Category Archives: Mostly the arts

Ozzy Osborne brings it to the War Pigs: The prophecy lives on

During the Grammy memorial for notable members of the music industry lost in 2025, a group of all-stars paid tribute to Ozzy Osborne, maybe the most notable of them all. The song they chose to play is notable, too: War Pigs.

A long-gone YouTube creator connected a video to War Pigs that is the most-viewed version of the song, now at 108 million since 2014! — that’s the year Russia seized Crimea and “insurgents” blew up buildings in Donbass, the Taliban insurgency continued, and the Syrian civil war raged — the fingers of the U.S. and Russia in all of them. I think her video is quite moving [link].

The film the YouTuber repurposed is a 2009 work from a German film school named Motherland — it shows what music can do to bring your film to life. The original soundtrack is kind of limp [link]. She did not bother crediting the filmmaker when she substituted War Pigs, but likely received the income from the 30 million more views it got lately. But I’m not sure how YouTube works.

The other day, my grandson, the rock and roll drummer student, was part of the Black Sabbath tribute at his concert. They played War Pigs. I admit, Christian that I am, “black sabbath” has never been my favorite name for a band. But I can forgive them for trying to distinguish themselves with the name in 1969. If you want to see the originals play their hit, here they are in 1970.

At the concert, I was predisposed to grinning and bearing the song. But the lead student singer was actually rather good and I caught wind of the words into which I had never tuned.

Generals gathered in their masses
Just like witches at black masses
Evil minds that plot destruction
Sorcerers of death’s construction

In the fields the bodies burning
As the war machine keeps turning
Death and hatred to mankind
Poisoning their brainwashed minds
Oh Lord! Yeah!

Politicians hide themselves away
They only started the war
Why should they go out to fight?
They leave that role to the poor

Time will tell on their power minds
Making war just for fun
Treating people just like pawns in chess
Wait ’til their judgment day comes
Yeah!

Now in darkness world stops turning
Ashes where the bodies burning
No more war pigs at the power
Hand of God has struck the hour

Wow! Just like Amos!

Day of judgment, God is calling
On their knees the war pigs crawling
Begging mercy for their sins
Satan laughing spreads his wings
Oh Lord! Yeah!

Oh Lord! Yeah! The rock students reminded me of the Old Testament prophet, Amos, laying out the war pigs that surrounded the northern and southern kingdoms of Israel. And he did not spare the homeland either! Amos’ list is a recitation of what the war pigs have always done. And it is what they are doing right now, only now with the most destructive weapons ever, directed by A.I.!

  • they have threshed Gilead
        with threshing sledges of iron. (1:2 – Israel in Lebanon)
  • they carried into exile entire communities (1:6 – ICE)
  • he (Edom) pursued his brother with the sword
        and cast off all pity;
    he maintained his anger perpetually
        and kept his wrath forever. (1:11 – sounds like all sides in Iran)
  • they have ripped open pregnant women in Gilead
        in order to enlarge their territory. (1:13 – Russia in Ukraine)
  • he (Moab) burned to lime
        the bones of the king of Edom. (2:1 – U.S. and Israel kill Iran’s leaders)
  • they (Judah) have rejected the instruction of the Lord
        and have not kept his statutes,
    they have been led astray by the same lies
        after which their ancestors walked. (2:4 – all, especially the U.S.)
  • they (Israel) sell the righteous for silver
        and the needy for a pair of sandals—
    they who trample the head of the poor into the dust of the earth
        and push the afflicted out of the way (2:6-7 – the 1% and minions)
  • you (Israel) made the nazirites drink wine
        and commanded the prophets,
        saying, “You shall not prophesy.” (2:12 – look in the mirror)

I am not blaming the wars of humankind on you with that last parenthesis, but I know I have colluded with people who want to still the voices of prophets. I didn’t even listen to Black Sabbath until 2026!

We should all be out on the streets shouting with Amos and Ozzy Osbourn every chance we get. But let’s be honest; when the news channels treat a No Kings Day like it is just a brief traffic tie up or a long line at the airport and we put up with that, we’ve already colluded with the war pigs by fitting our prophecy into the oligarchs’ business plan. When we politely argue about the Iran debacle on Facebook like there are two sides to a war pig, we are just acclimating to the same old slavery.

Jesus before Pilate — Jean Fouquet, 1470

Jesus is prophecy in action

What does Jesus say to a war pig? We have scant evidence because he spent most of his time with marginalized people (take note, Empire-trained American Christians!). But my favorite example is when he has a moment with Pilate — the Roman representing the biggest herd at the trough in the Lord’s time, who is apparently slightly nervous about his imminent murder of the Son of God.

Then Pilate entered the headquarters again, summoned Jesus, and asked him, “Are you the King of the Jews?”  Jesus answered, “Do you ask this on your own, or did others tell you about me?”  Pilate replied, “I am not a Jew, am I? Your own nation and the chief priests have handed you over to me. What have you done?” Jesus answered, “My kingdom does not belong to this world. If my kingdom belonged to this world, my followers would be fighting to keep me from being handed over to the Jews. But as it is, my kingdom is not from here.” — John 18:33-36

He’s saying, “It is the people I came to save who keep fighting for the kingdoms of this world.” Oh Lord. Yeah! Thank you Jesus! Your kingdom is not from here!

In a few days after talking to Pilate, Jesus rises from the dead (April 5 this year, if you’re just getting to know him). By the end of the New Testament John has his amazing vision and there is Jesus, the wounded lamb, sitting on the throne! There is a prophecy for you!

Let’s keep talking, doing our art and marching. Even if we feel like lonely Amos (even when we’re in step with millions, around the world), let’s force ourselves to keep telling the truth about the war pigs. They are eating people alive! Don’t just do what you can do because justice should be done. Do it because we want God’s will to be done on earth as it is in heaven, an endless will to bring life from death and love to hate.

***********

Today is Joachim of Fiore Day! Speaking of prophets! This one is more influential than you know. Visit him at The Transhistorical Body.

You don’t know how much you need to trust God until you need to.

The now infamous Tilly

We endured the 20+ hours it took to get home from our wonderful trip. Then we walked in the door.  A big fat snow storm. A frozen pipe oozing water down the back wall and creating  nasty ice sculpture. An innovative toilet not functioning and bilge puddling from between the basement tiles. Trash and mail piled up. And, of course, there was the love-starved cat.

Once we returned, the cat stuck to us like glue all night and day. So I thought she was sticking when I took out the trash. But she darted out the door and into the frigid night and falling snow unbeknownst to me. I suppose I was less careful since, “What cat would go out in a blizzard?” We were cuddled up in our blankets for a long time until we noticed there was no longer a cat on top of us.

I guess you don’t know how much you need to trust God until you need to. We were beside ourselves. We love the cat almost as much as she loves us. We looked through every nook and cranny of our new, little house and could not find her. She had fooled us before, so we waited for her to appear from out of nowhere. Then we looked outside. Then we tried to go to sleep and wait for her to come out. I said, “We’ll just have to give her to God.” I admit I was not completely satisfied with that prayer. But where else can you go when you have nowhere else to go?

The angel

I tried to go to sleep but it did not work out. So I got up to do some more post-trip sorting out. About 2am, while I was typing, I heard someone shout at me from our back alley, which had never happened before. It looked like our neighbor, so I went out in the falling snow in my robe. “I’m looking for your cat,” he said. I had texted his roommate and everyone else in range, to sound the alarm. He went on to say, “I’m kind of the neighborhood ‘cat shepherd’ and I don’t want to lose another one.”

So we all started looking as the snow poured down – all around our block, under cars, behind bushes. Nothing. I went back to our porch to start over for the umpteenth time and I heard a cat. It was ours. She was settled into a cat shelter the neighbor had made out of a storage container. He was overjoyed and began to cry and admitted he was a little drunk.

So when I gave the cat to God, did that result in the arrival of a drunk angel to connect me with my beloved? My answer is “Yes.” You decide for yourself. You decide if it was right for me to feel like I  was George on the bridge meeting the semi-competent Clarence in It’s a Wonderful Life. 

Angels in any condition are needed

The whole experience made me think we’d all better become adept at turning to God when we are desperate. Troubling times keep troubling up, after all.

A woman in Northeast Philly captured the moment on her security camera when she was walking her dog and her neighbor unwittingly unleashed three pit bulls from his house. They attacked her dog and bit her mercilessly. I don’t know whether she called Top Dog to save her (link in case you don’t live in Philly). But even if she did, she’ll need deeper healing and help than any lawyer can provide.

When Liam Arias and his father, Adrian were whisked out of Minnesota and locked up in Dilly, Texas, all sorts of angels appeared. Representative Juan Castro personally escorted them home when a judge ruled against the “perfidious” power-grabbing ICE keeps acting out. Having met a few refugees, I can tell you they have to trust God because they have so little hope.

Every day in this terrible time the cat is out in the snow, the dogs are out of their cages and armed men might appear in the neighborhood without a moment’s notice. Most of us are desperate enough to ask for help. Let’s start there with trust, not just end up there when there is nowhere else to go.

You may not believe God will help you or believe God is with you even if there is no hope for you. But it is still true: Jesus will be there and is there. Before I was even able to wonder why I was doing it, my Sunday school teacher got me to memorize how Jesus said, “Lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the age.” I did not get the “Lo” or the “end of the age” or even “unto.” But I somehow understood “I am with you always.” And I have never forgotten.

I admit I often think I am responsible or to blame for a lot of the bad things that happen to me and I get frustrated because I don’t know how I am going to fix the war in Ukraine. But when I am afraid my loving cat is going to freeze to death, my thoughts naturally turn to God. And there God was in my drunk neighbor. I’ll concede that actual angels may have been helping too. But until Gabriel, or whoever, appears to me, I’ll take an angelic human or whatever goodness God shares with me next. I think we all have some angel in us. We should be quite useful to each other in desperate times.

2026 Psalm: Hold on for dear life

Trump at Davos

Lord, eight countries
bombed in one year —
our president’s distinction
alphabetically:
Iran, Iraq,
Nigeria, Palestine,
Somalia, Syria,
Venezuela, Yemen.
Add Minnesota.
We’re great again.

Meanwhile, you heard,
his peacemaking claims:
Thailand/Cambodia,
Congo/Rwanda,
Israel/Hamas,
Israel/Iran,
India/Pakistan,
Armenia/Azerbaijan,
Egypt/Ethiopia,
Serbia/Kosovo.
He wants a prize
before he dies.

Did you notice the peace?
You saw the deals made,
gilded with self-interest.
But no love was shed
by the spider, the snake,
the toddler driving the car,
the sociopath-in-chief.

It does not feel good
to make these lists,
to wretch these labels, Lord.
But it feels better –
like tagging a rainstorm
an “atmospheric river,”
or a snow disaster
a “bomb cyclone.”
There is comfort
in naming the dreadful.

But there is more comfort
in turning into your call:
“Set your face
like flint
toward good this year.”
Selah.
“Hold on
to each day’s blessings
for dear life this year.”
Because life is dear
and love cannot be controlled.
It can yet be received,
cherished, nurtured,
but never commanded.

If love, or if I, seem paltry,
that may be very true.
But you are truer, Lord.
If my trust stumbles
in the face of fears and faults,
you remain trustworthy, Lord —
our dawn after the storm
who will not be hooded,
the colors of the bow
that no lie can dim.

Apocalypse: The trauma intuition of CAS

As I listened to Laufey sing Christmas songs on Apple Music, I was, again, impressed by how well she does everything. I was basking in her warm voice when another song came on that did not fit the feed. Since I don’t know much about music apps, I was surprised. I thought it might be Laufey, trying out “edgy.” But it turned out that Laufey’s deep alto and Greg Gonzalez’ tenor are closely matched, to me at least. I had run into Cigarettes After Sex (“CAS” in what follows).

CAS in Brussels, 2017

I had never heard of CAS and , I admit, I asked in my head, “You named your band that?” When I found out more, I added, “Aren’t you from El Paso?” But, like so many people, I was intrigued by the song that showed up on my feed: Apocalypse (hear it here at a worship-like concert in London).  As of August, the song had two billion streams on Spotify, so you’d think I might have run into it. Gonzalez and the song have Wikipedia pages. Regardless, the line “Your lips, my lips, apocalypse” said so much, I needed to know more.

Background for Apocalypse

Apocalypse was on the first album the men put out in 2017 and it never got on any charts. But it went viral in 2022 when it was background music for a  TikTok trend in which people put up a photo from their childhood to remind them to be kinder to themselves.

I love how A.I. sums up their style: “Cigarettes After Sex is a dream pop, ambient pop, and indie rock band known for their ethereal, slow, and sensual sound, often described as ‘androgynous pop noir’ with hushed vocals, dreamy guitars, and romantic, melancholic themes. Their style draws from shoegaze and slowcore, creating a hazy, cinematic, and intimate atmosphere, perfect for winding down or late-night listening.” I needed a dictionary for that description, but it is apt. The NYT says CAS makes “woozy” music that Gen Z loves — and people all over the world do love it. 40something Gonzalez has a loyal — and notably young, fan base in Poland, India, Indonesia, and South America. The U.S. has only recently caught up to the rest of the world as one of their top markets.

About the song Apocalypse, Gonzales says, “The imagery is surreal, and it’s not something that could have happened. But the way I think about that song is, before I left my hometown, it was me and two different girls I’d dated and then kind of become friends with. It felt that we were like beautiful losers — stuck in our hometown with these big ambitions. At that time, it felt like it was impossible to get out of the city, and so when I left and moved to New York, I thought about them again.” You may relate.

He continued to recall the aspirations they all had, and while he escaped to follow his dreams, the friends remained where he had left them. “They wanted to be screenwriters, painters and actors. But they were still in my hometown, kind of like the song says, ‘sort of trapped there’.…Thus, the song at the end is really about being there for people, when you’re all alone.”

Trauma-informed dream pop

My interest in the song piqued when I went to YouTube and found a lyric video. I loved how the thought fragments referenced memories that are too personal to understand completely but universal enough to evoke some feelings. They showed an intuitive sense of how trauma locks people up emotionally and undermines the intimacy we all crave.

In some sense, the band may have been riding the wave of “trauma-informed” everything moving through psychotherapy studies and into society when the song came out in 2017. That wave may or may not have crested by now. I was riding it myself around then, teaching doctoral classes on trauma in 2019 and 20. Then the whole society experienced the trauma of Covid-19, George Floyd, Palestine, and now we have King Donald reorganizing Venezuela. We are all considering what to do with trauma. CAS is doing their part, providing gauzy, thoughtful, background music for us with some tenderness.

Here are 5 ways the song concisely hears us and comforts us where we are traumatized.

  • Kisses on the foreheads of the lovers wrapped in your arms. You’ve been hiding them in hollowed-out pianos left in the dark.

Gonzalez acknowledges the deep emotional pain a new partner has suffered from previous relationships and heartbreak. In its gentle, supportive way, Apocalypse captures trauma not as a dramatic rupture, but as a quiet, lingering condition — a way of being emotionally stranded even in moments of intimacy. What makes the song psychologically insightful is its restraint: the singer never names trauma directly, yet the emotional patterns align closely with what clinicians recognize as post-traumatic attachment issues and dissociation.

Here is the song accompanying the troubles of an old love trying to reconnect with a past love in a new body(!) in The 100.

  • You’ve been locked in here forever, and you just can’t say goodbye.

Being emotionally “stuck” is what we call it. Trauma can be an ongoing “reality.” One of the song’s central insights is how trauma distorts time. The emotional voice feels suspended between past and present, as if the relationship exists in a perpetual aftershock. Trauma often prevents experiences from being fully integrated into memory, leaving someone to relive emotional states rather than recall events. The song mirrors this by dwelling in atmosphere and repetition rather than progression. There is no narrative resolution — only a looping sense of longing — which reflects how trauma resists closure.

  • Your lips, my lips, apocalypse.

The view of intimacy in the song is also psychologically precise. Closeness feels just out of reach. Any touch has to penetrate a veil of numbness and melancholy. When it does, it may feel dangerous. This aligns with trauma-related attachment patterns, where connection feels simultaneously necessary and unsafe — even like an apocalypse. Rather than joy, intimacy triggers vulnerability, and vulnerability recalls loss. The result is a muted, almost anesthetized form of love — tender, but distant.

The song accompanies such a twisted experience in  SnowPiercer

  • You leapt from crumbling bridges, watching cityscapes turn to dust, Filming helicopters crashing in the ocean from way above.

The song begins with a dramatic scene of destruction. I often depict trauma like the shock of some unknown force blowing up one’s village — suddenly everything is rubble. In the song, the metaphor also describes the chaotic end of a tragic relationship — again. Such destruction seems inevitable, even expected. The subject is catastrophe, but the delivery is calm, almost resigned. Trauma survivors often normalize emotional devastation, treating it as the background condition of life rather than an exceptional event. Some therapists might feel this is more realistic than setting our sights on some ideal happiness — a goal line that might feel like it is always being moved back. By presenting emotional collapse in such a subdued tone, the song captures how trauma dulls one’s senses, even alarm systems — things are less likely to feel shocking anymore, even the end of the world.

A fan used the song to sum up an episode of  The Last of Us to that effect.

  • Oh, please. Come out and haunt me, I know you want me.

The lyrics are a plea for the lover to let go of their fear and the emotional cycles that keep them “locked” in their past. The dreamlike music evokes a sense of dissociation. The vocals, production, and pacing feel submerged, as though we are all slightly removed from what we feel. This mirrors a common trauma response: staying emotionally present enough to function, but detached enough to avoid being overwhelmed. The listener senses feeling without having full access to it, which is how dissociation often manifests.

  • Sleeping soundly with the locket that she gave you clutched in your fist.

Ultimately, the song is a comforting message of support, with the singer promising, “When you’re feeling low I will be there too.”  Its refusal to assign blame or seek meaning is itself psychologically astute — trauma doesn’t always come with clear villains or lessons. Often, what lingers is simply grief, confusion, and longing for something that can’t be restored. Apocalypse honors that ambiguity. It doesn’t try to heal the wound — it empathizes with what it’s like to live inside it. I think people sing along with this song at the concert because they love being seen and are passing on that good feeling to others. The whole arena is living inside the wound together, clutching what little comfort they have, but also hearing the hope that someone else is with with them and even for them.

CAS demonstrates an intuitive grasp of trauma psychology — not through explanation, but by creating a descriptive musical environment. The song feels the way trauma can feel –soft, repetitive, unresolved, and quietly devastating.

While not a direct narrative about PTSD from war or a specific traumatic event, the song deals with the themes of being haunted by the past, emotional turmoil, and the struggle to move forward in a new relationship, which all align with aspects of trauma recovery.

I think the whole song also aligns with Jesus walking with us in our “lowness.” Especially this week, during Epiphany, God’s message to the world is “When you’re feeling low, I will be there too.”

Alex and the Old Man

My Christmas story for 2025

A bit like Alex

The 32-ounce cup hit the sidewalk behind him with a hollow thud. He felt droplets on his hand. And slowly, a cold spot seeped through his hoodie and t-shirt. At 34 degrees it was just too cold to ignore the bite, especially because a little icy breeze was blowing through the park. He tried to keep holding perfectly still, steeled against the cold. He couldn’t do it. Alex looked up to see if anyone saw him disrespected. Then he looked behind the bench to see the Wendy’s cup laying in the brown grass next to a mound of dirty snow.

He turned back around and wanted to cuss. But he just didn’t care enough to do it. He was in a cone of silence, not even a sulk. Numb. He had his headphones in, but he had let his phone die. That seemed appropriate. Mom would not be calling and dad was probably still drunk. His friends were in school — and who would call him, anyway? He barely knew anybody. He shifted around on the bench and started to pull his hood further over his face when he saw an old man teetering near the sidewalk across the way.

He was walking off the grass when he encountered the edge of the pavement. He paused, his left foot half on the grass and tilting up on the walk, as if he had run into a wall. He said much too loudly, “I believe you are a sidewalk. I was not expecting you. And I am a bit wobbly today. So if I fall on you, be kind. If I end up with a broken hip it will not be good.”  He squinted left and right, then swung his right leg up on the pavement and dragged his other leg astride it, until he accomplished an upright stance. “Well, that’s done,” he said.

But he just stood there looking around with a dazed expression. He could not remember just where he was going before he had to navigate the ledge. He thought he should know this park like the back of his hand, since he was there every day. He’d had his dog with him in the past, but he was long gone, and there was no new dog to find the way. He knew he was slipping and even talked to things in the kitchen – appliances, fruit and such. When his daughter came by, this embarrassed her.

Alex very much wanted to ignore this old man. He pulled on his hood and tilted his head down. But he could still see him when he raised his eyebrows and peered out from under them. He was an intriguing sight, as he gave his commentary on getting over a two-inch obstacle. He was surprised he didn’t fall over from the sheer weight of his outfit. Even from where he sat, he could count three layers of sweater; he wore two scarves and puffy white earmuffs which surely could not have been his. The big ski pants he had on did not look like something he would be needing soon either.

He just stood there. Then he said, “Just relax, you’ll remember.” He could not recall where he had been going. He slowly scanned the park for clues and turned Alex’s direction. “That’s it! The bench!” he almost shouted. “You need a bench you old geezer.” And he started moving. He really did not move that much like an old, old geezer. But you could tell his left leg had a part or two that needed replacing. “The bench. It was the bench. I need to sit down,” he told himself.

Alex was startled to see his surprisingly quick advance; the plastic rattle of his ski pants sounded like a warning. He almost bolted like he was about to be captured. But he had no place to go. So he just stared at his feet, eyes closed, and pretended he was listening to music and should not be disturbed. He was afraid the man would say something to him. Or maybe worse, he’d throw up on him or drool on him. He had little idea what old people did. He’d never seen a grandparent and wasn’t sure he had any. He was on his second mother and dad made sure no one mentioned his parents — he either hated them or was hiding from them, he couldn’t tell.

The old man made it to the bench and faced it. He grabbed hold of the arm with his right hand and the back with left. He paused to slightly pant. “Here we are bench.” Then he stood up a little and slid his left hand along the backrest and then down along the curve of the arm until he turned around and fell onto the seat. “Hmmph. That’s cold on the butt, bench.” Then he settled in. His pants settled down.

Alex expected him to smell like piss. He wasn’t sure why. Must have been in a movie. But he didn’t. He smelled nice, like something he never knew he liked until he smelled it. The old man turned to him and said, “Excuse me. I meant to warn you I was coming. But I became preoccupied with the feat itself and forgot the warning. Forgive me for invading your space.” Alex slightly turned his head but said nothing. “You did look like you might not want to be disturbed. I was fifteen once. You’re about fifteen, right?”

Alex had to admit it. “Uh huh.”

“Well, I may start talking, which would not have pleased me when I was fifteen and out in the park freezing when I should be in school. But I have this habit of talking to whatever is around me, which makes my daughter want to pull her hair out. I feel sorry for her. She’s probably got someone looking for me right now because she’s afraid I will go out and live my life and die.  You have a name, I bet.

“Alex.” He mumbled.

He asked, “Did you say Alex or Alec?” as he bent down a little to peer under his hood, his pants loudly buckling.

“Alex. He said a little louder and he turned his head a bit more.

“Good. I met this waiter named Alec and all I could think of was ‘Smart Alec.’ Which was not that nice since he seemed like a good kid. You know there was a real smart Alec in the 1800’s who was a con man in New York, right? A real Trump type. The place mints them. He used to bribe the police and got away with all sorts of stuff before they caught up with him. The police started calling every subsequent joker like him a ‘Smart Aleck.’ So I’m glad you are Alex.”

He looked at Alex but got no response.

“I hope they gave you the full title Alexander rather than just a hint of him. You know about Alexander the Great, I suspect. But I have little idea whether they teach anything but robotics in school these days. But just imagine…”

The old man lost his train of thought as he looked up into a tree. “What in the world are you still doing here? Your feathers have gone green and you should be in South America or almost there by now.”

He turned to Alex and said, “But that tanager might be saying the same thing about me, eh? What are you doing here? You should be gone already!”  He gave Alex’s knee a sidelong pat.

Alex almost said something, since he was not used to being touched. It set off a little tingle, That worried him. He stayed quiet, however, since he still had a bit of stranger danger going on.

The old man just sat quietly looking into the tree.

Then he startled. “Oh yes. Alexander the Great. I was about to tell you about you if you were your namesake at 15. You’d be getting your lessons from Aristotle today. Just think about it. Next year it will be 335 BC, your father, the great Philip of Macedon, will be dead and you will be king.”

“One year after that you will have consolidated all of Greece under your authority and you’ll be getting  ready to invade the Persian Empire. By the time you are 30 you will have created one of the largest empires in the history of the world, stretching all the way to India. But by 32 you’re dead, probably poisoned. You’re the namesake of quite a guy. You knew all that already, right?”

Alex thought very carefully and then said, “No.” You could almost hear the ice crack.

“That’s too bad. What the hell is Alexander the Great doing out here in nothing but a hoodie? I at least had the sense to put on these ridiculous ski pants. It colder than a well digger’s ass in the Klondike.”

Alex actually turned and smiled. “You mean some well digger is sitting on a Klondike bar?”

“Ha! That’s funny. You’re joking, right? — I don’t know you well enough to tell. It’s just something my dad used to say. You know there was a goldrush to the Klondike area of Canada, right next to Alaska, in the 1890’s, right? It is cold as hell up there.”

“I don’t know much about Canada. I’ve barely been out of the city.”

“Then I guess your father never said much about the Klondike when he was showing off like mine did.”

“He’s mostly drunk when he’s at home, so I don’t listen to him much.”

There was a moment of silence. Then the old man said, “I’m sorry Alex.” That piece of empathy stung like bumping a bruise. “That’s a hard father to have. I suppose he’s not much for Christmas either.”

“He leaves that to my mothers.” He was not sure why he was telling this old man his secrets. No one at school knew anything about his family and no one had ever even been to his house.

“Well maybe that’s OK. My mother loved Christmas. She was about the least Christian about it as possible, however. I later became a Presbyterian and they are kind of queasy about it sometimes, too — maybe like your dad.”

He looked like he was having a vision. “But Mom loved Santa. She had boxes of Santa stuff she got out every year and you couldn’t get away from him. She painted him on the windows of the addition out back – no one was going to see that! She always found some chocolate Santa to put in my stocking. Nice, silly lady. She loved giving gifts from Santa, even though she barely had a pot to piss in.”

Alex gave him a quizzical look.

“Oh sorry. Like a chamber pot, you know? Before there were bathrooms, rich people had pots with a lid under their beds. If you needed to pee in the night you used it and the maid dumped it out the next day. Or if you’re poor you dumped it out yourself. But if you’re really poor, you don’t even own a pot. It’s something my mom used to say, although when she got to the word piss she’d clear her throat, ‘We didn’t even have a pot to mmmgh hmmgh in.’”

Alex couldn’t help smiling.

So he asked, “Did you say why you aren’t at school right now?”

Obviously not, since he’d said less than twenty words. “No. I didn’t. I don’t really know.”

“Well, if your dad’s drunk and its Christmas, you know.”

“What does that have to do with it?” Alex was seriously confused.

“Come on. You’re Alexander-the-kid-whose-dad-is-drunk-and-doesn’t-give-a-shit-about-Christmas, not Alexander the Great. It’s hard to go to school if you don’t have some Christmas in your heart at Christmastime – worse if somebody stole it. Here, wait a minute. I’ve got something for you.”

He reached in under his ski pants and rummaged around in whatever was underneath them. “There you are. Gotcha,” he said. And he drew out his hand.

“Put your palm out.” So he did. And the old man laid a small, smooth rock in it. “I think you need this more than me. I may not know where I am, but I never forget who I am.  This is my baby Ebenezer.”

“You mean like Ebenezer Scrooge?”

“Oh! You know Dickens, huh? No, not that one.“

“I mean Ebenezer like the big rock the Prophet Samuel raised up to be a monument so the old Israelites would remember how God helped them when they were fighting off the Philistines — the great ‘Stone of Help.’ Eben is ‘stone’ and Ezer is ‘help’ in Hebrew. You might not know anything about the Bible. Let me tell you, the Presbyterians know everything. But gnarly old Samuel lived about 800 years before your namesake was conquering everybody in sight.” He looked into the distance, “I’ve been carrying my own baby Ebenezer for a long time, ever since I decided to follow Jesus.” He looked back at Alex, “I reach down in my pocket and remember God has helped me and God will help me.”

Alex looked at the rock in his palm like it weighed a ton. “I can’t take your special rock!”

“You can if I give it to you. Don’t look a gift rock in the mouth. I’m not even explaining that one.  I don’t really need the rock. It has reminded me so much, I will never forget God is with me.”

At that very moment they heard, “Oh my God!” A lady screamed from across the park. They both looked her way. She pointed at the old man, “There you are.”

They looked back at each other. The old man said, “She found me.”

“Stay where you are please!” she screamed with a teacher voice.

“I’m staying.” The old man winked at him.

She breathlessly ran up and he stood up. She hugged him. Then she just looked at him, hands on his shoulders, like he was an unruly pet.

“I’m sorry. I kind of got lost. But this young man took care of me.”

“Thank you so much!” She opened her purse and took a hundred out of a wad of bills, grabbed his other hand and made a hand sandwich. His hand was meat; the money was lettuce. She bent over and whispered near his ear, “You’re an angel.” He was afraid she was going to kiss him. The touch of her soft, gentle hands brushing his as she stood back up shocked him.

The bill fell on the frozen mud. He picked it up and handed it back at her. “I didn’t really do anything,” he argued.

The old man shouted, “Take it, Alexander the Great! She’s like Santa!”

She calmly said, like a dutiful doctor ignoring  her patient’s report as she read their chart, “Thank you, Alexander.” He was dismissed. And she turned to her father, “Let’s get you home before you’re dead.”

The old man rolled his eyes at Alex with a twinkle, “See you around, buddy.”

Alex stood up and watched them bustle off to a car flashing emergency lights in the bike lane. The cold patch on his back felt like it might be turning to ice as the day passed noon. But the $100 bill and his baby Ebenezer felt warm in his pocket.

Jesus was born again in the year of King Donald

Jesus was born again in the year 2025,
in the reign of King Donald, who
commandeered the airwaves to recite
his pack of lies once again and again,
vainly propping up his house of cards.
No one watched.

The prophets echoed like memories of angels:

When tyrants tremble in their fear
And hear their death knell ringing,
When friends rejoice both far and near
How can I keep from singing?

In prison cell and dungeon vile
Our thoughts to them are winging,
When friends by shame are undefiled
How can I keep from singing?

“Pauline T” in 1868 (Civil War) and Pete Seeger in 1978 (Vietnam War)

Jesus was born again in the year 2025,
a time when the jester, Pete Hegseth,
sent drones to kill the unsuspecting,
smugglers and fishermen on the open sea,
like Herod searching Bethlehem.
No drugs were found.

The prophets echoed like magi in the night:

Herod the king, in his raging
Chargèd he hath this day
His men of might in his own sight
All young children to slay

That woe is me, poor child, for thee
And ever mourn and may
For thy parting neither say nor sing
“Bye bye, lully, lullay.”

Robert Croo (ed.) in 1534 from 1456 (War of the Roses)

Jesus was born again in the year 2025
when Old King Donald faked emergencies
and Congress sat on their wall, never
to stop him “Stop Him!” and his illegal tariffs,
and his slicing the world into spheres.
His mania spiked.

The prophets echoed like shepherds telling the news:

Said the shepherd boy to the mighty king
Do you know what I know?
In your palace warm, mighty king
Do you know what I know?
A Child, a Child shivers in the cold
Let us bring him silver and gold

Said the king to the people everywhere
Listen to what I say!
Pray for peace, people, everywhere
Listen to what I say!
The Child, the Child sleeping in the night
He will bring us goodness and light

Gloria Shayne Baker in 1962 (Cuban Missile Crisis)

Jesus was born again in the year 2025
When King Donald and his minions
vainly tried to stop the tale of Epstein
from being told across the land.
He protected pedophiles.
He pardoned felons.
He profited billionaires,
and called it hope for the poor.
No one believed him.

The prophets echoed like John the Baptist preparing the way:

Truly He taught us to love one another;
His law is love and His gospel is peace.
Chains shall He break, for the slave is our brother,
and in His name all oppression shall cease.
Sweet hymns of joy in grateful chorus raise we,
let all within us praise His holy name.
Christ is the Lord! O praise His name forever!
His pow’r and glory evermore proclaim!

Placide Cappeau in 1847 (2nd French Revolution)

Jesus was born again in the year 2025
when King Donald begged for a peace prize
and an arch to validate his vapid life,
and placed his name on someone else’s memorial
prophetically putting himself
in the grave.

The prophets echoed like a memory of Mary’s great song,
like the worms that ate Herod cried out for lack of enough voices:

But with the woes of sin and strife
The world has suffered long;
Beneath the angel-strain have rolled
Two thousand years of wrong;
And man, at war with man, hears not
The love-song which they bring; –
Oh hush the noise, ye men of strife,
And hear the angels sing!

Edmund Sears in 1849 (Fugitive Slave Act)

Henry Ossawa Tanner, Angels Appearing before the Shepherds, c. 1910

Jesus was born again in the year 2025:
born in us who hear the angels sing,
born in us worn down with woe,
born in us subject to sociopaths,
born in us bound by bloated oligarchs,
born in us who amplify your voice,
louder every day, as the dawn rises
and the Son shines through the veil,
the Light of our restoration.

The prophets cry out with the prophets of old
and with all who relay the music of your sphere:

The original final verses:

VII
Come, Desire of Nations, come,
Fix in Us thy humble Home,
Rise, the Woman’s Conqu’ring Seed,
Bruise in Us the Serpent’s Head,

VIII
Now display the saving Pow’r,
Ruin’d Nature now restore,
Now in Mystic Union join
Thine to Ours, and Ours to Thine.

IX
Adam’s Likeness, Lord, efface,
Stamp thy Image in its Place,
Second Adam from above,
Reinstate us in Thy Love.

X
Let us Thee, tho’ lost, regain,
Thee, the Life, the Inner Man:
O! to All Thyself impart,
Form’d in each Believing Heart.

Charles Wesley in 1739 (War of Austrian Succession)

Nuremburg: The first casualty of war is psychiatry?

Russell Crowe, Leo Woodall, Rami Malek

Nuremburg, the repeatable morality play

Between 1939 and 1945, Nazi Germany invaded many countries across Europe and occupied them with systematic brutality. They inflicted 27 million deaths in the Soviet Union alone and exterminated two-thirds of the continent’s Jewish population. Proposals for how to punish the defeated Nazi leaders ranged from a show trial (the Soviet Union) to summary executions (the United Kingdom). In mid-1945, France, the Soviet Union, the United Kingdom, and the United States agreed to convene a joint tribunal in Nuremberg, occupied Germany, with the Nuremberg Charter as its legal instrument. For nearly a year, beginning in November of 1945, the International Military Tribunal (IMT) tried 22 of the most important surviving leaders of Nazi Germany in the political, military, and economic spheres, as well as six German organizations. The purpose of the trial was not just to convict the defendants but also to collect irrefutable evidence of Nazi crimes, offer a history lesson to the defeated Germans, and delegitimize the traditional German elite.

Since the year of the tribunal, every generation has created a cinematic history lesson about the Nuremburg Trials. There is so much to learn and feel about the drama of seeing the captured Nazis being tried according to a new idea for international law. As the films try to make sense of what happened and preserve the memory, they also offer a look at the generation who made them.

Judgement at Nuremburg in 1961 had an all-star cast. It was based on a Teleplay by Abby Mann.

Nuremburg, a TV mini series  in 2000, starring Alec Baldwin, was based on Nuremberg: Infamy on Trial by Joseph E. Persico.

Now Nuremberg in 2025 has another all-star cast. This time, the film focuses on a psychiatrist, Douglas Kelley, played by Rami Malek. It is based on The Nazi and the Psychiatrist by Jack El-Hai.

The most recent re-telling is a very engaging movie for being mostly dialogue and courtroom scenes. The gist is: a WW2 psychiatrist evaluates Nazi leaders before the Nuremberg trials, growing increasingly obsessed with understanding evil as he forms a disturbing bond with Hermann Goering. [See this TIME review for more]

The movie circles around the growing relationship between Douglas Kelley and Goering. Kelley’s open mind is a perfect opportunity for Goering to plot whatever advantage he can achieve. Kelley is plagued by conscience, the Reichmaster is not. Goering plays on the psychiatrist’s sympathies and weaknesses as he positions himself to become a noble victim. His behavior is a textbook case of an anti-social personality disorder strategy many now call DARVO (Deny, Attack, Reverse Victim and Offender) painted on a large, disturbing canvas.

Some have said the other psychiatrist who was brought in to join Douglas Kelley, Gustave Gilbert (played in the film by Colin Hanks), might have been the better psychiatrist on which to base the movie. The book he wrote, unlike Kelley’s, was quite well-received, mainly because Gilbert made a diagnosis and then proved it. But I think the filmmakers made the right decision to focus on Kelley. His empathy and his own troubled soul, which finally led him to suicide many years later, seems much more appropriate in our very unsure age, which is once again being seduced into subjugation by tyrants.

[Philosopher and filmmaker, Matthew Cooke, is dead set against these tyrants who are subject to their “dark triad” and so subjecting us all to their will.]

The amiable psychopath

Gilbert’s book is far from useless, however. In it he labeled Goering an “amiable psychopath” in an era in which the term “psychopath” was just coming into focus with some definition.  You can read about it in his collected notes: Nuremburg Diary.

There Gilbert recounts the life history of the number two Nazi. He says Goering’s  physical and intellectual “constitution” played its part in his rise to the top and aided his sadistic, aggressive leadership. But it was the cold Prussian home he experienced as a child that nurtured his lack of authentic feeling for others and led to his brutality.  He was fed on Teutonic legends and Junker militarism. As a result, Goering believed deeply in loyalty to the Kaiser, military chivalry, military aristocracy, and German superiority. Peaceful or democratic people were repulsive to him. He was never able to take punishment or to benefit from disapproval, so he became completely self-centered. The Nazi party provided the perfect opportunity for gaining power, for loyalty to an absolute Führer, for sadistic excitement, for revenge against enemies, and for unlimited financial gain. Play acting as an amiable nobleman served the needs of his fantasy image. At Nuremberg he gave a fine performance, but the final evidence of all the atrocities spoiled his heroic pose.

In the movie, Goering seems like a devoted husband and father. Kelley is portrayed as a delivery man keeping the family ties alive while Goering is in prison and his wife and daughter are in hiding. It is as hard to tell what he actually is in the movie as it is hard to unmask a sociopath in real life. One of the key strategies of psychopaths is to skillfully appear normal, even noble. So it is useful to list how these people work. It is typical to see these traits that make them “amiable.”

  • Superficial Charm and Narcissism: Goering was noted for his outgoing, flamboyant personality and a powerful charisma that could charm people, including his prison psychiatrist and other captors. His ability to form appealing, though superficial,  connections probably extended to his personal and family life, where he could maintain the appearance of a normal, loving relationship.
  • Lack of Empathy, Not Lack of All Emotion: Psychopathy is primarily characterized by a lack of empathy and shame, and a disregard for the rights and feelings of others, particularly those outside one’s immediate “circle.” It does not mean a complete absence of all emotion. Psychopaths can experience anger, excitement, and even a form of possessive “affection” for people they view as an extension of themselves or their property.
  • Family as an Extension of Self/Status: For a narcissist and psychopath like Goering, his wife and daughter were part of his curated life and status. He displayed meticulous attention to his body and image, and his family and servants were also well attended-to as extensions of himself. Their well-being and loyalty reflected positively on him and his image of being a powerful, successful man. His primary concern at Nuremberg was that his family was all right, which aligns with protecting his “possessions” or legacy.
  • Compartmentalization: Psychopaths are adept at compartmentalizing their lives.  Goering was able be intricately involved in the horrors of the Nazi regime — including planning the “final solution,” which he claimed was not his department, and at the same time was able to maintain a functional home life that appeared charmed. It is fascinating how he can demonstrate an extreme level of moral detachment and  separate his public atrocities from his private self-image.

In essence, Goering’s “warm” relationships were likely a form of selective attachment to people who served his self-image, status, and personal fantasies, rather than true, empathetic love that could extend to humanity in general. His actions demonstrated a profound lack of empathy and conscience, which are core features of psychopathy, despite his ability to maintain seemingly normal, even charming, interpersonal relationships.

Kelley facing the true Goering

Psychiatry becomes a casualty

Do you think it is indicative of our era that we would recast the Nuremburg trials by having a psychiatrist be the main protagonist? In 1961 the star was a judge (Spencer Tracey was a respectable 61 years old). In 2000 the star was a sexually-challenged prosecutor (Alec Baldwin was a 42-year old playing Justice Jackson at 53). In 2025 the star is a faulty psychiatrist (Egyptian, Rami Malek, 44, playing 33-year-old Kelley — beautifully, I might add, with a bit of Mr. Robot thrown in).

We see Douglas Kelley as flawed but also caring, daring and quick to learn. His experiences highlight the weaknesses of psychotherapy when it is subject to the culture and the state. And they highlight the inevitable weaknesses of psychotherapists when they try to navigate the mysteries of unique beings in flawed systems.

Here are his main failures that open his psychiatry to death blows:

  • He is seduced by a powerful narcissist, who is probably on the malignant narcissist to psychopath spectrum (my research). If a therapist loves his client (as I always do), it is a short walk to erasing the therapist-patient boundary that keeps a clinician within ethical guidelines and delivers the best care to the client. Kelley is gradually lured into the spider web where the lie can eat him.
  • When asked to break confidentiality, he does. Confidentiality is the bedrock of client-therapist trust. Kelley wants to maintain it, at first, and keeps many secrets from his superiors (like knowing the whereabouts of Goering’s family). But in the end he provides all his material and insight to the prosecutors.

Some would say maintaining the privacy of  a psychopath violates a psychotherapist’s “duty to inform.” That duty is a legal and ethical obligation for therapists to break patient confidentiality in specific circumstances, most notably when a client poses a serious and imminent threat to themselves or others. Often it is called the “duty to warn” or “duty to protect,” that requires therapists to take reasonable steps to prevent harm, which may include warning the potential victim, notifying law enforcement, or seeking higher levels of care for the client. It is a critical exception to the rule of confidentiality, designed to balance the need for a safe therapeutic relationship with the responsibility to protect public safety.

  • He connects secretly with Goering’s family in the name of fact-finding (today we might call it “systems work”). This is another aspect of Kelley’s deceptive behavior. He isn’t merely collecting facts, he is delighting in the affection of Goering’s daughter. He could have had a dialog with his superior, but in the hysteria of war and the lack of trust in his commander, there s a lot of room for his defense. While watching the movie, I often wondered out loud, “Who is the Nazi here?” In several places the prosecutor also has doubts about how to apply laws that the countries sitting in judgment have also blatantly violated. How is Kelley supposed to follow his rules?
  • He makes friends with his client. I wrote my dissertation on multiple relationships so I was especially interested in his dilemma. Boundaries were almost impossible to keep within the several small communities in which he was operating: 1) the military with its prohibitive regulations and demands for obedience to a commanding officer, 2) the German prisoners, who all had psychological needs and who were part of a tight-knit group with their own prohibitions and assumptions, 3) the Goering family system, in which he acted as a text book example of operating outside prescribed boundaries, not having informed consent in any number of ways.  Many critics point out the present ethics codes still assume a Eurocentric cityscape where individuals can decide their own fate and act autonomously, which no one in Kelley’s circumstances could, including him.
  • From the outset, he Intends to capitalize on his experience by writing a book. After all, he has an eyewitness intimacy with the authors of evil we need to understand. That’s not bad logic. His colleague, Gustav Gilbert, as I said, also wrote a book in which he delivered the verdict that all these people were disordered. Kelley’s book, 22 Cells in Nuremberg: A Psychiatrist Examines the Nazi Criminal, has more sympathy, pathos and uncertainty. When it comes to any therapist writing a book about their clients, I asked a colleague if confidentiality were required after a client was dead — after all, one cannot get permission to tell their story, since they have died. They said. “That’s right, you can’t.”
  • He would not consult and was probably too young and inexperienced for the job. Therapists are bound to refer clients to other, more competent, helpers when  they do not have the expertise to treat them. Kelley needed a lot of help and should have found it. But it is hard to imagine the clinician who had the credentials to be thrown into the cells of the unique and deranged people Kelley encountered, right? His assignment was to “keep them alive” and he failed in the eyes of his commander because Goering had a cyanide pill stashed in the uniform the higher-ups allowed him to retain. As with the rest of Kelley’s ethical missteps, there is a lot of room for forgiveness if not absolution. It would seem that the first casualty of war is not only the public truth, but the private, as well.

I imagined myself parachuted into Nuremburg after enjoying the fruitful work of helping men with PTSD, as Kelley had been doing. It seemed like a nightmare. I could relate to Kelley’s fascination and eagerness to meet these once-in-a-lifetime clients, to learn, and to be special. But he obviously did not know a great deal about sociopathy and its sister maladies or he definitely would have taken a different tack with Goering. And he probably would have taken another course with all the prisoners as a group, since they all had engaged in creating or or had been drawn into the sociopathic society of the Third Reich, a pathocracy.

As a Christian looking in from the outside, socially, and looking out from the inside, beyond ordinary awareness, I was not too surprised, just consistently sad as I watched the Nuremburg morality play rerun for our generation. The movie was so realistic, some people might call in cynical. But I think it was just being as clear as it could be: everyone has a unique story and many of us are not only fighting the traumas of normal life, we are beset by the disruption we face in our very genes.

The road to life is narrow for many reasons. I have to admit that my clients often end up on a spiritual journey, even when I am not overtly Christian with them. They need a deeper route to take, because the usual resources of society and the law are simply not enough to help them heal and grow, inside or out. Nuremburg pointed this out this lack in every character. Some may call it cynical for that reason, but I call it realistic. The Savior was not welcomed. There was very little of God in movie, but who but Jesus had any hope of making goodness out of hanging 22 devils? Wonderful things followed the horrors of the two great wars of the 20th century. But here we are again only 80 years later, facing the same sociopaths, only now there is not enough faith or even enough trust in the law to face them down.  Or so it only appears, I hope.

*****

Today is Hild Day! Meet this great leader from the 7th century church in Northumbria at the Transhistorical Body. 

Moving into the third level of awareness in everyday life

I went to a large memorial service recently. It was full of stories and very moving because the woman being remembered was influential and beloved. I went because she prayed for me.

When we first landed in Philadelphia to plant a church, I knew we were likely to fail if we did not call on gifted people to pray for us. I collected scores of people to intercede who got a regular letter listing our triumphs and trials. Grace Holland was among the first to join in. Whenever I saw her she told me how she was praying and often had a question about something in our letter that intrigued her. She might not have known how much that meant to me; and she might not have really cared, since praying was a reward in itself for her.

Grace’s family is so full of faith and the wildness missionary kids often carry it would have been hard not to have an interesting and spiritually-stimulating morning at the memorial they held. I had a wonderful time. In fact, I have kept mentalizing about it, which led me to write this post.

As a person who has led many meetings for stories, teaching, ceremony and worship, I know members of an audience are not having a singular experience. At any given moment, someone is receiving what is offered with their ordinary awareness, perhaps exclusively. Others will be experiencing it with their spiritual awareness. Still others are blessed in their deepest hearts with an awareness of the presence of God.

Thomas  Keating, the main instigator in the Centering Prayer movement which got rolling in the 1970s, drew a simple target graphic to explain his common-sense description of what is happening when we turn toward God. I have been re-reading Cynthia Bourgeault’s classic expansion on his chart in Centering Prayer and Inner Awakening.

Ordinary awareness

Some people who attended the funeral probably experienced it entirely with their ordinary awareness. They might have been children. They could have been a distant relation or acquaintance unfamiliar with the family or their brand of Christianity and were caught up with the curiosity of it all. Or they may have been spiritually undeveloped due to lack of opportunity or resistance. People with childhood trauma or children of parents who did not nurture a secure attachment often find it difficult to connect with other people or God and spend much of their time feeling so responsible for their well-being they can’t do anything else.

Ordinary awareness is the reflexive consciousness that only humans have, as far as we know. I have several pictures of a son staring at his fist as a baby coming to the realization he is a separate being from his mother. We all have the capacity to stand outside ourselves and look upon ourselves in the third person. We come to know ourselves as distinct from others with attributes and gifts that need to be expressed to “be ourselves.”

So I experienced the funeral with my ordinary awareness. For instance, I thought I had left with plenty of time to spare after the long drive from Philly to Harrisburg. But I actually just made it to the memorial in time, since the turnpike was jammed due to a car having caught fire. We saw it melted on the shoulder with its poor owners watching the firemen mop up. The feelings stuck with me. Then I entered a large meeting room with quite a few people I had not seen for years and a few I did not want to see. My “monkey mind” was hopping.

At any given moment our awareness is full of stimulating things coming at us which often  stimulate things we have stored up: random thoughts, memories, associations and sensations. We get “triggered,” we like to say, and habitual reactions may lead to a chain reaction that can set off our anxiety. If we did not have that sense of “self” that can step back and see what is going on, we might not be able to endure the chaos. That self-reflexive “I” is probing and measuring the universe all day, and even when we dream it asks things like, “How am I doing?” “Is it safe here?”  “What did she mean by that?” “Am I OK?”

Bourgeault says, “Another name for ‘ordinary awareness’ is ‘egoic thinking.’ It is the normal functioning zone of the human mind. It doesn’t matter whether you’re a Ph.D., a bishop, a nuclear physicist; how brilliantly intellectual or intensely devout you may be. Without spiritual training, your sense of the world and your sense of yourself will be formed at this level of awareness. Even the so-called self-awareness tools of our times, from psychotherapy to Meyers-Briggs  personality typing to the enneagram, spend most of their effort merely resorting and clarifying the characteristics: ‘I am an INFP,’ ‘a gut-centered type,’ ‘a five,’ etc. This may add insights into the workings of the personality, but it’s till ordinary awareness.

Spiritual awareness

The funeral lasted about two hours. So there was a lot of opportunity for ordinary awareness. Plus I had to catch up with some old friends which occupied my mind and heart with pleasantries and tragedies.

Thinking together about our experience afterward, my wife and I realized that shortly after we arrived we had already soaked up the emotion swirling around the room, as a psychologist and psychotherapist might be prone to do. We were primed to be moved beyond our ordinary awareness and into our spiritual awareness. Grace was a well-known worshiper, so a time for that was  included. Almost with the first note, both of us began to cry. And we were drawn beyond ourselves.

As the worship continued, it would have been hard to miss the experience of spiritual awareness all humans are equipped to have whether someone was a Jesus follower of not. The meeting was like a first glimpse of Yosemite Valley, which seems to make everyone pause with awe. I first experienced such wonder under the stars in the Anza-Borrego desert. You may have felt it during a beautiful fall sunset last week. At times I have been drawn in when my friends were dancing or we were meeting an emergency together. And, of course, babies have been born.

Bourgeault says “spiritual awareness is actually a way of perceiving, just as ordinary awareness is a way of perceiving. As with ordinary awareness, there is a sense of identity or selfhood generated through this mode of perception. The big difference between them is that whereas ordinary awareness perceives through self-reflective consciousness, which splits the world into subject and object;  spiritual awareness perceives through an intuitive grasp of the whole and an innate sense of belonging. It’s something like sounding the note G on the piano and instantly hearing the D and the B that surround it and make it a chord. And since spiritual awareness is perception based on harmony, the sense of selfhood arising out of it is not plagued by that sense of isolation and anxiety that dominates life at the ordinary level of awareness.“

Holy Spirit awareness.

I was delighted with the smorgasbord of spiritual food we shared with Grace Holland’s family. I think she would have loved it – even the parts she thought we not fully baked yet. She would have loved how the meeting regularly veered into a thin place where we could reach into the bull’s-eye of the target, the goal Father Keating called our “divine awareness.”

The moment in the meeting I remember most, and these moments are usually relatively fleeting for all of us, was when we sang one of Grace’s favorite songs. Her son, Mike, recounted it was a tune that might pop into her ordinary awareness and lead her beyond it at any moment. I have also been moved by it since Maranatha Music released it on Praise 4 in 1980: “I Love you Lord.”

The song arose in the late 1970’s when it tumbled out during Laurie Klein’s quiet time before her toddler woke up. It found its way to Jack Hayford’s Church on the Way in Van Nuys, California, which I visited. It was recorded by several musicians in the budding Christian music scene, including 2nd Chapter of Acts, who I followed. It gained general  recognition when Maranatha! Music published it and now Korean choirs sing it, too.

As we sang it, I felt the presence of God course through my body. I was one with God, with those gathered and with everyone who has sang that song throughout my life and throughout the world. I enjoy remembering that experience.

We all have a place at the center of us where our own being and God’s being are mysteriously interwoven, even if we are not aware of it. Bourgeault says, “The divine indwelling is the cornerstone of contemplative prayer. Thomas Keating refers to it as ‘our personal big bang,’ for it reveals the Source of our own being – the explosion of divine love into form which first gave rise to our personal life. It also reveals the direction our heart must travel for a constantly renewed intimacy with this Source. As we enter contemplative prayer, we draw near the wellspring from which our being flows.“

The whole world is full of glory

The big, noisy funeral I attended did not have much silence at all. Maybe I will leave that as a request for own funeral. But I carried a silent place with me as I attended which has been formed by years of attention to God-with-us. We meet God deep within us and all around us. It is beautiful when a song flows out of your personal, private quiet time. But the whole earth is full of the glory of God. We meet God-with-us wherever we go. We can’t make an appointment, per se, but we can expect that glory to erupt into our awareness.

Bourgeault points out that ordinary awareness and spiritual awareness are both necessary for functioning in this world. “But the idea in spiritual transformation is to integrate and reprioritize these levels so that our ordinary awareness is in alignment with and in service to our spiritual awareness (which in turn, as we have seen, is in service to the divine awareness). In that alignment our being flows rightly, from innermost out. When something needs to be done in the outer world, we have sufficient ego strength to do it. But unlike ordinary awareness, which is always doing things to assert itself or fulfill itself, action grounded in our spiritual awareness merely flows out of the divine abundance without regard to outcome or any need to draw attention to itself.”

To hear her family and pastors talk about her, the heart of God and Grace’s own heart were in a deep embrace at the center of her and much of her action flowed from that abundant life. I took that away as a lesson. But more so, I experienced its legacy at her funeral and joined with her in the eternal life of it.

Your conscience is in danger: The Bible can help

I was energized as I walked along Market St. on a beautiful day last Saturday. We periodically shouted “No Kings!” and “This is what democracy looks like,” and it felt good to hear my voice right out loud — there in public, and all. At one point we caught up with a couple of people in blow-up unicorn outfits. It looked like they might be young parents on a date — instead of the baby, their stroller carried a boombox. It was nice.

As we exercised our bodies we were exercising our consciences. Both have a tendency to get flabby. The latter desperately needs the restoration of a daily exercise routine before it gets burned out completely by the conflagration of kooks and crooks dominating our lives right now.

The dark side of conscience

I have spent quite a bit of time studying sociopath spectrum of humanity in the last few months. These are the people, probably not more than 5% of us, who either have a broken or missing conscience.

The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM) collects these folks under the description “Anti-social Personality Disorder” (ASPD). The ASPD person has a severely wounded, inactive, broken or absent conscience. Conscienceless behavior is their distinctive across the spectrum. They are shameless.

The TV loves these people. You’d think they are around every corner, mostly carrying knives — they are not. But they make for good stories because they are strange and frightening. And we all know we might meet one and suspect we share some of their traits. Think Joe Goldberg in You, Dexter Morgan in Dexter, Petyr “Littlefinger” Baelish in Game of Thrones and Patrick Bateman in American Psycho, to name a few. Eric Cartman fits the description, too. They are more generally men, it seems, but women demonstrate the behavior, too. They are conscience-challenged, to say the least.

A conscience is the inner sense or faculty that allows a person to distinguish between right and wrong and guides their moral decisions. It acts as a moral compass, influencing behavior and causing feelings of guilt or pleasure based on whether actions align with one’s values and, importantly, fit in with one’s relationships. Hindus see this capacity as a seventh sense, beyond our five physical senses and beyond our ordinary awareness; it is “higher consciousness.” Contemplative Christians see it as spiritual awareness, the gift of the Holy Spirit, the place of intimacy with God and personal transformation.

Sociopath training

Conscience is considered a universal human ability, though its judgment can be shaped by experience and upbringing. It is what is happening in the deepest part of us, but not just that. Conscience needs a bond to form and to stay strong. That’s why many observers right now are wondering if we can fight off totalitarianism, since the opposition cannot unite. Postmodern, technology-isolated people have bonding issues.

Our bonding issues may have made us ripe for sociopathic manipulation. I think the  sociopaths are shaping our behaviors right now. The president is their leader. The innumerable lawsuits being filed are all about combatting behavior on the ASPD spectrum.

A sociopath cannot bond, most of the time. According to Martha Stout (The Sociopath Next Door),  leaders with no seventh sense, no inner awareness, no gut instinct for good, no spiritual connection can hypnotize the group conscience which leads to catastrophe.

ASPD leaders and ASPD-influenced systems make enemies “its,” not people, and see them as mere impediments to what is good, threats to safety and prosperity — and they find people to hate these “its” with them. Stephen Miller regularly strokes this proclivity in humanity. At Charlie Kirk’s funeral he said:

The light will defeat the dark. We will prevail over the forces of wickedness and evil, We will defeat the forces of darkness and evil. And we will stand every day for what is true, what is beautiful, what is good….

And to those trying to incite violence against us, those trying to foment hatred against us, what do you have? You have nothing. You are nothing. You are wickedness. You are jealousy. You are envy. You are hatred. You are nothing. You can build nothing. You can produce nothing. You can create nothing.

Why don’t we follow our individual consciences and follow sociopaths instead? Stout says we are programmed to obey authority even against our own consciences. Our basic instinct to bond and be acceptable in community can be turned bad. This has been demonstrated repeatedly, beginning with Stanley Milgram’s experiment to see if he could get college students to shock other undergrads who were getting wrong answers. They gave up their power to the authorities and shocked! A sociopath knows this tendency and plays it. Bullying works.

Protecting your conscience

If you are a Christian, you probably agree with the New Testament writers who teach that our consciences can be injured, and blunted — and if you develop a “hardened heart,” it can wreck your all-important bond with God. There is a lot of healthy discussion in the Bible about maintaining a conscience that resembles Jesus’ and stays open to the Spirit of God. But let me give you the teaching in just one little book: 1 Timothy.

But the aim of such instruction is love that comes from a pure heart, a good conscience, and sincere faith. Some people have deviated from these and turned to meaningless talk, desiring to be teachers of the law without understanding either what they are saying or the things about which they make assertions. (1:5-7)

The antidote to sociopath leaders may be as simple as dancing down the street in a unicorn costume — exercising stubborn joy (which, Jesus says, no one can take away from us), in the face of domination.

Paul reminds Timothy of heart, mind and soul — his spiritual awareness: pure heart, a good conscience, and sincere faith, as he stokes his courage to keep teaching the gospel. Timothy needs a strong inner life. Because it seems like he was up against some shameless, ASPD-type people who won’t stop talking nonsense and people are believing them.

This charge I commit to you, Timothy, my child, in accordance with the prophecies made earlier about you, so that by following them you may fight the good fight, having faith and a good conscience. By rejecting conscience, certain persons have suffered shipwreck in the faith; among them are Hymenaeus and Alexander, whom I have turned over to Satan, so that they may be taught not to blaspheme. (1:18-20)

One’s conscience is in danger if it is not in good shape. The speaker at our beginning rally before the march chided us for being spiritually flabby, essentially. I took exception since I was, after all, in attendance. But she knew that one protest does not make a transformation. Sociopaths never rest. For instance, last week the White House hired Kurt Olsen, the Stop the Steal lawyer, to investigate the 2020 election (!). The resistance cannot rest, either.

It is possible that Hymenaeus and Alexander did not completely reject conscience out of some evil agency. They may have been born without the capacity to have a conscience because of amygdala defects, or their environment was so traumatizing it made them shameless in order to survive — and ASPD appears to be heritable, too.

When Paul “turned them over to Satan” he did not condemn them to hell. He just recognized their intractability. They needed something more than regular church community to teach them.

The word blaspheme, here and many places in the New Testament,  is a direct transliteration from Greek. It means slander, defamation, or reviling, especially against God, and includes speech that defames others. Hymenaeus and Alexander were not just impious, they were bond breakers, dividers, loveless.

Now the Spirit expressly says that in later times some will renounce the faith by paying attention to deceitful spirits and teachings of demons, through the hypocrisy of liars whose consciences are seared with a hot iron. (4:1-2)

When the Spirit “expressly says” something we primarily hear it with the seventh sense, which is the main reason we should keep it in shape. The message is mainly tested in community, which is why we need to stay connected to discerning believers. That sense can be dulled. A conscience can even be cauterized so it becomes impermeable to grace, joy and love.

Lies are the poison of conscience. Donald Trump’s lies have their own Wikipedia page. They are the main tool of sociopaths who only care about “winning.” Jesus calls liars children of the devil. The capacity of A.I. and our media in general to spread lies is breathtaking. Hopefully you have some children whose consciences are not seared who can build a new society in the wild years ahead.

If you feel like you must be living in the “later times,” you might be right. Pundits, protesters, prophets and preachers are working overtime to stand against the present “hypocrisy of liars whose consciences are seared with a hot iron.” I thank God for that. We need all the help we can get. Because, as Paul teaches Timothy, having a living relationship with God, which keeps our consciences soft and clear, is the daily, fundamental step, not just in our self-care but in the formation of a society worth living in.

Before the foundation of the world: Ezekiel and Ephesians

Ezekiel is told to prophesy to the false prophets:
Have ye not seen a vain vision,
and have ye not spoken a lying divination, whereas ye say,
“The Lord saith it;” albeit I have not spoken?
Therefore, thus saith the Lord God;
“Because ye have spoken vanity, and seen lies,
therefore, behold, I am against you,” saith the Lord…
“They have seduced my people, saying,
‘Peace;’ and there was no peace;
and one built up a wall, and, lo,
others daubed it with untampered mortar…
I will break down the wall…
So that the foundation thereof will be discovered.”  (Chap 13)

I trust you Lord.
And over and over and over
your people have had to trust you,
as a Trump builds a wobbling wall
and a Charlie Kirk daubs it,
and a seduced youth kills him with
prophecy-etched bullets,
and Seoul writhes with hundreds in the streets.

I trust you Lord,
knowing I see the unseen
and am bound to wonder if I believe lies
or can rely on the eyes of my heart,
knowing I will face the same questions tomorrow
as the Epstein files are revealed,
as Peter Thiel and Opus Dei are unmasked,
as the schemes of the oligarchs come to light,
and stolen elections are finally proven falsified.

I trust you Lord
like I’m floating in comforting pools of water,
pulled under the limits of my waking understanding.
You are deep in me and a turn away from us all.
You will not surrender your Creation to evil
but proclaim your loves in voice and vision,
though the powerful eat the poor and call it freedom
and Stephen Miller screams lies from our screens,
and bigots call for the purity of “whiteness.”

I trust you, Lord.
You will be heard and known and honored.
We are listening and living to stand with you,
to feel our feet on the foundation beneath,
deep under the false foundation of the wobbling wall
ready to fall on the deluded and sighted alike.
We are who you chose before the foundation of the world,
the loved ones destined for the riches of grace in Jesus.