The Demise of Parenthood

Parenthood, NBC's comfortably cozy series about the Braverman family, has ended after six years.  In one of those internet pseudo-magazines, Craig T. Nelson (who portrayed Zeke Braverman, the clan’s patriarch) is said to have been unhappy about the series ending.  (I had to read the article to understand that “ending” in this sentence was a verb and not a noun.) 

Mr. Nelson was unhappy that the series had to end.  While I share that sentiment (a bit more on that later), I am not at all unhappy with the way it ended.  Attempting not to spoil it for those who may not have seen it, I will simply say that what I saw was a celebration of life – its continuity, its ups and downs, and a testimony to the fact that, as long as we hold our loved ones in our hearts and memories, they live in our lives and in our love.
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Those are the sorts of comfortable, cozy sentiments that made up much of Parenthood.  Yes, there was actual and potential infidelity; a couple of out of wedlock children; some substance abuse; there were family members and loved ones whose social abilities or sexual orientations were what some would call different – there were most of the myriad of issues and concerns normally seen in society, but they were all painted on a canvas of the family unit.  The Bravermans became a multiracial family.  Some may say that multiracialism was “whitewashed;” I would offer that it was simply subordinate to the theme of family. 

Which is why it’s so sad the story ended.  Dax Shepard, who played Crosby, the Braverman’s younger son, who began to walk into both manhood, fatherhood, and “husbandhood” over the last six years – Dax Shepard tweeted “Tonight is the series finale of Parenthood.  Best 6 years of my life J let’s all watch and try to equal the viewership of a kardshian rerun.”  I thought that tweet was quite powerful, as it summed up why it’s so sad the story ended.  We talk about all that’s wrong with entertainment, and all that’s wrong with our society, and all the negative influences.  Yet, when a good, wholesome show comes along, one with lovable characters, one that advocates love of family – when a good old fashioned, G-rated tv show comes on, what do most Americans do?  They turn to a show called “Scandal.”  Now I can’t pretend to know what “Scandal” is about, because I’ve never watched it.  But a quick check of its wiki shows that the main character is someone who’s having an affair with a politician.  I’m sorry – can someone explain why I’d want to watch a show about this when I don’t even watch the news?  And if this is the sort of stuff that’s in our news, why are we fantasizing about it?  Wouldn’t it be more productive to expend our psychic and spiritual energy on more positive things?

This is nothing against the writer, Shonda Rhimes.  I’m a tremendous fan of Grey’s Anatomy; not so big a fan of its spinoff, Private Practice, which was essentially a breeding ground for affairs of former Grey’s Anatomy characters.  Thankfully, that series (Private Practice) was short-lived.  I thought its short life sent a message that people preferred Ms. Rhimes’ more wholesome writing – and then I saw the Scandal ads, followed shortly by “How to Get Away with Murder.”  Why would anyone other than a criminal want to watch something with that name?  While I think Ms. Rhimes is brilliantly talented, I prefer positivity.  And never having watched “Scandal” or “How to Get Away with Murder,” I can’t definitely say they’re not positive.  What I can say is that their titles destroy any potential interest I may have had in the writer’s skills.

I can’t fail to mention the fact that “Scandal” and “How to Get Away with Murder” have almost cult-like followings.  The viewers call themselves gladiators – I don’t know what else they do to distinguish themselves – but seeing so many people galvanized behind these programs simply calls to mind the saying that “the devil doesn’t come dressed in a red suit with a pitchfork and a spiked tail.  The devil comes dressed as everything you’ve ever wanted.”

When we salivate over “Scandal” and “How to Get Away With Murder,” or when we’d rather be Scandalized than to contemplate the joys of Parenthood, I can’t help but wonder if the devil is sitting in a corner somewhere laughing?  In the interest of full disclosure, I am a "The Haves and the Have Nots" junkie.  I won't attempt to rationalize it here (although I do it in my head at least once a week);  I will simply say that the characters in The Haves and the Have Nots are human with human frailties, and also display the same dramatic and corrupt inclinations as others.  I continue to watch the Haves and the Have Nots because there is an underlying theme of hope and redemption, and because it gives open tribute to my own Christian faith tradition.

So. Back to Parenthood.   The way the storyline ended was, in my opinion, very skillfully done, and left the viewer with appreciation and celebration for the gift of family.  The cessation of the series, though, leaves me so, so sad.  I’m not sad only because a great series is no longer on the air (I have over 30 episodes on DVR); I’m sad because my thought is that its departure from our tv screens represents another departure, which is the  departure from our consciousness  of the strength, power , and sanctity of the family unit.  That family unit may not look the same in this generation as it did in generations past; family is who you say it is.  It’s the bond, the everlasting family bond that’s important.  In a world that wants to get away with murder, in a world that’s looking for the next good scandal, I fear we’ve overlooked the essentials -- the ties that bond us together, the things we celebrate and hold sacred, the relationships that make life worth living.  It's not about the drama, the scandal, or how to get away with murder.  After all, those are sort of "first-world" issues.  What's essential are some very common human themes -- love of family, the bond of friendship, and the trials and tribulations of parenthood.  All these relationships (Family, Friendship, and Parenthood) may look different today than they did a generation ago;  my definition of them may look different than yours, but they are relationships to which nearly all human beings can relate and which are cherished by nearly all human beings.

And that’s why Parenthood’s ending is such a sad occasion to me.  

Salaam, y'all

It was about 1 am on the morning of January 16, 2015.  I had literally been in the house less than five minutes when I started getting text messages, then Facebook Messenger messages.  I was just returning from a few days in Atlanta where I’d attended a Pastors’ Conference and visited friends and loved ones.  I wasn’t in the mood to spoil the temporary high, and so ignored the communications.

When I finally got up this afternoon, there were emails and Facebook posts about it.  The issue, it seems, is that my alma mater, Duke University, made a decision to allow the adhan, or the Muslim call to prayer, to be broadcast from the Duke Chapel Bell Tower, and then apparently bowed to political pressure and decided NOT to allow it.  I’ll admit that my first reaction was:  “wait a minute.  This is a Christian school.  Shouldn’t they be calling Christians to prayer?”  And while I am still of that opinion, that opinion doesn’t conflict with allowing the adhan.

If you know me, you know that I always thought I’d be a Yalie, and that Duke, one of my safety schools, offered a very prestigious scholarship which included a summer of study at Oxford in England.  While that did kinda trump Yale’s offer, there were two other considerations in my decision to attend Duke:  1) it was close to home and my grandparents were getting old (they would both die my freshman year); and 2) it was a Methodist school.  While I could hardly have been called devout during college, I had been trained well as a child:  one semester my studies included Modern Greek, Old Testament, and Religion and Theology of Black America (I remember tracing the history of the CME Church for that class).  I had no clear interest, desire or intent to pursue religious studies at the time; I’d fulfilled the requirements for my major, was working on a second major, and was simply taking interesting elective courses in other areas.  My running from the very obvious call on my life is another story.  The point is that, no matter the details of my wayward living, I was comfortable in the atmosphere of eruditio et religio, or erudition and religion, which is the motto of Duke University.

So my knee-jerk reaction was, “this is a Christian school.  Why are we doing an adhan?”  As I consider what I know of Islam, I don’t see the theological barriers to allowing the adhan.  Muslims, Mormons, Jehovah’s Witnesses and Universalists all are descended from the Arian way of thinking, and all have issues with the Divinity of Jesus.  If we wouldn’t bar the latter three, why bar the Muslims?  Yes, they are a different religion, but we are calling people to PRAYER!! Muslims, like Christians and Jews, are all spiritual descendants of Abraham.  Can we not come together in that unity?  This isn’t proselytism; it’s a call to prayer.  We are all People of the Book.  How can we deny our theological cousins the opportunity to pray?  While they call Him by the Name of Allah, we are all praying to the same God; how can we not allow people to be called to That God in prayer?

If you've ever been to a Muslim country and been roused from a sound sleep by the call to prayer, you know two things:  1) they can seem a bit disruptive at first, but 2) they represent a faith tradition that is VERY serious about its prayer life.  If you're like me, it led to 3) a re-examination of your commitment to your own prayer life.  When I hear the 5 am adhan, do I grumble, pull the covers over my head, and try to get a few more zzzs, or do I at least whisper a silent prayer instead of getting out of my warm bed and getting on my knees?  What about when I hear the 6:30 am call, or the 11:47 am call?  No?  How about the 2:30 or 4:30 pm call?  How about the 6:30 pm call?  This is a call to prayer, and while the call does bear witness to Muhammad as the messenger of God, the text of these calls begins and ends by stating that "God is the Greatest," and that "I bear witness that there is no God but God."  ("Allah" is simply the Arabic word for God.  It does not refer to a different divine being.  Arabic-Speaking Christians also sang and proclaimed "Allahu Akhbar," meaning "God is Great," while we were in a Christian worship service togther.)  The call goes on to call people to Hasten to Worship, and to Hasten to Success, encouraging them that Prayer is better than sleep, and then end by repeating the phases at the beginning, that God is the Greatest, and that there is no God but God.  How awesome would it be for every believer of the Abrahamic tradition, whether Christian, Muslim, or Jewish, to listen to, meditate upon, and perhaps be moved by these affirmations?!?  I do not believe Mohammad to be a messenger of God, so that piece is a bone upon which I would not feast.  But to have an audible reminder of the rest broadcast throughout campus would, I believe, have been a wonderful opportunity.  Handled appropriately, it could have been an opportunity for the campus to regularly call EVERYONE to prayer, something I'd bet money does not presently happen.

Somewhere along the way, I think many wonderful opportunities have been lost.  I happen not to agree with those who think this is an opportunity for Duke to continue its tradition of religious pluralism (only because that term is increasingly associated with some sort of theologically bastardized, non-offensive, spiritually impotent Frankenmonster).  Duke was founded, and I hope it continues its identity, as a Christian school, specifically a Methodist one.  The missed opportunity as I see it is the opportunity to see, learn, and understand that within Christianity there is not isolation, but inclusion.  The missed opportunity is the opportunity to see Jesus the Christ as one who came to tear down barriers imposed by traditional religious practices.  The missed opportunity is to see that this same Jesus spoke of “sheep who are not of this fold,” and, especially in light of our own Sacred Texts,  to consider who those sheep may be.  The missed opportunity is the opportunity to dialogue with people who love God but have differing Christologies. Refusing to allow the adhan at Duke represents a missed opportunity for interreligious dialogue, exploration, and learning.   

There is a missed opportunity for those who follow Jesus to provide hospitality to the non-Christian (“the stranger”) within our gates.  There is a missed opportunity for Christians to be exposed to an incredibly beautiful prayer call, and perhaps for Christians at Duke to become more regular and/or more intentional in their own Christian prayer practices.  (I recently posted video of a call to salaat that I filmed in Jerusalem.  It is hauntingly beautiful.)  While I understand the reported threats to the Muslim population, I believe that refusing to allow the adhan demonstrates rejection of the knowledge that perfect Love casts out fear, and a missed opportunity to walk proudly in conviction rather than bend to political or financial pressures.

But mostly, and most sadly,  the missed opportunity is one to show the world a Jesus with a heart filled with love and arms outstretched to welcome all who would draw nearer to God.