All the Credit We Need

Remember when the market crashed in 2008?

You saw the images of traders. Some were about to cry. Others rubbing their forehead, trying to figure out their next step: the frustrated frown; the blank incredulous stare; the head on the desk, the graph of the market plunging downward, probably weeping, billions under his care suddenly vanished.

Where did it go? Did they ever even exist? All that light over the internet, symbols of great wealth and power, going dark, as the numbers rapidly decrease.

What to do? Governments are cutting rates; others are taking over banks. They are busycajoling people to share and stop hoarding, to get the big monetary institutions to trust each other again. But even governments themselves are having a hard time. Iceland, after 10 years of buying up parts of Europe, is back to fishing.

Mark Taylor, the theologian, uses the metaphor of poker to describe the desire to keep the markets trading. But the poker game has ended. We’re sitting around the table, deciding its time to go and cash in our chips, when the banker of the house says, I’ve got no money. Your chips are worthless. Perhaps we were just playing for fun (add wan smile and shrug).

The banker himself had invested a fair amount. He’d thought that when others bought into the game, they’d use real cash themselves. But some of us asked for credit as well when we anted up and we all agreed. Why not? We were doing it ourselves.

Most of us.

But now all the players are left stranded.

Nobody thought they’d want to end the game. They thought it would continue forever, until the end of time, or the King Returned. People would add money and our pots would just get bigger. Everyone could keep buying in.

Until just one person, or two, or three, decided they wanted to cash in.

Some will suggest that we have to continue playing: Give everyone a half-credit; redistribute the chips; Get some real money in the system. But everyone’s tired and nobody trusts the banker. Or each other.

Nobody realized that nobody had actually given the house any money.

I’m not an economist. I don’t have a crystal ball about the future. And I don’t think it’s all that helpful to offer a Panglossian veneer on the subject. People are hurting and scared and poorer. Bless them. Bless the investor, bless the banker, bless the retiree, the businessman, bless the homeowner.

At the very least, the light that was the virtual pool of wealth in cyberspace, has also revealed itself to connect every person in our commercial reality. So what are we to do with each other? Judgment? Of course. Mutual Aid? A few wishful chants of “never again?” Why not, if it makes us feel better.

I had begun writing this essay before seeing the Dow, exploring this idea of being the “master of the universe.” It’s what lots of traders thought of themselves as they were busy exchanging vast sums of money. Perhaps now comes the hard truth that we are not masters, even the most die-hard self-actualizing Rand worshipping libertarian. Once a master, now a servant.

I don’t have many suggestions. Buy low? If you’ve got money, then go ahead. Sell? Well, that’s what everyone else is doing. Invest in green infrastructure? It is tangible, but it won’t help the church endowment right now and that will have to wait until after the election that to have any impact. When you come to church, I’m not going to give you any stock tips. Except Berkshire Hathaway, and you’ve probably already figured that one out yourself.

But I do know this:

I hope that at the end of the day, if you’ve lost gobs of money trading, you have a sweetheart you can go home to who just doesn’t give a damn about the millions you’ve lost.

I also hope that your number isn’t published.

I hope that your children will run up to you and give you a big kiss on the cheek just because you exist and ask you to play catch or read them a story.

I hope to Jesus that when your best friend calls you, it won’t just be to ask you about the thousands of his you lost investing in Lehman brothers, but about how your holding up. I hope he forgives you and will accept your buying him an extra round a drinks.

(By the way, what in God’s name were you thinking? You could have done a little research on credit swaps. They were toxic.)

And for those of us who don’t have much invested, we’re going to have some people to help along the way. Our soup kitchen is going to get a bit more crowded, our thrift shop will get a bit more busy (although these last two quarters we’ve had record breaking receipts. Ka-Ching!), and there will be a few people selling their businesses, or being terminated from their jobs.

I hope that here, our treasure was never in the stock market to begin with.

It was right here. Our confidence was somewhere else.

In our small tendernesses; in our sharing of scripture and stories. It was right here when ten of us drank three bottles of wine celebrating the new altar we built ourselves.

It was right here when the thrift shop ladies, myself and Debbie had soup and salmon right in the middle of the sanctuary.

Let everyone else hoard their stashes of money. Here we share a little of our mutual gratitude. Let it be enough.

Its enough for us to love each other and pick up the shards of that remain from the broken spirits and hearts around us. Its enough to be the presence of God for those who’ve been only in the presence of mammon. It is enough to just be the jar that contains the spirit of hope and courage.

It’s not much. But it’s enough.

And in a world that always wants more perhaps that’s what’s we’re saying. We know what our treasure is. And it is enough. And we can still share it and spread it around a bit.

We’ve got a little love, and we’ve got a little faith, and that’s enough.

It’s all the credit we need.

Praise Him!

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On Being Separated From Humanity

Over the last three week’s we’ve been exposed to some fairly severe tragedies: the murder of three women by an angry, lonely, depraved man; the drunk mother who drove the wrong way on the Taconic, killing eight.

For most of us, these are clear examples of right and wrong, concrete representations of injustice and horror. I’ve heard the word “evil” spoken even by individuals who believe that everyone is, in their hearts, good. “How could she do such a thing?” I’ve heard over and over; “That man will burn in hell.”

Anger, surprise, frustration – all rational responses. The rage and selfishness of these two individuals seem beyond our comprehension. How did the man get to that stage of anger? How could that woman have been so selfish?

And our moral outrage is justified. It is our way of honoring the humanity of those whose lives were cut mercilessly short.

Last week the scriptures stated that Jesus is the “bread of life.” This poetic description of Christ is an alteration: instead of Jesus being violently sacrificed for the sake of peace, we’re invited into a different way of gathering people into a community.

What happened in the community of hearers was a complete change in their relationship with one another. As Jesus was inviting them, through love, into a relationship with a different, non-violent, non-judgmental, loving spirit, they were invited into gracious, encouraging, joyful and hopeful relationships with each other. The bread of life was the glue that helped them endure each other’s quirks, frailties and challenges: because being in relationship with other people is hard work. Jesus is saying – stay connected. And you don’t need to kill people to do it.

George Sodini and Diane Schuler were both extremely isolated. To some extent, they were free to make the decisions they made; although theologically, Augustine would argue they were “slaves to sin.” Sodini was enslaved by his anger; Schuler was enslaved by drink.

The church’s perspective is not much different than the popular view, in some ways. We mourn the dead. We hate what is evil. We pray for justice. We trust that witnessing tragedy evokes some transformation toward what is beautiful and good in others.

These two individuals, who were closed from society and their own deep own emotional needs, stand in stark contrast to the fundamental task of the church. We exist to keep people connected; to remind people that they can learn to hold their anger, rage and sorrow without violence, while trusting in a community of faithful believers, if they so choose. A friend of mine, sober for 22 months said to me, that by giving up the hooch, she gained close new friends. Although not everyone needs to be abstinent, the truth is that it is often our connections that save us, and we find many ways to cut people off.

We say there is no justice sacrificing others at the altar of our own self-righteousness, frustration or hatred. There is no eternal redemption or peace at the bottom of a bottle. They are temporary, ephemeral satisfactions at best. And at worst they destroy lives, and break our hearts.

As the innocent die, the cross again represents. As well as we must confront the implicit, if paradoxical, challenge to those of us witnessing: it didn’t need to be that way.

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Forgiving the Man who Bombed Pan Am 103

Written as an enewsletter on August 20th, 2009

This week, Scotland freed Abdel Baset al-Megrahi, the man convicted of bombing Pan Am flight 103. It was a horrible atrocity.

They freed him on the basis of a tradition called “compassionate release.” When a prisoner is near death, the British and the Scottish systems may release prisoners to their families. It isn’t unusual.

Plenty of people are upset. The enraged think this is about oil. They find compassion hard to fathom given the immensity of the crime. Others, however, think Al-Megrahi was a convenient scapegoat for a crime actually committed by the Iranians. But these are trivialities now. We are faced with the problem of mercy.

Mercy isn’t forgiveness. Al-Megrahi did not take responsibility for the crime. It isn’t reconciliation: nobody is having beers with him. He will not get his life back. He wasn’t declared innocent. He was simply shown mercy. He was given some dignity to be with his family.

It’s a hard pill to swallow.

The purpose of mercy is not to make us feel good. It may enrage us more. But it may be a way for us to step back and stop the cycle of violence. Mercy creates an implicit covanent. It offers a gift that need not be returned. It changes the dynamic from an eye for an eye, to one of peace.

Mercy is a difficult gift, especially when other alternatives are just as well.

Those of us who believe that “mercy” was justified must not judge those who shake their fists and demand vengeance. These are not merely expressions of fear or hatred, but a desire for righteousness.

Still, we remember the story: a man executed, but shown no mercy; all those around him are enraged; it temporarily brings peace. But when he is seen again, he does not return out of rage, but out of forgiveness. There is no need to hold on to vengeance or resentment. Peace has been won. Christ has ended the violence by showing mercy upon those who executed him wrongly.

When we say “mercy” it is because we’ve understood the cross. that sometimes we murder the innocent; we know the dangers of becoming consumed by our own rage. By saying “mercy” we say that the the violence ends here. God will have his justice, but until then, no more. It stops with us. May it now. Stop.

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On Politics

A lot of parishioners don’t like politics. Especially in church.

I understand. People joining the Episcopal church are often those fleeing churches where pastors are busy telling people how to think. Episcopalians are often tired of those Christians who are obsessed about homosexuality and abortion.

Further, since we also believe in the separation of church and state, we don’t want the rector telling us how to vote, or his crazy views about Distributivism and Henry George and Peak Oil.

So I promise won’t tell you if I think we should subsidize organic farms, expand our health care system, or get out of Iraq, although after much prayer and consideration, they all seem like wise ideas that I would support if someone else suggested them.

So when someone says to me, we should keep politics out of churches, I’m sympathetic. Politics makes some people into losers; it’s participants are mealy-mouthed opportunists and imprudent utopians.

Politics seems false, it seems inauthentic, it seems dirty.

But we can’t avoid politics. Not in our government, our businesses, in church, our weddings or even in our extended families. Children themselves learn to make alliances with the parent of choice or with other children. They negotiate and barter and cajole. They compete with their siblings for scarce resources, like Legos or Fish Sticks. Politics is how things get done. Or don’t get done.

Paul and Jesus knew this.

Paul however, introduced a new way of engaging in politics. Each of the communities he writes to are having political problems. Factions of people one-upping each other, competing to be closer to God, trying to be more holy. Or, in the case of Corinth, they were taking the notion of “Christian liberty” a bit too far (it gets graphic, so I won’t share the details here).

Paul attempts to mitigate the tensions created by human envy, resentment and excess. So he has a few ideas about the role of the spirit in the community. I’ll offer two.

First he often says, “Judge not.” Just because someone is wrong doesn’t mean you won’t someday be wrong yourself. Yes – state what you think, but be ready to be corrected. I recognize that some of you might be confused because if there is one thing Christians seem to do, its judge others. Although we should not be silent, we state what we know with humility and the acknowledgement we can be wrong. The most important thing is for us to regulate ourselves first.

The second is “love your enemies.” Now let’s clarify this.

In the imperial, pagan world, the meaning of life – especially in political communities – is vindication. For a good part of human history, those vindicated had the power of life and death over the losers. The victors got the women and money; the losers get killed. Vindication, if it were true vindication, is total.

Now if this seems a bit strange to you, think about the last time you were proven right at someone else’s expense. It is so very sweet to be right about something. If you’ve ever gotten into an argument with your partner or parent and been able to tell them they are absolutely wrong, with evidence, you know the feeling. It’s delicious. At least for a moment.

But Paul challenges the young Christian communities to work differently.

When Paul and Jesus say love your enemies, he’s not saying, there are no enemies. Instead, they are saying, your enemies are never permanent. In fact, you are probably a lot like your enemies.

While in the world of the Roman empire, vindication meant death to the loser. With Christ, that changed. Jesus, free of resentment, forgave the vindicated. It’s a reminder: vindication is never total, it is always temporary. And losing, failing, stumbling, does not separate us from the love of God.

When the Romans excecuted Jesus, they didn’t expect that his followers would see him alive again. The power of empire had been broken forever. Their vindication was revealed to be temporary, to be broken, to be fragile.

And we don’t need to be resentful or defensive when we lose. Its enough to get back up again, and stay connected. Our enemies are always temporary; and there is never a reason to hold a grudge. Jesus seems to say, we win some, we lose some, so lets all open a bottle of champagne whatever happens.

So there is no reason for Christians to be afraid of politics. We do politics a bit differently. In victory we do not banish the loser; in losing we do not resent the victor. That’s tough in elections, for example, where the stakes are high.

In the conversations that are the work of politics, the theologian David Tracy reminds us: “Conversation is a game with some hard rules: say only what you mean; say it as accurately as you can; listen to and respect what the other says, however different or other; be willing to correct or defend your opinions if challenged by the conversation partner; be willing to argue if necessary, to confront if demanded, to endure necessary conflict, to change your mind if the evidence suggests it.”

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Kanye West and Joe Wilson

Although I’ve tittered at the media spectacle of Joe Wilson, Kanye West and others, I’m going to hold back on making any grand comments. I haven’t read the health care bill, nor have I ever been interested in the Video Music Awards.

I do think there is a general anxiety about the loss of order around us. To some extent we’re relearning and creating the etiquette, the simple rituals and courtesies, that order our common life. Gone, it seems, are titles and euphemisms. Instead, equality and directness.

The old school perspective was like so: honor the traditions of your fathers and mothers – they still make sense. Hold on to your principles. Respect the rituals that keep us gathered. Be loyal to your family and friends. Acknowledge that there are culturally holy places. Respect the role and office, even if you disagree with person holding it. Let there be civility.

Here’s the critique: sometimes etiquette masks and legitimates provinciality, ignorance and arrogance. It perpetuates injustice by evading simple issues of fairness. In these cases, speaking out makes sense, because the truth needs to be spoken. And the old school perspective is hard to maintain when money needs to be made at civility’s expense. Rudeness sells.

We need both reverence and the shock of truth. When we aren’t sure of what is going on, then we may respect the red lights, the stop signs and the social cues around us. Sometimes in the midst of disorder, being more intentional about respecting others is crucial. But when we need to make a change, speaking the truth is part of how we move forward.

Of course, sometimes we may be wrong when we speak. That’s another risk. But we can survive our mistakes because the tension between order and the catalyzing force of truth is held together by one thing: charity. It may not have been shared with us. But it is necessary for us to survive things changing, and the many mistakes we make along the way.

If we can’t show magnanimity even to our enemies, how can we move forward?

It is difficult to do such. However, the source of that strength is nothing else but faith that we have the strength to be magnanimous in the first place. And the faith that it works. Faith that love is what God wants for us, and part of his infinite beauty. Even Joe Wilson and Kanye West, though they broke the rules, even though they might be wrong, may also in time, be forgiven by God.

The media, however, not so much.

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On the Internet

In the midst of our current environment, I’ve been intrigued by how much implicit authority technology has to frame our perspective.

Brain scan imaging demonstrates how the tools we use become extensions of our bodies and minds. Technology affects how we think, work, play and pray. Our humanity has always been linked to our ability to manipulate objects; but it also seems true that objects have power over us.

Technology can’t easily be separated from how we pray or articulate our faith. Our sacred stories moved from speech to script. Eventually they were collected into a codex, and a millenia later, these codexes became mass produced. Scrolls meant to be heard became books meant to be read.

The alphabet itself is technology that allows us to convey meaning, making words physical, so that we can take it from one place to another. The written word was how people could send clear instructions into the future. For those who couldn’t read, the technology of stained glass windows told the story.

Our most recent technological innovations have compressed space and time. In our immediate news cycle, we are invited to react and respond quickly, without thought or reflection, imitating whatever outrage or anxiety that seems most familiar to us. The ancient values of prudence and patience seem quaint, cautious and dull while we are perpetually stimulated with whatever moment of insanity exposed to us.

And yet, technology is not the enemy. Facebook, Twitter and other social networking sites are often fun and useful. They may build real connections. But they are meant to enable connections, not replace them. Cyberspace cannot heal the body, the way a physical presence can.

Yet it is in rest, in patience, in slowness, where we actually find the spirit. It is fine to be busy. It is virtuous to have work. But it is no virtue to worship speed. Over time, choosing a screen over a body corrodes the soul.

I wonder if spending one day a week with no electronic media would enable us to strengthen the tender virtues that are quickly diminishing from our daily practice. It would remind us that we have some authority over the tools we construct, and how we use them. We would be more aware, also, of how our tools have authority over us.

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Against Optimism

“Balance,” “Positivity.” Every now and again I hear these cliches especially when I recognize that my life isn’t balanced, and not everything is positive.

I’m sympathetic to the need for such pat demands upon our virtues. They offer solace and direction, a map for action. There’s the command: if life is unbalanced, then just balance it! If there’s negativity and sadness, just cheer up!

It seems easy to do. A transformed life is right before you, if you want it.

To some extent, however, I wonder whether or not seeking balance or cultivating an easy sense of optimism is particularly useful. Sometimes our lives are out of balance. We work hard some weeks; we become obsessed with a new song or toy; we jump in headfirst into a hobby and spend every night perfecting the craft. And seeking balance just seems like another task, another criteria by which we can make ourselves fail. So, I must do laundry, cook, exercise AND be “balanced?” And sometimes “balance” just seems like another way to dull passion and temper the enthusiasm that makes life happen.

We’re also told that we must be optimistic and think positively. And yes, our worries are often unfounded; our anxieties are based on idle speculation. Yet, a belief that everything happens for the best, and that there’s always a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow is profoundly delusional. For many people in the world, moments of happiness are the exception. Suffering is the norm. When we are asked to be perpetually positive, we are often woefully unprepared.

When the rich man comes to Jesus, he calls him “good.” He might as well have called him “balanced” or “cheerful.” Jesus responds, “what are you talking about” by saying “only God is Good.” What makes a Christian isn’t goodness, nor balance, nor optimism. The faith worth having is one that gives us the power to face the facts. And when we can’t face them alone, we do it together.

Because the world is often awkward; it contains uncomfortable suffering; and inconvenient truths. We are less generous than we could be; we could participate in murder when the time is right. We are prone to envy and resentment. We prefer to be deluded by human power, than moved by God’s vulnerability.

All religions want goodness. We desire to be on God’s side so that we won’t get killed. What Jesus wants instead, is for a faith that allows us the strength to handle the hard questions, to recognize that faith itself can be on shaky ground, as precarious as life and death itself.

The rich man asks Jesus for eternal life. Jesus says, follow the rules. The rich man says, “I do.” Then Jesus says, “give it all away.” And the rich man leaves, distressed, missing Jesus’ final answer, because he knows he can’t. What he didn’t understand was the he was asking the wrong questions.

He didn’t hear Jesus say, “All things are possible.” Begin where you need to begin. Perhaps you shouldn’t be asking me all of these questions, but asking yourself. Then, let’s talk.

It is not the pat phrases we need. Not through ourselves must we insist on our own perfection, now neatly labeled being “balanced” or coercing ourselves to be optimistic. Instead, even though we are imbalanced or worried, all Jesus says, it’s not over yet. Which is another way of offering the promise of eternal life.

It’s not over.

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Hoarding and the Multiplier Effect

A few months ago I came across an article about the growing number of people who have been discovered with the mental illness of hoarding. As they get older, they accumulate stuff that eventually becomes a hazard. It’s not much different than the cause of our current economic state: in times of insecurity, institutions hoard. Then money stands still and people lose work. Money doesn’t do what it is supposed to do: move.

A market economy discourages hoarding and encourages exchange. Free exchange is better than the alternative: force. But as the market gets more complicated, hoarding wealth harms more people. People stop becoming generous when money doesn’t move.

But generosity multiplies. In simple capitalism, the economist Keynes, along with most modern economists, describe the importance of the “multiplier” effect. It is an accounting of how the market catalyzes trade, which ideally encourages jobs. When we employ people, we give them purchasing power, which employs more people, which encourages even more purchasing power. You get, then you spend.

In times of desperation, entrepreneurs get scared and hoard. In those cases, those who have cash lack confidence. Confidence is a dangerous position. It is an appropriate corollary with faith. It is the catalyst of making decisions. Good ones. Bad ones. It’s great when everyone’s making money. It’s bad when it drives us off a cliff. I know I’ll survive. It’s just a cliff, and I’ve been doing hundreds of squats a day.

Church economics takes this general map a step further. We give what we can, and even more so, risking ourselves. Last February we held a party to raise money for an organization that represented the homeless. It was noted that we probably needed the money ourselves. “How can we spend when we’re the ones struggling?”

But with that generosity, a few things were catalyzed. Our refrigerator broke that month; the organization replaced it. The United Way then came in and offered us cash to help with our Kitchen. Even now a funder has come to offer work on it. All following from our willingness to give to others. Because most people are surprised when a church gives cash to other people.

Without expecting a return back.

What we created was a “stimulus package.” It was the multiplier effect. And when we live lives of generosity, we’re catalyzing communities.

Granted, there are limits. The highest form of charity encourages sustainability, not dependence. And there are lots of steps along the way. The first step, alas, is coercion. Or “guilt” as they say in the religiosity business. The last step is out of love, so that the other person can get back on their feet.

For what its worth, there are about 5 tag sales happening in the area on the same day. I imagine that people will buy from several of the sales, and next year, they will donate them to be sold again. I can’t help but think that we got donations of things that were bought from this rummage sale several years ago. The money gets passed around, enough for us to pay a few bills and continue the daily work. But the catalyzing force was the generosity of people willing to bring goods to the church.

The work of the church then transforms other people’s castaways to what other people desire. As people stop hoarding, money is multiplied.

Like love.

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Obama Wins the Peace Prize

I told a friend that he had won.

He said, with a brightness in his voice, “cool. What for?”

I said, “Yeah, exactly.” In fact, that’s kind of what Obama said.

A few think that this shows how meaningless the prize is. After all, the prize survived Arafat and Kissenger. Other conservatives are infuriated. If Obama were walking on water, Michelle Malkin would complain that he couldn’t swim. She suggests that he refuse the prize. Why? He can use the money for some good, and it shows respect the Nobel Committee. Further, that he won is a source of pride for all American Citizens. Besides, if he refused he’d be accused of being a pacifist.

I was also perplexed. Contrary to what most conservatives think, Obama’s not exactly a peace-nik. He’s not taken on the Military-Industrial complex, except in its most egregious forms. He hasn’t pulled out of Iraq, and is probably going to increase troops in Afghanistan.

What he has done is move from an ideological liberalism/neoconservatism that framed Bush’s foreign policy to a pragmatic realist position. Ironically, what Bush showed the world is that a liberal world order can not be achieved through military force.

Winning the Nobel Peace Prize does not mean Obama has been anointed to solve the world’s problems. It says more about how the committee has reflected the world’s optimism now that he is president. We should congratulate him.

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A Christian view on Health Care

Christians desire health and wholeness, and call for our public institutions to encourage such.   Just as Jesus’ witnessed to the old, infirm and sick, church communities have been intimately involved with healing.  In our modern age, many denominations established hospitals and mutual aid societies.   But we have a problem: Americans spend the most on health care anywhere, but get the worst health care in the developed world.  This is because of the system of incentives that makes profit the center of the relationship between patient, doctor, and intermediate institutions, not health.

Some would object that it is Churches and not government, who should be working for such a change. Yet, if Christians truly were to embody the virtues of self-control and charity, they would drink moderately, refrain from smoking and keep a trim waistline.   Christian doctors would provide free health care and churches would create free clinics. Churches would also create mutual aid societies and cooperatives that would help mitigate the everyday illnesses and injuries that occur on a regular basis. This would be an appropriate religious response to our current health care crisis.  However, these are often challenging to manage and require immense resources to care for catastrophic events or long-term care.

Until churches make such contributions to their communities, public reform is the next best option.  A public option would decrease inefficiencies in the private health care market, encouraging companies to cut bureaucratic fat and coordinating administrative paperwork.

As institutions, churches would benefit from a reformed health care like other small businesses.  I’m fortunate:  most of my employees have health care under their spouses.   However, I could get the public option, my church would have more money to spend on mission.   My church can’t afford my getting married.  It means I can only marry someone with better health care than I have.

Health care would change the culture in a variety of ways.  One of which is subtle.  It would integrate society in a way we have not seen since the military was integrated.  It is one of the few places where both poor blacks and poor whites will benefit.   That many of the protestors are whites who feel disenfranchised exemplifies how universal health care will crush the ideology that connected socialism, civil rights and liberalism:  a resilient theology that has been losing credibility since both capitalism and civil rights won.

The Democrats should be aware that a policy that penalizes individuals, however, will end their current position as the party in power.  A universal health care system, however, will shift both parties to the left, ending the rightwing alliance of race populism, tax-cuts and nationalism.  A strong health care system would destroy the Republican party.  Blue Dog Democrats should realize that passing such a health care program will make their positions stronger, not weaker, with their constituents.

A universal system will bring down costs, liberate a sector of the economy trapped by insurance bureaucracies, give small businesses greater freedom in hiring employees, and further integrate our culture.  A mixed economy will catalyze the market.  People will need to be employed as caregivers rather than as insurance bureaucrats.  It will be easier to hire people full time.   It will restore that constitutional idea that the responsibility of the government is for the general welfare of all people.

I understand the resistance.  The Israelites resisted Moses.  Many wanted to return to Egypt.  They created false idols.  Remember – for some people, the idols probably worked.   Just as the current health care system works for some people.  But it doesn’t work for everyone.  There is a promised land.  It’s time for us to move toward it.

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