The Galli Report: 07.30.21

I'm back. Dying without dignity. Life without money or home. At the beach in the 1890s.

I’m Back
It’s good to be back in the saddle, or better, in my armchair with my laptop. Two weeks of grandkids, walking on California beaches, and hiking through massive Sequoias in the Sierras—among other delights—does refresh mind and soul. But I was ready to return three days before the vacation ended. One does like a certain amount of routine. 

The time away has given me space to think about what I want to do with The Galli Report. As I have time and insight, I think I’ll append more thoughts triggered by my reading.  I may run out of steam sooner than I think, but let’s start with this edition as an example of what I might like to do more often.

Dying Without Dignity
“The Dignified Exit” is a thoughtful review of a book about the so-called “right to die,” which, I gather, is a nuanced argument for “rational suicide.” This topic interests those of us in the seventh decade of our lives, who regularly ponder how much longer we will be able to live independent and dignified lives. I wouldn’t be honest if I didn’t admit that part of me is tempted to end it all “rationally,” when my loss of independence and/or suffering and/or diminished dignity and/or being a nuisance to my family come into play.

Yet as it goes in most discussions of this topic, fundamental assumptions are never examined. Such as: It is always bad to suffer. Such as: We have a right to our dignity. Such as: Independence is always a good.

The most thoughtful spiritual teachers I’ve read counsel that suffering can be redemptive when accepted in faith, that enduring indignity can produce humility, and that losing our independence is, in fact, a revelation that our so-called independence has been a mirage all along. I believe one of the things Jesus was saying when he told us to become like children is to embrace at least two of these realities, humility and our dependence on others, especially God. As for suffering, he did say it went hand-in-hand with discipleship, with his journey to and on the cross being a model of becoming subject to others, of indignity, and of suffering—all of which proved to be redemptive. The call to become like children and to become like Christ in many ways amounts to the same thing.

In my better moments, when contemplating the period when cognition, the body, and dignity are all sabotaged, I say, “Bring it on.”  Not because I’m a masochist, but because of my intellectual hubris, my pandering after fitness, and my dread of loved ones having to feed me and clean up my private parts afterward. If this is what it takes to finally become like a child and like my Lord, so be it.

As I said, in my better moments….

Life without Money or Home
It’s hard not to read and keep reading (it’s longish) “Penniless: Why a Victoria Man Has Gone Two Decades without Money: David Johnston won’t touch money except to destroy it.”  In part, my interest was piqued because I wrote a biography of Francis of Assisi I wrote back in the day.  One interesting thing about Francis was not merely his embrace of poverty but his disgust with money. As one story has it, when one of his disciples merely touched some coins that had been left on a church windowsill, Francis instructed him to put one of the coins between his lips and place it in a pile of animal dung.  (Francis was not always the meek and mild nature lover he is made out to be today.)

At any rate, I was fascinated by David Johnston’s spiritual journey, which led him to abandon the use of money. As well as how he’s pulled off such a life. But the writer only hints at one of the ironies of this story. That is, Johnston couldn’t possibly pull off this lifestyle without depending on lots and lots of people who traffic in money all the time.  This is not a criticism; it’s just the nature of anyone who adopts a radical lifestyle. Like monks and nuns who withdraw from the world to give thyemselves completely to prayer. Or those communities who reject consumerism or technology, among many other distasteful elements of modern life. 

I think such people are to be admired and encouraged, because we need prophetic witnesses to recall how mammon has compromised us as we’ve made our way in this world. But the irony is that all these radicals are absolutely dependent on those who traffic in mammon day in and day out to pay bills, get an education, raise families, and build institutions and infrastructures that make it possible for some to live off the mammon grid.

The article also brought to mind the “problem of the homeless.” On my vacation, I went with my brother to downtown Los Angeles to visit a well-known bookstore. The homeless were everywhere, having set up tents along many streets.  One finds this all over Southern California because it is a climate that is livable in tents all year long. It’s also one of those places where the price of buying a home or renting an apartment has skyrocketed, making it impossible for many to afford housing. This rise in prices has been partly fueled by the many codes and requirements imposed on builders, as well as laws that restrict how many people can live healthily in a given square footage. Such laws and codes make for safer and decent housing, to be sure, but they are a contributing factor to homelessness.  As is drug abuse.  As is mental illness.  As is many families’ increasing unwillingness to welcome homeless relatives into their homes, often for justifiable reasons.  And these are just some of the causes of homelessness today.

It’s a conundrum—or several conundrums--I do not know how to solve. To cut to the chase: I suspect that we who enjoy the fruits of the modern economy will just have to get used to running into people and communities of people who have been left behind. We can’t just keep chasing them from our neighborhoods; they’ll only end up troubling another. I suspect the Christian thing to do is, instead of going to city hall to get them evicted, going to the tent city and taking cookies to our new neighbors. 

There are, of course, whole organizations dedicated to serving their needs. I volunteered in a homeless shelter for years, serving meals or standing watch in the middle of the night. Such services are vital. But these tasks do have a way of absolving one from actually interacting with “the guests” as they are called, because one has a lot of work to prepare their food or to set up beds for the night.  One can easily go through a shift and hardly say more than “good morning” to them.

And they are a “them” to me. If you’re like me, when a homeless man approaches, let’s say while I’m filling my car with gas, my number one mission is to get rid of him ASAP.  Often I give the person some money, not because I’m feeling generous, but so they will quit bothering me. I certainly don’t try to engage them in conversation about their lives. They are nothing but an annoying interruption.  

God is said to be in the middle of interruptions. He’s also said to meet us in the faces of the poor.  This suggests that for all my Christian talk, I’m not much interested in meeting God. To talk about him theologically, yes!  But meet him, no.

This edition may give the impression that I’m in a funk.  Not really. I haven’t been so happy in years—retirement is great!  But here’s a funny thing about happiness: It gives you the psychological space to look at your spiritual inadequacies with some candor, precisely because grace has been lavished upon you despite your flaws. It’s also a phase—happiness that is--that gives one some hints of how the Spirit might be leading the way forward. 

As above, in my better moments…

‘A Day at the Beach’
Here is some footage of my vacation on the beach—just kidding!  But it is interesting to look at this restored 1890s beach scene in light of today’s customs and dress. Ladies in long dresses and men with coats and pants—the good old days.

Grace and peace,

Mark Galli
markgalli.com