Rick Bundschuh

That Important...but Invisible Line

Rick Bundschuh — Wed, 04 Jan 2012 07:09:54 -0800

A good friend of mine is the top dog in an outfit that does incredibly good things for the poor wo try to survive in the dusty folds just across our borders. He lives very modestly and drives a used four-wheel drive SUV as is apt for a mission ministry that survives off of the generosity and sacrifice of others.

A life long bachelor, he has given his years to God’s service and the needs of the poor, and as such, has deeply inspired many. So much so that one day a wealthy supporter pulled him aside and handed him the keys to fancy sports car.

“This is for you” he said, “If anyone deserves it, you do”.

For several months my friend drove this gift around, marveling at its speed, handling and luxury.

But the whole time there was a queasy feeling in his gut.

“I pull up to a church in this car to talk about the poor and something doesn’t feel right” he said to me, “I know that this car was a gift and cost me or the ministry nothing, but you can feel the perception of others when they see me driving it.”

The apparent incongruity between the appearance of wealth and my friend’s mission fairly soon caused him to return the car back to the donor. (Who had a hard time seeing the issue, by the way)

There was an invisible line, unspoken, undefined, but very real that had been crossed. At stake was his credibility and ultimately the credibility of his organization.

Fair? Not really.

Judging and jumping to conclusions? Of course.

Understandable? You decide. And while you are deciding consider this:

Now it is not common knowledge, but the CEO’s of two of the largest Christian child sponsorship organizations may have crossed this invisible line. One draws almost a half a million per year and the other just under $300,000 not including fees for speaking etc.

Do they deserve it? Surely, they manage millions of dollars in gifts each year and must navigate the touchy political situations needed to distribute the funds.

Is it on par with what other CEOs of Non Profits make. Absolutely, in fact compared to outfits such as the Red Cross, it is much less.

But…do these salary levels bother you, even a little bit? Does this information cast a shadow on the mission they are promoting? Does it make you want to sacrifice a bit less?

Yeah, I thought so. Me too. And our family and church are deeply invested in helping the poor via child sponsorship programs and this won’t change. But I do have a queasy feeling in my gut.

There is some kind of incongruity that is hard to explain.

Would you be able to explain it to someone like my daughter, a college student, who during her winter and summer break runs out to get jobs and goes without buying new clothes in order to pay for the three “refrigerator kids” she has supported since High School?

I thought not.

Which is why I have not told her about the CEO salary of the child sponsorship program she is supporting.

I don’t know what I could say that would make sense to her, buoy up her palpable disappointment or head off the invitation to cynicism.

Because we both know that there has been the crossing of some sort of invisible line.

And by the way, my good friends who work for these organizations will no doubt be appalled that I am putting this information out in a heavily read blog. They will tell me that children’s sponsorship will be hurt because of this.

And if they are right, they will have illustrated with great clarity the presence of that important but invisible line their very organization has tried to ignore.

The Night We Lost Our Marbles

Rick Bundschuh — Sat, 17 Dec 2011 17:19:31 -0800

For a good number of my younger years I spent Christmas Eve in the chilly backwater parts of Tijuana, Mexico.

I was part of a group of young people who volunteered to bring Christmas joy to a group of disheveled kids at a dirt-poor orphanage. (Note: as in many countries, an orphanage is simply a term for the place you stick unwanted kids, few there were true orphans.)

We lived a mere twenty minutes from the border so it was easy to pack up a fine Christmas dinner of hot dogs, chips and cold sodas (a treat these kids never got tired of) and get to the orphanage while the dogs were still hot.

Of course we would also load our vans with sacks of donated gifts and as we buzzed through the tourist zone of Tijuana we would snatch a huge piñata and pack it with goodies while bouncing on the rough dirt roads that webbed the back hills.

I had been to the orphanage a week or so previous and while goofing around with the kids in the dirt play yard, had noted that apparently marble season had come.

Younger readers may be unaware, but for many years in kiddom the activity on a school playground was governed by some odd and inexplicable calendar that would, without fanfare, usher in some new and temporary fad.

In their turn marbles, clackers, tops, yo-yo’s, super balls, trading cards and their ilk would appear out of the pocket of every well trained boy.

Recess games such as dodge ball, four square, or “King of the Mountain” were abandoned when the fad season hit it’s peak and instead of squealing kids the playground would be filled with small virtuosos Duncan yo-yo’s in hand performing feats such as “walk the dog” or “around the world”. Or in the case of super balls where the bathroom would be filled with a dozen boys who in unison slammed the super ball on the tile floor and then tried to avoid getting whacked in the head by the ricocheting results.

And as with all fads, many kids could not contain their enthusiasm to the playground and thus the desk drawer of every teacher was full of confiscated yo-yo’s, super balls and marbles.

Marble season had burst upon the boys in the Orphanage with the same vengeance that it did in the American grade schools. At every chance they could these miniature gamblers would kneel in the dirt and draw the timeless game circle for the gladiatorial fight of cats’ eyes, purees, jumbos and pee-wees.

The main difference was that for the kids in Mexico, access to marbles was tougher. With no purchasing funds they played with a limited collection chipped, war weary glass balls…and it was only by victory in the ring that they could hope to fill their marble pouch.

As a college age helper that Christmas Eve I was driving a van full of High School students south of the border and as we pulled out of the church parking lot I remembered what I had observed a couple of weeks previously.

“Hey, you guys want to do something really different this year?” I asked my crew and then explained about marble season and the absolute frenzy that had gripped the boys of the orphanage.

So on the way we made a detour to a local toy store where every kid in the van loaded his or her pockets with marbles (and we bought a bunch of jacks as well for the girls).

That was the night we all lost our marbles.

I gave the crew explicit instructions NOT to give away any marbles but to play against the kids. “Make them earn them” I said, “That’s the fun of the game!”

Some of the guys smirked with joy – they had been marble shooting hot shots in their playground just a few years back. They would teach these kids a thing or two.

And some teaching took place for it was a slaughter, the Alamo revisited in marble form. The Yanks stood no chance against even the youngest foe. They were marble shooting sharks and we were hapless guppies.

None of the orphan boys cared about the hot dogs, the Christmas gifts, the piñata or anything else but emptying the marble filled pockets of my inept students. The trouncing they were getting lit the competitive fire in many of the Americans as well but it was to no avail, they all got cleaned out.

I got cleaned out too. Smeared by a kid who obviously suffered from some kind of defect, perhaps he had been a drug baby or child of an alcoholic mother.

He had a small and sorry collection of marbles when we started the play and by the end of the evening his marble pouch overflowed.

We returned home late Christmas Evening to the cornucopia that is American with our pockets empty but hearts filled.

Losing had never been so much fun.

Perhaps Jesus understated the point when he said “it’s more blessed to give than to receive” because forced bankruptcy by a group of marble mercenaries made us feel more than blessed…it made us feel terrific.

Latter Day Uneasiness

Rick Bundschuh — Sun, 30 Oct 2011 11:21:27 -0700

Let me just put it out there and take the wacks for being intolerant; I would be very uneasy having a devout Mormon in the Oval office.

Watching the political wrangling of the pachyderm party and the various missteps of those hopefuls for nomination to lead the nation, it is quite obvious that the “religious affiliation” question is a minefield not to be crossed.

So let me attempt to bravely venture out where one is forbidden to go and explain my queasiness.

Some religions are nutty.

Scientology comes to mind as a loopy scam.

Some religions are deceptive, cloaking their real ideas and agenda in the guise and language of an already accepted faith.

The Gnostics were pretty good at this as I recall.

Some religions require that you suspend your logic and reasoning and substitute an emotional embrace instead.

Jim Jones created this environment in a deadly manner.

Frankly, Mormonism is all of the above. A remarkably nutty story that reeks of a scam and insists that in spite of all logical evidence the contrary, the truth of their story is verified through the warming emotion of the heart. Then has the gall to wrap the whole kooky enchilada in the language and events of orthodox Christianity.

Yes, there are many wonderful, sweet people who are Mormons. Yes, yes, they have high moral standards and are clean cut and well scrubbed and yes, they talk about God and Jesus.

But it is the story they have put their trust in that gives me pause and their willingness to dive headlong into this tall tale with unquestioning hesitation.

For me, the faltering point in giving a thumbs up to a Mormon in the oval office comes from their gullibility.

So I ask myself, would I trust a person who naively believes the LDS story to have the discernment to lead a nation? Perhaps an example would give clarity to my point.

What if the lead candidate believed in Fairies?

In the late 1800’s some seemingly smart people such as Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (author of Sherlock Holmes) bought into a hoax that showed photos of these wee folks scampering on vegetation. (See his still in print book The Coming of Fairies if you don’t believe me.)

As much as I admire the work of Sir Doyle, the fact that he believes in Fairies, would, in my mind, disqualify him for being the Prime Minister of England.

And yes, I am well aware that any garden-variety atheist would attempt to turn this argument against me because I subscribe to orthodox Christianity.

But one has to admit there is quite a difference between believing in the Gospel story and Fairies.

Or that a young man from upstate New York, already convicted of defrauding a neighbor by pretending he had the power to find hidden treasure, was given gold plates with unheard of script and a seer stone to translate them with. (Which unlike Biblical documents were supposedly and conveniently whisked away by an angel after completion.)

Or that the same young man was endowed with insight to explain what was wrong with the Bible and all other religions as well as vested with the authority to reinvent Biblical terms and ideas wholesale resulting in an American version of British Israelism, holy underwear, Masonic like rituals, sibling rivalry of Satan and Jesus, a new and uncharitable race in ancient America, bedding other men’s wives and innocent fourteen year old girls and many other sordid and strange examples.

For my money…and vote, there is too much at stake to risk standing behind someone who is devoted to the story of Mormonism, even if he is a nice guy with good morals.

It means that he is susceptible to nonsense, easy to fleece, gullible. And those are fearful qualities to have in the one at the helm of a nation.

He Makes You Matter

Rick Bundschuh — Mon, 01 Aug 2011 23:03:49 -0700

You may think that you don’t much matter.

Few know you.

Few would miss you if you were gone.

Your talents are minimal.

Your funds are limited.

Your skills are pedestrian.

And in the big picture you are probably right. The world will go on just fine without you. Your absence will not make the lights dim or the earth slow its revolution.

Within half a century you will be absolutely forgotten and photos of you merely a curiosity.

This is true for every kind of human being with the exception of one: the one who Christ lives in.

He makes your small seemingly insignificant act of love or kindness an eternal milestone for someone.

He keeps your prayers forever. Selah (Pause, and think about this)

He makes your life fit into a larger picture that show his Grace and Goodness.

He celebrates always what you give, no matter how small.

He crafts His majesty in our commonness.

He speaks His words using our mouth.

He uses our hands to touch someone else.

He makes you matter.

Now.

Forever.

The Call

Rick Bundschuh — Wed, 20 Jul 2011 07:16:40 -0700

Christians often have ideas and concepts that are rarely taught directly but come to us sideways, as a flavoring, a set of coded words or subtle suggestions.

I recall stumbling upon one of these slightly buried concepts not too long after becoming a believer in the middle of my High School years. I suppose it stands out strongly after all these years because it dealt with a subject that is usually very important to a young student; career choices.

From conversations and the way things were worded it became obvious to me as a young believer that among all the possible occupations “permissible” for a Christian (those such as becoming a professional hit man not making the list) the decision to do fulltime work as a minister or missionary was considered to have a unique and hallowed place among all other occupations.

People referred to it as a “calling” and it carried with it the expectation of living a life of blessed difficulty that would always require much personal sacrifice and staying close to the poverty line economically.

People who “heard the call” were the brave Christian soldiers who had just volunteered to lead the rest of the troop through a minefield.

Not everyone could get the “call”. God tapped you for it and your choice was to say yes to God or run from your true calling forever. (In which case the “calling” would haunt you until you quit your high paying CEO job and gave in to the inevitable)

The model was Peter and John being called away from their fishing nets to become fishers of men.

But how did someone know they were “called”?

I would hear others speak of “God’s call for their life” as though it was a clear, distinct, almost vocal demand of the Almighty. I would hear missionaries and church workers talk about being called to this place or that place with the same certainty.

I was more than willing to hear God’s call on my life… but never did.

Instead I just found that I enjoyed doing some things and didn’t enjoy doing other things. And some of the things that I enjoyed doing, I was kind of good at, so I decided to try to find a job that would let me do those things. Thus I ended up with a career in ministry, starting with students who would appreciate my cartooning skills, my story telling, my humor and my natural love for kids and my desire to talk about having a relationship with Christ.

I never heard a “call” to any particular place either.

Visitors to the church on Kauai where I Pastor will often say to me “How does a person get a call to work in Hawaii?”

I just smile and say “It’s a reward for being so very, very holy” But honestly I don’t know.

I just wanted to move here because I like the warm waves, family atmosphere and the smallness of the place. A very unspiritual response I am afraid.

After a number of years in ministry and as a Christian I am not sure I believe too much in the idea of a specific “call” to being a Pastor or missionary. But I still believe that God calls us.

I think the “call” may be hard wired in us; a natural disposition, an ability, a skill, a passion similar to what Eric Liddle, the Olympian featured in Chariots of Fire said he felt from the joy racing gave him; “when I run I feel His pleasure.”

Maybe the real call for a Christian is not to enter into the ranks of the clerics or to live among those of another culture but simply to engage in activities where “we feel His pleasure.”

Perhaps what we are really “called” to is to use our skills, passions, natural dispositions and abilities in such a way that it pleases God. And if these lead us to become a businessman, artist, school teacher, housewife, chef or construction worker, well, I would submit that we have answered God’s call on our lives with the same honor and no less importance as those of us who have found ourselves in full time church or mission occupations.

Much Ado About Nothing

Rick Bundschuh — Thu, 23 Jun 2011 00:13:11 -0700

It seems to me that atheists are becoming exceedingly shrill. Perhaps the swing towards a materialistic, deity-free culture has empowered them to come out of the shadows and boldly proclaim their belief in nothing and no one besides their own wisdom.

To be honest, atheists have never bothered me too much. I reserve my ammo for the “functional atheists”, those who give lip service to God but act in their everyday lives as if He is not the prime factor.

But apparently I, and those of my ilk, really bother them. We constantly annoy them by bringing up the “G” word and they fire back with odd fervor for a group who are so insistent on this entity being imaginary. They seem to lurk in the comment section of the Internet, mocking, insulting and foisting their half-baked intellectualism and Darwinian intellectual superiority upon those of us hayseeds who are so naïve as to even contemplate a Creator. They cause a ruckus in their attempt to sanitize any cultural, social, educational or political realm of the hint of this deity.

But it is hard for me to figure out why the expenditure of energy. After all, if they are right, life is void of any real meaning other than what we advanced biological units individually invent for it, and things such as right and wrong, good and bad, evil and holy are pure constructs that have no ultimate value.

For example, in the news recently the atheists went crazy because New York City named a street Seven In Heaven Way to honor seven firemen from one fire station who died on 9/11. They sputter and threaten lawsuits because the street contains the word “Heaven” in it and this is the government forcing a religious view that will harm the sensibilities of innocent atheists who find themselves wandering down this boulevard.

Now I don’t believe in fairies. I think that anyone who does is a little nutty and misguided. But if a local government wanted to name a street Tinkerbell Lane it would not get my knickers tied up in a knot. Nor do I think the pacifist would freak out at a street named after a war hero. (Trestles surfers all pass by such a road named for Medal of Honor winner John Basilone.)

It seems that the atheist crowd are more than a bit testy and militant. Which all leads me to ask, “So…what are they afraid of?” I mean so what if millions of us find it reasonable to believe in God and get solace out of putting our faith in Him? What difference to someone who believes in nothing, does it make if we imprint our world with marks of our faith?

If I were an atheist I would be spending my limited years on this earth trying to grab all the gusto I could. I would be trying to experience all the pleasures I desired without caring about such artificial inventions as goodness, morality, right, wrong or good and bad. I would be seeking creature comforts and building bigger barns.

The last thing I would be doing is to be wasting what little time and energy I had trying to annoy believers or spreading the bad news Gospel of my unbelief.

Unless…deep down in my heart of heart there flickered something so fearful, so potentially disrupting, and consuming that I needed to spend all the energy I could muster to keep it at bay.

“The fool says in his heart ‘there is no God’” – Psalm 14:1

The Dismantling of Culture

Rick Bundschuh — Tue, 07 Jun 2011 08:20:34 -0700

I may be the perfect candidate to muse on the dismantling of culture primarily because I am so culturally compromised.

Ethnically I am 100% German with roots so close to the old country that my mother spoke German as her first language.

But as she came to age during the dawning of World War 2 she abandoned all vestiges of Teutonic culture she was raised with, including ever speaking her native tongue again, enlisted in the military and ended up in San Diego for the rest of her life.

On my father’s side I had a great uncle who fought with the American doughboys in the trenches of the First World War and was gassed. (I met him only once but still remember his odd warbled voice that came from ruined vocal chords due to mustard gas.) In addition I had another great uncle who fought on the German side and, from what I have been told, was shot off the deck of a primitive tank.

This, I have found, is a fairly typical commentary for Americans as most of us had family members that came from somewhere else on the globe.

My childhood was further eroded of ethnic culture by the fact that my adopted three sisters were of different race and culture; American Indian, Hawaiian/Filipino and Mexican. Which in the 50’s created amazement or curiosity when we all went somewhere.

I grew up in Southern California's surf saturated world where we talked in surfing Ebonics and where most of us favored Mexican food. In some regards, if I were to claim a culture, this would be it: So Cal beach culture circa 1950’s- 60’s.

But I complicated a complicated ethnicity even more by marrying a Japanese girl and producing mutant children who have no idea what culture they should identify with.

But the thing that really messed up any of my claims to culture the most was becoming a Christian.

You see, claiming a culture is a big thing for most people. It gives us roots, an identity and a way of seeing the world and others in it.

This is a bit tough for Americans as many of us are numerous generations away from the immigrants who came to this country and over the years a lot of us have become mutts in the term of Pedigree. In addition, American culture is a vampire that feeds off of the best of all the various cultures that have taken root on our shores. Still, we grasp for something we can call our own. Something that tells us who we are and what values we should hold in esteem. And if our heritage doesn’t give us that, well we can find it in some subgroup that has carved out it’s own cadence within a larger civilization.

But regardless of what shreds of culture I wanted to wrap myself in, I found that sooner or later Christianity became an enemy to my culture.

Where I wanted exclusivity, Christ wanted inclusion. Where I wanted a sense of pride, Christ wanted a sense of humility. Where I wanted personal identity, Christ wanted emptiness of self and identity with God.

Cultures, by nature divide people into “us and them”. And cultures can be quite ugly. The private joke of those who rest their laurels on their wonderful culture is the fact that most of the time they are very selective about what is celebrated in any culture adopted.

For example, the Hawaiians are proud of their Aloha spirit, their music, their land and dance but they have leeched out of their culture the horrific barbarism, wretched caste system and bloody violence that coexisted with it for centuries. They allow for the romanticism of the little grass shacks they once lived in but are loath to mention that those shacks had to be burned to the ground from time to time because of the fleas that constantly plagued their inhabitants.

Ditto for just about any other culture still clinging to survival on earth.

Because of this constant positive revision of the history and tenets practiced by all societies and the fact that cultures are not static but constantly changing, especially the moment they touch another culture, the act of saturating one’s self in a culture is almost comedic.

And it is precisely here where Christianity becomes dangerous to a culture. Christianity allows us to celebrate the good and joyful of any culture but does so not because the culture itself good but itself because the thing being celebrated is in harmony with the culture of Christ.

This is the reason I can, with reckless abandon, enjoy Halloween, Thanksgiving, Birthday parties and the good things imbedded in all kinds of other trappings of modern American culture.

But much of the time Christianity is, screw by screw, dismantling any culture it infects.

The Kingdom of Heaven has it’s own unique culture. It is a culture that does not change values over time, a culture that is always right, always just, always good and almost always at odds with earthly cultures.

The culture of Rome was largely dismantled by Christian culture, so have countless smaller societies all around the world and of course it is this fact that makes anthropologists livid.

Nevermind that before Christianity had infected it an Amazon tribe would steal women from other tribes and if caught in the act, would engage in the tortuous “girl pull” between the thieves and the other tribe. (I saw footage of this horror as a young man).

Never mind that some cultures very much need to largely dismantled by Christ.

God will leave no culture alone. He will gut it of evil and recast it in his image.

Perhaps those who come from deep, rich cultural heritage have a much harder time navigating within the Kingdom of Heaven than those of us with only shards of cultural history or one that we have cobbled together out of remnants of other cultures.

I do know this, in the end all cultures, the decent ones, the ridiculous ones and the evil ones will only be found in the dustbin of history…all but one.

A Distinctly Christian Marriage

Rick Bundschuh — Wed, 25 May 2011 10:21:32 -0700

It’s almost June, the month where Bridal magazines fly off the shelf and thousands will show up on our shores, a few friends in tow to have their long dreamed of wedding on the beach in.

I could make a lot of money just by performing wedding ceremonies for these people. After all, I live near the major tourist destination on Kauai and the inherent romantic beauty of the place begs to be enfolded into vows.

In fact, in the twenty years I have been performing weddings (that, I ask no fee for I might add) I have only done two inside of a church building, all the rest were on the beach or in some lush outside location.

To get into the economic gush all I would need to do is to make sure that I was on the list of the hotels and wedding planners, set a “price of paradise” going rate and ba-boom! my kid’s college tuitions would be paid for.

But I haven’t and won’t be doing that.

Here’s why.

By going this route I would be obligated to marry anyone who wants to get married and has filled out the appropriate legal paperwork. This was a problem for me even before civil unions and gay marriage became another more troubling component.

I don’t want to be responsible for pronouncing a blessing on some of these clearly shaky couplings. I don’t want to be told that the couple would rather I did not bring God into the vows. I don’t want to be leveraged into being part of the marriage business and to start thinking of making money out of what ought to be a holy privilege.

I feel this way as do the rest of our staff who are licensed by the State of Hawaii to perform marriage ceremonies. (None of us asks for money for our services)

I do know some solid Christian Pastors who are very, very busy doing these kind factory weddings. They see spiritual opportunities where I see conflict and make it a point to share Christ with each couple they are asked to marry, and of course it helps them to make up for the paltry salary they often receive as a Pastor.

But the times they are a’changing and like frogs in a kettle, the heat is turned up so gradually that we may cook in our complacency.

And right about now I am having a bout of draconian thinking

I am now contemplating a not too distant future where I will turn in my State license and only do underground Christian weddings.

C.S. Lewis first prompted my thoughts on this many years ago when I first read Mere Christianity.

Lewis said “There ought to be two distinct kinds of marriage: one governed by the State with rules enforced on all citizens, and other governed by the Church with rules enforced by her on her own members. The distinction ought to be quite sharp, so that a man know which couples are married in a Christian sense and which are not.”

I read recently of a wedding photographer who turned down doing a wedding of a gay couple and was prosecuted for his refusal by the State he lived in.

A portent? I think yes.

It may be just getting nutty enough out there that we must do exactly what C.S. Lewis suggested over 60 years ago – make the “sharp” distinction between a Christian marriage and a State marriage.

Naturally this raises all kinds of questions. Would a Christian even need to bother with being married in the eyes of the State? What would be the benefits and penalties? Would Pastors who repudiated State licensing be required to call their ceremonies something other than marriages? Would the Church really be willing to enforce the spiritual rules of marriage on their members?

None of the answers are easy to figure out at this junction, but perhaps it is time to do some hard thinking as the water in the marriage kettle is coming to a boil and this frog, for one is thinking of hopping out rather than being lulled into the dangerous temperature of the culture.

Pachyderm

Rick Bundschuh — Sat, 14 May 2011 08:01:30 -0700

Here are some thoughts on a topic we all know: the dreaded elephant in the room, that big thing that haunts your life. Check it out, and then check out my latest book, Deep Like Me.

Something Like Old Yeller

Rick Bundschuh — Mon, 09 May 2011 16:20:45 -0700

Okay, I admit it, I was pretty happy that the centerpiece of the current reign of terror was ushered into the netherworld. That it was at the hands of a Navy Seal, a well-placed missile or by falling down the stairs would not have made a whole lot of difference to me. I am just relieved to know that there is one less misguided mind plotting horrific acts of murder.

That he was eliminated does not trouble me a whole lot. Like C.S. Lewis, I subscribe to the principle of “just desserts”.

And I know that this confession will have a lot of my tenderhearted friends in the blogesphere howling in disbelief and digging around for scriptures to quote. “How can you possibly match Christ’s demand that we “love our enemies” with the action of unloading lead into their skull?” they shall ask.

I may be very alone in this thought, but I have no problem believing that one can love another human being with all the depth of Christ’s love and at the same time pull the trigger on him (or perhaps her).

To get to this conclusion all I have to do is to think… about my own self.

I think it is fair to say that I love myself. But…if for some reason I became so dark and so demented that I plotted and carried out the murder of thousands of innocent people I would consider it an act of love if someone put a bullet through my brain. I would welcome, even at the cost of my life, someone stopping me from getting more blood on my hands. I can see how they could hunt me down and put an end to me in pure love for me and for those who I may harm if I were allowed to continue.

But I can only say this because I am not that dark and demented.

It would be something like Old Yeller.

“Old Yeller” was a syrupy Disney film made in the late 50’s about a wonderful dog that, in the process of saving his master from a rabid animal, was bit and contracted rabies himself.

The heart wrenching part of the movie for me as a kid was watching the dilemma of this beloved and heroic dog, now reduced to a snarling, foaming and crazed animal, being shot to death by his loved one.

Sadly, some human beings, if not quite Old Yeller noble, were once sweet children or goofy teenagers who have, in adulthood, become rabid with evil.

Hitler who reportedly was kind to animals and his personal staff had a severe case of rabid evil. Ditto for Stalin and a host of others whose lives demonstrated cruel homicidal insanity and who were responsible for the carnage of innocent humans on a massive scale. Few would have winced if they came to an abrupt and premature end.

Old Yeller comes to mind not only for the big mass murdering types. It comes into play with the friend who it turns out is cheating on his wife and pleads with me to keep quiet or even worse to somehow affirm him because he has:

a. Suddenly found his true soul mate

b. Is finally joyously happy

c. And has come to the conclusion that all of this is somehow okay with God (because of course God wants him to be happy)

Nope. My pal is rabid with sin. He isn’t making any sense, his logic is foaming with contradiction, nonsense and wishful thinking.

Off I go straight to his wife. I will put a big hole of truth into the middle of this tryst knowing full well that I may lose his friendship, cause his secret happy world to implode and set the stage for exceptional pain all around.

I spill the beans because of love, for him, for his wife and for the other woman.

But I do it knowing that it will hurt and maybe kill relationships.

And I do it knowing that if I found myself in the same situation as my friend, it would be an act of love for me to be ratted out.

But in the end, my philandering friend is dealing in the minor leagues of cold heartedness.

I remember as a six-year-old kid crying because they had to shoot Old Yeller. Even then I knew it had to be done.

But then Old Yeller had given his life to save the family and he deserved my childhood tears.

Architects of mass murder who are extinguished merely get a deep glad sigh of relief at their passing…or maybe even a burst of joy.