Leonard Pitts was unsettled with the news of John Allen Muhammad's execution.

Pitts is a Pulitzer Prize winning columnist who is, by his own admission, a "staunch opponent" of capital punishment. But what unsettled him was not the execution of the DC sniper; it was his lack of remorse over it, and even satisfaction with it. Pitts confesses that he had the same feelings when Timothy McVeigh was put to death.

Reflecting on his emotions, Pitts realizes they are deeply opposed to his convictions—convictions, he admits, that are also in conflict with his pro-choice sentiments. As to how he squares his loathe for the death penalty with his approval of abortion rights, he admits, "I can't." His only answer is that "‘most' of us are guilty of inconsistency" in the "gray areas of life."

He cites conservatives who oppose abortion because of their pro-life convictions, yet support capital punishment which takes life and, at times, takes innocent life. But contradictory positions are unavoidable, Pitts allows, because life is "messy and untidy." We all ignore truths, he continues, "that indict our deep convictions, striking bargains with conscience in the name of a good night's sleep."

No argument here that life is messy. But ignoring moral truths for the sake of a good night's sleep is a poor bargain.

Willful ignorance

Pitts says that his pro-choice stance stems from his aversion to laws that would "compel a woman to bear a child, for whatever reason." Actually, those laws would forbid the killing of her child for whatever reason, or no reason.

If Pitts finds such "pre-partum" laws distasteful, why shouldn't laws forbidding a woman to "terminate" her post-partum child be equally distasteful—one with, say, a severe physical or mental defect? Because he chooses to think of the pre-partum child as a "potential human...an oops without a name," as he indelicately puts it.

It is the choice of willful ignorance—the shutting of eyes, the covering of ears, the closing of minds, and the hardening of hearts to...  Continue reading here.

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Life is filled with myriad decisions: Where should I go to college? Whom should I marry? What job offer should I accept? Where should I live? Each involving a constellation of practical and emotional parameters that must be considered and weighed.

For the Christian trying to tease out God's will, decision-making can be a dizzying experience—especially when, as often happens, the "signposts" do not point to one, unambiguous path.

For a church, things can be more blurry. Choosing a pastor, liturgy, style of music, or whether to embark on a building program involves multiple signposts that must be evaluated by members of the decision-making group. When the inevitable disagreements arise, the question becomes, "What signposts are overriding and whose interpretation is right?"

Bible professor Dr. Garry Friesen describes the tension in his acclaimed volume, Decision Making and the Will of God. Concerning a congregational meeting Dr. Friesen attended involving a high-tension decision, he writes:

In the course of that meeting, one lady stood up and said, "We can't vote now." When asked why, she replied in total sincerity: "I have talked with several others here who are earnestly seeking God's perfect will in this matter. Apparently, the Holy Spirit has told some of us to vote ‘yes' and some of us to vote ‘no.' How can we resolve the question when the Holy Spirit is telling us two different things."

Dr. Friesen rightly noted that desire for unity undercut this lady's trust in the protocol established in her church constitution.

Unity is trumps

A while back, I was a leader in a church deliberating over the location of a new church home. A member, who was concerned over the spirited divisions in the pews, approached a pastor from another church for advice.

The pastor's counsel? Don't make any decision that is not supported by 85 to 90 percent of the congregation. Crouching low, in those words, is the hidden dragon of riftophobia—fear that, without near unanimous support, a chosen course of action will lead to division.

For both the "congregational" lady and the pastor, unity trumps all else in the decision-making process. While neither instance involves a matter governed by explicit scriptural commands, they follow a troubling trend of those that do...  Continue reading here.

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One of my favorite films over the last several years is Finding Neverland. Based on the life of Peter Pan author, James Barrie, the story follows Barrie's friendship with Sylvia Davies and her four young boys.

During their initial meeting, the boys ask Barrie how he makes a living. With their brother Peter diverted elsewhere, Barrie glances at his dog and replies:

"Well, currently, I make my living entertaining princes and their courts with my trained bear, Porthos. If you command your brother, Peter, to join us, I am willing to give you just such a performance."

"Very well," the boys reply, as Peter reluctantly redirects his attention.

"Now...I want you to pay particular attention to the teeth. Some unscrupulous trainers will show you a bear whose teeth have all been pulled, while other cowards will force the brute into a muzzle. Only the true master would attempt these tricks without either measure of safety."

"This is absurd," snaps Peter. "It's just a dog."

"Just a dog"? "Just"? Porthos, don't listen to him. Porthos dreams of being a bear and you want to dash those dreams by saying he's "just a dog"? What a horrible, candle-snuffing word. That's like saying, "He can't climb that mountain, he's just a man." Or, "That's not a diamond, it's just a rock."

"Fine then. Turn him into a bear...if you can."

"With those eyes, my bonny lad, I'm afraid you'd never see it."

I've known people, like young Peter, who are afflicted with a special kind of glaucoma—one that impairs its victims from seeing beyond physical appearances. For them, "just" is a hammer—a dream-squashing utterance that reduces the extraordinary to the ordinary, the significant to the insignificant, the sacred to the profane: "She's just a clerk." "It's just a clump of cells." "It's just a part of our evolutionary heritage." "It's just a myth." It's a word that was used against the most significant person to ever walk the earth... Continue reading here.

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Downtown, early morning, all alone. Ten stories up, staring across the Hudson River, at nothing. My eyes filled with tears.

***

Looking across the Harlem River from the taxi cab window, I was rapt by the twilight skyline of Manhattan. The sight of the bejeweled city stirred memories of Gershwin melodies, gangster stories, and scenes from The Naked City and On the Waterfront.

I was coming to New York for a job interview the following day with an architect-engineering firm. As a 22-year-old college senior, the thought of launching my career in the cultural hub of the world—a town I had experienced through films and music—was gripping.

After checking in to the Statler-Hilton, I made the two-block jaunt to the Empire State building. From a quarter mile up, the neon carpet that stretched across the pulsing landscape below was spellbinding. "Tomorrow," I thought, "I want to do well.

Six months later, I was married and living and working in New York City. But as a new husband, the town, with its endless rows of concrete monoliths, queues of horn-blowing yellow cabs, nauseating subway smells and bus fumes, and throngs of strange-looking, strange-speaking people, seemed much different than the city that had enchanted me a few months ago as an unmarried student. Coming from the Deep South, real life in the "city that never sleeps" felt as foreign to me and Joanne, as it was to the prince and princess of Andalasia.

Over the next year and a half, we adjusted the peculiarities of the City and grew to appreciate and enjoy the diversity of its people and culture. I was establishing myself as an engineer in the commercial nuclear industry and Joanne was working with an international medical research company. On the weekends, we were off to the museums, galleries, restaurants, theaters, block festivals, Long Island, doing the things that childless, young married couples do. We were loving life and loving each other, and I was feeling at home. Until that morning... Continue reading here.

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