Dear Patient Pollsters:
Over the next 24 hours we’ll be hearing a lot from the great state of Iowa. The first in the nation caucuses create a quadrennial obsessive focus on this landmass separating the grand Mississippi and the muddy Missouri rivers. Iowa is not only important for its magnificent agricultural production; it’s also the only thing that keeps Illinois from having to touch Nebraska.
Every four years on the eve of the pre-primary kick-off, the Des Moines Register publishes its final pre-caucus polls. The Register itself is a surprisingly wonderful newspaper that once held the distinction of the second highest number of Pulitzer Prizes in the nation (second only to the New York Times), but that was back in the day when our own Bob Webb was responsible for a portion of the paper’s circulation, a duty he daily undertook on his trusty Schwinn.
I was musing this morning over the news that the Register was not going to publish their traditional last-minute polling. It seems several of their pollsters contacted potential caucus attendees to ask their candidate preference, but they failed to include Mayor Pete Buttigieg’s name on the list of candidates, resulting in inconsistent and useless polling numbers. In wondering how this happened, I remembered that Buttigieg is the first ever viable candidate of Maltese descent. I fear reprisals against the Register in the form of dozens of jewel-encrusted falcons unleashed on the editorial department by the Maltese Anti-Defamation League.
But it also got me thinking about polling in general, and the way polling questions can drive outcomes. There is now something called push-polling, which isn’t polling in a traditional sense, but a campaign ad phrased to sound like a poll question: “Would you prefer the upstanding candidate who may have just rescued a small boy from a burning house, or his opponent who is believed by some to smoke black-tar heroin from puppy skulls?” It’s a tactic akin to what an old Chicagoan told me was used by Daley-the-elder’s campaigns, called rumors in the bar. On the eve of an election, precinct captains would go to bars in an opponent’s neighborhood, order a single beer and casually say, “That’s just too bad about [fill in opponent name here].” The bartender would inevitably inquire regarding the breaking news. The campaign worker would respond with something vague like, “You haven’t heard? Well, all I’m saying is that a man should be faithful to his wife!” and storm out of the bar and meander to the next saloon. Daley paid for the beers. Politics has never been a clean sport.
Which brings me to the subject of church membership campaigns. Long-term congregational commitment requires upfront integrity. Membership isn’t a one-time ticket-punch, but a set of enduring relationships that require consistency and authenticity. As pastor, I’m proud of a congregation that works tirelessly for ongoing connections and sustained spiritual support. At the same time, I’m sorry to hear about what happened to the Methodists.
Watching the returns from the Hawkeye State, I remain,
With Love,
Jonathan Krogh
Your Pastor
Dear Non-Conference Non-Attendees:
As you may know, a great deal of effort was put into planning and promoting a post-COVID conference scheduled for the second Saturday in March. Pre-registrations were underwhelming, so the week before the event I decided to cancel it. It’s bad form to have more breakout groups than attendees. I’m grateful for the presenters and preparers who were unable to showcase their no-doubt brilliant work; but discussing the impact of the pandemic four years out was clearly uninteresting to a wider public.
Upon reflection, I realize I shouldn’t be surprised. I conceived of an event designed to address the unprocessed grief we carry regarding what was lost during those dark months of soaring death rates and social isolation. I recognize now that a conference organized to address denial is doomed by its own irony.
Perhaps because I spent so much time thinking about the pandemic’s impact on our social psyche,