On Scott Roeder

Yeah, Scott Roeder is a dangerous nut. But not because he passed from peaceful protest and legitimate political dissent into murderous violence. If you believe what he apparently believes, that an embryo is ensouled at the moment of conception and thus has the same status as the moral actors out in the world, then violence against abortionists may be ethically allowed or even necessary. Unless you are a complete pacifist, if you see one class of people being killed at the whim of others, wouldn't you feel justified in using force to protect them? Even if it's against the law? Even if the law is democratically enacted? So no, Scott Roeder is a dangerous nut not because he is violent per se, but because he has looney beliefs that, once held, lead quite logically to violence in the present circumstances.

We should be grateful that the tens of millions who think they believe what Scott Roeder believes do not believe so wholeheartedly, so completely without a scintilla of rational doubt, that they too follow those beliefs to where they so clearly beckon.

One more thought. In his testimony, Mr. Roeder stated that he has been very much exercised by the issue of abortion ever since he became a Christian in, I think, 1992. My guess is that he wasn't an atheist or a Muslim before 1992. Most probably, he was something like an indifferent Methodist or Presbyterian. I might be wrong about Mr. Roeder, but this is the larger point: In recent years, those in the fundamentalist/evangelical camp have begun to refer to themselves as Christians in a way that at least implicitly excludes other Christians. I find their arrogation of the term to themselves alone offensive, though I am not a Christian myself. Tell me you haven't heard a conversation like this: "Hey, I really like that new orientee. I think she'll do a great job." "Yes, me too. And she's a Christian, you know." You can be sure that "Christian" here does not include, say, "Catholic" or "Lutheran."

The Tortures of the Damned

Those who have persecuted others for the purpose of protecting God--Whom they believe to be omniscient, omnipotent, and perfect in all others ways as well--from the pain of being insulted or misunderstood will be consigned to a hell soundless but for scornful laughter.

What is marriage for? The answer to this question should determine what we think about same-sex marriage. If marriage is for legally recognizing life partners and giving them a suite of benefits, then we are discriminating against same-sex couples by not allowing them access to this institution. They are clearly capable of the same affections and the same aspirations for their lives together as heterosexual couples.

If, on the other hand, marriage is for encouraging people who make children together to be coupled and to stay coupled to raise those children, then in this respect there is a clear and meaningful difference between heterosexual and homosexual couples. And therefore nondiscrimination should not be required either legally or morally.

Does this seem to you a reasonable approach to the problem?

In the Mountains

White stones stick up from Bramble Brook.
Red leaves sparse against a cold sky.
No rain now on the mountain path.
My clothes wet from the high green brush.
--Wang Wei

On the Other Hand, You Could Have Been Run over by a Truck a Couple years Ago

The tool best fitted to your hand lies centuries deep in an undiscovered midden.
Your onetruelove's parents will be born this year.
That man in the rumpled gray suit you passed in the Taipei airport, speaking what language you      
     couldn't even guess--he would have been your best friend.
The animal that would come to you most readily to have you stroke its soft hard flank was the
     assemblage of bones you shuffled past with your third grade class.
The medicine that would still your fine tremors is locked in the bark of the big tree in your yard.
The recipe for the malted milk cake your grandmother always made you is on a page stuck to another
     with a dab of frosting in a cookbook your mother just sold in a yard sale.
Your favorite and most secret perversion is advertised every day in the Battambang Herald.
The language in which you would write your best poems is spoken by three old women in a high
     valley of Irian Jaya.
The only surprise party of your life dispersed without a trace that night you worked late last week.
The knowledge that will change everything, on its journey of millennia, riding on the light from a
     distant star, is now only a hundred years away.
And yet I, now with memory failing,
in this house built the year I was born,
I am here for you.



That woman in the Taipei airport wearing outrageously clashing colors, she would have been your
     best friend.


And yet here,
with memory failing,
sitting in this house
built the year I was born,
I am for you.
      

Dry and Brittle in the Spring

A leaf from last fall
spitted on a new green spike.
Emerging tulip.

The Maumee in Flood, from the Veterans' Bridge

Sunlight ripples
over shadowed water;
hope, across the heart.