Wasn't me.

Hearing the news, reading true-crime books and watching random true-crime shows, I find my faith in the American justice system eroding.  I understand that these things are sensationalized, tailored to an audience in order to maximize sales/ratings/etc.  It’s info-tainment.  But that doesn't mean juries aren't full of people too easily swayed by emotional appeals and scare tactics.  I think what worries me most is how readily people look past a lack of conclusive evidence and still convict.  And I've done jury duty.  'Beyond a reasonable doubt' means little to a lot of folks.  Here's hoping I never get accused of a crime I didn't commit.

O me of little faith.

I’m not a religious person.  Though I was raised in a Christian family, we weren’t at all religious, if that makes sense.  So my feelings on religion are complex, and maybe not very well-informed.  Still, I respect it and the strength it gives some, I think many of the lessons in the Bible are valuable, and I think it serves a purpose in contemporary society as it did in ancient days.  But it nonetheless makes me uncomfortable; I’m uncomfortable with the reliance on God, the Christian notion that everything is in God’s hands.  To be sure, faith can be a healthy, confirming thing.  However, relinquishing control and relying on an unseen higher power just seems convenient, idealistic and even naive.  I understand that individuals have different ideas and levels of faith (and that’s cool) but I just happen to be a nonbeliever, O me of little faith.  But I digress.  This isn’t about how I feel about God.

I volunteer at a hospital, a “Catholic health care ministry” as stated on its website.  Once a week, I assist a team of doctors and nurses in the care of sick and hurt people in a unit that’s one step removed from the ICU.  We mostly help older patients with acute respiratory and cardiac conditions.  The unit has 40 beds and someone dies there maybe once a week.  It’s a peculiar environment, one of hope and joy, pain and grief.  Some people get better and go home.  Some people don’t.

The other day in a waiting area, I saw a small group of adults, a family of siblings and spouses, I gathered.  I think they were either grieving or preparing to grieve, probably over an ill (or deceased) parent.  They had arranged some chairs in a circle and spoke softly, reassuring one another, putting hands on shoulders or knees.  They were well-dressed and appeared well-to-do.  What little speech I could make out was clear and measured; I judged them to be educated and mature.  I never really stopped to observe them but I passed them several times in the course of my shift, reading their body language and sensing their dismay.  On one such pass, as I was hustling a blood sample to the lab, I noticed that they’d been joined by a character who looked to be their complete opposite.

He carried with him a bulging black garbage bag.  He wore stained, cut-off jean shorts and a stretched-out Budweiser t-shirt.  His socks didn’t match and barely hung on to the skinny legs poking out of his beaten high-top sneakers, one of which was untied.  He was probably in his mid-forties but had the darkened, leathery skin of someone with a lengthy and heavy smoking habit.  Despite his messy dress, he was clean-shaven and had a neat, trim haircut.  On my way back from the lab, I saw that he had pulled up a chair and was leaning forward, speaking quickly and quietly, gesturing wildly and engaging the group with wide eyes. 

I have no way of knowing whether or not he knew these people or what, if any, connection he had to them or their situation.  Hell, I don’t even really know what brought them all to the hospital in the first place.  But I do know that things between them got pretty intense pretty fast.  As my shift wore on, I saw the man and the group just a handful more times.  And each time, the scene got progressively more compelling.   Eventually, I was able to imagine and piece together a possible narrative.  What follows is mostly supposition.* 

In surprisingly rapid fashion, the man who appeared to have no business with the group somehow got its full attention; the usual-looking people had made room in their circle for this unusual-looking man and now listened intently as he offered what seemed to be encouraging words.  In hushed, insistent tones, he spoke of God, Jesus and the Lord.  He spoke of faith, deliverance and salvation.  Growing increasingly agitated, he ministered manically to the group that had heretofore been upset, stricken and demoralized but had now perked up.  He rocked in his chair, busied his hands and restlessly shook a leg.  He seemed to take great pains to remain seated, like his chair was electrified.  Regardless, he came across as very focused, only breaking eye contact with individuals to tightly close his own eyes for periods.  The other people, for their part, were just as focused.   Entranced, as if under a spell, they nodded vigorously and voiced their approval with affirmations of “mm-hmm,” “uh-huh,” “that’s right,” and “amen.”  It was remarkable -- within 40 minutes, this wayfaring stranger had transformed a subdued, dejected group of people into an active, captivated congregation.  It appeared that he had not only gained their trust but that he had also gained their acceptance.  The cynic in me wondered, was he a fraud?  A travelling salesman peddling snake oil?  Or was he legitimately spiritual?  I’ll never know. 

The last I saw of them, they were all on their feet, still in a circle, holding hands and quaking as the man led them in earnest prayer.  They were a vocal, supportive flock and each person took a turn saying their own prayers.  Eyes closed, everyone swayed, listening with bowed heads, preaching with skyward faces.  No longer disconsolate, they clenched each other’s hands, strengthened by this man’s divine message and the sense of security it brought them.  I found the whole episode oddly momentous, awesome but bizarre.

Upon reflection, I think the man was a mere passerby who, seeing people he thought he could help, took it upon himself to spread the Word in their time of need.  Maybe he was an angel.  Like Clarence in It’s A Wonderful Life, he helped them see the light.  And really, it was a profound thing, at once creepy and beautiful, their sincere communion with God.  So even though I'm not religious, me of such little faith, I believe -- not in God but in the power of belief.  That a group of people could be so moved, so overcome with confidence and relief in the face of distress, is extraordinary to me.  I'm a skeptic after all, someone uncomfortable with the unquestioned devotion to an unseen God.  But as such, part of me was still comforted by the fact that something not only calmed these people and allayed their anxiety but also provided them the means to rise up and be brave.  So just because I don't share that same faith doesn’t make it any less significant.  Just because it seems convenient, idealistic and even naïve to me doesn’t make it so to them.  I think I knew that all along but this experience kind of crystallized it for me.  To each their own, I say.

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*I realize that it’s unfair to judge people and make assumptions.  But I would argue that it’s a natural human reaction to wonder what people are up to, to try to make sense of a curious situation.  I, like many others, am a people-watcher, not in a voyeuristic way but in an anthropological way.  People are strange, and I love that about them.

Voodoo Child

Life is hard.  If it wasn’t, it wouldn’t mean as much. 

Looking forward, I have a number of things on the horizon that will test me and try me.  The long road ahead is daunting, full of challenges and obstacles. We all face them but, it's too easy to feel intimidated. 

I liken my journey to climbing a mountain, a feat of strength, endurance, courage and resolve.  And listening to iTunes last night, shuffling all 8,600+ songs in my library, I got a stiff shot of confidence when JimJam Hendrix's 1968 tune was serendipitously selected and played back at me.  

I found myself stiffening, narrowing my eyes and pulling a mean face.  A sense of focus and determination came over me as I felt the tone of the song and the spirit of Jimi.  Like him, I'm standing next to a mountain, and I'll chop it down with the edge of my hand. 

Thassum badass sheet.  Bring it, future.