Civility Begins at Home

Our last night in Palm Springs was perfect.  The super moon brightened the whole resort as we took our place in the hot tub along with two guys from Seattle we had spoken with briefly earlier in the day.  Since Lowell is from Bellingham, Washington they had much in common.

One was a police office and the other was a realtor and when the conversation turned to politics, as it had often since the last election, I was careful to hear them out to see where they were on the political spectrum. 

Doing some audience analysis before you open up your yap is something I learned in Communication 101.  Admittedly I don’t often practice this theory in my daily life but I have heard of it.

Once we discovered that our new friends from Seattle were as despondent as we were over the election results we felt free to say how we really felt.  Or, in other words, we had a gripe session.

Then two guys from Reno appeared and asked if they could join us.   We stupidly said yes.
 
One worked for the state of Nevada and the other one worked on my nerves.

They had overheard what we had been talking about and quickly dominated the conversation with one far out speculation after another.

“Could Mr. Trump be impeached before he took office?” No. 
“How about indited for the Trump University business?” Yes.
“If he was indited could he be kept from assuming the presidency.” Not sure, I said.
“What about abolishing the Electoral College?”  Twelfth amendment to the Constitution.  Possible but amending the Constitution takes time.
“What about if a majority of the electors voted for Secretary Clinton and not for Mr. Trump.”  “Wow! I’m not sure I would like to participate that kind of Constitutional Crises.” I replied.

You have all been in conversations like this.  Things are going great and then someone shows up and sucks the life right out of the occasion.

“Where is all this coming from?” I asked.

You have probably already guessed their response: “From the internet.”

I felt Lowell grab me before I could throw my head back and scream, “Oh for the love of God...”  Thankfully I didn’t then but it was only a matter of time.

They had no television and got all their news from the internet. 

Apparently they did miss the post from President Lincoln (Or was it Albert Einstein?) who recently reminded his friends, “don’t believe everything you read on the internet.”

They did and concluded, in their words, that “Donald Trump is a real bastard.”

“Hey! Hey! Hey!” I said trying to lighten things up. “I’m a real bastard and I resent those remarks!  Besides, I’ve never seen him at any of the meetings.”

It may have been my friend Scott who wrote the line for me to use when somebody called me a bastard. “I am by birth but you sir seem to have made it your vocation.”

“That’s okay,” said the  Nevadian who was about to work my last nerve. “Jesus was a bastard.”

“Ahhhhh, not quite.” I replied through my teeth.

“Then who was his father?” he shot back.

I quoted Gabriel to Mary in Saint Luke’s gospel, “you will conceive and give birth to a son, and you are to call him Jesus."

“You still haven’t told me who Jesus father was.  Why isn’t he a bastard?”

The fellas from Seattle knew what I did for a living. 

The police officer had been raised a Lutheran. His husband, the relator’s faith was undisclosed but he did tell the story of his father who was such a crack shot during the Vietnam war that he became a sniper.  When his commander’s told him to pick off anybody - men, women, children - and not specific targets he refused.  They didn’t discharge him but in post-mortem “Hacksaw Ridge” fashion they put him in charge of placing the remains of the dead into body bags.  That he did that gruesome job until he was discharged honorably says something about his character.

They visibly winced and Lowell was too late to grab me before I unleashed my linguistic sword and performed an intellectual lobotomy on the wise ass inquirer.

“Listen pal.” (When I use the word pal it is always best to duck out of the way of the incoming verbal Katyusha Rocket!) “I spent thirty-two years as a Lutheran Pastor and have an earned doctorate.  I would gladly be willing to explain to you in great detail the doctrine of the incarnation if I thought you would listen or had the ability to understand.  But I am warning you! Don’t challenge me unarmed.”

“You’re a preacher?” he said in amazement but not amusement.

His partner said something about him being a political science major who loved to get into debates with people.  Clearly he knew that his partner had muddied the waters of not only the hot tub but poured ice on any further socializing.

I believe I said something about how he should be more careful about where and with whom he is debating.  They bid us a quick good night and I felt terrible.  What would the other guys think? 

I apologized for my behavior.  I told them I really wasn’t like that.  Or, at least, I tried not to be.  I told them that I didn’t want them to think that all pastors are jerks.  Or, at least as big of a jerk as I felt I had been.

The policeman said that if he were filing a report he would have called it a provoked stabbing in self-defense.

I slunk back to the room muttering.  “How can somebody say something that stupid in front of people he didn’t know?  How could anybody want to turn a perfectly lovely evening into a debating society? How could anybody be so disrespectful of even the idea that there might be people of faith around to even think of calling Christ’s parentage into question using the word ‘bastard?’”

Lowell was softly singing “Let it go! Let it go! Let it go!”

I was having an attack of l'esprit d'escalier.  It is a French term that literally means “wit at the bottom of the stairs” and refers to the clever retort you should have said to a rude guest during the party but only thought of long afterwards when you were heading upstairs to bed.

What I should have said was.  “I hope you are kidding.  And even if you aren’t please remember that Jesus is a person that many of us love and everybody respects.  Most of us are trying as best we can to live our lives based upon his teaching.  Many of us have given our lives to trying to serve him in response to the grace revealed in him.”

I didn’t say any of that to him.  He and his partner chose to sit at a separate table from the rest of the group the next morning.  I followed Lowell’s advise and “let it go.”

Here though is what I have learned from that heated little exchange and my Facebook posts from the last weeks.

First, people on both side of the election debate have been working my frayed nerves with countless posts about the election and how evil the other candidates are. Trump supporters saying things about Clinton and Clinton supporters saying things about Trump. 

Somehow even President George W. Bush has been mentioned and he hasn’t been in office for the last eight years.  As far as I can tell he is still being blamed for everything from the decrease in Sunday School attendance to the heart break of Psoriasis.  Stop it!  Haven’t we all had enough?

Second, know that unless your post comes from a reputable news source I am not going to read it.  I will read stuff that comes from FOX and MSNBC because I know where each are coming from, however, I will look very carefully at the attribution and if I see that it is coming from www.Petersplumbingandpunditry.com I’m not clicking.

Third, I am trying to be more loving toward those people like the guy in the hot tub who pride themselves on being argumentative but give yourself and the rest of us a break. Dial it back with friends and don’t turn it on at all among strangers.

Finally, I’m telling you this because I am trying to follow my own advice and love you.  Now, for the love of God, stop making it so freaking difficult.