To Stop the Bleeding

Try as I may, I will never understand the selfishness of individuals.

It was night. I sat in a hot springs with friends and watched the stars travel across the night sky. For a moment, I closed my eyes and let myself slip from the consciousness of this world. Suddenly, a loud crack and the scream of a child jolted me from my mind’s wanderings. The noise made me awaken as if from a nightmare. I didn’t rub my eyes and yawn. Rather, as I awoke with a start and a gasp, I saw a young girl lying face down on the concrete at the opposite side of the pool.

I was halfway to standing up and rushing to the child’s side when I saw her parents come at a run. As an undergraduate, I promised myself that I would never sit idly by if I saw another person suffering before my eyes. I would do what was in my power at the moment to stop the bleeding, either literally or metaphorically. In this case, the bleeding appeared to be quite literal. The child must have slipped on the wet cement and taken a header flat onto her face. It was a simple childhood accident, one that I can remember experiencing at least once when I was very young. For a moment, I recalled how scared I was when I, myself, had fallen face-first into the pavement.

As I prepared to jump out of the pool, the child’s parents come to her side and I decided the wisest action would be to let them handle the incident. Nevertheless, I was concerned and deeply moved to compassion by this young child who I will likely never see again. Though my wilderness first-aide training made me cringe to see the mother immediately embrace her daughter and pull her off the concrete, I was relieved to see that both mother and father acted as responsible parents. And as mother carried her child away from the pool, father grabbed a towel and pressed it against the girl’s darkly colored mouth and nose. As the girl cried, the pair carried her into the warm and well-lighted pool house.

When the trio passed from earshot, a middle-aged woman across the pool from me and my friends spoke.

“Jeez,” she laughed, “Am I glad that I’m through with those days! Ugh, kids!”

In a moment, her words threw me from heart-felt compassion to visceral anger. Her words were a means to express the distance she desired to create between herself and the incident. She threw up a defense to separate herself from reality. With those words as a wall, she became one of the proverbial “faces in the window” that do no more than stare out at the suffering and injustice of the world before our eyes.

Instead of thinking about the child, the woman thought about herself. The same scene that had cried to me for action must have glued her to the bench of the pool. I wanted nothing more than to take the pain away and stop the child’s bleeding. The young girl’s screams were like a knife viscerally twisting through my guts. How could this woman say such a thing at the sight of obvious pain? I wondered what she would have done if the little girl had been her own creation? Eventually, as I sat and reflected on the incident, I found myself wondering about God in the mini-drama that unfolded before my eyes.

As a Lutheran, I believe that we are redeemed through the grace of God. As a member of the human race, I believed that we are saved when we stop the bleeding in our world. And as an historian, I’ve read Luther and the great debates of whether or not God saves individuals through works or grace. While doctrines and theories can be argued over for centuries with no answers (as they should be), I’ve found that they often fail to grasp the reality of the world in which we live. Though I believe in the grace of an unnamed creator-artist, such a notion will do little good for the child who lays bleeding on the pavement.

The only way we will survive as a species is if we deny the urge to throw up our selfish walls and idly watch when an incident as this unfolds. We must allow ourselves to be moved by compassion and to act at the sights of suffering and injustice. If we don’t, the human race will surely bleed to death as we watch from our own self-absorbed worlds.

Stop the bleeding. These were the most pertinent three words of moral advice I heard in college. Regardless of religious or moral dogmas, perhaps these words capture what it truly means to be a responsible member of humanity.

Mount Sentinel

Two naked, treeless goddesses stand watch over the Missoula valley. Mount Sentinel and Mount Jumbo (seen at right) rise to heights of 5158’ and 4768’ respectively. Together, they each loom two thousand feet above the valley floor. They are the ancient guardians of the valley. The eastern traveler who enters Missoula cannot miss either one. Interstate 90 passes through the narrow gap that separates these two giants. Historically, the squeeze is known as Hell Gate Canyon. The Blackfeet Indians would lie in ambush for the numerous western tribes who would use the pass on their way to the fertile buffalo ground of eastern Montana. Mounts Sentinel and Jumbo stand witness to a long and proud history. I wonder what their futures will bring?

Yesterday, I climbed Mount Sentinel. This was my second hike to the summit since I moved to Missoula. The last time was during the previous May. I went with a friend, and we both had just completed a year of graduate courses at the university. As I climbed yesterday, I couldn’t help but think about how much has changed since last May. My friend went on to further graduate school in New England. I spent an entire season in the heart of the Absaroka-Beartooth Wilderness, where I fell in love with the most wonderful woman I have ever met. As I climbed, I thought if the juxtaposition of timelessness and change.

Certainly the mountain I climbed has seen its changes. Missoula is at the confluence of five glacial valleys. Where I now sit and type at my computer was once covered by an ancient lake. At some point, the glaciers gave way, and the contents of the lake spewed to the west. I’ve heard it said that not even the rocks live forever. But the land, even though it changes, seems to outlast us all. As I put one foot in front of the other and climbed, I wondered how many countless people have summited this mountain before me. What were their hopes and dreams? Who did they love? I felt a strange connection to these unknown individuals.

As I climbed, I saw tracks in the snowy mud. Deer (likely mule deer), elk, dogs (likely pets) and even a mountain lion where scattered among the human footprints. Few people other than avid hikers and backpackers realize that animals also use the trails created by man through the wilderness. Like flowing water, animals will also follow the path of least resistance. I will admit, the fresh mountain lion tracks did make me glance over my shoulder every few dozen yards. Having encountered them before, little scares me more than the prospect of being stalked by a mountain lion (not even grizzly bears). Nevertheless, I climbed upward. There is a certain risk in hiking and backpacking. It’s something I am perfectly willing to accept.

I stood at the summit and beheld the fog shrouded valley below. Here I felt at home. I don’t belong in the valley. I realized this when I returned last summer, having not used the internet, had a phone conversation, watched a television or used an automobile for an entire season. That world makes no sense to me. Missoula is a high altitude desert. Yet the university insists on keeping the grass green and well groomed throughout the summer season. The sight of sprinklers and riding law-mowers made me livid last September. I spent considerable time watching people. Everyone was in a hurry, on a phone, on a computer, talking about the latest Hollywood movies. I don’t understand that world. Perhaps I never did.

As I stood at the summit of Mount Sentinel and beheld the valley, I couldn’t help but smile and laugh. The rocks may not last forever, but one thing is for sure. These mountains will outlast our civilization. There is nothing sacred about our culture or democracy. Ask the Greeks who outlived Pericles. Or the Romans who saw the end of the Republic. America, too, will fall. The history our students fail to learn in school is stacked against us. No civilization has yet endured beyond geological forces. The mountains will live on. What will they overlook in a thousand years? Will Mount Sentinel silently stand guard over the ruins of our civilization?

The Balance of History

What is the opposite of history? Everyone knows (or at least should know) what history is. This field is more than the simple study of the past. Ultimately, history is the creation of meaning where there is only the raw and lived existence of the present. We can look back on the past, tell our stories, and give meaning to events. Among animals, this uncanny ability makes humans unique. Without the ability to remember and create meaning, we are nothing more than Nietzsche’s belly-oriented herd of goats grazing on a mountainside.

But what force stands in opposition to the historical records and interpretations? If history is meaning given to events that have already happened, then its opposite force cannot also be located in the past. The moment we live in –– the present –– has no meaning until it is over and we begin to tell stories and analyze our experiences. History can only come in retrospect. Therefore, whatever stands opposed to history must be neither in the past nor in the present. History’s opposition must be in the future. This conclusion seems the most logical.

The opposite of what happened in the past must invariably look to the future. History has already taken place and we mine its events and biographies to give meaning to the present world in which we live. But the future has not yet happened. The future offers untold variables and courses of action. It should be understood that the opposite of past is future. The former world of history is littered with skepticism and negative critique. Therefore the opposite must offer a different alternative and vision of the world in which we live.

This opposition of history must be positive. The chroniclers and critics of historical events speak of wars, politics gone astray, and the darker side of human nature. Simply stated, history is the record of the world in which we live. That world is most often recorded as harsh and brutal. It is littered with scores of names that evoke strong emotions: Caesars, The Terror, Waterloo, Solferino, Verdun, Auschwitz. Even our own individual experiences and stories tell us that life is hard and will eventually end. What, then, can be the opposite of such a bloody, raped, and cratered landscape?

Perhaps Hope is the single human force which stands in opposition to the events of the past. Hope is a world of the future tense. The events of the future have not yet transpired, and hope allows us to believe that anything is possible. There are two kinds of hopes that humans experience. The first is simple and fleeting. This is the hope that asks for puppies at Christmas and cakes on birthdays. It’s the second type of hope that counter-balances the historical experience. These are the hopes that are too big to fit into this world, the impossible hopes that may or (more likely) may not be realized in our lives. These are the Hopes which keep us looking to a future where the ever upsidedown world is turned on its head.

But why do we do it? Why do we hope when there is ample historical evidence which speaks to the failure of such hopes? Countless times throughout history the hopes of nations, peoples, and individuals have been utterly dashed against the stones of human reality. Perhaps hope is the necessary balance to the craziness of our world.

Let’s ponder these questions and thoughts until we’re old and wise grandmothers and grandfathers. Perhaps then we will have a better understanding of the mysteries of life, and we will be more qualified to offer answers to such questions.