Month: March 2016

Cho-Liang Lin, popularly known as Jimmy, recently played Mozart’s Violin Concert #4 in D major with the Hawaii Symphony Orchestra. Before the concert, Jimmy educated us about Mozart’s flurry of concerti compositions and extolled the genius of the young man of Salzburg. He asked if any of us had a question.

The first question was not about Mozart. The woman asked what it was like to travel around the world carrying a 300 year-old violin made in 1715 by Stradivarius. I don’t think I have ever been in the presence of something other than a building that was made so long ago and still used regularly.

Jimmy replied that he needed to balance practicality—he needed to take his violin to concerts—with careful stewardship of the “Titian,” a violin so valued that it is known by the name of a major Renaissance artist.

He went on to tell a story about a previous owner of some fame—Efrem Zimbalist—who, when he heard that Titian might be for sale, moved heaven and earth to get to Europe to buy it before anyone else could.

Clearly, Jimmy sees his responsibility to be a good steward of something knowledgeable people value.

People of a Certain Age, what do we value in such a way that we acknowledge our responsibility to be good stewards?

The concert took place the day before I flew to San Diego to see my mother. She had developed an infection that required hospitalization and therapy, and I saw her at a low moment. Happily, she rallied quickly, regaining what she calls her “attitude.”

Mom has lived since 1920. She lives a comfortable, by no means opulent, life, visited frequently by younger people who seem to value the wisdom of a 95 year-old. She always tells people “I have had a good life.”

Mom has been a good steward of life, responsibly caring for a gift she was given without asking. We might ask ourselves, have we been good stewards of the gift of life?

Central to her life have been the many people whom she has loved and who love her. Tending to her relationships has been another opportunity for stewardship. She was raised an only child. Yet she carried away from her upbringing a genuine concern for others, a tribute to her parents and to her lifelong faith in God.

She loved and cared for two husbands, one for 56 years, the second for 9 years. Give her the chance, and she will explain how she attended to the needs of her husbands and received their nurture in return. One never knows for sure, but it seems she took little for granted in those relationships.

She writes notes to people in their times of need. When a friend calls, she makes that person the center of her attention. She delights in being valued by others as one who makes them feel better after talking with her.

Do we ever think about life and relationships as needing to be stewarded?

In my work days, I often used the word “stewardship” when appealing for financial support for the schools I served. Of course I borrowed the term from my upbringing in the church. There was always a Stewardship Sunday, usually in November, at which the preacher preached about the importance of members making financial pledges for the coming year. One friend in the pulpit once observed that he felt he preached a Stewardship Sermon every Sunday: preach badly often enough and watch the membership numbers dive.

In our schools, it wasn’t hard to make the case (except when we founded a school) that people in the past had passed on to us a vibrant community of learners, teachers, and families, and that we were now obligated to pass along an equally strong school to future learners, teachers, and families.

Being a good steward in this way connects us with a past and a future. I value that connectedness.

The current political climate in the US might be helped if we voters re-affirmed our roles as stewards. Partly in jest, I have suggested to friends that they find a person on the opposite side of the political spectrum to take to lunch. There would be three toasts.

The first would be to preserve a system of government and politics where each person can express political opinions without fear of being shot or imprisoned.

The second would be that the conversation to follow would be about ideas and opinions, even about possible common ground, without any inferences about intelligence or family background.

Then over lunch, the debate would unfold. Whenever the exchanges ended, there would be a third toast; the first toast repeated, each person affirming responsibility for the wholeness of the system that encourages people to speak their minds without fear.

We steward what is valuable, what we value. For Jimmy Lin, part of the deal as steward of the Titian is to use this venerated, seasoned, beautiful instrument to play beautiful music.

As the steward of her life and her relationships, Mom has done the same.

Dan White

March 21, 2016

All Quiet on the Western Front by Erich Remarque has been made into films since its publication in 1929, one of which I showed every year to my AP US History classes. The German boy, played by Richard Thomas in the version I used, was witness to the slow and excruciatingly painful death of a good friend.

When the boys went off to war, the deceased’s mother had specifically charged the Richard Thomas character to “look after her boy.”

So it was that when he came back on leave, the soldier sought out the mother to grieve with her. For a time, she seemed to blame him for not adequately looking after her son. Then she looks at the young man and asks, “Did he die quickly?”

Several academic studies in recent years have explored the question of whether or not people tell the truth. We might hope that the answer is yes.

If so, we would have cause to worry. There is evidence to suggest that most of us manage to mis-state the truth or outright lie more than any of us think ourselves capable of doing.

I can’t argue the merits of the studies. Instead, I take their point to suggest that we People of a Certain Age, indeed, people of any age, develop tendencies that we might wish we had not.

I wonder how many of us are completely honest all the time about how we feel. Generally, a person who asks “how’re you doing” is not intending to receive a full report on your latest health concern. So, the usual response is “fine,” even when you are not. Is that dishonest?

Have you ever been asked, “How do I look?” by someone whose clothes look ill-matched or whose face looks gray and ghostly? Don’t you usually find something to compliment rather than blurting out your real thoughts?

Hank Ketchum has drawn many Dennis the Menace cartoons in which Dennis repeats something his parents have said about someone to that someone, to the horror of his parents. Real children also have the capacity to share unfiltered comments about what they see or feel.

Growing up seems to be, among other things, a matter of making judgments about what to say when. We all notice adults who, for whatever reasons, say exactly what is on their minds. Their filters are less well developed.

I believe most people, when faced with big issues, tell the truth. Perhaps they received the same advice as I did as a child, to “tell the truth so you don’t have to remember the story you told.” I believe most people, for example, would not lie if the lie would endanger another person.

Some Big Lies are found out, with major consequences. We People of a Certain Age remember Watergate, where the cover-up (read web of lies) cost the President his job. Do you believe, as I do, that this is merely one among too many Big Lies, with President Nixon unlucky that his was found out?

Perhaps editing one’s comments about how another person looks or resisting the urge to explain exactly how you feel when asked don’t even qualify as lies.

So, is the absence of the truth a lie?

We have heard about people telling doctors to reveal the whole truth about one’s condition, holding nothing back, and doctors being ready to do so. We have also heard about families who collaborate with a doctor to shield the ill person from the truth.

Is there such a thing as a compassionate lie that passes muster as the right thing to do?

Once as a school head, I put a value on telling the truth in a tangible way. Three boys were caught drunk on campus. The penalty was expulsion. Two lied, claiming they had not been drinking. One told the truth, admitting that all three had done so. I made all three get counseling about alcohol and did not dismiss any of the three. I was criticized by hard-liners about alcohol on campus. They would have had me expel the one who told the truth and let the liars stay? Really?

My scholarly sister has noted the book, Lie to Me, by Paul Ekman in which the author asserts that, in specific ways, one’s body reveals when one is lying. Knowing these ways helps crime investigators and job interviewers. Chances are, unfortunately, that these ways are less obvious than Pinocchio’s nose.

Do I need to become savvy as well to maximize my ability to tell when I am being told a “little white lie?” (This is a term I have not liked for obvious reasons!)

No doubt, you and I think ourselves to be honest people. When it comes to big issues, my conscience is clear. Maybe I have uttered a few untruths here and there along the way. Does that make me a dishonest person?

Does an honest person lie, ever?

If you had been the German soldier, how would you have answered the grieving mother?

In the movie, the solider says, “He died quickly.”

Not once in all the times I watched the film was I ever convinced that she believed him.

Daniel E. White

March 7, 2016