Beyond Aware

It’s World Autism Awareness Day.  I have two sons with forms of Autism.  At least one of their doctors along the way thinks I “could have been diagnosed”, if they were diagnosing Asperger’s Syndrome in the 1970’s.

I don’t feel like I really have anything to say, though.

Do you ever think about a segment of time and come to the conclusion that the segment of time seemed to have gone by very quickly, and yet in another way, very slowly?  I feel that way sometimes about the 7 years that have gone by in which my family has had autism as part of our identity.  I feel like I still know very little about autism, and yet I know a great deal more than I did then.  What I did not know was how large the field of experience and understanding related to autism is: what I thought was a field (to use the same word a different way, which is endlessly amusing to some with autism, and endlessly irritating to others) is a prairie, far bigger than I ever imagined, and more diverse.

I know a lot about my kids.  I understand Zach better than I used to, and am able to enter into life on his terms much more easily than when we started.  I’ve always understood Josh much better – he and I are very much alike (and perhaps are on the same end of the spectrum, if we are there at all), and his reactions are often self-evident to me.  However, this also means, increasingly as he gets older, that I am more frustrated with him when I see him doing less than he is capable of – especially if it is a way of failing that I, too, struggle with.  I know this is common for parents of neuro-typical kids, and this is something we share.

What do I know about Autism, though?  That’s less clear.  I know Autism is real.  I know Autism looks different in every person, but that after a while, you can recognize it pretty quickly.  I know that Autism tends to dominate whatever relational space it inhabits, and it takes a lot of work for that not to be the case.   I know that Autism requires the people who interact with it to be flexible.  I know that people with Autism can be as smart, as funny, as kind, as athletic, as loving, as fragile, as human as anyone else.

And I know that Autism is not going away.  So, while a day like World Autism Awareness Day is a quaint idea, if you live in America and aren’t aware of Autism by now, you’re probably every lawyer’s dream juror.  It’s time to go past being aware of Autism, and on to figuring out how to integrate the people and families with Autism who are part of your social networks.  They need it, and its likely that your life is going to be richer, if not neater and easier, for it.

The Old Man and the (2012) Season

My favorite baseball player for 2012 is going to be Jamie Moyer.  In fact, for every remaining season of his career, Jamie Moyer is going to be my favorite player.  What can I say, I love my Cubs prospects!

Jamie Moyer is coming back from Tommy John surgery (reconstruction of one of the ligaments of the elbow); he missed all of the 2011 season, but he has made the Colorado Rockies Roster, and is in their starting rotation.

Jamie Moyer is 49 years old.  Jamie Moyer had elbow surgery to allow himself to continue pitching at the age of 48.  The list of pitchers in all of major league history who even pitched at age 48 or older is 4: Satchel Paige, Hoyt Wilhelm, Jack Quinn, and Phil Niekro.  That was Niekro’s final season, because he’s lazy, obviously.  Wilhelm and Quinn each pitched as 49 year olds (25.1 and 15.2 innings, respectively), so if Moyer can make 5 or 6 starts, he should pass both of them for innings pitched at that age.  Satchel Paige didn’t actually pitch between ages 47 and 57; he made a 3 inning comeback as a 58 year old.  So Jamie Moyer is trying to have the first legitimate season by a pitcher at this age.

The list of hilarious facts about Jamie Moyer’s career can go on and on (most of these from my friends at Baseball Think Factory):

He was drafted, and made his major league debut, during the Reagan administration.

Jamie Moyer was born before the Second Vatican Council happened (to connect back to another recent post).

When Jamie Moyer was born, the Beatles were in their second month of getting used to their new drummer, Ringo Starr.

When Jamie Moyer made his major league debut, there were only 26 major league teams (now there are 30).  Of those 26 teams, 20 of them have built new stadia during Moyer’s career.

Since the start of Jamie Moyer’s career, Roberto Alomar and Barry Larkin both made their debuts, played their entire careers, retired and were elected to the Hall of Fame.

Jamie Moyer made his major league debut on a Monday; the preceding weekend, Ferris Bueller’s Day Off opened in theaters.

One of Jamie Moyer’s first teammates was Chris Speier.  Chris Speier has a son, Justin Speier, who has had a 12-year major league career and retired three years ago.

Jamie Moyer is old.  But he is still a major league pitcher, and is 33 wins away from 300 for his career.  I want to see him get there.  That would make him the second of the Cubs 1984 draft picks to get to 300 wins (the first was this guy).  In fact, other than those two guys, all of the other Cubs draft picks from that year played in a total of 243 major league games.

In summary: Jamie Moyer is old, and he still loves baseball, and I love him for that.

Talking Heads

Baseball season is here, so from time to time, you’ll also find my musings on the game in this space. Frankly, I don’t think my wife or kids really want to hear it, but I have to share it with someone.  You don’t have to pretend you care; you don’t live here (unless you’re my wife reading this right now, in which case: Hi Honey!).

I love a lot of things about the MLB Network.  The “baseball men” they have rambling on in their studios aren’t really on that list.  I’m pretty consistently amazed how many things are said by baseball analysts (for that matter, analysts from every sport) which show such a total lack of analysis – you know, the thing that’s supposedly their job.

To wit: I really wanted to watch the “30 Teams in 30 Days” series on MLBN, but I couldn’t do it.  As soon as you tell me Mitch Williams is on the scene to give me insight into what’s happening in Rangers’ camp, I know that my time will be better served turning off the TV and having a conversation with my dog about Yu Darvish.

I did watch the episode on the Washington Nationals, both because I wanted to learn more about Bryce Harper and because I think Davey Johnson is pretty brilliant, and I wanted to hear what he would say when they interviewed him.  Which made it pretty funny when Larry Bowa wanted to question Davey Johnson on the wisdom of decisions like not over-pitching Stephen Strasburg.  See, Davey Johnson has a career winning percentage of .561 as a manager; that means his average team has finished with a record of 91-71.  Larry Bowa has a career winning percentage of .460 as a manager; that means his average team finished with a record of 75-87.  If you’re not a baseball fan: that’s not as good. 

Which brings me to the real point of this post.  Larry Bowa was talking about a relief pitcher the Nationals who they acquired, who pitched in the American League last year.  I don’t remember who it was, but Larry’s point was that this guy was likely to find it easier to pitch in the National League than the American League, because (paraphrasing) “in the National League, you get to face the pitcher every time through the order, while in the American League you have to face all those designated hitters, hitting 20 to 25 home runs a year.”

What’s wrong with that statement?  Well, for one thing, Larry seems to have missed that most teams haven’t had much success finding an everyday Designated Hitter.  In fact, among the 14 AL teams in 2011, there were only 8 players who managed to both play at least half of their games as a DH and get enough plate appearances to qualify for the batting title (502 plate appearances).  In other words, 6 of 14 teams didn’t really have a full-time DH; they filled the position with an assortment of players.  Of the 8 teams who had full-time DHs, only six of those players were above average for the league (measured by OPS).  And, only one DH hit over 20 home runs in 2011: David Ortiz.  Larry Bowa thinks that every team has a David Ortiz, but they don’t.

The other problem is that Larry was talking about how relief pitchers who come to the NL get to face pitchers instead of DHs.  Except most relief pitching happens in innings 6-9, and the average starting pitcher goes less than 7 innings (in fact, only 9 starting pitchers made at least 30 starts [and thus was a full-time starter] and averaged 7 innings a start [and two or three of those were rounded up to 7 innings a start]).  Which means relief pitchers aren’t facing other pitchers in the batting order – they are facing pinch hitters!  So, they aren’t really getting it easier – they’re facing the guys who would be Designated Hitters if the NL had the DH.

All of this is beside the fact that the NL and AL have a minimal difference between them offensively, at this point – roughly .25 runs per team per 9 innings.  All of which means…relief pitchers face no meaningful disadvantage pitching in either the American League or the National League.

Now, why can I figure all of that out in the time it takes Larry Bowa to say it (then check the stats to confirm), but Larry Bowa can’t figure it out when, you know…it’s his job?

 

My Friends Might Not Like This

On this past Monday, I had the pleasure of attending an event at Wheaton College called “A Conversation on Unity in Christ’s Mission”.  If you missed the event and are interested, you can watch it here.  My friend John Armstrong and Francis Cardinal George spoke honestly, thoughtfully, and graciously together.  They understand a great deal about the matters about which Protestants (particularly, here, Evangelicals) and Catholics disagree.  They know in detail the histories of these disagreements, and the shapes they have taken over time, far better than the overwhelming majority of Protestants and Catholics who look on each other with suspicion or contempt.

In the introductory comments Cardinal George made on Monday night, he said something which shocked me.  He noted that for a long time the experience of Catholics in America has been “try to keep your head down”, because it has not been clear that the Catholic practice of Christianity has been welcome out in the open.  Granting that I’ve lived my whole life after Vatican II, and that I’ve lived it as a somewhat sheltered Protestant Evangelical, I did not recognize the degree to which Catholics have been made to feel like outsiders in the American public square.  Once I thought about it, though, I realized that even now, after all that time, and in a time when no Christian practice is clearly welcomed in the public square, Anti -Catholicism is still the last acceptable prejudice (as Phillip Jenkins put it in a book that only made it through one edition).  And from the Protestant side of the field, I’ve started to recognize that some of our presuppositions about the difference and distance between “us” and “them” are seriously flawed.  I’m going to begin to articulate some of those flawed understandings, but certainly won’t create an exhaustive list, at least not in this post.

Before I spell out what’s wrong with my team, I want to make it explicit that I do this because I think it is consistent with the teaching of Jesus:

Why do you see the speck that is in your brother’s eye, but ado not notice the log that is in your own eye?  Or how can you say to your brother, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ when there is the log in your own eye?  You hypocrite, first take the log out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take the speck out of your brother’s eye. (Matt. 7:3-5 ESV)

So, before I can even begin to consider a critique of my Catholic brothers, I need to recognize the weaknesses and deficiencies in my own theology and practice.  As I sat to write these very words, I realized that I was already skipping a step.  See, I wanted to write to you about the faulty presuppositions we use when we critique Catholic faith, so we could correct our errors, and then perhaps move on to more soundly-reasoned criticism.  However, even now the Spirit convicts me that the real first step is abandoning our critique of the other, so that we can focus our full attention on our own flawed grasp of who God is and what God is doing in the world.  In essence, it calls for me to simply stop here – to tell you that you and I need to forget about critiquing Catholics (or Arminians, or Calvinists, or…whoever offends you with their “imperfect” Christian faith), just drop it here, and turn our attention to seeing where our own faith is ignorant, or idolatrous, or insufficiently thought out or lived out.  Reaching for our brother’s eye is so often, and maybe most of the time, and maybe even all of the time, an effort to distract ourselves from the fact that we don’t know it all, and God is engaging in a gigantic, gracious act of condescension to even listen to us.  What we don’t know, quite literally, could fill the universe.  If there are multiverses, it could fill them, too.

Now, of course, the problem is that I’m never going to get it all.  I’m always going to have blind spots, and so are you.  And for some, this means we never get past the work of introspection to the work of offering gracious, edifying critique.  Of course, this too can be a trap: “listen, I’m not going to talk about your stupid ideas about ___________(fill in the blank as you see fit), and since I’m not going to, you’re not going to tell me about how I forgot the first 1,500 years of church history, and we’re all going to back out of this room and leave each other alone.”  That’s not going to work, either.  We need something in between.  So, a modest proposal: we consider the idea that when we want to critique a particular area of someone’s faith or practice, we first examine our own beliefs and practices in that particular area to see what ways we have been foolish or insufficient.  Then, recognizing that we still might be spectacularly wrong, we humbly proceed in conversation, ready throughout to hear the other side explain what we have misunderstood about their faith and practice. Does that sound like too much work?  In the instant-criticism, “shoot first ask questions later” world, maybe it is.  It seems like the least we can do.

So, let me start with one, simple statement of one issue Protestant Evangelicals seem to overlook in their attempt to critique Catholicism.  I’m not even going to fully explain it in this post. Next time, I’ll pick up there, and we’ll build from there, if our stomachs can handle it.  Here it goes:

Most Protestants don’t seem to recognize that the playing field of the disagreement between Protestants and Catholics has changed, a lot, in the last 400 years.  And while a lot of the change has happened on the Catholic side, much more has happened on the Protestant side.  There’s a good chance the original Protestants would not have recognized what we’re doing when we’re being American Evangelical Protestants.  I’m not sure, if those people were given a choice between siding with “us” and siding with “them”, if they would all choose “us”.  

Yeah, that seems like a good place to leave the conversation for now.

Not Cool

At a recent late-night viewing of John Carter (which was not bad, if a little wordy and long in the middle), I experienced this bit of unconventional theater etiquette:

With only me and one couple sitting in the theater, another lone filmgoer entered and chose to sit one row behind me and one seat to my right.  In a room that probably seated 400, I thought this was unnecessary.  I ignored my seatmate for the first half of the movie, at which time I noticed that he had put his feet up on the seat back next to me.  Thinking to myself, “See, this is why you shouldn’t sit right by another person,” I looked over and observed that he had removed his shoes. Not being particularly friendly at that point, I simply looked most of the way back toward him and cleared my throat loudly.  At which point my friend shifted his weight and re-positioned his feet, on the next seat back over, away from me.

This, apparently, is what happens when you get comic-book graphic novel fanboys out of their mothers’ basements to see things on the big screen.