Thursday, December 20, 2012

creative solutions and mental health


In her response to the shootings at Sandy Hook, titled, "There's Little We Can Do To Prevent Another Massacre," Megan McArdle took a fatalistic approach.  She stopped short of the Ecclesiastes approach, that “meaningless, meaningless, everything is meaningless under the sun.”  “Pointless, pointless,” would be a better summary.

She addressed the major areas of reform that have been discussed in the aftermath of Newtown:  gun control, civic religion, mental health, and media coverage.  She decides that, from a policy standpoint, there was nothing in these areas that we could have done that would have changed the outcome, short of banning all guns, which she points out will never happen.

She has received criticism for her ending--that the best thing would have been to teach the children to ignore their flight instinct and rush the shooter.  Perhaps that could be an effective approach from an older crowd.  

I mostly found her discussion to be interesting and engaging.  More than anything else I've read, she grasps the overall complexity of the ills that lead to an incident like this.  I was taking Sociology 100 when Heath High School shooting happened.  My professor warned us that the media would take a monocausal approach--that there would be a rush to reduce the incident to a single cause.

Still, while McArdle was able to grasp that there are a lot of issues, and that they aren't easy to solve, that difficulty took her to a place where she decided not to even try.  I think her discussion on mental health is a good illustration of how she got to that point.  She says:  

An affluent resident of an upper middle class town, Lanza had exactly the kind of resources that you would want for taking care of a kid with these kinds of problems.  His parents had all the money he needed to get him help, and his school did everything they could to help him cope, according to the Wall Stret Journal: "Not long into his freshman year, Adam Lanza caught the attention of Newtown High School staff members, who assigned him a high-school psychologist, while teachers, counselors and security officers helped monitor the skinny, socially awkward teen, according to a former school official. 

The problem in her analysis of the issue is that there are only two choices:  the school psychologist or institutionalization.  The school psychologist didn’t work, and nobody likes to be institutionalized, so that leaves us with no possibilities. 

The problem is this:  while these may be the two most obvious choices, they are not the only choices. 

If the two options don’t work, we don’t give up.  We seek out a third.

The obvious choices are, of course, the easiest.  Coming up with options in between can take some time, effort, creativity, and dialogue.  Put another way, problem solving takes some effort.  But, it’s possible.

I’m reminded of an essay written by Malcolm Gladwell for the New Yorker that was published in his book of essays, “What the Dog Saw.”  The essay is called "Million DollarMurray."  Murray was a homeless man in Reno, NV.  Studies of homeless shelters have found that most people stay only one or two nights.  People who stay on the streets longer than that tend to have mental illness or addiction issues. 

Murray fit into that category.  His struggles with alcohol kept him on the streets and in bad health.  However, when he was in a supervised treatment program, he did very well.  He was able to hold a job as a cook.  But, when he would graduate from the programs and was unsupervised, he would relapse, and soon be back on the street.  All to a great cost to society:

The first of those people was Murray Barr, and Johns and O'Bryan realized that if you totted up all his hospital bills for the ten years that he had been on the streets—as well as substance-abuse-treatment costs, doctors' fees, and other expenses—Murray Barr probably ran up a medical bill as large as anyone in the state of Nevada."It cost us one million dollars not to do something about Murray," O'Bryan said.

So, to keep Murray on the street, it cost a million dollars.  What if we paid for an apartment and a staff to treat him? 

The cost of services comes to about ten thousand dollars per homeless client per year. An efficiency apartment in Denver averages $376 a month, or just over forty-five hundred a year, which means that you can house and care for a chronically homeless person for at most fifteen thousand dollars, or about a third of what he or she would cost on the street. The idea is that once the people in the program get stabilized they will find jobs, and start to pick up more and more of their own rent, which would bring someone's annual cost to the program closer to six thousand dollars.

In essence, it’s cheaper to rent him an apartment and hire a nurse or social worker to keep track of him than it is to leave him on the street.  Of course, this isn’t a perfect solution, as Gladwell points out:

The reality, of course, is hardly that neat and tidy. The idea that the very sickest and most troubled of the homeless can be stabilized and eventually employed is only a hope. Some of them plainly won't be able to get there: these are, after all, hard cases.

He lists some other issues with the program.  It’s not perfect, but it has been effective in some of the cities that have tried it out.  Now, this is about helping the homeless, but could it have a broader application.

I’m not saying this is the solution, but it is a third option.  It’s more intensive than session with a therapist, but with more freedom than institutionalization.  More to the point though, is that if there is a third option, then there is likely a fourth option, a fifth, perhaps even many possible solutions.  And each one individually may be imperfect, but perhaps one solution can fill in the gaps of another. 




Wednesday, December 19, 2012

what do we do with westboro

Use your Linda Richman voice when reading this:

Westboro Baptist Church is neither in Westboro, nor Baptist, nor a church.  Discuss.

Okay, so it is in Westboro in Topeka, KS.  But, on the other two points, the Baptists kicked them out, so they are not baptist.  As to the question, "are they a church," my inclination is to answer "no," but I suppose I don't have the authority to make that determination.  That said, I don't have to call them a church, so the above sentence is the last time I will refer to them as such.  So, from here on, I'll just refer to them as "Westboro," (apologies to those who live in Westboro).

Of course it doesn't matter if they are a church or not.  What matters is hat what they stand for is wrong, and how they go about it as wrong.  I first heard about them several years ago, and checked out their website.  What I found deeply disturbed me.  Since then, there have been times due to incidents where I've been tempted to drop by the site and check up on them, but I decided that it would be best to just ignore them.

For most people, reaction to Westboro tends to be visceral:  anger, hatred, and fantasies of violence.  As fun as that sounds, they feed on that.  Their whole religious framework is based on hatred.

That seems so odd to me.  But, on Monday, I dropped by their website again.  I'm headed to Connecticut in a few days to spend Christmas with my in-laws.  And, I heard that Westboro was going to be picketing, and I thought I've got to do something.  What, I don't know?  But something.  

So I went to check their picket schedule.  Connecticut wasn't on the schedule, but I got to browsing around.  It's all about hate.  They even have a list of verses about God's hatred.  It's 8 verses.  Seriously, their entire theological framework is built on 8 verses.  Only one is in the New Testament, and it's Paul quoting the Old Testament (this is part of why I don't consider them a church.  There is no Jesus whatsoever).

The difficulty in dealing with Westboro is that most reactions either have no effect or actually play right into their hands.  Reacting in anger is what they want.  Hating them is their religion.  If you disagree with them, you've proved them right.  Realizing this, I've wondered about responding in love . . . giving them them hot chocolate during a cold protest, that sort of thing.  Some churches take that approach.  Maybe sending a lot of kindness their way may soften some of them at some point, but I think most of that just bounces off of them.

It's attention that they crave.  So, let's just ignore them, and they'll go away.  That's the approach most of us took.  Even the Topeka media started ignoring them.  And it was working.  But they came up with a plan, a way that we could not ignore them.  

They started picketing funerals.

Jesus said, in Matthew 5:
4Blessed are those who mourn,
for they will be comforted.
This is another reason they are not a church.  Jesus comforts those who mourn.  Westboro taunts those who mourn.  This is why, for those of us who follow Christ, we can not ignore them.  This is why all of us, regardless of who we follow will not ignore them.

Which is actually quite ironic.  Westboro realizes this, which is why they picket the funerals.  They prey on our decency.  It's ironic because supposedly it is our depravity that they are protesting. In their view, we have gotten so bad that every tragedy is a judgement of God.  There is no talk of love or redemption because it's too late.  There is nothing to redeem.

But, they clearly don't really believe this, because it is our goodness they are using to get our attention.  And it's our attention that they want.  Some even speculate that it's just a money making scheme:  a family of lawyers hoping to get punched so that they can sue.

Either way, they are winning, because we have to respond.  We must comfort those who mourn.  There have been some cool responses:  The Texas A&M students forming a wall that couldn't be passed, the Illinois radio station that gave them 2 hours of airtime if they wouldn't protest the memorial for the NIU shootings.

These are great and these are creative.  But what if we came up with something that could be replicated everywhere, that wouldn't play into their game.  No anger, no violence, no attention.

Tuesday, December 18, 2012

honest question

"And to get to where that we have to abandon bedrock moral truths, then we ask, 'Well, where was God?' And I respond that, as I see it, we've escorted Him right out of our culture and we've marched Him off the public square and then we express our surprise that a culture without Him actually reflects what it's become."
--Mike Huckabee, in response to the Newtown shooting.
On Facebook, I've seen many people who I respect agree with Mr. Huckabee on this.  Here is my question:

Today, I woke up.  I read the Bible.  I quoted and alluded to the Bible on Facebook and this blog.  I prayed.  I went to my job as a campus minister.  On Sunday, I let people in singing praise songs.  I read from John 1.  I listened to Christmas music on the radio.  I bought Christmas presents.  I have friends who do all of these things too.

My question, and I ask this without any sarcasm or criticism, is what does it mean that "we've escorted Him right out of our culture and we've marched Him off the public square?"

I have an idea of what is meant by that.  And I want to explore this in an upcoming blog post.  But, I don't fully understand what is meant by this, in that I don't feel any infringement on my faith.

Also, for those of you who disagree with Mr. Huckabee, don't comment on this post.  This is about research.  There will be a later thread for discussion.

the God who was not there

Mike Huckabee, Bryan Fischer, and James Dobson (among others) have spoken in error. Their mistake isn't a new one, though, it's really quite old. Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar all made the same mistake. As their friend, Job, suffered, they told him that he must have done something that lead to this tragedy.  Huckabee and Fischer have told us the same thing.

The point of the book of Job is that all six men are wrong about this.

I've been hanging on to this rant for a few days now.  Some of that has been to gather my thoughts, but mostly it was due to the fact that the people who have linked to these guys are good people who have done so in an attempt to make sense of something that makes absolutely no sense at all.  And I think it's appropriate to allow people to work their way through the grieving process.

In the midst of all of that, people have said things that I disagree with (we need more guns), things that I agree with (we need to do a better job addressing mental health), things that I sort of but don't fully agree with (it's the media's fault due to the way they cover these things) and things that I'm not sure about (we need fewer guns).  And in all of these things, I'm fine with them being expressed, agree or disagree, and even too soon or not soon enough.

The notion that God was not present on Friday, however, is one that I'm not fine with.  And that it was our fault that those kids were killed.

The world is a messed up place.  We all get that.  It's part of what Christians believe.  And it's hard to reconcile with the fact that our God is perfect, all-powerful, all-knowing, all-present, and loving.  If God really cares, and really has the power to stop such things, why doesn't He?  That's a question that the Christians, the Jews, the spiritual-but-not-religious, the atheists, and people who don't fit neatly into any category have wrestled with for ages.  It's such a complicated question that it gets it's own seminary word--"theodicy."  Theodicy, which comes from the Greek words for "god" and "justice," is also called "the problem of evil" or the problem of suffering.

If God can stop something like what happened at Sandy Hook, then surely He would, unless He has a reason not to.

Eliphaz, Bildad, Zophar, Huckabee, Dobson, and Fischer all take this approach to theodicy.  If the blame can't lie with God, then it must lie with us.  Of course, the story that Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar find themselves in rejects that solution.  Instead, it's solution is, well, it doesn't really give an answer as to "why."

The question of "why" is of course appropriate.  Humans have a need to understand and to search for understanding.  It's who we are.  But, as slacktivist points out, the book of Job ends in a stalemate:  Job tells God that he doesn't understand people, and God points out that people can't fully understand Him.  Stalemate.

The point of Job isn't "why did Job suffer," but that Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar were not in a position to speak about God's motivation.   And neither are Huckabee, Dobson, or Fischer, or you or me.

This line of reasoning also troubles me because it removes "Emmanuel" from the mix, "God with us."  Or, as me friend Keith put it on facebook:
Believe what you want to believe. But the story of Jesus on the cross suggests that Christians should be saying that God is present precisely in the places where no one would believe God to be present.
Or, to paraphrase God in Job, "Just because you don't understand how My presence is manifested doesn't mean that I wasn't present."  Emmanuel is the answer to the stalemate in Job.  Or, as slacktivist put it:
When Job learned that his children had died, he wept.  God did not weep.
Jesus wept.
God did not weep, but "God with us" did weep.  And I think that's the cruelest part of the God that Huckabee, Dobson, and Fischer are trying to explain.  Their God is not the God in John 11, the one who wept at the death of his friend.  Their God is the God in the Wallflowers song, "God says nothing back:"
God says nothing back but
"I told you so."
"I told you so."

I told you so.  If you had only had prayers in school, or if you had only said "merry Christmas" more, of if you had kept that plaque with the 10 commandments, then none of this would not have happened. I told you so.

God is not a vampire.  He doesn't have to be invited.

He is here.  God with us.  Emmanuel.  And he weeps with us.