I Am Pleased to See That John McCain Did the Right Thing

The Senate rejected an attempt to repeal the Affordable Care Act last night. And, despite my somewhat cynical expectations, Senator John McCain did the right thing and voted against the bill. Credit where credit is due: well done John McCain, Susan Collins, and Lisa Murkowski.

As usual, the folks at Lawyers, Guns, & Money put it best:

This blog is proud to have always recognized and admired John McCain’s fiercely independent statesmanship.

…Susan Collins and Lisa Murkowski deserve a lot of credit too. Deserving even more are every member of the Democratic caucus, who were unwaveringly opposed. And the most credit goes to ordinary citizens who went to the streets, called, and wrote, and made this bill politically toxic. Cheers. The war for universal healthcare is far from over, but this is a huge win for the American people.

Esquire: The Price of John McCain’s Republican Loyalty

But the ugliest thing to witness on a very ugly day in the United States Senate was what John McCain did to what was left of his legacy as a national figure. He flew all the way across the country, leaving his high-end government healthcare behind in Arizona, in order to cast the deciding vote to allow debate on whatever ghastly critter emerges from what has been an utterly undemocratic process. He flew all the way across the country in order to facilitate the process of denying to millions of Americans the kind of medical treatment that is keeping him alive, and to do so at the behest of a president* who mocked McCain’s undeniable military heroism.

Discipline

Recently, I was talking to a colleague who told me about her need to see a financial planner. Here’s what her reasoning was. When she has money, she is disciplined about saving. When she doesn’t have as much money – when she needs to spend the money she has on other things – she’s not so disciplined. She needs someone to hold her accountable all the time and make sure she’s disciplined about saving.

And, she said, the low-income people she works with need the same thing: someone to make sure their disciplined about saving.

And that struck me as a weird way to use the word ‘discipline.’

Imagine two pieces of rich decadent chocolate cake. One piece is in front of someone who has just had a big meal: an appetizer, house salad, a 16-ounce ribeye, fried, and some asparagus. A feast. That person has eaten so much she feels a little queasy. She says no to the cake.

The other piece is in front of someone who has just been rescued after getting lost on a hiking trip. He hasn’t eaten in three days and is absolutely starving. He gobbles down the cake in what seems like a matter like seconds.

Is either of these people acting on discipline? Is the first person showing discipline? Is the second person showing a lack of discipline?

No.

The difference between the first person and the second person isn’t discipline; it’s need. Of course we’re good at saying ‘no’ when we’re living in abundance. It’s easy to refuse some chocolate cake when we’re full or to put some money into savings when we have extra. And we’re much worse at saying ‘no’ when we’re facing scarcity. It’s hard to refuse the cake when we’re starving or to save money when almost every dollar is going to some necessity.

This is true for my colleague and the low-income families she serves. It’s easy to save when we have extra money. It’s hard to save when we don’t. It has little (if anything) to do with discipline.

What’s particularly fascinating here is the moral dimension to this. We usually understand discipline as a virtue and a sign of good character. People who are disciplined are good. Conversely, we understand a lack of discipline as a sign of poor character. People who don’t show discipline are bad. That’s problematic enough as it is, but there might be some truth in it. Some people might really be undisciplined. And they might be more virtuous if they were able to control their impulses better.

But we make it worse when we confuse discipline and need. If we think that the person who hasn’t eaten in three days is undisciplined because he eats the cake, and we think that being undisciplined is morally suspect, then we eng up saying that being hungry (even after a prolonged period of not eating) is morally wrong.  Similarly, if we think that the person who has just had a feast is disciplined because she refuses the cake, and we think that being disciplined is a virtue, then we end up saying that she it virtuous because she’s had more than enough to eat.

In other words, we end up saying that having very little is a sin and having a lot is a virtue. And I don’t think that any of us want to make that claim. At least, I hope that none of us want to make that claim.

So we need to be careful not to confuse discipline with need.

The United Church of Christ Needs to Invest in Stewardship

Last week, I attended the United Church of Christ’s General Synod. General Synod is our biannual business meeting, full of resolutions to be examined and officers to be elected. There are also exhibits, workshops, reunions, and lots (and lots) of events. Even the extroverts are exhausted after a few days!

One of our tasks at Synod was to debate a resolution about covenantal giving and adopting fundraising best practices (I wrote a little bit about it a few weeks ago). Here’s the key paragraph:

Be it further resolved that the Thirty First General Synod of the United Church of Christ encourages all ministry settings of the United Church of Christ to establish coordinated and comprehensive development programs using best practices that: are sensitive to the needs of all settings of the church; are responsive to changing patterns and practices of generosity across the church and within the culture in which the church lives; are consistent with norms, expectations, and policies of a donor-centered approach to fundraising and philanthropy; and empower congregations and individual donors to donate directly to the mission priorities that are most compelling to them.

This is a great resolution, and I’m glad that it passed. But, as with all resolutions, it means that there’s serious work to do.

As I wandered the exhibit hall and pored over the list of workshops, I noticed that there was a severe lack of compelling materials to help congregations and other expressions of the United Church of Christ to establish those coordinated and comprehensive development programs. Most congregations, associations, and conferences do not have fundraising professionals on staff. Most probably don’t even have fundraising professionals in their pews. In the absence of professionals, this work is going to be left to pastors and volunteers.

And there’s nothing wrong with that. But those pastors and volunteers need to be well-resourced by the denomination. They need a way to understand fundraising from a practical, theological, and pastoral perspective that is honest to the history and values of the United Church of Christ. There is a desperate need for the denomination to invest in resources for clergy and laity in all expressions of the United Church of Christ. In my opinion, this means books, manuals, workshops, webinars, and specialized ministers.

When so many congregations are struggling financially, we cannot afford to have this resolution simply be a suggestion for congregations, conferences, and other bodies. We must invest in the work of ensuring that our denomination and its expressions have the financial resources that they need.

Baptist News Global: Diana Butler Bass: SBC Decline Dispels Idea That Only Liberal Denominations Die

“The issue is not whether you’re a liberal or a conservative denomination,” she said. “That’s irrelevant. The issue is: Are you a congregation that provides a way of meaningful life for people to be able to navigate chaotic times and to be able to connect with God, to experience a new sense of the Spirit, to be able to love and be compassionate? That’s what makes religious communities vibrant, not whether they are liberal or conservative.”

NANOE Advocates for Abolishing Your Board

Somehow, I got on the mailing list of the National Association of Nonprofit Organizations and Executives (NANOE). The brainchild of Jimmy LaRose, NANOE is part of the charity skeptics movement that I don’t often talk about. It’s a champion of the idea that the nonprofit sector should be largely replaced by a socially conscious version of the for profit sector.

The latest email I got from NANOE outlined LaRose’s vision for nonprofit board members. According to LaRose, ‘boardsmanship’ is not about governance, visioning, policy making, or volunteerism.1It’s also clearly not about gender-inclusivity. It’s about advice and accountability. Specifically, it’s about doing a weird handful of things:

Complying with IRS regulations. That seems reasonable, but remember that the board shouldn’t be governing or making policy. So, I’m not sure how they should make sure that the organization is complying with IRS regulations.

Supporting a strong CEO by hiring them, evaluating them, supporting their vision, and providing them with expert advice. NANOE believes that actual power should rest with the strong CEO. That is the person who should determine the course of the organization.

Attending three meetings each year, and approving the meeting agendas. And, of course, getting paid for those meetings. NANOE recommends a board of six people, getting paid $300 per hour for teleconference calls and $1,000 per day for in person meetings. Plus expenses. That means a one hour conference call would cost the organization $1,800. And a one day meeting would cost the organization $6,000 plus expenses!

Approving and amending by-laws. But, again, not making policy.

Choosing and reviewing independent financial and program audits. But, again, not making policy. And, since these are independent audits (and I’m an advocate for independent audits), this really means deciding who to pay for them.

And, according to NANOE, this group should include an entrepreneur (as the chair), a program expert (as the secretary), an accountant (as the treasurer), a lawyer, a communications expert, and a nonprofit expert.

Let’s be absolutely clear: this is not a board. This is a group of paid professionals supporting the executive director’s vision and providing advice for realizing that vision. These are consultants.

Now, I have nothing against consultants; I provide consulting services. But this is a recipe for disaster.

First, NANOE is suggesting abolishing any oversight for the executive director. Notice that no one who the nonprofit serves is on this board. No donors or volunteers are on this board. No members of the general public on this board. Only experts are on the board. And they are commissioned to support the executive. Since they are not empowered to set vision or policy, this severely limits their ability to serve as a check on a ‘strong CEO’.

Second, by suggesting that board members be paid, NANOE comes close to advocating for a conflict of interest. Let’s imagine for a moment that the organization’s donors are from a rare breed that won’t revolt at the idea of a conference call costing $1,800. Paying board members – especially at a generous rate like $300 per hour – creates a risk that board members will see service as an opportunity for self-enrichment.

Together, both of these ideas create an environment that will erode trust in the nonprofit sector. Donors, volunteers, and others are not going to accept the idea that an unsupervised CEO is using their donations to pay a crew of consultants. And they shouldn’t. Members of our communities should be able to trust that the organizations they support are using their gifts of time, talent, and treasure for the the greater good; not for personal gain.

There are bigger issues here, of course. NANOE isn’t just advocating for replacing your board with consultants. It’s advocating for remaking the nonprofit sector in the image of the for-profit one. And that’s a huge problem. But it’s a problem that starts here: with the idea that nonprofits should be about money over mission.

Footnotes   [ + ]

Huffington Post: I Don’t Know How To Explain To You That You Should Care About Other People

I haven’t run out of salient points or evidence for my political perspective, but there is a particular stumbling block I keep running into when trying to reach across the proverbial aisle and have those “difficult conversations” so smugly suggested by think piece after think piece:

I don’t know how to explain to someone why they should care about other people.

Dragged into the Sunlight

This sermon was delivered at Peace Lutheran ELCA in Port Byron, Illinois on June 25, 2017. The scriptures for this sermon are Matthew 10:24-39 and Romans 6:1-11.

When I was little, thirty years ago or so, my family used to go to a restaurant called the Golden Gate. It was a diner kind of place, and I can remember with some fondness regularly getting what I’m sure was not-very-good chicken noodle soup and not-very-good hot dogs and not-very good crinkle cut french fries. Like so many things from childhood, it brings back good memories of things that probably weren’t as good as I think they were.

Being little, I didn’t always have good restaurant manners. And one day, I went to the bathroom and, since bathrooms have such good acoustics, I sang. There’s some debate over what I sang. I think it was Kenny Rogers’ “The Gambler”. My brother, I think, thinks it was Springsteen’s “Born in the USA”. Either way, my brother — seven years older than me and therefore in the throes of teenage embarrassment — had to come get me. And everyone was mortified.

I hate that story. I think it’s the most embarrassing story ever in the history of the whole world.

My family loves that story. They think it’s cute. It’s the kind of story that I had to beg them not to tell people.

And I still hate it.

But I’m telling it to you for two reasons. First, I don’t live here. This is just a story that some guy filling in for your pastor is telling you. And I hope you’ll forget it sometime this afternoon.

Second, we all have stories like this. We all have stories that are the most embarrassing stories ever in the history of the whole world. And we all have stories that are worse. I have stories that are worse. We have all done things or said things or thought things that would leave the people who love us horrified.

And we don’t just have those stories as individuals. We have those stories as families, as communities, and as a nation. There are parts of our history we do not look at. They are hidden in the shadows of locked rooms in secret bunkers in the wastelands of forgetfulness. And there are parts of our present there, too.

So let me tell you another story. It isn’t a story about me, but it’s a story that is embarrassing to me; it’s a story that’s shameful for me. And it’s a story that I want you to remember.

A few years ago, a 20 year old Bangladeshi woman named Rehana Khatun went to work in a textile factory. The building she worked in hadn’t been built to handle the vibrations of hundreds of sewings machines day in and day out; and people who worked on the lower floors had noticed cracks forming in the walls. But the powerful apparel industry didn’t want building codes enforced, so they weren’t enforced. And Rehana couldn’t afford to lose her slighty-less-than-thiry-cents-an-hour, so she climbed the stairs and went to work.

And that day, the building collapsed. And Rehana was trapped under the rubble. And while she was one of the survivors, both of her legs had to be amputated. And now she can’t work.

Rehana is part of a lawsuit right now, suing a Canadian company whose supply chain went through that textile factory. Last year, a similar lawsuit against an American company was dismissed. The American company didn’t directly employ the workers who were killed or injured, so they didn’t have a ‘duty to care’.

That’s a hard story to hear. It’s embarrassing. It’s shameful. It’s sinful. But one of the reasons that so many products that we buy are so affordable is that the human costs of of producing them are paid by people like Rehana Khatun. Physically, those human costs are hidden in Bangladesh or China or Sudan. Mentally, they’re hidden in the shadows of locked rooms in secret bunkers in the wastelands of forgetfulness.

In today’s gospel reading, Jesus is sending out the disciples as missionaries. He’s already told them to preach the good news, to cure the sick and raise the dead and cleanse lepers and cast out demons. He’s already told them not to take much with them. He’s already told them not to worry about what to say.
And now we’re here. “A disciple is not above the master,” he tells them, “think about what they’ve said about me; they’ll say worse about you. But don’t be afraid. For nothing is covered up that will not be uncovered, and nothing secret that will not become known.”

And I want to be clear: that’s a threat.

All of those things that we hide in the shadows of locked rooms in secret bunkers in the wastelands of forgetfulness are going to be dragged into the sunlight. That’s the kind of thing that sounds great when it’s about other people. I know there are people who would love to see the truth come out if it were the truth about Donald Trump or the truth about Hillary Clinton. We like to hear other people’s deep, dark, secret truths.

But it sounds a lot worse when it’s about us. It sounds worse when it’s the most embarrassing story ever in the history of the whole world. It’s a lot worse when it’s the truth about the role that we’ve played in Rehana Khatun’s life and the lives of millions — maybe even billions — of people like her.

And I’m sure that Peter and the two Jameses and Andrew and John and Philip and Bartholomew and Thomas and Matthew and Thaddeus and Simon and Judas — oh, especially Judas — all have things they would rather hide.

But more than a threat, it’s a promise. Justice happens in the light. Restoration happens in the light. Healing happens in the light.

Nothing will change as long as the stories of the people we hurt are kept safely in the shadows of locked rooms in secret bunkers in the wastelands of forgetfulness. It’s keeping those stories safely hidden that lets us continue as though nothing is wrong. It’s when we hear those stories that we can begin to act, that the world can change.

And that’s why I want you to remember Rehana Khatun’s story. It’s why I want you to remember Philando Castile’s story; killed by a police office during a routine traffic stop. It’s why I want you to remember Andrea Constand’s story; a victim of sexual assault by a well-loved celebrity. It’s why I want you to remember Lucas James’s story; a victim of the fire in Grenfell Tower in London. And I could go on.

Telling the stories of those for whom the world thought that it did not have a duty to care is part of the hard work of justice. And it is the first step on the road to healing.

But more than a promise, it’s good news.

In today’s reading from Romans, Paul writes, “All of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death. Therefore we have been buried with him. And if we have been united with him in a death like his, we will certainly be united with him in a resurrection like his. Our old self was crucified with him so that the body of sin might be destroyed, and we might no longer be enslaved to sin.”

Or, as Jesus says, “Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father. And even the hairs of your head are all counted. So do not be afraid; you are of more value than many sparrows.”

God knows us. God knows all of the things that we keep in the shadows of locked rooms in secret bunkers in the wastelands of forgetfulness. And God loves us. God loves us just we are, with all of our baggage and all of our issues and all of our embarrassment and all of our shame. And God loves us enough to help us change.

I am no longer the little kid at the Golden Gate restaurant. We do not have to be a world where there are more Rehana Khatuns, or Philando Castiles, or Andrea Constands, or Lucas Jameses. Through Christ, we can die to sin and live for God, we can lose the life that sin demanded and live the life that Christ calls us to.

And the first step in doing that is taking those things that we have hoarded in the shadows of locked rooms in secret bunkers in the wastelands of forgetfulness, and dragging them into the sunlight, and letting them go.

And in Christ we can do just that. Even if it’s the most embarrassing story ever in the history of the whole world. Hallelujah. Amen.

The Atlantic: Escaping Poverty Requires Almost 20 Years With Nearly Nothing Going Wrong

And how is one to move up from the lower group to the higher one? Education is key, Temin writes, but notes that this means plotting, starting in early childhood, a successful path to, and through, college. That’s a 16-year (or longer) plan that, as Temin compellingly observes, can be easily upended. For minorities especially, this means contending with the racially fraught trends Temin identifies earlier in his book, such as mass incarceration and institutional disinvestment in students, for example. Many cities, which house a disproportionate portion of the black (and increasingly, Latino) population, lack adequate funding for schools. And decrepit infrastructure and lackluster public transit can make it difficult for residents to get out of their communities to places with better educational or work opportunities. Temin argues that these impediments exist by design.

Self-Sustainability Isn’t a Thing

There’s a buzzword that I keep hearing from colleagues in the social services sector: self-sustainability. If you gathered a bunch of professionals in one room and asked them what their primary mission is – not as individuals or organizations, but as social services agencies – my guess is that a lot of them would say, “To help the people we serve become self-sustaining (or self-sufficient or independent or whatever).”

And that’s strange to me. Because no one is self-sustainable.

Here’s a thought experiment to illustrate that point. Imagine, for a moment, that you are lost in the desert. How long would you survive? Probably not long. You aren’t self-sustaining. You need things like food, shelter, and water.

But let’s say that you had the skills to survive in the desert. You know how to get water from cacti (and which cacti it’s okay to get water from), how know which plants are edible and which ones aren’t, and you can use what’s around you to make a crude shelter. You still aren’t self-sustaining. You are dependent on the environment around you, as well as the people who taught you how to survive.

I am not lost in the desert right now (and, hopefully, neither are you). But I am dependent on a wide array of people and institutions. I’m dependent on by family, my employer, my landlord, the various companies from which I buy the things I need, the government services that make it possible for all of these things to operate, and so on. I am enmeshed in a complex web web of relationships. I am interdependent with others.

I am not self-sustainable. You are not self-sustainable. No one is self-sustainable.

Self-sustainability isn’t a thing.

We are all interdependent.

When people in social services sector say ‘self-sustainability’, what they mean is ‘interdependent in a way that I approve of’. That tends to mean, ‘interdependent in a more-or-less middle class way’: depending on their employer, on their landlord (or mortgage holder), on the companies from which they buy the things they need, and so on. And there’s nothing necessarily wrong with that (well, there are many things wrong with that, but that’s for another post, maybe). But when we call that form of interdependence ‘self-sustainability’, we hide the fact that it is interdependence. We make it look like it’s something else, like it’s independence. And, in turn, we make other ways of being interdependent look bad, like they’re being dependent.

And that helps us disguise the fact that we’re all relying on each other; that we’re all interdependent; that none of us is self-sustaining. It helps us, in other words, lie to ourselves about the nature of the world.