Depravity Today

I've heard Christians say that our world will grow increasingly evil until the time of Jesus's return, becoming more and more depraved.

And I've heard others say that Jesus will work through the church to improve the world until the time when He returns.

I'm not a scholar or a theologian; I suspect these two ideas have technical terms, but I don't even know those. I do know what I think and what I have thought. And until recently, I was of the opinion that our world must be growing increasingly evil.

Here is some evidence:

Recently a 101-year-old woman was mugged in a corridor of her apartment complex in New York City. The man hit her in the face multiple times and stole her purse. This elderly woman needed a walker to shuffle down the hallway. If this man wanted her purse that badly, did he really need to beat her to take it? Did he need to throw her down before he walked out the door? As if she were capable of chasing after him.

A security camera caught this coward on tape. And the video, I'm warning you, is disturbing. It's the kind of video that makes you feel hollow inside. For those interested in feeling hollow inside, I'm including the link below.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qx-4qesY1D4


The second piece of evidence for our world's increasing depravity centers around a 17-year-old girl from Minnesota. This girl's best friend was her dog. Was her dog. That is, until someone kidnapped (dognapped?) it. This girl posted missing signs, went door to door asking if anyone had seen her beloved pet, and repeatedly checked the local animal shelter.

Weeks later, this girl found a present gift-wrapped for her on the doorstep of the house she shares with her grandmother. Inside, she found the severed head of her dog, her "best friend." Also included in the box were pieces of Valentine's Day candy.

What kind of psycho cuts off a dog's head? What kind of sicko wraps it up (with Valentine's candy) and gives it to a girl who's already heartbroken?

For those interested, here is the article:

http://www.cnn.com/2007/US/03/15/dog.head.ap/index.html


Of the two, I think the second story is most disturbing. I can understand (without condoning) how a drug addict could be desperate enough to mug an old lady. Well, I can almost understand that. But I can't imagine anything (other than perhaps Satan himself) motivating someone to cut off a dog's head and gift wrap it for a seventeen-year-old girl.

Our newspapers contain disturbing headlines daily: another rapist, another brutal murder, another unthinkable act--sometimes things (gift-wrapping a dog's head, for example) too heinous even for Hollywood. Considering these daily reminders of the depraved state of our world, how could anyone suggest that the world isn't steadily becoming more and more evil?

Well, two weeks ago I wouldn't have said this, but I am suggesting, tentatively, that perhaps our world is improving. Here's why.

I've had the opportunity to see Amazing Grace twice. Once in November as part of a prescreening, and again two weekends ago. Amazing Grace, in my opinion, is a pretty good movie, but one that has been poorly marketed. The story does not focus on the classic hymn, though John Newton, the man who wrote the hymn, is a supporting character in the film. The story is about William Wilberforce and his quest to put an end to the English slave trade.

The story concludes with the abolition of the slave trade in 1807, exactly 2oo depraved years ago.

This movie and a newspaper article I discovered recently detail what the slave trade looked like. Again, I'm going to provide a link. Though I will give you enough information, I think, without it.

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20070317/ap_on_re_eu/slavery_s_brokers


200 years ago, slaves were packed into English ships sailing for the West Indies. They were chained and shackled, confined in spaces the size of coffins (narrow, unpadded coffins). Depending on the weather, their journey sometimes lasted for 6 weeks. 6 weeks, or a month and a half, chained in a box. During the journey, these stuffy confines filled with human waste and blood.

Dysentary, among other diseases, was rampant on these ships. To hide the slaves' dysentary from prospective buyers, the traders shoved knotted cords into their anuses. Or into their ani, if you prefer. (Check it; it's legit.)

And when disease was too overwhelming, one ship chose to do this (quoting from the article by Robert Barr, AP):

"One of the worst atrocities was aboard the Liverpool slave ship Zong, which was wracked with disease; Capt. Luke Collingwood ordered the crew to throw 133 sick slaves overboard, then tried to claim against insurance for 'loss of merchandise.'"

This anecdote shocked me more than either of the two recent crimes. I thought about how fragile I feel, how helpless, when I'm being attacked by a serious illness. And I imagined, at the height of my sickness, being hauled to the edge of the ship by my arms and ankles and hurled into the black sea--discarded like excess cargo. I thought about hitting the cold water (still in chains, I presume; unless the slave traders didn't want to lose their valuable shackles), and I wondered if I would even try to resurface. Would I have the heart to delay the inevitable?

And then I thought about the men tossing other men (and women) overboard. And I just can't fathom it. Didn't one of them look into their eyes? Didn't one of those men grasp an ankle, an arm, and think "This is human flesh."? Didn't one man, sometime before the 133 were sinking, say, "No, we can't do this!"

The answer is no. Or if one man spoke up, his voice wasn't loud enough. Because it still happened.

This story is just one among many, one example of the suffering inflicted upon slaves. And stories like these show that depravity is not new.


And Amazing Grace shows, in the diligent efforts of William Wilberforce, our ability to combat such depravity, to improve our world.

While one man might mug a 101-year-old woman, and another (probably a man) might decapitate a dog, at least our society demands justice. New Yorkers are anxious to find their mugger (he is suspected of mugging an 85-year-old woman, as well), and a $2500 reward has been offered for information about the dognapper in Minnesota. Whereas, a little over 200 years ago, after men had been thrown into the sea, their murderers tried to get insurance to reimburse them for the loss.

When attempting to assess our world's progressing or regressing morality, however, it would be erroneous to place slavery too emphatically in the "progressing" column. While the abolition of the slave trade and the eventual outlaw of slavery (in the US and elsewhere) were landmark events, our world currently contains more than 12 million slaves. (http://www.antislavery.org/2007/about.html)

Some reports state that there are more slaves now than any other time in human history.

Today's slaves might be treated better than the men and women who were packed on boats 200 years ago; I don't know. But slavery still exists, nonetheless. So maybe a good way to judge the moral direction of our world (even our nation) is to ask:

Do we care?

Do I?

-Thanks for reading

Raising My Neighbors' Kids

I love kids.

I like to make faces at them in restaurants, I like to hear them laughing, and I like to, whenever I can, make them smile. To make them smile, I have only one strategy: When I catch a child staring at me, I open my big eyes as wide as I can. Usually this makes them smile (Although, sometimes they cry). But I don't like to play peek-a-boo, or bulge my eyes, when the kid's parents are looking.

Why?

It's because even though I love kids, I know pedophiles do, too. And, as Hamlet would say, therein lies the rub.

My neighbors have two twin girls, towheaded blondes who are always grinning, probably either six or seven years old. Occasionally I stop by my apartment during my lunch break, and during these times I sometimes see these girls leaving with their school bags, presumably for a half-day of Kindergarten.

One day when they were waiting in an SUV, they banged on the window to get my attention as I walked past them. I turned to see them both waving enthusiastically, and I smiled and waved back. This is just one example; these two outgoing, little girls have never failed to greet me cheerfully in passing.

Today I was walking to the front door of my apartment complex (a clear glass door which provides a view of the stairs within). My hands were full and I was trying to wrestle my keys from my suddenly stubborn coat pocket. I wasn't succeeding.

Then, I heard one of the girls crying "I"ll get it" as they both bounded down the stairs to open the door for me. (Opening the front door to an apartment complex for a man who is essentially a stranger.) Their father, or the man who seems to take them to school, or wherever it is they go with their backpacks, was walking up the sidewalk behind me (I wonder if he would have bothered to come up the walk if I hadn't been there; or would he have allowed the girls to walk unaided to his waiting SUV?).

As the girls opened the door for me, I said thank you, and I think I smiled. But I tried not to meet their eyes. I felt like doing so would make me look suspicious, like maybe the father would think I'm a threat just because I smiled at his girls.

I could never harm a child, and I have no unhealthy interest in them whatsoever. I know this. But I'm not delusional enough to expect fathers I don't know to know this about me. And honestly, I'm not sure I want them to think the best of me, or any stranger.

It's sad that I shouldn't be friendly to kids I don't know (especially free-spirited, friendly girls who seem happy to see me). But yet, what kind of message would I send if I'm friendly? Would I be teaching the girls that strangers can be trusted, that strangers are safe?

I don't know.

Of course, I don't think I looked threatening today. Not in the daylight, wearing work clothes, with my arms bearing two bags of groceries.

But there are unfriendly strangers who can wear dress clothes, walk about in daylight, and, heck, even carry groceries. I think I would prefer that parents choose to distrust me. Because if people choose to trust everyone, it only takes one psycho to change their daughter's (or daughters') life/lives, and it only takes one psycho to end a life. So by trusting no strangers, as sad as that might be, wouldn't parents be more likely to protect their daughters?

I know this sounds cynical, this whole "trust no one" mentality. But if it were your child, or your twin little girls, would you risk it?

I know I would prefer to be able to smile at those girls (any kid, really--boy or girl), but I wonder, in the long run, if it's wise:

If I were especially evil, I could have scooped up some snow, packed it into airtight balls, and blasted both those girls in the face. And then I could have run away laughing, leaving those girls with a lasting impression that strangers are dangerous (or at least that this stranger is, this stranger whom they have been so friendly to in the past). And I think that memory, that impression, would last longer than the snow stinging their face.

But, maybe, just maybe, a smile could leave an impression that would last just as long.

And if so, which is better? A scowl that scares the children closer to those they know they can trust, or a smile that warms them to further interaction with strange men?

I don't have the answer. I do know I don't want to scowl. I do know there is something special, something almost sacred, about a friendly encounter with a total stranger. I do know I feel moved everytime I experience unexpected goodness while interacting with those I don't know.

But I don't know what's best for those girls. And I don't envy parents their task: teaching children to be wary of strangers without molding them in a cast of continual cynicism.

And children aren't influenced by family alone. They have teachers, bus drivers, and Sunday School teachers. And, well, neighbors.

And to best assist as my neighbors attempt to raise those little girls, should I smile or simply look away?

I don't know. But I'll probably take my chances and keep smiling.

-Thanks for reading.

Being Untouchable

"One cannot be betrayed if one has no people."
--Kobayashi in The Usual Suspects


I used to pride myself on my ability to seclude myself, to moderate emotion. I was proud of my control, my ability to withhold.

I was not a loner. I just made sure no one had easy access to me, to the emotions I kept so carefully incarcerated.

I wanted people to see me as hardened, calloused--manly. I wanted to be given a wide berth. I wanted strangers to look away from my stare. I especially didn't want to need anybody.

I wanted to be untouchable.


"No matter how alone you are, and how tricky and determined, don't you need one person to know?"
--Alice Munro, from "Pictures of the Ice"


Even as I sneered at people who were too quick to disclose, those who wanted to share everything with anyone who had two ears (or any other means of listening), I felt a faint longing for intimacy. Geuine intimacy. (Even now, I cringe as I write this because I still cling to the hologram I once maintained, that of the untouchable.) But I couldn't maintain it because I wasn't created to be isolated. No one is meant for isolation.

I began to discover this faint longing during my time at Indiana Wesleyan University, probably about the time I rededicated my life to Christ (and I don't think this is a coincidence). I had accepted Christ when I was young, but in January of 2004 I committed to do more than just be a "Christian." This time I wanted to actually live my life for Christ (which should be the foundation of the commitment in the first place).

And in order to live my life for Christ, I couldn't be detached, isolated...untouchable.

Interestingly, the more I sought God, and the more I sought Christian community, the less I wanted to be untouchable.
And now I want to touch lives; I want to encourage people, support them, listen when they need someone. And anyone who knows me knows I'm passionate about honesty--genuine, frank, confessional, vulnerable openness with those we love and trust. Obviously, these ideals cannot exist in seclusion.



"The person who tries to be alone will not succeed as a human being. His heart withers if it does not answer another heart. His mind shrinks away if he hears only the echoes of his own thoughts and finds no other inspiration."
--Pearl S. Buck


If Pearl S. Buck is right, if a "person who tries to be alone will not succeed as a human being," then I was failing at life. It can't get much worse than that, can it? Failing as a human being?

Maybe other avenues could have led me away from my emotional isolation. Maybe there are many viable processes that could have altered my mindset, but for me it was Jesus Christ who prompted me to lower my shield. And it was for this purpose: God wants to use me (He wants to use anyone who is willing to serve Him), but how could He use me to touch others when I kept everyone out of reach?

The result for me has been three things, in this order: I attained a sense of peace, became passionate, and discovered a purpose for my life.

And whether or not other routes could have prompted me to embrace openness, I know only Jesus Christ can provide the sort of freedom I've experienced. And He offers it to everyone (Sorry if I sound like a preacher, but it's too important not to mention).

Of course, Kobayashi (The Usual Suspects) is still right, "One cannot be betrayed if one has no people."

But without people, no matter how tricky and determined one might be, he will fail as a human being. And there is nothing manly about that.

-Thanks for reading.

Who's Responsible for Me?

On the morning of December 22nd, three days before Christmas, raindrops broke on my stooping head as I trudged briskly for my car. Once inside, just before I started the engine and shuttled myself to work, I saw something pinned underneath my windshield wiper. For once, it wasn't an advertisement. But I wish it had been. Showing through the plastic bag were the words, "I hit your car."
Further inspection of the note and my car revealed that a man named Scott had backed into me, busting my right rear taillight. I drove to work before calling the number Scott left on the paper sealed inside the plastic bag.
Scott, to his credit, was apologetic and eager to help. He wanted, however, to just buy me the necessary parts without going through insurance. I told him I wanted to turn it in. I had never been in an accident, but I thought this was the best policy.
To shorten the narrative, a detailed estimate revealed damages totalling $681. Slightly more than the cost of a taillight. I thought Scott would be angered, or at least frustrated, when I called to tell him the total. Scott never complained. I offered to get a second opinion, and he said, "No, if they say the rear panel's messed up, then I'm sure it is."
Scott filed the claim and I got everything taken care of without any problems.
I thanked him for being so helpful (Apparently, before he put the plastic bag-protected note on my car, he went door to door in my apartment complex to try and find the owner of the blue Eclipse with the Ohio State magnet on the back). And Scott said, "Hey, I would want somebody to do the same for me." And when I thanked him one last time, he said, "No problem. It's my pleasure."
"My pleasure"? Really? How exceptional...and absurd.

Some time after that minor incident in December, my roommate was involved in a much more serious traffic accident. While waiting to turn left, Chris (the roommate) was rear-ended by a woman who had been fishing her cell phone off the floor of her car. She was traveling roughly 45 miles per hour. Chris saw her at the last second and he hit his gas to decrease the impact for him and his passenger. The rear-ending car also tried to swerve, which only drove him into oncoming traffic--right into the path of an SUV. An SUV which was driven by a woman with no license and no insurance, mind you.
Chris's car was totaled and he had to go to the Emergency Room for sprained wrists and some significant contusions. Weeks later, the effects of the accident have not completely disappeared.
Unfortunately for Chris, Scott wasn't driving either of these vehicles. Instead, both women have tried to blame Chris for the accident. The rear-ender claimed Chris's headlights weren't on (nevermind the fact that pictures taken immediately afterward show them being on, and nevermind that she was coming from behind him and, had she been driving responsibly, his brake lights should have told her to slow the crap down), and the uninsured, unlicensed SUV driver claimed he turned in front of her.
So Chris has had to fight with the local police, who initially took the rear-ender's statement without taking his, and then cited him. He has had to negotiate with his insurance company. He sought legal consultation, and he will be expected to resolve this in court.
And all he did was try to turn left.
I'm sure Chris would love to have only gotten a smashed taillight, and I know he'd love it if either of the other drivers were willing to take responsibility for their mistakes. Then, instead of blaming him, they would apologize. And they'd offer to take care of the damage they caused. In fact, it would be "their pleasure" to do so.
But in our society, that doesn't happen. Unless you're lucky, like me, and you bump into (or get bumped into by) one of those rare Scott's out there. Those who know what it means to take responsibility for their actions, those who understand consequences and are even willing to seek them out when they know it's the right thing to do.
But all this left me wondering "What would I have done?" I wouldn't have claimed Chris's headlights weren't on, and I wouldn't have lied to the police (at least not in this stage of my life). But if I were Scott, would I have gone door to door in the rain looking for the owner of the damaged car? Would I have requested a plastic baggie from someone living in those apartments so I could scrawl my confession and cell phone number on a piece of paper that would be protected from the elements?
Or would I have written something sloppily, hoping and praying the rain would wash my number away? Would I have written anything at all, or just looked around to see if anyone noticed?
To answer all these questions, all I can say is "I don't know." I guess I don't know the depth of my integrity. I know it's easy to adopt the "well, if no one saw me do it..." mentality. It would also be easy to knock on a door, maybe two, and say, "Well, hey, I tried."
My insurance company told me I was lucky Scott left a note. Most people don't, they said.
Most people don't. But would I?
I think so. Now.

And maybe if the roles are ever reversed (God forbid), and someone thanks me for accepting my consequences, I can say, "Don't thank me. Thank Scott."
But I'm pretty certain I'll never say it's my pleasure. I still think that's absurd.

-Thanks for Reading

Getting Mugged in Downtown Chicago

Yes, I was a victim of a mugging. It happened last Saturday night in Chicago, right across from the Art Institute on Michigan Avenue. Barbie (my girlfriend) and I were walking back to my car, and I was carrying the leftovers from our dinner, when a man rushed at us from an alley and said, "Give me your money!"

Actually, no. I'm sorry. He said, "Gimme dat food!" The couple walking behind us quickly veered off and left us alone with our food-mugger (or food-jacker, if you prefer). He was clearly high, and possibly insane. I say that with no sentiment of superiority--only to inform the reader that he was, in fact, dangerous. A stoned homeless man with eyes that won't stop rotating erratically can't be expected to act rationally: Such a man needn't require a reason to stick a rusty letter opener between my ribs. And he was not only as high as the Sears Tower; he was also hungry.

But let me backtrack for a moment. After watching fireworks cascading over the Chicago River earlier that night, Barbie and I were walking to our restaurant when we met two other hungry homeless people. Lilly and her 7-year-old son Joshua were walking beside us when Lilly leaned over and said, "Will you buy us something to eat?" She was so direct, so desperate, I didn't know what to say.

"You want me to buy you some food," I nearly stammered.

"We're hongry," she said, in a voice that somehow sounded like she hadn't eaten in days.

To keep the story short, this is what we learned: Recently a fire broke out in Lilly and Joshua's apartment, and they lost everything. Lilly works with a temp service, but hasn't had work since Christmas. They were staying in a "sleep-only" shelter that wouldn't admit them until 9:00 PM, and they had been too late that night to receive food from a church that serves free dinners.

Barbie and I walked with Lilly and Joshua to Johnny Rocket's, the closest restaurant other than Starbuck's (which was out of the ready-made sandwiches Lilly first requested). We spent those four or five blocks getting to know them, learning that Joshua likes the Sox and basketball (but is not strong enough to get the ball to the rim yet), that their neighbor gave them winter coats to wear after the fire, and that Joshua tries to get his mom to obey the Walk/Don't Walk signals, screaming "Mom, Red!" when appropriate.

Just before entering Johnny Rocket's, Lilly asked if I would buy them another burger. For later, she said. This bothered me for some reason; it seemed ungrateful, perhaps. But then again, maybe she was being a good mother, thinking about her son's needs and her current inability to meet them. (I would give her $20 once inside, and it wasn't until the next day that I realized $20 would buy food for a week at a grocery store.) Before leaving, Barbie hugged Lilly and told her we would be praying for them. I shook Joshua's freezing hand and told him he should stick them under the hand dryer in the restroom. And as the two of them headed into their respective restrooms to wash their hands, Barbie and I left.

Barbie and I had a nice dinner (it had to have been fairly nice or there wouldn't have been leftovers. When I leave Long John Silvers, I usually don't need anything boxed up.), and were full when we left the restaurant. As we were walking, I told her that, after helping Lilly and Joshua, I felt even less inclined to help anyone else. And that was still my attitude when the food-mugger accosted us just minutes later.

This man, our mugger, looked awful. He told us he had pneumonia and had just gotten out of the hospital. He said he was starving. I asked him his name, and he told me it was Ugly. After pressing him for a real name, he said Ugly Toad. I told him I wanted to pray for him, and I asked if God would know who Ugly Toad was. He said yes, though he would have said yes to anything if he thought food would follow. He also said he had five children, and I encouraged him to take them to church on Sunday (I just wanted to turn this into a minnistry opportunity somehow, and I really wasn't sure what to say). He said he always does (and maybe he was telling the truth...maybe). Then I gave him my leftovers.

When I reached for the leftovers in my bag, Ugly Toad's eyes lit up like the fireworks Barbie and I had seen earlier that night. He, too, was extremely "hongry."

Shrimp Scampi. That's what he got. Half-eaten Shrimp Scampi over noodles. I wondered later if he ate it with his cold, dirty hands. Did he duck into the alley right there? How often had he eaten shrimp in his lifetime? Did he enjoy it? Would he have prefferred the Miso Glazed Mahi that had tempted me so?

But the main question I asked myself was "Did I do the right thing?" Did I help these people: Lilly, Joshua, Ugly Toad? Maybe I did, for one night, one meal. Maybe. But what about Sunday morning, afternoon, evening? The next day? Eternity? Will Lilly get her son to a free dinner in time, will she get a job soon? And an apartment? Will Ugly Toad confiscate the remnants of someone else's entree? Will he at least consider going to church? Taking his five kids?

I'll tell you what I should have done: Barbie and I should have eaten with Lilly and Joshua. When Jesus fed the "hongry," he and his disciples ate with them; He didn't duck out for a dinner party in the Upper Room. Maybe that's the solution. To relate to any of the needy people on the street, maybe I need only sit down with them. Show genuine concern, interest, a desire to help. What I provided, however, may have been seen only as an inability to say no.

And yet, since Saturday night, I've felt cheated somehow. I shouldn't, but I do. I can't help but suspect that I was wronged, tricked. It's stupid, I know; as if begging for an unnecessary meal might be a game a mother and her son play on Saturday nights. I think it was the encounter with Ugly Toad that bothered me most. Maybe because he demanded the food, told me I should give it to him. He even said, "Nobody has to see you give it to me." Like he thought that was my concern.

Maybe I feel like his demand robbed me of the chance to be altruistic, prevented me from being an urban Robin Hood taking care of the poor (though, I didn't experience the joy of stealing from any rich people). If this is true, if it's my pride making me feel wronged, then I'm not the only one. Lilly told us they had been asking everyone and no one would help them. Is it because after helping once (or twice) we feel like we've done enough? Is our pride making us feel victimized? Perhaps thinking "Why aren't other people helping? I've done my share."

Or is it because needs are so prevalent, and we've all said "no" so many times that it's become easy to ignore them, to walk right past Lilly, Josh, and even Ugly Toad? To just say, "Sorry" (without meaning it), and keep walking?

Maybe I'm struggling with this because I'm new here. People never asked me for food on the streets in rural Ohio. Maybe I'm just unpracticed when it comes to responding to the urban poor. In time, I'm sure I'll be used to them. Maybe I'll learn how to walk past them more efficiently, how to make a face that convincingly suggests "I'm sorry, I would help if I could," how to walk faster, speak sterner, clutch my leftovers tighter...and that's what I'm afraid of.

Even if I am somehow cheated out of a meal, I'll survive. It might even be good for me. I'm not sure those assurances are true for people like Lilly, little Joshua, and even Ugly Toad.

-Thanks for Reading.

Capitulating and Recanting

Okay, so I gave into the enormous pressure to join the blog movement. But before I write anything else, I need to begin by addressing something:

I may have offended some of you in the past by saying that blogging is self-serving, pretentious, self-righteous, a waste of time, an exercise in ostentatiousness, a glorified diary where people record their life's events hour by hour all the while assuming someone cares, an online grammatical and linguistic pandemic, and stupid.

Well, this is not an official recantation, because I think all of the above is still true; but, nonetheless, here I am:

www.tylercharles.blogspot.com

Feel free to hold all of that against me.

(A real post is forthcoming.)