Religious Organizations and the ADA

In a previous post about the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) I made a brief comment about churches being mostly exempt from the law, but I didn’t give the reason. Simply put, religious organizations are exempt because they fought to be.

I knew that, but assumed it was only because of financial concerns. Recently, though, someone in one of my online support groups posted a link to an eye-opening article and I learned I was wrong.

The author, Shannon Dingle, notes that the representative for an association of Christian schools argued for exemption because religious institutions are “morally required . . . to discriminate against carriers of AIDS where AIDS was incurred through immoral conduct.” In other words, the argument was that it was morally right to deny access to people with chronic illnesses and disabilities because of the possibility that some people’s challenges might be their own fault. That’s a truly amazing and appalling line of reasoning.

The representative also argued that “nothing has been shown to indicate that there is a national necessity to apply the ADA Bill to churches, religious schools, and other ministries.” Nothing? How about the teachings of the Bible?

How about the story of the Good Samaritan in Luke 10? Jesus compared his compassionate concern to the actions of religious leaders who ignored the needs of someone with an injured body. How about Jesus’s anger at the money changers in the temple (Mark 11)? They were keeping a group of people from accessing their place of worship while the religious elite were able to worship freely in theirs. 

What about passages like Ezekiel 34? God says to the religious leaders, “You have not taken care of the weak. You have not tended the sick or bound up the injured. . . . You abandoned my flock and left them to be attacked by every wild animal.” What about Matthew 25? God says that when we meet or ignore the needs of those who are sick or otherwise suffering, it’s as if we’re doing it to him.

The fact that churches aren’t required to provide access to people with disabilities leads them to forget we exist. I don’t think the average church leader or member has any idea how many of us there are (26% of all adults in the United States) or how completely inaccessible places of worship tend to be. 

It's no surprise that there’s a great deal of emotional pain among the chronically ill and disabled from being systematically shut out of church. Whether or not government requires them to do the right thing (the actual right thing, not the right thing as it was defined in the exemption argument), every church has the choice, and disabled people are acutely aware of the choices that are made.   

Dingle puts it this way: “Disabled people didn’t leave the church. The church didn’t even leave us. No, we were never welcome.”

She adds, “It takes all the forgiveness we can find to love churches that didn’t want us. . . . Hopefully, someday the church will love us back.”

Dust, Debris, and Unanswered Questions

Folks who’ve been reading this blog for a while know that I love the Biblical book of Job and I return to it on a regular basis. Here are a couple of new musings. 

I’ve been studying the book with a group, and last week we looked at what’s probably its best known verse, Job 19:25. That’s the spot where Job, in the middle of striving with his friends who just keep insisting he must have brought his sufferings on himself, seems to change the subject and suddenly declares “I know that my Redeemer lives, and he will stand upon the earth at last.” (NLT)

I learned a couple of interesting things about this declaration. The first is that the word often translated “earth” can also be translated “dust.”  Other translations of the term include ashes, debris, rubbish, or rubble.

This brings new images to mind, doesn’t it?  Maybe the idea is that when everything that once seemed solid deteriorates, collapses, or crumbles to the ground, what we can count on to still be standing is our loving, rescuing God. Author Terry Betts explains that the verse literally says that our redeemer will “stand against the dust.” He’s the counterpoint. He’s the one who says “The dust is not the end. I can use it to create new life.” The Literal Standard Version says “He raises the dust.” 

The second thing I had never really noticed about this verse is what comes immediately before it. In verses 23 and 24 Job says, “Oh, that my words could be recorded. Oh, that they could be inscribed on a monument, carved with an iron chisel and filled with lead, engraved forever in the rock.” 

What words did he want engraved? The ones he used to maintain his innocence. He was undoubtedly worn out by the unending conversations with his friends and of the constant need to defend himself and his integrity. Betts says “He feared he would die before he was vindicated and cleared of all the false accusations his friends had cast at him. He wanted a permanent statement that would put the record straight.”

It’s in this setting that Job talks about his redeemer, a term which carries the idea of being freed from bondage or oppression by enemies. Job undoubtedly felt oppressed by his enemy-friends. He wanted to be rescued from their false narrative and he believed that God would do it.

Here are a couple of translations of the verse that get at that idea:

“I know that my defender lives.” (GW)  

 “I know there is someone in heaven who will come at last to my defense.” (GNT)

 “I know that my Vindicator is alive.” (ISV)

Yes, our Vindicator is alive and he graciously responded to Job’s desire for a permanent record of his innocence. We have it in the book that bears Job’s name. It’s his vindication, and to a degree it’s vindication for all of us who need it, including those who suffer from poorly understood illnesses that get blamed on sin, lack of faith, negative thinking, hypochondria, selfishness, a desire for attention, or a million other things. I’m so grateful that God recorded Job’s story.

**

The second brief musing is simply a parallel I noticed recently between a passage in C. S. Lewis’s brilliant book “A Grief Observed” and what happens at the end of the book of Job.

At the end of Job, there’s restoration, but God doesn’t directly respond to Job’s statements or questions about his suffering. In fact, Job says to God in 42:3 “You asked, ‘Who is this that questions my wisdom with such ignorance?’ It is I—and I was talking about things I knew nothing about, things far too wonderful for me.”

The restoration came from relationship and not from a totality of answered questions. In 42:5 Job explains, “I had only heard about you before, but now I have seen you with my own eyes.”

“A Grief Observed” is the journal that Lewis wrote after his wife died. He asks many of the questions Job did. God feels distant to him. Then, at one point, there’s this:

“When I lay these questions before God I get no answer. But a rather special sort of ‘No answer.’ It is not the locked door. It is more like a silent, certainly not uncompassionate, gaze. As though He shook His head not in refusal but waiving the question. Like, ‘Peace, child; you don’t understand.’

Can a mortal ask questions which God finds unanswerable? Quite easily, I should think. All nonsense questions are unanswerable. How many hours are there in a mile? Is yellow square or round?  Probably half the questions we ask – half our great theological and metaphysical problems – are like that.”

If you’re struggling today, I know you want answers, and I hope you get them. You may want vindication, and if so, I hope you get that, too. Mostly, though, I hope you can find peace: the peace of knowing that our redeemer lives and can stand against and transform the dust.

Justified and Vindicated

I’ve been studying the book of Romans with some friends, which has brought to mind the word “justify” and its various definitions. Theologically, the word means to be declared righteous before God. The mnemonic device I learned growing up was that being justified made it “just as if I” never sinned. I remember once looking at the keyboard on a digital typewriter (in pre-computer days) and seeing the “right justify” key, which would line up the text with the margin of the page. It struck me that what Jesus did for me was similar. My own righteousness couldn’t reach God’s standard, like unjustified text couldn’t reach the margin. I realized that Jesus was my “justify” key and that he could take what I offered him and fill in the gaps, so to speak, to make it line up with the standard of holiness I could never reach on my own. It’s not a perfect analogy, but it helped me appreciate being justified.

Ironically, the common usage of the word “justify” is almost the opposite of the theological one. Theologically speaking, justification starts with the truth that no one is fully righteous. In everyday usage, however, being justified involves a person being unjustly accused or doubted, then being shown to be in the right.

I find I need both kinds of justification. I’m certainly a sinner in need of great grace. I also find, however, that in specific situations, I long for someone to step in and defend me. In my last post, I asked God to vindicate me, which is a similar concept. Someone asked what I meant and I had trouble articulating it well. This is my attempt at a fuller answer.

I've learned that I feel beaten down, not only by things that people say directly to me, but things that people say about others with whom I identify. I suspect that we all have this tendency to some extent, but maybe some of us are more sensitive to it than others. Take, for example, what people say about other widows. Recently, within the span of a few days, I heard two different people make offhanded comments about widows they knew. The first commented that one seemed to be having a hard time. (Note to self – don’t share with anyone when you’re grieving). The second person commented that she was afraid another widow was too stoic and not allowing herself to mourn. (Note to self – make sure to share with everyone when you’re grieving.)

A few days after I heard those comments I ran across a blog post by a widow defending a widower who had recently announced his engagement. (Don’t read it if it will bother you that the post contains both a Bible verse and the phrase “dear ignorant, judgmental a**holes.”) The writer’s palpable anger, which was echoed in hundreds and hundreds of comments, reinforced the truth that when you attack one of us in this widowhood club, it feels like an attack on all of us.

The chronic illness club is another one I find myself a member of, and negative judgments about people who are ill pour down like rain. The list of accusations feels almost endless: people have made themselves sick, they remain sick because they are afraid or don’t really want to get well, they use their illnesses to manipulate people, they exaggerate their symptoms, they aren’t trying hard enough to heal, they aren’t smart enough to know the right treatments, and on and on it goes. In the Christian world other messages get piled on: they aren’t praying enough, they don’t have enough faith, they’re being punished for sin, they’ve let Satan gain a foothold in their life. There are also accusations that are specific to given conditions. People with chemical sensitivities are often freely ridiculed and maligned for things like wearing masks to protect themselves or asking for accommodations. Yesterday I read an article that used the word “tyrants” when referring to us.

I feel very grateful to live in the digital age, when information and connection is so easy to access. There’s some information, however, that I’m not sure I want to know. Blog and social media posts, along with their associated comments, pull back the curtain of denial and paint a stark and depressing picture of how judgmental and accusatory we all tend to be. I’m not saying anything new when I note how easy it is to type things online we would never say to someone’s face or in the physical presence of bystanders who might be sensitive to the message. I read things every day that make me sad and angry, and I don’t know what to do with those emotions. Sometimes people do say accusatory things directly to me, which is painful, but at least gives me the option of response. But what do I do with the anger I feel at the accusations of countless unnamed fellow humans who all seem to have an opinion about widows, women, those with low incomes, Christians, people over 50 and the chronically ill?

It’s easy to say that it doesn’t matter what other people think. There’s certainly some truth in that. At the end of the day, only God’s opinion really counts. But caring what people think also serves a certain purpose in society, helping people understand norms and promoting cohesion. It’s a natural human behavior. Biblical writers, especially psalmists, asked for vindication or justification frequently. Here are a few examples, taken from a variety of translations:

Psalm 7:8b – “Declare me righteous, O LORD, for I am innocent, O Most High!”

Psalm 26:1 – “Vindicate me, O LORD, for I have walked in my integrity, and I have trusted in the LORD without wavering.”

Psalm 35:24 – “Declare me not guilty, O LORD my God, for you give justice. Don't let my enemies laugh about me in my troubles.”

Psalm 43:1 – “Declare me innocent, O God! Defend me against these ungodly people. Rescue me from these unjust liars.”

Psalm 82:3b – “Vindicate the oppressed and suffering.” (Another translation says “Justify the poor and the meek.”)

I believe that my anger is justified (there’s that word again), but it doesn’t feel especially helpful. As I work through this issue and try to process my feelings, I’ve found solace not only in realizing that Biblical writers shared the same desire to be defended from unfair judgments, but that God promises to do just that. This is my hope:

Isaiah 50:7-9a – Because the Sovereign Lord helps me, I will not be disgraced. Therefore, I have set my face like a stone, determined to do his will. And I know that I will not be put to shame. He who gives me justice is near. Who will dare to bring charges against me now? Where are my accusers? Let them appear! See, the Sovereign Lord is on my side! Who will declare me guilty?

The Problem with Honesty

“How are you?” It’s a question that people with chronic illness often don’t know how to answer. “Fine” or “OK” are safe choices, and generally true, to a degree. When we say we’re OK, we mean that life is challenging, but we’re handling things. We don’t mean our symptoms have suddenly disappeared or that we no longer grieve for all we’ve lost.

Sometimes we’re less OK than at other times. Sometimes when people ask how we are we wonder if “OK” or “fine” are the truest responses. We long for someone to understand us and acknowledge our pain, but we hesitate to be fully honest. We’ve learned that expressing our distress can sometimes make things worse.

When we’re honest, we risk scaring people away. When we’re honest, we open ourselves up to being gossiped about. Mostly, however, we’ve learned that when we’re honest, we may get blamed somehow for our own distress.

There’s a seemingly limitless list of subtle and blatant accusations that are leveled at those whose illnesses do not quickly resolve. Of course, there are the classic “lack of faith” or “hidden sin” explanations. In addition, people are said to be focusing on their problems too much, not focusing on them enough, not handling stress, not eating right, not thinking right, not using traditional medicine, not using alternative medicine, not using the right supplements, not using the right brands, being too needy, not asking for help, not praying enough, not praying in the right way, not pushing enough, not resting enough, and on and on it goes.

This is evidently not a new phenomenon. In the biblical book of Job, Job’s friends initially responded to his suffering by coming to visit him and sitting with him in silence for a week. Once Job began to express his thoughts and feelings, however, the support began to deteriorate.

The book of Job is a treasure trove, with depths to mine in every verse. For this exercise, I decided to summarize and paraphrase the conversation between Job and his friends. I picked a few representative sentences from each chapter and excluded the dialogue between Job and God. I find it amazing how much the conversation mirrors those that still occur regularly (or at least reflects things that people want to say, but often don’t). I used the New Living Translation, and chapter numbers are in parentheses.

Job: I wish I could die. (3)

Friend: You’re weak. Resentment and jealousy destroy people and if I were you, I’d turn to God. (4-5)

Job: I have a right to complain. People complain about all sorts of things, like unsalted food. I’m out of strength and have nothing to live for. I wish God would let me die. You should be kind to me, but you accuse me instead. Stop assuming my guilt. (6)

Friend: If you pray and live a good life you’ll be restored. (8)

Job: It sounds good in theory, but God is God and can do what he wants. (9)

Friend: God is undoubtedly punishing you less than you deserve. Pray, repent, and work on your heart and your life will be bright. (11)

Job: You think you know everything. I’m not as stupid as you think I am. All of you are worthless quacks as doctors. The wisest thing you could do would be to shut up. (12-13)

Friend: You’re a sinful windbag. What do you know that we don’t? (15)

Job: Why do you keep talking? You’re miserable comforters. If the roles were reversed, I could find plenty to criticize, too, but I would encourage you and try to take away your grief. As it is, I suffer if I speak and try to defend myself and I suffer if I don’t. (16)

Friend: Speak sense. Remember that the wicked fall into their own pits. (18)

Job: How long will you torture me? How long will you crush me with your words? You’ve insulted me ten times already and should be ashamed. You think you’re so much better than I am. Relatives and friends have turned against me and forgotten me. Please have mercy on me. Haven’t you chewed me up enough? (19)

Friend: Your words disturb me. God gives the wicked what they deserve. (20)

Job: Please listen closely to me. That’s one thing you could do to help. After I speak you can resume your mocking. I don’t know if I should say this, but I will. I see the wicked prosper all around me. They don’t acknowledge God, but they don’t suffer. How can your clichés comfort me? Your explanations are lies. (21)

Friend: There’s no limit to your sins. You were probably greedy and didn’t help the less fortunate. Submit to God and things will go well. Clean up your life. Give up your lust for money and God will hear your prayers. (22)

Job: I’m trying hard not to groan out loud. I’ve stayed on God’s paths. I’ve treasured his words, but I’m surrounded by darkness. Why doesn’t God punish the wicked? Why doesn’t he come to the aid of the godly? Can anyone prove that isn’t true? (23-24)

Friend: No one is innocent. God is much higher than man. (25)

Job: Thanks for enlightening me with your wisdom. That was certainly helpful advice for someone powerless and weak. I understand and respect God’s power.

I’ll continue to defend my integrity and will never concede that you’re right. My conscience is clear. You say all these useless things to me. Wisdom and understanding are more valuable than gold, but are hidden from humans. God alone understands.

I long for my former life. I miss being respected and honored. I was honest and gave generously to the poor. I assumed I would live a long, good life and die surrounded by my family. But now I’m mocked, even by people younger than I am. My honor has blown away. I’m depressed and my pain is relentless. I’ve tried to live with integrity. If only someone would listen to me. (26-31)

Friend: I haven’t spoken until now because you’re older than I am, but age doesn’t always mean wisdom. I speak the truth. God treats people like they deserve. You’ve rejected him and deserve the maximum penalty for the wicked way you’ve talked. You’ve added rebellion to your list of sins.

The wicked are afflicted and the innocent are exalted. If people are caught up in pride, God will get their attention and demand they turn from evil. If they listen, they’ll prosper and if they don’t, they’ll die. God is using your suffering to lead you from danger. Turn from your evil. Pay attention. (32-37)

The conversation between Job and his friends comes to an end, but the book continues, with God telling the friends in chapter 42 that he’s angry with them. He asks them to bring a sacrifice and have Job offer a prayer on their behalf. He says that if they do, he won’t treat them as they deserve.

Once again, I find consolation and encouragement in Job's story. It reminds me that although I deeply long to be understood and not blamed for my own distress, it’s not unusual for us as fallible humans to respond to each other that way. Being honest with people sometimes feels dangerous, but I can always be honest with God. He gets me.

Revisiting the Book of Job

My read-through-the-Bible-in-a-year plan puts me in the book of Job in September. Last year I wrote a post about a particular verse that struck me. Maybe I’ll make it an annual tradition. This year, I was struck by a couple of verses in Chapter Six. Most of the book of Job relates a series of frustrating and nonproductive conversations between the deeply suffering Job and his friends. Chapter Six is part of the conversation, and a few of Job’s comments prompted thoughts about why it is that we humans seem to so often say unhelpful things to each other.

There are a wide variety of ways that our careless remarks can make the suffering of others worse instead of better. Those of us with chronic illnesses are often frustrated when people accuse us of sin (either of being sick because of sin or of lacking faith to be healed) or make statements that imply that we aren’t very bright or don’t really want to get well. (“Have you seen a doctor?”) Often our pain is denied or minimized. People with chemical illness frequently hear “That can’t hurt you” or “I know someone else with your condition and he’s able to do a lot more than you can.”

Sometimes a statement that is absolutely true (“God is in control”) feels unhelpful when we have a fresh or still-tender wound and the remark isn’t paired with some expression of sympathy. Job touched on the problem in verse 26. Although he was referring to criticism rather than to pat responses, he said, “Do you think your words are convincing when you disregard my cry of desperation?” Pain begs to be acknowledged. A fairly neutral remark may also feel unhelpful if we’ve heard it so much that it feels like an attempt to avoid having a real conversation.

All of us fail to respond helpfully to the suffering of others sometimes. Why do we do that? Here are some of the many possible reasons:

Fear – Job mentioned fear in verse 21. He remarked to his friends, “You, too, have given no help. You have seen my calamity, and you are afraid.” What are we afraid of? A basic fear when we encounter the pain of another is that a similar thing could happen to us. Accepting that good people sometimes suffer and that there aren’t always quick and easy ways to escape means that we, too, might someday find ourselves in a painful situation with no obvious way out. Those are scary thoughts and sometimes the response to that fear is to deny the pain exists or conclude that the sufferers are doing something wrong. Surely, we wouldn’t find ourselves in their position, but if we did, we would fix it.

Another fear is that if we acknowledge the suffering as legitimate, we may feel responsible to help alleviate it in some way. That seems to be what Job was implying. After remarking that his friend was frightened by Job’s situation, Job asked, “But why? Have I ever asked you for a gift?”

Differences in theology – I absolutely believe that God can take the messes that humans make and the consequences of living in a fallen world and turn them into something beautiful and good. I believe God has a plan. I believe God is in control. I don’t believe, however, that those truths mean that God’s people won’t suffer on earth. There are people who believe the Bible teaches that true believers are exempt from pain. I personally don’t see how even a quick skimming of the Bible or a quick glance at the world can lead to that conclusion.

One of many, many scripture passages that address the point is the “roll call of faith” in Hebrews 11. The chapter gives a long list of people who were commended for their faith in God. Verses 32 through 38 tell us that some of these heroes overthrew kingdoms, shut the mouths of lions, quenched fire and received loved ones back from the dead. That would be a handy place to stop the narrative, but it continues. We learn that others were tortured, jeered at, imprisoned, oppressed, stoned, and sawed in two. We are told that “they placed their hope in a better life after the resurrection.” That’s the hope. That’s the ultimate plan. Maybe we’ll escape deep suffering on this earth and maybe we won’t.

Guilt – This can play a role in the minimizing of all kinds of suffering, but is often very obvious in the realm of chemical illness. If I suspect on some level, even though I try to deny it to myself, that my decisions or actions may have played a role in someone else’s pain, I can deal with that by telling myself that the other person isn’t really suffering the way they claim to be or that they shouldn’t be and could avoid it somehow.

Lack of empathy – Sometimes we’re just so focused on our own lives we fail to really see and empathize with the struggles of others. This is especially true of struggles that are very different from our own experiences. In verses 5 and 6, Job asked, “Don’t I have a right to complain? . . . Don’t people complain about unsalted food?” Maybe Job was thinking something like, “If I complained about unsalted food you would understand because you can relate, but because my suffering is so far beyond anything you’ve experienced, you want to brush it away and are uncomfortable with me even expressing it.”

I find the lack of empathy for people in situations we can’t imagine often shows itself when people in developed countries talk about the suffering of those in developing ones. People sometimes say things like, “They’re used to it” or “It’s not so bad because everyone there is in the same boat.” If friends or family members lose their jobs, we feel some of their pain because we relate to them and can imagine ourselves in their shoes. On the other hand, we can’t imagine living on two dollars a day in a village with no electricity or running water, so we tell ourselves it can’t really be as hard as it sounds. If people who are “like us” lose a second child, we realize, to some extent, the depth of grief they must be feeling. We don’t generally say, “Well, at least they’re used to it.” It’s hard for us to remember sometimes that people are people and suffering is suffering and that it’s no easier for others to go through painful situations than it would be for us to experience the same thing, even if it’s something beyond what we can really imagine.

Habit – I think sometimes we don’t give responses much thought, but simply answer out of habit. The response to “How are you?” is “I’m fine.” The response to “I’m suffering” is “God has a plan.” I recently corresponded with someone who told me that on one of the very worst days of her life, when her heart was broken into a million pieces, someone said, “I’m excited for you because I know God has a plan.” Excited? Really? That wasn’t the most helpful thing to say on that day. A simple “I’m sorry” is generally helpful. “My heart breaks for you” is helpful. “I’m excited for you” – not so much. Surely that was a response made from habit rather than from thought about how it might be received or whether it was likely to help the situation in any way.

My husband recently introduced me to a song called “Broken Praise” that’s based on the book of Job. The “if” statements in the lyrics don’t resolve to a “then,” which bugs me a bit, but otherwise I think it’s a wonderful song. It captures well some of the frustrations of having pain deepened by the responses of others. It’s worth taking time to listen to.

We all have times when we feel like Job and times when, unfortunately, we act like Job’s friends. I hope we can all learn to do better. If you’re in pain, I’ll try not to tell you I’m excited for you. I’d appreciate it if you’d do the same for me.

Illness and Shame

I've come to love the Biblical book of Job and I re-read it often. Job experienced a great deal of loss and suffering, including a painful medical condition The Bible tells us that Job was "blameless and upright," but his friends believed (and expressed their belief) that those who live godly lives are protected from harm and that Job's struggles were therefore related to personal sin.

This week I noticed a verse I had never really focused on before. In Job 10:15, Job says, "If I am guilty—woe to me! Even if I am innocent, I cannot lift my head, for I am full of shame and drowned in my affliction."

Full of shame -- it's an illogical but common emotion among the chronically ill. There are a number of reasons for this, including the following:

* Pride is deep-rooted in the human psyche. Pride says, "I am capable and I don't need help from anyone." Illness says, "You aren't as strong as you think you are or that you'd like to be."

* The American culture has traditionally emphasized self-reliance and hard work. Stories of self-made men and women who pulled themselves up by their bootstraps are a part of our heritage and national character. Cultures define success in different ways. There are societies that value those who live their lives in solitude and contemplation. Ours puts a high value on tangible, material gains achieved through blood, sweat and tears. When illness keeps us from living up to our culture's standards, the sense of failure can be deep.

* The self-determinism that defines our world fuels an unspoken message that all sickness can be overcome and that failure to do so is a personal deficiency. This message is communicated in many ways. Get-well cards are a prime example. I'm sure that the messages people are trying to communicate when they send the cards include things like “I care about you," "I'm sorry you're ill," and "I hope you don't suffer much." That's not what the cards usually actually say, though. They say "Get well." That's an imperative -- an order. They seem to imply that healing is within your control and that if you don't get well soon it is somehow your fault.

* The Christian community can take that idea, magnify it exponentially, and attach spiritual significance to it. Some churches and denominations are very open about their theology that full earthly healing of all diseases is available to anyone who requests it and has enough faith. Some churches don't claim to believe that, but church members can manage to communicate that message anyway. Any ill Christian who ever listens to Christian radio, watches Christian television or webcasts, or communicates with other Christians online gets this message. Believe me, we get this message and it affects us deeply.

Condemning those who are ill certainly doesn't help ease the suffering. It compounds it and makes people afraid to express their needs. Job 42 tells us that God was angry with Job's friends and called their words and attitudes "folly." Let's try not to imitate them.