A Note on Anonymity

I recently emailed a question to an old friend of mine, with the suggestion that he might care to write about it -- and that, if he did, I'd love to read his thoughts. Without getting into the details of the question, which are not important to the thought of this post, I'll just say that it was theological and sociological in nature and that my friend is somebody who is eminently qualified to opine on theological and sociological matters. He is neither a theologian nor a sociologist by training, but his life experience and personal study qualify him to express opinions that I shall read with great interest, even if he disagrees with me. He's that good a friend and that good at what he does.

He replied that it was a good question and that he just might write about my question on his blog -- anonymously. That was an interesting thought. He feels obliged to perhaps quote from my question and then react to it, without letting anybody know who asked it. I believe he thinks that he's protecting me.

Well, maybe he is. It's a question that could get quite a lot of people very upset -- just the fact that the question was asked.

But on another level, I don't really care to be protected in that way.

I am a member of a community. The only way to function as a member of a community is to have an identity by which people can know me and relate to me. If I dissemble, trying to make some of these people think that I am what I am not, that deceit does not serve me in the long run, and it does not serve them at all. I believe that I must be who I am, flaws and all, with no attempt to convince people that I am something else. This does not mean that I want to slap people in the face with the reality of me. I, like most people, can be a turn-off if taken in large doses under the wrong circumstances. Forcing people to see me in my full reality, when they have no desire to do so, would be the height of arrogance. It just wouldn't be polite. But trying to seem like I am something I am not does not seem to me a wise course.

Nowadays, there are a number of technologies that aim to let people have anonymity on the Internet. There are a lot of people who will avidly take advantage of those technologies. One of my brothers refuses to have a Facebook account, because it would reveal too much of who he is to too many people. He's concerned that people might not like what they see -- he could even face negative consequences in social and business relationships.

I can't live my life that way. Here I am. Like me. Or don't like me. It's entirely your choice. If you don't like me, I can live with that. If you disagree with one of my opinions and want to tell me, "You can't be a Christian and hold that opinion", that's okay. I'll pray for you. And I'll think about your opinion. You might even convince me that you're right. But what I will not do is try to be who I am not.

So, here on my blog, I openly claim to be "Paul H. Harder II, Ph.D." In the one instance when I wrote a short article on Wikipedia, I posted it under the handle "PaulHarder2". I use my own name throughout the World Wide Web, the huge community of which I am a part. Google me. You'll learn more about me than you care to know. You'll find that I am an Esperantist, that I have something to do with an independent Christian choir, that I teach for the University of Phoenix, that I have written an ebook about statistics for my students, that I was credited as a co-author of a scientific paper about the use of Nimbus 7 satellite radiometry data to investigate snowpack properties, that I worked for my brother-in-law's church architecture firm, that I made a YouTube video of Lenny Solomon's song "Global Warming Blues", and many more things, some of which you may like and some of which you may detest me for.

This is me. It's who I am.

A Boy and His Doll

“A pretty toy, but I’m a boy,
And pretty stuff’s for girls,”
Or so he thinks until she winks
And shakes her tiny curls.

The pretty thing extends a wing,
Then leaps into the sky,
Takes birds for pets, and races jets
Wherever they may fly.

She drops her snares upon the stairs
And captures half the force
Of army guys whose target lies
Upon her chosen course.

His rubber duck is out of luck.
It’s circling round the drain.
The angel hurls it from the whirls
And now it’s safe again.

“My pretty miss, give me a kiss”,
Demands the evil giant.
She knocks him flat for asking that.
She’s strong and self-reliant.

The passing years bring laughs and tears,
But never quite the joy
That once was seen to pass between
This dolly and her boy.

Copyright ©2011, Paul H. Harder II 

This poem is licensed under a Creative Commons BY-NC-ND 4.0 License.

Highway Fog

Sandburg was wrong: There's no kitten in sight,
No silent observer with mild intent,
But an angry invader with teeth in its bite,
Its tiger claws ripping, its fevered mind bent
Upon wanton destruction.

Copyright ©2011, Paul H. Harder II

This poem is licensed under a Creative Commons BY-NC-ND 4.0 License.

I've Been Here Before

I've been here before and seen all of this mess
That no one can ever clean up. I guess
It's normal that everything seems to be less
Than it could be and things don't get done
By the folks with the job, and that virtually none
Who put systems in place for the rest to endure
Take pride in their work or take time to ensure
That things will work right. Yeah, I've been here before.

I've been here before, and it's no great surprise
That some people cheat or that every man lies
About whatever makes him seem small in his eyes.
I wonder why some people don't seem to know
That doing the right thing's the best way to go,
That the best of all worlds is what happens whenever
Each one of us tries to do right and just never
Gives in to temptation. But I've been here before.

I've been here before and I've stood in this line.
It won't last forever – this wait will end fine.
But I just have to wonder what genius design
Has been mangled so badly that nothing quite works,
What failure of foresight makes good people jerks.
Yet... somehow it happens that some of us strive
To pick up some pieces and somehow contrive
To make some things better. See, I've been here before.

I've been here before. I have seen all these things,
Wrestled these demons, survived all the stings,
All the bruises and bangs, all the cuts and the dings.
And so there is hope that the best of the best
May yet be in reach, that what's broken and messed
Up can yet be repaired. You know, if we all could stay
Truly committed to fix one thing each day,
A lot could be done. Well, I've never been there before.

But wouldn't we all like to be?

Copyright ©2011, Paul H. Harder II

This poem is licensed under a Creative Commons BY-NC-ND 4.0 License.

Fortune Cookie Reflections*

#1 - New and rewarding opportunities will soon develop for you.

Nothing's exactly like anything else,
So whatever happens is new.
With all that occurs, opportunity wells
Up with interesting projects to do.
Whenever you're challenged or upset or tired,
When everything piles on your head,
Remember to look up. Most chances are wired
To what we most commonly dread.


#2 - A visit to a strange place will bring you renewed perspective.

There are places we see, there are places we feel.
Some places are only prospective.
Some places are bad and some others ideal,
And some of each kind are elective.
But when places are strange and defy all we know,
Where circumstance doesn't obey,
There we have chances to learn and to grow.
There, for a time, we should stay.


#3 - Be yourself and you will always be in fashion.

When others want naught but to critically boo
And to load you with grief in full ration,
You've got only one self to be, and that's You!
So treat your one self with compassion.
Ignore the false chatter of those less benign,
Regardless how mean or how vile.
Rely on your self, stick to your own design.
Tenacity's always in style.


#4 - One learns most from teaching others.

You don't understand it. You can't comprehend.
The prospect of learning it smothers.
You're left with vain hope it will come to an end.
You'd give up if you had your druthers.
In this situation of fear and of fright,
The way to be done with the thing
Is to teach it to someone, till you've gained insight.
Do this and it loses its sting.


#5 - Keep true to the dreams of your youth.

Some dreams are impossible, others are vain,
And some are, quite frankly, uncouth.
Some dreams are quite fancy and others are plain,
But some pursue ultimate Truth.
Remember the dreams that you had at sixteen,
How the whole world would be your own workplace?
Hold fast to the fire and keep it routine.
Let the wonder be seen on your face.


*From dinner with family and friends at P.F. Chang, Austin, TX, July 1, 2011

Copyright ©2011, Paul H. Harder II

This poem is licensed under a Creative Commons BY-NC-ND 4.0 License.

A Cautionary Christmas Tale, Texas Style*

'Twas the morn before Christmas and all through the West,
Every young human critter felt happy and blessed
'Cause Santa was comin'. He'd be there right quick,
With toys and enough candy to make 'em all sick.

But they didn't know that a problem was near.
Santa'd traded his sleigh for a new one, that year,
With heater and radio and navsat location,
All the newfangled gizmos for sound aviation.

He'd taken delivery just one day before,
And the styling and speed led Mr. Claus to ignore
The advice of his missus to wait just a few days.
The old one went straight to a lot for used sleighs.

Not willin' to wait, Santa just scoffed.
He hitched up his team and took 'em aloft.
He had to move fast, not a moment to lose
For takin' the sleigh on its shakedown cruise.

Santa soared through the Arctic and crossed Hudson's Bay,
And everything seemed to be goin' okay.
The ride was real smooth, with no shimmies nor shakes,
So he went supersonic above the Great Lakes.

The new sleigh had passed all but one final test,
So at Memphis, he pulled fifteen gees and turned west.
What a rush! This new craft was so fleet and so snappy!
Kris Kringle relaxed in his seat, smugly happy.

Down in the heart of each redblooded man
Lives a deep-seated need to go fast as he can.
Even magical elves feel this tug to be free.
On the outskirts of Shreveport, Santa kicked in Mach three.

But somewhere near Longview somethin' came undid.
A rattle took up in the fore starboard skid.
In less than a minute, it grew so acute,
Old Santa had no choice but to open his 'chute.

Now, yer not s'posed to jump at high speed nor great height,
But when your motion has totally ceased to be flight,
Sometimes there's no choice, so you just trust to luck.
Santa tumbled and turned and blacked out 'fore he struck.

A mere mortal man would've died from that blow.
Santa recovered by daybreak, although
'Twas the morn before Christmas and nothin' was right.
Santa'd woke up in Waco, not a reindeer in sight.

Well, you might be thinkin' that's the end of my tale,
But even in Waco you can send out email.
Mrs. Claus picked him up in her reindeer-drawn surrey,
And that night she drove -- the kids needn't worry.

There's a moral right here you can hold to for life.
If you are a husband who's got him a wife,
When she says it's not time yet to trade in yer sleigh,
Just give in to fate. Let her have her way.

Copyright ©2003, Paul H. Harder II
This poem is licensed under a Creative Commons BY-NC-ND 4.0 License.

*The idea for this poem comes from my brother-in-law, Steve Upham. Years ago, he had a coworker who showed classic signs of alcoholism, often phoning with creative excuses for not coming to work. One day when Steve answered the phone, it was this coworker saying, "I don't know what happened, but I woke up in Waco". When I heard the story, it seemed to me that "I Woke Up In Waco" cried out to be the topic of a C&W song or a Baxter Black poem. A Google search found nothing, so I decided to use it in a poem for friends at a Christmas dinner party at the Upham home. 

I Ran Into Jesus Today

I ran into Jesus today. He was working at Lowe's, running the cash register when I checked out with two replacement fluorescent tubes for our closet. He didn't say much – some sort of formula greeting that I didn't pay much attention to, and then a formula "thank you" as he completed my transaction. I said a quick "thank you" back to Him, and I left.

I probably wouldn't even have noticed who He was – but, as I started walking back to the car, I wondered (for the thousandth time) why it is that I always say "thank you" to store clerks. Aren't they the ones who have an obligation to thank me? I've just given them some money. Surely, they should be thankful that I've helped to support their company and the employees' families.

And yet, I've always been thankful when I am privileged to buy something. Why?

It's not such a puzzle, really. The clerk and the store get value from this transaction, but so do I. I should be thankful that the clerk got out of bed and came to work. Of course, if that clerk hadn't taken my money, surely another one would have. But I would then need to be thankful to that clerk. It doesn't much matter which clerk did something that I should be thankful for. I should still be thankful.

But is there any reason why I should be thankful that this particular clerk (as opposed to a generic, faceless, nameless clerk-object) took my money and pronounced me authorized to leave with my purchases?

But then it hit me. Jesus said, "I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me" (Matt 25:40, NIV).

If I thank this clerk for doing what I need to have done, I am in fact thanking Jesus.

But, to do that, I must perceive this clerk not as a function, but as a person, one of Jesus' brothers and sisters. Only then am I actually thanking Jesus. These are not robots, but selves who sacrifice their time to do the things that benefit me. That they do it for pay changes nothing. If I perceive Jesus in the person who runs the cash register, then my quick "thank you" is not just a formula but something that has a meaning, something that honors that person for being who he or she is.

At Lowe's today, Jesus was an African American woman. But I ran into Him again at Costco and the library.

Copyright © 2009, Paul H. Harder II

This essay is licensed under a Creative Commons BY-NC-ND 4.0 License.

Shai Agassi and Electric Cars

I just finished watching the following TED talk by Shai Agassi:

A bold plan for mass adoption of electric cars
http://www.ted.com/index.php/talks/shai_agassi_on_electric_cars.html

I was impressed. He really does have a plan that could work. But it depends on just one thing that may be in short supply: political will. He makes it very clear that we have the technical ability to completely get rid of petroleum burning cars and transition entirely to electric cars. But do we have the will to do it?

Of course, anybody who's paying attention knows that we don't dare NOT do it. So who's paying attention? I'm pretty sure neither of the Senators from my home state (Texas) is paying attention. So they're rapidly making themselves a part of a huge problem instead of a part of the solution. Is it getting to be time to do something about that?

The Mystery Box

I just watched this TED talk by film maker J.J. Abrams:

The mystery box
http://www.ted.com/index.php/talks/j_j_abrams_mystery_box.html

He has a "mystery box" that he bought for $15 at a magic store when he was a kid. He has never opened it. Somehow he resisted that urge and it helps to fuel his creativity, because he realizes that, sometimes, mystery is more important than knowledge. He asks, "What's a greater mystery box than a theater?"

I think I can answer that question.

I recall a time when Kathleen and I visited Sojourners in Washington, D.C. They happened to have a communion service scheduled for that Sunday, and we participated. I cannot put my finger on how it happened, but the sense of mystery was palpable. Still, many years later, I have clear memories of the impact, the way the room almost seemed to be buzzing with power, though it was one of the quietest, most peaceful times I have ever experienced.

Just now, I'm reading Brian McLaren's book, The Secret Message of Jesus: Uncovering the Truth That Could Change Everything.

Brian makes the very interesting point that Jesus almost never explained anything. He taught in parables. Clearly, he could have explained things, but he chose not to. Brian thinks that's probably because you can't tell Jesus' message if you do it in the clear. You must lay it between the lines. It's that sort of message. It's a mystery. You can know some of it, but you can never know all of it. As soon as you develop a consistent theology that explains it all, you've killed it, you have missed the point of it all.

I think that, what has been called "the greatest story ever told" (hmmm..., wasn't there a movie by that title?) is a pretty great mystery. And where are people supposed to encounter that mystery? In church.

No, I don't mean in the pews of a church building -- though it can happen there. I mean that the church, the body of Christ, is called to be the delivery mechanism for this great mystery. We are not called to explain it. We are called to proclaim it. The church is the greatest mystery box there has ever been.

That is, it's supposed to be. It can be, if we'll let it.

But we need to reevaluate what it means to be a church. A church that operates primarily as a "bless me club" can never be much of a mystery box. A church that claims to have all the answers is certainly no mystery box. A church that never reaches out to others, to meet them at their point of need can never proclaim a mystery, except to their own members. And a church that's just a "pastor and choir show" suppresses the operation of this mystery in the relationships between all of the members.

Jonathan Haidt at TED

I just watched an extremely interesting video at TED:

Jonathan Haidt: The real difference between liberals and conservatives
http://www.ted.com/index.php/talks/jonathan_haidt_on_the_moral_mind.html

One of the reasons I find this interesting is that he actually does find some psychological/moral factors that distinguish between liberals and conservatives of a wide variety of countries. But he also introduces a prescription for getting beyond the sort of political stalemate that so often stymies any effort to treat problems in a mature, problem solving way instead of a partisan and backbiting way. And, oddly, his prescription sounds like something I've heard before:

"Judge not that you be not judged."