Off topic: Beautiful children of Omaha

Ravings from an "Expert" Who Failed to Rate a Bush Chat Invite

George Bush wants to know why people don't like him. He wants to know what happened to his popularity, all his political capital. He's meeting with writers, historians, philosophers. But I've got an idea for him:

Meet with the people you're supposed to represent.

I'm sure that a roomful of people gathered at random would tell him a lot more than any collection of "experts."

But that would go against Bush's whole philosophy (and that of his Administration): people are sheep, easily led, dumb beasts who can't speak for themselves. Consider the run up to the war in Iraq: millions of people protested. They called for other solutions, begged not to start a war, asked for more inspections. Bush's response: Piss off, we've got a war to fight, whether you like it or not. At that point, enough people were afraid of terrorists that Bush could pretty much do whatever he wanted (and did). But that kind of fear is hard to maintain, even if the threat level never drops below "elevated."

But if he were to assemble a few groups of citizens he might hear what's really going on. And that's the danger. Presidents and elected officials of many levels don't really have to connect in any genuine way with their constituents. People talk about the bubble of Washington, a self-contained universe with its own set of agendas, topsy-turvy political ecologies and concentrations of power. It should be the most plugged-in kind of place, gaging the pulse of the nation and the world, tracking trends in the political landscape (at least).

But by many accounts, it's provincial, looking inward as much if not more than it looks outward, concerned with its own affairs more than those of whom it claims to speak and work for.

It's no surprise. Washington is a collection of organizations, agencies, departments, and branches, all of which exhibit the same basic tendency of its human progenitors--survival of self first. They don't about kitchen table issues in politics. This is more like "dinner table politics:" if I don't eat as much as I can, somebody else will, so better eat fast. My in-laws say you're either "the quick or the hungry."

If everything you do is reduced to how much you can gain for yourself in the budget process (if you're a government entity) or through earmarks and donations (if you're a non-profit), than that job of self-preservation becomes the priority.

It's like the way that the GOP had become so obviously enamored of merely gaining and holding power in Washington rather than actually governing. How else can we explain our lack of leadership in the areas of the climate change, education for all people, job creation for our changing economy, energy and our reliance on fossil fuels, global diplomacy, true electoral reform, health care for every citizen, etc.? So if George Bush wants to hear why he and his administration is on the outs with Americans, he should probably take a look at the above list. Then, combine that with the venality and self-serving power-mongering of himself and his cronies. Put it all together and you get the general measure of the sordid reign of King George. So where's not to like?

Remember the Sabbath?

I don't want to go to church. But I don't want to feel guilty about not going to church. Going to church, being with fellow Christians, should be like coming home, taking off your shoes, relaxing after a day at work and resting in their presence. Instead, I always feel unworthy of most of my fellow church-goers, like they are the modern-day equivalent of St. Pious or St. Applepie-us. I don't know my saints, clearly.

How do we get beyond feeling like a naughty child on Sunday mornings with the newspaper and coffee, kids playing nearby or downstairs, and NPR drifting in from the other room? How do we not think ourselves lapsed in ignoring our weekly obligations to God?

But does God really care if we are at church or home? Maybe it's that at church I actually spend a little time trying to plug into the divine presence, approach the mysterious, commune with the Creator with my peer communicants. At home, my prayers, if I make them, are individual, like diary entries, or a blog with only one reader. When praying, singing, or learning en masse, we become pilgrims together, heading toward the New Jerusalem.

So often, though, the cares of the day take over, the urgent but not important (as opposed to the important but not always apparently urgent work of God). I consider how distracting the kids really are at church, how hard it is to make my emotional pilgrimage. How I might help my wife around the house. How I really just want to see and hang out with them anyway.

I resist the need to see God at church, my cutting him out of other areas; but the other places, the kitchen, the basement, the back yard, don't necessarily seem imbued with his presence, so crowded as they often are by yelling kids or me and my yelling at the kids. Still, when the children playing together, side-by-side or with each other with their legos or tinker toys, I sometimes think that heaven has this kind of interplay of egos with each other in a genuine give and take. I just don't usually find it at church.