Word for Word
There was a time when I was paid by either the word or the inch. A magazine would assign a 500-word story on a particular topic, or the newspaper editor would ask for six-inches of one-column copy to fill a hole on deadline.
In that time I learned to measure words.
There is an economy to it. Either way, the 200 or so words that might fit into 10 column-inches of 24-pica type needs to start and end, the story developing at a pace dictated by available space.
A newspaper writer in the last century had a minute or less to capture a reader’s attention or lose him – less than 200 words of storytelling.
One can only image the attention span of today’s readers with their many digital distractions and ubiquitous sources of word noise.
It is naturally human behavior to observe the rules of supply and demand. Therefore, words are now cheap. The most valuable words are the ones in short supply.
The prologue to John’s Gospel has the dual caveat of focusing on the singular “Word” and employing a strict economy of words, about 300 of them. The writer borrows words from the first line of Genesis to open the work: “In the beginning was the Word.” We learn that the “the Word was God,” that he came to make people children of God, that the world didn’t recognize him, and “A man came, sent by God… to bear witness” to the Word.
All of human history pivots on the appearance in the desert of John the Baptist and his poetic witness: “He who comes after me has passed ahead of me because he existed before me.”
The whole point of our existence and the definition of grace and truth are explained in as many words as this blog entry, if we could only pay attention.
The Weatherman
Our fascination with the current weather, the forecast and the impact of any particular weather event of the day is more than a convenient and safe topic of casual conversation.
We seem to crave validation for the heat or the cold or the humidity or the wind. Some of us just want to share our misery or joy or confusion or surprise. And nearly always, we speculate about what we’ve learned of the weather tomorrow and the next day and the weekend after that.
One of the unintended but fortunate experiences of my liberal arts education was exposure to a course on meteorology taught by a young Ph.D who had just founded AccuWeather. One day, I suppose it was near the end of the term, he was recounting all the variables and the data and the devices used to forecast the weather to make the point I remember over 40 years later.
He told the class to consider all the tools and experience meteorologists apply to the science, and make a guess as to the accuracy of weather forecasting. I don’t recall the perfunctory guesses, but Dr. Joel Myers opened a door to the outside and scanned the sky before resuming the lecture. “I am nearly 100 percent certain that for the next 10 minutes, it will be sunny and pleasant with light winds,” he said, or something to that effect.
I recall that experience when an idle query about tomorrow’s weather turns into a longer conversation. It’s meant to lower expectations about the forecast. Nature often defies instruments. Unexpected and record-setting changes in the weather continue to disrupt and take lives; lingering heat and cold waves elude predictions.
Still, we expect we can know the future and are darn sad or happy or upset or making-the-most-of-it when the weatherman is wrong again.
The point of the long-ago lecture has evolved with age and faith.
It is no longer a curse on the meteorologist who, like the economist and the pollster, is derided when forecasts are wrong. The point is that we cannot and never will know the future with certainty. Nature and history relentlessly remind us of it.
24/7
Some knucklehead accidently flew into the World Trade Center.
That was the thought as we watched the replay on a conference room television. But we had work to do and a meeting down county. As we left, we heard about a second plane hitting the towers. An hour more and we were called back to the courthouse to deal with a national emergency.
I was public information officer for the county at the time. I spent the next three or four days in the county emergency management center watching simultaneous news broadcasts on screens competing for attention. We dialed in to preparedness teleconferences with regional first responders. The TV was on went I went home, too, and I continued to scan for understanding of what triggered the Sept. 11, 2001 attacks, wondering what else the terrorists had in mind.
The 24-hour news cycle blossomed.
There are slow news days, as it’s said in the journalism business, but there remains a 24-hour news cycle. It must be filled with “content” if not news. Excuse us if we become confused.
It isn’t helping that social media feeds the appetite for more information, much of it trivial. Little changed since 9/11 except that we know more about things we might think we should know about, seeking some precarious insight into things we don’t fully understand.
There are few consensus solutions to the problems bombarding us, only worry about what comes next. In our progressive leap to harness what might be known, we don’t look back to what is known.
“…do not be anxious about tomorrow,” Jesus said. “Let the day’s own trouble be sufficient for the day.” (Matthew 6:34)
Jesus makes this calming and rational statement near the start of his ministry, not long after proclaiming hope to all humanity: “…the kingdom of God is at hand.”
He is near – 24/7 – but He’s not getting much coverage.
Hate
“Hate has no home here” read the lawn signs. This is a peculiar, passive statement. Why not the more positive and affirming “Love lives here”?
We seem to like hate and conjure new categories for it, such as hate crimes. Are not all crimes hatred of a person, place, thing or idea?
The U.S. House of Representatives in the past joined the movement in a formal vote about hate. Its resolution “confronts the reality of anti-Semitism, Islamophobia, racism and other forms of bigotry” and lists many of them. Not much there about anti-Christian bias, however; no mention of intolerance of a Ten Commandments plaque, a Nativity scene, a memorial cross in an intersection, or a judge candidate who is a member of the Knights of Columbus.
Our popular songs and stories contend “love conquers all,” but hate is the trump card we play. We’ve forgotten the logic – Christian logic – behind one theory of love’s transcendence. That logic says those who speak well but without love are like a resounding gong or a clashing cymbal.
The logic is St. Paul’s (1 Corinthians 13:1-13), who we first meet in Scripture as a man preaching hate of Christians.
There is hope for us and the clashing cymbals of our day if we remember St. Paul’s admonition: Love is not pompous or rejoices in wrongs, also known as hate.
Practicing, Not Perfect 