Basic needs and self-fulfillment

old-florida-outhouse-1176260Common sense means living in the world as it is today; but creative people are people who don’t want the world as it is today but want to make another world. – Abraham Maslow

 I’ve been thinking about Abraham Maslow and bathrooms of late.

Maslow didn’t have much to do with bathrooms, but I think his psychological theories might help explain huge plumbing gaps that exists in the world today.

Maslow developed the “hierarchy of needs.”  Of course, he based it on years of research and a zillion pages of analysis, but you can sum it up with a five-tiered pyramid.

At the base are basic needs, things like enough food and water to survive, simple shelter and, perhaps, the ability to outrun a tiger before it eats you.

At the peak is achieving one’s full potential and doing really creative things.  Painting the Sistine Chapel would fit here.

But it was the great bathroom gap that got me thinking about the hierarchy of needs.

In the less-developed parts of the world, folks still struggle to meet basic needs, like a place to go to the bathroom.  India is a big country with a billion or so people and a major bathroom shortage.  That means a lot of basic needs poorly met.

Something like 40 percent of Indian’s households lack a bathroom.  I’m not talking about missing out on an adjustable shower and whirlpool, I’m talking no place to conduct basic bodily elimination.  The government is working on what it calls a goal of ODF.  That means creating an “open-defecation free” society.

I’m not saying India lack advanced culture and creativity – but lots of folks are just hoping to have a better place to relieve themselves than the middle of the street or behind the nearest tree.  Bathrooms are at the base of the Maslow hierarchy and I can’t blame India to want to move up the pyramid.

Here in the USA, we’re at a different place in the hierarchy when it comes to bathrooms.  We have more than enough bathrooms to meet basic human needs.  Our bathrooms have become tools of self-expression, self-fulfillment and self-actualization.  They are the battlegrounds in the wars of gender fluidity.

Indians are hoping for something better than a hole in the ground to use as a bathroom; we’re fighting over who can use which bathroom, depending on which of the multiple genders they identify with on a particular day.

I don’t spent much time thinking about bathrooms.  I’ve always been a boy and always used the boys’ bathroom.  That makes my choices simple and I consider the bathroom to be pretty far down the pyramid in Maslow’s hierarchy.  I don’t think of a bathroom as an important expression of self.

It I ever get to the top of the pyramid, bathrooms won’t be on my mind.  But I might do a Sistine Chapel.

Courting common sense

dead-roses-1372497159yk5I doubt Barronelle Stutzman ever expected she would be appealing a case to the US Supreme Court.

Barronelle isn’t a terrorist, political activist or criminal.  She is a Christian and a florist. In Richland, Washington.

When I picture a Christian/florist, I can’t immediately think of a likely reason for such a person to wind up in front of the nation’s highest court.  But the crime of violating political correctness can pop up in the most innocent of places.

This florist’s life of crime unfolded in 2013, when she declined to provide floral services for a same-sex wedding.  Ironically, the customer who complained was a long-time customer who obviously had been served in Barronelle’s shop on numerous occasions.  But the Christian florist wasn’t comfortable serving a ceremony that violated her beliefs.

The State of Washington (which charged her with discrimination), Federal Government, American Civil Liberties Union, Alliance Defending Freedom and, of course, one persecuted florist have spent millions debating who you have to sell flowers to.  Looks like the case is headed to the Supreme Court.

What a horrible waste of time, energy and resources.

In a sane society, we wouldn’t be having this debate. There would be no such thing as a same-sex marriage. If someone decided to hold a same-sex ceremony, they certainly wouldn’t expect people of other beliefs to participate.

In this case, there were plenty of options around Richland for someone to get wedding flowers.  It wasn’t as if Barronelle controlled the last supply of water in Washington and allowed the gay community to die of dehydration.

We’re talking a dispute over wedding flowers – all the way to the Supreme Court.

For some reason, this brought to mind a scene from my childhood…I suppose I was about 12 years old.  I wandered down to my local barbershop on a Saturday morning for a trim.

While I was waiting, a guy with a bushy head of hair got his turn in the big chair and announced he wanted a Mohawk.  The barber laughed and replied that he didn’t do haircuts like that, so the customer would have to go elsewhere.

The customer argued a bit, the barber held his ground and after a minute, the customer was out the door to look for a Mohawk-friendly barber.  End of story.

Of course, that was 40 years ago.  Today, the barber would either do the Mohawk or be hauled into court.  I’m not sure what the charge would be, something like discriminating against plume-preferring hairy men – I’m sure they are a “protected” class.  That would not be progress.  It would be ridiculous.  And it is where we are headed.

Music versus music

string-555070_960_720The Catholic Church inspires some of the world’s most beautiful music.

The Catholic Church inspires some of the world’s most banal music.

Yes, both of these statements are true.  And when I go to an unfamiliar parish, I never know whether I’ll encounter the beautiful or the banal – or a stumbling compromise between the two.

Last Sunday, we heard both extremes within the same Mass.

It wasn’t our parish, but one we attend occasionally when our Sunday schedule gets fractured by family logistical challenges. (Our own parish is a bit of a drive and this one is closer.)

I steeled my nerves after settling into the pew and noticing guitars being shouldered to the right of the altar.  Soon they were strumming away, sounding like a bad marriage between Bob Dylan and a garage band.  They weren’t the worst modern group I’ve heard at a Mass – but they were in the running for the title.

A young priest entered, took his place and started the Mass – singing Gregorian Chant in a perfectly beautiful, masculine voice.  He chanted all the Mass parts, including the Eucharistic Prayer. It was surprising, unexpected and breathtaking

Sadly, the hymns were “performed” by the garage band.  I felt like I was watching a concert with Willy Nelson and Pavarotti alternating songs.  The big difference was the band was performing and the priest was praising, worshipping, glorifying God.  The band was self-absorbed and the priest with other-absorbed.

I love many genres of music.  About the only type of music I can’t stomach is rap, but that is a topic for another time.

When it comes to Church music, I’m more of a traditionalist.  Not only do I find that it fits the occasion better, but poorly played “contemporary” choir music usually sounds worse than poorly played traditional music.  Frankly, most parishes are musically challenged.

I’ve gone full circle on the traditional versus contemporary music debate.  I grew up a Methodist in a large church with absolutely glorious music.  After converting to Catholicism, my first musical experience was in a contemporary choir, from which I’m still in recovery.  Since then, my choral experience has been VERY traditional.

I sought out the chanting priest after Mass and thanked him for the beauty of his celebration.  He smiled and replied, humbly, “Thanks be to God.”


Beyond gone to the dogs

cat-1508613_960_720Traditional culture has encountered a few shocks in recent times.

First, we’ve had a huge debate over who can use which toilets.  When I grew up it was simple; girls used the girl’s toilet and boys used the boy’s toilet.  Today, regardless of the biology, the individual uses the toilet they most identify with, which could be different from what physical evidence might suggest.

Second, in the past few days the Boy Scouts have changed their membership requirements so someone joining doesn’t have to be a boy, but identify as a boy.  In other words, a girl who thinks of herself as a boy.  This should make for some interesting camping trips.  Frankly, I wasn’t much of a camper, which means I wasn’t terribly successful as a Boy Scout.  But in those ancient times I’m pretty sure we only had boys who were really boys in our tents.

Third, and most shocking, we learned earlier this week of something that stretches the diversity-inclusion-political correctness trend to the breaking point.  (Anyone with a sensitive heart should turn away now)

I’m astonished to report that The Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show will, horror of horrors, now include (shudder the thought) CATS.  Yes, we’re talking felines.

Read all about it in Town and Country Magazine.  (This likely will be the only time in my life I cite this publication.)

Now don’t worry, the cats won’t be parading around the center ring and demonstrating their obedience skills.  After all, cats are cats.  So…there will simply be informational booths with various types of cats.

I’m puzzled.  Why would someone coming to a dog show want to learn about cats?  I don’t have anything against cats, but if I went to a dog show, I would expect to see dogs.  If I wanted to see cats, I’d go to a cat show – or the humane society.

Will the dog show progress from cats to guinea pigs to hamsters to gold fish to parrots reptiles?  No snakes, please; they gave me the creeps ever since I read what happened to Adam and Eve.  The dog show could become a zoo.

I’m so confused.  Boys aren’t boys.  Girls aren’t girls.  Cats are going to dog shows.

This can’t be God’s plan; I really miss normal.

In a pig’s eye

pig-eyesReally smart scientists at a couple big research universities are mixing people and pigs.

I have no doubt that their intentions are laudable.  They want to save lives.  They want to make the world a better place.

Read all about it in the National Geographic, which takes both people and pigs very seriously.

The science involved is likely beyond the reach of a liberal arts major like me.  But the concept seems fairly simple.  You remove a pig embryo from a sow, put in in a petri dish, inject it with some human cells, put it back in the sow and let it grow into a sort of hybrid pig (called a chimera) that has organs that can be harvested and transplanted into people.

You are probably as confused reading that last paragraph as I was writing it.  The idea is that, for example, people and pigs have similar hearts.  And with a little genetic manipulation, we can create human-ready pig hearts, which would be good news for people who need a heart transplant.

As a token nod to animal rights activists, I admit that this process isn’t as positive for the pig.  But it isn’t any worse than being made into bacon or footballs.

It might not surprise you that despite some encouraging test results, scientists are a long way from producing organs in pigs that they can plug into humans.  It is a challenge to get human cells to thrive in a pig – and the human body doesn’t naturally welcome a part-pig organ.

While scientists are excited by all this, some people of more ethical orientation aren’t sure mixing the genes of people and pigs is such a great idea.  No, I don’t think we’ll suddenly have people walking around with curly tails or pigs learning to play video games.

But I’m thinking we might be on the edge of a slippery slope.  If this organ-growing scheme works with pigs, why not chimps?  What happens if you actually produce a conscious creature that isn’t entirely human?

Ridiculous?  Perhaps.  But a few years ago, putting a pig heart in a human was unthinkable.  Now we want to create an assembly line.

Awesome Elephants

2997498286_fc11d3edd6_bWe had a tradition in our family when the kids were little of going to Ringling Brothers Circus each year on the day after Thanksgiving.

Believe me, it was more fun than Black Friday shopping, for mom and dad as well as the kids.

Even in those days – more than a decade ago – the circus was a bit politically incorrect.  Animals performed tricks.  And there were elephants, lots of elephants, doing stunts no elephant would do in the wild.

The idea of trained elephants rumbling around the United Center in Chicago was more than some activists could stomach, so they protested and petitioned and eventually pressured the circus to retire the elephants.

Absent its elephants and with kids more interested in video games than tightrope walkers working without a net, Ringling Brothers is folding its tent after 146 years.

I will miss the circus.

It was remarkable combination of hokum, fantasy and skill.  The price of admission was low enough for families, especially with the “special discount coupons” that seem to be available everywhere.

Of course, like the $1.00 movie shows with the $6.95 popcorn, you had to watch out for the $8.95 snow cone that included the souvenir tiger-head cup.  And each year there was a special gizmo that every kid had to have; life would be meaningless without it even through it likely would break before you got home.

The actual show was a mixture of animals, clowns, gymnastics, dancing, singing and music.  There really were three rings, which meant that sometimes you weren’t sure what to watch.  I always tried to convince myself I could keep an eye on everything, but I was fooling myself.

Just when you thought things were getting predictable, a demonstration of the amazing capabilities of the human being would burst forth:  trapeze artists, tightrope walkers, people balancing to avoid a fall that could maim or kill, perhaps someone shot from a cannon.

It was corny, sometimes silly, old-fashioned and blustering.  But people – and animals – did amazing things.

Perhaps the do-gooders are right and it isn’t kind to keep an elephant in a circus.  It wasn’t like they were given a choice.  However, I always figured the circus treated the animals pretty well, if for no other reason than it costs a fortune to get a new elephant if something happens to the one you have.

If I’m blessed to have grandchildren, there likely will come a day when one of them asks if I ever saw a live elephant.  I’ll tell them about the circus and they may wonder why they can’t see the elephants on parade.

I will miss the circus.

Inauguration Day

psalmToday is inauguration day.  The United States gets a new President.  This makes 45 new Presidents in our history.

We get a new President every four or eight years – unless something terrible happens.  Thanks be to God, that doesn’t happen often, but it does happen.

A minor miracle is that we are one of the minority of nations in which this change of leadership occurs without a coup, military intervention, dissolving of the legislature or imprisonment of political opponents.

The Lord is a refuge for the oppressed, a stronghold in times of trouble. — Psalm 9:9

This isn’t to suggest that we are without politicians who have earned prison time.  Even in the land of the free and home of the brave, people enter political service poor and leave a few years later wealthy.

There will be a parade, happy crowds, cheering, inspirational words and lots of parties. There also will be angry protestors, demonstrations and confused news commentators.

Those who like our new President have high expectations:  lower taxes, strong national security, great health care, abundant energy, less intrusive government and a chicken in every pot.

Know that the Lord secures justice for the poor and upholds the cause of the needy. — Psalm 140:12

Those who hate our new President have low expectations:  the rich get richer, the poor get poorer, millions of illegal immigrants are jailed, global warming floods Malibu Beach, minorities are enslaved and school lunches halted.

Both sides of the expectations equation will prove wrong.  A new President can make a difference, but he can’t turn our nation into the Garden of Eden.  On the flip side, he also can’t turn it into Death Valley.

The Psalms offer some insight, because they remind us that it is God – not wee politicians or we the people – who in the end can solve our problems, comfort our hearts, satisfy our souls.

Let’s take that to prayer today.


Hope and change and making American great again

150306-D-AF077-067In a few days, Donald Trump will take the oath of office and become the 45th president of the United States.  Expect parades, demonstrations, parties and protests.

Not everyone in America is on the same page.

To some, this change of administrations marks the end of hope and change.  To others, it is the end of an eight-year nightmare.

In reality, it is a moment in the ongoing history of nation with the highest of ideals that is populated by humans who always fallen well short of perfection.

I hear so many people saying that the country has never been so divided.  Those folks must have slept through their American history classes – or went to schools that should be sued for malpractice.

Anyone who lived through the 1960s and 1970s know what it means to live in a divided nation.  The Civil Rights Movement and the protests against the Vietnam War brought conflict, hate and division.

More than 600,000 American soldiers – Union and Confederate – died in the Civil War.  That’s much more divisive than social media micro aggressions.  So while I would hesitate to claim we are a nation united, it really could be much worse.

My wife and I pray each night before dinner.  We have a long list of intentions, and I’m grateful my wife somehow remembers them all.  The final intentions are for our new President and Vice President, their families and those who serve with them.  We offered our prayers for those now leaving office as well.

We pray for their safety and their wisdom.  But more important, we pray that their hearts be open to the will of the Holy Spirit, that they fulfill the plan God has for their lives.

With God’s guidance, America will have hope and it will be great.


Stick to the stage

screen_acting_1921_page_65_alla_nazimovaMovies are not real

Movies are images on a screen, stories, characters.

Characters in movies are not real.  And I’m beginning to think the actors who portray them also may be not real.  At least, they don’t play in our real world.

This came to mind as I read about Meryl Streep’s grumbling at the Golden Globes.  I’m not going to review her rather immature ramblings, but it is enough to say that she doesn’t like our President elect, Donald Trump.

I have equally negative feelings about the person who will be leaving the Oval Office in a couple weeks.  But if someone were giving me an award about my acting, musical performances, literary genius or plain old masculine beauty (none of these are likely) it wouldn’t occur to me to use the occasion to opine on politics.  I figure that just because I won the Olympic marathon (in my dreams), I should stand there with a gold medal hanging from my neck and voice my views on Republicans and Democrats.

It isn’t that I don’t have an opinion.  And I don’t deny the right of Ms. Streep or anyone else who acts to have an opinion.  But there is a time and place for everything.  When you are getting an award for acting, it is a time to talk about acting – and maybe thank your family and friends.  Please leave the politics to cocktail parties and Tweets.

I’m sure there are some folks of a Republican persuasion who have vowed never to view another movie starring Ms. Streep.  I make no such vow, for the practical reason that if I decided to watch movies not starring goofy liberals I would have few movies to view.

I also hope that politicians don’t decide to return the slams in kind.  I can imagine (almost) Mr. Trump taking the oath of office, thanking his supporters, then launching into a rant about the poor acting in recent movies and the negative impact of Hollywood on today’s youth.  He might even call the movie industry deplorable.

Food from the ends of the earth

4313199005_02bb7d026fOne of the many blessings I receive by working for a Roman Catholic organization is that I visit Rome occasionally.

I’ve been there more than a dozen times.  I mention this not to suggest I’m important, but to establish my credentials for what follows.

McDonald’s has been in Italy since 1985.  That was more than a decade before my first visit to that beautiful country.  So by the time I arrived, it wasn’t unusual to see the golden arches peeking out from behind a famed architectural treasure or mundane subway station.

As shocking as this may seem to some folks, Italians are buying lots of burgers and fries.  And if they were not, McDonald’s wouldn’t be building restaurants around the Eternal City.  The company is an American, capitalist institution.  (I don’t say that as a criticism.)

To some Italians, having McDonald’s in their midst is culturally insulting.  Sort of like drinking California wine in Paris or eating a Hersey Bar in Switzerland.

However, one of my well-placed informants in Rome tells me that most McDonald’s customers are, in fact, card-carrying Italians.  The tourists typically want local cuisine.

According to my source, Italians have several solid reasons for patronizing McDonald’s:

  • Inexpensive
  • Air conditioned
  • Ample seating
  • Clean and functioning bathrooms

Frankly, my experience in Rome would suggest that those attributes would be absent from many non-McDonald’s establishments.  But since I rarely enter a McDonald’s at home, I don’t seek them out in Rome (usually).

The Rome/McDonald’s controversy heated up this week with the opening of a burger joint practically on the Vatican’s front porch.  To many people, this seems so inappropriate, like putting a nightclub next to an elementary school.

But I think it is only a matter of time before priests, bishops and even cardinals are sneaking into McDonald’s for a Big Tasty.  I don’t expect the Pope to show up, but he does come up with a surprise now and then.

One of his most surprising – and beautiful – moments was when he greeted the crowd in St. Peter’s Square shortly after his election.  Among his many beautiful reflections was that the Church had gone to the ends of the earth to find a new Pope.

Well, Rome has gone to the ends of the earth (Oak Brook, Illinois) for the newest restaurant near the Vatican.  The world will survive.