My hard-working electrician dropped by today to work on an outside project. Mindful of our distance, we chatted each other up, especially as regards the pandemic and who we know that has been affected. He has family in the health care sector working directly with patients. They are lacking the most basic resources for handling the demands of the Coronavirus. At the moment, his family who are medical personnel are being rationed one protective mask a day. Respirators are far and few between. At the moment, tests are unavailable..

We have no idea what the political leanings of the other is and it didn’t seem to matter. Two guys in the driveway talked about the future and what we could learn from all this. He smiled and said,

“People are funny, they usually don’t change unless they have to. Well, now we have to.”

Nothing truer could have been said. And in the span of twenty minutes we talked about what seemed to be obvious. The summary is something like this:

Pandemics are threats that equal and probably exceed national military threats. The only way to deal with them in the future is preparedness. It’s not acceptable to wait for the worst to come and then scramble to pull together a response. If our military preparedness at home and abroad includes personnel, weaponry, bases, ships, planes, and the intelligence and command apparatus to coordinate it all, why in the world would we not have a standing system of equal power to address pandemics?

We need a national command center vested with pandemic vigilance. This command center would not only be connected to a network of response centers across the nation, but also with international partners. Viruses are no respecters of national borders. An effective response must be an international one – with monitoring and collaboration. The US could lead the way by forming a kind of NATO for pandemics in our own time.

It needs to be enacted and funded by Congress so that it can’t be neglected, ignored or disbanded by any future administration.

It needs to be lodged in a reasonable organizational home. The Pentagon comes to mind. In relation to national health services. Related to national homeland security and intelligence services.

In the same way that the National Guard is on standby, distributed through all our states, ready to activate and deploy when needed, so a Pandemic Guard or Reserve must be ready, equipped and empowered to respond in a moment’s notice. We need relevant and current stockpiles of needed supplies throughout the country. They can deploy military-type portable hospitals when necessary.

There is no reason that a country of our capacity cannot do this. And though one never defeats a pandemic virus like a conventional enemy, we can protect ourselves in meaningful and quick ways, minimizing the damage and returning to ongoing life in reasonably quick ways.

This is one of those legitimate and necessary functions of a government. We can do it and in a bi-partisan way. And strangely enough, an initiative like this might be the kind of unifying thing that pulls nations together in common cause, a mutually beneficial international thrust that is more worthy of our time, personnel and resources than wasting those same things making war on one another.

At least, that’s what my electrician and I think.


  1. People often deny there is a problem
  2. It’s often worse than you thought
  3. Many people will panic
  4. Some people will jeopardize others with their negligence
  5. People are often more afraid of dying than they knew
  6. Self-preservation leads some people to hoarding
  7. Many become self-sacrificial in ways that defy the survival instinct
  8. There will always be people who exploit suffering to their own benefit
  9. Disaster can pull people apart
  10. Disaster can pull people together
  11. Some adopt as their operational motto “Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die”
  12. Some people discover their own deepest spirituality
  13. Boredom can lead to experimentation and novelty
  14. Feeling helpless often leads to depression
  15. People can obsess over statistics like death rates
  16. The poor always suffer the most
  17. Emotions are contagious
  18. When great interruptions arise new models are often created
  19. Confining people can lead to growing closeness
  20. Confining people in dysfunction often leads to abuse
  21. Isolation is not the same as solitude
  22. People become aware of what they take for granted
  23. Shortages often bring about sharing and thriftiness
  24. The world is surprisingly interconnected
  25. Viruses seem to have a life of their own
  26. Interrupting the mad rush to acquire and own can be redemptive
  27. Sharing communal meals are important
  28. Some people have no social network
  29. Pandemics represent a margin out of which change takes place
  30. People never know what they can do until they have to
  31. Great threats cause the tribe to temporarily table secondary conflicts
  32. Leadership is always tested to the max
  33. New leaders often arise in times of crisis
  34. Disasters often destabilize regimes that are faltering
  35. Charlatans, soothsayers, and end-times prognosticators abound in dire times
  36. Fear is the emotion that creates most of the other negative emotions
  37. Our elders who have previously lived through hard times often give the best council
  38. Rigid social roles often become more fluid
  39. Resilient people find ways to grow, change, and help others
  40. Spirituality is a real and sustaining force
  41. People redefine their relationship to the larger natural world
  42. Illusions of permanence and security are often shattered
  43. Sex and prayer often increase
  44. Children are most traumatized by the terror of their parents
  45. We are not in control
  46. Now can be terrible, but now is not forever
  47. People who thrive are centered, trusting and hopeful before the crisis hits
  48. When people share urgent circumstances they form a special bond
  49. Virus and bacteria life forms have always inhabited our planet
  50. Hard choices have to be made that are often not comfortable
  51. People of the future will remember this time by the way we live it
  52. Faith, hope, and love abide, these three, but the greatest of these is love.

Death smiles at us all and all a man can do is smile back.
— Marcus Aurelius


In the late 1800s a man named Captain William Fowler determined that he had to remove the lingering superstition surrounding the number 13. To do so he decided to found an exclusive society called the Thirteen Club.

The group dined regularly on the 13th day of the month in room 13 of a place called the Knickerbocker Cottage. Before sharing a 13-course dinner, members walked under a ladder and a banner reading “Morituri te Salutamus,” Latin for “Those of us who are about to die salute you.”

That’s one way to do it. Head on. The hair of the dog that bit you. When death smiles your direction smile back. Get familiar with the distinguished reaper. Make friends. If you have fears or reservations, let them not be for the wrong reasons. Like the number 13.

Truth be told, we have lots of symbolic stand-ins for our fear of death. Friday the 13th is but one of them. We have designated certain “boogy men” to represent our deepest fears. The Day of the Dead functions similarly in Latin cultures. For a barely endurable moment the curtain is pulled back and we look old death in the face. But our glance is fleeting, for only as long as we can stand it. Most of the time we live in an illusion of immortality. Until, that is, something cracks that illusion open.

As real a threat as is our pandemic du jour, and as important as it is that we all be proactive and vigilant to mitigate its damage, this current visitation of the dark angel is but its most recent iteration, a temporary appearance in a long line of appearances. Pandemics, symbolically speaking, act as the number 13. They rattle the cage of our daily routines with a chilling reminder.

And they are more than direct harbingers of their own potential destruction. They remind us that something, somehow will get us, that each person, no exception, owes one death. That unvarnished truth is the kind of thing that the great world religions never shy away from. They all recognize the impermanence of life, its limits, the mortality of this human flesh, and our very brief tour on the planet.

In the Christian tradition this is epitomized by Ash Wednesday, which even the faithful avoid like the plague because, well, the observance gazes straight into the jaws of the plague. And if you ever wonder what the symbolic function of the cross is in the Christian mythos, this is one of them: There’s no getting through this life alive. And even the best of us, the superlative souls, must pass this same way.

Pandemics – like the Corona Virus – are truth-tellers, the breakers of illusion. They say in one way or another, “I may or may not be the one. But something else will get you, now or later.” People know what they mean on an intuitive level.

We are much more likely to perish as the result of cancer, heart disease, a vehicle accident, slipping on the soap in the shower, collapsing mowing our lawn in the heat of summer, being shot in a school shooting, squatting in a refugee camp, a natural disaster and so on and so on. Whatever the Corona fails to accomplish will be taken up by another member of the team.

So no matter how irrational is Friday the 13th, it is a day that reminds us of something else, of other fears that linger barely beneath the surface. Whenever the next pandemic circles the globe on its world tour we are reminded. We are reminded of the big fear that lurks behind all other fears and makes the current threat larger than life.

That’s why our response in the face of threat – other than reasonable survival instinct precaution and practice – requires a kind of existential courage. We must indeed smile back when we are smiled upon. And the answers to our fear of death – in whatever mask it presents itself – are love, hope, faith and trust, all of which transcend that which threatens our existence. Forcing us to dig deep for those again is the one of the collateral gifts that Friday the 13th and the Corona Virus unintentionally visit upon us.


The best chip ever

Posted: February 20, 2020 in Uncategorized

It’s not easy to make the best guacamole dip in the universe. Even if you have the perfect avocado and limes. Because there’s stiff competition out there. Just remember those transcendent moments when the chef brought the fixings right to table-side and smashed up all the perfect ingredients right before your eyes. You could barely restrain yourself from snatching the mixing bowl right out of his hands. Now that’s competition.

So maybe the guacamole I made from scratch recently was not the best in the universe. But it was good enough. When the time came to plunge in I opened the chip bag and peered inside, searching for a volunteer. Which one would step forward and say, “Private Dorito, Sir!”

I had my eye on one, thickly cut, perfectly curved chip. This chip was just bred for durability. I reached in and retrieved the one to the exclusion of all others. It felt good in the hand. Like the feel of a perfectly shaped pencil or baseball or flute, the touch revealing as much as anything. I knew in a micro-second that the chip was made for plumbing the depths of guacamole splendor. As the edge of the chip broke the semi-slimy surface all was proceeding as expected. But then, upon extraction, when reverse tension exerted itself on the chip, it buckled and broke in two. And fragments were left drowning in the green swamp, left to fend for themselves.

What began in such a promising way ended in Dorito shame. Of course, there was no point in cursing the gods for this moment of dashed hopes. The gods had not ordained the outcome of the chip disaster because, well, they have other more important things that preoccupy them. What did determine its outcome was a slender and hidden fault-line beneath the surface of the chip. This is the Achilles heel of chipdom; little hairline fractures undetectable to the naked eye.

Appearances can be deceiving and they do deceive with some regularity. What seems to be strong is actually weak. A popular preference for shape and size proves to be disappointing. One cannot always trust one’s eyes because what is false is often presented as trustworthy. The first round draft chip may not survive the day.

People, groups and even nations are that way. Invisible fractures break when they are placed under just the right pressure. Appearances fool us because we can’t see the end of a story sleeping beneath its surface in the present. Political candidates and elected leaders buckle, sometimes under their own tension. And like the camel, something as light as a straw may finally, one day, break the hidden fault-line.

Part of our problem is that we expect a world that is always firm, always sturdy, like a fortress never failing. But except for the mighty fortress of the eternal, most of that expectation is misplaced; there’s not one thing that isn’t about to move from chip to crumbs.

So the next time you choose your first-string chips, don’t expect them to be perfect. Make sure you have a deep bench. And don’t neglect the rather ordinary fellow in the back of the bag, the one that isn’t the biggest or doesn’t appear the strongest. This free agent may end up being the star. Because in the divine economy of the universe, the most humble and ordinary chip may actually be the greatest and the one that seems to the greatest is really the most flawed and destined to crumble. Regardless of whether the guacamole is or is not the best in the universe.

How to Read a Book

Posted: February 5, 2020 in Uncategorized

When I say that I’m going to talk about reading a book I have to full stop and remember to define:

A book is the thing developed throughout the cultural process as oral story become translated into physical symbols, scratched on a parchment or velum with ink or a clay tablet with a stylus so that it could be passed from one person to another, one generation to another. People have been etching their stories into rocks and cave walls for as long as their brains were big enough for it to matter.

Soon enough the parchments were bound into codexes and books with spines. After the printing press came around the process got much easier and faster. Today, electronic transference of files sends manuscripts to printers thousands of miles away and whips out copies that are shipped anywhere.

People still hold these odd compilations of paper with writing on them in their hands. Even though our minds are being twisted to think in electronic, chopped up fragments and characters, many people still enjoy the experience of reading books. Not just a newspaper or magazine. Entire books. Against all odds, people want to open a cover and start a story, read the poetry, discover the history, explore their faith, fly with the fantasy that one or more people thought should be confined to several hundred pages. Something with a beginning and an end. People still do it.

After children’s books, I remember the first novel I read as a young adult. The first one. At the time it seemed like I was hiking around an unknown lake through the mist. But then I finished it. And started the next one. That, I suppose, was the beginning of an addiction and the reason a pile of to-be-read books always stares at me from my side table. And what I discovered later is that you cannot write a word unless you’ve read a word, lots of words.

So, on to reading a book. After you’ve passed the several hundred mark of books you’ve read you realize that you approach a book like a curious detective. No matter if the book is fiction, non-fiction, poetry, an anthology of several authors, you want to know what this thing is. You want to know the author or authors. If it’s historical you want to know just where that history is set. If it’s fiction you want to know what realm you are investigating.

Because you’ve done it before, you have an idea how long it will take, but not always, because books can fool you. Some are ponderous and you spend hours musing on imponderables. And then again there are the breeze-right-through books that take you on a wild ride and they are done before you started, leaving you wanting for more.

Some books will wait for you. By that I mean you can impolitely walk away, take a break, return and pick it up and start in where you left off with hardly any effort. Other books require your soul and they become resentful when you put them down. They are jealous of your time. They demand you make a choice; it’s either them or nothing. Like temperamental lovers, they are often the best ones.

Don’t become too impatient too fast. Really good storytellers warm you up at the beginning. No rush. Lay it out one piece at a time. Don’t hurry the punch line. And just when you think you might lose interest and wonder where it’s going the strings tie together and you are in the clutches of the spider who wrapped you in her web. Just wait.

Of course you have to be willing to enter the mind of the author, the character, the reader that is you in that world. It’s a form of surrender to story time. And when someone looks at you reading and suggests that you might do something really important, that’s when you should refrain from killing them on the spot. That’s an impulse that should be controlled.

Some books live with you forever as a separate thing. They have a life of their own. You can quote them, invite a character or two to dinner. Other books are just layered into the collage of book world, added to the thousands of other insights and questions you already have. Some books can’t be understood or understood well when you are too young. Some books require that you suffer a little before they spill their guts to you. And some books require that you read other books first, crawling before you walk.

Books become your friends, enemies, lovers, wise crones, disturbers, revealers, guides and healers. And back behind the page are worlds of thought, imagination and passion that wait like predators to snag unsuspecting victims off of life’s ordinary path. Sometimes you can read too much, too many things at once, pick up the next book too quickly before you’ve fully digested the last one. Some books require space and time to ponder them before the next one demands your attention.

The reason some books become classics and are not found in the bargain book box at Sams is because they are universal in their staying power. They are written well and not all books are. They address the human themes that matter not only for us but for many generations. No matter the strange use of language, the plot rings true, the characters appear as real, and the insights transcendent. Defining what is a classic is often the product of culture or who has the power to do so. But like cream, they often rise to the top. In the Milky Way of books their brightness stands out.

Some things you know only because you do it a lot. And then, like reading a book, that becomes an art. A way of knowing, I suppose. I remember a time when I proudly proclaimed that I wanted to live life not just read about life. How stupid that was. Living life does not preclude also entering a larger world of reading alongside that living. And when we do, when we take up the next title with a sense of adventure and expectation, it is as though we sit in front of a crackling fire, introduce ourselves, and ask, “Now, what do you have to tell me?”

I recently had the pleasure of joining Jonathan Best on his Liminal Theology podcast. We had a far-ranging and stimulating conversation. Tune in and listen for yourself!

Podcast: Timothy Carson

Liminality and Life: making the most of the transitions that define us
Held on three days at the Kindred Collective, 2800 Forum Blvd, Columbia, Missouri 65203:
Feb 8 (9-11 am), Feb 10 (7-9 pm), and Feb 15 (1-3pm)
The facilitator is Tim Carson

Liminality is the state of being that individuals and groups enter when they cross the critical thresholds of life. During this three-part series participants will explore liminality and apply its insights to their own mighty passages.

You may download the brochure and the registration form and if you have any questions contact the facilitator, Tim Carson, by email.