New Turf, Old Wars

You've heard the expression "turf wars"? It's a phrase that paints a picture of someone fighting tenaciously to protect something (some place, position, power, or privilege) they have come to think of as their own. Stay on your side of the invisible line and things will be fine; cross it and die -- at least, die by character assassination.

Turf wars are fought by petty, small-minded people. Which is not to say that petty, small-minded people do not frequently occupy elevated positions. In fact, it is sometimes shocking to discover how high a turf warrior can rise in an organization. But whether high or low all turf warriors have two things in common:

1. An irrational fear of being deposed, and

2. A invisible network of trip-wires leading to their hidden minefields.

The irrational fear drives them to question everything (and, here, I do mean everything!) that takes place around them and to view it in the suspicious light of the potential it could have if it were a part of some larger plot. No kind word, no unthinking gesture, no thousand-yard stare exists but what it is seized upon and dragged down into the fathomless depths of their inner sanctum for endless speculation.

Picture the sad-eyed innocent yawn of a co-worker. That yawn, now having been seized and shackled and hauled into the nether regions of the paranoid's soul, is forced to sit upon the cold, hard steel of their mental examining table there to be endlessly poked, prodded, tested, sampled, stimulated, analyzed, and pricked! Not for mere moments but for days! There are, my friends, cases on record where the examination began years ago and still continues to this very day!

And woe be to the one trait or deed which may be construed to have been sent from a malevolent heart or guided by a nefarious purpose! That entity and all who ever came in contact with it are summarily condemned to a life of public humiliation and endless harangue. They will be paraded out at every ensuing argument between the turf warrior and the person identified with the offending item, there to be reviled, denounced, and excoriated until the turf warrior falls silent from sheer exhaustion.

But the absolutely humorous thing (if we are free to find humor in so low a pattern of behavior) is to be found in the value of the turf being fought over. Mostly it is pale, curious soil which none but the most derelict would seek out or desire. The positions being sought go begging for takers elsewhere and the power is such that one might have the right to re-arrange the papers on their own desk -- provided the proper request forms have been accurately filled out and suitably filed.

Now, with all my railing against turf wars you might think me immune to their appeal. Alas, that is not the case and I lie if I make it seem so. Turf warring is part and parcel of the human condition having come to us rather suddenly when humans in the Garden decided to call a certain tree "theirs" that God called "His". Next we have Cain killing Abel and disavowing any responsibility for him -- all the while using the personal (and possessive) pronoun "my" in the now-infamous line of his, "Am I MY brother's keeper?" The first interpersonal turf war, turf warrior, and turf war casualty.

So I have the bug as badly as you and anyone else has it. Like a repentant vampire, I am good - until I pass the local blood bank. Then, "woe is me for I am undone!"

But my prayer is that the God of this place will help us to go out of business in this turf warring sideline we've been running. Tear up the fences, tear down the "No Trespassing" signs, tear out the stubborn landmines that do so much damage to innocent, unsuspecting people who were only passing through our lives.

Will you join me in that prayer? Join me for me, and join me for yourself?

Out west they had a lot of tension between the "free and open range" cattlemen and the fenced-in sheep-herders. Blood was spilled and hostility built up that lasted, in some places, right down until today.

But I vote for "free and open range" in this turf thing. Come on over. Come on in. Share life with me. Don't mind the occasional (and faded) "Keep Out" signs. They're all coming down, anyway.