Ethics of Forced Charity

In my MBA Business Ethics class lately the subject of charity has come up. Being that the program is at a Baptist school the Christian approach is discussed. It is obvious from the Bible that we are to help widows, orphans, and the poor in general. This is clearly our duty as a Christian. It is ethical and moral behavior.
But is it ethical for an organization to forcefully take my money and give to a charity? If a robber breaks into my house, steals my computer, then turns around and gives it to a high school student that could not afford a computer but needs one for homework is that ethical or moral? I don't think anyone would say it was.
Why then do we accept the premise that it is okay for the government to take our money with the threat of jail and then give it to a charitable cause. Not only do I not have any recourse but to pay it but where my money goes is up to some nameless, faceless, bureaucrat that probably lives 1000 miles from me.
Forced charity is stealing pure and simple. Unethical and Immoral!

What Is Wrong With People

Our 30th high school reunion is coming up this summer. The organizer sent out a list of people in our class that have passed away. There were 7 names on the list. With 250 kids in my graduating class I will admit that I did not know everyone on the list that well. There was one girl though that I was friends with. Donna Scheibner was a girl that I had in several classes in high school and I think that I knew here since 5th or 6th grade. Donna was pretty, she was smart and she was always nice too me and as far as I could tell she was sweet to everyone around her. I decided to look up some information about the circumstances concerning her death just to see what might have happened and when.
What I found out has bothered me for days now. In 1997 Donna was the night manager for a grocery story in Albuquerque. Apparently a 19 year old checker and an accomplice hid in the store after closing. Donna was in the office counting cash from the day when this 19 year old killed her with a shotgun and took the money. He got away with $900. I couldn’t believe it. Donna's life was taken for a measly $900. That wouldn’t even make my mortgage payment. I can’t understand how a person can kill someone for money or things. Killing for self-defense or protecting the life of another I can understand. I even have some understanding of hurting someone in a moment of passion but to take away someone’s life over money is something that I just don’t get. I guess peoples capacity for evil will never cease to amaze me. Then again God told us it would be that way.

Wisdom and the Proverbs

I am reading through the book of Proverbs now and much of the book extols the virtues of wisdom. But what is wisdom? Is it knowing the mind of God? Is it learning from our experiences. Is it only valuable if it comes from God, or is there some value in human wisdom? I know that wisdom from God is valuable and that is ultimately what I seek. I guess that my prayer is that I can discern when I am relying on my own faulty wisdom. Unfortunately for me that is something I struggle with on a regular basis.

Baseball and Memories

We went to a baseball game last night and it brought back a rush of memories. My dad and I went to see the Albuquerque Dukes play almost every weekend they were in town. I was about 12 or so and it really was our thing. The sights, sounds, smells of the ball park are indelibly burned into my memory. There is nothing like watching the game being played on the brilliant green grass, the pop of the ball in the glove, the crack of the bat, the vendors yelling "ice cold cokes", "peanuts","get yur cold beer". It is without a doubt one of the best memories I had as a kid.
Then there is the game itself. While baseball to the novice is incredibly simple and almost boring it is to the initiated incredibly complex and cerebral. Homeruns are overrated. Give me a double play, a squeeze play, a beautifully executed sacrifice bunt moving the runner to second base, a diving catch in right field, a running catch on the warning track. Give me a pitchers duel where every pitch is meaningful.
Now I love watching NFL and particularly following the Titans, college basketball is a blast to watch, especially in person. But for pure flashbacks to a simpler time and food for the senses and intellect give me baseball any day.

Omaha Beach Normandy

This was something that was on my mind lately. Then it suddenly it dawned on me that tomorrow is the 65th anniversary of D-Day. This is based on a visit to Normandy that my family made when we were living in Belgium.

The sand stretches serenely out in all directions, brown and smooth, long and flat. No holes, no pock marks. The ocean laps peacefully at the edges of this unmarked landscape. The waves are a surprisingly long way from the hills and cliffs. On these cliffs at the edge of the beach are houses that are most likely vacation homes. Families no doubt spend countless hours enjoying looking out over the smooth sandy expanse that is before them and into the sometimes peaceful English Channel. For them it is just a short easy walk from the house to the waters edge. The only sounds you hear are waves crashing and rolling onto the sand. Perhaps a sea gull screeches. The scene is peaceful. A place where you can relax and ponder your troubles that seems so great. The entire picture belies what occurred sixty-five years ago. A more extreme contrast would be hard to find.
Sixty-five years ago the air was full of unnatural sounds, roaring motors, explosions, the scream of artillery shells, gunfire, bullets careening off of boat hulls. With this are the dreadful sounds of men, screaming, dying, bleeding. It was unbearable to listen to.
As unforgettable as the sounds were the sights were worse. The normally perfect smooth sand is full of shell holes and bomb craters. Even more shocking is the humanity or what is left of it. Hundreds are dead, the bodies and parts are everywhere and in surreal positions. Machinery and metal is ripped, torn and burning. The grayish channel water is tinted red.
Those who are still alive on the beach are either waiting to die from their wounds, or they are frozen in fear. Those not in these two categories are bravely moving up the excruciatingly long stretch of sand to get to the base of the cliff. They all try but few will make it. For hours they endure the screams, the explosions, the choking smells of burning machines and flesh, the sights no man should see.
One both sides these are sons, husbands, dads, and brothers. They are mechanics, teachers, school kids, bus drivers and factory workers. Both Americans and Germans have loved, hated, been sad, and happy. Most have been in love or are in love. For too many their last earthly thoughts will be of their mom in Cleveland or in Munich. They will die with the name of Mary on their lips or perhaps Hilda. For those who survive they forever will be haunted. Some will be able to move on, but some will never be able to.
For us as we walk along this non-descript piece of beach we can only image the horrors that were. For them it could never be the same. But knowing this makes me look at Omaha Beach differently. I must not see it as a patch of oceanside, I must see it as holy ground, a place of honor, a place of reverence, a place of remembrance.
Today politicians will wax eloquently about sacrifice, courage and honor of this disappearing generation. My cynicism will make me wonder how much is truly felt and how much is show. But I have been there, I have truly felt it and I will never forget.