Tag Archives: angry

The Gentle Man

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You likely need very little help from me to know the dreadfulness of Hurricanes Helene and Milton. From its center to its malicious extremities, Hurricane Helene was estimated to be 502,000 square miles in size. I did a little math. For perspective, that’s larger than France, Germany, and Italy combined. And then, with seemingly very little breathing room, Hurricane Milton—125,000 square miles of viciousness—tore through Florida in a little more than 24 hours. Thankfully, it weakened from a Category 5 to a Category 3 when it hit land. Nevertheless, it left more ruin in its obliterating wake.

I’m sure, like me, you were attuned to the events. I watched videos of the awful winds. I saw the overwhelming storm surges in Florida and swollen rivers sweeping away entire hillsides in North Carolina. I gave my fullest attention to the reporters visiting and describing the devastation. I listened to the tearful pleas from people who’ve lost everything in mere moments. And by everything, I mean family and friends. As of this morning, Helene claimed 260 lives. Milton took 17. It’s all very heartbreaking.

But there’s more to the story.

Even as the winds were still shaking walls and rattling glass, neighbors were helping neighbors. People were coming to one another’s aid. Everyday people cleared washed-out roads. Local business owners delivered generators. Strangers sheltered strangers from danger, giving them food, water, and a place to sleep.

All this happened long before FEMA arrived sharing online links to emergency loans to people with no internet access. All this continued even as Kamala Harris, the nation’s Vice President, went on Stephen Colbert’s show in full campaign mode for a “beer summit” and an opportunity to laugh about this and that, with no mention of the crisis. All this continued as President Biden, when asked by a reporter if the people in the storm zones were receiving the help they needed, fumbled to remember what the reporter meant by “storm zones.”

In all things political or civil, the ones who are so often piously “above it all” tend to lean on their favorite engagement escape hatch text, Psalm 146:3, which reads, “Put not your trust in princes….” In this case, they’re right to do so. The text refers to rescue. It refers to feeding the hungry and caring for the widows and the fatherless. Of course, the psalmist names God as the only trustworthy one when trouble strikes and needs are abundant. That said, Jesus told His listeners that when He returns in judgment on the Last Day, He will say to His believers, “Come, you who are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you clothed me, I was sick and you visited me, I was in prison and you came to me” (Matthew 25:34-36). From there, Saint James offers rather straightforwardly concerning the Christian religion’s contours, “Religion that is pure and undefiled before God the Father is this: to visit orphans and widows in their affliction, and to keep oneself unstained from the world” (James 1:27).

To be clear, none of these things are teaching that salvation is dependent on our deeds. Good works are fruits of faith, and they are fully orchestrated by the Holy Spirit, who dwells in the believer (Ephesians 2:8-10). However, what we learn from these texts is that God regularly accomplishes the human care ascribed to Him in Psalm 146 through people. And so, I was by no means surprised to learn that neighbors were providing the initial and most crucial material and human resources, and in many cases, their help exceeded what the federal government was willing and able to provide. Where FEMA promised $750 to a hill-dwelling family to cover a catastrophic loss, churches both near and far, along with their denominational institutions, were already gathering funds to rebuild that same family’s home entirely.

Go figure. That’s what Christians do. We are the salt of the earth and the bright-beaming cities on this world’s hills. The deeds done are nothing more than the powerful glory of God at work through His people (Matthew 5:13-16).

I read very little modern fiction. However, someone who knows my appreciation for Lewis and Tolkien recommended I give Patrick Rothfuss a try. For the record, I probably won’t. Still, to investigate, I typed his name into Google. Along the way, I stumbled upon a potent quotation from his book The Name of the Wind. Rothfuss wrote, “There are three things all wise men fear: the sea in storm, a night with no moon, and the anger of a gentle man.”

That’s an intuitive sentence. The ferocity of nature, such as a stormy sea, is something a wise man fears because he knows its potential for danger. A moonless night of pitch-blackness provides cover for enemies and creatures we can’t see and yet would harm us. Therefore, a wise man avoids being out on such evenings. That same wise man also knows that when a person with an ordinarily gentle persona—someone from whom we’d only ever expect passivity and calm—when that person is moved to action, watch out. It’s likely an unstoppable conviction that’s driving him.

All of this prompts another thought. Well, actually, two.

First, I think we heard from the gentler man after the recent hurricanes. I think Helene and Milton juxtaposed the fire hose of billions of free-flowing cash to foreign countries with so many of our own citizens who couldn’t get the help they needed when they needed it. Because of this, I think the ordinarily quiet man is going to make himself heard in the forthcoming election. I think his voice will resonate long after. The hard truth is that people who just want to go to work, go to church, enjoy their lives and families, and all the things that a peaceful and dignified societal context provides are becoming frustrated. They don’t want to be forced to say a man is a woman when he isn’t. They’re tired of people like Gretchen Whitmer, Michigan’s governor, mocking sacred things like Holy Communion and then gaslighting them, saying what they saw is not what they saw. They’re tired of being forced to sit through DEI and CRT training at the office. They don’t want to feel as though they’re inherently and unforgivably racist because of the color of their skin. They don’t want their children’s teachers to indoctrinate them with confused sexual ideologies. They don’t want their parental rights stripped away. They don’t want their already exorbitant taxes to become monthly paychecks to illegal immigrants. They don’t want those taxes to pay for the same illegals to stay in posh New York hotels while their neighbors in North Carolina receive a few dollars during a disaster. They don’t want any of this.

Second, we heard another quiet man’s voice before, during, and after the hurricanes. We heard from those who live quiet lives of Christian conviction. Their faith proved capable of transforming fear into hope and ultimately showing a strength that could rival both the storms and the Federal government. Their Godly concern for genuine human suffering became a visible force that this sin-infected world and its princes just could not match.

I suppose Hurricanes Helene and Milton are reminders that while nature’s fury is something to be respected, there’s something else—or I should say someone else—far more awe-inspiring and worthy of our reverence: God. His rule has no limits, and His reign is forever, just as the Psalmist declared. More importantly, He cares. He is not distant. He’s close—closer than close can be. Faith knows that He’s so close that He’s often extending a helping hand through a friend or even a stranger. That moves us to thankfulness, first to Him and then to the agents of His manifested care.

Amid these current disasters, I’m not surprised the Christians have made an incredible showing. I bear Godly pride for my own Lutheran Church-Missouri Synod’s response. What a tremendous response from gathered Christians whose eyes are firmly fixed on Christ! But what else should I expect? That same Christ told us it would be this way. His servant, Saint James, did, too. God promised there would be people ready to step into the gaps—neighbors who would help when help was needed, who would ride out the storm while sheltering others through it, and then would remain in the aftermath to rebuild. We’re seeing this.

God be praised for His faithfulness!

The Domineeringly Vicious

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For most readers of this weekly yarn, it’s probably a waste of print for me to describe social media’s more prevalent tendencies surrounding any topic that requires taking sides. Like most who use virtual platforms, you’ve likely experienced how much more domineering and vicious people become.

Concerning the domineering among us, George Burns was the best jester, offering, “It’s too bad that all the people who know how to run the country are busy driving taxicabs and cutting hair.” I’ll admit to knowing what he means in a literal sense. I once spent a fifty-minute car ride from Dulles International Airport listening to a laundry list of cures for our nation’s woes. My only available role was to offer a polite but occasional “Yeah, I hear you.” This isn’t to say all of the driver’s ideas were disagreeable. But he did, more or less, puke them all over his passenger, ultimately muting what could’ve been a mutual exchange that expanded one another’s knowledge base. I suppose, had I not been so tired, I might have tried to challenge his insistence on certain topics. I’m certainly more likely to do that in face-to-face conversations than I am in virtual ones. This is true for a few reasons.

For one, you can’t hide during an in-person discussion. If you try, you automatically lose credibility. Second, you can only access what you know. There’s no going to the internet for help. Third, tone and body language are available to both participants. Apart from words, these are often communication’s richest clarifiers. Without them, conversations are far harder.

Of course, social media sells itself as a format for conversation—an arena for ideological exchanges. Although, anyone who uses it knows that’s becoming less and less the case. It certainly plays with a very different set of rules than in-person communication.

For the record, I bring my own rules to the platform. One I practice somewhat devoutly is to simply write something and move on, rarely hanging around to engage in discussion. I know this makes me sound distant. But as someone who writes for public consumption, if I shared with you some of the uglier messages I’ve received over the years, you’d understand. In most cases, it’s best to just say what needs to be said and move along. This particular rule serves another one I practice.

I avoid the domineeringly vicious. These are the people who believe their opinions are the only ones that matter, and if you disagree, watch out. You know the kind I’m talking about. Of course, if such a person’s friendships and interests are the same as mine, the algorithms ensure they’ll end up on my screen. I don’t go looking for them. But when we do cross paths on occasion, I’ll read what they’ve written. As I do, another rule often kicks in. If I feel the urge to reply, I don’t. Why? Well, here’s an all too familiar and equally futile scenario one should expect when approaching these folks.

Essentially, the domineering person will spew his or her opinionated nonsense across the virtual landscape like a glaze. It’ll attract the usual supporters. But it will also attract unsuspecting people willing to share a different perspective. And when the visitor responds with a differing view—maybe even one geared toward the same goal—he is pummeled with insults for not agreeing until he finally leaves the discussion.

As I said, I usually do what I can to mark and avoid people who treat others this way. I steer even further away from the ones who are supposed to be on my ideological team and yet do this. They’re the ones who give the causes I hold dear a very bad name, and in the end, I don’t want to be associated with them.

This behavior seems at its worst during election seasons. For the instate reader, it’s been on steroids throughout the Michigan GOP chairmanship divide. What a mess! But no matter the divisive topic, its social media form is often tantamount to watching a nature show about birds. Like certain species of fowl, there’s an unfortunate time when chicks push unhatched siblings from the nest to their doom, all the while trying to kill the other hatchlings competing for the best of the parent’s vomitous provisions. If David Attenborough were narrating, he’d probably describe the viciousness as necessary for the species’ preservation. But while birds may be vicious for the sake of species survival, I’m not convinced that humans do it for the same reasons.

On one hand, I think the overarching reason is power. People want to rise above another person’s rule. That’s innate to the sinful nature in general. It’s why so many, even in the churches, avoid talking about sin. Fewer and fewer want to acknowledge their accountability to a supreme arbiter of morality—to someone who can actually say what’s acceptable and what isn’t. Humans are, by nature, radical individualists. But this describes all of us, not just a certain type of domineeringly vicious meanie on the internet. So, what is it with them?

I think many of these folks are the way they are because they’re hiding something. But what are they hiding, exactly?

Before I tell you, be sure not to confuse the word vicious. For example, try harming my wife or my children. If you do, I guarantee you’ll experience a divinely ordained ferociousness in me you’ll wish you hadn’t. Try challenging my integrity. Try accosting my reputation. Try steering the Christians in my pastoral care into false doctrine. These things will stir a measure of fierceness you won’t soon forget.

Now, let’s say we’re exchanging ideas, whether in person or online. I promise my inability to best you in an ideological debate won’t end with me maliciously insulting you, showing pictures that mock you, or doing whatever I can to erase you from the discussion. Those are vicious power-lust behaviors, and their only purpose is to hide one’s inadequacies. Ayne Rand described them as weeds growing in the vacant lots of an abandoned mind. And she’s right. Employing vicious behaviors in any ideological discussion is always—always—a sign of intellectual impotence. Although, to the casual observer’s benefit, they help mark the ill-intending egotists we should avoid, which is a good thing. They’re the ones who almost always prove themselves of little use to any worthwhile effort. And why? At least two reasons come to mind.

First, they’re of little use because they’ve somehow convinced themselves that insults hurt their enemy, that they somehow shrink an enemy’s resolve. But they don’t. More often, they bolster it. I’m living proof. Ridiculing me only makes me more invested in the effort to defeat you. Second, if the good guys win, we don’t want the egotists among them holding power. They’ve already proven their landscape-destroying tendencies. The battle for an idea is not won by carpet bombing, and a unique dilemma is rarely solved by indiscriminate assaults. Instead, these challenges are met by sharpshooters with aims that are steady and true. They require skillful precision and patient determination. Moreover, to meet the challenge requires coordinates and capability—truth and substance. The people in power need to own these things before they sit at the table. The sneering armchair quarterbacks rarely have these qualities.

Wrapping this up, I suppose I’d simply encourage you to think about these things and, in the meantime, maybe even do what you can to augment your resistance to the folks I’ve described. You don’t have to cut them from your life. In fact, I say don’t. They can be great entertainment, and sometimes dinner and a show go well together. Still, I caution you not to get caught in their gravitational pull (Proverbs 13:20; 14:7; Romans 12:2; 1 Corinthians 15:33; Ephesians 5:11; and others). Measure their truest intentions against their behaviors (Titus 1:16; James 2:18).

How do you do this? Well, one place to start is by watching how they respond to someone telling them they’re wrong. I guarantee you’ll learn a lot about them in those first few moments.