Behold the Child
At the Council for Committees Retreat a week ago yesterday we played one of my favorite
warm-up games--we were each invited to tell something about ourselves that we thought
others would probably not know. And, I should add, that we were willing to tell! I shared something innocent enough at the time; but, as so often happens, days
later I thought of just the right thing about subversive me: you see, I am a threat
to all the stranger danger teachings of parents who subject their little ones to
supermarkets and shopping malls. When I catch the eye of an infant, a toddler, even an older
youngster, I wink, I play peek, sometimes I play finger games. Occasionally I get
caught at it and sometimes the parent whisks the youngster away; sometimes she or
he nervously begins to play with the little one her- or himself; but now and then, the
parent just enjoys someone else enjoying her/his pride and joy! The youngsters,
too, represent a variety of human responses: they will stop their fidgeting or crying
to stare in puzzlement, or to let the sun come out in a tiny-toothed grin, or to join the
game by mimicking me. Doesn't matter to me. Just having that moment of wordless
fun with a younger human being makes my day. And there's a special bonus if it also
seems to make a happier moment for a tired, stressed, bored or ignored little one.
Well, all of this is by way of introducing one of the great changes occurring in our
time. We have heard quite often lately from the media about the aging Baby Boomers
, the first of whom, like President Clinton, turn 50 this year. But that's not the
most significant change for the human family over all, only a contributing factor.
As a country we are getting older. Nicholas D. Kristof, in an article entitled
AGING WORLD, NEW WRINKLES in the New York TIMES a few weeks back reported that
In 1790, half the American people were under 16. It took two centuries, until 1990,
for the median age to rise to 33. But by the middle of the next century, it will
be over 40 and could approach 50.
This graying of the human family is not just an American phenomenon, but a global
one. Japan, for instance, is characterized as perhaps "the world's fastest-aging
country." Mr. Kristof lists many of the problems this new wrinkle has already entrained
here as elsewhere--from "geezer power" and rising rates of dementia, depression and
suicide to the increasing need for care for the infirm elderly, and widening gender
and generation gaps. Finally, noting that the full range of consequences for this
situation is still not predictable, Kristof closes with this challenge:
And while there will be tremendous difficulties paying for the boomers' retirement,
there is a bright side to all this. Aging may be a problem, but think of the alternative.
I think the journalist intended to end his column on a light note with that old saw
about the alternative to aging. But it conjured up for me a book I read some years
ago by P. D. James, entitled THE CHILDREN OF MEN. The premise is that, for some
unknown reason, the human race has stopped producing children. To be sure, some women
seem to conceive, but theirs are merely hysterical pregnancies for the whole of Humankind
is indeed aging toward the Final Alternative. The author makes this most poignant
for her central character in this vignette--
He reached the chapel just as the service was about to begin. The choir of eight
men and eight women filed in, bringing with them a memory of earlier choirs, boy
choristers entering grave-faced with that almost imperceptible childish swagger,
crossed arms holding the service sheets to their narrow chests, their hair brushed to gleaming
caps, their faces preternaturally solemn above starched collars. Theo banished the
image, wondering why it was so persistent when he had never even cared for children.
Now he fixed his eyes on the chaplain, remembering the incident some months previously
when he had arrived early for Evensong. Somehow a young deer from the Magdelen meadow
had made its way into the chapel and was standing peaceably beside the altar as if
this were its natural habitat. The chaplain, harshly shouting, had rushed at it, seizing
and hurling prayer books, thumping its silken sides. The animal, puzzled, docile,
had for a moment endured the assault and then, delicate-footed, had pranced its way
out of the chapel.
The chaplain had turned to Theo, tears streaming down his face. "Christ, why can't
they wait? Bloody animals. They'll have it all soon enough. Why can't they wait?"
(p. 36)
Grim as that story's premise is, it offers us another, perhaps more profound, perspective
on the problems of an aging human family. Beyond our recognition of the need to
provide for the physical and psychological wellbeing of the elderly, behind our
anxieties over retirement income, beneath our discomfort at the growing chasm between
the generations, there is the suggestion that all these issues are incomplete until
we consider the children who will inherit the bills, the responsibilities, the future.
Of course, it makes good sense that senior citizens should circle their wagons to
keep the retirement income and medical care that has been promised. It is only reasonable
that each generation needs the opportunity to find and follow its own star. Indeed, the struggle and the competition between generations, between ethnic, religious,
political, class, majority and minority groups might as a final experiment be considered
justifiable were we indeed down to the last generation. However, only by using the most artificial of legalisms may we divide the human family up in such specific
groupings without overlappings and leaky margins. We are, as ever, interdependent
and, fantasy fiction aside, still blessed with oncoming human progeny.
So if we are to address the welfare of the human community, nationally, globally,
that our programs and policies may be creative, useful and proactive, we must consider
the state of the child.
It is most often the children who have no choice regarding the circumstances they
are born into who are the pawns, the human sacrifices, made in behalf of contending
faiths, differing opinions, conflicting ideologies. Religious communities can and
do refuse their blessing and moral support for youngsters born "illegitimate"-- (one could
hardly say "out-of-wedlock," since a baby is unlikely to be born married!) Political
opinion regarding governmental support for the education of children bogs down in
curious little details as in the current discussions of dress codes and so-called choice
of schools (by the parents) while the current numbers of children in poverty preclude
the affordability of uniforms and the accessibility of choice schools for fully a
quarter of the nations children. In like manner, the boot-strap ideology that blames
immigrant offspring and ghetto victims for their plight and the comfortable who limit
access to the physical, intellectual, natural and cultural resources gleaned by our
kind from generations gone before to those children born to privilege--both are not
just blind to but willfully ignorant of the danger inherent in forcing a growing
sector of the human family into lives of more scarcity, increasing ignorance, and
not-so-quiet despair.
Early in this century, there were those who sought to counter a similar situation
by withholding family-planning from upper class women in order to raise the birthrate
in that category. Recently we have documented that the birthrate falls--globally--
when people (especially mothers) are well-nourished, adequately sheltered, educated,
and able to find significant work. We have known for some time that we do not do
well as a species in overcrowded conditions, and that we are using the earth's resources
willy-nilly beyond the capability of easy or timely renewal. We dare not continue increasing
our numbers. Each child and every child needs to be, ought to be, must be wanted
and cared for.
Entitlement
is a word that, in addition to liberal
, has accrued a whiff of negativity in recent parlance. We older folk were promised
and we've been paying into Social Security and we are relying on Medicare and Medicaid.
We're entitled. Those of us who have worked hard for our degrees and badges of
seniority and professional and other work-related attainments have earned comfort and
tax-breaks and good neighborhoods and respect. We're entitled. By virtue of being
adults, we can vote, join many groups, speak our minds, choose among various options.
We're entitled.
Some years ago, the United Nations promulgated a Declaration of the Rights of the
Child--a list of those entitlements due each and every human born on this earth.
I submit that these are the best guidelines around for informing our development
as a species, for providing for each new generation, for outlining the fundamental tasks, the
basic responsibilities of government of the people, by the people, for the people.
The Rights of the Child include:
The right to affection, love and understanding.
The right to adequate nutrition and medical care.
The right to free education.
The right to full opportunity for play and recreation.
The right to a name and nationality.
The right to special care, if handicapped.
The right to be among the first to receive relief in times of
disaster.
The right to learn to be a useful member of society and to
develop individual abilities.
The right to be brought up in a spirit of peace and universal
brotherhood.
The right to enjoy these rights, regardless of race, color, sex,
religion, national or social origin.
Were we to order our economic priorities, develop our social programs, review our
environmental attitudes and concerns, and, in general, provide for the public welfare
guided by that decalogue of entitlements, we would revision and revise our ideas
of taxes and work, governing and human worth.
Aging child that I am, I like to trade smiles and games with little ones. I also
relish remembering my own childhood moments of really free time, sitting on a cherry
tree limb watching the passing scene, seeking the little hideaway in the lilacs on
the edge of the school playground at recess, hauling a sledful of little sister down the
street to the open field where snow softened the bumpy incline and blue sky and white
clouds and crisp air challenged me to consider my connections to the world. I have
grown old with most of the Rights of the Child bestowed on me as givens. And over
the years many, many children have given me wonderful experiences. Certainly my
elders privilege carries with it the responsibility to make such blessings available
to all the children of my community, be it this church, this county, this country, this planet.
Robert Fulghum in MAYBE (MAYBE NOT) tells of starting a philosophy course for high
school seniors with a game of Musical Chairs. First time around they follow the
usual rules which everyone remembers from second grade. Each round, somebody loses
and goes to stand by the wall feeling a little "dumb;" finally two jocks battle it out for
the single remaining chair and one emerges from the scuffle on the chair.
The last student in the last chair always acted as if the class admired him and his
accomplishments. He got the CHAIR! "I'm a WINNER!" Wrong.
Those losers lined up against the wall thought he was a jerk.
Admiration? Hardly. Contempt is what they felt.
This was not a game. Games were supposed to be fun.
This got too serious too fast--like high school life--and real life.
Did they want to play again? A few of the jocks did. But not the rest of the class.
It all came back to them now. Big deal.
I insisted. Play one more time. With one rule change. Musical chairs as before,
but this time, if you don't have a chair, sit down in someone's lap. Everybody stays
in the game--it's only a matter of where you sit.
The students are thinking--well...OK. (p.119)
And so they start again. Giggling, taking time to check out who's to sit on whom.
Fulghum again:
When there is one chair left, the class laughs and shouts in delight as they all manage
to use one chair for support... . almost always, if they tumbled over, they'd get
up and try a again until everyone was sitting down. A triumphant moment for all,
teacher included.
The only person who had a hard time with this paradigm shift was the guy who won the
first time under the old rules. He lost his bearings--didn't know what winning was
now.
As a final step in this process, I would tell the class we would push one more round.
"The music will play, you will march, and I will take away the last chair. When
the music stops, you will all sit down in a lap."
"Can't be done," they say.
"Yes, it can," say I.
So once more they marched and stopped--what now?
Everyone stand in a perfect circle. ... .
...with each person in the group belly-side to backside with the person ahead of them.
"Place your hands on the hips of the person in front of you.
"On the count of three, very carefully guide the person onto your knees at the same
time as you very carefully sit down on the knees of the person behind you.
"Ready. One. Two. Three. Sit"
They all sat. No chair.
I have played the chair game in this way with many different groups of many ages in
varied settings. The experience is always the same. It's a problem of sharing diminishing
resources. This really isn't kid stuff. And the questions raised by musical chairs are always the same:
Is it always to be a winners-losers world, or can we keep everyone in the game?
Do we have what it takes to find a better way? (pp120-121)
The media are full of conflicting contentions this election year. The candidates
would have us think in terms of the old win-lose game so that we will vote our own
blind self-interest regarding taxes and entitlements. But to share diminishing resources, we must look for a better way to play the game. We need to recognize that each generation
repays its debt to the one before by caring for the next one--all children are our
children and we are all their parents, grandparents, care givers, role models, companions. Infant or aging child of the human family we each depend on our greatest
resource, our fundamental support: each other.
The sermon in a Unitarian Universalist setting is never the last word
on any subject, but rather an invitation to further dialog.
You may want to read other visitors'
comments on Beverly Bumbaugh's "Behold the Child"
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Bill Griffeth
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