There is a set of sidewalk slabs in the neighborhood with encouraging chalk-written messages for walkers and runners who happen by. A series of five slabs ask passing pedestrians to “be kind, be helpful, be friendly, and be loyal.” Maybe we should invite world leaders and some of those nasty online influencers to stroll by and heed the admonitions of who I assume to be the young sidewalk scroller. Our supplies of kindness, helpfulness, friendliness, and loyalty seem to be running low.

But the final admonition and then a separate message cause me to hesitate. “Be yourself” advises the sixth slab. “Love yourself,” read the words written across the driveway apron.

Please don’t tell the neighborhood chalk artist that I question her or his good intentions, but I do wonder how our age’s fascination with self has worked out. Self-concerned, self-defined, and self-promoting, our generation is lonelier, more anxious, more discouraged, more confused, than any other in recent or long memory.  In fact, we seem to be less kind, less helpful, less friendly, and less loyal as we look to politicians and influencers to define our reality and ourselves.

What about the self? I have known people who hate themselves and it is a sad thing with sometimes tragic consequences. “Hate yourself” would not be a good message for the sidewalk down the street.

What about the self?

Writing from a Roman prison, Paul tells his friend Timothy that their difficult times are marked by “love of self” (2 Timothy 3:2).

He reminds the Roman Christians that we have died with Christ, that our old selves have been crucified in order that we might live a new life in and with Christ (Romans 6:6-11).

With the Corinthians we are told that the Holy Spirit is at work in us as we live into our new selves – despite affliction, persecution, and discouragement. “So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day.” (2 Corinthians 4:16)

And, of course, Jesus taught his disciples, “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me.” (Matthew 16:24)

C.S. Lewis concluded his masterful “Mere Christianity” by encouraging his readers to be willing give up the self. He is not talking about self-hate or some harsh asceticism. His words are so encouraging, “Look for yourself, and you will find in the long run only hatred, loneliness, despair, rage, ruin, and decay. But look for Christ and you will find Him, and with Him everything else thrown in.”

The Lewis quote is probably too long for a sidewalk chalk message, but it is worth remembering.

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It may be that my simple mind does not understand the complexities of statecraft or that my aging mind does not like change. Whatever the reason, I would have been happy for the lake formally known as Ontario to retain its name of 400 or more years. In fact, I may wait a couple of years before I use TLFKAO’s new name. Who knows, it may want to go back to what it’s always been called.

This post is not about the politics of hydronomy, though I do have my opinions about the politics of this name change. Frankly, I was never bothered by the name Gulf of Mexico and tend still to use it when we are in Florida visiting our son and his family who live on the Gulf Coast near Pensacola. And for me the name Ontario works by far the best for that least great of the Great Lakes.

This is not a post about politics, or lakes and their names, however. This is a post about anthroponymy (Yes, it’s a word. Look it up.) Continue reading →

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The headline on my newsfeed caught my eye.  “NO, Street Vagrants Are Not ‘Our Neighbors’.” But they probably are.

The article had to do with policies regarding the homeless in Los Angeles.  An apparently newly-elected city council member and Democratic Socialist used the term “neighbors” in arguing for a new, and arguably more lenient, policy regarding homeless encampments. Now, you can count me out when it comes to the growing support for the Democratic Socialists. My guess is that we are going to find the “warmth of collectivism” as cold as the wait for a Siberian spring.

After deciding I disagreed with the headline, I read the article.

The “not our neighbors” line was not clickbait set as a lure to entice curious fish; it was the heart of the post. The columnist wrote:“Neighbor” traditionally conjures the image of someone with an equal stake in one’s community as oneself, who shares one’s interest in stability, and who can be counted on, in times of need, for help. The occupants of the feces- and drug-strewn trash sites euphemistically referred to as “encampments,” as if they were part of a Boy Scout Jamboree, don’t fit the bill. Those transients are parasites on other people’s efforts to create a community. They contribute nothing, pay no rent or taxes, and inevitably bring lawlessness and predation. They almost invariably turn down the shelter and services offered by feckless outreach workers, since they want no interference with their unrestricted drug use.” Continue reading →

The book made its headlines ten years ago, but I just read it this week after reading an essay that mentioned it. The Amazon page from which I ordered “When Breath Becomes Air,” quoted a New York Times review describing the book as ““Unmissable . . . Finishing this book and then forgetting about it is simply not an option.”  I will not forget about it.

The dust jacket of “When Breath Becomes Air” identifies the book as a finalist for the Pulitzer Prize. The Pulitzer nominees page describes the setting for Paul Kalanithi’s writing, “At the age of thirty-six, on the verge of completing a decade’s worth of training as a neurosurgeon, Paul Kalanithi was diagnosed with stage IV lung cancer. One day he was a doctor treating the dying, and the next he was a patient struggling to live.” The book is the story of Kalanithi’s first 35 years of life – his growing up years and his decision to become a neurosurgeon, and of his last 20 months of living with and then dying of cancer.

“When Breath Becomes Air” was not the first in the genre of death journals, nor of the genre of a physician becoming the patient. With its fine writing and deep insights both into medicine and the search for meaning in life, it may be one of the best of either genre. The book is not a “Christian book” by any means, but Christian faith is present and real as Kalanithi seeks the meaning of life and of death.

I recommend the book without hesitation. Because it is ten years old, the hardcover edition is actually cheaper than the Kindle version. Buy it! Go to your local library and check it out! Continue reading →

Our 8-year-old grandson has taken to calling us “the oldies.”  We take it as a term of affection.  It’s also true. We are oldies. I will celebrate my 75^th birthday next month and enter what J.I. Packer called being old. Not young-old and not old-old. Just old.

For all our lives we Baby Boomers have dominated our world. Suburbs and schools were built for us in the 1950s. We warned against trusting anyone over 30 in the 1960s. Our music, our movies, our politics, and our preferences have defined reality for decades. Now the youngest of us are receiving monthly Social Security checks and the oldest of us are finding ourselves in assisted living and nursing care facilities.

We may be old, but still we dominate.

A current best-seller, Gerontocracy in America, by Yale historian Samuel Moyn looks primarily at the political ramifications of our generation’s refusal to go gentle into that good night, but considers, as well, other ways Boomers hold onto power, position, and possessions.

Maybe it is just a case of turn-around being fair play. Gen-Xers like Moyn along with younger Millennials and Zoomers are taking aim at the generation that ignored Gen-Xers, belittled Millennials, and now mostly roll our eyes at our Zoomer children and grandchildren. They want us to go away. Not only do we need to vacate our political offices (good idea!), we should hurry up and pass on our $100 trillion of accumulated wealth, sell our houses, travel less, maybe even make a final exit. Continue reading →