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. 

Among Carl Jung's many pondering on life, death, and the meaning of his existence, he left us these reflections.

       The meaning of my existence is that life has addressed a question to me.
       Or conversely, I myself am a question which is addressed to the world, and
       I must communicate my answer, for otherwise I am dependent upon the
       world's answer. That is a suprapersonal life task, which I accomplish
       only with difficulty. Perhaps it is a question which preoccupied my
       ancestors... . What I feel to be the resultant of my ancestor's lives, or a
       karma acquired in a previous personal life, might perhaps equally well be
       an impersonal archetype.  (Memories, Dreams, Reflections, p. 318)


"An impersonal archetype". As far as I know, Jung never referred to an "impersonal archetype" in his many other writings—although he certainly experienced such an archetype, as have you and I. They appear in our dreams, unnoticed because we do not know how to look for them.

For example, consider one of Jung's dreams that has prompted speculation over the years, the dream of Siegfried. Jung dates this dream on December 18, 1913. 

          I was with an unknown, brown-skinned man, a savage, in a lonely, rocky 
       mountain landscape. It was before dawn; the eastern sky was already 
       bright, and the stars fading. Then I heard Siegfried's horn sounding over 
       the mountains and I knew that we had to kill him. We were armed with 
       rifles and lay in wait for him on a narrow path over the rocks.
          Then Siegried appeared high up on the crest of the mountain, in the first
       ray of the rising sun. On a chariot made of the bones of the dead he drove
       at furious speed down the precipitous slope. When he turned a corner, we
       shot at him, and he plunged down, struck dead.
          Filled with disgust and remorse for having destroyed something so great
       and beautiful, I turned to flee, impelled by the fear that the murder
       might be discovered. But a tremendous downfall of rain began, and I knew
       that it would wipe out all traces of the dead. I had escaped the danger of
       discovery; life could go on, but an unbearable feeling of guilt remained.

Waking from the dream, Jung could not go back to sleep or rest until he came to some insight about the mystery of killing Siegfried. Why kill such a magnificent creature? His conclusion released the tension he felt by focusing on an explanation that did two things. First came the dream. "Why this is the problem that is being played out in the world. ... Siegfried represents what the Germans want to to achieve, heroically to impose their will, to have their own way. ... I had wanted to do the same."

In his first understanding, Jung's insight gave him some peace of mind. But, in the second place, as he goes on to say, "Although I was not able to understand the meaning of the dream beyond these four hints, new forces were released in me which helped me to carry the experiment with the unconscious to a conclusion." 

What was that insight? It was his experience of the "impersonal archetype." Yes, he concluded, in contrast with Freud's understanding of the unconscious as a repository of unacceptable thoughts, feelings, and sensations, the unconscious contains archetypal powers that make up the collective unconscious and act upon the individual with life-altering power. 

Many more years would pass before Jung could satisfactorily understand the nature of the archetype's capacity to serve individuals, groups, and even nations. From that vantage point, Jung in 1936 could at last describe what happened to Germany. In his profound, insightful essay "Wotan," Jung at last penetrated the depths of what seized the unsuspecting, notable citizens of Germany. Politics could not explain what happened, nor could economic or psychological theory. Something much more powerful and unseen seized the individuals, the group and nation. This is the impersonal archetype, which carried the name of "Wotan" in Jung's analysis. The impersonal and savage archetype, "Wotan," seized Hitler and spread, infecting the nation.

Nor was Hitler the first to experience this phenomenon. The sensibility and verbal fluency of artists and writers in particular picked up the felt experience of what it is like for individuals and nations to come under the power of an impersonal archetype that can squander the transcendent values of humanity—courage, freedom, truth, beauty, and love.

Nietzsche wrote his poem, "To the Unknown God," and later on his Mistral Song, in which he described the "raging storm wind." Before that, DH Lawrence visited Germany. In his "A Letter from Germany," written probably in 1928, Lawrence wrote, "The old spell of the old world has broken, and the old bristling, savage spirit has set in." Or again, 

       And it all looks as if the years were whirling swiftly backwards, no more
       onwards. Like a spring that is broken, and whirls swiftly back, so time 
       seems to be whirling with mysterious swiftness to a sort of death. ... 
       It is a fate, nobody can alter it. It is a fate.

This is exactly right, Lawrence's choice of words, "fate," because that is precisely what we are talking about when we refer to "the impersonal archetype." Jung opened the door for us to understand what for centuries we have described as "fate." This is the impersonal archetype as it acts upon persons and nations. Even an informed citizenry and sophisticated nation that offered western civilization the contributions of Bach, Beethoven, Mozart, Martin Luther, Düer, Ernst, Immanuel Kant, and Nietzsche himself—even such a people may prove to be no match for the impersonal archetype that slips into the minds and hearts of a people when we critically or dismissively say, "They should have known better." I am referring not to those artists I listed above. Heaven only knows how they experienced and responded to the impersonal archetypes of their time because time and circumstances change. 

This is why we refer to the zeitgeist. Oxford Languages defines zeitgeist as "the defining spirit or mood of a particular period of history as shown by the ideas and beliefs of the time." Thus, we have Zeit meaning "time," and Geist meaning "spirit." And the spirit of a time is another way of describing "the impersonal archetype" that takes hold of the mood, the shared feelings, the dominant ideas, the politics, and the diversionary as well as distracting entertainment. 

What shall you and I do or say when we pick up the fragments of memory, the tortured remnant of lost ideals, and the hope for our children's future? As Jung said, referring to his time and his responsibility, "It is important to ensure that I do not stand at the end with empty hands."  (MDR, p. 318)

How do you and I understand and cope with these strange times in which we are living? By "strange times," I mean the clash of two extremes that whirl around us daily as if in a free form dance of folly and heroism. There are no constraints, no positions, no choreography, and no melody that inspires an ecstatic embrace of union, or a promise that the mad dance will conclude any time soon.

Now consider "folly" and what that word means:

• absurdity
• foolery
• idiocy
• inanity
• lunacy
• imbecility
• insanity
• stupidity

These synonyms of "folly" became associated with the Foles-Bergere of Paris back at the turn of the 20th century. Britannica described The Follies of 1907 as risqué with elements of seminudity, pageant, and comedy that played well in Paris and New York until 23 years later when the Great Depression ended the production.

And in history the archetypal dancing partner of "folly" is "heroism," that means:

• daring
• fearlessness
• gutsiness
• bravery
• guts
• nerve
• valor

Where in history have we witnessed these qualities most dramatically? No doubt you are thinking of instances in your own life where heroism occurred. And recently in The Christian Science Monitor on 7 June 2024, Chris Migerica and Zeke Miller caught a special moment in recent history with this news release:

       President Biden on June 7, looked to summon Americans to defend democracy 
   from threats at home and abroad ... by drawing on the heroism of Army Rangers
   who scaled the seaside cliffs of Pointe du HOC in the D-Day invasion.

We think also of our 9/11 trauma, when 343 firefighters died along with 60 police officers, 13 paramedics, and 3 emergency medical technicians. Many other heroic acts occurred that day, including those individuals in the towers who faced their end with a desperate resolve or a gallant dive from the crashing tower to face their approaching death rising from the concrete, debris-filled street below.

Returning now to my topic, "The Archetypal Dance of Human Folly and Heroism," I have sketched the extremes of human behavior, folly and heroism. And I use the metaphor "archetypal dance" to note the dynamic swing of our actions, the often absurd folly and the daring heroism caught in the free-form swirl of archetypal tension. I use the reference to archetype meaning the innate, neurological guiding impulse that brings us to the guardrails of health, safety, and well-being when we risk losing our way.

So just who are we human beings? Do we tilt toward the risky end of losing ourselves in our follies, or do we subdue our lively, creative selves with a dutiful existence of heroic sacrifice? And the answer appears to be that we must be careful not to suggest a simplistic response that lends itself to a 30-second commercial on prime time TV.

I call your attention again to my use of "archetypes" that function for us as instincts function for animals. But we must be careful not to define archetypes as instincts, although they provide something of the same drive to survive and thrive in a threatening world. Further, archetypes carry with them the capacity for symbolic reflection that gives meaning to our existence and elevates the call toward the heroism by which we face the many challenges that come our way.

It is for this reason that we need heroic figures not only in our personal lives but also in the lives of our national leaders.

TO illustrate this, I circled around through history to focus on President John Kennedy. He not only lived the life of a hero with sacrificial service in the Pacific campaign of WW II,   he summoned the nation as President to confront the Cold War with valor, wisdom, and heroic leadership.

In particular, I thought it important in this historical moment of vulgar cynicism and nihilism to lift up another time and a hero who offered us courage and a vision to bring forth our own heroism.

Listen to John Kennedy's words at the Commodore Hotel, New York, when he accepted his party's nomination for President on September 14, 1960:

       I believe in human dignity as the source of national purpose, in human
       liberty as the source of national action, and the human heart as the
       source of national compassion, and in the human mind as the source 
       of our invention and our ideas. It is, I believe, this faith in our fellow
       citizens as individuals and a people that lies at the heart of the liberal 
       faith, for liberalism is not so much a party creed or a set of fixed platform
       promises as it is an attitude of mind and heart, a faith in man's ability
       through the experiences of his reason and judgment to increase for 
       himself and his fellow men the amount of justice and freedom and 
       brotherhood which all human life deserves.

And this second quote also comes from President Kennedy on the day of his inauguration in Washington, D.C., January 20, 1961:

       Now the trumpet summons us again—not as a call to bear arms, though 
       arms we need—not as a call to battle, though embattled we are—but a
       call to bear the burden of a long twilight struggle, year in and year out,
       "rejoicing in hope, patient in tribulation"--a struggle against the common
       enemies of man: tyranny, poverty, disease and war itself . . .

       In the long history of the world, only a few generations have been granted
       the role of defending freedom in its hour of maximum danger. I do not 
       shrink from this responsibility—I welcome it. I do not believe that any of
       us would exchange places with any other people or any other generation.
       The energy, the faith, the devotion which we bring to this endeavor will
       light our country and all who serve it—and the glow from that fire can 
       truly light the world . . .

       With a good conscience our only sure reward, with history the final 
       judge of our deeds, let us go forth to lead the land we love, asking His
       blessing and His help, but knowing that here on earth God's work must
       truly be our own.

And still the dance continues.

In a previous blog, I asked the question, "Why can't we be happy?" And I answered that question by noting that we cannot be happy because too many of us are competing for the inalienable rights offered all human beings by our Creator: truth, freedom, courage, beauty, and love. These are the heritage with which we have been blessed, although they will be realized in our personal and social lives only if we have the wisdom and commitment to make our heritage a reality.

But herein is the problem. We seem not even to agree on what those inalienable rights mean. What is truth? We remain floundering in the insanity of misinformation. What is freedom? We confuse authoritarianism with freedom to do whatever benefits us. What is beauty? We are seduced with ostentatious glamor that we call beauty. And what is love? We live in the fleeting encampments of superficial titillation that we fool ourselves to believe is love.

Driven by power, hyped-up by soundtracks in stores and malls for the promotion of spending and buying, disoriented by mega churches whose religion became entertainment, drifting in the sea of professional sports whose logos reflect creatures confined to captivity in zoos and shrinking worlds, frightened by permeable borders that no longer protect us from others whose habitats are being destroyed—our transcendent rights of courage, truth, freedom, beauty, and love appear to float over the horizon of our once magnificent planet as time nears the midnight hour of darkness.

But not totally and not yet. To reach for a metaphor or image that helps us frame the meaning of this moment in which we are living, I turn to the Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists. Do not think that this is an elitist group of academicians who have nothing to do with our down-to-earth title of this writing, "Why can we not be happy?". In fact, the work of the Bulletin has everything to do with our happiness—and our survival. In fact, the Bulletin began at another time when the survival of the world was at risk. This is the way they tell their story.

          The Bulletin began as an emerging action created by scientists who saw an
      immediate need for a public reckoning in the aftermath of the atomic bombings
      of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Our mission was to urge scientists to help shape
      national and international policy. A second mission was to help the public 
      understand what the bombings meant for humanity.

And the creative way that original group devised was to portray the face of a clock with a minute and hour hand. Midnight on the clock would symbolize final destruction—doom—and that is why it became known as the Doomsday Clock. In 1947, for example, when the doomsday clock was begun, the minute hand was set at 7 minutes to midnight. In the
75+ years since that first setting, the minute hand has been changed 25 times in response to existential threats.

Where is it presently? At 90 seconds before midnight, the minute hand is closest to midnight than it has ever been before. And like other readers, you probably have questions: Who determines the proximity of the minute hand to the midnight hour? What are the factors that influence the declsion makers?

Let's begin with that last question. The factors that move the minute hand so close to midnight are the following:

• NUCLEAR RISK: Consider the present conflicting powers, the irrationality of their refusal to reconcile, and the availability of nuclear weapons that may be used if the warfare prompted extreme reactions or if a mistake was made to let loose these doomsday weapons that could destroy our civilization.
• CLIMATE CHANGE: While the clean energy transition in our societies has offered us some hope, the fundamental issues of climate change remain a political obstruction among the world's nations that undermines the necessary action required to reduce carbon dioxide emissions.
• BIOLOGICAL THREATS: Increasing numbers of individuals and groups work in this area with potential benefits for humanity, but also increased risks that mishaps in laboratories or mismanagement may let loose a devastating agent or agents that could swarm over people, training facilities, individuals, and nations, paralyzing any prospect for recovery before civilization itself is devastated.
• DISRUPTIVE TECHNOLOGIES: The arrival of generative artificial intelligence has sprung on research laboratories, controlling agencies, and governmental regulations seemingly overnight. No one knows where this may be headed, how it may be directed in the services of humankind, and/or the extent it may become destructive in the hand of rogue players.

You can see what concerns the panel of atomic scientists who balance these potential destructive concerns with the urgent need to contain them in the service of avoiding catastrophic mayhem not only within the laboratories of research but also within and between nation states. In addition, we must consider the outliers who want to control the potentialities of their power for their own narcissistic benefit but also, in some most alarming instances, for the purpose of destroying civilization itself.

Thus, the question in our title evolves.

Today, it is more seemly to ask not, "Why can't we be happy?", but rather, "How can we be happy?" Well, of course, it does us no good to despair or to throw up our hands in helpless defeat. Yes, it is indeed 90 seconds before midnight. Yes, there are a significant number of our population who are (1) ignorant of the fact, (2) dismissive of the destructive potential facing us, (3) lost in anger, divisiveness, and paranoia, (4) defiant in belief that all of this is liberal political propaganda, etc. 

And, as I remind my analysands and members of my dream group, I have no record of dreams that suggest our end is near. Sure, we have warning dreams, but everything I pick up in my dreams and the dreams of others is that we have time, but we must be conscious.

What are you dreaming? The clock keeps ticking!  

Do you remember where you were and what you were doing on Monday night, September 10, 2001? I recall a very enchanting evening with my wife. The beautiful, silky day slipped through our fingers all too quickly. We concluded our summer vacation at one of the most beautiful beaches in the world—our world, anyway.

And so the evening began in that bitter-sweet moment when a very precious time ends, our vacation, but a new reality calls us to the promise of more-of-the-same, only better. We decided to stop by my office to check mail, water plants, and top off the trip home by enjoying a glass of cabernet at the restaurant beside my office.

I suggested to Deborah, my wife, that we ease into the return of our busy lives with this treat to honor the wonderful vacation we had enjoyed. She quickly agreed, already bracing herself for the rigorous program year ahead with the stress she shouldered as a symphonic cellist who had to prepare and perform a new program each week, with special rehearsals for the holiday seasons. Of course, she looked forward to the grueling work which she also dreaded. There, that evening as she relaxed in the tensions of opposites that composed so much of her life, we chatted about our past and the future that we anticipated with the genial anticipation that all of us experience at the end of our vacations and a return to normal. 

A "return to normal" ... We could never have anticipated that the evening would be our last "normal." We lingered with our wine, we laughed, relaxed, relived the grand moments on the beach we loved so much—the walks, the moonlit nights of skinny-dipping, the love-making, the collecting of shells, the greeting of other beachcombers we had never met before and would never see again, but people like us, our "beach family."

Each of these precious moments lingered in our minds as we lingered with our wine. Deborah looked so relaxed and lovely, sitting at the outside table of the restaurant, under dim lights and stars emerging in the gathering darkness. But then came a very subtle, but distinct shift in the mood. Deborah became quiet, pensive-like, and I knew she was gathering her thoughts. Was it a dread of yet again preparing herself for another demanding performance of Beethoven's Ninth?! No, something else. Finally she said, "I feel as if something bad is going to happen." "Like what?," I asked. "I don't know," she responded, "and I don't want to end our evening and vacation with a downer. It's probably nothing."

But the moment arrived with somber tone and a quiet uncertainty. We felt it. "Something is in the air," we may say at such times. We do not know how our minds work to pass along an undisclosed image, sensation, thought, or feeling. But I shall never forget that particular moment -- the laughter, the fun, the glass of wine, the enchantment, and then the indescribable foreboding unknown. So ended the enchantment.

Meanwhile, 847 miles from where we sat at that restaurant, two planes would be boarded the next morning, Flight 11 headed to Los Angeles, and Flight 175 also headed to LA. Only 727.7 air miles away, the planes boarded probably with sleeping but expectant passengers looking forward to a nap while their Boeing 767 jets nestled them in its wings, in preparation for the next business day or vacation days such as Deborah and I had  previously enjoyed and relived under the romantic lights of the first evening back home.

And so it was that the two jets hurdled toward a fateful crash we have come to refer to as "9/11" and the first act of terrorism that penetrated what we had taken to be the impenetrable shield of our country's "isolation." Adrift with secure boundaries east and west, the great Atlantic and Pacific oceans, to our north the friendly Canadians whose border we could regularly criss-cross with appropriate political hospitality, and to our south, other friendly neighbors in Mexico, where we might hospitably shop and sightsee, we could rest easy. Ah, so assured we were that nothing short of a nuclear rocket would penetrate the friendly skies above our heads. And, thankfully and mercifully, President Reagan and President Mikhail Gorbachev undertook courageous and wise steps to foster positive relationships as the Cold War wound down and the old USSR continued to dissolve.

Also, a particular source of confidence was our seeming mastery of all that we had come to associate with modernism. Engineering, technology, a free-wheeling capitalism, free markets except for any we might want or need to control, the rejection of old traditions, the optimism of politics and economics regulated with a thriving marketing economy—all of this we had mastered in euphoric triumph of modernism that had cast off old ways and looked for more development and progress. After all, here in New York, in what was named the World Trade Center, we showed the world its tallest building in the North and South towers, completed in 1973.

And so it was that on the morning of "9/11," I left my house just before 9 AM, and turned on my car radio to enjoy our warm and friendly radio show, Charlotte Talks. But immediately I was told that regular programming would be suspended for national news. In what must have been a freak accident, the announcer declared, a jet had collided with a tower in the World Trade Center. More news flooded the local station with details. At 8:46 AM, flight 11 from Boston crashed into floors 93-99 of the North Tower. But wait, there was another crash at 9:03 AM as flight 175 from Boston crashed into floors 77-85.

All hell, literally, was unfurled. Shock and fear flooded our news outlets and our bodies as well as our minds and souls. This was no accident; clearly we had been attacked. Yes, the improbable if not the impossible had happened. The two towers collapsed. But it was not just the two towers that collapsed. No, the "9/11" story is that the crash of the towers signaled something more significant—the collapse of modernism.

Actually, two other flights crashed that day. The third plane struck our Pentagon, and the fourth plane crashed in a Pennsylvania rural field. But before the day ended, the attacks killed 2,977 people and 19 al-Qaeda terrorists, making it the deadliest terrorist attacking history, planned by Osama bin Laden, who had become leader of what would later carry the name of al-Qaeda, ("the base"), a militant organization that declared a holy war against the United States.

Since that national trauma, we have been adrift. Fundamentalist religion challenged politics, politics challenged democratic institutions, and courage caves today in the face of money and power while our enchanting world slips into memory and waits—because dreams never die.