopted?" "My family is strange!" We often laugh or cry, or leave home because we just do not "fit in." We may even think we are "going crazy" because we do not understand the "clutter" in our head, including those instances where we cannot make up our mind or control these unsettling thoughts that search for understanding.

It is not only our physiology, hormones, family background, education, or politics that rule our lives, precipitating comedy or tragedy. Today, tragedy rules our lives. Today we live in a political drama much like the one Germans suffered in the 1930's. I am referring to the uncertainty and animosity that hang over individuals, families, social groups, and democratic institutions we long have taken for granted.

But we must be warned. As Carl Jung reflected on the hysterical madness that possessed the German people in the catastrophic years between 1930 and 1945, he concluded:

       The impressive thing about the German phenomenon is that one man
       who is obviously possessed [Hitler] has infected a whole nation to such
       an extent that everything is set in motion and has started rolling on in
       its course towards perdition.  (Collected Works, Vol. 10, p. 179)

And a littler later in his essay, Jung adds: 

       ... a god has taken possession of the Germans and their house is filled
       with a mighty rushing wind. ... A hurricane has broken loose in Germany
       while we still believe it is fine weather.  (p. 186)

This "god" that took possession of the German people was a phenomenon Jung identified as the archetype "Wotan," not politics or economics but an archetype. I chose this example of an archetypal force because of its dramatic nature and power to possess an individual and to infect an entire nation of people. Such an archetypal power can create or destroy, shape individual character for better or worse and also determine the fate of a society.

Under the spell of such archetypal power individuals delight in a leader who serves as a "savior," offering promised reward of pleasure and security for faithful stewardship. Such a hypnotic leader compels a descent into such madness as befell the German nation driven to "perdition" by Wotan. 

"Why, that's irrational," an onlooker may say. "That makes no sense. Can't they see what they are doing? Don't the followers know the words and actions are absurd and cannot come to any good end? Why would anyone be duped by a fanatic cult leader?" Yes, looking from the outside at the enchanting power of archetypes, we understand the seductive nature of such a phenomenon. But within the enchantment we lose rationality.

For example, consider the enchantment of money and power that drives our society at this time. At another period in our history we may have focused our energies on war against Nazism (1930-1945), or societal compassion (Johnson's "Great Society," the mid-1960's). Those periods in our history demonstrated a nation focused on outreach and care for others. 

However, our focus presently leans remarkably and distressingly in the opposite direction: self-aggrandizement, the severance of good-will abroad and narcissistic authoritarianism at home. Now we ask, what is this archetype that has possessed us? How shall we name it?

I know of no better name than Mammon for the archetypal power that dominates our public life today. This was brought to my attention by a remarkable book by Eugene McCarraher, The Enchantment of Mammon: How Capitalism Became the Religion of Modernity. McCarraher serves as Professor of Humanities and History at Villanova University. He makes no mention of psychology or archetypes. But more than any other writer considering the ills of our present time, he unmasks the veil of what possesses our society. 

Consider McCarriher's introductory observations:

       Far from being an agent of "disenchantment," capitalism, I contend, has 
       been a regime of enchantment, a repression, displacement, and renaming 
       of our intrinsic and inveterate longing for divinity. There is more than 
       mere metaphor in the way we refer to the "worship" or "idolatry" of money
       and possessions. Even if many (if not most) of us behave in a disenchanted
       desacralized cosmos—a universe devoid of spirits and other immaterial but 
       animate beings—capitalism has assumed in its way, the status of an enchanted
       world.  (p. 4) 
       
Why "Mammon" as the source of this enchantment with capitalism that McCarriher goes on to describe? In mythology, Mammon is known as a demon of greed and avarice, the prince of Hell driven by the acquisition and rule over the underworld of wealth. What better way to describe our society's obsession with money and power. And we either look the other way, or we consider what this ruling archetype means for our life today.

For the Germans in the 1930's, Wotan ruled. Today, here in the US as well as other countries, Mammon rules. As Jung would remind us, it is not economies or politics with which we must contend; it is Mammon.

I had made considerable progress on this writing when my editor jolted me with an editor-like question. Most often this is not good. Of course, in the long run editors do what they do in service of any "masterpiece" we mistakenly think we are creating. But in the short-run, I dread my editor's intruding observations and questions.

This was particularly bothersome when her question had to do with the title! That's right, the title! And so, when I "innocently" asked, "And what is your problem with my title?" she wasted no time getting to the point. "Two words," she said. I, in turn, wanting very much to carry on with my train of thought—such as it was, and as ill-conceived as it may have appeared in her mind. So it was that while she talked, I continued with my assumed naïveté. "And what two words bother you," I asked, while in my mind I knew very well my title consisted of only two words she could conceivably be picking on—"evil" and "madness."

Thus, I began to build my case for using "evil" and "madness," even though I recognized the words did carry a certain vulnerability. Already, I had researched the use of "madness" and felt disappointed that the PDR Medical Dictionary condemned "madness" as "an imprecise and outmoded word best avoided in medical speech and writing."

And so it was I concluded saving "madness" would be a scramble, but what about the word "evil"? Just how vulnerable might "evil" be in the PDR? But with great relief I discovered that the PDR had somehow overlooked "evil" in its list of culprits for writers. However, I knew that while my PDR might be so careless, my editor would not. What would she say about that word, which after all, served to anchor this writing. 

With that in mind, I thought it best to investigate how "evil" is defined and fares in the world of politics, psychology, and journalism today. And what did I discover, you may be thinking. Let me put it like this: "Evil" dwells in the same neighborhood as does "madness" within the cautionary world of editors. In other words, a writer must carefully tip-toe in corridors of acceptable usage regarding "evil." Granted, the word does not receive the warning label as does "madness" in my PDR. In fact, the PDR does not mention evil, but that is part of the problem. Evil appears in our society today, with obfuscation and general uncertainty. 

For example, "evil" wears three hats in some quarters where it may be defined as a "mood," as "natural," or "metaphysical." Of course, in any of those usages, "evil" is understood as the worst of all bads. But to seek a definition that fully describes "evil" is fruitless. No wonder that in one TV series, three characters are needed to investigate the church's fictional portrayal of unexplained mysteries, miracles, and demon possessions.

In this fictional world of television, "evil" eludes a skeptical psychologist, a Catholic priest-in-training, and a scientist. The drama of that TV series portrays a fictional search for our understanding  of "evil."

However, even this reference to the search for understanding evil did not escape my editor's point concerning the fallibility of my title. Still, I persevered! "Of course," I began in my rebuttal to the well-intended editor, "of course," I said, "the title lacks for precision and respectability. However, that is just my point. I am attempting to describe something that in itself is as messy, indescribable, defenseless, unbelievable, and in general as problematic as my title."

"And what is this you are trying to describe?" my editor asked. My knowing she would not let the matter rest with an evasive unclear response, I moved directly to say what was on my mind when I chose "the banality of evil" and "our descent into madness." I want, in this writing, to name: 

• the destruction of our democracy,
• the rape and pillage of our planet,
• the dehumanizing suffering of human beings and animals whose habitats are being destroyed,
• the betrayal of our international allies,
• the disruption of democratic institutions that have served us for decades if not centuries, the deportation of individuals who have no homes to go to,
• and the dismantling of institutions such as Social Security,
• the invasion of our universities with police-state-like tactics,
• the spread of misinformation and terror,
• the US becoming a totalitarian police state,
• and the eruption of psychological mistrust and animosity invading families and other social groups. 

"There are no acceptable words," I concluded, "and the questionable reference to  'evil' and 'madness' may be the only ones I know to name this awful suffering we now must endure. This is one of the ways I can resist; else, I will myself be overcome by the evil and madness."  "Then we go with it," she said, as she added, "your title obviously is indebted to the work of Hannah Arendt who gave us the description of evil as banal when she observed the trial of Adolf Eichmann."

And, of course, she was correct in referencing the work of Arendt who observed the 1963 trial of Eichmann in Jerusalem. I am indeed indebted to Arendt who forever left the world with her reference to the banality of evil at the hands of a bureaucrat who implemented the details that resulted in the Holocaust and killed millions of individuals. (See Hannah Arendt, Eichmann in Jerusalem: A Report on the Banality of Evil.) 

Of course, Arendt did not mean in any way to dismiss the evil done by Eichmann. He did, indeed, implement the details that resulted in the Holocaust and killed millions of individuals. However, such evil as Eichmann committed can not be fully understood as banal. But, Arendt's point of view is important for our understanding of this present in which we are living. She made the keen observation that Eichmann appeared as the neighbor next door who was "doing his job," his "duty," "obeying orders," "obeying the law." In using the word "banal," Arendt reminded us that evil is a madness often not observed. Rather, the madness of evil may begin with the simple acts of daily life when decisions are made, supposedly in the service of efficiency and profit-making, where suffering is out of sight beyond the horizon of consciousness and conscience. 

​Banal evil occurs. Arendt named it. And my writing here is one attempt to question what madness holds us out of sight of the evil until it no longer is banal. 

​

Jane walked into my office with a calm reassuring manner that befitted a well-dressed professional woman I guessed to be somewhere in her early 50's. She had called some days earlier, saying she urgently needed to talk to somebody or she would die, and then rushed on to assure me this had nothing to do with suicide—"at least, not mine or anyone in particular, but everyone in general," she somewhat muttered as her voice trailed off. But before I could find the earliest date available on my calendar, Jane quickly added, "...but as soon as you possibly can."

Concerned that this might be something of a histrionic personality disorder, and not having space or time to engage another one at this time, I offered a one-time meeting at a time-slot I had reserved for some backlog of "reading and writing," as my daughter used to say when she occasionally felt an urgent need to catch up on some assigned work that had not managed to creep into her otherwise exciting extraverted life of friends, outings, assigned piano practice, driving lessons, and otherwise very quiet times when her bedroom door was closed with a surrounding array of books, papers, clothes, and magazines featuring her enthrallment with some pop/rock singer I tolerated.

"So how can I help you?," I asked the surprisingly poised lady entering my study. Quietly she began to speak, barely above the audible range of my hearing, so that I found myself slightly leaning forward enough to make sure I could understand what she was saying without giving any impression of encroaching her space.

"Well," she began, " the world is going to hell, unless it's already there, or I am waking up still in a tortuous nightmare filled with ghoulish characters and apocalyptic scenarios beyond the expected reach of what I once thought to be a sane mind. Now, it's important that you realize, Dr. Mishoe, I am not a histrionic person—at least not normally." (Whew! I breathed silently to myself.)

Then, Jane goes on adding quickly, "And, I am not oblivious to the outburst of human evil and idiocy, such as possessed the German nation in the late 1930's through the mid 1940's. But there is a difference now." 

"Such as," I managed to squeeze in.

"Well, such as, the German people had us to reach in and save them from the madness and pranks of Adolf Hitler. We have no one. We are caught in a sea of towering waves, in a fog of obfuscation with no stars in sight and no contact with empathic and capable help."

I nodded but had no time to ask any questions, nor for that matter, any need to help Jane express her distress. She obviously had been waiting to "explode," as she later referred to her rat-a-tat-tat barrage of fear, anger, and bewilderment.

"What happened to our world?," she asked. "Since when do billionaires with arrested character development disassemble our government and destroy our society? We live in a world caught between the extremes of fire ravaging infernos and unmoored icebergs roaming in search for a place—anyplace—to dock. This is to say nothing about those who want to colonize space for the purpose of business investments, and others who play with AI for the purpose of xenotransplantations in which organs can be manufactured and inserted within our bodies, for Christ's sake!," Jane exclaimed.

"Um," I massaged my mind momentarily, thinking, "Now, what would that mean to her, 'for Christ's sake'?"  Holding that thought, I came back to Jane and realized that she had suffered trauma.

We think of trauma as the experience of an event that disrupts an individual's sense of security and meaning. A trauma consists of three characteristics: shock, fear, bewilderment. The mind struggles to place the event of trauma because it does not fit into the expected way of life. It is as if a cataclysmic happening jerks us out of the world we live in and thought we could trust. But trauma is not an expected way of life.

A trauma need not appear all at once as an event with a clear-cut beginning and end. Like the scariest of our nightmares, a trauma may "seep" into our awareness without our even knowing it, and then there comes a reckoning: "This is not the world I know, and I do not know what to do, or what to expect. I am not safe."

I explained this to Jane, while she sat impassively for what seemed to be the longest time. And then, she finally spoke. "Yes, that's it! A trauma! I have been traumatized. So, fix me!"

"What would it look like if I could 'fix' you?," I asked. Her eyes flooded with tears of desperation. "I know you cannot fix me or make the situation go away—at least not now or maybe ever. What can I do?"

"We can hold consciousness of what has happened and is happening to us," I replied. "Also, while I am not sure whether or not you think of yourself as a religious or spiritual person, I can share with you what came to my mind."

"What's that?," she asked.

"It comes from the Gospel of John, one of the sayings of Jesus that was remembered and saved for times like this," I replied. And before I could go on, Jane asked, "What is the saying?"

"Well, we must remember that Jesus, like us, suffered the trauma of life-changing events for himself, his people, his "world.  Roman soldiers paraded through his countryside, Greek scholars introduced foreign ideas of their wisdom, and even his own religious heritage fragmented among zealous scholars of sacred texts and moralistic expectations for families and individuals." 

"In other words, his 'world' suffered the disruptions of would-be leaders like those in our day who look for profit and power, prosperity and prestige. Facing all of these, Jesus held his ground and proclaimed:

       In the world you have trouble, but take heart I have overcome the world.
         — (John 16:33)

Do you understand?"

"Take heart," she asked, "What exactly does that mean?"

"Consider this," I cautioned her. "The human mind can be a fickle thing, blown this way and that by the winds of the ten thousand things that compete for our attention. But, knowing this, we may resolve as to how we guide our attention, especially in moments of fear and bewilderment. To do so is to respond with courage, which is another translation for  the Greek word meaning "heart." To hold our attention and not be jerked around is a way in which we courageously move through traumatic times such as these. Let's talk again," I invited her. 

After we set a date for another time to talk and rose to say good-by, she walked toward the door and turned before stepping through. "Take heart," she smiled. 

Well, that's that! Little remains of the wonderful Christmas season of choirs singing, lights beaming, neighbor's wishing each other good cheer, ringing out the old and celebrating the new, calling friends and family far away, revisiting old times with hearty cheer, catching up on who is living and who is no longer with us, wrapping presents, opening presents with feigned surprise and occasional wonder, welcoming visitors, trimming the tree, lighting up the angel on top who oversees the coming and going, journeying into the city to see another version of the NUTCRACKER, listening once more to Handel's MESSIAH, while back home the Nutcracker Captain with faithful soldier stand by the Christmas tree to see that the Mouse King does not re-emerge to do harm!

But, now, the children have left. Alas! What a hole remains in our house, our cheer, our excitement, our ongoing chatter and endless change of plans accompanying the many, many eruptions of carol-sings, meal planning, loading into cars, visiting and caring for others and planning for a return to school and work and what we have to look forward to in the summer with our annual gathering at the beach!

Whew! I am tired just thinking about all that, but also lonely, missing the children and allowing myself to peep into some anxiety having to do with the New Year! But, yes, even this anxiety and intrigue and uncertainty, and danger—all of this also belongs in the Christmas story, does it not?

Let's not forget the visit of the three Wise Magi, the star that guides them and the brutal Herod who fears the stories about this newly-born King of the Jews! Any king, any ruler, anyone who gets more attention than Herod could be dangerous. After all, Herod is a narcissistic sociopath who demands complete allegiance to him. This includes his military generals, his civil officers who conduct the administration of his government (such as it is!), and who help him control borders.

Oh yes, this baby Jesus might be a trouble-maker. After all, he evokes the attention of these seemingly prestigious scholars or wise men, or whoever they may be, traveling long distances bearing gifts to a baby rumored in Jewish stories to have been anticipated and who might set-up a competing rule that would challenge Herod's rule!

W.H.Auden in his long poem, "For the Time Being," labored to find just the right words to describe this would-be-king Herod.

       When he says, You are happy, we laugh;
       When he says, You are wretched, we cry;
       When he says, It is true, everyone believes it;
       When he says, It is false, no one believes it;
       When he says, This is good, this is loved;
       When he says, That is bad, that is hated.
       Great is Caesar: God must be with Him.

Herod loves adoration and demands it. Herod demands respect not for his office but for himself personally. The army is his army. The generals are his generals. The rule of law is his, rule and tradition be damned! Such is the way of old dictators and demi-gods. He fears nothing and everything. But he fears nothing as much as a new-born baby.

And so, Herod asks the Wise Men just where he might find the new-born child so that he, Herod, may also visit and pay respect. But here the New Testament story as told by Matthew, chapter 2, takes a fascinating turn. The Wise Men see Herod for what he is, indeed a narcissistic sociopath who speaks lies, knows no value higher than his dictatorial self, and brutalizes his people with the threat of his anger, the threat of the loss of his so-called protection fo themselves, their children, and their homes, and their homeland. Herod offers all of this if they but obey him and grant him the supreme power to which he believes he is entitled.

This is where the story takes a fascinating turn often overlooked in the Christmas story. The Wise Men, knowing Herod for the dangerous sociopath that he is, simply ignore him and take another route back to their kingdom where they will prevail in order to tell the world of this new-born savior. But, in the story, what happened to Mary, Joseph, and the baby? 

Joseph is warned in a dream about the approaching danger. He packs up the mother and child, and they journey to Egypt, a refuge far away form Herod, his military and his power, because even though Herod may not believe this to be true, he does not rule the world  or time and the destiny of all children who are yet to be born.

And so we come to the question, as did Joseph and Mary, where shall we take refuge? In the Christmas story, according to Matthew, Joseph and Mary found refuge in Egypt, a place located geographically but also symbolically. As a symbol, for our sake, Egypt is a point, a place of waiting. Egypt is a symbol of the time in which we endure the distortions of our political world with an eye to see more clearly how Herod came to claim power and what that does to diminish life—his way of living and being that shows no consciousness of the New Life the Christ child brings to the world.

Meanwhile, before we take down the Christmas tree, pack away the ornaments, and gather the shreds of paper scattered throughout the house, my wife assures me she has one present remaining to give me—as I have one more to give her. What anticipation! As if it is the beginning of this holy season when new life comes into our world. Let's have Bing or Frank or Nat King Cole sing one more chorus of "The Christmas Song"!

Ah, another Christmas, come and gone, as have the children, leaving a vast lonesome hole in our hearts. Alas! But so it is. And now in the recovering quietness, I at last can sit by the fireplace and reminisce with WH Auden's long poem, A Christmas Oratorio he named FOR THE TIME BEING.

As Auden moves toward the end of his writing, he meditates on the meaning of all this to-do around Christmas, what he thinks and how he feels. Listen to him:

     Well, so that is that. Now we must dismantle the tree,
     Putting the decorations back into their cardboard boxes--
     Some have got broken—and carrying them up into the attic. 
     The holly and the mistletoe must be taken down and burnt,
     And the children got ready for school. There are enough
     Left-overs to do, warmed-up, for the rest of the week--
     Not that we have much appetite, having drunk such a lot,
     Stayed up so late, attempted—quite unsuccessfully--
     To love all of our relatives, and in general
     Grossly overestimated our powers. Once again
     As in previous years we have seen the actual Vision and failed
     To do more than entertain it as an agreeable
     Possibility, once again we have sent Him away.

But yet there lingers one theme of this season and the Twelve Days of Christmas. That theme holds fast in our minds and hearts. That theme remains with power and promise for these nightmarish times we are entering. According to the Gospel of Luke (2:14), the angels sang to frightened shepherds tending their flocks,

     Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace for those 
     he favors.  (The New Jerusalem Bible)

There we have it! What all of us, well probably most of us, yearns for—peace on earth. It is a yearning that follows the pages of both the Old and New Testaments. It is a theme in the reported mouth of Jesus, a theme claimed both as a way of life for individuals, but also a call to the nations of the world to end the violent way of conflict and war. 

However, we must be very careful here. For example, and this looms as perhaps the most important thing I might add to any discussion of "peace" in the biblical sense, "peace" is not the same as aquiescence. Consider the many reported statements of Jesus concerning peace:

     Blessed are the peacemakers; 
     They shall be recognized as children of God.  (Mt. 5:9)

     I have told you this (teaching of the Kingdom of God) that you may have peace.  
     (John 16:38)

     Peace I bequeath to you,
     my own peace I give you,
     a peace which the world cannot give; this is my gift to you. 
     Do not let your hearts be troubled or afraid.  (John 14: 27)

     To the woman who touched him that she might be healed of her hemorrhage,
     he blessed her with the words, "... go in peace and be free of your complaint."
     (Mark 5:25-34)

     Considering the Psalmist's promise in Psalm 37, Jesus acknowledges the peace God
     declares for people who do not wage war.  (Mt. 5:3-10)

But now we come to the saying of Jesus that has troubled many. In his teaching given to the apostles he chose as his closest followers, he warns them:

     Do not suppose that I have come to bring peace to the earth; it is not peace
     I have come to bring, but a sword. For I have come to set son against father,
     daughter against mother, daughter-in-law against mother-in-law; a person's 
     enemies will be the members of his own household.  (Mt. 10:34-36)

In other words, Jesus does not understand "peace" as "acquiescence." According to Jesus, we do not sit idly by, going along or accepting injustice or abuse as something that must be tolerated in the name of peace. What we do and how we respond depends upon the situation and the means we hold in our hands. But, in any case, all action and response begin with understanding, and the fundamental understanding is this:
                           
                             peace is not the same as acquiescence. 

As the New Jerusalem Bible states in the notes to this troubling verse above:

     "... his aim is not to provoke dissension, but [dissension] becomes inevitable as
     a result of the demands of the decision he provokes."

Or, as our best theological teachers have reminded us, Jesus the Christ and his message evoke a response. Our way of life will be challenged by Jesus. He calls forth a new way of being in the world that honors freedom, compassion, and justice for all in the service of beauty, truth, and love.

So we may as well summon our courage and commit to live the peace Jesus promises us—a peace, not an acquiescence.

Auden prepares us with this benediction:

     He is the Way
     Follow him through the Land of Unlikeness;
     You will see rare beasts and have unique adventures.

     He is the Truth.
     Seek him in the Kingdom of Anxiety.
     You will come to a great city that has expected your return for years.

     He is the Life.
     Love him in the world of the Flesh;
     And at your marriage all its occasions shall dance for joy.

First, a definition:

       DEMOCRACY: a state of community in which power of government resides in
       or is expressed by the people 
       (The New Shorter Oxford English Dictionary)

Several words stand out to me:
community:  In other words, a democracy is not just a random grouping of people. Rather, the people come together with some intentionality to be a community, a purposive community in which goals, decisions, strategies, outreach and defense, shared responsibilities, and leadership choices are expressions of power as determined by the people and not just one individual or an isolated group.

government: Again, this word presupposes an intentionality of life together through the process of governing. Things do not "just happen." Secret or hidden actions do not occur under the would-be leadership of an individual or faction.

power:  No question of what the word means, or is there? Think about it. What is power? We most often think of power as physical action. But, in truth, power is not only physical. Power may be psychological, spiritual, social, political, verbal, imaginative, visual, auditory, or silent. For example, a word not spoken and the vacuum created may be almost unbearable—which is probably why so much noise bombards our lives. Maybe that explains the "power" of Simon and Garfunkle's early successful "sound of silence," as well as the Creator's enjoyment listening to the song of planets in our solar system singing through space and centuries. 

people:  And now we come to the climatic last word in the definition of democracy—people. Yes! It comes down to people—you and me, and millions of others—in whom the power of government resides. Who are we, the people? Are we up to this lofty task of determining how power will be, and will not be, expressed? In each election cycle we take the measure of ourselves. Over the centuries "we" accomplished so much good in our governments, our schools, hospitals, social organizations, our literature and arts, our military that went to war to preserve civilization, our scientific discoveries and projects, and our creation of institutions that further the work of our ideals.

Yes, we the people have accomplished much and lifted high the banner of our accomplishments. But, we have also destroyed much that is good, creatures as well as natural life of all kinds including the planet itself. We pillaged and raped, hunted and attacked, demonized others, destroyed entire cultures, confiscated the artistic creations of other societies for our museums and homes, enslaved defenseless people, dehumanized women, threw children into slave-like labor, destroyed natural habitats for animals and wildlife, resented people who come desperate to our shores for opportunities to live, and built political structures that exclusively benefit us politically, financially, and culturally.

And so we ask, who are we the people who have done so much good and, on the other hand, so much bad that creates the spectrum of evil itself. How are we, in the simplest of terms, how are we to understand such a widely-flung spectrum of good and bad? Our viewpoints shape our understanding obviously, but for the sake of this brief writing, I think we may understand the range of our behaviors by considering the viewpoint of what we value.

Again, we come to a definition. What is a value?

       VALUE:  a person's principles or standards of behavior; one's judgment of what
       is important in life.
       (The New Shorter Oxford English Dictionary)

Ah, yes! Here we come down to the core of what we are talking about, do we not? In other words, a democracy depends on the rule of the people. And the rule of the people depends upon what they do and do not value.

For example, the five universal values of humanity are the following:
                                 COURAGE
                                 LIBERTY
                                 TRUTH
                                 BEAUTY
                                 LOVE

Why the number 5, you may ask? The number 5 is associated mythically and symbolically with humanity across the boundaries of culture, religion, and time because since ancient days the five "appendages" of a person remain constant: head, 2 arms, 2 legs. In other words, even with stick figures the human form may be represented by the drawing of head, 2 arms, and 2 legs. Additionally, then, the five values listed above most often occur in one form or another in the prevalence of images and ideals associated with humanity. 

But, yes, there is indeed a shadow side to our ideals and highest values. What happens when there is no positive and safe parenting? What happens when a society fails its citizens or deprive them of experiencing these 5 values? Of course, throughout time and circumstances such as the horrors of war, natural calamities, accidents, plagues, cruel leadership, etc., in these cases, the 5 values disappear and the negative traits may surface. What are these negative traits? While, they may be described in different ways, I list them as follows:
                                 BRAVADO
                                 DEPENDENCY
                                 AGGRANDIZEMENT
                                 TITILLATION
                                 POWER

When we place these columns side by side, we may see more clearly what is at stake in the election of our democracy but also how we may take the measure of ourselves and our prospective leaders:
                     COURAGE            BRAVADO
                     LIBERTY              DEPENDENCY
                     TRUTH                AGGRANDIZEMENT
                     BEAUTY              TITILLATION
                     LOVE                  POWER

​The choice, simply put, is ours to see, to contemplate, and decide. The outcome will determine not only the fate of our democracy but also how we are to understand ourselves and go forward.

RAIN.  We take it for granted until there's too little or too much. And seldom is it just right. In my neighborhood, rain serves as a topic of conversation, a shared experience of life when there mightn't be any other topic to share safely or easily. 

Simple enough and perhaps even serving as an escape from having to talk about other more troublesome things, "rain" serves as an extension of friendship, but also an unspoken sharing of our common vulnerability. We speak this vulnerability in veiled and cautious ways: "Sure could use a good rain," "how's your garden doing this year?" or "Don't know what we're gonna do if we don't get more rain"!

And, then, the other side of not having enough rain also hangs over our heads like a prospective catastrophe. We may get too much rain, our rivers may overflow, tropical storms and hurricane sweep down upon us and wash away our houses, our livelihoods, our life-long savings, and a destruction of our security in the natural world. A science has developed that enables us to track these wicked weather systems. Hurricanes may be spotted thousands of miles away on our weather channels. We follow the little dots on our screens as they wobble their way toward us, ushering wind and rain that we hope may skim or even avoid our coast lines. We realize we may even hear the dreaded announcement of mandatory evacuations.

These tropical storms and hurricanes bring not only rain, of course, but also devastating winds that can level populated areas. And before the wind strikes, and even after it departs, we soak under a barrage of dark skies and rain, rain, rain. Then, suddenly, the rain stops, the sun reappears, and we lose sight of the rain for a little while until once more we have too much or too little. 

One might say that this is the "natural order of things." This line of thought leads us into the realm of natural science. And like the title implies, we may travel down that pathway to discover two main branches: "life science" or "biology" as we may more likely understand the meaning of life science; and then there is physical science with its branches of "astronomy," "chemistry," "earth sciences," and "physics."

Each of these disciplines elevates our understanding of how the natural order of our physical world works. But what about psychology, or theology, or spirituality? We might refer to these—at least for this writing's understanding—as "a science of meaning." I am not referencing here to semantics, which is understood as the name for a philosophical and scientific study of meaning in natural and artificial languages. 

However, there is another "natural order." This is the natural ordering of human existence around five "needs." These are:

       THE NEED TO BELONG
       THE NEED TO MATTER
       THE NEED TO FEEL SAFE
       THE NEED TO LOVE AND BE LOVED
       THE NEED TO HOPE 

These needs form the natural order of human existence in order for us to live and thrive.

But what about rain, you may ask. And my answer is to understand rain not only as a natural element in our physical world as it would be studied and presented in the physical sciences, but in addition to suggest that rain my be understood symbolically. When Bob Dylan sings "A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall," he means not just the physical rain that falls on our earth or replenishes our rivers. Dylan describes psychological/spiritual/social experiences as he addresses "my blue-eyed son."

Moving toward the meaning-full idea of rain, we not only hold the symbolic "idea" of rain, but we experience the "feeling" of rain, and even further, we sense the social action of rain. And that is what? That is to confront the order of things when that order has become unnatural.

This "unnatural" order of life is what we are experiencing now in our social/political world when 

• destruction of our democratic ideals is not challenged
• dictatorships are admired 
• authoritarianism replaces due process for all people
• the use of our military forces are prepared to gather "undesirable" persons for incarceration, execution, or banishment from our country
• members of another political party are considered as demonic
• any or all of the above may be accepted if they are good for business and profit-making

In such a society as described above, the five needs of human existence cannot be fulfilled. And thus we come to this moment in which we are living. In this dark, foreboding moment,  as I was reading the paper this morning, enjoying my cup of coffee, I came across a surprising article that caught my attention. The title of that article may speak to our situation today: the title was "Is it Time for a Spiritual Awakening?" 

A "spiritual awakening." What might that be? In whatever form it may appear, the writer clearly has in mind a restoring of the "natural order of human existence" in which neighbors greet one another with respect, kindness, and hope for our mutual future. As I read the article and listened closely, I heard the soft pattering of what sounded like rain. It was only natural.

Circumstances have accumulated in my life recently—one thing after another, this and that, here and there, expected and unexpected—circumstances that led me to think about a story, the story of the Rain Maker. Down through he centuries, this story has ridden the currents of time almost as if it longs to be told again, to be kept alive. Or, maybe, to keep us alive.

Stories are like this. They drift through time, events, catastrophes, celebrations, traumas, wars, natural disasters, seasons of harvest, seasons of death, defeats, victories—but always our marvelous attempts to make sense of life.

The classic form of a good story is known to all of us. It begins with an introduction of characters, the places they live, maybe something about their history, always the affairs of life that prompt a mini-drama which leads to a climax, and then a conclusion of victory, defeat, or something in-between that might possibly suggest a sequel. 

So here I was reminded again of the story of the Rain Maker. These reminders may come in different guises. Sometimes, the reminder is an image, sometimes the personality of a character, on occasion it may be the circumstances of the fictional lives that remind us of our own circumstances having to do with work, family, health, a crisis in faith, a retirement, a new job, an accident, or a sinking feeling of despair. Then on some occasions, in a really good story there comes an "a-ha!," an insight or inspiration that makes life glimmer again by opening portals to the unexpected.

Thinking again of the Rain Maker, I suppose my mind marched through many of those experiences, holding on to some of them and pushing others away. But like all memorable stories, they are memorable because they vibrate with an archetypal energy that rises from the depths of our unconscious. This is what makes some stories so powerful. They swim in the collective unconscious, the deepest level of our psyche, the neurological substrate of our minds where archetypal themes have been "stored" for centuries.

The story of the Rain Maker resides there in the psyche waiting. Waiting for what? Like all stories, the events in our lives prompt the awakening of the story. And so it is with my recalling the Rain Maker. I will first tell you the story and then suggest the events in our life today that sparked the re-surfacing of this remarkable, archetypal story.

But first, a little background. The Rain Maker was a favorite story of Carl Jung. It was told to Jung by Richard Wilhelm, the son of a missionary couple who took it upon themselves to visit China in the early 20th century, motivated by a strong missionary impulse not, as they readily confessed, not to convert the Chinese but to support the villages in any way they might. They admitted they took great care not to convey any attitude of superiority or a desire to change the religious practices of their hosts.

So it was that their son, Richard Wilhelm, embraced the Chinese culture early on in his life. Apparently, his thoughtful experiences led him to become interested in the psychology of Carl Jung. So he took it upon himself to visit Zurich and meet the emerging prominent psychiatrist whose interests in world mythologies and fairy tales struck a chord of recognition in the young Wilhelm's experience, and interests. Thus it was that Carl Jung first heard the story of the Rain Maker from Wilhelm himself. It made such an impact that he told the story repeatedly to people attending his seminars. The accounts of these experiences shared a somewhat humorous description of how Jung would often say to his audience, "Have I told you the story of the Rain Maker," to which they would respond, "No, never heard it," and Jung would then tell the story again as if for the first time. So here is the story.

    There was a great drought where Wilhelm lived; for months there had not been
    a drop of rain and the situation became catastrophic. The Catholics made
    processions, the Portestants made prayers, and the Chinese burned joss sticks
    and shot off guns to frighten away the demons of the drought, but with no
    result. Finally, the Chinese said: We will fetch the rain maker. And from 
    another province, a dried up old man appeared. The only thing he asked for 
    was a quiet little house somewhere, and there he locked himself in for 3 days.
    On the 4th day clouds gathered and there was a great snowstorm at the time
    of the year when no snow was expected, an unusual amount, and the town was
    so full of rumors about the wonderful rain maker that Wilhelm went to ask the
    man how he did it. In true European fashion he said: "They call you the rain
    maker, will you tell me how you made the snow?" And the little Chinaman said:
    "I did not make the snow, I am not responsible." "But what have you done these 
    3 days?" "Oh, I can explain that. I come from another country where things are
    in order. Here they are out of order, they are not as they should be by the 
    ordnance of heaven. Therefore the whole country is not in Tao, and I am also
    not in the natural order of things because I am in a disordered country. So I
    had to wait 3 days until I was back in Tao, and then naturally the rain came."

The story draws us into the trauma faced by the villagers, followed by the resolution of the crisis, a resolution made possible a most unlikely hero in a most surprising manner. Who is this "dried up old man?" What does he mean that he was not responsible for "doing" anything? And, to our western ears, what in the world does he mean when he speaks of the Tao?

Of course, we all understand that this story must be held in the tension activated when a symbol meets literalism. Was it literally a snowstorm, or a symbolic reference to the mediation of conflict and a "happy ending?" But let us not neglect another level of reality, profound but out of sight. That is the reality of the archetypal powers that reside in the deepest levels of our psyche, the "collective unconscious" as Carl Jung would remind us.

And it is only by moving our understanding of this story to the deeper levels of our consciousness that a profound realization comes to us. It is the realization that at this time in our society when we face the great danger of a narcissistic personality assuming control of the levels of power in our government, at this time of great danger when a madman wishes to become a dictator, how are we to grasp the profound seriousness of this moment if we do not look deep within ourselves to understand this precarious moment. Politics, economics, and social psychology do not take us deep enough.

So... where is the lantern that might cast light on the danger we face? Perhaps it is the Tao introduced to us by the dried-up, little old man from another province. To the Tao we will turn in our next writing.

The funeral home called and asked if I would conduct a funeral. Caught by surprise, I at least thought to ask for information. When is the service? What day and time? Where? Not only was I surprised by the sudden call, I quickly thought back to my seminary training to remember if I had ever received any kind of practical instruction about the conduct of funerals. 

In fact, I had not thought about conducting funerals at all, nor had I anticipated I would need such instruction. I had arrived as a very young campus minister a the university, fresh out of a highly regarded theological school with what I thought to be a great education in languages, history, ethics, biblical scholarship, archeology, systematic theology, worship in the Protestant tradition, world religions, and an introduction to psychology and counseling that would enable me to handle general problems as well as how and when to refer and to whom. 

But, funerals? I really had not thought much about that because I planned to focus my work in the university setting, first as a campus minister or university chaplain, and then after a little while, I would decide which area I would concentrate on for doctoral studies. So why worry about funerals and such, because college students seldom die—I supposed.

But this was not a college student, the funeral director informed me quickly. Obviously, he felt pressure to get the matter settled quickly and told me he had already asked four or five clergy. One had committed to do the funeral, but called at the very last minute to say an emergency had come up and he wouldn't be able to do the service. He went on to suggest that the funeral director call me.

Well, I was not feeling to warm about any of this whole matter—the sense of urgency, the last minute reaching out to me, not to say anything about never having conducted a funeral. All of these thoughts whirled through my head as I heard my voice asking what time and where. And the funeral director's quick response expressed his relief, but also his resolve to nail this matter down before I also changed my mind. "Great!" he said with he quick instructions to meet him in an hour at his funeral home on 5th Street where I could follow him to the cemetery for a grave-side service. 

Caught in my jeans and T-shirt, it came tome pretty quickly that I really should dress respectfully for the funeral service. But first, I had to call my wife and tell her I had to conduct a funeral, and I would rush home to change clothes. Also, she might plan on our having dinner a little later than usual tonight.

My wife was a clinical social worker who did not get disturbed easily by a change in plans. But at the time, she was on a month's leave of absence as our daughter had just been born, and I could not be sure where she might be in her daily schedule of nursing, and tending to our cat, and taking care of the house. Even so, she greeted me at the door with questions about the sudden responsibility of conducting a funeral and did I know what I was doing. I tried to fill her in as best I could with the very scanty information I had been given, while I quickly changed into my dark suit and somber tie. Quickly she pushed me out the door before I woke up the sleeping baby, but she could not resist a humorous wave and quip, "Such an important event in your life—your first funeral service with someone, somewhere"!

Leaving my house and rushing to the funeral home on 5th Street, I saw the home but also a pickup truck with two men inside. The funeral director waved for me to get in line between the hearse and pickup truck as he rushed to the side of my car. I rolled down the window, shook his hand, and was hurriedly told to stay close behind the hearse as traffic was likely to get heavy along the route we would be traveling. "No problem," I responded, having gained some confidence as I touched my tie again to make sure it was tight, sitting snugly in my Volkswagen Beetle convertible that was proving to be a conversation opener on campus.

So began my first funeral procession: the hearse, my Volkswagen Beetle, and the red pickup truck. From 5th Street, we wandered through the university town to the outskirts and a county road I had never traveled before. Not exactly what I expected, I was thinking. Then, at the post where I feared the funeral director had lost his way, we turned on a gravel road, bumping along until we came to a grove of trees  that sheltered a red Formall tractor with an old flat-bed trailer hitched to the rear of the tractor. This explains why the funeral director wanted to complete the service—he was rushing to get out of the woods before the sun went down.

Then quietly, the two men in the pickup truck walked over to the rear of the hearse, and slowly slid out a simple pine wood casket with rope handles, and gently lay it on the trailer. When the casket was in place, the funeral director stepped out of the hearse, walked over to the passenger side, and helped out a very old man simply dressed in a grey flannel shirt and very old wrinkled pants that looked like maybe in some distant past they belonged to a suit.

Beside the old man, holding his other arm was a young woman. Who in the world is this, I wondered, and why had I to noticed her before? Later Would learn that she worked for the county, given the herculean task of providing support and services for the street people, the homeless, the destitute who had not shelter, food, medicines, or family members to keep them off the streets. I had not seen her because she sat in the darkened hearse with the old man who was the sole, surviving family member of the person in the old pine casket. It was she who ushered the dying man through the last hours of his life and then arranged for the funeral home to bury him as part of the contract she negotiated with he funeral home. 

There we all stood, the funeral director, the old man whose relative we would be burying, the social worker, and the two grave diggers. Taking charge quickly, the funeral director assigned us to our posts. The two assistants would place the casket on the trailer where the hold man would sit with them, the funeral director would drive the tractor while the social worker and I stood behind him on a metal step at the rear of the tractor. 

Beneath the shading bugs of the pine trees we processed to the municipally owned, public, "potter's field" cemetery, marked by old wooden crosses, some of which rotted or fell down with severe weather. The two funeral home employees, who dug graves and assisted at times such as these, came to lower the casket into the freshly dug grave. As they did so, I crushed dried leaves in my hand, sprinkled them on the casket, read St. Paul's hymn of love in 1st Corinthians, and closed my first funeral service with the benediction from Numbers 6:24-26:

       The Lord bless you and keep you;
       The Lord make his face to shine upon you;
       The Lord turn his face toward you and give you peace.

And then I paused, standing in the silence of the pine grove, momentarily reflecting upon what I might do next as a conclusion to my first funeral.  Customarily, the officiant of a funeral service will greet the attending family members with words of comfort, appropriate to the time, place, and family members' background. My hesitation was very brief, however, as our eyes met, the one family member probably wondering along with me, "What next?"

Stepping over to the forlorn old man, taking his arm, and placing his hand in mine, I said, "I am very sorry for your loss." Then, in his broken voice, barely above a whisper, he said, "He was my brudder."  "You lived together, the two of you?" I asked. "We did. We lived in da old house 'til they made us leave," he said with a long pause and added, "Da pos-man don' stop here no mor." 

Finally, feeling as if only seconds had passed, or was it a century, the social worker came over and held his other arm, leading him back to the trailer, "Come on, John," she said, "I've got to get you back to the home." Walking along slowly beside her, I heard him say, resisting, confused?, "Da pos-man don' stop here no mor." 

​I prepared to find my place at the rear of the tractor for my ride back to the funeral home and the university, not sure I could find it ever again.