Olympic Dreams

My son, who is eight, told me the Olympics are about dreams coming true.
In our church sanctuary we have a mosaic map of the world so we can individually and discretely light candles and pray for the pain of the world. Last week I asked what people were going to pray for. Someone said, “The North and South Koreans marched into the opening ceremonies of the Olympics as one Korea. We can hope for peace."
I smiled, because I’m running for king of the cynics. You don’t have to tell me the Olympic ideals of internationalism and fairness have been hammered by cheating and racism and terrorists and boycotts. Still, there’s something in the air for those couple of weeks that smells like peace and possibility. It reminds me of what the nineteenth century newspaperman G.K. Chesterton called “the problem of pleasure”.
The problem of pleasure was his antithesis to the problem of pain. The non-theist asks, “If God is real, why is there pain in the world?” Chesterton turned the question around, asking, if there is no God, why pleasure? Why does food taste good, why does sex function as recreation and procreation, and why are humans among the few creatures who continue to play into adulthood?
The highest species of play revels in fairness and delights in the greatness of an opponent. Winning isn’t everything, the only thing, or even the most important thing. All the good coaches talk about the love of the game. They lecture their athletes with words like “even playing field” and “fair” and “hustle” and “decent”. Can we hope that the camaraderie of rivalry will lead to mercy and generosity and peace in more places than the sports arena?
Sure, it’ll take a lot more than playing together to build peace, in families or between nations. But genuine play is a small part of what the Hebrews called shalom – fairness, equity, peace, and justice. Shalom can even include athletic violence, which is never about the domination of the weak by the strong, but the joy of life. Shalom is the presence of pleasure and balance. It is the presence of God.
Can we manufacture shalom? Doubtful. But we can pray it will outlast our candles and those two short weeks. And we can recognize it, and name it, and cooperate with it whenever we see it, even in a dream

Nuclear Options

I remember having what passed for a discussion with my stepfather about nuclear weapons back during the cold war 1980’s. In our house a discussion was a lot of pontificating on his part and stress-inducing button pushing on my part. I had told him I was going to join a group of peace marchers protesting the US nuclear stockpile. He told me that the world was a safer place because of our nuclear weapons. When I asked him if the Japanese would agree, he went apoplectic.

Like any good citizen, I watch the news and do as I’m told. Right now, I’m getting worried about Iran and all the buzz about nuclear capability. It’s nice not to have to worry about North Korea anymore.

The other day I heard John McCain say that dealing with a democratic nuclear power is better than dealing with an oligarchy with nuclear power. I guess he’s right. But then I wondered if the Iranians thought the same way. Are they at all comforted by the fact that we are a democracy? Does that make them feel safer?

After all, there’s been talk in this democracy lately about the next generation of nuclear weapons – including battlefield nukes -- and preemptive nuclear strikes. We haven’t exactly shown ourselves to be democratically opposed to preemptive strikes.

Where is the wisdom of the only violator of the nuclear no-no lecturing the rest of the world on the evils of nuclear weapons? Where is the wisdom of maintaining storehouses of planet killing bombs? It’s beyond my scope of comprehension. I think that it’s probably beyond the pale for most thinking people, if ever they stop to think. It isn’t even like the proverbial imprisoned criminal warning kids not to do what he’s done out of concern for their well being. It’s more like that violator threatening kids not to steal because he wants it all for himself.

Moral leadership, something we seem to think is our birthright as a nation, is about actions, not words. If we really want the world to focus on peace, we ought to act peacefully. If we really believe that nuclear weapons make the world dangerous, we ought not develop new ones and stockpile old ones. It seems simple, almost pedantic, to say something like that, but when was the last time you heard it?

The irony (or is the word hypocrisy?) of the world’s nuclear powers working to prevent other countries from developing their own weapons is rarely pointed out. It’s even worse when our own country is making contingency plans for preemptive nuclear strikes and developing the so called next generation of nuclear weapons for use on the battlefield. Maybe someone has asked the question, but not enough, or with enough force.

Don’t misunderstand, I really do think that North Korea and Iran having nuclear weapons will indeed make this world less stable. But so does Russia’s nuclear arsenal. So does Great Britain’s. So does ours.

C B Athletics

I used to be athletic. Then I moved to Crested Butte, Colorado. Crested Butte is smack in the middle of the Rocky Mountains. At 9,000 feet, just breathing is considered exercise. It’s an event that never stops. Of course, we can’t do just one sport, so in addition to breathing we add biking, hunting, hiking, skiing, golf, rock climbing, kayaking, snow-shoeing, hockey, soccer, horseshoes, even curling.
Don’t get me wrong – I still run and bike and ski. In fact, I probably do those things better that I ever have in my life. But now I’m surrounded by real athletes, the kind who compete around the world and win. Olympians live and train here; there’s even a boarding school for up-and-coming skiers and snow boarders. The guy who works in the Post Office ran across the Sahara during the off season last year. I went to Phoenix.
It’s not the extreme athletes that bother me, though. It’s . . . well, it’s the mothers who get to me. Last fall I was running up a steep trail, wondering why I was seeing stars at three in the afternoon, when two moms cruised by, chatting away. I know they were moms because they were pushing strollers with infants in them. As they passed me with sideways smiles, I tried to summon the energy to hate them.
Speaking of mothers, I know women twice my age who can out-ski, out-bike, and out-hike me. For a guy in his mid-thirties, that’s saying something. Seriously, there's a group in town called the Butte Beauties that doesn't let anyone join who isn’t over fifty and a woman. A leisurely afternoon event for them? Climbing to the top of Mount Crested Butte (Elevation: 12162 feet) and back down for cocktails.
Then there are the kids. Last year I was standing on the top of a black diamond ski run, wondering if it would be more embarrassing to walk down or to die in a crash. A little boy – maybe six or seven – stopped by me and said, “Will you ski with me? I’m a kind of scared.” Then he blasted down. I don’t think he could hear me pray-cussing all the way down.
Should I mention the stoners? I’m talking about the dudes who catch a buzz two or three times a day, sometimes while resting in the middle of a thirty mile bike ride up and down trails so steep and narrow mountain goats get queasy.
Oh, well. Enough of this complaining. Maybe the Butte Beauties will let me join them for drinks on their way down.