in these times

it's tempting to let the political storms rage on their own, to stay out of it, to let the crazies tire themselves before moving on.
so many of them are fronts to sow discord, to pit us against one another, to generate enough smoke that what really matters can be obscured.
sunday mornings honor thoughtfulness, whether you find your inspiration in scripture or newspapers, literature or film. it's when i most miss the kinds of shaggy conversations my parents excelled at, both natural and lifelong teachers who valued rhetoric and logic, poetry and passion, and could talk for hours about the lessons of history and civilization.

if latin -- which was called a "dead language" before its surprise return to high schools -- and the proudly low-tech game of chess can be rediscovered by the young, is it crazy to hope that debate teams could return as well? we have never needed them more, to bring back the art of weighing ideas on their merits, to understand that moral high ground is not the same as real estate. it does not belong to whoever shouts the loudest or pays the most. everything isn't relative.
two of the voices i came across this morning said what i was thinking far more persuasively than i could. i'm grateful for their voices.

opinionator.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/08/20/real-americans-please-stand-up/?src=me&ref=homepage

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yPPxBrtrH1c&feature=player_embedded

happy anniversary, mom and dad

In New York City on this day in 1951, my parents walked down the aisle at St. Thomas More cathedral in Manhattan as husband and wife. She'd just turned 24; he would be 26 in four days.
By today's standards, the wedding was small -- one maid of honor, one best man.
The cake was tiny. Guests look crowded into three long tables.
The reception appears to be in a hotel, but which one isn't clear. If I remembered to ask, the answer didn't stick.
What did was the faith and hope that carried them that day, that danced them around a banquet hall, that kept each one reaching for the other's hand.
Their joy streams forth from the grainy black-and-whites. They cannot know their shared life will eventually bring six children in 10 years, work they love and challenges they struggle to meet, an illness they cannot beat. Or which things will strengthen their bond, which nearly break it.
All that's certain is the word inscribed inside their wedding bands along with the date: Caritas.
Greek for love -- the selfless kind, the way God loves, the way we strive to love one another -- it was their guiding star, their anchor in stormy times, their rock.
Wherever they are now, the next world or someplace I can't imagine, I like to think of them as they were 59 years ago today. Their faces so innocent and beautiful, so glazed with love.