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<p>You can’t know the weight of the arguments, the strength of the resistance, the hatred and narrow-mindedness and reverse-bigotry behind this young cultural movement for “tolerance”. It’s so far more than anything we faced when we were 18. The message is that you will be tolerant, or you will be silenced, and if you can’t be silenced, well, then, you can die. The ironic hypocrisy would be funny, except that it’s scary, and it’s coming from intelligent people with powerful voices whose arguments sound like, ‘we should all love one another’, but is really, ‘conform, or else’.</p>
<p>While I’ve been on this brief hiatus I’ve been busy learning and listening and contemplating, and just trying to hear something besides my own voice for a while. It’s been good, I think, though less than profound. Normal is part of the Christian life as well as mountaintops and valleys low. Doing life is sometimes where the best work is done.</p>
<p>Have you ever noticed that every traditional Christmas song is written in a key that no one can sing, and spans four octaves? It’s as if every common pew-sitting Christian from the 1800s was a classically trained operatic singer.</p>
<p>If you’ve read my last few posts then you know I’ve been in a hard place – a place that has forced me to face (OK…run from!!) some fears. (Sorry I’ve been so gloomy! It happens, you know?).</p>
<p>So my son has been away at college for two weeks now. Fourteen days that seem like a year. I’m past the point of the persistent twinge in my stomach like I ate something bad, and find myself now constantly patting my pockets and checking to be sure I’m carrying my purse because it feels as if I’m forgetting something vital. I’m going to indulge in a bit of what a friend of mine would call melodrama, but it has a point, so try to endure.</p>
<p>I’ve just wrapped up a short summer study with my Bible study group where we allowed Jesus to confront us with some hard questions. Today, I realized that He’s asked me another one...</p>
<p>The problem with wearing an air of tolerance is that when you have one of those difficult encounters with diversity, your tolerance is unmasked and revealed to be prideful hypocrisy and false humility. There’s no backpedaling.</p>
<p>I have my grandmother’s arms. I’m not especially pleased about this development. You see, my grandmother was on the…plump side, and her arms were…plump…and flabby and cool. Now they’re mine. At some point we have to accept that this is the genetic hand we’ve been dealt, and no matter how hard we work those triceps, we’re just gonna have flabby arms. Doesn’t mean we stop working. Doesn’t mean we stop wearing longer sleeves. Just means that we know there are limitations to the outcome of our efforts to reverse or hide our condition.</p>
<p>This is one of those posts I have debated for days. To write or not to write, that has been the question. I’ve sung this song before, first verse, second verse, and chorus. But it’s an issue that continues to perplex me, and because the song is on a continuous loop in my head, it’s one that I’m sure I’m not seeing clearly. You let me know.</p>
<p>This topic is something I live with. It is next door to me. It is in my son’s school. It is in my grocery store, my help-wanted ads, my doctor’s office, my home. It is the life-breath of my small community. It is not some far-flung problem for someone “else”. It is not something I’ve made judgments about from a distance. It is an on-going conversation in my soul about people – real people – that I live with every day. It’s personal.</p>