Category: nonmath

I started this blog to explore how I might become a better math teacher. Today I’m writing to explore how I might become a better person. A better husband. A better father. A better neighbor. A better stranger.

I have more questions than answers.

I’m not quite sure what to say, or how to say it.

Anyway, if you’re interested in following along as I stumble along, here goes.

—

Alton Sterling on July 5.

Philando Castile on July 6.

Lorne Ahrens, Michael Krol, Michael Smith, Brent Thompson, and Patricio Zamarripa on July 7.

Micah Johnson on July 7.

I’m halfway across the country. White and insulated. Unaffected. Yet entirely affected.

Trying not to return to “life as usual” so quickly this time. (Confession: That’s what I’ve often done.)

Trying to make sense of it all. (Spoiler: I cannot.)

Trying to learn mourning and lament. (Baby steps, thanks to my wife.)

—

Several days later, another news headline. A new tragedy. More dead.

Heartbreak.

I read further. It’s somewhere else. The Sudan, I think. Anyway, it’s not here. Not us.

Relief.

And then…

Shame.

Shame because I gave myself permission to view another human being as other and unworthy.

Other than myself, my family. Unworthy of my tears, my concern.

The better version of myself doesn’t look away. It mourns. It listens. It seeks to understand.

I’m not there yet. But I want to move in that direction.

Questions and Convictions

I’m not sure how to balance that desire to be compassionate against the reality that my conscience can’t bear the collective weight of human suffering, not even a fraction of it.

Nor am I sure how to balance the tension between compassion for others and caring for my family. (More on this in a future post, I think.)

But I am convinced of this: Christ is not honored when I look away from the plight of the orphan and the widow. He is not honored when I ignore the needs of others because it might cost me something.

So what does that mean for me? In the words of Francis Schaeffer, echoed often by one of my former colleagues, “How then shall we live?”

I don’t know. I’m in the process of figuring that out. But I do know that if my answer doesn’t honor the heart of James 1:27, if my answer doesn’t take into account the voices of the Old Testament prophets, who cry out loudly on behalf of the weak and the poor, then my answer doesn’t match God’s answer for how I should live in these challenging days.

I began tweeting at the end of 2012. I began blogging a few months later. Since then, nearly everything I’ve shared in this medium has been strictly related to mathematics and education. The balance? A few quips about my kids and running.

Up to this point, I’ve not written anything overtly political. In fact, for most of my adult life I’ve been so disillusioned by the American political landscape that I considered myself apolitical.

Also, beyond the first line of my Twitter bio—which reads Follower of Christ—I’ve shared almost nothing that springs from my faith, the very foundation of my life.

In a sense, I’ve been loud on mathematics/education/technology, and silent on everything else.

Over the past year, I’ve become increasingly uncomfortable with that silence.

Our professional, personal, and political thoughts are intertwined. For some time, I’ve been pretending that I can keep them separate in my own life. I cannot. Nor do I want to.

So as Mr. Trump imposes his own set of bans, I’ll lift one of my own. As I wrestle with how to live as a faithful follower of Christ in this strange new world, I will no longer wrestle silently. Where I see bigotry and hatred, I will stand and speak against it, especially if that bigotry and hatred spews forth from a position of power.

There’s a pretty good chance everyone reading this post will disagree with something I share over the coming months. That’s fine. I invite your pushback, your perspective. I’m open to dialogue. If you’d prefer I keep my thoughts to myself, that I just “stick to education” as some of my friends and colleagues have been advised, you’ll likely be disappointed and may want to give the unsubscribe/unfollow button a try.

I’ll leave you with some words that have been troubling me in a most helpful way:

“They have healed the wound of my people lightly, saying, ‘Peace, peace,’ when there is no peace.”

– Jeremiah 6:14

“In the end, we will not remember the words of our enemies. But the silence of our friends.”

– Martin Luther King, Jr.