Time's Fool

Mini rant on : spirituali/religious

2011-10-13T11:48:00.002-04:00

I've heard it so often..."I'm not religious but I am spiritual."

What the heck does that MEAN?

I don't believe in God, but I like trees?

I believe in God, but don't go to church?

I'm not like "those other people"?

I'm cooler than religious people?

I'm lazy?

What do people think religious people ARE?

Can they be "religious but not spiritual?"

This makes me nuts. Chime in.

today's poem

2011-10-03T17:37:00.002-04:00

I was re-reading some Robert Frost today, and came upon this poem. It rings true.

FIRE AND ICE

Some say the world will end in fire;
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

I Confess

2011-10-02T18:20:00.002-04:00

OK I am a liberal -- a progressive, even. But I am not thrilled with the Obama administration. I want to be. I voted for him. I know he inherited a mess. I know it will take time. But too much time is being wasted.

I want more press conferences. I want him to have better advisors. I want to stop blaming Republicans for Obama's shortcomings. The Republicans have MANY things that they need to change. But there better be a shakeout of the Cabinet, and a re-emergence of leadership by Obama, soon.

I hate even SAYING that I am disappointed. I hate even THINKING it.

Carter speaks the plain truth again!

2011-09-16T16:04:00.003-04:00

And this quote from the Huffington Post is part of why I LOVE JIMMY CARTER!

At the 30th annual Carter Town Hall on Wednesday, former President Jimmy Carter told his audience he thought the Supreme Court decision to roll back restrictions on corporate spending in federal campaigns was "one of the stupidest rulings ever consummated or perpetrated on the American people."

The Citizens United ruling was decided 5-4 in 2010 and received criticism for allowing a flood of special interest money in politics. President Barack Obama was a major critic, saying the decision was "a major victory for big oil, Wall Street banks, health insurance companies and the other powerful interests that marshal their power every day in Washington to drown out the voices of everyday Americans."

Yep. I love that man!

Great Gay Marriage Posters!

2011-09-10T11:42:00.004-04:00

I LOVE these! Click here and enjoy signs like these :

A Fine Litany

2011-09-02T11:41:00.002-04:00

A Litany for 9/11/11:

In Memory of All Victims of War and Terrorism

This litany was taken from a mailing I receive from
The Shalom Center

[Please feel free to use this Litany in memory of 9/11, so long as you cite the sources. The litany requires either actually standing at a running river, lake, or ocean, or if that is not feasible bringing a large basin of water into the center of a church, synagogue, mosque, temple, or public space. If the basin, change "river" to "water" in the litany. At best, it includes having a list of names of people of various countries who died on 9/11/01 as victims of the terrorist attacks.]

Ashes, Stones, and Flowers

For vibrant lives suddenly and shamelessly sacrificed, we lift up the ashes of our loss,

O Source of Life.

For the lives that continue, haunted forever by the pain of absence,

we lift up the ashes of our remorse, O Wellspring of Compassion.

For the conflagration of flames and nightmare images

forever seared into our memories,

we lift up the ashes of our pain, O Breathing Spirit of the World.

For the charred visions of peace and the dry taste of fear,

we lift up the ashes of our grief, O Infinite.

For all the deaths that have been justified

by turning the love of God or country into fanatical arrogance,

we lift up the ashes of our shame, O God.

As we cast these ashes into the troubled water of our times, Transforming One,

hear our plea that by your power they will make fertile the soil of our future

and by your mercy nourish the seeds of peace.

[The people recite the names of the dead.]

In silence, the people cast the ashes into the river

[or a bowl of water].

***

For the ways humanity pursues violence rather than understanding,

we lift up the stones of our anger, O Breathing Spirit of the World.

For the ways we allow national, religious and ethnic boundaries

to circumscribe our compassion, we lift up the stones of our hardness, O Wellspring of Compassion.

For our addiction to weapons and the ways of militarism we lift up the stones of our fear, O Source of Life.

For the ways we cast blame and create enemies we lift up the stones of our self-righteousness, O God

As we cast these stones into this ancient river, Transforming One, hear our plea:

Just as water wears away the hardest of stones,

so too may the power of your compassion soften the hardness of our hearts

and draw us into a future of justice and peace.

[The people recite the names of the dead.]

In silence, the people cast the stones into the river

[or a bowl of water].

***

For sowing seeds of justice to blossom into harmony,

we cast these flowers into the river, O Source of Peace.

For seeing clearly the many rainbow colors of humanity and earth,

we cast these flowers into the river, O Infinite.

For calling us to life beyond our grieving,

we cast these flowers into the river, O Breathing Spirit of the World.

As we cast these flowers into this ancient river,

Transforming One, hear our plea:

Just as water births life in a desert and gives hope to the wounded,

so too may the power of your nurturing renew our commitment to peace.

[The people recite the names of the dead.]

In silence, the people cast the flowers into the river

[or a bowl of water].

Litany by Rev. Patricia Pearce, former pastor

of Tabernacle United Church, Philadelphia,

and Rabbi Arthur Waskow, director of The Shalom Center.

Sept 11 commemorations are coming and I do not want to watch them

2011-08-31T19:02:00.002-04:00

I know. Sept 11th. A day of tragedy. I witnessed it. I saw the towers burn 10 blocks from my office, and I saw the people covered with ashes run by. I was trapped in Manhattan with all exits closed. I worked near Ground Zero for months afterwards.

I inhaled the dust of dead bodies.

I saw the posters, the shrines, the memorials. I went to a funeral that had an empty casket.

I know. I lived in the heart of it.

I cried every day for a month at least.

I am tired of how we slash open the wound every year. These 5,000+ people died horrible, tragic deaths. So have many more --- our soldiers in wars, other police, firemen and EMT workers who died in "ordinary disasters", and on and on -- yet we do not read their names every year - or send their children to college, or give their families annual honors.

If one uses the argument that people on 9/11 died at the hands of foreign nationals, so it is different - well, people died the 1st time the Towers were bombed in 1993, years before. But what is done to memorialize them?

How do we chose whose deaths are special enough to recall? I understand the magnitude of 9/11, but how can we move on if we keep fanning the flames of deep grief? When is enough enough?

I am NOT saying that the people who died should be forgotten. Not at all.

But I am wondering how the wife of a cop feels who lost her husband to a mugger.Or how a fireman's family feels when their father died putting out a chemical fire in a warehouse. Or the soldier's widow whose husband was killed in Iraq. How do they feel when they see how other families are treated in comparison?

It is time to find another expression for this event.

We are about to go through the 10th anniversary. Police are beefing up, bracing for hate crimes. We have kept this wound alive each year. It is time we worked for healing it.

Hate Groups on the Rise in America

2011-04-12T13:33:00.001-04:00

Hate groups are on the rise. It is getting even more alarming with each passing year. The Southern Poverty Law Center (SPLC) tracks hate groups, and has been doing so since the 1980's. The report of hate groups in 2010 issued last month by the SPLC, indicates that there are over 1,000 active hate groups in the US. These are not teenagers on a spur of the moment rampage, or a couple of drunks blaming another race or religion for their problems. These are organized hate groups. They have members, meetings, strategies, websites. They take ugly actions.

This 1,000 does not include the 824 Patriot Groups, organized groups defined as those that "engage in groundless conspiracy theorizing, or advocate or adhere to extreme antigovernment doctrines." Nor does it include the 319 Nativist Extremist Groups such as "the Minuteman Civil Defense Corps, the Minuteman Project and the Federation Immigration Reform and Enforcement Coalition."

The SPLC site goes on to say "Taken together, these three strands of the radical right -- the hatemongers, the nativists and the antigovernment zealots -- increased from 1,753 groups in 2009 to 2,145 in 2010, a 22% rise. That followed a 2008-2009 increase of 40%."

So let's take a closer look at the increase in a chart we use with the permission of Mark Potok, the director of the Intelligence Project of the SPLC. And this is just hate groups.

Who are these groups? And where are they? Well, look at the SPLC site and check out the groups in YOUR state. In my state of Massachusetts -- liberal Massachusetts -- there are ten active groups - including the KKK, Aryan Terror Brigade, and other Neo-Nazi, White Nationalist, anti-immigrant and anti-GLBT groups. One of them is less than 20 minutes from my house. I will not link to any of these hate sites in this article. If you wish to look them up, do. I did so with many of them. It sickened me. I wanted to see if they really were saying hateful things. I wanted to see if the sites looked like they were assembled in a garage, or were professionally done, an indication of organization and funding.

I found a frightening amount of organization, sites that linked together as brethren in hatred, and a level of hatred that alarmed and disgusted me. And that is in liberal Massachusetts. Check Your State!

I decided to check Google news for "hate crimes" to get a larger picture of what was happening. I looked only at last week's results. Within moments I found:

1. The St. Louis Beacon reporting an increase in national incidents of anti-Muslim hate crimes. "We continue to see a steady stream of violence and discrimination targeting Muslim, Arab, Sikh and South Asian communities," said Thomas E. Perez the U.S. Justice Department's assistant attorney general for civil rights...He said complaints of school and workplace harassment have risen, and the department has opened 14 investigations in the last year into organized opposition to the building of new mosques."

2. A man walking down the street in Williamsburg, Brooklyn was beaten savagely by a gang of "hoodie wearing teens" taunting him with anti-gay slurs. He has a broken nose, broken eye sockets, and needed plates in his skull.

3. A report from District Attorney George Gascón, who says that hate crimes are also on the rise in San Francisco.

4. A cross was burned "outside the home of a black family in the prosperous, mainly white California coastal community of Arroyo Grande near San Luis Obispo."

5. In Connecticut, a Jewish cemetery was vandalized by anti-Semitic vandals - for the second time in six months. "Six months ago, swastikas were painted on the backs of six gravestones. The graffiti has now expanded to anti-Semitic messages, defacing a place where many are remembered."

There were screens and screens of examples. I found these literally in a few minutes. I had searched on "hate crimes", and asked only for news articles in the past week. There was an avalanche of articles. Are these groups or individuals? Does it matter? Look at the pattern of dramatic rise here in "Patriot" and Militia Groups:

This entire process woke me up. We all need to wake up to what is happening around us, and to begin doing what we can to end it.

Mark Potok, of the SPLC does not hold out much hope for positive change in the near future. "What seems certain is that President Obama will continue to serve as a lightning rod for many on the political right, a man who represents both the federal government and the fact that the racial make-up of the United States is changing, something that upsets a significant number of white Americans. And that suggests that the polarized politics of this country could get worse before they get better."

Is Potok right? What do you think? What can we all do to stop this trend? What do you think will work?

(This article was recently published on BlogHer.com.)

11 year old blamed for her own gang rape.

2011-03-09T14:18:00.003-05:00

An 11 year old was raped by OVER EIGHTEEN men and boys in an abandoned trailer in Cleaveland, Texas -- population 9,000. Lurid cell phone pictures were taken by several of the assailants and passed around, which is how a classmate of the girl's saw what happened and reported it.
The NY Times says:
"Five suspects are students at Cleveland High School, including two members of the basketball team. Another is the 21-year-old son of a school board member. A few of the others have criminal records, from selling drugs to robbery and, in one case, manslaughter. The suspects range in age from middle schoolers to a 27-year-old."

One would imagine that a town would respond to such an event with outrage. Well, they have. They are outraged that the girl may have been dressed seductively. One said that she wore make-up. Another that she dressed old for her age. Another that she hung around with teen aged boys.

They are worried, according to the NYTimes because "It’s just destroyed our community,” said Sheila Harrison, 48, a hospital worker who says she knows several of the defendants. “These boys have to live with this the rest of their lives.”

THE BOYS HAVE TO LIVE WITH IT???

She was 11. They knew her. They threatened to beat her if she did not comply. There were 18 of them gang raping her.

You bet they have to live with it. And I hope they have to live with it behind bars.

This is 2011, and we are blaming an 11 year old for her own gang rape. The town has also critisized the girl's mother. Although the girl was taken by car to two locations where she was raped repeatedly, one townsperson asks "Where was the mother?"

It doesn't matter if the girl dressed in a short skirt, or if the mother was inattentive or if the boys are in trouble now. None of that changes what it was -- rape. Penetration without consent under threat of violence. And, the boys were proud of what they had done. They showed pictures around.

What has happened to our world that we can not see an act of violent degradation for what it is? Or are female children just chattel to be used and discarded as some proof of manhood?

May God have pity on our souls.

a cuppa cuppa cuppa cuppa cup

2011-03-01T19:09:00.002-05:00

I love coffee. I recall even singing along to my parents' dated 78rpm record of the Ink Spots singing about the joys of java. It was so much fun. As I grew older I started drinking this delightful beverage. Imagine my shock when traveling in the South and ordering a glass of "Iced Coffee". I was looked at as though I was an octopus at a show store. No one even thought to drink it down south back then. Anyway, as I was humming this tune this afternoon, it seemed right to me to share it with you in its original and later versions:

and then -- years later -- The Manhattan Transfer:

PLEDGE Feb 2nd, 3rd and 4th -

2011-02-04T13:24:00.003-05:00

This is harder than I thought. I am learning to remind myself to keep this pledge.

2/2 - Thanks to my sturdy feet. You are not glamorous, not subjects of ads for toenail polish, and hard work at pedicure time. You run around bare most of the time. But you get me from here to there. And you are dependable, strong and a constant reminder of my peasant heritage. I love your length and width. You may not be delicate, but you sure are wonderful!

2/3 - Thanks to my parents who took a chance in having me, and who made many sacrifices to give me the best life that they could.

2/4 Thank you to the first person who ever thought eating a tomato was a good idea.

Jan 31 and Feb 1 --Pledge

2011-02-01T15:29:00.002-05:00

31st - Thank you for Bubble Wrap on this, Bubble Wrap Appreciation Day. They now make green, biodegradable bubble wrap, and bubble wrap made of recycled plastic. And, I reuse my BW ...besides, I LOVE to hear it POP!

1st - Thanks for a roof over my head. I am lucky.

30 Day Thanks Pledge

2011-01-30T12:02:00.004-05:00

1/28/2011 Thank you to my dog, who understands the virtue of a good snuggle on a wintery night.

1/29/2011 Thank you to friends who have made my life possible, more fun, deeper, stronger and better through the years. At every really big point in my life, I have had friends stand by me. I cannot imagine my life without them.

1/30 Thanks, computer. You expand my reach and help me expand my mind. Plus there is that wonderful way you have of helping me find out the answer to some nagging trivia question before it becomes a brain irritant!

Enough said

2011-01-29T11:07:00.000-05:00

THANK YOU PLEDGE --Day 2

2011-01-27T15:53:00.004-05:00

Thank you, coffee -

It is snowing out. This morning, sitting at my kitchen table having a hot cup of coffee, I was reminded to feel lucky. I was warm. My dog was at my side being amusing. I have friends. Life is good. It was a simple, quiet moment of happiness. Thanks, cup of coffee, for that inspiration!

Love,
Mata

30 Day Pledge

2011-01-27T01:07:00.003-05:00

I pledge for the next 30 days to post one thank you note a day. I want to introduce the happy discipline of daily gratitude in my life.

I am thankful that my friend Maggie who just had surgery for breast cancer has apparently pulled through the surgery with flying colors. This is my thank-you note to God for watching over all of us--Maggie, her friends, her family and her beloved husband Keith -- as she went through this process. I am spending this moment overtaken with thankfulness for the health of my treasured friend, Maggie.

2011-01-13T18:37:00.006-05:00

Etta James, age 72 has been diagnosed with dementia and leukemia. It breaks my heart to see so many vocalists and musicians and artists go who have influenced so many people.

Letter to Etta :
Etta, I love you. If you need to go, go with God in peace and without pain. I remember when I first saw you in concert at Carnegie Hall in a show called "Divas of the Blues". It featured you, KoKo Taylor and Ruth Brown. You stole the show. There you were, on stage, hair slicked back, big hoop earrings, with a big blond ponytail, weighing over 300 pounds and by the time you were done, there wasn't a man in the hall who wouldn't have given his left testicle to make love to you. You had a way with phrasing that made us all just want to cheer you on through every word. Here is one song you sang that night.

Then you had us all in thepalm of your hand with "Sugar On The Floor".

And when you in later years turned out a ballad, it was like being rocked in your sweet arms. "How Deep is the Ocean?"

But you always had such a talent for innuendo. You really rocked this one: "You Can Leave Your Hat On"

Etta, while you yet live, I hope you feel the love so many of us have for you, and that when we pray, you feel caught up in our comforting arms.

Love to you.
Only love.
At Last.

The holidays are almost upon us

2010-12-20T22:11:00.003-05:00

I am stunned that this year I have actually been organized. With any luck at all I will have a hassle free holiday. Can it be true? Can I really have shopped early, gotten my cards out, made a zillion lists? I may have one last push of details tomorrow night before the cooking extravaganza starts Wednesday, but by and large I am doing OK.

I have had my family on my mind for a few weeks -- moreso at holidays now that they are gone. I find trinkets that Mom liked, or hear carols that Dad used to sing, and I am transported back to those days of wonder. Everything was made special in Mom's house. At Christmastime it was HER house, not ours. She decorated with whatever we could buy or make. Money was very tight, so we improvised with what we had. It never felt that we were poor, although we surely were. It just felt like an adventure.That was my Mother's particular magic.

So I am organized and sentimental this year, waiting for the glorious birth of the wondrous Child that improvises with who we are to make us more than we thought we could be.

Love to you all on this holiday.

The best quote of the month

2010-11-30T11:39:00.004-05:00

I was having a long chat with a dear friend who has just turned 68. I'm 60. We started to review a few past relationships that did not work out, and we were laughing at how foolish we may have been, but what adventures we had in our lives. (And what joy we continue to discover!)

Anyway, my friend paused and said words that sum up my life to date. She said :

"Well, my choices may not have all been good, but they certainly were interesting!"

I laughed until my sides hurt. That was such a fine way to see things, even relationships that did not work out.

I know the Chinese are said to have a multi-sided blessing, that can be taken in many ways..."May you have an interesting life!".

But, all things considered, no matter what life has sent me, at least I have not been bored. And that is a dandy thing to be able to say!

Signs of the Times

2010-10-28T15:34:00.001-04:00

There I was, making a positive faith statement, and I had an uneasy sensation in the pit of my stomach. What is up with that? This kind of spiritually-inclusive proclamation had me worried a bit. Now that has at least as much to say about the times we live in as it does my anxiety level. I told an ordained UCC minister friend in Wisconsin about my feelings. She reminded me that I live in "liberal Massachusetts." I reminded her that my home is about 20 minutes from the African-American church that was burned down the day after Obama was elected ... yep, right here in liberal Massachusetts.

In April, I wrote a post about how liberals and progressives were letting the Tea Party folks have all the visibility, while we spoke mainly to each other, preaching to the choir, as it were. I spoke about how "we" need to be more public. And that meant "I" needed to do something. I decided it was time for me to step forward and broadcast how I felt about America; what I wished for in American public life. So I worked with a printer to design five big signs for my lawn.

The signs stand about 3 feet high, are four feet wide and have text that is about a foot and a half high. Here are pictures of all of them, most of which were taken today in the rain on my back patio. (The one in front of my house does not feature the sentimental little statues from my mother's gardens that I keep on the patio.)

I rotate the signs out for two weeks at a time. The first one I put out was this one:

This one expresses one of the foundational beliefs on my faith. I am downright passionate about it. But when I set it up on my front lawn, I started to have some strange feelings. Will there be a negative reaction to this? Will there be vandalism?

There I was, making a positive faith statement, and I had an uneasy sensation in the pit of my stomach. What is up with that? This kind of spiritually-inclusive proclamation had me worried a bit. Now that has at least as much to say about the times we live in as it does my anxiety level.

I told an ordained UCC minister friend in Wisconsin about my feelings. She reminded me that I live in "liberal Massachusetts." I reminded her that my home is about 20 minutes from the African-American church that was burned down the day after Obama was elected ... yep, right here in liberal Massachusetts.

Well, so be it. As it also happens, I am promoting inclusive faith in a town with a big mega-church that espouses the opposite. I am usually private about my faith in my neighborhood, and here I am with a honking big sign about God's love on my lawn.

I did get a few of positive comments. One was from the young Russian lad who delivers my newspaper, one from my lawn guy, another from the postman.

Lots of people go on evening walks down my block. There is a park at the foot of the street and playing fields across from my house. I watched people walking their dogs. They'd scope the sign and keep on walking. I couldn't get a read on their opinion.

OK. Two weeks ago, this is the sign that went up the day of local primary elections. I have had no response about it in the two weeks that it has been up. I do not know how to take that. My guess is that people do not know if I am liberal or conservative with that statement. But I'm unsure how it is really perceived.

Here are the next three that will go up. This one goes up tomorrow.

I'll follow with this one:

And then this will round out the five that I had made:

I gave a lot of thought to what I would have on the five signs. I tried to synthesize what I hoped for; believed in. I didn't want to promote specific policy, specific laws. I wanted to talk about how we ought to be as a nation, about a God that includes rather than excludes, about speaking with respect, treasuring diversity, and about moving this country forward into a better future.

I wanted to promote values -- values about working together, promoting community, acknowledging our connectedness. I wanted to say that not all people of faith are right wing.

And I wanted to go public. I wanted to stand by what I believe -- openly and visibly. It isn't as easy as I thought it would be. But I am glad I am doing it, and learning from it. I "came out" as a faith-based progressive.

After I started "signing," I saw news about Jon Stewart's upcoming Rally to Restore Sanity on the Daily Show. It's coming up on October 30th. Maybe he'd like some bumper stickers from my signs? In any case, I'm glad someone else is making a quiet and positive fuss about the state of things.

Everything we do to promote civility, respect, inclusion -- it all helps. One thing I know for sure. My silence wasn't helping anybody.

White Dog, Pink Hindquarters

2010-10-25T23:55:00.003-04:00

Background:
I have, as regular readers know, a Bichon Frise rescued dog named Zoe. Zoe, like many white haired dogs, is prone to getting "hot spots", skin irritations that are so insanely itchy that they have them madly biting themselves to the point where they even pull out their own hair, leaving the skin bright pink and angry looking. This can be due to nervousness or allergies. During the spring and fall, Zoe can get an occasional hot spot. But when I first got her (she had been abused) she was so nervous that she chewed off about a two inch strip of beautiful hair from her bushy tail. It was six inches of lovely fluffy white fur, then a bright pink piece of bald rat tail and then furriness again. After attempting several remedies, my vet settled on an ointment that calmed the itch and all Zoe's hair grew back. Since then she has never been through anything even nearly that dramatic.

But last night I looked at her as she walked away from the kitchen and I noticed that her entire backside was bright pink. It is often possible to see the color of her skin (white, pinkish and some spots depending on where one looks) through her hair. I lifted her up and tried to get a good look, but she wriggled free. Was it just the hair that was pink? Was the skin naturally a pink color there, or had she been chewing at it? I had just had her groomed a few days ago, so maybe the groomer used something that did not agree with her skin?

Or, worse yet, was it her skin at all? Her rectal area looked especially pink as did her urination area -- oh Lord -- was this the sign of blood? Had she bled and rubbed herself off? I had seen her "butt scooting" the other day...was there a problem? And she had chewed her paw when she got a little pricker seed stuck in it.

OK, call the vet. No sense worrying myself witless. If it was something serious and I waited too long, I would never forgive myself.

As I was getting ready to dash with Zoe to the vet I noticed a small, round, flat plastic jar of purse-sized blusher on the floor with a hole poked in the lid. I grabbed it and stuck it in my pocket. Had she eaten this and then defecated...?

Summary

Here I am, with Zoe, racing to the vet for fear that her tiny life was in peril. There she is, sitting calmly with a glowing pink butt and rear legs, especially red around the rectum.

The vet listens to the story, looks at my dog's behind and says "Let's take a sample of this blusher." She takes the tiniest bit on a Q-tip and touches my dog's shoulder with it. It immediately spreads. She tries to brush it off. It spreads more. She tries to wash it off. It spreads more.

And now my dog's shoulder matches her butt.

Bottom Line
My dog grabbed my blusher from the end table near the bed. She bit a hole in it. At some point the blusher turned over and a bit shook out. Zoe sat in it. And probably butt scooted (to discharge the little bit of stuff in her anal glands that the vet found.) So my dog stole blush and then smeared it all over her own ass.

Zoe checked out perfectly in all other ways. The vet is glad I found the make-up or, as she said, "We'd still be here trying to figure out what the heck was wrong with your dog!"

She also said she could confidently say that this was a first. Never before had she had a dog come in because she had blusher on her butt.

They took her in back and washed her off and toweled her dry. I walked out with a white pooch, with only the slightest hint of a pink bottom.

Computer flood and perspective

2010-10-22T22:49:00.002-04:00

Saturday night I went upstairs from my basement office thinking all was well. On Sunday I went downstairs to check email around noon. I screamed. My computer, printer, cable modem, router and a ton of paperwork were standing underneath what looked like an indoor rain shower that had been going on for many hours. I threw down towels and grabbed cords, pulling them out of the power strip that had shut down. I tried to get things out of harm's way, but it was too late. Harm had been done.

I work from home. It is not an option to be without a computer. After getting a plumber out on a $unday to fix the leak in my pipe above my desk, the week has been a dizzying array of telephone calls to my insurance agent, my actual insurance company, the cable company, handymen, etc. The whole week is a blur. I still have yet to see an adjuster, but I got a new iMac, had the cable company put in a new modem and am working below a hole in my ceiling on a trashed out oak desktop.

I went through the drill, called all the right people, assembled documentation, and now am waiting. I shocked myself with how non-freaked out I was. I knew I was doing all that I could do. After a certain point one has to just let things unfold.

My getting flipped out would not have advanced my cause.

When I was in my 20's and 30's I did not know that.

So I suppose that awareness of spiritual change is a happy thing. Why not? It's better to focus on that then the fact that I am still waiting for the adjuster to call.

I found myself laughing Monday when the lawn guys were reseeding the burned out parts of my little half acre, while the handyman was putting up these magic plastic things on my porch windows to keep the cold out, while my friend's grandson was transplanting shrubbery for me, while the furnace repairman was cleaning my furnace and installing a "non-metallic sheath" to my fuel line so that it was insurable under a new law (for any fuel spills). That was the day after the plumber and the day before the gal who helps me clean every few weeks. So it's been quite the week. Open wallet and hear the sound "Cha--CHING!"

Oh well. I had some good breaks. The plumber worked much less expensively than I thought he would. All in all, everyone had a fair and reasonable price and I had the money to pay it. So life is good. The various events may have felt annoying, but what is that? Not much.

I have people in my life who love me, whom I love right back. I have a nice roof over my head. Good neighbors. A swell dog. Food in the pantry and fridge and freezer. I live in America. My friends are great.

So, did I tell you I had a wonderful week?

Eventually, I learn

2010-10-16T22:07:00.004-04:00

I basically have one living relative. She is 88. She said something that irritated me the other day. When I hung up the phone, after having the good sense to not say anything, I fumed around for a moment or to.

Then I paused, and I thought -- when she dies, I will even miss moments like this. And I will feel how petty it was to get irritated in the first place.

So I decided to thank God that she irritated me, that I love her enough that I let her get under my skin. I thanked God that she and I have an emotional relationship.

I'm lucky to have her. I probably grate against her nerves on occasion, but she learned her lessons more quickly than I have, I think.

So, I choose to not be irritated. I choose to be thankful that she is in my life, and to celebrate ALL the moments we have left together. They are precious in ways one only realizes when one is near the visible end of them.

Now, make no mistake, I hope she lives a much longer life -- but at 88 one starts being aware of the finite. She is near the end of her life's ledger, but what is true for us now, is really true for everyone -- we can choose what we feel. In common everyday moments we can select gratitude as a reasonable choice. It feels so much better. And in the end, it is so much more deeply true.

Zoe and the delivery guy

2010-09-28T11:44:00.003-04:00

I was having something delivered this week, and the delivery guy could not have been more unpleasant. He was grinding away about his lousy job, horrible boss, bad weather, etc etc. I apologized for the weather, said I was sorry his boss was so mean. I offered him iced tea. He didn't like iced tea. Then he saw my dog, little Zoe the bichon.

"Does that dog bite?" he asked gruffly.

"No, she is a sweet little gal," I replied.

He then started petting her. This is what he had to say about my dog.

"Oh, da pitty widdle girl. She's a sweetie pie, yes she is, ditty ummm mum, widdle sweetie pie snookie poochie. What a good girl."

I was in shock. Then he picked up his clipboard, started complaining again and left.

I looked at my sassy little dog who by now was sitting on my bed, gazing out the window at her departing latest conquest, looking smug.

"OK, girl tell me," I asked her. "How the heck do you DO it???!"

My dog has the power to beguile. Big guys, little women, children, adults, old, young. She has them bringing her toys (my roofer did that), inventing games with her (a friend who never had a pet), buying her treats (several friends). Somehow this rescued pooch has the power to bring out love in people, softness, affection.

Is it her eyes, her fluffiness? Or is it something deeper, perhaps the willingness to accept love?

Or maybe it is how charming she looks after playing in the mud?

Roasted Tomato Soul

2010-08-26T13:18:00.003-04:00

I found a recipe out here a couple of years ago by Kalyn, a friend and food blogger. Slow Roasted Tomatoes .

I made it and loved it. I put up a half bushel of tomatoes this way. I got several of my friends to try them. They are now making them every year. Anyone who tastes them makes them. We all joke about whether or not a half bushel is too little.

I love to put them in at night when I go to sleep and have them roast while I am dreaming. I found out that another of my friends likes to do it that way as she enjoys waking to the scent that is so deep it is almost a flavor.

Our homes are full of the deep, tomato-rich scent of roasting. It invades our sleep, glides us into tomato-rich dreams of fields that spread on in limitless horizons. These fields make us hope. They send a feeling that he Earth itself is reaching up to offer us a treasure, an offering in the leafy palm of Mother Nature of sweet, juicy globes. The Summer Tomato. Nothing compares. It reduces the cellophane wrapped store tomatoes to cringing in the corners. For they are not tomatoes at all in comparison to the wonders of The Summer Tomato.

Here in New England, we love the Tomato Sandwich. Bread, tomatoes, salt, pepper, mayo. Or butter instead of mayo. It is a treat that is not at all appetizing with store-bought-hot-house tomatoes. They have to be local. And fresh.

Or, we love the simple Tomato with Salt.

But the pinnacle of all tomatoes, the zenith, is the Slow Roasted Plum Tomato. It takes 10 hours or so to cook. So it teases us, tempts us, with its scent of summer and summery herbs. We can almost feel the olive oil on our tongues supporting the deep tomato goodness. But we have to wait. We peek in every now and again and sneak a tomato half out, but we know that is just a preview of the greater glory to come.

When they are done, they get frozen, and re-appear during the cold months as a reminder of sunwarmth past. They appear in salads, tossed in pasta with oil and maybe anchovies or spinach, in sauce, on a cracker with goat cheese, cold with salami, in brown rice with assorted veggies, in white rice with scallions, on home made pizza. There are very few places where they cannot make a stellar appearance.

They are meted out slowly through the winter months, so that they end when new tomatoes arrive. This is not easy. But it is worth it to know that hidden in the depth of winter's freezer -- in small plastic bags -- is the taste of summer, waiting to open in our mouths.

RIP ABBEY LINCOLN

2010-08-16T14:55:00.002-04:00

Oh Abbey, how we will miss you!

Zoe, the Bichon, Freaks Out Children

2010-08-04T16:34:00.002-04:00

Zoe went to the vet last week or her annual "wellness exam". My dog gets better health care than I do. She also needed booster shots for rabies, and a host of other doggie things.

She is a doggie drama queen.

When I rescued her, I got her fitted with microchip. As the vet held her, crooning comforting words to her, Zoe howled and shrieked like a banshee on amphetamines. I was panic stricken. "What are you doing to her???" I cried.

The vet laughed. "Look at the needle. It is 10 inches away from her. And I haven't even touched her with it yet. And her tail is wagging like crazy. You have a drama dog on your hands."

And so it goes at the vet every time. She wags her way in, greeting everyone, like the Queen of the May. "Oh yes, I am beautiful," she seems to say. "And I am loved and happy. Would you like to admire me? I'll let you."

Then we go into the examining room. Oh yes, weighing is lovely. Teeth exams are great. But take out a needle and my dog starts yelling. She doesn't tremble. She is not frightened in any obvious way. She doesn't squirm to be released. She just makes a hellova noise. She weighs 18.3 pounds and sounds like a hyena giving birth to a hippo.

As we walked out the door of the tiny office, Zoe grinning, holding her tail at a jaunty angle, a mother and her two small children were waiting to go in.

"Was that your doggie singing in there?" she asked.

"Singing? My dog was yelling bloody murder in there," I laughed.

"Oh," said the mother, giving me a stern look, "are you sure she wasn't SINGING? That's what I told my kids -- that she was singing" By this point she was almost hissing the last word at me.

Ohhhhhhh. I get it. The kids had freaked out anticipating agony for their own puppy, and Mommy was trying to bluff them, telling them my dog was singing.

"No. Zoe was not singing. She was trying to fake us out because she doesn't like shots. She yelled because she wanted us to stop, not because she was in pain. In fact we waited until she was quiet to giver her the shots, and then she didn't even yelp. Zoe is a great actress."

The mother glared at me.

"Sorry," I said, "my dog is complicated."

This Foul racism has to STOP

2010-07-16T18:10:00.003-04:00

This past week, the NAACP passed a resolution at its annual convention condemning racism in the Tea Party movement. According to their own site, "Today, NAACP delegates passed a resolution to condemn extremist elements within the Tea Party, calling on Tea Party leaders to repudiate those in their ranks who use racist language in their signs and speeches."

That seems very straightfoward and very American. Who could disagree?

Media Matters said on their site today "Tea Party Express chairman Mark Williams lashed out against the civil rights group, claiming that "they make more money off of race than any slave trader ever." Williams continued his assault last night on CNN, telling host Roland Martin, "Racists have their own movement. It's called the NAACP."

Oh, and it gets more foul.

Here is the post written by Mr Williams on his blog, mocking the president of the NAACP with a fake letter to Abraham Lincoln. Read through it and then see TODAY's results.

NAACP Resolution: Colored People change minds about emancipation

Astonishing.

In every one of the dozens of interviews that I have done regarding the anti-Tea Party resolution passed by the NAACP I have brought up the absurdity of a group that calls blacks "Colored People" hurling charges of racism. Whats more, each interviewer has defended that phrase and expressed surprise that I would consider that phrase to be racist!

Apparently Colored People are an entirely new race of people and one to which the title applies. Here NAACP President Precious Ben Jealous explains to President Abraham Lincoln the reasons for the resolution in this newly discovered letter :

Dear Mr. Lincoln

We Colored People have taken a vote and decided that we don't cotton to that whole emancipation thing. Freedom means having to work for real, think for ourselves, and take consequences along with the rewards. That is just far too much to ask of us Colored People and we demand that it stop!

In fact we held a big meeting and took a vote in Kansas City this week. We voted to condemn a political revival of that old abolitionist spirit called the 'tea party movement'.

The tea party position to "end the bailouts" for example is just silly. Bailouts are just big money welfare and isn't that what we want all Coloreds to strive for? What kind of racist would want to end big money welfare? What they need to do is start handing the bail outs directly to us coloreds! Of course, the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People is the only responsible party that should be granted the right to disperse the funds.

And the ridiculous idea of "reduce[ing] the size and intrusiveness of government." What kind of massa would ever not want to control my life? As Coloreds we must have somebody care for us otherwise we would be on our own, have to think for ourselves and make decisions!

The racist tea parties also demand that the government "stop the out of control spending." Again, they directly target Colored People. That means we Colored People would have to compete for jobs like everybody else and that is just not right.

Perhaps the most racist point of all in the tea parties is their demand that government "stop raising our taxes." That is outrageous! How will we Colored People ever get a wide screen TV in every room if non-coloreds get to keep what they earn? Totally racist! The tea party expects coloreds to be productive members of society?

Mr. Lincoln, you were the greatest racist ever. We had a great gig. Three squares, room and board, all our decisions made by the massa in the house. Please repeal the 13th and 14th Amendments and let us get back to where we belong.

Sincerely

Precious Ben Jealous, Tom's Nephew National Association for the Advancement of Colored People Head Colored Person

-----

TODAY's events

Things escalated. Apparently Mr Williams was made uncomfortable. He took down the above vile issuance from his site. He has accepted an invitation to talk with the NAACP, suddenly saying that this "is no time for Mark Williams and Ben Jealous to get into a battle of egos and personalities."

Now here are two paragraphs that should be enshrined in PR books as the most awesome, stunning, gargantuan attempts at "spin" in recent years. Read Mr Williams call for racial harmony. Then try to remember what planet you are on.

To that end and as a reciprocal gesture I have removed the parody letter you came here to read and urge you to fight those who seek to divide us by race, no matter the color of the racist. Our fight is against tyranny and for liberty and to see that this nation continues the lofty goal of equality for all set for us by our founders. Make no mistake though, there are those for whom peace and progress is poison and they will continue to circulate the several versions of my article (Yes, there were several versions. As reasonable people pointed out to me wording that I agreed was indeed objectionable it was removed or changed by me personally.)

Now that Mr. Jealous and others realize their error and seek to mend fences it becomes my job to not offend rational people who disagree with me on the relevant issues while not sacrificing the truth. I heard too from many very sober and thoughtful people who counseled me that my comments were an obstacle to progress and that I missed my intended target. The day that I cannot learn something new will be the one following the coroner’s signature on my death certificate and this is not that day. So, with that I reiterate what I and every tea partier have said repeatedly: We denounce racists of any color and all those who seek to divide the American People along any lines.

I am running out of words. How much spin can the far right do? He even infers that the whole thing was the NAACP's fault and that THEY need to mend fences. I am offended on every level. My head is spinning so much I am almost falling off my chair. Was today "Invent A New Reality Day" over at Far Right Headquarters?

summer heat

2010-07-12T00:43:00.003-04:00

It has been blazing in New England for the past week -- and the air has been thick with humidity. And everywhere you go, you hear the same absurd phrase. "It isn't the heat so much -- it's the hu-mid-i-ty!".

No. It is the heat AND the humidity.

The air is slice-able, but it is just too damned hot to slice.

Even my dog races to "do her business" and scuttle back inside. As far as Zoe is concerned, outside is for brief forays to fertilize my lawn. Period.

I have no idea how people survive the tropics, or how anyone survives without air conditioning in heat waves like this. I am a coward. I do not leap forth into the heat ready to work up a good sweat. I stay inside and drink vast amounts of iced tea and iced coffee and fruit juice.

Hydrate. Hydrate. It is a mantra with me.

I conserve my electricity, making sure I shut off lights, switch off rechargers, etc. But I blast my A/c unapologetically. I am an asthmatic. There actually is good reason, excellent reason, in fact, for me to condition my air and to avoid sweaty exertion in hot weather. But I think sometimes even without the respiratory issues, I'd still want my air chilly.

This is what post menopausal women want -- the utter absence of anything that even vaguely resembles the dreaded hot flash -- which is more that hot and worse than a flash -- someone should have named them the 'flesh soaking searingly hot red-faced spasms'.

If men could get hot flashes, someone would have invented an 8 oz portable whole body air conditioner by now. Until then --

Please pass the orange/pineapple/mango/peach juice please. And don't skimp on the ice!

I want to be my Bichon

2010-07-07T14:28:00.003-04:00

This is my dog, Zoe, after she has romped outside in the mud. She is doing her equivalent of a smile. She is grubby, tired and happy. She has dug some determined holes to nowhere, rolled in some alluring scented grass, marked her territory and asserted herself to some marauding sparrows.

A recent article about this breed describes them as "sturdy and cheerful".

That about describes my pooch. She's 18.3 pounds of low-to-the-ground energy. Yet when she wants a cuddle she compacts herself into a tiny furball and nestles in bed into my armpit, her head on my shoulder, her paws curled up against my chest. If it were not for the sweet softness of her breathing, she could be mistaken for the perfect plush toy.

She had a tough life before I rescued her. Her prior owner's boyfriend crated her for up to 16 hours a day and muzzled her the whole time. She could not bark, eat or drink with the muzzle on. If she tried to bark, he'd hit her. Finally a neighbor talked the owner into letting her try to place her. I found her at my local freecycle.org site and was lucky enough to be chosen to be her housemate after the neighbor fielded the calls. That neighbor saved my 'lil gal from being put down.

But now, two years later, Zoe is dandy. She used to flinch when I raised my hand -- now she looks to see if I have a treat in it. She used to not let me near her face -- now I sometimes wake up with her sleeping almost nose to nose with me. And she now loves it when I run my hands through the hair on her head and under her chin. She is sturdy.

She somehow took all that life pain and traded it off for her current reality. That's what I want to do -- to take my bag of accumulated life-ikk and trade it off for joy. Just because.

I like that "sturdy and cheerful" style. My Zoe has bounce. She let herself trust again when she was in a safe spot -- even after three years of abuse and neglect. So I want that ability to let the past go when the past has been unkind to me.

I want her capacity for joy -- for running full-out and then rolling in some nice mud. Her joy is shameless, exuberant, even proud. After a good romp, she will sometimes come in the house literally jumping and scrambling with happiness, barking as if to say "Didja see me roll in that grass? Didja? Huh? Didja?"

On a hot day, Zoe can be found on my ..uh...our...bed...reclining on her back, paws in the air, legs bent, belly to the breeze, in the slipstream of the air conditioner. When she "gives it up" to relax, she gives it up with no doubt.

I want to relax like that -- with no thoughts of things I should be doing instead.

Then there is the Bichon "Blitz". It is a real thing, a real term used to describe an odd trait among Bichons. They will suddenly run around like crazy, often making an odd low rumbling noise. They will zing around the house with no apparent reason, no set idea in mind. Then they will stop dead, think for a second, then run like mad dogs again. When they are done with this ritual, they just plop down and take a nap. It is odd, unable to predict and seemingly without any cause. You Tube has a series of "blitzing Bichons". Here is one I like --a pooch that is also playing with a Milkbone as part of the blitz.

There are times I'd just love to growl and run and rumble without cause. Then take a nap. Moments when I am frustrated or angry come to mind as great opportunities for a blitz. Moments after getting very bad customer service seem ideal. After listening to right wing extremists seems like a fine time.

I think that I need to start paying more attention to my resident guru, Zoe.

Priests' Mistresses Protest to Vatican

2010-06-22T14:29:00.002-04:00

Women are speaking up to the Pope about priestly celibacy. And who are these women who sent an open letter to Pope Benedict? They are the Italian mistresses of priests. reportedly, over forty of them got together and sent a letter to the Pope.

This was kept quiet for a couple of months, then leaked to the "outside world". Why does this matter? Because it is part of a growing cry for the Vatican to re-examine the idea of priestly celibacy.

Women are speaking up about priestly celibacy. And who are these women who sent an open letter to Pope Benedict? They are the Italian mistresses of priests.

A group of them got together and sent a heartfelt letter to the Pope, asking him to reconsider the issue of priestly celibacy. This letter was kept quiet for a couple of months, then leaked to the "outside world". Why does this matter? Because it is part of a growing cry for the Vatican to re-examine the idea of priestly celibacy.

Three of the women decided to go public, as their relationships were over. The remainder (about 37 of them) were anonymous to protect current ongoing relationships. Here is Luisa's story. She is 38.

They met six years ago, and had a relationship and a child (who is now almost 2).

"He came to live with me," Luisa said. "He told his family that he was living in his parish, and his parish that he was living with his family."

Ultimately it was too hard on the priest to maintain this fiction, and he left Louisa before their baby was born and has not acknowledged his paternity in any way. "It was very hard," she said. "His family sent him to an exorcist and accused me of being a witch. As for the bishop, he told me to have my child adopted."

A few years ago, in my opinion at least, this kind of letter would never have been written. The women would not have dared. However, in a world that is grappling with priestly pedophilia, the issue of celibacy has been raised many times.

Some say that celibacy causes priests to develop twisted outlets for their sexuality. (I don't believe that.) Others suggest that celibacy deters men with healthy and expressed sexualities from considering the priesthood. It becomes a hurdle over which many faithful men wish not to leap. Still others believe that celibacy creates men who are unable to relate to the real day-to-day issues facing modern families. Others might add that celibacy is entered into by young men in seminaries, who have yet to taste the freedoms (and the lonliness) of the real world.

Proponents of celibacy (beyond espousing theological reasons -- and we'll address that in a few paragraphs) will say that celibacy is a gift, a calling, and it allows the person to focus more intently on God and His work than on affairs of the heart, or demand of a family.

But what happens when celibacy falls apart?

When I was in my 30's I knew a man whose brother was a priest from an order with a large missionary presence in the sparsely populated areas in South America. While it is surely hearsay, his brother had told him that many of the priests on missionary assignment from his order took "temporary wives". I recall being shocked at the time. Now I am not.

NPR quotes Stefania Salomone, one of the authors of the letter to the Pope, a former mistress of five year's duration.

"There is a lot of suffering around the world due to this rule," she says. "Bishops know that priests are not celibate, but they don't care about this. They say, please do what you want but do it anonymously, nobody has to know, otherwise scandals arise and we cannot afford this, so please do what you want but don't let the world know about this, and [most] of all don't make it children."

Catholic priests were not always celibate. Nor were Popes. Various discussions were had about celibacy in the Catholic priesthood until a formalized statement was made in the 11th century. Originally celibacy uncomplicated the issue of who owned property. No one could claim any rights to property if no families of priests were around after a priest's death. Later statements tied celibacy to more strict theological interpretations, but that was not always the case.

The Global Post broke the story of the "Mistress Letter" which included interviews with several of these mistresses. They describe their experiences of being lovers with men who could not surrender their entire sense of self as a priest by leaving the church. In some instances bishops simply transferred such men, or offered them promotions in other parts of the world. When the Post commented about the history of celibacy in the priesthood after the Council of Trent in the 11th century, they add:

Priests continued to have clandestine relationships, of course, but it was not until the Second Vatican Council in 1962 that many of them came into the open and left their offices. According to the semi-official Vatican magazine La Civilta Cattolica, nearly 60,000 priests left the church to get married after the Second Vatican Council.

This phenomenon is not unique to Italy. Scotland on Sunday just reported:

A support group for women who have affairs with Catholic priests is opening a branch in Scotland because its English headquarters cannot cope with the number of calls received from Scottish women.
Sonflowers says women from north of the Border have contacted them for support.

Simultaneously published at BlogHer.com

Yesterday Would Have Been My Mother's 92nd Birthday

2010-06-10T18:14:00.002-04:00

My Mom died about 15 years ago. She was a great gal, and I still miss her. One of the last things she said to me was that if she could find a way to communicate with me from beyond this life, that she would surely do it. You'd have to know my Mom to understand that if anyone could pull this off, she would even beat Houdini (who said he would do the same thing.)

So, I had out of town company yesterday, my dear friend, Leora. She arrived with a house gift -- essence of rose petals. She didn't know that was my Mother's signature scent. What a coincidence.

We talked about gardening. Of course it was no big deal that my Mom was an avid gardener. It WAS a big deal when I went into a long-unused "junk drawer" later, looking for something, and pulled out a plastic envelope of pictures I didn't know I had --pictures of my Mom's old garden. Coincidence.

There was only one picture in the envelope that was not of the garden. Only one. It was my mother's gravesite. (I guess that was to make the message clear.) I have no idea who took these photos -- maybe my Dad -- maybe Mom herself years ago.

So I got dressed to go out to an auction with my friend Leora. She had never been to one, and I thought it might be fun. I reached into my jewelry box to get a necklace, and ended up with one I hadn't intended to take off the loop. It was the pendant (a gold heart) that Mom was wearing when she died. I had forgotten I had it.

Oh, and auctions? I hadn't even thought of her birthday when I planned it -- but auctions were among her favorite things to attend. She loved them.

So on the drive there, we stopped off at the cemetery to say hi -- not that she is there, but it is a monument to her. (More on that in another post.)

I know the message, and it is one I echoed in my eulogy to her at her funeral -- "Nothing, especially not something as trivial as death, can conquer love."

So Mom, if you are reading this over my shoulder, Happy Birthday.

Memorial Day Lament

2010-05-28T23:37:00.008-04:00

Memorial Day. This is not supposed to be a day about picnics and store-wide sales. It is day about remembering. Specifically, it is a day we recall the losses experienced through war. In England, on their approximately equivalent occasion, Remembrance Day , the whole country goes silent for two minutes - on the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month. Everything stops. People stand still in the streets. Traffic does not move. Customers are not served. Everyone gets quiet and remembers the fallen. Here in America, we have so many fallen to remember. Please lament their losses with me for the two minutes it might take you to read this. Give them that honor.

LAMENT

Our nation's history is creased with war.
Our earth cries out with spilled lives,
and the memories of those who once lived --
Our young men and women,
Innocent as new sheaves of hay,
Earnest, willing,
devoted to their service, their country.

We sent these children to battle
To fight other mother's children,
To be immersed in the carnage and brutality
From which we tried to protect them as children.

The same children whose skinned knees we bandaged.
We ask to kill or be killed in our name.
We ask them to be heroic, to risk their lives.
To risk death for us.
And other mothers ask the same of their chidren,
The ones who oppose our children.

Oh, lost and perished children of America,
We miss what you could have been,
You left wives, husbands, lovers, children, parents
behind you, mourning.

Oh, today's dying service men and women,
Even as we read this, you are dying.
We almost cannot take it in -- all this suffering, this violence.
We are stricken by your courage, your ability to endure.
You do what we cannot.
You face what we cannot.

OH, beloved sons and daughters,
The memory of your joy haunts us.
We fend off the need to understand how you died in detail,
As though it would bring us peace.
For without you, there is no lack of grief.
It surrounds us at the sound of your names.

You laid down your life for the combatant next to you,
For us, for your country.
And we remember you.
We cannot stop remembering you,
Your memory is engraved in our souls.
We want to make sure that you died for something important and right.
It is our obligation to lose you for no less than that.

They handed us a flag when we buried you.
It was done with dignity.
We hold it, numb with pain at your loss.
Later we took it out of its box and pressed our cheeks to it,
Remembering you.
But it did not bring you home.

Oh, our scarred children, spouses, brothers, sisters --
Those who left only a part of themselves dead "over there",
Who come back hurt in the soul.
War killed your innocence, and you cannot get it back.
You walk the house at night, checking the perimeter.
You have memories that haunt you, of the dead, the dying,
Of the fear that was your life 24/7.
You stay armed and ready.
You never sit with your back to the door.
In a corner of your soul, the war just won't stop.
We mourn with you what you have lost.
We welcome you home, knowing who you are, loving you.
Remembering for you when you cannot remember yourself,
What it was like before the war took part of you away.

Oh brothers, sisters, husbands, wives -
The battles have names - the cities names mark the progress of war -
Antietem, Pearl Harbor, Gettysburg, Atlanta,
Wounded Knee, Gallipoli, Little Big Horn,
Verdun, Khanjahar, Normandy Invasion, Rumaila,
Battle of the Bulge, Inchon, Gulf of Tonkin,
Baghdad.
Your deaths spill dreams for a future with you into foreign soils.
We wanted family picnics and reunions, quiet nights and celebrations.
We dreamed of holding you, gathering at your 80th birthday party.
We wanted you to be a parent, an elder, a member of the community, the tribe.

Oh Lord,
Be with us as we mourn.
This day is not a day for the harkening of noble sentiment.
It is for remembering, for feeling the cost of war.
It is for knowing the truth - that any loss is painful, even loss for a cause.
It is for comforting those who have lost,
The mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers --
Lovers, spouses, children.

This is the day we take silence.
This is the day we let ourselves feel
That every loss has diminished what we could have become,
Even if it was lost in a good cause.
This is the day we feel the other side of grief's coin --
The part that hurts, the part that remembers.

This is the day we feel the price of vigilance.
This is the day we remember
Not to put our beloved ones in harm's way,
Unless we are willing to have this day.
This memory.
This moment
When who they are, what they could have been,
Shimmers before our eyes like the wish we will never have.

May all those who recall sacrifices on this day
Find comfort.

May the day come when losses through war
Are a distant memory.

Donate a book to a child just by leaving a comment

2010-05-18T17:32:00.002-04:00

Go HERE. Leave a comment there and a free book will be given to a child in need. They need 1,000 comments to get the maximum 1,000 books donated. It will just take a second. Go DO IT please !!

On aging

2010-05-11T20:57:00.002-04:00

Well, I got though Mother's Day well. I still miss my Mom, but now it is with a sense of sweetness. Oh, I'd still give a great deal to have her here and healthy, but that is not to be. Missing her is all a part of aging.

It seems to me that the older we get the more we have to deal with loss. It is like one of Piaget's developmental hurdles -- but this time for adults. Dealing With Loss.

Every year there is more of it -- the loss of loved ones, the loss of energy, the loss of agility, muscle tone, employability, acuity, even the loss of hair -- the loss of the ability to imagine life 50 years from now, or 40...

But once one "gets it" -- the fact that loss is natural, and that the only way to live is "in the now", then a real and very deep sweetness happens. The"letting go" feels good, and true in a profound way.

Life, as they say, is good.

May Days to Enjoy

2010-04-28T23:44:00.000-04:00

Taken from Bizarre Holidays

May is . . . . Better Sleep Month, National Good Car Care Month, National Photo Month, National Salad Month, National Egg Month, National Barbecue Month, Revise Your Work Schedule Month, Date Your Mate Month, National Hamburger Month, and Fungal Infection Awareness Month

May 1 is . . . . . Mother Goose Day and Save The Rhino Day

May 2 is . . . . . Fire Day

May 3 is . . . . . Lumpy Rug Day

May 4 is . . . . . National Candied Orange Peel Day

May 5 is . . . . . National Hoagie Day

May 6 is . . . . . Beverage Day

May 7 is . . . . . International Tuba Day, Paste Up Day, and

National Roast Leg of Lamb Day

May 8 is . . . . . No Socks Day and Have A Coke Day More Info on Coke

May 9 is . . . . . Lost Sock Memorial Day

May 10 is . . . . Clean Up Your Room Day

May 11 is . . . . Eat What You Want Day and Twilight Zone Day

May 12 is . . . . Limerick Day

May 13 is . . . . Leprechaun Day

May 14 is . . . . National Dance Like A Chicken Day

May 15 is . . . . National Chocolate Chip Day

May 16 is . . . . Wear Purple For Peace Day

May 17 is . . . . Pack Rat Day

May 18 is . . . . International Museum Day and Visit Your Relatives Day

May 19 is . . . . Frog Jumping Jubilee Day

May 20 is . . . . Eliza Doolittle Day

May 21 is . . . . National Memo Day and National Waitresses/Waiters Day

May 22 is . . . . Buy-A-Musical-Instrument Day

May 23 is . . . . Penny Day

May 24 is . . . . National Escargot Day

May 25 is . . . . National Tap Dance Day

May 26 is . . . . Grey Day

May 27 is . . . . Body Painting Arts Festival

May 28 is . . . . National Hamburger Day

May 29 is . . . . End Of The Middle Ages Day

May 30 is . . . . My Bucket's Got A Hole In It Day

May 31 is . . . . National Macaroon Day

Illegal Immigrants - Just "Microchip 'Em!"

2010-04-28T14:29:00.005-04:00

The Cedar Rapids Gazette reports that a Republican candidate for the 3rd District Congressional primary in Iowa, physician Pat Bertroche, proposed the following "solution" to the undocumented alien problem.

“I think we should catch ’em, we should document ’em, make sure we know where they are and where they are going,” said Pat Bertroche, an Urbandale physician. “I actually support micro-chipping them. I can micro-chip my dog so I can find it. Why can’t I micro-chip an illegal?

“That’s not a popular thing to say, but it’s a lot cheaper than building a fence they can tunnel under,” Bertroche said.

Yes, you read that correctly. An educated man, a physician, actually thinks it is a good idea to round up all the illegal immigrants, take down names and follow all of them around via a microchip. He does this comparing illegal immigrants to his dog. He is, however aware that his statement is "not popular".

Not popular? Oh, it's more than that. It's racist. When I read the article in the Huffington Post I thought for sure it was satire. But no. It checks out.

Dr. Bertroche by the way, is an Osteopathic doctor practicing clinical psychiatry in Des Moines. He says , "I want to put intelligence back into the national debate."

Looks like he missed that goal.

It is impossible to even reach for a rational response to comments such as his. But they are testimony to a brand of racism so widespread that an actual candidate thinks he can use it as part of his platform.

What other sort of bigotry will be flushed out from under rocks by the latest legislative actions in Arizona?

Pat Betroche has a website and an email address. If you'd like to send him an email, his site lists his email address as PatBertroche4Congress@yahoo.com

His public business website for his psychiatric practice, lists his email address as (and I am not kidding) Mindjockey@aol.com.

Laughter Is The One Dance Death Never Learned

2010-04-20T21:07:00.006-04:00

Pay attention, folks. There is a quiz coming later.

I know a woman named Holly who used to live near my folks. Her life is very hard. She has several serious illnesses and is the sole caretaker for her elderly mother, who is now showing signs of dementia. When we talk on the phone, and I hear the staggering array of maladies and general ill fortune that has befallen these folks, I hear something else -- the sound of Holly's laughter.

She will be going through the list of weekly events that are difficult enough to hobble a bull elephant and will then pause and say --"...but what the hell -- outside of that, life is pretty damned interesting." Then she will just crack up. Then she'll say, "I gotta laugh. Cryin' doesn't help."

But laughter does help. Holly manages to take step after step and is getting through situations others might find impossible.

"I am thankful for laughter, except when milk comes out of my nose." ~Woody Allen

What is it about laughter?

Fifteen facial muscles contract and stimulation of the zygomatic major muscle (the main lifting mechanism of your upper lip) occurs. Meanwhile, the respiratory system is upset by the epiglottis half-closing the larynx, so that air intake occurs irregularly, making you gasp. In extreme circumstances, the tear ducts are activated, so that while the mouth is opening and closing and the struggle for oxygen intake continues, the face becomes moist and often red (or purple). The noises that usually accompany this bizarre behavior range from sedate giggles to boisterous guffaws. (a description of laughter from How Stuff Works")

Good thing it doesn't feel as dreadful as the description or we'd never do it.

It's actually good for us to laugh. About.com says it:
1. Releases adrenaline, dopamine and increases the level of health-enhancing hormones like endorphins, and neurotransmitters, increases the number of antibody-producing cells and enhances the effectiveness of T cells, creating a stronger immune system, as well as reducing stress.

2. Provides a Physical Release. Laughing 100 times is equal to 10 minutes on the rowing machine or 15 minutes on an exercise bike. Blood pressure goes down, and oxygenation of the blood increases, which further assists healing. Laughter also gives your diaphragm and abdominal, respiratory, facial, leg and back muscles a workout. That's why you often feel exhausted after a long bout of laughter -- you've just had an aerobic workout!

3. Exercises the diaphragm, contracts the abs and even works out the shoulders, leaving muscles more relaxed afterward. It even provides a good workout for the heart.

4. Brings the focus away from anger, guilt, stress and negative emotions in a more beneficial way than other mere distractions.

5. Connects us with others. Also, laughter is contagious, so if you bring more laughter into your life, you can most likely help others around you to laugh more, and realize these benefits as well.

"So many tangles in life are ultimately hopeless that we have no appropriate sword other than laughter." ~Gordon W. Allport

Eugene O'Neil wrote a play called "Lazarus Laughed". He got raised from the dead and laughed. That makes sense to me. Laughter can also be from joy.

The world hands us plenty to feel bad about. If you put your ear to the earth and listen for its sound, you might hear weeping. There is real suffering, serious injustice, dreadful and horrible pain in the world. But listen more deeply.

Press your ear to the earth and listen for the heart beat. It sounds like...wait...could it be ? It sounds like a deep chuckle, a self-satisfied soft laugh. How could we see a sunset and not smile, watch a baby take its first steps and not giggle? How could we go a day cheating the world of our joy?

Every emotion we feel, every statement we send into the universe affects the world. What do you want your contribution to be today?

"What soap is to the body, laughter is to the soul." ~Yiddish Proverb

It cleanses us, laughter does. It washes out the fear, shakes out the shame, purges the sadness -- even if only for a short time. It heals us.

Norman Cousins, noted magazine editor, became completely disabled and unable to move in the 1960's. He checked into a hotel and insisted on a natural diet and positive energy. He watched funny movies all day long. Every day. he laughed. He recovered, lived til age 75 and died in the 1990's, walking and talking and giving seminars on laughter and healing until he passed away. Now, I am not a doctor, so this is not medical advice, but it is something worth thinking about. He said laughter substantially helped heal him.

Interested in laughing more? Check out World Laughter Day sponsored by the Laughter Yoga folks. Here is a dandy video of John Cleese (of Monty Python fame) checking out a Laughter Yoga group in India.

"A clown is like an aspirin, except that it works twice as fast."-- Groucho Marx.
-------------------------------------------------------------

So here is your quizlet. Please answer in the comment section below:

1. When was the last time you had a hearty laugh?

2. What can you tell us here that will make us laugh?

If enough of you comment, I'll tell you my true tale about The Dog, The Telephone Repairman and a Big Surprise. I promise you, you will laugh.
----------------------------------------------------------------------

"Laughter and tears are both responses to frustration and exhaustion. I myself prefer to laugh, since there is less cleaning up to do afterward." ~Kurt Vonnegut

I've always thought that a big laugh is a really loud noise from the soul saying, "Ain't that the truth." ~Quincy Jones

"With the fearful strain that is on me night and day, if I did not laugh I should die." ~Abraham Lincoln

Liberals - Stop Preaching to the eChoir!

2010-04-13T20:40:00.003-04:00

I love the speed and breadth at which we can communicate using online methods. But when we combine that with social activism, I am afraid that we could be shooting ourselves in the collective progressive foot.

Let's just think for a second about the last email you got about a political issue, or a policy that you believed in. If you are like me, you forwarded it on. If you are like me, you sent it to a series of people that you knew would appreciate it. In essence, you preached to the choir. And, while being able to engage in some self-congratulatory emails back and forth for sharing the same opinion, what have we accomplished?

How many times have you added your name to an online petition? What made it more than a perpetually circulating chain letter, like the one saying, "Warning, PBS is about to lose funding!"

The danger is that after we forward on letters to like-minded people, or sign these ghost ship emails, or put our names on activist websites, or join issue-based discussion groups with similarly minded folks -- we feel like we actually DID something!

We did. We talked to people who agreed with us. And, outside of the fact that we shared information, we didn't really accomplish much.

That is what is dangerous -- the myth of activity, the feeling that because we are on a mailing list, or send on emails, that we are part of something of value as a change agent. While Twitter may reach a broad expanse of people, it has yet to prove its worth as an agent of change. Each tweet has a half life of nanno seconds -- like an email. The message comes, goes, and is replaced by another. Our attention moves down the electronic slipstream and barely lingers long enough to register what it has seen.

Meanwhile, the extreme right is gathering. Face to face. In public. They are putting what they believe out in front of everyone who disagrees with them, and in front of television cameras.

At least you know where to find them, and you don't have to be all alone in front of a computer screen to do it.

They are building community while the left builds email lists.

They give real faces to the beliefs they have. People get to see who they are. And the extreme right gets to capitalize on the lack of visibility of the left. The left gets to be a visual myth to folks -- not a group made up of a diverse community of neighbors.

I live next door to a woman who is a "Tea Bagger". She even marched on Washington, even though she is not a far-right wing person. She is a staunch conservative. She knows I do not share her beliefs because of the campaign posters that I erect in my yard at election time, and because I won't indulge unquestioned rhetoric. I like her, although our beliefs are wide apart. She respects the fact that I hold different beliefs, and sees me as a good neighbor, as I do her. We laughed about it the other day across the fence between our yards -- and high five'd each other saying "God Bless America".

Recently she has joined a group of TB-ers who picket at the town square every Friday about some right-wing issue or another. It varies by week. They hold their signs and wave to people driving by. My least favorite sign was "Liberals don't care about the working man." They actually believe that. Or they were told to believe that.

But there they are, with their signs and honest smiles. So what should I do? Send another email?

I have decided to come up with a series of signs for my front yard. Because of the proximity to a well-used public playground and to an athletic field, my street gets a fair amount of summer traffic. I am trying to decide what to say. I plan to rotate signs each week. I am open to suggestions.

WORK TOGETHER TO HEAL AMERICA

AMERICA FIRST, POLITICAL PARTIES SECOND

THE AMERICAN DREAM COMES TRUE WHEN WE WORK TOGETHER

DIVERSITY IS WHAT HAS MADE AMERICA GREAT

STOP COMPLAINING AND START LEGISLATING

RETURN CIVILITY TO CIVIL SERVICE

Any other ideas?

It isn't earth shattering, but in a small town it could get some notice. And it gets me out of email. It's a start.

Yes, I also send money to causes that do work that I support. I back political candidates. I vote. I blog. But I do too many things in the self-serving isolation chamber of my computer -- and I bet that you might, too.

I am not saying that email is bad -- on the contrary -- it gets information out to a group of supporters faster than ever before. And it can supply information that outside of the electronic world can be used to change minds, influence positions.

But email unites no opposing sides, finds no middle ground, does not engage in dialogue, does no work for justice. Despite the tools we have online, we still need to do the tough work -- the work the right is not neglecting. We need to stand in the rain, leaflet, post or carry signs, demonstrate, and gather as a community with visible impact. We need to spend time visible to and with the people with which we disagree. We need to be real to them, to the media, to Washington (a city intimidated by the visible right.)

We need to make the statements that lead to discussions, and we need to engage in the discussion. And we need to engage face to face -- as neighbors, members of the same church, or school district, or city or world. And we need to be visible in the larger construct - in the world away from the ether and the heady illusions of having actually done something.

Ah, Dixie -- we miss you already

2010-04-13T19:46:00.005-04:00

Dixie Carter, best known for her role as Julia Sugarbaker in the long-running series, Designing Women" died this past week.

Here is a clip of Dixie playing Julia in one of her fierce and loving defenses of her former beauty pageant winning sister, Suzanne, played by Delta Burke.

Dixie, dear, outspoken, talented Dixie -- may you rest in peace, and may your divine celestial rants make the stars shine even brighter than before.

April 4th

2010-04-02T17:34:00.003-04:00

In addition to April 4th being Easter -- it is also the anniversary of Martin Luther King's assassination (1968) and the anniversary of one of his most powerful and least known speeches (1967). This speech is so timely, that I am reproducing it in its entirety here. Please read it.

Speech delivered by Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., on April 4, 1967, at a meeting of Clergy and Laity Concerned at Riverside Church in New York City

I come to this magnificent house of worship tonight because my conscience leaves me no other choice. I join with you in this meeting because I am in deepest agreement with the aims and work of the organization which has brought us together: Clergy and Laymen Concerned about Vietnam. The recent statement of your executive committee are the sentiments of my own heart and I found myself in full accord when I read its opening lines: "A time comes when silence is betrayal." That time has come for us in relation to Vietnam.

The truth of these words is beyond doubt but the mission to which they call us is a most difficult one. Even when pressed by the demands of inner truth, men do not easily assume the task of opposing their government's policy, especially in time of war. Nor does the human spirit move without great difficulty against all the apathy of conformist thought within one's own bosom and in the surrounding world. Moreover when the issues at hand seem as perplexed as they often do in the case of this dreadful conflict we are always on the verge of being mesmerized by uncertainty; but we must move on.

Some of us who have already begun to break the silence of the night have found that the calling to speak is often a vocation of agony, but we must speak. We must speak with all the humility that is appropriate to our limited vision, but we must speak. And we must rejoice as well, for surely this is the first time in our nation's history that a significant number of its religious leaders have chosen to move beyond the prophesying of smooth patriotism to the high grounds of a firm dissent based upon the mandates of conscience and the reading of history. Perhaps a new spirit is rising among us. If it is, let us trace its movement well and pray that our own inner being may be sensitive to its guidance, for we are deeply in need of a new way beyond the darkness that seems so close around us.

Over the past two years, as I have moved to break the betrayal of my own silences and to speak from the burnings of my own heart, as I have called for radical departures from the destruction of Vietnam, many persons have questioned me about the wisdom of my path. At the heart of their concerns this query has often loomed large and loud: Why are you speaking about war, Dr. King? Why are you joining the voices of dissent? Peace and civil rights don't mix, they say. Aren't you hurting the cause of your people, they ask? And when I hear them, though I often understand the source of their concern, I am nevertheless greatly saddened, for such questions mean that the inquirers have not really known me, my commitment or my calling. Indeed, their questions suggest that they do not know the world in which they live.

In the light of such tragic misunderstandings, I deem it of signal importance to try to state clearly, and I trust concisely, why I believe that the path from Dexter Avenue Baptist Church -- the church in Montgomery, Alabama, where I began my pastorate -- leads clearly to this sanctuary tonight.

I come to this platform tonight to make a passionate plea to my beloved nation. This speech is not addressed to Hanoi or to the National Liberation Front. It is not addressed to China or to Russia.

Nor is it an attempt to overlook the ambiguity of the total situation and the need for a collective solution to the tragedy of Vietnam. Neither is it an attempt to make North Vietnam or the National Liberation Front paragons of virtue, nor to overlook the role they can play in a successful resolution of the problem. While they both may have justifiable reason to be suspicious of the good faith of the United States, life and history give eloquent testimony to the fact that conflicts are never resolved without trustful give and take on both sides.

Tonight, however, I wish not to speak with Hanoi and the NLF, but rather to my fellow Americans, who, with me, bear the greatest responsibility in ending a conflict that has exacted a heavy price on both continents.
The Importance of Vietnam

Since I am a preacher by trade, I suppose it is not surprising that I have seven major reasons for bringing Vietnam into the field of my moral vision. There is at the outset a very obvious and almost facile connection between the war in Vietnam and the struggle I, and others, have been waging in America. A few years ago there was a shining moment in that struggle. It seemed as if there was a real promise of hope for the poor -- both black and white -- through the poverty program. There were experiments, hopes, new beginnings. Then came the buildup in Vietnam and I watched the program broken and eviscerated as if it were some idle political plaything of a society gone mad on war, and I knew that America would never invest the necessary funds or energies in rehabilitation of its poor so long as adventures like Vietnam continued to draw men and skills and money like some demonic destructive suction tube. So I was increasingly compelled to see the war as an enemy of the poor and to attack it as such.

Perhaps the more tragic recognition of reality took place when it became clear to me that the war was doing far more than devastating the hopes of the poor at home. It was sending their sons and their brothers and their husbands to fight and to die in extraordinarily high proportions relative to the rest of the population. We were taking the black young men who had been crippled by our society and sending them eight thousand miles away to guarantee liberties in Southeast Asia which they had not found in southwest Georgia and East Harlem. So we have been repeatedly faced with the cruel irony of watching Negro and white boys on TV screens as they kill and die together for a nation that has been unable to seat them together in the same schools. So we watch them in brutal solidarity burning the huts of a poor village, but we realize that they would never live on the same block in Detroit. I could not be silent in the face of such cruel manipulation of the poor.

My third reason moves to an even deeper level of awareness, for it grows out of my experience in the ghettoes of the North over the last three years -- especially the last three summers. As I have walked among the desperate, rejected and angry young men I have told them that Molotov cocktails and rifles would not solve their problems. I have tried to offer them my deepest compassion while maintaining my conviction that social change comes most meaningfully through nonviolent action. But they asked -- and rightly so -- what about Vietnam? They asked if our own nation wasn't using massive doses of violence to solve its problems, to bring about the changes it wanted. Their questions hit home, and I knew that I could never again raise my voice against the violence of the oppressed in the ghettos without having first spoken clearly to the greatest purveyor of violence in the world today -- my own government. For the sake of those boys, for the sake of this government, for the sake of hundreds of thousands trembling under our violence, I cannot be silent.

For those who ask the question, "Aren't you a civil rights leader?" and thereby mean to exclude me from the movement for peace, I have this further answer. In 1957 when a group of us formed the Southern Christian Leadership Conference, we chose as our motto: "To save the soul of America." We were convinced that we could not limit our vision to certain rights for black people, but instead affirmed the conviction that America would never be free or saved from itself unless the descendants of its slaves were loosed completely from the shackles they still wear. In a way we were agreeing with Langston Hughes, that black bard of Harlem, who had written earlier:

O, yes,
I say it plain,
America never was America to me,
And yet I swear this oath--
America will be!

Now, it should be incandescently clear that no one who has any concern for the integrity and life of America today can ignore the present war. If America's soul becomes totally poisoned, part of the autopsy must read Vietnam. It can never be saved so long as it destroys the deepest hopes of men the world over. So it is that those of us who are yet determined that America will be are led down the path of protest and dissent, working for the health of our land.

As if the weight of such a commitment to the life and health of America were not enough, another burden of responsibility was placed upon me in 1964; and I cannot forget that the Nobel Prize for Peace was also a commission -- a commission to work harder than I had ever worked before for "the brotherhood of man." This is a calling that takes me beyond national allegiances, but even if it were not present I would yet have to live with the meaning of my commitment to the ministry of Jesus Christ. To me the relationship of this ministry to the making of peace is so obvious that I sometimes marvel at those who ask me why I am speaking against the war. Could it be that they do not know that the good news was meant for all men -- for Communist and capitalist, for their children and ours, for black and for white, for revolutionary and conservative? Have they forgotten that my ministry is in obedience to the one who loved his enemies so fully that he died for them? What then can I say to the "Vietcong" or to Castro or to Mao as a faithful minister of this one? Can I threaten them with death or must I not share with them my life?

Finally, as I try to delineate for you and for myself the road that leads from Montgomery to this place I would have offered all that was most valid if I simply said that I must be true to my conviction that I share with all men the calling to be a son of the living God. Beyond the calling of race or nation or creed is this vocation of sonship and brotherhood, and because I believe that the Father is deeply concerned especially for his suffering and helpless and outcast children, I come tonight to speak for them.

This I believe to be the privilege and the burden of all of us who deem ourselves bound by allegiances and loyalties which are broader and deeper than nationalism and which go beyond our nation's self-defined goals and positions. We are called to speak for the weak, for the voiceless, for victims of our nation and for those it calls enemy, for no document from human hands can make these humans any less our brothers.

Strange Liberators

And as I ponder the madness of Vietnam and search within myself for ways to understand and respond to compassion my mind goes constantly to the people of that peninsula. I speak now not of the soldiers of each side, not of the junta in Saigon, but simply of the people who have been living under the curse of war for almost three continuous decades now. I think of them too because it is clear to me that there will be no meaningful solution there until some attempt is made to know them and hear their broken cries.

They must see Americans as strange liberators. The Vietnamese people proclaimed their own independence in 1945 after a combined French and Japanese occupation, and before the Communist revolution in China. They were led by Ho Chi Minh. Even though they quoted the American Declaration of Independence in their own document of freedom, we refused to recognize them. Instead, we decided to support France in its reconquest of her former colony.

Our government felt then that the Vietnamese people were not "ready" for independence, and we again fell victim to the deadly Western arrogance that has poisoned the international atmosphere for so long. With that tragic decision we rejected a revolutionary government seeking self-determination, and a government that had been established not by China (for whom the Vietnamese have no great love) but by clearly indigenous forces that included some Communists. For the peasants this new government meant real land reform, one of the most important needs in their lives.

For nine years following 1945 we denied the people of Vietnam the right of independence. For nine years we vigorously supported the French in their abortive effort to recolonize Vietnam.

Before the end of the war we were meeting eighty percent of the French war costs. Even before the French were defeated at Dien Bien Phu, they began to despair of the reckless action, but we did not. We encouraged them with our huge financial and military supplies to continue the war even after they had lost the will. Soon we would be paying almost the full costs of this tragic attempt at recolonization.

After the French were defeated it looked as if independence and land reform would come again through the Geneva agreements. But instead there came the United States, determined that Ho should not unify the temporarily divided nation, and the peasants watched again as we supported one of the most vicious modern dictators -- our chosen man, Premier Diem. The peasants watched and cringed as Diem ruthlessly routed out all opposition, supported their extortionist landlords and refused even to discuss reunification with the north. The peasants watched as all this was presided over by U.S. influence and then by increasing numbers of U.S. troops who came to help quell the insurgency that Diem's methods had aroused. When Diem was overthrown they may have been happy, but the long line of military dictatorships seemed to offer no real change -- especially in terms of their need for land and peace.

The only change came from America as we increased our troop commitments in support of governments which were singularly corrupt, inept and without popular support. All the while the people read our leaflets and received regular promises of peace and democracy -- and land reform. Now they languish under our bombs and consider us -- not their fellow Vietnamese --the real enemy. They move sadly and apathetically as we herd them off the land of their fathers into concentration camps where minimal social needs are rarely met. They know they must move or be destroyed by our bombs. So they go -- primarily women and children and the aged.

They watch as we poison their water, as we kill a million acres of their crops. They must weep as the bulldozers roar through their areas preparing to destroy the precious trees. They wander into the hospitals, with at least twenty casualties from American firepower for one "Vietcong"-inflicted injury. So far we may have killed a million of them -- mostly children. They wander into the towns and see thousands of the children, homeless, without clothes, running in packs on the streets like animals. They see the children, degraded by our soldiers as they beg for food. They see the children selling their sisters to our soldiers, soliciting for their mothers.

What do the peasants think as we ally ourselves with the landlords and as we refuse to put any action into our many words concerning land reform? What do they think as we test our latest weapons on them, just as the Germans tested out new medicine and new tortures in the concentration camps of Europe? Where are the roots of the independent Vietnam we claim to be building? Is it among these voiceless ones?

We have destroyed their two most cherished institutions: the family and the village. We have destroyed their land and their crops. We have cooperated in the crushing of the nation's only non-Communist revolutionary political force -- the unified Buddhist church. We have supported the enemies of the peasants of Saigon. We have corrupted their women and children and killed their men. What liberators?

Now there is little left to build on -- save bitterness. Soon the only solid physical foundations remaining will be found at our military bases and in the concrete of the concentration camps we call fortified hamlets. The peasants may well wonder if we plan to build our new Vietnam on such grounds as these? Could we blame them for such thoughts? We must speak for them and raise the questions they cannot raise. These too are our brothers.

Perhaps the more difficult but no less necessary task is to speak for those who have been designated as our enemies. What of the National Liberation Front -- that strangely anonymous group we call VC or Communists? What must they think of us in America when they realize that we permitted the repression and cruelty of Diem which helped to bring them into being as a resistance group in the south? What do they think of our condoning the violence which led to their own taking up of arms? How can they believe in our integrity when now we speak of "aggression from the north" as if there were nothing more essential to the war? How can they trust us when now we charge them with violence after the murderous reign of Diem and charge them with violence while we pour every new weapon of death into their land? Surely we must understand their feelings even if we do not condone their actions. Surely we must see that the men we supported pressed them to their violence. Surely we must see that our own computerized plans of destruction simply dwarf their greatest acts.

How do they judge us when our officials know that their membership is less than twenty-five percent Communist and yet insist on giving them the blanket name? What must they be thinking when they know that we are aware of their control of major sections of Vietnam and yet we appear ready to allow national elections in which this highly organized political parallel government will have no part? They ask how we can speak of free elections when the Saigon press is censored and controlled by the military junta. And they are surely right to wonder what kind of new government we plan to help form without them -- the only party in real touch with the peasants. They question our political goals and they deny the reality of a peace settlement from which they will be excluded. Their questions are frighteningly relevant. Is our nation planning to build on political myth again and then shore it up with the power of new violence?

Here is the true meaning and value of compassion and nonviolence when it helps us to see the enemy's point of view, to hear his questions, to know his assessment of ourselves. For from his view we may indeed see the basic weaknesses of our own condition, and if we are mature, we may learn and grow and profit from the wisdom of the brothers who are called the opposition.

So, too, with Hanoi. In the north, where our bombs now pummel the land, and our mines endanger the waterways, we are met by a deep but understandable mistrust. To speak for them is to explain this lack of confidence in Western words, and especially their distrust of American intentions now. In Hanoi are the men who led the nation to independence against the Japanese and the French, the men who sought membership in the French commonwealth and were betrayed by the weakness of Paris and the willfulness of the colonial armies. It was they who led a second struggle against French domination at tremendous costs, and then were persuaded to give up the land they controlled between the thirteenth and seventeenth parallel as a temporary measure at Geneva. After 1954 they watched us conspire with Diem to prevent elections which would have surely brought Ho Chi Minh to power over a united Vietnam, and they realized they had been betrayed again.

When we ask why they do not leap to negotiate, these things must be remembered. Also it must be clear that the leaders of Hanoi considered the presence of American troops in support of the Diem regime to have been the initial military breach of the Geneva agreements concerning foreign troops, and they remind us that they did not begin to send in any large number of supplies or men until American forces had moved into the tens of thousands.

Hanoi remembers how our leaders refused to tell us the truth about the earlier North Vietnamese overtures for peace, how the president claimed that none existed when they had clearly been made. Ho Chi Minh has watched as America has spoken of peace and built up its forces, and now he has surely heard of the increasing international rumors of American plans for an invasion of the north. He knows the bombing and shelling and mining we are doing are part of traditional pre-invasion strategy. Perhaps only his sense of humor and of irony can save him when he hears the most powerful nation of the world speaking of aggression as it drops thousands of bombs on a poor weak nation more than eight thousand miles away from its shores.

At this point I should make it clear that while I have tried in these last few minutes to give a voice to the voiceless on Vietnam and to understand the arguments of those who are called enemy, I am as deeply concerned about our troops there as anything else. For it occurs to me that what we are submitting them to in Vietnam is not simply the brutalizing process that goes on in any war where armies face each other and seek to destroy. We are adding cynicism to the process of death, for they must know after a short period there that none of the things we claim to be fighting for are really involved. Before long they must know that their government has sent them into a struggle among Vietnamese, and the more sophisticated surely realize that we are on the side of the wealthy and the secure while we create hell for the poor.

This Madness Must Cease

Somehow this madness must cease. We must stop now. I speak as a child of God and brother to the suffering poor of Vietnam. I speak for those whose land is being laid waste, whose homes are being destroyed, whose culture is being subverted. I speak for the poor of America who are paying the double price of smashed hopes at home and death and corruption in Vietnam. I speak as a citizen of the world, for the world as it stands aghast at the path we have taken. I speak as an American to the leaders of my own nation. The great initiative in this war is ours. The initiative to stop it must be ours.

This is the message of the great Buddhist leaders of Vietnam. Recently one of them wrote these words:

"Each day the war goes on the hatred increases in the heart of the Vietnamese and in the hearts of those of humanitarian instinct. The Americans are forcing even their friends into becoming their enemies. It is curious that the Americans, who calculate so carefully on the possibilities of military victory, do not realize that in the process they are incurring deep psychological and political defeat. The image of America will never again be the image of revolution, freedom and democracy, but the image of violence and militarism."

If we continue, there will be no doubt in my mind and in the mind of the world that we have no honorable intentions in Vietnam. It will become clear that our minimal expectation is to occupy it as an American colony and men will not refrain from thinking that our maximum hope is to goad China into a war so that we may bomb her nuclear installations. If we do not stop our war against the people of Vietnam immediately the world will be left with no other alternative than to see this as some horribly clumsy and deadly game we have decided to play.

The world now demands a maturity of America that we may not be able to achieve. It demands that we admit that we have been wrong from the beginning of our adventure in Vietnam, that we have been detrimental to the life of the Vietnamese people. The situation is one in which we must be ready to turn sharply from our present ways.

In order to atone for our sins and errors in Vietnam, we should take the initiative in bringing a halt to this tragic war. I would like to suggest five concrete things that our government should do immediately to begin the long and difficult process of extricating ourselves from this nightmarish conflict:

1. End all bombing in North and South Vietnam.
2. Declare a unilateral cease-fire in the hope that such action will create the atmosphere for negotiation.
3. Take immediate steps to prevent other battlegrounds in Southeast Asia by curtailing our military buildup in Thailand and our interference in Laos.
4. Realistically accept the fact that the National Liberation Front has substantial support in South Vietnam and must thereby play a role in any meaningful negotiations and in any future Vietnam government.
5. Set a date that we will remove all foreign troops from Vietnam in accordance with the 1954 Geneva agreement.

Part of our ongoing commitment might well express itself in an offer to grant asylum to any Vietnamese who fears for his life under a new regime which included the Liberation Front. Then we must make what reparations we can for the damage we have done. We most provide the medical aid that is badly needed, making it available in this country if necessary.
Protesting The War

Meanwhile we in the churches and synagogues have a continuing task while we urge our government to disengage itself from a disgraceful commitment. We must continue to raise our voices if our nation persists in its perverse ways in Vietnam. We must be prepared to match actions with words by seeking out every creative means of protest possible.

As we counsel young men concerning military service we must clarify for them our nation's role in Vietnam and challenge them with the alternative of conscientious objection. I am pleased to say that this is the path now being chosen by more than seventy students at my own alma mater, Morehouse College, and I recommend it to all who find the American course in Vietnam a dishonorable and unjust one. Moreover I would encourage all ministers of draft age to give up their ministerial exemptions and seek status as conscientious objectors. These are the times for real choices and not false ones. We are at the moment when our lives must be placed on the line if our nation is to survive its own folly. Every man of humane convictions must decide on the protest that best suits his convictions, but we must all protest.

There is something seductively tempting about stopping there and sending us all off on what in some circles has become a popular crusade against the war in Vietnam. I say we must enter the struggle, but I wish to go on now to say something even more disturbing. The war in Vietnam is but a symptom of a far deeper malady within the American spirit, and if we ignore this sobering reality we will find ourselves organizing clergy- and laymen-concerned committees for the next generation. They will be concerned about Guatemala and Peru. They will be concerned about Thailand and Cambodia. They will be concerned about Mozambique and South Africa. We will be marching for these and a dozen other names and attending rallies without end unless there is a significant and profound change in American life and policy. Such thoughts take us beyond Vietnam, but not beyond our calling as sons of the living God.

In 1957 a sensitive American official overseas said that it seemed to him that our nation was on the wrong side of a world revolution. During the past ten years we have seen emerge a pattern of suppression which now has justified the presence of U.S. military "advisors" in Venezuela. This need to maintain social stability for our investments accounts for the counter-revolutionary action of American forces in Guatemala. It tells why American helicopters are being used against guerrillas in Colombia and why American napalm and green beret forces have already been active against rebels in Peru. It is with such activity in mind that the words of the late John F. Kennedy come back to haunt us. Five years ago he said, "Those who make peaceful revolution impossible will make violent revolution inevitable."

Increasingly, by choice or by accident, this is the role our nation has taken -- the role of those who make peaceful revolution impossible by refusing to give up the privileges and the pleasures that come from the immense profits of overseas investment.

I am convinced that if we are to get on the right side of the world revolution, we as a nation must undergo a radical revolution of values. We must rapidly begin the shift from a "thing-oriented" society to a "person-oriented" society. When machines and computers, profit motives and property rights are considered more important than people, the giant triplets of racism, materialism, and militarism are incapable of being conquered.

A true revolution of values will soon cause us to question the fairness and justice of many of our past and present policies. n the one hand we are called to play the good Samaritan on life's roadside; but that will be only an initial act. One day we must come to see that the whole Jericho road must be transformed so that men and women will not be constantly beaten and robbed as they make their journey on life's highway. True compassion is more than flinging a coin to a beggar; it is not haphazard and superficial. It comes to see that an edifice which produces beggars needs restructuring. A true revolution of values will soon look uneasily on the glaring contrast of poverty and wealth. With righteous indignation, it will look across the seas and see individual capitalists of the West investing huge sums of money in Asia, Africa and South America, only to take the profits out with no concern for the social betterment of the countries, and say: "This is not just." It will look at our alliance with the landed gentry of Latin America and say: "This is not just." The Western arrogance of feeling that it has everything to teach others and nothing to learn from them is not just. A true revolution of values will lay hands on the world order and say of war: "This way of settling differences is not just." This business of burning human beings with napalm, of filling our nation's homes with orphans and widows, of injecting poisonous drugs of hate into veins of people normally humane, of sending men home from dark and bloody battlefields physically handicapped and psychologically deranged, cannot be reconciled with wisdom, justice and love. A nation that continues year after year to spend more money on military defense than on programs of social uplift is approaching spiritual death.

America, the richest and most powerful nation in the world, can well lead the way in this revolution of values. There is nothing, except a tragic death wish, to prevent us from reordering our priorities, so that the pursuit of peace will take precedence over the pursuit of war. There is nothing to keep us from molding a recalcitrant status quo with bruised hands until we have fashioned it into a brotherhood.

This kind of positive revolution of values is our best defense against communism. War is not the answer. Communism will never be defeated by the use of atomic bombs or nuclear weapons. Let us not join those who shout war and through their misguided passions urge the United States to relinquish its participation in the United Nations. These are days which demand wise restraint and calm reasonableness. We must not call everyone a Communist or an appeaser who advocates the seating of Red China in the United Nations and who recognizes that hate and hysteria are not the final answers to the problem of these turbulent days. We must not engage in a negative anti-communism, but rather in a positive thrust for democracy, realizing that our greatest defense against communism is to take offensive action in behalf of justice. We must with positive action seek to remove thosse conditions of poverty, insecurity and injustice which are the fertile soil in which the seed of communism grows and develops.
The People Are Important

These are revolutionary times. All over the globe men are revolting against old systems of exploitation and oppression and out of the wombs of a frail world new systems of justice and equality are being born. The shirtless and barefoot people of the land are rising up as never before. "The people who sat in darkness have seen a great light." We in the West must support these revolutions. It is a sad fact that, because of comfort, complacency, a morbid fear of communism, and our proneness to adjust to injustice, the Western nations that initiated so much of the revolutionary spirit of the modern world have now become the arch anti-revolutionaries. This has driven many to feel that only Marxism has the revolutionary spirit. Therefore, communism is a judgement against our failure to make democracy real and follow through on the revolutions we initiated. Our only hope today lies in our ability to recapture the revolutionary spirit and go out into a sometimes hostile world declaring eternal hostility to poverty, racism, and militarism. With this powerful commitment we shall boldly challenge the status quo and unjust mores and thereby speed the day when "every valley shall be exalted, and every moutain and hill shall be made low, and the crooked shall be made straight and the rough places plain."

A genuine revolution of values means in the final analysis that our loyalties must become ecumenical rather than sectional. Every nation must now develop an overriding loyalty to mankind as a whole in order to preserve the best in their individual societies.

This call for a world-wide fellowship that lifts neighborly concern beyond one's tribe, race, class and nation is in reality a call for an all-embracing and unconditional love for all men. This oft misunderstood and misinterpreted concept -- so readily dismissed by the Nietzsches of the world as a weak and cowardly force -- has now become an absolute necessity for the survival of man. When I speak of love I am not speaking of some sentimental and weak response. I am speaking of that force which all of the great religions have seen as the supreme unifying principle of life. Love is somehow the key that unlocks the door which leads to ultimate reality. This Hindu-Moslem-Christian-Jewish-Buddhist belief about ultimate reality is beautifully summed up in the first epistle of Saint John:

Let us love one another; for love is God and everyone that loveth is born of God and knoweth God. He that loveth not knoweth not God; for God is love. If we love one another God dwelleth in us, and his love is perfected in us.

Let us hope that this spirit will become the order of the day. We can no longer afford to worship the god of hate or bow before the altar of retaliation. The oceans of history are made turbulent by the ever-rising tides of hate. History is cluttered with the wreckage of nations and individuals that pursued this self-defeating path of hate. As Arnold Toynbee says : "Love is the ultimate force that makes for the saving choice of life and good against the damning choice of death and evil. Therefore the first hope in our inventory must be the hope that love is going to have the last word."

We are now faced with the fact that tomorrow is today. We are confronted with the fierce urgency of now. In this unfolding conundrum of life and history there is such a thing as being too late. Procrastination is still the thief of time. Life often leaves us standing bare, naked and dejected with a lost opportunity. The "tide in the affairs of men" does not remain at the flood; it ebbs. We may cry out deperately for time to pause in her passage, but time is deaf to every plea and rushes on. Over the bleached bones and jumbled residue of numerous civilizations are written the pathetic words: "Too late." There is an invisible book of life that faithfully records our vigilance or our neglect. "The moving finger writes, and having writ moves on..." We still have a choice today; nonviolent coexistence or violent co-annihilation.

We must move past indecision to action. We must find new ways to speak for peace in Vietnam and justice throughout the developing world -- a world that borders on our doors. If we do not act we shall surely be dragged down the long dark and shameful corridors of time reserved for those who possess power without compassion, might without morality, and strength without sight.

Now let us begin. Now let us rededicate ourselves to the long and bitter -- but beautiful -- struggle for a new world. This is the callling of the sons of God, and our brothers wait eagerly for our response. Shall we say the odds are too great? Shall we tell them the struggle is too hard? Will our message be that the forces of American life militate against their arrival as full men, and we send our deepest regrets? Or will there be another message, of longing, of hope, of solidarity with their yearnings, of commitment to their cause, whatever the cost? The choice is ours, and though we might prefer it otherwise we must choose in this crucial moment of human history.

As that noble bard of yesterday, James Russell Lowell, eloquently stated:

Once to every man and nation
Comes the moment to decide,
In the strife of truth and falsehood,
For the good or evil side;
Some great cause, God's new Messiah,
Off'ring each the bloom or blight,
And the choice goes by forever
Twixt that darkness and that light.

Though the cause of evil prosper,
Yet 'tis truth alone is strong;
Though her portion be the scaffold,
And upon the throne be wrong:
Yet that scaffold sways the future,
And behind the dim unknown,
Standeth God within the shadow
Keeping watch above his own.

Please Read the Linked Post

2010-03-30T22:15:00.002-04:00

Professor Kim, my colleague at BlogHer.com has written about a serious threat to democracy guised in religious raiment. Hr post, entitled
Family Secrets: Jeff Sharlet Exposes "The Secret Fundamentalism at the Heart of American Power"

Here is a quote from her article about the quasi-secret group that is manipulating power globally. :

Sharlet traces evidence of the Family's hand in charges that some US military leaders are pushing an extreme Christian theology on troops, violating the military's own rules. He says The Family helped former Pres. Jimmy Carter jump-start the talks that led the Camp David Accords, but its members also threw their weight behind murderous dictators in Indonesia, Somalia and Haiti, among other places. A Family associate is behind the repugnant Ugandan legislative proposal targeting homosexuals for execution, and prison for people who fail to turn in gay people they might know - although the organization has condemned the measure.

We Need to Stand Up to the Thugs

2010-03-30T12:59:00.004-04:00

I cannot write coolly about the rising tide of hatred in America. I'd love to be able to come up with a rational journalistic effort that succinctly spells out the problem and offers some convenient solutions. But I am not there yet. I have torn up two dozen attempts.

A week ago, Tea Party protesters shouted "Nigger" at African American Rep. John Lewis (D-Ga.), a hero of the civil rights movement.

It used to be easy to step back, and to say that these sorts of things were only muttered by the lunatic fringe. Ignore them --- they have to real power in America. Not my America. Not now.

Rep. Steve Driehaus (D-OH), who voted for the health care bill, said that he has since gotten multiple death threats.

Just do not "sink to their level", and they will stop. Isn't that the conventional wisdom? Just do not dignify what they say with a response. But that is not working. Silence is just fanning the flames.

Rep. Barney Frank (D-Mass.) was called a "Faggot," while protesters mocked him. Frank told the Washington newspaper The Hill that he was also called a “homo communist” and told to “go homo to Massachusetts." He also had to call Capitol police “to move away” five or six protesters who were banging on his office door and yelling through the mail slot.

We have free speech in America. We need to defend these people's rights to be stupid, anti-intellectual bigots. But where is the line drawn between free speech and inciting to riot? Or inciting to cultivate hatred?

I spent some time looking on the web, trying to convince myself that hate sites were there, but in small numbers. When I was done, I felt that I had rubbed my eyes in raw sewage.

I just saw an online video game in which the object was to kill illegal immigrants from Mexico to the USA. One group to kill was called "Breeders". They object was to position a target sight over a large woman running in fear with her children.

Just do not draw attention to this evil garbage. That is what we were told, right?

But in doing so, we are allowing a Thug Mentality to develop. I watch the likes of Glenn Beck or Rush Limbaugh for five minutes and I want to vomit -- my stomach feels like I swallowed razor blades. It is not just because I disagree with them. It is also because, in my opinion, they are deliberate liars. Add the "birthers" to the mix and my eyeballs start spinning backwards in my head.

Will frightened Americans believe anything? And what are the terrifying consequences that come from the free expression of hatred, and the deliberate fanning of the flames of bigotry?

Politico44 reports a disturbing rejection by the RNC:

The Republican National Committee has rejected a proposal from its Democratic counterpart to sign a joint “civility” statement, POLITICO has learned.

Various members of the DNC — including Chairman Tim Kaine, Executive Director Jen O’Malley Dillon and Communications Director Brad Woodhouse — contacted their respective RNC counterparts this week in hopes of getting RNC Chairman Michael Steele to co-sign a document with Kaine that, in part, called for “elected officials of both parties to set an example of the civility we want to see in our citizenry.”

“We also call on all Americans to respect differences of opinion, to refrain from inappropriate forms of intimidation, to reject violence and vandalism, and to scale back rhetoric that might reasonably be misinterpreted by those prone to such behavior,” read the proposed joint statement.

This was rejected by the Republican National Committee. REJECTED!?

Every time some absurd statement is made that describes some other group with a nasty epithet, the speaker makes them less than human. Why? Because it is easier to hate a XXX than a lesbian woman named Mary, or an African American grandfather named William, or a Muslim daughter named Fatima, or a Spanish man named Enrique.

The sewers of race hatred have backed up in America. Can it feel any different from what preceded Hitler's rise in Germany?

Another blog I won't link to has a picture of a noose with the caption that "It Is Possible to Hang Someone Important in Government for Treason". Beneath that is a poster of Obama...it says "Wanted for Treason"

This is not your ordinary hate speech we are seeing these days. It is hate speech that is edging people into potentially violent action.

Sarah Palin "targets" certain Democratic Congresspeople. She shows them on a map with gun-sights over their locations. When challenged about that (even by Elizabeth Hasselback on The View) she does not back down. Palin tweeted:“Commonsense Conservatives & lovers of America : “Don’t Retreat, Instead RELOAD!”

Watch this video and hear this issue thoughtfully discussed.

Bad things are afoot in America. I do not think we should just ignore them. The kind of hateful grumblings that preceded Hitler's rise to power echo in what we hear today -- blaming other races for our misfortunes, seeing people we decide are "enemies" as less than human. In an alarming cautionary note, the Nazi party never even got 38% of the popular vote to rise to power. How many Americans have to start saying hateful things, doing hateful things before we decide to speak out in opposition, or to hold them in some way accountable?

Or do we just let them believe what those who are jerking their marionette strings want them to believe?

A recent Harris poll quoted by John Avalon in The Daily Beast reveals:

* 67 percent of Republicans (and 40 percent of Americans overall) believe that Obama is a socialist
* 57 percent of Republicans (32 percent overall) believe that Obama is a Muslim
* 45 percent of Republicans (25 percent overall) agree with the Birthers in their belief that Obama was "not born in the United States and so is not eligible to be president"
* 38 percent of Republicans (20 percent overall) say that Obama is "doing many of the things that Hitler did"
* Scariest of all, 24 percent of Republicans (14 percent overall) say that Obama "may be the Antichrist."

Avalon goes on to say : "The poll, which surveyed 2,230 people right at the height of the health-care reform debate, also clearly shows that education is a barrier to extremism. Respondents without a college education are vastly more likely to believe such claims, while Americans with college degrees or better are less easily duped. It's a reminder of what the 19th-century educator Horace Mann once too-loftily said: 'Ignorance breeds monsters to fill up the vacancies of the soul that are unoccupied by the verities of knowledge.' "

It's time to stand up, to speak out, to not let snarling dogs lie.

March 29th - Passover Begins. Why You Should Know How to Find B'nei Berak

2010-03-24T21:50:00.008-04:00

Passover is coming! I love this holiday. My extended family is Jewish,and they have given me the gift of including me in so much that is beautiful in their lives...especially Passover. This year, we won't be together due to illnesses and other unavoidable unusual circumstances. I find myself mourning the loss of this gathering this year. So instead of being sad, I want to share with you some treasured memories.

First -- for those who have not yet been blessed with the joy of a Passover Seder, this is an eight day festival that celebrates the escape of the Israelites from over 400 years of enslavement in Egypt by Pharaoh. Led by Moses, they implored Pharaoh to let them go. When he just heaped more indignities on them, more suffering, Moses threatened him with various plagues if he did not relent. Pharaoh was arrogant. So along came the plagues, -- boils, locusts, dying livestock, frogs, flies, hail, lice --- and more. But the Pharaoh stayed resolute and threatened to kill Moses. Then the tenth plague -- all the firstborn of Egypt -- human and animal, would be killed. That night, Israelites put a mark of a slaughtered lamb above their doorposts to identify their homes. The Angel of Death came that night and "passed over" only the marked homes. It was then that Pharaoh relented, and the former slaves started their exodus from Egypt.

That period in history is recalled in the rituals and elements of a special family dinner that occurs around a religious liturgy which is recorded in a prayerbook called "The Haggadah". Passover lasts eight days, but usually only the first two nights have the elaborate Seder meal. This event is all about attaining freedom, about celebration.
Many of the foods are symbolic - bitter foods for bitter years, unleavened bread as a reminder of having left Egypt in a hurry, and so on. You can read about the symbolic meaning of items on the Seder Plate here.

One of my most treasured memories s a simple silly thing that our host does every year.
He reads this portion of the Haggadah and asks the same question every time:

It happened that Rabbi Eliezer, Rabbi Yehoshua, Rabbi Elazar ben Azaryah, Rabbi Akiva and Rabbi Tarphon were reclining [at a seder] in B'nei Berak. They were discussing the exodus from Egypt all that night, until their students came and told them: "Our Masters! The time has come for reciting the morning Shema!"

His question: "Where is B'nei Berak?"

And we all answer, in unison and with gusto the lesson we have learned every year. "It is a suburb of Tel Aviv!" And then we all laugh because it is so silly to be asked what we already know. We smile, because we all share the joke. Our host feigns surprise that we remembered.

But on another level, it is an interesting bit of knowledge. It is a real place, a place many around the table have visited -- that hiding place for the rabbis. It may seem strange that they had to be told that it was daylight, and time for morning prayers. But during the time of these rabbis, the Roman Empire was in charge, and forbade the practice of Judaism. They were celebrating Passover in secret, perhaps in a cave, while their students stood watch. It might have cost them their lives to be discovered.

Our host knows that we cannot let important places just become suburbs in our minds -- that we have to understand that people paid a price to preserve what we enjoy now in freedom. And that is not just a lesson for the Jewish community.

One year our host forgot to ask us about B'nei Berak. We made him stop and go back. It wouldn't be right to skip over our lesson about sacred ground.

And every year, we know the folks at the table who don't like home-made gefilte fish, and the ones who love matzoh noodles. We know who can take the strongest blast of home-made horseradish and who is a gastronomic coward. And we know that there are millions of families probably nothing like ours, but who are identically gathering to say these same words and celebrate these same events -- some in freedom, and some in oppression.

Every year I was honored with being asked to read "The Hallel" - a stunningly wonderful and poetic prayer at the end of the liturgy. I will quote a part of it here, so those of you who are new to it can hear its joyous Psalmic beauty, and those who know it well can smile in fond remembrance with me.

...To You alone we give thanks. Even if our mouths were filled with song as the sea, and our tongues with joyous singing like the multitudes of its waves, and our lips with praise like the expanse of the sky; and our eyes shining like the sun and the moon, and our hands spread out like the eagles of heaven, and our feet swift like deer we would still be unable to thank You L-rd, our G-d and G-d of our fathers, and to bless Your Name, for even one of the thousands of millions, and myriads of myriads, of favors, miracles and wonders which You have done for us and for our fathers before us. L-rd, our G-d.

You have redeemed us from Egypt, You have freed us from the house of bondage, You have fed us in famine and nourished us in plenty; You have saved us from the sword and delivered us from pestilence, and raised us from evil and lasting maladies. Until now Your mercies have helped us, and Your kindnesses have not forsaken us; and do not abandon us, L-rd our G-d, forever! Therefore, the limbs which You have arranged within us, and the spirit and soul which You have breathed into our nostrils, and the tongue which You have placed in our mouth they all shall thank, bless, praise, glorify, exalt, adore, sanctify and proclaim the sovereignty of Your Name, our King.

For every mouth shall offer thanks to You, every tongue shall swear by You, every eye shall look to You, every knee shall bend to You, all who stand erect shall, bow down before You...

May the blessings of joy in Passover be yours.

Faith Based Iitiatives - a Mess, a Very Sad Mess

2010-03-16T19:23:00.005-04:00

The discussion of faith-based initiatives is such a thorny, nasty mess that it is a wonder anyone writes about it at all. The best one can do is to highlight the issues and stand back. Waaaay back.

OK - let's start. Even uncovering the history to the current kerfuffle is tricky.

First, keep in mind these points:

1. The 1964 Civil Rights Act outlines the right of religious organizations to choose to hire only employees who share that organization's religious beliefs.

2. For dozens and dozens of years religious colleges and universities, religious hospitals, religious foster care and adoption agencies and many other religious organizations have received government funding.

3. In 2001, George W. Bush established a White House Office on Faith-Based and Community Initiatives. The Republican leaders of the House introduced legislation expanding the faith based initiatives to a much broader range of federal funding. The New York Times in 2009 was not as charitable:

The [Bush] administration provided large grants for projects favored by the Christian right, like Charles Colson’s Prison Fellowship Ministries and Teen Challenge, a drug rehabilitation program that openly pushed religious conversion (even using the phrase “completed Jews” to describe teenage converts from Judaism) as a way of overcoming addiction. John J. DiIulio Jr., the first director of Mr. Bush’s faith-based office, resigned after only eight months and later complained about the politicization of the program.

4. During the Bush years, a provision was added to legislation that required the religious group to separate any overt religious activity from the aid they were providing with government funds. Essentially, a group could be very sectarian with their right hand, but had to be non-religious with their left. Someone actually thought this would work.

5. Obama campaigned on a pledge to bar funds from houses of worship that would use the money to proselytize or discriminate in hiring on the basis of a prospective employee’s religion and beliefs.

6. In February of 2009, President Obama established the White House Office of Faith-Based and Neighborhood Partnerships and the 25-member President's Advisory Council on Faith-Based and Neighborhood Partnerships. This group was to have an even wider advisory scope than the Bush group. BUT they were specifically told not to deal with the hiring issue. That would be handled on a one by one case by case basis, and was under further legal review.

7. After their first year, their first 73 page report reads, in its opening paragraph, "At the Administration’s direction, the Council did not address the issue of religion-based employment decisions regarding jobs partially or fully subsidized by Federal funds."

8. They also did not address abortion, although President Obama did say he wanted the group to look at "abortion reduction". According to the Christian Post, he later retracted. "Joshua DuBois, the director of the office, said the council members have been involved in conversations about abortion reduction but did not create a task force for the issue because the president would like to extend the discussion to include the Domestic Policy Council."

So here is one part of the mess.

Should a group accepting federal funds be forced to hire gay people or people who support reproductive choice for the federally funded part of their work, when they regard these people as representing all they do not believe in? There are many thoughts about this, all of them usually a decibel louder than normal conversation. Wishing won't make it so. The Catholic church has made it abundantly clear that they will stop providing services if they are forced to provide support to gay people or to people affirming freedom of choice.

And another fine mess.

According to the Huffington Post, Catholic Charities in DC has stopped paying spousal benefits for all new employees (just in case any of them are gay, thereby leveling the playing field).

According to the Washington Post, Catholic Charities protested the December vote that made same-sex marriage legal in D.C., and has threatened not to renew its contracts with the city. The nation's capital provides $22 million every year to Catholic Charities for social services programs.

The charity had threatened to pull out of DC entirely if this issue could not be resolved. And this charity does a great deal of work in DC.

There are some who would suggest that the best course might be to rid the country of any connection between faith groups and federal funds. Yet, inner city churches, serving the poorest of the poor have been able (with federal help) to continue serving a constituency that the government may miss entirely. They offer programs promoting nutrition, dealing with addiction, spousal abuse, preventative health care, mental illness, child care and so much more. With the declining economy, can we afford not to support these groups?

Personally, I want my government to help social service wherever it can. And if that means enabling religious or neighborhood groups, fine. But I don't want my government blackmailed by any group that threatens to take its football home if the government doesn't play their way. And, on the other hand of what must be twenty hands by now, I never want my government telling me what I have to believe. But I want to be able to be hired regardless of my sexual preference or opinion about abortion.

Saad Mohammad Ali's story is told by philly.com

He had volunteered for six months at World Relief, helping the agency resettle arriving Iraqi refugees, when a manager suggested he apply for an Arabic-speaking case worker job. The 42-year-old...had been an interpreter for the U.S. government in Iraq before coming to the U.S. two years ago - himself as a refugee. With a degree in statistics, strong English skills and basic knowledge of American culture, [he]could help his arriving countrymen... But a few days after he applied for the position last December, the Muslim and father of three got an unexpected call from the same manager at World Relief: She was sorry, she told him, but the agency couldn't offer him the job because he is not Christian.

There are some who would say that because an organization accepts federal funds, it should accept federal hiring practices at all levels. World Relief receives an estimated 70% of their expenses from the government.

Dive in folks. This sea is teeming with opinions. This post is just an opening stab at the issue. There is much more to say. How would you say it?

The Nun in a Herring Barrel

2010-03-09T19:38:00.004-05:00

It was the 1522, and Katharina von Bora was hiding in a herring barrel. Along with her were eleven other nuns in herring barrels, all in a horse-drawn cart, escaping their convent.

Since March is Women's History Month, I was asked what woman I would like to see written back into history, specifically the history of religion. For me, it's the nun hiding in the herring barrel.

It had been a long journey for Katharine to this clever escape. Katharina had been born to a noble family that had become impoverished. Her mother died, and when her father remarried Katharina was sent -- presumably by her wicked step-mother -- to a convent at age 5. By the time she was 16, she had become a nun.

By then, exciting news from outside the convent began to trickle in. Martin Luther, a Catholic monk, had been making waves, protesting many of the actions of the Catholic church. Somehow news of this filtered into the convent. Nuns dissatisfied with life there were drawn by Luther's words. Katharina smuggled word to the then-unknown-to-her Dr. Luther pleading with him to help rescue her and the other escaping nuns.

He sent a friend of his whose wagon delivered herring to the large convent. It soon became a wagon full of herring barrels full of nuns. And so Katharina's adventurous story begins.

Not much is known about the other nuns. Three went back to their homes. Nine landed on Luther's doorstep seeking husbands or positions. There was no other choice for a woman who could not or would not return home. After three years, Luther had found positions or husbands for all of them. Except Katharina.

Luther himself had been staunchly against marriage. An online biography of Luther says:

Having taken a vow of chastity and often preaching on the virtues and importance of marriage, Luther wrote in a letter to Bavarian noblewoman Argula von Grumbach, his response to her query as to whether he would ever marry;

“Nevertheless, the way I feel now, and have felt thus far, I will not marry. It is not that I do not feel my flesh or sex, since I am neither wood nor stone, but my mind is far removed from marriage, since I daily expect death and the punishment due to a heretic. Therefore I shall not limit God’s work in me, nor shall I rely on my own heart. Yet I hope God does not let me live long.”

Then along came Katharina. She turned down suitor after suitor, and refused to marry anyone but Luther. We don't know how it all managed to change for Luther, but they were wed. By this point, Luther was a famous reformer. Getting married sealed forever his departure from the role of dissident monk. He was 42, she 26.

A local nobleman gave them a ramshackle old abbey in which to make their home. In those days the household consisted of Martin, Katharina, and a growing stream of students and widows seeking shelter. Traffic in and out could mean as many as 30 living there at one time. And Katherina was at the helm.

Before long she had convinced Luther to buy neighboring farmland. She grew their food, established a herd of cattle and other farm animals, started a fishpond, opened and ran a brewery and managed every detail of this constantly flexing community. She kept all the accounts, and was the only woman allowed in to Luther's private, informal meetings with his students - later collected in volumes called "Table Talk".

In addition to their own six children, they also took in orphans and offered housing to students.

Luther, never a romantic personage, clearly fell in love with Katherina. Dr Ken Curtis of the Christian History Institute writes:

Luther wrote a friend, "There is a lot to get used to in the first year of marriage. One wakes up in the morning and finds a pair of pigtails on the pillow which were not there before."

After a year of marriage Luther wrote another friend, "My Katie is in all things so obliging and pleasing to me that I would not exchange my poverty for the riches of Croesus." Luther, the former celibate monk, now exalted marriage, exclaiming, "There is no bond on earth so sweet, nor any separation so bitter, as that which occurs in a good marriage."

Letters from Luther to Katharina which survive, show him to be an adoring husband, as he writes about how much he misses her when he travels, how dear she is to him. He also writes in Latin and German to her discussing detailed theological arguments he is having with other Reformers.

In the 1500's, women had no rights - especially after their husbands died. Luther and Katharine, whom he called "Katie" or "My Lord Katie" arranged things differently. An article by George Ella for New Focus says:

Martin’s and Katie’s contemporaries always referred to the couple in one breath as ‘Luther and Lutheress’ (Germ. Lutherin), emphasizing their joint importance. Luther made sure that Katie should be accepted as his equal in all ways. Contrary to the legal custom of the day, he insisted on making Katie his heir and legatee, even if she should remarry after his death. Luther also made Katie his children’s legal guardian, contrary to contemporary practice. When Luther died, his enemies believed Katie, whom they called Doctorissa, would continue her husband’s work. They thus used all their energies to rob her of her property, reputation and influence.

However, after Luther died, the new Elector took Luther's lands and buildings. The will was annulled and the Katharina and her children were put under the "protection" of a male guardian who forbade her making any business or financial arrangements.

She refused to go along. However, with the outbreak of the Smalkaldic War and the onset of the plague, everything went awry. Katharina had to flee the area. But she did not give up. She took to the courts and was about to win back her property and rights when she died from injuries in a cart accident.

Today, she is largely a forgotten woman. But her efforts supported the entire Protestant Reformation. Uncharacteristically industrious, outspoken and accomplished, her name needs to be written in larger type in the collective memory of those years.

She is part of the thousands of women in history who supported those whose names could become famous in a patriarchy. Her name has many names behind it, many lives behind it . These women fought, worked and supported the lives of others who could change the world in ways that they were not allowed. These were not just women standing behind their men -- these were women who were part of the dialogue. These women of a different time, who, along with Katharina Luther, made historical change possible.

Wasteful Mail

2010-03-08T21:53:00.004-05:00

Today I got an envelope from the US Census Bureau. It came 1st class. Inside was a letter address to "Resident" at my address that told me to expect the Census form next week.

Huh?

What did the government expect to accomplish by mailing presumably every household in America, telling them that another piece of mail was coming?

Am I supposed to stand at my mailbox waiting?

If I plan to ignore the census (which I would not) what makes them think I'll open mail from them?

If I plan to complete the census (my plan), I'm going to open it when it gets here, with or without warning.

The way I see it, the government just spammed the whole nation, and made us pay for it.

Sigh.

Veiled Voices. A Film About Women Musilm Religious Leaders

2010-03-06T22:40:00.002-05:00

"Veiled Voices", is a documentary about women religious leaders in Islam soon to be shown across many PBS TV stations, starting with a March 8th for Women's Day.

The film looks at the lives of three women who are reviving the role of Sheikha, or religious teacher. For those of us in predominantly non-Islamic communities, the sheika is (to use terms we know) the Islamic equivalent of a combination of Rabbinical scholar, counselor, and educator. And they are teaching women in countries where the patriarchy is not uniformly supportive of their actions.

The women --
Ghina Hammoud of Beirut, Lebanon.
She is a religious leader, operator of her own center for learning and charity. She was abused and beaten by her husband for many years,until she finally divorced him. At that point she lost everything, including custody of her twin daughters and the support of many of the women who studied with her.

Dr. Su'Ad Saleh of Cairo, Egypt.
She is a religious leader, has her own TV talk show where she gives advice based on Islamic law and has been a professor for over 30 years at a University in Cairo. She has authored over 20 books. Yet she has been unable to obtain the necessary votes to serve on the Islamic Research council. She points out that although women have received PhDs in areas of Islamic religious study, "we are regarded to be, in the fields of religious study, incompetent by men." The most outspoken of the three, she also said "We have reduced Islam to a scarf, a veil and a beard. That's it. That is not fair. Islam is more than that."

Huda al-Habash of Damascus, Syria.
She has been unable to join the Islamic Leaders Foundation in Syria, which is only for men. Yet she teaches to groups of women and individual women both in Syria and in other areas of the Islamic world. Her daughter has just started study at the American University in Washington, DC. Huda has the full support of her husband and family for her work. She will say that the veil is just an object, and then add that a believer's faith is not complete unless she wears the veil.

All women have certain qualities in common. First, they love their religion. They all wear the veil. All of them teach other women, and none of them seems troubled by the lack of any formal approval to do so. They believe that the Holy Qur'an does not impede their teaching, and that, further, the first leader who was female was Aisha, the wife of the Prophet Mohammad, over 1700 years ago. They all work in the mainstream walk of life. None are liberal in any vivid sense, although all are surprising in some way.

When Brigid Maher was asked about the film by Safiyyah of Muslim Media Watch, she said:

These women represent mainstream interpretations of Islam in their countries so I think when people realize this, it shatters their stereotypes of Muslim in general. Perhaps they realize there’s little difference between what Ghina dealt with and a personal obstacle they faced. Or they may wish that their husband helped clean up after dinner like Huda’s husband. Or they feel inspired with how Dr. Su’ad Saleh took on the religious establishment and kept on going undeterred. I will say I did not realize how much these women and stories would affect my own life…

This grassroots movement of women establishing themselves as teachers of Islam may seem like a non-event to the Westerner used to female clergy, female teachers, religious and secular classes and worship where the two sexes sit next to each other.

But in most parts of the Arab world, the realities of the West are as foreign to them as their realities are to us. And as Huda's daughter says, all Americans are not George Bush, and all Arabs are not Osama bin Laden.

This film is an attempt to humanize our view of women in the Arab world, particularly women who wear the veil, who have the visual trappings of a culture and a religion that we largely misunderstand. Yet the view through this lens is a narrow one.

The women are all educated, all financially well-off, all living in very nice surroundings. Their clothing is well tailored, richly embellished. They may represent a slice of women of a certain income/social strata who have chosen to take a role in their faith that is counter to their culture's drift from the days of Aisha, but they raise as many questions as they answer in this film.

Are they feminists? Or, are they mainstream trail blazers? Is this the beginning of a stirring of a new Muslim feminist activism? Is this education of women about their rights in Islamic law going to bear culture-changing fruit?

It made me think. When Professor Su'ad Saleh says, matter-of-factly "Those trying to oppress women are going against Islamic law," is she planting the seed for a new reality for Muslim women? What is the resistance going to look like?

And how far down the class strata will any new reality stretch? Of course, as these women are in three different countries, their political realities are different. But the fact that they are from different areas of the Arab world surely points to a kind of movement that is beginning to take place, and is worth watching -- as is this film.

The Four Mythic Fates of the Funeral Parlor

2010-02-26T21:58:00.003-05:00

When a cousin died five years ago, I came back to my small home town's Polish funeral parlor for an afternoon wake. I sat unobtrusively in the back. A small group of women filed in front of me who are the salt of this town's earth. They were members of the Rosary Sodality.

They live lives of necessary and practical frugality. All were dressed in similar fashion -- sturdy snow-boots, slacks, puffy, quilted snow parkas and hand knit hats and scarves.

They are the family farm wives, with ruddy faces and chapped, calloused hands. They and their husbands have worked hard their entire lives, hoping to help their children to a better life. (The New England farm tends to be a small family business, not the large thousand-of-acres-farm of the American West and Midwest.)

My cousin had been a retired teacher of elementary school, and a member of this Rosary Sodality. Her fellow members and former childhood friends had come to pray for her one last time.

That's what it is like here. You can grow to your 80's and still have a childhood friend or two around. People stay here. Or like me, they move back.

But back to the women. These are good women, loyal, hard working and true. They are their family's backbones, the purveyors of the glue that kept their families together during tough times.

And, now that they are in their 60's, 70's and 80's, they know everyone's story. They know what everyone thought would happen to their lives, and what did happen.

I listened in on their conversation. There were four of the women sitting next to each other directly in front of me, close enough that I could hear their whispered comments. (I've changed their names, and some of the personal details.)

"Who is that, Betty?"

"Jeez Jenny, you know -- that's Helen's daughter -- the one who married that gambler who left her with all those kids!"

"Oh yeah....and the one next to her?"

"Sophie's grand-daughter -- the one who had that drug thing. I think she's OK now, but I don't want to ask Sophie. It's such a shame."

"Yes, a shame."

They were quiet for a while, and then another one of them spoke.

"Flo, that's the guy whose brother lost his job for stealing, right?"

The time-worn rosary beads slide through hands and I listened as visitor after visitor is defined by some pain-worthy event in their life. No one is just "Stella's son." He is "the one that can't seem to keep a job." No one is "Henry's ex wife". She is "the one Henry cheated on with that Italian waitress." Everyone has their little life drama that defines them.

Yet, there is no cruelty in these women's voices, no gloating. They are matter of fact, even-keeled. There is no tongue clicking, no sense that they are imagining that their own lives are somehow magically free from similar drama. I watch them and imagine them all wearing little badges that read "I Didn't Get My Dream, but You Probably Didn't Either".

I was quiet for a long time. These women were examples of their generation. They met a boy, married him, and hunkered down for whatever came next. They said "forever" and meant it, whether they liked what forever held or not, whether forever was kind or cruel to them, just or unjust. They knew how to stay put, so that is what they did. There is a stoicism in them that is at once inspiring and tragic.

The wake moved over to the church to become the funeral. From there, the burial. From there, we all drove to the after-burial gathering at a nice restaurant in town hosted by my cousin, who was in her 70's and not strong enough to cook for 40 people in her home. The farm wives might have gotten together and attempted it for their families.

As I looked around at the restaurant, I realized that everyone else there had a little invisible "Sorrow ID" -- that piece of disappointment or loss or tragedy that stuck to them like a second name.

Later, as I got back into my car in the parking lot, there was a tapping at my drivers' side window. A woman stood there there who was about my age. I rolled down my window, puzzled.

"Oh Mata, good. I'm glad I caught you. My name is Kitty."

"Uh...hi, Kitty. Can I help you?" I had no idea who she was.

She rested her hand upon my arm. "I just want to tell you," she said as she patted my arm, "that we are all so sorry for the way your father treated you. It is really shameful, and we all feel so bad for you."

I was stunned. I don't know what to say. The story about my father and events in the couple of years prior to this parking lot meeting is a story full of awful details -- details I thought were, well, not all that public. And here is a woman sincerely patting my arm who seems to know all about it.

I do not recall what it was that I said in response. It was something both appreciative and cordially dismissive -- something like "Thanks, but it's OK now." (It wasn't OK then. But I couldn't talk about it with Kitty, the stranger.)

"Well, we just wanted to tell you how really bad we feel. It wasn't right what happened......have a safe trip back to NJ!"

"Thanks," I said, trying to make a weak smile happen while wondering how she knew me, knew my story, knew that I lived in NJ.

It was then that I realized I had just been issued by very own "Sorrow ID". Even after I moved past feeling sad, or angry or disappointed by the rift between my father and me, even after he died and my feelings healed -- even then, my "Sorrow ID" would follow me in this town.

It had been publicly issued by a strange woman named Kitty that I have never seen again.

I moved back to this town two years ago, after having been gone for about 35 years. The magnet of small town New England life is a strong one. I have a handful of friends still here from high school, and several others who, as I did, moved back. I'm here with my little drama, my dreams gone awry, my sorrows and my joys, and everyone else is here with theirs.

The women in the funeral parlor are like the opposite of the Three Fates in mythology The mythic Fates supposedly controlled the events of human life. The Funeral Parlor Fates here remember the hardest of them. They chronicle the sorrows we all go through, remembering them for us, and kindly knocking on our windows saying they are sorry.

And, when we die, they gather together to say one last prayer for us to send us on our way.

Hatred - and ways to stop it -- start with a quiz

2010-02-26T13:54:00.001-05:00

Hatred has become a part of the fabric of everyday life. From the web to Congress, from casual remarks over paper cups of coffee to snide remarks over cocktail glasses, hatred can be found lurking. Hate crimes in America continue to rise. But some people are working to stop it, and we can join them.

The Southern Poverty Law Center has just produced a publication called Ten Ways to Fight Hatred that can be printed from their site, or ordered in quantity. It speaks pragmatically of things that can be done in one's community. The Guide Introduction says, in part:

Whether you need a crash course to deal with an upcoming white-power rally, a primer on the media or a long-range plan to promote tolerance in your community, you will find practical advice, timely examples and helpful resources in this guide. The steps outlined here have been tested in scores of communities across the nation by a wide range of human rights, faith and civic organizations. Our experience shows that one person, acting from conscience and love, is able to neutralize bigotry. Imagine, then, what an entire community, working together, might do.

10 Ways to Fight Hatred

ACT
UNITE
SUPPORT THE VICTIMS
DO YOUR HOMEWORK
CREATE AN ALTERNATIVE
SPEAK UP
LOBBY LEADERS
LOOK LONG RANGE
TEACH TOLERANCE
DIG DEEPER (Look inside yourself for prejudices and stereotypes.)

That is the area I'd like to discuss here, with you -- Digging Deeper. Take a deep breath and quietly as yourself the ten questions below (inspired by the SPLC). Hatred, prejudice, bias -- they are all like glue, and we may have rubbed up against some and gotten some on us, or inside our thoughts.

And, unwittingly, we may have passed these ideas on to our children. That compounds the tragedy. The roots of hatred, however thin or thick, need to be routed out. The stakes are too high not to do the work. The world we will pas to the next generations -- will they say that we helped heal the hatred?

Partners Against Hate has released some frightening statistics about hate crimes and youth:

33% of all known hate crime offenders are under 18
31% of all violent crime offenders and 46% of the property offenders are under 18.
29% of all hate crime offenders are 18-24.
30% of all victims of bias-motivated aggravated assaults and 34% of the victims of simple assault are under 18.

We live in a culture that serves up prejudice in insidious ways. We all need to muster up the courage to look inside to see, or we can never heal ourselves, or our world. Think through these and track them back - imagine how your answers to any of them may have affected the way you view others.

10 Questions that Dig Deeper

1. If you believe in God, and you suddenly imagine an image of a person to represent God, what color is he/she?
2. Have you ever passed along an email with "redneck jokes"?
3. Have you ever told a gay joke? a joke about illegal immigrants? a joke about a fat person? ethnic jokes?
4. How many people not of your race are in your personal address book?
5. When you think "terrorist" - what religion is that person?
6. Have you ever asked a friend or work colleague not to tell a sexist,racist, ethnic or homophobic joke in your presence?
7. How often are you in the minority - ethnically, racially, religious, income level, or by sexual preference?
8. When you learn about another group, where do you get your information - from members of that group or from a third party group that may bring their own limits with them?
9. Do you speak differently of members of another group if they are in the conversation with you, as opposed to when they are absent?
10. Have you ever clumped all members of a group together with a negative value statement? ("All Irish are...", "Muslims are...". "Those immigrants...")

Everyone is going to find something on that list to fix. Everyone has some time when they have not spoken up, or when they have spoken badly. But that was then. Now is now. Fixing the problems in our troubled world runs concurrently with fixing the problems inside ourselves.

The stakes are so very high. We are all part of the human family, unique, but connected. Our futures are each inexorably bound up with each other's well-being.

---------------------

RESOURCES

Teahing Tolernce.Org has a list of children's books that can be used to teach tolerance across all ages.

Partners Against Hate has a list of resources for communities, families and schools.

The Charter For Compassion focuses on compassion as a vehicle for social justice and change.

The Forgiveness Project is a global spiritual effort to heal hatred.

Wisdom

WISDOM

"I have fought too long and hard against discrimination
based on race and color, and I'm not about to stand by and not
fight against discrimination based on sexual orientation. I want to
create a national beloved community where we can enhance the dignity
of all humankind."
-- John Lewis, Congressman and Civil Rights pioneer

"Prejudices are what fools use for reason."
--Voltaire

(simultaneously published at BlogHer.com)

Lent - From Old School to New Version

2010-02-17T00:02:00.000-05:00

Lent begins on Wednesday, February 17th. It has layers -- with something there for everyone, from the most traditional to the most innovative.

But it wasn't always that way.

My little town's high school in the late 1960's was uneasily divided between the kids and grandkids of the immigrants who were largely Catholic -- and the descendants of the old line Yankees, who were largely Protestant. Ash Wednesday would roll around and we would all feel as though we were wearing our "Catholic Badge" smudged in ashes on our foreheads. In a town with a fair amount of anti-immigrant prejudice, it was a badge we wore with pride.

We had something special.

In our world, one in which you were either Catholic or the lump-them-all-in-term, "non-Catholic", to have a special thing like the holy ashes felt like a big deal. It marked us as different but connected to God in some magical way that no one else had. They couldn't possibly understand because they were, as I said -- wait for it -- non-Catholic. The big plus was noticing which teachers had the tell-tale smudge on their foreheads. "Did you know Mr H was Catholic?" "No, did you? What nationality is he?"

Suffering was the key in our Lenten observations back then. I recall when I was five, the nun in my Catholic kindergarten, Sister Mary marched us all in to the church, and gathered us at the foot of the life sized statue of the crucified Christ. In turn she lifted each of us up to kiss the bloody feet of the statue. As she put us back down she whispered ominously to each of us, "See what your sins did to Jesus? Jesus died because of them, and every time you do something wrong, it is like driving another nail into sweet Jesus who only wants to love you."

Well, we were in tears. Even some of the tough kids cried. We didn't want to hurt Jesus. We surely didn't want to kill him. We were terrified. The nun looked on approvingly as we wept.

My parents pulled me out of Catholic school right after that.

Churches then were an integral part of community life, especially among immigrant and post-immigration families. They were an anchor back to a more familiar place, a remembrance, a way of preserving identity in the Massive Melting Pot that was America. And Lent was at the heart of it all. There we were, showing our wares, our specialness, to the world at large. It was like an expansion of every Friday, back before Vatican II when all Catholics had to stay away from meat on Fridays. We were the ones eating peanut butter sandwiches or tuna sandwiches, as opposed to the usual bologna or ham. "Oh, you're Catholic? Where d'you go to church?" was common lunchtime chat.

But back to Lent. It was a dreary time, one in which we had to choose something we really liked to give up. "It better be a serious thing," my mother would say,"or I'll make you give up Bandstand and Ed Sullivan." For kids it was usually some food item -- no chocolate or no ice cream or no candy. "Didju decide what to give up yet?" "Nah, didju?"

Many people still observe Lent in traditional ways, with sacrifice, fasting, prayer and charity. The newer trend, however, is to add something to one's devotional life, to do something good for ones self, or to give more to charity. The emphasis here is not to take on suffering as an act of gratitude, but to improve ones self as an offering to God.

I'll probably do a bit of both. I have selected some tasty foods that I will not eat. And I will be actively doing something (as yet undecided, it's between two) that will do me good every day.

Whether one is deeply religious, or casually spiritual, Lent still has value as a time for contemplation, re-dedication, and renewal. The months of February and March are cold, often gray. They open up to the promise of Easter in April, the arrival of Spring, the sigh of spiritual relief after the solemnity of winter.

It is the on-ramp to the slick highway of Spring. It is the chance to check one's spiritual map, to make sure one is on the right course. It is time for adjustments to be made, disciplines to be taken on.

Lent gives us a bordered time in which we can decide to pray more, to write daily, or to create a weekly gratitude list, or to do yoga faithfully. It is a time to give something to someone every day. There are just over 40 days to Lent. Taking on some new wonderful thing, some healthy practice, some new discipline that will make of us better people is not so impossible for just about 40 days.

Lift Lent into the light, and let it be an expression of thanks for abundant life, for spring-yet-to-come, for surviving the spiritual winters of our lives. Let it be full of the something(s) we do in response to all that has been done for us.

great joke

2010-02-14T09:59:00.001-05:00

Frankie was shipwrecked and lived alone on a desert island for years until he was finally rescued.

Before leaving the island, he gave the rescue party a tour.

Frankie says, "I built myself a house. That's it there. Here's the barn, and over here is the church I worship in."

"What's that over building over there?" one of the rescuers asked.

Frankie sneered, "That's the church I used to belong to".

Let the story reveal the secret

2010-02-11T20:12:00.005-05:00

Like the songs we find ourselves humming at odd moments, the stories we invent can end up winding our own stories, our hidden tales, all around us. Our invented images reflects the wilderness in our hearts. In the stories we make up, we often end up telling a second tale as well, one hidden in the brambles of metaphor.

Sometimes a song or a story are just that -- but occasionally they are deeper and far more insight revealing.

My Dad used to tell me a bedtime story that he had made up. I have never told it to anyone else. This is -- honestly -- the first time I have told it.

It is a lovely afternoon. The sun is bright and buttery and the skies are dazzlingly blue. A little boy from the village decides to go walking into the woods. He enjoys climbing a few lofty trees, wading in a rippling stream, picking sweet, wild berries. He walks and he wanders, going further and further from home, following one shiny moment after another. There are chipmunks to chase, birds to whistle with, and a young deer to follow through the bracken.

Before he knows it, time has passed, and it is getting dark. He turns to head home, but wait -- where is home? He confidently sets out in one direction, only to realize that it is growing darker and nothing is familiar. He tries another direction, but it all is starting to be confusing, and it is getting very dark.

This is the deep part of the forest, the part where light is a stranger, and the darkness amplifies the night sounds. He hears a bat rush past his face, is startled by the sudden "Whooooo Whoooo" of an owl, and begins to tremble when he hears twigs crack nearby. It is getting cold.

He finds a big tree with room next to its exposed and ancient roots for him to huddle. He starts to cry, softly, so that no creature of the forest will hear. The tears pour down his frightened face.

Out of the darkness he hears a gentle voice. "Little boy, little boy. Don't cry, little boy."

He opened his tear-filled eyes to behold the most beautiful lady he had ever seen. She had long, flowing hair, kind eyes and big angel wings. There was a warm light shining around her like a glow, though she carried no lantern. She gathered him up in her arms, lifting him as though he was as light as paper, and carrying him as if he had been a leaf on the wind. She began crooning a soft tune to him. He began to fel warm, warm and safe.

Little boy, little lost boy
Do not fear. I am here.
Little lost boy, no need to cry
Your guardian angel will take you home.

The guardian angel took the boy home, and he never wandered too far away again.

It always felt a little deus ex machina to me. I was glad the angel had come along in the story, but I didn't really think she did "for real".

Over the years, I began to understand that this story was my father's own Big Metaphor. His soul was trying to tell him and trying to tell me that he had been a lost boy. My father had endured horrific abuse in his childhood. It made him a rough fellow indeed, although he strove to be better than his father. And he surely was. But there was a crack that ran through my father's spirit, a crack that never mended. And through that crack came some sad and angry things. Things only something as powerful as an angel could heal.

It makes sense to ask some questions about stories -- why didn't the boy's parents come get him? Why wasn't he with friends? Why was it not OK to cry?

The stories we tell can be a mirror. When I look at the stories I spontaneously made up for my godson, they featured the adventures of a turquoise and chartreuse female dinosaur named "Emily Brontosaurus" -- a writer's name from a writing godmother. A dinosaur godmother, one of whom it could be said "They do not make them like that anymore! She stood out in a crowd, and was conspicuous whether she wanted to be or not. She wasn't married, wandered around the jungle alone, but always found her way to some wonderful new place to explore and met people. She'd find a monkey to help learn to read, or a pterodactyl with which she could share a spot of tea. She was a cross between Mary Poppins and Auntie Mame. She was, now that I look back, me. But I didn't get lost in the jungle, like my father had gotten lost in the forest. I had adventures there.

But, like my father, we were both pretty much on our own to figure things out.

I wonder about these magical stories, and the archetypes they reveal. They are, as I mentioned earlier, like the songs we find ourelves humming or softly singing that turn out to be telling in some way.

I remember being excited about a date and humming Louis Armstrong's "Give Me A Kiss To Build A Dream On" -- or not looking forward to a visit with my then-in-laws and humming "Fly me to the moon." One nervous occasion had me thinly humming "Don't Worry Be Happy", and a reunion with old colleagues got me humming "Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin)" (That is the real spelling)

Then there are the obvious lovely afterglow times that found me absent-mindedly humming "Natural Woman". A drive past an exes apartment and I was suddenly singing the lyrics to "'Round Midnight".."It begins to tell, round midnight, round midnight ...doing pretty well til after sundown. Suppertime I'm feeling sad - but it really gets bad, 'round midnight....."

Images have enormous power to get us to see the workings of our souls. Our spirits hold them out before us, like flags, waving in front of our conscious minds. Feeling restless? Tel a spontaneous story, or start humming the first thing that comes to mind. You'll find direction. Nervous and not sure why? Try humming. Your soul will speak up. Let the images that are lining up an forming wondrous tales and inventive stories free. Let your own wise soul teach you what you need to understand, and point you in the direction you need to consider.

Helen Hunt Teaches me about God

2010-02-05T19:18:00.005-05:00

It takes me a while to see all the movies I want to see. So it is no shock that I just saw the 2008 Helen Hunt/Colin Firth/Bette Midler film, "And Then She Found Me." One line in the film haunts me, grabs me by the scruff of the spirit and will not let go. "Dive in and blog me," it says. "Figure out why, later."

So here is the line. Helen Hunt is about to undergo a medical procedure she both wants and fears. She is normally a prayerful Jew, praying over big events with her whole heart. Yet she does not pray before this procedure. She is confronted by Bette Midler - her birth mother with whom she has been recently reunited. Bette is unlike her daughter spiritually, but worries when Hunt does not pray. Finally Hunt spills out how scared she is, and prays the Shema- Hear Oh Israel, the Lord is One....

She looks at her mother and says, with amazed finality - "The Lord of Love and the Lord of Fear -- are One," and then has the medical procedure done.

That line won't leave me -- "The Lord of Love and the Lord of Fear -- are One". I am not proposing that Helen Hunt is a theologian, but some deep truth is in that phrase.
Let's assume that God is one -- that whatever notion you have about a higher power is a unity, a single energy.

Bear with me as I wander through what this might mean. Please chime in with comments later.

I think we too often think we can only spiritually stand before our Higher Power in Love, not in Fear -- that we somehow have to be perfect, or at least serene, calm, well-adjusted to be spiritual, or to ask God/The Universe for anything.

We don't lay down our messiest self before our Higher Power. What kind of crummy offering would that be? I'm not attractive when I am angry, or screwed up or confused by life. When I cry I get all snuffly and snotty. I blow my nose and sound like a trombone out of pitch. I'm a smart cookie -- how vulgar is it for me to be unresolved, despairing, with no sense of direction? I need to fix that before I can face my God, my Higher Power, even myself.

Oh wrong, wrong, wrong!

The Higher Power in my life doesn't give a rat's patootie about whether or not I am all tidied up for a visit. God, The Universe, The Greatest Good, The Universal Energy Source -- whatever you call him/her/it -- does not wait for me to have my spiritual hair done, my life ordered.

In fact, I can throw my mess out there at God, my Higher Power, and ask for help. I can ask to be given a break, some help, some wisdom. I can appeal to whatever knows more than I do in the Universe at Large to help this messy, flawed, broken creature that we all are.

It's odd, isn't it, that what we cannot ask of people, we cannot ask of God. It's hard for me to be messy in front of people. Emotionally messy. Yet my dearest friends have seen me that way and somehow manage to still love me. And, well, DUH, could it be that God is the same -- that despite my flaws and failings I am loved even in the midst of them?

I don't think that is a light thing to say. That I am loved by God even when I am frightened or freaked out -- well, it's today's miracle on my list of Events of the Day.

Should I have learned that in 1st grade? Probably. In fact, I did. But I forget. I have to learn this over and over. And so I chant -- I am loved, you are loved, he/she is loved, we are loved, they are loved.

Maybe you don't believe in the same kind of deity that I do -- s'ok, plug in the blank how you are most comfortable. "The Intentional Universe", "The Life Force", "The Higher Power", "The Earth Energy"....whatever allows you to know that there is something bigger than you out there. Now realize that because of that you are not alone - ever - in any condition. You are loved, regarded as special, precious, and seen as a pearl of infinite worth. Even though life threatens to break you down, or rough you up, or make you sad and confused, there is Love that you can turn to --even in the midst of fear.

Does that solve everything? Make the problem go away? Would that it did, but you and I both know that it doesn't. But it does give comfort, and it can fuel hope. Love is the lifeline. The Lord of Love and the Lord of Fear ARE One.

Pope John Paul II was a flagellator

2010-01-28T21:11:00.002-05:00

The news has come out that Pope John Paul regularly whipped himself as a penance.

In a new book, "Why a Saint?," Monsignor Slawomir Oder, a Vatican official, confirmed that the late pope regularly whipped himself as an act of penance to feel closer to God.
"In his wardrobe, among his vestments, there hung on a clothes hanger a special belt for trousers which he used as a whip," Oder says. The self-flagellation was "an instrument of Christian perfection," Oder adds, emulating the sufferings of Jesus Christ.

I hardly know where to begin. I am sitting at my keyboard shaking my head. This self-punishment, this loathing of the body as though its very existence poisoned the beauty of the spirit, is heinous. yet it is mentioned frequently as an attribute of those who are considered saintly -- Mother Teresa also was said to beat herself as punishment.

This confusion between pain and righteousness always troubled me as a young Catholic girl in the 1950's and 60's. Suffering was the ideal, because it was like emulating Jesus.

It seems to me that other Christlike qualities might have worked their way to the top of the emulation list -- like kindness, love, compassion, inclusion. It would be lovely to have any religious group think of kindness or gentleness or generosity as truly noble qualities.

The problem with the idealization of suffering is that it focuses the life of Christ wrongly on the pre-Ressurective moment. It is not the message of life beyond suffering. So it makes it easier to accept the suffering of others around us. They should appreciate and offer up their suffering to God. Mother Tresa even said "I was talking to our lepers and telling them that leprosy is a gift from God, that God can trust them so much that he gives them this terrible suffering. "

I think the Catholic church has the idea of suffering all gnarled up and twisted into knots. If suffering is such a great gift, why move to eradicate it?

It seems to me that God wants us to heal suffering, that he does not send it as some sort of agonizing gift. I would say that God is with us in our suffering, but also that He is also always pointing to something beyond suffering, willing us to move ourselves and others toward wholeness in this life as He will in the next.

Why did the Pope or Mother Teresa or certain sects in central and South America engage in flagellation as an act of holiness? And what incredible harm does that bring to a worldview?

Is self-punishment a way to remove sexual thoughts and desires? I do not even want to imagine the psyche beneath that -- the same psyche that does marriage counseling or ministers to young children.

Enough enough enough!! When will we learn to love ourselves and others?

Howard Zinn died. America has lost a champion.

2010-01-28T20:37:00.006-05:00

Howard Zinn, progressive, radical, teacher, activist, historian, has died at age 88. Zinn is widely published, but perhaps best known for his work A People's History of the United States. This book changed the way people viewed American history, unmasking the founding fathers as slaveholders, and pointing to the post-occupation history of America as the history of groups rising up for change - from early labor movements to sharecroppers uprisings. A People's History of the United States Online Version gives a good way to leaf through one of the most important books on history of the 20th century. It was originally published in 1980, and has been updated through 2003. Zinn faces honestly the slave-holding and violence of Columbus, the position of women, the plots to eliminate Native Americans.

Every history is written with the author's own perspective. Zinn removed the perspective of established histories to see events through the eyes of the people, not the politicians.

Howard Zinn removed more of the trappings that had literally "whitewashed" American history. Her is a list of quotes for those of you who may not have known Zinn. He was a teacher at Boston University, a fiercely anti-war activist, and a man who stood up for the truth. He was arrested and beaten in demonstrations against Vietnam, threatened with ouster from his teaching position, and denounced by conservatives everywhere. Howard Zinn believed passionately in the cultivation of critical thought, and in the development of an activist citizenry.

“In the United States today, the Declaration of Independence hangs on schoolroom walls, but foreign policy follows Machiavelli.”

“I'm worried that students will take their obedient place in society and look to become successful cogs in the wheel - let the wheel spin them around as it wants without taking a look at what they're doing. I'm concerned that students not become passive acceptors of the official doctrine that's handed down to them from the White House, the media, textbooks, teachers and preachers.”

“Small acts, when multiplied by millions of people, can transform the world.”

“The UN should arrange, as US forces leave, for an international group of peacekeepers and negotiators from the Arab countries to bring together Shiites, Sunnis and Kurds, and work out a solution for self-governance that would give all three groups a share in political power. Simultaneously, the UN should arrange for shipments of food and medicine, from the United States and other countries, as well as engineers to help rebuild the country.”

“He said, 'Remember this: Even if you win the rat race, you're still a rat.”

"TO BE HOPEFUL in bad times is not just foolishly romantic. It is based on the fact that human history is a history not only of cruelty, but also of compassion, sacrifice, courage, kindness.
What we choose to emphasize in this complex history will determine our lives. If we see only the worst, it destroys our capacity to do something. If we remember those times and places—and there are so many—where people have behaved magnificently, this gives us the energy to act, and at least the possibility of sending this spinning top of a world in a different direction.
And if we do act, in however small a way, we don’t have to wait for some grand utopian future. The future is an infinite succession of presents, and to live now as we think human beings should live, in defiance of all that is bad around us, is itself a marvelous victory."

"The challenge remains. On the other side are formidable forces: money, political power, the major media. On our side are the people of the world and a power greater than money or weapons: the truth.
Truth has a power of its own. Art has a power of its own. That age-old lesson – that everything we do matters – is the meaning of the people’s struggle here in the United States and everywhere. A poem can inspire a movement. A pamphlet can spark a revolution. Civil disobedience can arouse people and provoke us to think, when we organize with one another, when we get involved, when we stand up and speak out together, we can create a power no government can suppress. We live in a beautiful country. But people who have no respect for human life, freedom, or justice have taken it over. It is now up to all of us to take it back."

“Civil disobedience is not our problem. Our problem is civil obedience. Our problem is that people all over the world have obeyed the dictates of leaders…and millions have been killed because of this obedience…Our problem is that people are obedient allover the world in the face of poverty and starvation and stupidity, and war, and cruelty. Our problem is that people are obedient while the jails are full of petty thieves… (and) the grand thieves are running the country. That’s our problem.”

"If history is to be creative, to anticipate a possible future without denying the past, it should, I believe, emphasize new possibilities by disclosing those hidden episodes of the past when, even if in brief flashes, people showed their ability to resist, to join together, occasionally to win. I am supposing, or perhaps only hoping, that our future may be found in the past's fugitive movements of compassion rather than in its solid centuries of warfare."

It is possible, reading standard histories, to forget half the population of the country. The explorers were men, the landholders and merchants men, the political leaders men, the military figures men. The very invisibility of women, the overlooking of women, is a sign of their submerged status.

A couple of weeks ago, Mary Daly died.. Now Howard died. That is a lot of activism to lose in a month. I hear Bernice Johnson Reagon's song "They are falling all around me" performed by Sweet Honey in the Rock..

They are falling all around me
They are falling all around me
They are falling all around me
The strongest leaves on my tree

Every paper brings the news that
Every paper brings the news that
Every paper brings the news that
The teachers of my life are moving on

Oh, death comes and rests so heavy
Death comes and rests so heavy
Death comes and rests so heavy
Your face I will never see, never see you anymore

...

It is your path I walk
It is your song I sing
It is your load I take on
It is your air I breathe
It's the record you set that makes me go on
It's your strength that helps me stand
...

Read up on Howard Zinn if you have not yet done so. Listen to him on YouTube speak about war and human aggression. Let his words galvanize you to action, to critical thought.

Yes, big voices are moving on. But these voices would surely remind us, in the words of Mother Jones, to “Pray for the dead and fight like hell for the living.“

Progressive activist Rabbi Arthur Waskow of the Shalom Center in Philadelphia had an email conversation about upcoming activist plans the day before Zinn died. In the Center's newsletter the day of Zinn's death, Arthur said to his departed friend of over thirty years:
"And -- dear dear Howard, I wish you a joyful New Year making trouble for the Authorities in Heaven. If ever the memories, the teachings, of a tzaddik - a practitioner of tzedek, justice - could bring blessing to those who are still scrabbling for justice on this stricken earth, it's the memories and teachings you left us.
Shalom, salaam, shantih - peace!
Arthur

Recorded Speech:
This isa 12 minute speech given by Zinn at the 92nd St Y in NYC as an introduction to "the newly released, updated and illustrated A Young People’s History of the United States that highlights the words of America’s youngest rebels, dissenters and visionaries, from our past and present. "

My ex & a Willful Boxer Dog Named Argos & a Lesson in Serenity

2010-01-27T15:41:00.000-05:00

My ex-husband was generally a failure at pet training. But one memorable episode taught us both an important spiritual lesson.

Argos was a young, happy and energetic boxer dog we had since he was a pup, given to us by friends who raised boxers. We had just moved across country, settled into a nice rented house and bought our first brand new sofa. My ex-husband was definite that our dog should not be allowed on this new icon of our household.

Every time we were in the house with Argos, he obeyed, curling up soulfully at our feet, not daring to invade the people-space of our couch. Yet every evening when we returned from work, there would be a warm indentation in the couch, and a guilty look on Argos's face. "NO!" my ex would admonish, shaking his finger in Argos's face. "NO!"

But every day the same ritual would happen. Argos was a good pooch by night, and a couch sitter by day. My ex devised a scheme. "Trust me," he said, "I majored in psychology." He then explained to me that since the dog liked the comfort of the couch, we should make it uncomfortable during the day. Every day for three days when we left, my ex would place newspaper on the couch. Every night for three nights when we came home, the paper would be on the floor, and a warm dent would be in the couch cushion.

However, now Argos had lost his guilty expression. Now it was a contest. Now he seemed to be smirking. We had a smirking boxer dog. There isn't much that looks more insulting.

Plan B from my ex surfaced after days of grumbling. It involved cayenne pepper. He explained to me, "Dogs always sniff before they go on a new surface." So, his idea was that the dog would sniff the hot pepper, get a rude shock to his nose, and back off. After all, that is what the books said about how to keep a dog out of the trash.

We learned that couches are not trash.

Every day for two days we would leave with newspapers and a liberal shower of various hot pepper powders on the papers. Every day for two days we would come home to a warm dent in the couch, and a pile of papers and hot pepper powder on our carpet.

"This is not working," my ex said.

The dog and I gave each other a shared look.

The next day my ex went to the hardware store and returned with a bag of mousetraps. "I'll set up the traps on the couch so that when he jumps up, they'll go off and scare him." I was concerned that the dog would get hurt. My ex assured me that the traps would just go off without catching our dog in them. And he was right.

What he had not counted on was the fact that the dog didn't care about the traps going off. He knew that he was not a mouse. We'd come home to a warm dent on the couch, a pile of set-off traps on one of the cushions, and a dog who smelled victory in the air. Argos was getting smug. My ex was sulking.

The next day when I got home, my ex had arrived before me. He greeted me at the door with a glass of champagne.

"I have solved the dog on the couch problem!" he exclaimed.

"You have?" I asked, incredulous.

"I have. The dog is now allowed on the couch.. Problem solved."

I toasted his wisdom; we drank our mutual health; and the dog, as if on cue, jumped up on the couch. I swear he was grinning.

And therein was the lesson. So what if the dog was on the couch? What possible harm could it do? The dog didn't eat couches. He just slept on them.

But my ex had gotten into a tug-of-wills about an issue that really didn't matter. The moment he realized that, he stopped. Like the old maxim - "Want to win at tug-of-war? Drop the rope!"

Sometimes we just need to drop the rope, take the mousetraps off the couch and realize that some problem we have been fussing about is really not that big a deal.

If I have a dandelion in my lawn, it's not the end of the world. If I am two minutes late, life goes on. If traffic is heavy, I can't change it by raising my blood pressure. If my kid happily chooses a top that doesn't match the pants, who cares? If I didn't have time to make a cake, the world will not end. Fill in your own blanks of what really can slide without your being worked-up about it first.

There are big things to fret about -- big things we can impact. There is aid that can be sent to Haiti, people to elect, congresspeople to contact, hungry people to feed. There is good will to spread. There are acts of kindness to do. And we all can take a luxurious bath by candlelight if we want.

We do not have to control everything in the world. Accept what is not yours to control. Our ambition can be for sanity as opposed to getting the diagram colors in exactly the right shade on the PowerPoint presentation. Today's big question should be -- "Does it make any difference really?"

On having a dog's Trust

2010-01-27T15:25:00.004-05:00

Zoe is my rescue girl -- she is a 6 year old Bichon Frise. This is a picture of her on her first day with me. She looks a bit scared, wary. And she was with good reason. She had come from a home of neglect and abuse. That was a year and a half ago. She now weighs more, relaxes all the time, frolics in the back yard, cuddles with gusto and shows no signs of her former hesitancy. Here she is watching Caesar Milan's "Dog Whisperer" on the bedroom TV.

There is something very touching about the fact that Zoe trusts me now, and that she feels this is her home. At night now she walks up to the crook of my arm on the bed, curls up inside it with her feet facing me and lays her head on my shoulder. Before she sleeps she just gazes at me a while, and I scratch her head softly, or rub her tummy a bit. Then she tucks her head into the space between our bodies and sleeps.

She is like a little white teddy-bear come to life. We both softly drift of to sleep together.

She taught me what a gift trust is. I had to give her a lot of room before she trusted me like this. I let her decide on her own that I was safe, and was not going to ever hurt her. Every step she made toward trust was met with quiet affection. And then. one day, she gave it up -- snuggled in earnest, wiggled to get closer, put her head down and gave a deep and sweet sigh.

I love that she has been saved from a bad life. I am thankful that she shows her trust, and when she does I feel very moved.

It seems to me there is a lot of love in this word waiting to be rescued -- dogs, cats, horses, people. There are many of God's creatures that just need a bit of affirming space to grow and to develop. A few meals, a safe place to sleep, a helping hand -- and beings change.

My 60th

2010-01-26T12:42:00.002-05:00

My birthday is now past. I must say it was lovely. An advance email went out to lots of folks. I wanted cards. I am lousy at remembering birthdays. Lousy. So I understand if someone forgets mine. So if it is a year in which I wish to be remembered, I email people and warn them in advance, and boldly ask them for cards.

I was deluged.

Cards, gifts, flowers, emails, phone calls.

I was delighted. People said lovely things and I let those messages of love come inside. I had people stopping by my house to wish me well. The Saturday after my Wednesday birthday, a group of women friends took me to one of my favorite restaurants for dinner. It was a delight.

I just felt so lucky, instead of blue. It is another thing entirely to go through a landmark birthday when you are single with no family. You need friends who rally, and mine rallied beautifully. I am very thankful.

So I am learning at last to "let the love in" --- and it felt FABULOUS!!!

Keep Dreaming the Dream

2010-01-19T18:40:00.005-05:00

This is the week in which we honor the birth of the Reverend Doctor Martin Luther King. It is a holiday that was, in the words of the song, "a long time coming".

This year, we are calling it "A Day of Service", with the slogan "Make it a Day On, not a Day Off." It is a noble and appropriate idea. And who could not be thankful that members of the first family and the cabinet cooked food at homeless shelters and soup kitchens, cleaned trash up in a beautification project, and directly delivered food to the hungry? It's a good thing to do to really honor Martin Luther King.
But I wish there were more things to hold up as ways we give honor to the legacy of Martin Luther King, who was about more than just feeding the poor.

Here are some quotes from Martin Luther King. Read them and let me know how much you think that, as a nation, we have outgrown our need for them.

Have we not come to such an impasse in the modern world that we must love our enemies - or else? The chain reaction of evil - hate begetting hate, wars producing more wars - must be broken, or else we shall be plunged into the dark abyss of annihilation.

He who passively accepts evil is as much involved in it as he who helps to perpetrate it. He who accepts evil without protesting against it is really cooperating with it.

History will have to record that the greatest tragedy of this period of social transition was not the strident clamor of the bad people, but the appalling silence of the good people.

The hope of a secure and livable world lies with disciplined nonconformists who are dedicated to justice, peace and brotherhood.

When we ask Negroes to abide by the law, let us also declare that the white man does not abide by law in the ghettos. Day in and day out he violates welfare laws to deprive the poor of their meager allotments; he flagrantly violates building codes and regulations; his police make a mockery of law; he violates laws on equal employment and education and the provisions of civil services. The slums are the handiwork of a vicious system of the white society; Negroes live in them, but they do not make them, any more than a prisoner makes a prison.

Nothing in all the world is more dangerous than sincere ignorance and conscientious stupidity.

Many of the ugly pages of American history have been obscured and forgotten ....America owes a debt of justice which it has only begun to pay. If it loses the will to finish or slackens in its determination, history will recall its crimes and the country that would be great will lack the most indispensable element of greatness--justice.

Somehow this madness must cease. We must stop now. I speak as a child of God and brother to the suffering poor of Vietnam. I speak for those whose land is being laid waste, whose homes are being destroyed, whose culture is being subverted. I speak for the poor in America who are paying the double price of smashed hopes at home and death and corruption in Vietnam. I speak as a citizen of the world, for the world as it stands aghast at the path we have taken. I speak as an American to the leaders of my own nation. The great initiative in this war is ours. The initiative to stop it must be ours.

Being a Negro in America means trying to smile when you want to cry. It means trying to hold on to physical life amid psychological death. It means the pain of watching your children grow up with clouds of inferiority in their mental skies.

We no longer live in Martin Luther King's precise world. That is surely true. But as we watch violence increase, see hatred passed off as political rhetoric, listen to the strident calls of those who would divide us as a nation rather than unite us, then we know for certain that we may have seen the mountaintop, but we are not yet there. The spiritual wound in America is still raw, still needing to be healed.

I wish Martin's words made me say "oh, Gee -- that was so long ago." I wish the call to stand up for justice sounded as outdated as the saying "Someday man will walk on the moon."

We need to listen. It won't take long to be inspired again. Martin Luther King Jr's words are like a flame in a room full of wicks. They ignite us. I'll list some sites that carry videos or recordings of his speeches. Go listen. Let your heart hope that things can be better. Find what parts of the dream you may have forgotten. Dream it again.

RESOURCES

The official MLK Day of Service Site

The Nobel Peace Prize Biography of MLK

The King Center

The MLK Online Site - an index to resources online.

The MLK Research and Education Institute

It is important to keep to the messages of leaders like Martin Luther King alive. Until we can measure up to the best part of them, we need to renew our dedication to them, over and over. It is hard to love instead of hate. It is hard to be non-violent. It is hard to, as MLK said, "Stand up for righteousness; stand up for justice; stand up for truth." It is not enough to spend one day a year. It is time to dream the dream, and to act on it -- again and again, until we need not dream it anymore, because it will have become real.

Pat Robertson Does Not Speak For Me

2010-01-14T21:35:00.004-05:00

It is like clockwork now. If there is a world calamity, people like Robertson or Falwell will be blaming some group they do not like or are afraid of -- whether it is homosexuals getting blamed for 9/11 or now Robertson implying that Haiti made a pact with the devil 200 years ago when the slaves fought for their freedom from the French. Robertson, like many in the right wing, uses the muscle of religious symbology to inspire hatred and blame. It is nasty work he does.

Stand up. Blog out about it. Join me in saying on your blog:

Pat Robertson does not speak for me.

Send him email at his website : PatRobertson.com. Let him know that your faith would not allow such heresy, such racial scapegoating.

Here is the latest PR release from his site:
Statement Regarding Pat Robertson's Comments on Haiti

CBN.com – VIRGINIA BEACH, Va., January 13, 2010 --On today’s The 700 Club, during a segment about the devastation, suffering and humanitarian effort that is needed in Haiti, Dr. Robertson also spoke about Haiti’s history. His comments were based on the widely-discussed 1791 slave rebellion led by Boukman Dutty at Bois Caiman, where the slaves allegedly made a famous pact with the devil in exchange for victory over the French. This history, combined with the horrible state of the country, has led countless scholars and religious figures over the centuries to believe the country is cursed. Dr. Robertson never stated that the earthquake was God’s wrath. If you watch the entire video segment, Dr. Robertson’s compassion for the people of Haiti is clear. He called for prayer for them. His humanitarian arm has been working to help thousands of people in Haiti over the last year, and they are currently launching a major relief and recovery effort to help the victims of this disaster. They have sent a shipment of millions of dollars worth of medications that is now in Haiti, and their disaster team leaders are expected to arrive tomorrow and begin operations to ease the suffering.

Chris Roslan
Spokesman for CBN

Countless scholars believe this? On what planet?? And help me unertand - the PR guy says Robertson was not saying this was God's wrath -- just that Haiti was cursed. Huh?

Robertson must blame that which he does not understand. But he dishonorably assumes he speaks for God or for Christianity.

Well, he does not.

---------------------------
If anyone is interested in Haitian history, here is a bit of it explaining teh time period Robertson mentioned in slight detail.
Here is what Wikipedia says about Boukman Dutty:
Bois Caïman (Haitian Creole: Bwa Kayiman) is the site of the Vodou ceremony presided over by Dutty Boukman on August 14, 1791. The purpose of the ritual was to attempt to expel the French occupation, which were using the Haitians as slave labor.[1]

According to the official "History of Haiti and the Haitian Revloution"[2], in 1791 the following events occurred:

A man named Boukman, another houngan, organized on August 14, 1791, a meeting with the slaves in the mountains of the North. This meeting took the form of a Voodoo ceremony in the Bois Caiman in the northern mountains of the island. It was raining and the sky was raging with clouds; the slaves then started confessing their resentment of their condition. A woman started dancing languorously in the crowd, taken by the spirits of the loas. With a knife in her hand, she cut the throat of a pig and distributed the blood to all the participants of the meeting who swore to kill all the whites on the island. On August 22, 1791, the blacks of the North entered into a rebellion, killing all the whites they met and setting the plantations of the colony on fire. However, the French quickly captured the leader of the slaves, Boukman, and beheaded him, bringing the rebellion under control.

It is widely accepted as the starting point for the Haitian Revolution.

And who were these loas that are mentioned? Are they "the devil" that Robertson refers to? Here is Wikipedia again:
The Loa (also Lwa or L'wha) are the spirits of the Voodoo religion practiced in Haiti, and other parts of the world. They are also referred to as Mystères and the Invisibles. They are somewhat akin to saints or angels in Christianity in that they are intermediaries between Bondye (Bon Dieu, or good god)—the Creator, who is distant from the world—and humanity. Unlike saints or angels however, they are not simply prayed to, they are served. They are each distinct beings with their own personal likes and dislikes, distinct sacred rhythms, songs, dances, ritual symbols, and special modes of service. Contrary to popular belief, the loa are not deities in and of themselves; they are intermediaries for a distant Bondye.As a way to keep their European masters from interfering, and to appease the authorities who prevented them from practising their own religions, the African slaves in Haiti syncretised the Loa with the Roman Catholic saints - so Vodoun altars will frequently have images of Catholic figures displayed. For example, Papa Legba is alternately St. Peter or St. Lazarus, Ayizan is Saint Clare, and so on. Syncretism also works the other way in Haitian Vodou and many Catholic saints have become Loa in their own right, most notably St. Philomena, St. Michael the Archangel, St. Jude, and St. John the Baptist.

Pat Robertson Does Not Speak for Me

2010-01-13T17:44:00.002-05:00

CBS News reports that Pat Robertson is blaming the disaster in Haiti with a pact that Haiti made with the devil.

As Haitian Prime Minister Jean-Max Bellerive said "well over" 100,000 people may have died in the national disaster, Robertson took to the airwaves Wednesday on his show and said that the country has been "cursed by one thing after another" since they "swore a pact to the devil."

"Something happened a long time ago in Haiti and people might not want to talk about," Robertson said Tuesday.

"They were under the heel of the French, you know Napoleon the third and whatever. And they got together and swore a pact to the devil. They said 'We will serve you if you will get us free from the prince.' True story. And so the devil said, 'Ok it’s a deal.' And they kicked the French out. The Haitians revolted and got something themselves free. But ever since they have been cursed by one thing after another," Robertson said.

The man is a danger and a disgrace. I am Christian. He does not speak for me. Trend that on Twitter at #PatRobertsonDoesntSpeakForMe.

He should be ashamed.

Aging and Learning, but Unable to Defy Gravity

2010-01-10T19:20:00.002-05:00

previously published on blogher.com --

I am about to turn 60 on January 20th. I look in the mirror and just do not understand. To you out there, comfortably ensconced in your 30's, I have one thing to say.

Your Day Will Come.

The day will come, when, like me, you suddenly get that you have more years behind you than in front of you. People will always be calling you "M'am", and the waiter is just hoping you are an eyelash batting biddy when he asks "And what would you girls [or young ladies] like today?"

(There is very little as age-emphasizing as some smiling 20esque year old waiter who thinks he can flirt his way into a larger tip because he is waiting on an older woman. We're not talking cougar-fan here. We are talking "smarmy tip fisherman".)

This is a hurdle year for me. Fifty was nifty. It didn't feel that much older than forty-nine. For that matter, it felt close to forty. But sixty? My grandparents died in the 1918 flu epidemic at an age younger than this. My Dad was contemplating retirement at this age. Wait, am I in those shoes? The sixty year old ones? My Mom, who looks old in the wedding picture, was only fifty-one when I got married.

The point is, at some point, like it or not, the number attached to your age might surprise you. I feel a huge spiritual disconnect. I feel about thirty-eight. But I have a sixty year old butt. And quite honestly, when I survey my body, gravity is not our best friend. Our bodies will age. My skin looks older, more like my Mom's skin at some point. If I didn't color my hair I'd be all gray. I have a favorite arthritis remedy. Can it be true? Is this me?

I don't mind getting older. I am a cancer survivor. I get THRILLED when the numbers go up. Don't get me wrong. I am thankful for having the chance to age.

I just wish I was better prepared for what it felt like. Friends my age and I say the same thing over and over -- "No one told us..."

But had the infamous "they" told us that our bodies would start to creak, maybe even hurt sometimes, and that our stamina would decrease, and that things would just plain change, would we have believed them? I think not. That would happen to someone else, not us!

There are, however, lovely things about aging. The "been there, done that" satisfactions of life are not to be underestimated. It's nice to now that at a certain age one has stopped worrying about the biological clock from a childbirth angle. It is lovely to have accumulated knowledge and skills. There are still tons of things to learn, but the basics are pretty much locked down.

At sixty, I notice that I do look back a bit more. I am not ready for the porch rocking chair, but I am more contemplative. I do notice the "roads not taken".

Fortunately, I notice them without much regret. Oh I wonder what may have happened if I had continue to date Mr X -- or taken that job offer in Chicago -- or moved to Europe when I had the chance -- or gotten a law degree. But largely, I am OK with my decisions.

For the array of years before me I am conscious of wanting to love even better, more visibly. I want to do better in the world. I want to write that damned book finally. I want to lose weight, get fitter. I want to say what I really feel more often.

Every age decade or half-decade seems to come with its learning curve. I remember at twenty-five I suddenly realized that I had lost my innocence. It felt very dramatic at the time. Now I am delighted to have lost it for the most part. It makes me more useful in the world. But it felt awful then.

The thirties brought their own challenges - divorce, cancer, relocation to NYC. That was the decade of life reinvention, or the first reinvention of many, to be more accurate.

Rather than drag you through my decades, just think of your own, and what spiritual growth seemed attached to each one? What life learning colored each decade? Were some harder than others? More joyous than others? What do you imagine for your sixties?

I love birthdays. I have a heck of a time remembering them, however. But I love it, love it, love it when my birthday is remembered. If you bump into me on my birthday, hugs are gladly accepted!

Mary's blog quotes Regina Brett. Regina is a 90 year old writer who listed her top 45 life lessons in the Cleveland Plain Dealer. The last five are:

40. If we all threw our problems in a pile and saw everyone else's, we'd grab ours back.
41. Envy is a waste of time. You already have all you need.
42. The best is yet to come.
43. No matter how you feel, get up, dress up and show up.
44. Yield.
45. Life isn't tied with a bow, but it's still a gift.

My birthday is coming

2010-01-05T15:50:00.002-05:00

Oh, I know, this seems self-serving. But I turn 60 on January 20th. Feel free to send birthday greetings. I love birthday greetings. No gifts are needed, just your good wishes, please. I love it when people send good cheer on my birthday. So hold off until the 20th. Those with my email can use it. I won't consider it spam. :-)

I remember when I was little, thinking that the year 2,000 would come on my 50th birthday month. It seemed forever away. Now here I am 10 years past that and I am so surprised. Sixty. It is such a big number, and not at all how I imagined it would be.

Wish

2010-01-01T22:07:00.004-05:00

...also posted at Blogher.com...

If there ever was a time to wish, it is now. Here we are at the first day of a new year. The world is about as ready for better wishes as it can be. So let's explore the power of a wish -- or a prayer -- or whatever you call a deeply held positive intention that you offer out into the universe. For me, that's a prayer. For others, a wish, a hope, a dream. It all comes from the same place -- the part of us that wants things to be better.

Imagining a better future has power. It helps us set goals, helps us not give up, helps us not listen to those who say "It is not possible." If we can imagine it, envision it, hope for it -- it is possible.

Whether we ask for the help of a Higher Power or of the Universe or of the collective unconscious, there is power in the asking. Framing the thought of well-being, seeing a future with positive change in it can help make that change possible.

I heard someone say once (I have forgotten who) "It is not 'I'll believe it when I see it' that is true, but rather 'I'll see it when I believe in it.'"

So I am going to set you a task.

Please make three wishes for 2010.

One for the world.

One for someone else. (Just use their initial, or the letter X if you do not want to publicly state their name -- that is often the wiser choice.)

One for yourself.

Make those wishes and then take a few minutes to really feel them. Pray them. Sense them. Feel them. Meditate on them. Whatever suits your spirit, do. Do what it takes to center in on them and really focus on your best intentions.

Now, release them as active hopes in the world.

Tell us how if felt?

Here is my list. Please join me with yours.

For the world: My wish is that we wake up to the fact that we are all connected, all part of the human family, all beholden to each other, all responsible for each other's well-being. It's a bold wish. I wish it anyway, with my whole heart.

For someone else: A. is dying in Florida right now. He has had a long and full life, and has decided to let go because his recurring and painful cancer is now definitely terminal. His wife, J, is by his side. I wish them whatever peace they can find, whatever comfort is possible. And I wish an easy passing for A. It could happen any day now, any hour.

For myself: I've had some health issues this year. I wish myself improved health and vitality.

So that's my list. Starting a year with wishes is a good thing. It helps me focus on what matters most, what is essential in my corner of the world. Wish with me please -- three wishes that can change the year. Begin anew with wishes from the soul.

Is it hard to wish for yourself? I found it easier to wish for others, for example. Push through that resistance and just wish for it. Whatever your "it" is.

Be bold in your wishes, now and through the year. Take your imagination out for a walk through the greenest pastures that you can imagine. Let your dreams soar. There is going to be plenty of time for practicality, concern, hard work, goal-setting, risk-taking and all the daily worries of life. But for right now, live in the wish=space. Imagine what you want. Point your heart in the direction of a better world for yourself and others.

My wish is also that 2010 brings you peace and joy.

--Mata

The Road to Bethlehem - Christmas, 2009

2009-12-20T19:33:00.003-05:00

Every year at Christmas during Advent I tend to sum-up. It's a time for gathering the year about me and seeing how it looks compared to the last ones. I always see it as a walk to Bethlehem after sighting the star. There are some years I've done that walk on my knees, barely able to stand.

It's that time again. As I remember them, scenes from all my past Christmases appear like animated holiday postcards in the sentimental eye of my memory.

I imagine myself walking down a street full of houses with big windows, each window holding a view to a year of my Christmas life. It is snowing outside, and quiet, although the houses are busy and lively. On one side of the street the houses all have beautiful memories, each colored with the soft hand of time, the grace of forgiveness, the choice to recall what is best.

The windows on the other side of the street hold the rougher details, the harder moments, the details no one saw.

I don't want to look at the rough side. I don't want to focus on the sad years, the time of divorce, the first Christmas without my mother, or without my dad. I don't want to vividly recall what loneliness felt like, or searing grief. I don't want to recall being yelled at, or hit, or being crushingly poor and frightened.

And do you know what this year has taught me?

This year I have learned that I can choose where to look. I do not have to deny the rough side of the street in order to not walk on it. It's there, as real as anything in ones past can be.

But look, right there, on the other side of the street, are all the things that make me feel good, and warm, and loved.

They are just as real.

That there were tough times does not have to taint what was good, and true, and pure.

So this Advent my Road to Bethlehem takes me down that street of memory. I am 5. I see my Uncle Joey getting ready to take us all Christmas caroling in his green pick-up truck. We'll ride to the Polish neighborhoods and sing Polish Christmas carols. People will come out of their houses to listen and to sing with us. My Mother's favorite, and now now mine is a lullabye to the infant Jesus, sung below:

I hear it and cry. I cry because I miss Mom, but also I cry because crying during this carol is almost a family tradition! I suppose it is a part of our Eastern European melancholia, but it during this sweet lullaby carol that we unashamedly miss our departed mothers. We miss being held and coddled and fretted over. We miss being beloved children.

But the tears are not painful. They are not from that side of the road. They are also tears of my great good fortune. My family may have been clumsy at love sometimes, but I was loved. Through all the dysfunction, the upheavals, I was loved.

We do the best we can with love in this world. It isn't so easy. The best love that one person can give us might just be a fraction of what another can -- but with the right perspective, we come to see that it is all love, and that people largely do the best they can.

I walk past the windows of my marriage and divorce, choosing instead to see the good moments in my marriage, the shared experiences and joys and hopes. Did they all work out? Obviously not. But there was goodness there. I wasn't a fool for marrying, and neither was he. I choose to see what was right and good. I choose to see the best of us. Lives have moved on. He has grown children by another. It's been a long time. How silly it would be for either of us to not have moved on!

My father's last years were not easy ones for me or for us. But they too are over -- no sense lingering on the wound -- or it won't heal. Today I am the product of the love and the other stuff he delivered to our relationship. There are good things I can see when I look for them -- and I do not have to be an archeologist to find them. So that is what I have decided to do.

I walk down the street knowing that it has two sides. I choose to see the Christmas that my ex-husband and I gave what little we had to buy used warm coats for the poor. I recall how happy it made us, and how it still ranks as one of my favorite Christmases. I remember our car getting broken down driving back to Ohio after a Christmas in Massachusetts, and how much fun it was to discover that our gasoline credit card actually was effective at a local sweet hotel somewhere deep in Pennsylvania during a blizzard. After a day of craziness, we checked in, took warm showers, dressed up, charged a fabulous dinner from their restaurant, and felt like we owned the world.

I remember my godmothers, and my aunts and uncles. I remember always buying my Aunt Stella a fancy candle or candle holder, because she loved them so -- or getting my Auntie Jo another piece of her beloved Native American jewelry from our home in Denver.

I remember the look of joy on Mom's face when I gave her the kind of Christmases she had never had as a child -- full of presents from my travels around the world. I recall her sheer delight in preparing the Christmas Eve traditional meal that I will be cooking this week. She lived for Christmas. It was he great joy. No Santas for her -- her Christmas, and my family's has always been centered around the manger and the traditions of Poland. All of that is on this side of the road to Bethlehem.

Mom collected manger scenes. Each window has a different one in it -- from the little wooden ones to the plaster, the porcelain, metallic, paper, plastic, stone -- you name it -- she had a manger scene made from it. And she loved them, setting them up each year with renewed joy, as though she saw them for the first time.

And that is what Advent feels like to me. It always feels like the first time. Every Christmas I walk anew to Bethlehem in reverie, as though I have never done so before. This year's journey is so serene, although there have been no great events to cause that -- and the year has had more than an average amount of challenges. Nonetheless, these walks have seemed to teach me something.

I can choose where to look in my life -- past, present and future. I wave to the little girl me, the young woman, the newly wed, the single woman, the aging woman. They all wave back at me. They know where I am going.

One by one they run from their homes to give me a small gift to carry to the manger. "Here, take this," my child self says, as she hands me a small toy, one that I loved at Christmas. And so it goes, each giving me something from that time of my life to bring to Bethlehem with me, and to lay at the manger.

When I get there, they will tumble from my arms, the jumbled gift of my life, the ingredients that have allowed me to see joy, to forgive, to have faith. I will fall to my knees then, but in thanksgiving. For the very gifts I offer Him, are those he gave to me.

The sweet Infant Jesus will just smile, as his mother sings him a soft lullaby.

Advent Conspiracy

2009-12-16T14:19:00.002-05:00

What is happening with troubling right-wing email?

2009-12-15T13:37:00.003-05:00

In the past several weeks I have received several emails that trouble me. I'm not going to go into who sent them, or what I did about it -- that isn't the point.

What is the point, is that they are circulating. And that otherwise reasonable people believe them.
Here is one:

SAMPLES OF THE EMAILS: (bolding mine)

This one is blowing up an incident that occurred on a plane to be very race-baiting. (For the REAL story, which does not resemble what you will read below, see Snopes.com comment here)

I, Gene Hackemack, received this email from my good friend Tedd Petruna, a diver at the NBL facility [Neutral Buoyancy Lab], at NASA Houston, whom I used to work with. Tedd happened to be on this same Flt. 297, Atlanta to Houston.

In my opinion, the muslims are all getting very brave now, since they have one of their own in the white house......read Tedd's story below.

Semper Fi
Gene Hackemack

PS...can you imagine, our own news media now are so politically correct that they are afraid to report that these were all muslims...unbelievable. Thank God for people like Tedd Petruna.

A. Gene Hackemack
(ED NOTE: I removed this and all identifiable contact info from the blog)

----- Original Message -----
From: Petruna, Tedd J.
To: undisclosed-recipients
Sent: Friday, November 27, 2009 11:32 AM
Subject: Long story short....

One week ago, I went to Ohio on business and to see my father. On Tuesday, November the 17th, I returned home. If you read the papers the 18th you may have seen a blurb where a AirTran flight was cancelled from Atlanta to Houston due to a man who refused to get off of his cell phone before takeoff. It was on Fox.

This was NOT what happened.

I was in 1st class coming home. 11 Muslim men got on the plane in full attire. 2 sat in 1st class and the rest peppered themselves throughout the plane all the way to the back. As the plane taxied to the runway the stewardesses gave the safety spiel we are all so familiar with. At that time, one of the men got on his cell and called one of his companions in the back and proceeded to talk on the phone in Arabic very loudly and very aggressively. This took the 1st stewardess out of the picture for she repeatedly told the man that cell phones were not permitted at the time. He ignored her as if she was not there.

The 2nd man who answered the phone did the same and this took out the 2nd stewardess. In the back of the plane at this time, 2 younger Muslims, one in the back aisle, and one in front of him, window, began to show footage of a porno they had taped the night before, and were very loud about it. Now..they are only permitted to do this prior to Jihad. If a Muslim man goes into a strip club, he has to view the woman via mirror with his back to her. (don't ask me..I don't make the rules, but I've studied) The 3rd stewardess informed them that they were not to have electronic devices on at this time. To which one of the men said "shut up infidel dog!" She went to take the camcorder and he began to scream in her face in Arabic. At that exact moment, all 11 of them got up and started to walk the cabin. This is where I had had enough! I got up and started to the back where I heard a voice behind me from another Texan twice my size say "I got your back." I grabbed the man who had been on the phone by the arm and said "you WILL go sit down or you Will be thrown from this plane!" As I "led" him around me to take his seat, the fellow Texan grabbed him by the back of his neck and his waist and headed out with him. I then grabbed the 2nd man and said, "You WILL do the same!" He protested but adrenaline was flowing now and he was going to go. As I escorted him forward the plane doors open and 3 TSA agents and 4 police officers entered. Me and my new Texan friend were told to cease and desist for they had this under control. I was happy to oblige actually. There was some commotion in the back, but within moments, all 11 were escorted off the plane. They then unloaded their luggage.

We talked about the occurrence and were in disbelief that it had happen, when suddenly, the door open again and on walked all 11!! Stone faced, eyes front and robotic (the only way I can describe it). The stewardess from the back had been in tears and when she saw this, she was having NONE of it! Being that I was up front, I heard and saw the whole ordeal. She told the TSA agent there was NO WAY she was staying on the plane with these men. The agent told her they had searched them and were going to go through their luggage with a fine tooth comb and that they were allowed to proceed to Houston. The captain and co-captain came out and told the agent "we and our crew will not fly this plane!" After a word or two, the entire crew, luggage in tow, left the plane. 5 minutes later, the cabin door opened again and a whole new crew walked on.

Again...this is where I had had enough!!! I got up and asked "What the hell is going on!?!?" I was told to take my seat. They were sorry for the delay and I would be home shortly. I said "I'm getting off this plane". The stewardess sternly told me that she could not allow me to get off. (now I'm mad!) I said "I am a grown man who bought this ticket, whose time is mine with a family at home and I am going through that door, or I'm going through that door with you under my arm!! But I am going through that door!!" And I heard a voice behind me say "so am I". Then everyone behind us started to get up and say the same. Within 2 minutes, I was walking off that plane where I was met with more agents who asked me to write a statement. I had 5 hours to kill at this point so why the hell not. Due to the amount of people who got off that flight, it was cancelled. I was supposed to be in Houston at 6pm. I got here at 12:30am.

Look up the date. Flight #297 Atlanta to Houston.

If this wasn't a dry run, I don't know what one is. The terrorists wanted to see how TSA would handle it, how the crew would handle it, and how the passengers would handle it.

I'm telling this to you because I want you to know..
The threat is real. I saw it with my own eyes..

-Tedd Petruna

---------------------------

The others are just as bad -- one said the Cap and Trade Bill was going to make it impossible to sell a home, especially for mid to lower income people. A complete lie. The Snopes feedback can be found by clicking on Snopes.
----------------------------

A third accuses the Obama administration of advocating a dangerous sex practice for teenagers.
_______________________

I am sure there are more out there -- and that I just got the tip of the ugly iceberg. But in today's point-and-click-to-forward environment, damage gets done, and gets done quickly. There is clearly an attempt being made to characterize the administration and what it tolerates as wild, sick and scandalous. Race baiting and fear-mongering are getting to be too common. They are so common that many folks just step away, hoping it will die down.

But I have news. It is not going away. And it will not until we stand up and speak out about it. We need to confront the "birthers" and the people saying that universal health care will create "death panels". There is just too much clever disinformation out therefor me to believe that it is not being orchestrated. What we need to be afraid of is that people are actually believing it without question.

A Sheriff and a Bishop -- stomping on church-state separation

2009-12-04T19:04:00.007-05:00

If it's not one astonishing imposition of religion, it's another! From a bishop to a sheriff -- this past month has brought news a-plenty that the forces wanting to mingle religion and the political world are alive and proclaiming.

First we have the Milwaukee County Sheriff's Office. Note, this is Milwaukee -- not some tiny, never-heard-of-it, Bible belt burg. The sheriff , David A. Clarke Jr., invited the Fellowship of the Christian Centurions, a right-wing Christian evangelizing group, to do presentations about conversion at meetings that the deputy sheriffs were required to attend. A federal court of appeals upheld a lower court verdict this week, saying that this violated the separation of church and state.

The Milwaukee Journal Sentinal said: [ed.note: underlines/bold are mine. ]

"Clarke invited the then newly formed Fellowship of the Christian Centurions to address deputies at 16 roll call meetings in May of 2006, after the group also spoke to the Sheriff's Department leadership conference. The group offered peer support for law enforcement and discussed how officers could "impact others for Christ," according to the ruling from the 7th Circuit Court of Appeals in Chicago. One of the Centurion speakers quoted the Bible in a talk to deputies, saying that God "established government and that people in authority are ministers of God assigned to promote good and punish evil."

Further, according Americans United: "During one meeting in Spring of 2006, Clarke announced that he would soon make promotions to the rank of captain and distributed a flyer stating that leaders often look for “people of faith” in their inner circles."

It seems odd that the Sheriff did not think this was out of line.

The Milwaukee Journal Sentinal goes on to say this about Clarke's response to the hearing:

When the suit was filed, Clarke said no one's rights were violated by the presentations. The Centurion presentations were not a prayer meeting, Clarke said at the time."Unfortunately, we live in an era where some people will make even God the enemy," Clarke said at the time.

There it is, the manoeuvrings seen so often -- the twist to obscure the perpetrator and turn him/her into a victim..."some people will make even God the enemy." This sort of double-talk is common among the religious right wingers. They would have you believe that anything done in God's name is God doing it/inspiring it -- as long as the religious right are the ones executing it.

And that is where the religious right is wrong. Gluing a God-label to a slice of baloney doesn't make it anything more than an even less appetizing slice of baloney with glue on it.

And, I suppose if the Sheriff worked for a Hindu boss, and had to listen to SIXTEEN talks about why Shiva is involved in law enforcement, he would split his shoe leathers running to the closest attorney. The right wing faithful would have us believe that they can be right or they can be wronged.

But they cannot be wrong.

But on to a stranger bedfellow, Roman Catholic Bishop Thomas Tobin. The bishop informed Patrick Kennedy -- the son of Ted Kennedy, that he should henceforth stop receiving communion as he supported pro-choice legislation in Congress. While he claims not to have notified priests in his diocese to not commune Patrick, he went on record saying that he would have a little conversation" with any of his priests (Rhode Island) who gave Kennedy communion.

The bishop told Kennedy that in 2007, and it recently came to light as part of a very public argument between them about the role that the church should play in politics.

Communion in the Catholic Church is a BIG thing. Being denied it is being denied that which will ensure heaven ( in a rough summary of a complex theology.) In prior years, John Kerry was similarly told by teh church that as long as he supported policies that the church did not, that he should not receive communion.

There were also any number of conservative Catholics who thought burying Edward Kennedy with a full Catholic mass was not appropriate because he had supported issues like gay marriage and choice.

A church can take what position is chooses. That is their freedom in this country. But at what point does it leap its limits? The Sheriff was clearly over the line. But what of the bishop? I don't like what he did, but was it wrong?

Seems to me that if one says that one is a Catholic, then one can be held accountable to that -- politician or not. If you are a member of an organization with rules, then you agree to live by them. Violate them and there will be Consequences. If you say you are part of a church that believes that X is wrong, and you publicly support X, then the church should have something to say to you.

But, it must be done fairly, and that church must also hold itself accountable. If a church absolutely upholds the commandment "Thou Shalt Not Kill" -- then why is it not a peace church, like the Mennonites or Quakers? If Kennedy is told not to commune, who else is told? Does his visibility make him more a target?

The lines are not as immaculate as one might hope, once it gets into acts by religious groups. Some, like the Sheriff, are pretty clear. Others are not.

If it is wrong for a church to deny communion to a politician because that violates church and state separation, then is it also wrong for churches to publicly advocate gay marriage legislation? Both are attempts to influence. But at what point to these attempts really violate the reason for the separation clause -- the prevention of a state religion.

But it makes one wonder. Earlier this month, the Washington Post reported :
"The Catholic Archdiocese of Washington said Wednesday that it will be unable to continue the social service programs it runs for the District if the city doesn't change a proposed same-sex marriage law, a threat that could affect tens of thousands of people the church helps with adoption, homelessness and health care. "

The article goes on to say that " Under the bill, headed for a D.C. Council vote next month, religious organizations would not be required to perform or make space available for same-sex weddings. But they would have to obey city laws prohibiting discrimination against gay men and lesbians. Fearful that they could be forced, among other things, to extend employee benefits to same-sex married couples, church officials said they would have no choice but to abandon their contracts with the city."

Should church groups pay for what they do not believe in? Their point is eloquently stated by the Archdiocese of Washington here.

On the other hand, every time I pay another dollar to support political actions or policies that I oppose, I still pay, and do not feel that I have a right to withhold taxes because the government is not doing everything I want -- or because it does some things I do not support -- even if my objection is religious. I support gay marriage, yet I paid taxes in states where it was not allowed. How is that different?

I like what JFK said -

I believe in an America where the separation of church and state is absolute, where no Catholic prelate would tell the president (should he be Catholic) how to act, and no Protestant minister would tell his parishioners for whom to vote. . . . That is the kind of America in which I believe. . . . Whatever issue may come before me as president - on birth control, divorce, censorship, gambling or any other subject - I will make my decision in accordance with . . . what my conscience tells me to be the national interest, and without regard to outside religious pressures or dictates.

Thanksgiving

2009-11-25T18:53:00.002-05:00

Dear Lord,

Here I am again, thanking you. I don't do it nearly enough. But I am sincere when I do.

First, thank you for your love for me. You know that the past few years have been -- well, replete with challenge. But I have felt your hand at my back -- and sometimes my back-side, all the way through.

Thank you for friends. Thank you for their love for me, and for their willingness to let me love them, too.

I'm thankful for so much-

Thanks for my one living blood relative, Ida. It is so good to not be totally without blood family yet. Thanks for inspiring me to move to New England. Home Sweet Home.

Thanks for my improving health, a roof over my head, a car in the garage and a turkey in the oven. I'm thankful that I live in a diverse democracy, that we may actually have the start of universal health care, that gay people can marry in my state. I figure you are not personally responsible for those things, or everyone would have them. It's our job to do that earthly taking-care-of. I'm thankful that we did.

Thanks for inventing dogs, especially my little Zoe. We rescued each other.

Thanks for trees, wildflowers, farms, sunlight and mushrooms. Thanks for jazz and good lyrics, great art and the taste of a Popsicle on a hot day. I'm thankful for the best memories of my childhood, parents who loved me, and for not being raised in poverty instead of the narcolepsy of too much privilege. Thanks for my ethnic roots, and for my ability to hope and feel.

Thanks for the best years of my marriage, and for the men I have loved since. Thanks for the experience of loving while making love.

I'm thankful for my godson and for his parents who gave me that title and the amazing gift of participation in his extraordinary life.

I'm thankful for joy, prayer, the smell of spring, the way velvet feels, and for a hug that arrives just in the nick of time.

I am thankful for being listened to, and for being allowed to listen. I am thankful for my ability to think, wonder, postulate, and reason. I'm thankful for flights of fancy, a great cup of coffee and the way the sky looks on a bright summer's day. I am thankful for autumn leaves, corn on the cob and a tomato eaten just off the vine.

Thanks so much for quiet moments, rides in the country, the way laughter feels, and a gypsy spirit.

For these things, and so very many others, I give thanks.

--- Mata

PS And I thank you for reading this. May your days and weeks and years give you much reason to be thankful!

The Charter for Compassion

2009-11-24T18:22:00.004-05:00

In February of 2008, Karen Armstrong made a very big wish. It came true this month.

Her wish was to assemble the thoughts from people around the world and to have global religious leaders develop a "Charter For Compassion" that would inspire action and change.

Karen Armstrong, a widely published author, an ex-nun, a feminist, and an activist for interfaith respect and dialogue received the TED Award. The TED Award is given to someone with a great world-changing idea. It provides $100,000 to make that wish come true.

150,000 people from over 180 countries participated over six weeks in collecting opinions.

The Council of Conscience, then met to frame the charter. They were those religious leaders assembled to create the charter from the input they had received, and to strategize about how the Charter and what it stands for could be spread and implemented around the world.

And here it is. The video speaks the text of The Charter for Compassion (which is found beneath it.)

A call to bring the world together…

The principle of compassion lies at the heart of all religious, ethical and spiritual traditions, calling us always to treat all others as we wish to be treated ourselves. Compassion impels us to work tirelessly to alleviate the suffering of our fellow creatures, to dethrone ourselves from the centre of our world and put another there, and to honour the inviolable sanctity of every single human being, treating everybody, without exception, with absolute justice, equity and respect.

It is also necessary in both public and private life to refrain consistently and emphatically from inflicting pain. To act or speak violently out of spite, chauvinism, or self-interest, to impoverish, exploit or deny basic rights to anybody, and to incite hatred by denigrating others—even our enemies—is a denial of our common humanity. We acknowledge that we have failed to live compassionately and that some have even increased the sum of human misery in the name of religion.

We therefore call upon all men and women ~ to restore compassion to the centre of morality and religion ~ to return to the ancient principle that any interpretation of scripture that breeds violence, hatred or disdain is illegitimate ~ to ensure that youth are given accurate and respectful information about other traditions, religions and cultures ~ to encourage a positive appreciation of cultural and religious diversity ~ to cultivate an informed empathy with the suffering of all human beings—even those regarded as enemies.

We urgently need to make compassion a clear, luminous and dynamic force in our polarized world. Rooted in a principled determination to transcend selfishness, compassion can break down political, dogmatic, ideological and religious boundaries. Born of our deep interdependence, compassion is essential to human relationships and to a fulfilled humanity. It is the path to enlightenment, and indispensable to the creation of a just economy and a peaceful global community.

WOW.

The words that really sung for me are "any interpretation of scripture that breeds violence, hatred or disdain is illegitimate". I want to sing Halleluia until the stars dance.

Backers of the Charter (and there were 21205 as of the moment I write this, with the Charter just having been launched a few days ago), include some names you know -- Archbishop Desmond Tutu, Paul Simon, Sister Jon Chichester, The Dalai Lama, Isabel Allende, Peter Gabriel, Forest Whitaker, Queen Noor of Jordan, Quincy Jones and many more from all traditions.

They emphasize that the point of the Charter is to ACT as well as think, and they provide a place to post compassionate acts and to read about the acts of others.

The Charter for Compassion site states:

As we close a decade marked by war, help us usher in a decade focused on compassion.

The names of all affirmers on December 31 will be sent along with the Charter for Compassion to 5 world leaders whose countries are engaged in conflict.

Add your name today. Share the Charter with your networks. Each additional name makes the compassionate voice a more potent force in the world. Let us make the silent majority a challenge to extremism and hatred.

We all know that times have been difficult lately. All of us feel the lack of compassion in the world. Many of us have been heartsick at the mis-use of religion to justify acts lacking in compassion. And here, at this effort, we can see something hopeful -- something we can do -- something real that we can join to help change things. It will take more than filling in a form and thinking -- it will take action.

I signed the form. You may or may not wish to -- your choice. But if anyone would like to, I would enjoy the company. When this document is put before world leaders at the end of the year, in addition to the over 100 organizations supporting it, I'd like my name on it.

What say you?

May you all have a compassionate week.

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Karen Armstrong herself, in an article in the Huffington Post about the Charter, said, "At this moment of history, we have a choice: we can either emphasize those aspects of our traditions, be they religious or secular, which breed hatred, chauvinism and exclusion, or we can bring to the fore those that stress the importance of compassion and the Golden Rule."
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simulposted at BlogHer.com

Step away from the stress -- and share some inspiration

2009-11-20T20:30:00.006-05:00

You know the feeling. There you are, waist deep in the troubles of the world, the stress of your life, and you just need to change the channel! Even for a minute!

It has been a long week. The news has not all been good. I was haunted by images of tragedy and violence and hatred this week. The news and the press seemed so full of hard things. I needed to "lift my eyes unto the hills" and find some higher ground, some inspiration, some sights and sounds and blogs that made me feel uplifted, encouraged.

I found myself going back to this video, a recording of "Stand By Me". You Tube says: "From the award-winning documentary, "Playing For Change: Peace Through Music", comes the first of many "songs around the world" being released independently. Featured is a cover of the Ben E. King classic by musicians around the world adding their part to the song as it travelled the globe."

So off I went in search of more inspiring things to share with you. It's a polyglot blend, to be sure -- but I am operating on the "some spiritual snack for everybody" rule. (I just made that rule up.) Here is how it goes.

"Assemble enough tasty morsels, and everyone gets to have at least one happy little nibble."

I had a few concerns. I didn't want to post anything that was a lie. I mean, between you and me, I don't think there is some magic happy-thought that will make all our troubles vanish. So I didn't want to post anything that was too Pollyanna-esque. I wanted things that inspired, uplifted.

But I know I missed a lot of them. That is where YOU come in. (Actually you never left.) Please post your inspirations, too.

We are all in this old world together, making sense out of it as we are able, lending a hand when we can. Let's share the goodness. Soul to Soul.

Free Hugs - An Australian man in Sydney gave away free hugs. Watch the video that made him famous, and then see the video that explains his story.

Maya Angelou - "And Still I Rise"

Michael Franti and Sey Hey -- This is here because I love it. It makes me happy. I always feel better after I watch it. "But I know one thing --I love you." That's enough for me!

Have a good weekend and week. Be thankful. Find joy. Share inspiration. Hug.
Especially hug.

Hatred in Religious Terms ?

2009-11-17T22:22:00.004-05:00

I recently blogged this topic on BlogHer where you can see the many comments that came in.

Over the past few days, a Biblical verse has topped the google trends charts. It is also turning up in bumper stickers across the country. It reads:

“Pray for Obama: Psalm 109:8”

But what do you see when you look up that Psalm?

“May his days be few; may another take his office.”

But take a look at the whole psalm, especially the lines immediately after this one -- lines the original framer of this sticker -- and many others after him/her could not have failed to miss:

9 May his children be fatherless
and his wife a widow.

10 May his children be wandering beggars;
may they be driven from their ruined homes.

Diana Butler Bass in her blog on Sojourner's Magazine says "Thus, the “Prayer for Obama” does more than anticipate that he leaves office; it entreats God to destroy the president."

Grandma'Retta says wisely:

Exactly how long is it going to take us to figure out the danger of linking faith claims and violent fantasies?

Frank Shaeffer was interviewed on the Rachel Maddow Show. Ms Madow describes Mr Shaeffer thusly "...Frank Schaeffer, whose father Francis Schaeffer helped shape the evangelical movement in the United States. Mr. Schaeffer grew up in the religious far-right. He’s the author of ‘Patience With God: Faith For People Who Don’t Like Religion Or Atheism.” Here is a long but very important quote from that interview, the full text of which can be found here

SCHAEFFER: "...This is the American version of the Taliban. The Taliban quotes the Qu'ran, and al Qaeda quotes certain verses in the Qu'ran, in or out of context, calling for jihad, and bloody war, and the curse of Allah on infidels. This is the Old Testament, Biblical equivalent of calling for holy war. Now, most Americans'll just see the bumper sticker and smile and think that it's facetious. Unfortunately, there are 22 million Americans or so who call themselves super-conservative evangelicals. Of this, a small minority might be violent. But, the general atmosphere here is really getting heated.

And what surprises me is that responsible, if you can put it that way, Republican leadership and the editors of some of these Christian magazines, etc. etc., do not stand up in holy horror and denounce this. You know, they're always asking 'Where is the Islamic leadership denouncing terrorism? Why aren't the moderates speaking out?' Well, I challenge the folks who I used to work with... I would just say to them: 'Where the hell are you? This is not funny anymore. And be it on your head if something happens to our President..."

The unholy linkage between any hate sentiments and the trappings of religion are disgusting to me. I love my faith. I am tired of having the word "Christian" link up to hate mongers.

Last week I blogged on BlogHer about the 71st anniversary of Kristallnacht, the beginning of the Holocaust. That night was a trial balloon sent up by Hitler. If no one objected strongly in Germany, Austria or the rest of the world, then he would gear up full efforts to exterminate the Jews.

The signs of hatred we see now -- Psalm 109 bumper stickers being only one, only the latest, are like that trial balloon. Conservative bloggers are having a heyday with Psalm 109 posts.

Do they all know that the Psalm also seeks death? No, I am absolutely 100% sure they do not. I am sure they just followed along the snark trail, thinking it was OK. Others knew exactly what they were saying -- some of the conservative blogs I saw were quite clear in their unbridled hatred.

We need to be careful. Certainly the bumper sticker is part of the free speech guaranteed to us all. Where I draw the line is when people attempt to link religion and any justification for hatred.

On the one hand -- it's just a bumper sticker -- just a joke.

But it makes me uneasy. Very uneasy.

It is time that those of us who identify as people of faith stand up to this. It is being done in our name. And that is just plain wrong. Speak up. Blog up. Stand up.

Kristallnacht

2009-11-10T23:09:00.004-05:00

I didn't want to write about the Holocaust again. It hurts too much. Surely with so many other things happening in the world, I could just let mention of the 71st anniversary of Kristallnacht pass by unspoken, couldn't I? Just once?

Then I read this, reported in the Sacramento Bee about events this week:

Officials at Congregation Beth Shalom on El Camino Avenue contacted the Sacramento County Sheriff's Department about 10:40 a.m. to report that racist symbols and messages, including a swastika, had been spray painted on the sanctuary, said sheriff's Sgt. Tim Curran.
The vandalism included the "SS" lightning bolts - the symbol of the Nazi security forces; a swastika and the message "Kristallnacht still lives," Curran said.

But it did not just happen there. In Dresden, Germany, this week, this happened :

Swastikas have been daubed on the wall of the New Synagogue in the eastern German city of Dresden on the eve of the 71st anniversary of the Nazi's ‘Kristallnacht’ pogrom in 1938. The interior minister of the state of Saxony, Markus Ulbig, condemned the desecration. “We will not allow such things to happen. In Saxony, there is no place for anti-Semitism,” he said. Uhlig paid a visit to Dresden’s Jewish community on Monday.

And as if that were not enough, then I saw the UPI report about an event in Florida:

CORAL SPRINGS, Fla., Nov. 10 (UPI) -- Swastikas and the words "Jews shall die" were found painted on the walls of the Soref Jewish community center in Coral Springs, Fla., police said.

So, yes, I do have to write about this anniversary -- an anniversary which is called "Kristallnacht", an anniversary of the terrible night that the Holocaust officially began. Hitler and his Nazi thugs hatched a plan to send up a sort of test balloon for larger acts of horror. If the populace of Germany and Austria did not attempt to stop the events of Kristallnacht, and if the world leaders did not take action, they saw it as a sign that they could proceed on unimpeded in geometrically larger acts of systematic evil and hatred.

And so it began. Kristallnacht. The Night of Broken Glass.

Seventy-one years ago, Kristallnacht began all over Germany and Austria and also in other Nazi controlled areas. It was an organized and methodical attack on Jewish neighborhoods. It was, in every sense, a pogrom. Shops and department stores all had their windows smashed and their contents destroyed. Synagogues were directly targeted for destruction and burning, including the deliberate desecration of Torah scrolls. Hundreds of synagogues burned while local officials stood by, or while local fire departments prevented the fire from spreading to non-Jewish buildings. Every single synagogue in Austria was attacked that night.

Estimates are that about 25-30,000 Jewish men and boys were taken to concentration camps that night. Over 700 synagogues were destroyed.

Jodie calls Kristallnacht a "timeless lesson" and adds:

Thus Kristallnacht should have removed the blinders from the eyes of the Western world as to what awaited them a few short months later from Germany — a world war that would destroy tens of millions and destroy Europe for generations. Part of the tragedy of Kristallnacht is that it did not send the necessary wake-up call to those who could have yet stood up to Germany. And so the deluge arrived.

The deluge arrived. And if we listen closely, it is not over. It re-appears in the obvious ways, when a synagogue is targeted with blazing swastikas and anti-Semitic graffiti -- but it echoes as well in any act of intolerance, any act of hatred because of race or religion or national origin or gender or sexual preference.

And it is hard to look at. It hurts. It feels awful. Hatred can make us frantic with hope that it will just go away. Or perhaps someone else will handle it. Isn't that why we elect people? Or, worse yet, because it is not happening to me, or in my neighborhood, or town or school, or job -- than it is OK to stand back.

But when we do that, when we remain silent, we are like the citizens in Vienna, or Berlin that day who woke up, had breakfast, walked outside and saw streets full of broken glass, terrified Jewish neighbors, still-smoking synagogues and just simply reported to work at their offices.

Songbird speaks about Mitzvot - acts of human kindness -- and Kristallnact:

today was Mitzvah Day at our synagogue. It's a special day focused on doing mitzvahs....
we wrote greeting cards to be mailed to Israeli and American soldiers. we packed toiletry kits to be given to the homeless. we made sandwiches for a soup kitchen. we collected food for a food pantry and clothes for an outreach program. we collected cell phones for recycling, the proceeds of which will be turned into phone cards for soldiers serving in Iraq and Afghanistan.
.
why do we do this?
.
tikkun olam. repair of the world...
May the goodness represented by Mitzvah Day overcome the darkness we see in Kristallnacht.

"The repair of the World"...tikkun olam. This is what we must be about. Nothing less will do. No matter what religious tradition you claim, healing the world is an obligation. There is no spiritual position that could legitimately deny this.

Tamar reminds us:

Whether we are survivors of Kristallnacht or descendants of survivors, or we are survivors of any persecution or witnesses to it, we must understand and remember what happened. And act responsibly, ethically, and justly every day, everywhere.

There are people who lived through Kristallnacht who are still alive, and who tell their stories.

Ruth brings forward the memories of a number of Kristallnacht survivors, Lotte's story being only one:

Lotte Kramer attended a school in the Liberal Synagogue in Mainz. Before leaving for school, her cousin called and told her to stay home because the synagogue was on fire. She also warned Lotte to tell her father to hide because all the men were being taken to concentration camps. Lotte’s father hid in the woods until nightfall and then returned home and began calling other members of the family to check on them. Lotte’s father found that his brother had been beaten and led through the street on a leash like a dog. Altogether six synagogues were destroyed in Mainz.

The US Holocaust Memorial Museum has recorded memories of a woman, Susan Warsinger, who was 9 years old the night of Kristallnacht. She and her brother realized something was wrong when members of their town threw rocks through their bedroom window. They looked out the window and saw the police standing and watching. She tells what happened when the crowd broke down the door of their apartment building.

Or, you can watch this eye-witness account of Susan Strauss Taube:

Look around you. Could something like it happen now? Are there no jagged rips in the fabric of world community? Heard any racist jokes lately? Any cruel slang words about Muslims or gay people? These are all building blocks for a wall of hatred.

Start calling people out. You not only do not have to listen to ignorant hatred, you should not stay silent in its presence. If you hear it on TV, write a letter, send an email, write to a sponsor. If you hear it from a colleague, tell them it is not OK to speak that way around you. Get others to speak out with you, act proactively compassionate with you.

To paraphrase Edmund Burke:

"All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good people do nothing."

And do good -- tikkun olam -- it will help repair the world.

Thou shalt not be a victim.
Thou shalt not be a perpetrator.
Above all, thou shalt not be a bystander.

- Holocaust Museum, Washington, DC

(this post was also posted at blogher.com)

TODAY - 40th anniversary of Sesame Street

2009-11-10T14:15:00.003-05:00

This is the very first version of "Being Green" sung by Kermit in Season 1 -- 1969.

And here is Patti La Belle doing the alphabet as only Patti can.

I loved Sesame Street, and its more adult version later, The Muppet Show. In fact I am a charter member of the Muppet Show Fan Club, which I joined in my 20's. And although that show isn't celebrating its anniversary today, I just had to addthis video of a young Rudolf Nureyev dancing SWINE Lake with Miss Piggy.

One woman. One man. 3 legs. 3 arms. Astonishing beauty.

2009-11-07T15:00:00.001-05:00

Ma Li has only one arm. Zhai Xiaowei has one leg. And below is a video of them dancing. They dance into the holes in people's lives. In the wordlessness of their dance, libraries of the soul open and volumes of unutterable wisdom fly off the shelves. A knowing comes forward.

We all know this. We recognize the feeling of brokenness. We know what we do not have, will never have. We know that all the pieces in the world are not whole, not complete. We know that we have needed, and that we still need.

In the dance, we see aching need and see that it can be as beautiful as it is heartbreaking. We are dumbstruck by the transformative power of the human heart. I have been haunted by this video since my friend, Marge, sent it to me this week. I play it and cry for its beauty, for the longing, for the dream of it. The video has been circulating since 2007.

Ma Li and Zhai Xiaowei. Who are they?

Ma Li was a promising 19 year old professional ballerina when she lost her right arm in a car accident in 1996. Her handsome boy friend walked away from her. She tried to kill herself, but was saved by her parents.

Zhai Xiaowei lost his leg in a tractor accident when he was 4, and had never danced until less than two years before this video was made.

The story of how they met can be found here and here. By the time they met, Ma Li had won a competition for disabled dancers, and Zhai Xiaowei had entered the Paralympics in cycling. He moved in with Ma Li and her boyfriend/agent and began intense training in dance.

As I read what small information there is on the web about them in English, what stood out for me (in addition to the triumphant nature of the story) is that Ma Li was afraid when she first started dancing again that her stump would be seen by the audience. She was embarrassed.

But them I thought, is that not what accompanies all our brokenness? Shame, embarrassment, shyness. We don't want people to know, to see, to realize how imperfect we are, how flawed. So we hide those parts as best we can. Ma Li has had a special soft fabric limb made so that when she goes out it looks as though she has one hand in her pocket.

But her passion drew her back into dance. She not only felt the tugs of who she was meant to be, she followed them, and through agonizing training to re-learn such basic things as balance in dance, her spirit began to push out of the shadows into the light.

But if their bodies apart show us something about being broken, not whole, incomplete -- what does the dance show us?

Redemption.

Community.

Love.

Grace.

It is almost cliche to say it, but combining our brokenness with others allows us to produce a whole thing, unique and beautiful - not whole in the usual sense, but fully functional, and complete in our own new way. The combination is more than the sum of its parts. Once combined, no one is adding them up any more. What is, is.

Think back to obstacles in your own life, Maybe they weren't as obvious as these dancers' obstacles are, but they are just as real. Think about what you did to get to the other side of them. Now let yourself feel the beauty in that, just as real as the beauty in this dance. To not just survive, but to live -- that is our calling, all of us.

It doesn't matter that we are not whole, imperfect, incomplete. We are not meant to be stand-alones. We are part of a tribe -- the human community. We are obligated to each other.

When you are bent and falling it is my job to help you up. When I fall, you must provide a hand. That is the only way any of us makes it in this world. And, like the dancers, we'll practice until we get it right -- one fall, one bruise, one celebration, one lift at a time.

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It took us so long to realize that a purpose of human life, no matter who is controlling it, is to love whoever is around to be loved.
Kurt Vonnegut

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Zoe at Halloween

2009-10-30T15:05:00.011-04:00

Well, I have lost my senses. I got my dog TWO Halloween costumes. (And promptly donated money to charity to overcome the guilt! ) Anyway, I also had fun, and my dog loves dressing up. She dozes off in costume...not one to get agitated about fashion, , that Zoe of mine. So below is Zoe the Bumblebee, and Zoe the Charming Witch.

Trick or Woof!

Soupy Sales

2009-10-23T08:57:00.003-04:00

Soupy Sales passed away today at age 83 in a hospice in NY. He had developed complications after a fall backstage during a recent Emmy Awards ceremony. I loved the Soupy Sales Show as a kid. Sigh. White Fang, Black Tooth -- and a thousand cream pies in the face. Pure fun.

Rest In Laughter and Joy, Soupy.

Ah, the dance

2009-10-18T15:23:00.002-04:00

I went to a small, informal concert last night where the musicians played some waltzes and encouraged couples to dance. Several couples did get up and dance. I was enraptured.

There is such a sweet beauty to a couple that has been dancing together for many, many years. They know each other's groove in a special way. She knows when he will pause, or dip a bit to the left. He knows right where her hand will rest on his shoulder. They move together comfortably, seamlessly, as if they have rehearsed. In fact they have -- at every family wedding and social event for the past whatever number of years, they have done the routine -- the dip and weave as if by well-worn habit-- the moving hug in public.

Yet, as I watched them last night I was touched in a unique way. There was something heart-openingly beautiful about watching her rest her head against his shoulder, like she has for 30 years -- or seeing him confidently spin her under his arm, like he has so very many times before.

In a world that turns on unpredictable circumstance, and presents us all with sadness and loss when we least expect it, here was a moment of sweetness so pure and so simple that it made my soul ache.

Here, they were young again, and in love, turning forever in each other's arms with the grace of long-time lovers, lovers who know each others bodies, souls and hearts. There was no hesitancy in those bodies, just the well-worn comfort of years of being together, on and off the dance floor. It was a soft knowing, a time for the stars to come out in the dark sky, a moment when the moon pauses in her orbit for just a second, beguiled by the easy grace of these eternal dancers.

Diwali -- the epic tale of a fine romance

2009-10-16T19:17:00.007-04:00

Diwali begins Saturday. This is The Festival of Lights in Hindu, Jain and Sikh (and some Buddhist) traditions. President Obama reached out to the people of these traditions with this address, and a small ceremony at the White House.

Diwali can be up to 5 days in length (starting Saturday the 17th). Forms of celebration can differ widely depending on which religious community or country is celebrating. The monotheistic Sikh community has a very different approach than the Hindu community, for example. But regardless of the community, the emphasis is on celebration, family and charity.

(from various sections of Wikipedia)
DIWALI and the Sikh community:
The story of Diwali for the Sikhs is a story of the Sikh struggle for freedom., starting from the time of Guru Nanak (1469 – 1539), the founder of Sikhism. When the Muslim king was ruling he locked up the Guru but while the king had tried to make him eat he refused and fasted. It was then realized that outside the palace people had gathered around with lanterns, candles, torches and protested to set the Guru free and the king had eventually agreed that his greediness had got in the way of his responsibilities and released the Guru and the people celebrated his release known as Diwali.

DIWALI and the Hindu community - The return of Rama
Lord Rama's life is pictured as the ideal man and the perfect human. For the sake of an old oath taken by his father in a moment of anguish, Rama abandons his claim to the throne to serve an exile of fourteen years in the forest. His wife, Sita, and brother Lakshmana, are bereft and join him in exile. Ravana, the monarch of Lanka, sees Sita and must have her, so he takes on the guise of a young deer, who captivates Sita and leads her into the forest while Rama is hunting. After a long and arduous search for years that tests his strength,virtue and love for Sita, Rama fights a colossal war against Ravana's armies. In a war of powerful and magical beings, greatly destructive weaponry and battles, Rama kills Ravana and frees his wife. Having completed his exile, Rama returns to be crowned king in Ayodhya (the capital of his kingdom) and eventually becomes emperor,after which he reigns for eleven thousand years – an era of perfect happiness, peace, prosperity and justice known as Rama Rajya. The diya, or lights, were set out to welcome him home at the end of his exile.

Lakshmi, the goddess of wealth is also honored by Hindus during Diwali. Some businesses even start their financial year on Diwali.

In order to ease Lakshmi's entrance, Hindus will leave the windows and doors of their houses open. often the design of the lotus flower, her favorite blossom, are drawn on the floor to welcome Lakshmi. The Diwali lamps are placed in rows to make it simple for Lakshmi to find her way to houses.

This in a drawing of Lord Rama and Sita, enthroned after Lord Rama's triumphant return.

I love the romance of this story -- Rama enduring many trials for many years in a devoted search for his beloved wife, who has been cruelly beguiled by another, masquerading as an innocent deer. And, after they are reunited, his triumphal return from exile. It is a sweet day when the devoted hero wins, and loved ones are reunited at last. This story is one of deep devotion, honor and perseverance. It ends, thankfully, in celebration.

The story of Rama and Sita is told in one of the two major books in the Hindu tradition -- the The Ramayana, which means "Rama's Journey", an ancient Sanskrit epic of over 24,000 verses. This epic poem is considered so sacred that the reading if it is said to confer blessings on the reader and the listener. A translation of the Ramayana can be found here.

Happy Diwali to all who are celebrating it. May your year be sweet and prosperous.

autumn joy

2009-10-15T10:51:00.004-04:00

I love autumn in New England. It makes me so happy that I have moved back here to stay. I am wide-eyed as I drive through the hill towns in the fall, watching the leaves change colors day to day. I sense the nuances of autumn, the change of a meadow with and without shafts of sunlight.

I drive through towns with sparkling white colonial churches perched above fields of cornstalks, rye grasses, and grazing cows. All this is surrounded by acres of evergreens and trees ablaze with fall colors. It is the last splurge of fecundity before winter.

The trees are shameless in their show of color. Maple trees in bright orange and red vie with the yellow-leaved birch and the scarlet sumac for attention.

They are belles at the autumnal ball, whirling in the wind.

They are dervishes, whirling for God.

They are a dream, a mystical moment, a challenge to complacency.

They shimmer to a celestial music that only they can hear.

It is a symphony brought to them by the wind, echoed in the clouds, illuminated by the brilliance of the sky. It is a rhythm that speaks of love, and loss, and hope. It is an eternal humming, a soft melody just beyond the reach of human ears, recognizable, but dimly.

The trees stand, robed in color and glory and proclaim "Look!" to the world.

"See what is splendid, what is beautiful. But, see how impermanent the world is...for as we flash our color we prepare for the little death of winter. Love us now, while you can. "

oh heck, let's change the world in our spare time.

2009-10-06T22:20:00.003-04:00

If in our daily life we can smile, if we can be peaceful and happy, not only we, but everyone will profit from it. This is the most basic kind of peace work. --Thich Nhat Hanh

This quote by the Buddhist monk, Thich Nhat Hanh, really touched me. I found myself coming back to it over and again this week.

It all started last Saturday when I drove by a group of peace activists standing in the rain outside the farmer's market in Greenfield, Massachusetts. They held signs and just stood quietly, a silent witness to their longing for peace. Many of them were my age -- they'd "been there, done that" before during the Vietnam war - and here they/we are again.

One of the signs said "Make Peace".

The war has been troubling me again. War troubles me. The feeling of helplessness I have in the face of it troubles me. So I vote in a particular way, and send money to causes that believe as I do, nd write letters to decision-makers. And I pray. But I am nagged by the feeling that it isn't enough. How do *I* "make peace"?

And then along comes Thich Naht Hanh and he tells me to find my peace, my personal peace -- and that finding it will be an important part of peace work. I think he is right. Unless my heart and soul are at peace, I cannot think or see clearly. I can be of less meaningful help.

Then I thought of a hymn I recall singing:

Let there be peace on earth
And let it begin with me

Imagine if we all did that -- all found the place and circumstance that gave us the most personal peace, and we created that place for ourselves as often as possible.

If we focus on it in meditation, we can even have it when we are not there. If, for example, you are at your most peaceful when at the ocean, meditating about the ocean, and remembering the peace you felt, can bring that peace back to you. You can find the rhythm and let it flow through you again.

Or maybe, that peace can come by us making room for it to arrive more often. If you are most at peace while writing -- why not write more?

Being at peace with ourselves quiets the clatter that keeps us from being in the world in a peaceful way. It helps us know what to do next, and gives rise to acts of kindness.

Being at peace, real peace, shuts out those feelings that get us and the world in trouble.

Maybe it is a memory of a beloved relative, or the call of meaningful work, or the sea, or writing or painting, or watching your children sleep, or playing with your dog or any number of things that brings you real peace. Get quiet enough to think about that -- where or under what circumstances are you most at peace? Try imagining how you might bring more of that into your life this week. It will energize you, fulfill you, and will improve the world, one person at a time.

It will "Make Peace".

(taken from a column I wrote this week for blogher.com)

Take Your Pets to Church Day -- Feast of St. Francis : Sunday October 4th

2009-09-29T23:12:00.002-04:00

The official "Feast Day" of St. Francis in the Catholic church is October 4th. This Sunday in many Catholic, Lutheran and Episcopal churches -- and some other congregations who enjoy and honor the tradition, animals are welcomed and will get a special blessing from the clergy.

I love the story of St. Francis. In the 1200's, after returning from the wars, he stood up to his rich parents and left the family wealth and comfort behind to live in poverty among the poor. He chose to live gently in the world. He spent time with people that no one cared about. He loved the earth and was enraptured by it. And he talked with the animals.

St. Francis is most well known for his love of animals and his deep love for the earth. His commitment was not just to meditate upon the wonders of the earth, but to engage himself in healing what he could. How one lived was more important to him than what one said. He is known for saying: "Preach the Gospel at all times. Where necessary, use words."

The most well-known film about St Francis takes its name from his "Canticle for the Creatures": Brother Sun, Sister Moon, directed by Franco Zefferelli.

St Francis "got it" about a lot of things, way back in the 13th century. He is perhaps best known for his prayer:

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace;
where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
and where there is sadness, joy.

O Divine Master,
grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;
to be understood, as to understand;
to be loved, as to love;
for it is in giving that we receive,
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned,
and it is in dying that we are born to Eternal Life.

Amen.

But I always think of him as the animal loving saint. My images of him are deeply sentimental ones -- a bird perches on his arm, as an adoring dog is at his feet. He speaks to a deer who understands him. But can that be possible?

Years ago I was at a Buddhist shrine in Hawaii. The grounds were lovely, and there was a wide koi pond. A small old man was standing near the pond, dressed in shabby clothes. He had a sweet quality, though, so when he started a conversation with me, I felt happy to be invited into it.

"I have a pet fish," he said. The pond was teeming with hundreds an hundreds of koi fish -- maybe thousands. "Oh?" I said humoring him, not wanting to offend him. He seemed harmless enough. "You don't believe me," he said matter-of-factly.

He stepped to the shore and whistled, and clapped his hands. I saw a ripple on the water bee-lining itself toward him from midway across the pond. "Watch," he said. he then walked along the water, calling to his fish. The fish followed him, leaping out of the water as he went. "See?" he asked. "I see!" I replied.

"Now watch," he said. He stood beneath a tree near me and softly hummed. Before long a bird flew over from another tree on the grounds and landed on his hand. He kept humming, and the bird stayed there -- content, gazing at him. Then he released the bird into the air with a gentle wave of his hand.

"May I ask who you are?" I asked. "No one in particular," he said, smiling.

And I knew that I was in the presence of someone saintly, someone who revered nature in a special and deeply loving way -- with a patient and understanding love -- someone who did not expect it to be anything but its own true self. And Nature responded, loving him in return. He was someone a lot like St. Francis.

I love the magic that can happen between a human and a chosen animal creature. The bond is like no other, as anyone who has lost a beloved pet can tell. What a fitting way to remember the life of St. Francis, a man who chose to do no more harm in the world, than with something s gentle as the pet-blessings that will be happening all over the world on Sunday.

And I treasure those houses of worship that bless pets and animals this coming Sunday. Good for them! To me, to have a pet blessed is to have an acknowledgment that they are an important part of the family of G-d. It is a tribute to their hearts and to their giving natures.

As I browsed the web I noticed that many churches, synagogues and even Buddhist temples hold pet blessings. Many are combining it with a collection for the local pet shelters of pet blankets or pet food. Some even have adoptable pets on site. Check your local papers for listings, or call a few of the larger churches in your area.

Or, just gaze into your pet's loving eyes and say a thankful prayer for their well-being.

RESOURCES:
This article on eHowis a fine resource on how to attend or hold your own pet blessing .

This is a a listing (partial) of Catholic churches around the country holding pet blessings this Sunday (or in some cases, Saturday)

JUST FOR FUN

Many of you may recall the BBC series Vicar of Dibly. Geraldine, the vicar, has decided to hold a Blessing of the Animals. The powerful head of the church council is opposed. Geraldine goes ahead, but fears it will be a failure. This is a 10 minute video of what happens on the fateful day of the Blessing.

Oh, and I will be taking Zoe, my rescue pooch (hard to tell who rescued whom sometimes) to be blessed on Sunday.

Rest in Peace, Mary Travers

2009-09-17T11:16:00.005-04:00

Mary Travers died at age 72. Her music with Peter Yarrow and Paul Stucky was part of my growing-up music. Before she passed, she said:

"I'm not sure I want to be singing 'Leaving on a Jet Plane' when I'm 75. But I know I'll still be singing 'Blowin' in the Wind.' "

Remember her with me, and pray that eternal light will shine upon her loving soul.

On September 11th

2009-09-10T21:27:00.003-04:00

I was there that day. My office was 10 blocks away. I saw it happen as I was driving around the long traffic-filled curve heading into the Lincoln Tunnel from the Jersey side. I thought it was so odd -- this low white cloud -- until I realized it was a building on fire. Then the second plane hit. I pulled into the tunnel, and by the time I made it to 5th Avenue, heading downtown, the streets were almost empty of vehicles, and the streets were lined with people trying frantically to call their loved ones. Straight ahead of me was one of the towers, a diagonal gash in it, pouring fire.

I remember all of it. I remember every horrible bit.

And I want it to be over. I am tired to death of memorial events ripping open that wound every year.

I am tired of worrying what the families feel of firefighters and police and rescue workers whose loved ones died on ORDINARY days, days when we were not under attack. Their loved ones don't get regaled as heros every year. Their families didn't get millions of dollars of funds distributed to them.

Yet they are no less deserving. It took no less courage for them to run into the tower a few years before 9/11 at the first bombing incident. Or to run into a burning house, or apartment building. Or to be in a car chase with armed felons.

I'm tired of all the agruing about the memorial site. No group of mourners will ever be 100% in happy agreement about it. Stop trying to make that happen. Build the best one you can and be done.

I'm tired of the anti-Arab sentiment that gets ginned up every anniversary of 9/11.

I'm tired of us holding up 9/11 like it is the worst loss to an enemy any country in this decade or so has ever gone through. Look around -- the world is full of losses even bigger than this, and they are still happening.

I know that we must know history to not repeat it. But we must stop repeating the story long enough to move forward, and long enough for the wound to heal, and not become some festering national touchstone.

Let those who lost people in this wretched and senseless tragedy grieve them. Let them find some respite for themselves.

I don't want the loss to be our icon -- I want our recovery to have that place.

Dear Lord,
Please heal us. Teach us to remember the dead and to honor their memory -- without making this day into a day when we tear open that which could be healing, and when we divide that which should be united. Let us honor all who died trying to save others -- not just few. Let us remember without getting mired down in the past. Let us remember yesterday, but with today's eyes. We ask you for this or for something even more healing than we can imagine today. Thank you, Lord, and amen.

arghhh...a dream gets dashed

2009-09-09T00:40:00.002-04:00

All my life I have wanted to take a pottery course -- you know, the one with the potter's wheel? I finally decided that I would. I signed up a couple of months ago for a continuing ed course taught at a local studio. I have been looking forward to it all summer. I dealt with any fear I had about looking/feeling clumsy because every new potter probably looks like an idiot. The friend I was going to take the class with, had to back out.

But there I was tonight, showing up alone and sooooo happy.

There were four of us in the class, a nice small group. The instructor in the tiny studio seemed lovely.

At one point I thought I saw something moving behind my left shoulder, but didn't see anything when I turned around. It must have been a trick of the light, I thought.

Then my eyes began to water a bit -- must be the dust.

My asthma started to appear just the tiniest bit. No worry, I thought.

Then my eyes started to itch.

Then I saw it -- about 20 minutes in to the class, I saw it.

A big, fat, gray rabbit the size of a turkey. It was mammoth! I swear it must have weighed a least 25 pounds.

And it was hairy.

I am severely allergic to rabbits. I mean severely.

I had allergy tests done this summer and all rodents are on my personal enemy list -- mice, rats, gerbils, hamsters, guinea pigs, squirrels and RABBITS.

This rabbit has lived in the studio for over 3 years. There is rabbit dander everywhere.

Oh damn.

I resigned the course.

Now I need to find a teaching potter in the area who is affordable and has no rabbits. Or rodents. Or cats. (Cats are also on the hit list.)

Mourning Ted in Massachusetts

2009-09-01T22:40:00.003-04:00

I stood at a farm stand in western Massachusetts this weekend and asked, "This is the orchard where Ted's plane crashed in 1964, isn't it?"

The proprietor looked at me and said "Yes."

That's it, just the word "yes".

I reminded myself that I am back in New England, a land of economies, even in speech. I bought a small bag of apples and left.

A news article gives more detail:

Jean Bashista of Bashista Apple Orchards, recalls that night and how her sister-in-law helped the injured senator, as he lay on the ground after the crash, before medical personnel arrived. Bashista said after the plane crash her father-in-law and her father got rid of the orchard at the crash site. Today it is a wooded area.

Ted was heading for a small airport in the town in which I currently live, when his plane crashed. His experience at a local hospital lasted over three weeks until he could be safely moved. His experience there was so positive that it is said to have been the pivotal event that inspired his thinking about health care.

I'm from Massachusetts. I lived away from this state for about 30+ years and have recently moved back. It was with deep sadness that I watched the memorial and funeral events for Ted Kennedy. The Kennedy name is almost synonymous with Massachusetts. We are theirs and they are ours, so to speak.

I wasn't born yet when Joe Jr was killed in WWII, but I was in junior high when JFK was assassinated, and in college when a bullet took Bobby. Ted is the only son of Rose and Joe Sr to not die a violent death.

I do not know how a family winds its way so deeply into the spirit of a place, but the Kennedys surely have. It feels somehow wrong to not have a Kennedy as a senator in Massachusetts.

Oh, yes, we all knew that Kennedy had stepped beyond what was proper in his personal life.

And we didn't like it. And we did not forget it.

But, as my sister-in-law succinctly said, "Despite it all, he voted the way we wanted him to." Those of us in this state who are liberals knew that we could count on Ted to vote the way he promised he would. He could nimbly cross party lines, assemble broad-ranging support and see things through. We may have hesitated before we pulled the lever for Kennedy because of his problems, but we pulled it because of his politics.

His second marriage seemed to settle his personal life down, and we were thankful for that. Relieved. As he said in his recent letter to Pope Benedict, carried by President Obama to the Pope-- “I know that I have been an imperfect human being," Kennedy wrote, “but with the help of my faith, I have tried to right my path."

And, as far as most of us in this state were concerned, he did turn things around. Many Massachusetts highway signs -- the ones controlled by computer -- on the day of his burial were changed to read "Thanks, Ted." People wore T-shirts that day that said. "Thanks, Ted."

As we all watched television Friday and Saturday, it was especially moving to see the White House staffers, each waiting for a chance to shout out a final "Thank You, Ted". In the days following his death, the small stories began to come out -- the former staffer who went on to the Supreme Court (Stephen Breyer) -- a family he had personally helped through a long illness -- the visits he made to the families of military men and women lost at war -- the personal letters sent to encourage, congratulate, console. We learned of the quiet acts of compassion from this larger-than-life politician.

In the words of President Obama's eulogy:

Ted Kennedy has gone home now, guided by his faith and by the light of those he has loved and lost. At last he is with them once more, leaving those of us who grieve his passing with the memories he gave, the good he did, the dream he kept alive, and a single, enduring image – the image of a man on a boat; white mane tousled; smiling broadly as he sails into the wind, ready for what storms may come, carrying on toward some new and wondrous place just beyond the horizon. May God Bless Ted Kennedy, and may he rest in eternal peace.

ELCA -- at last, at last

2009-08-24T11:37:00.004-04:00

Click to hear the Doxology

Praise God, from Whom all blessings flow;
Praise Him, all creatures here below;
Praise Him above, ye heavenly host;
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

When I heard that the Lutheran church (-- the ELCA with over 6 million members -- affirmed that gay and lesbian people in committed relationships could serve in ministry, and that churches could bless same sex unions, I started to cry and started to sing the Doxology.

Amen, amen and amen.

(watch this space for more)

It's time for those Addictive Slow Roasted Tomatoes again!

2009-08-17T14:37:00.005-04:00

Kalyn's Kithen, a mighty and grand food blog, provided a magic recipe for slow roasted tomatoes. Last year I "put up" about a bushel of plum tomatoes this way, and it was not enough to get through the winter. These are addictive. A fellow-blogger called them "Tomato Crack". Here is a picture that I lifted from her site:

Basically, you cut plum tomatoes in half, roll 'em in a bit of olive oil and some herbs and slow cook them at 200 degrees for 8-10 hours. They taste like concentrated summer. I flat-freeze them in ziplocks and use them in soups, stews, on meat, in rice, over pasta, on toast, with goat cheese on crackers --- in eggs ...on anything.

I've linked above to her recipe, but here is how I adapted it. Feel free to add your own inspiration. Kalyn adapted them from Alana, and I adapted them from Kalyn. I tried regular tomatoes and they were too watery. I tried grape and cherry tomatoes and they just didn't have enough flesh. Plum (Roma) tomatoes are best. I've inserted my comments into her (edited) text below.

20 Roma type tomatoes (same size tomatoes are best)
2 T olive oil, plus a little to oil the pan if you don't have a mister. I like extra virgin oil.
2 T dried basil
1 T dried oregano
1 T dried majoram
(I have also added things like thyme, sage, garlic, red pepper flakes - experiment with different combinations.)

Preheat oven to 200 F (8-10 hours roasting time.) Ovens differ here -- just don't burn them. Start checking at about 7 hours.

Wash tomatoes, dry, and cut each tomato in half lengthwise. (Kaylyn leaves the stem spot in one piece to grab when peeling the tomatoes later. I just left the skins on).

Put tomatoes in a bowl and toss with olive oil and herbs.

Then, Kalyn says, Spray cookie sheet with olive oil mister (or brush very lightly with oil). Arrange tomatoes cut-side down on cookie sheet.

After about 7 hours, start checking tomatoes. They're done when skins puff up and tomatoes are reduced in size by at least half. It's a personal preference as to how dried you like them, but both Kalyn and I prefer to cook until they look fairly dense, but are still a tiny bit juicy.

So, thanks to this largely stolen column from Kalyn's Kitchen, you too can enjoy how amazingly yummy these are. Don't plan on having your first tray make it to the freezer!

JOY -- find it, love it

2009-08-16T20:03:00.001-04:00

Ah, joy -- it refreshes the spirit, but can vanish as quickly as it arrives. There is so much in the world that militates against joy. Yet it seems that a glimpse of joy is what sustains us, what can give birth to hope and love and courage. At the heart of faith is a kernel of joy, radiating. Joy feels good, and warm, and helpful. And yet we resist it, crowd it out, send it packing. Of all our feelings, it may seem to be the least sensible. But, of all our feelings, it may be the most necessary. It may be the wellspring in all of us that feeds life, full, real, positive life.

I have been an occasional bad landlady to joy. I've given her substandard housing, left her without heat in the winter and forgotten to deliver her mail on time. It is a wonder she stays with me at all. Yet, she waits until I get my brain and heart in synch and there she is, shining like the morning, waiting to comfort and astound me. A small touch of her sparkle and my day is suffused with her light. It doesn't take much.

When I first moved to NYC it was after a rough (are any easy?) divorce. I lived with an old high school friend for a year, and then had my first apartment. It wasn't much, but I worked hard to make it the best I could on my then meager earnings. I had transformed the place with paint and fabrics. One night I came home from work, sat in my little living room and thought "I am so lucky! Look at how cozy and warm this room is!" I sat back, sipped tea and felt joy. It came down like a ray of soft, warm sunlight. I slept beautifully.

The next day I had a horrid day at work. I was worried about bills. I burned dinner. I sat in the same chair that I had the night before and looked at my living room. I had missed a little spot when I painted the ceiling. The sofa did need to be re-covered. That carpet did look old. And the curtains? Too long. "What a horrible place," I thought. I felt the energy slide out of my life.

Then I recalled the night before. It was the same room. Nothing had changed. Oh wait! Something had changed.

Me.

I could find or lose joy by deciding how to look at my world. And I was cheating myself of experiencing something worthwhile, something energizing, something good.

There is plenty of sadness in the world. Life hands us sorrow by the bucket-load. Times are hard. Loss is real. But there can always be a moment of joy. Joy comes to deliver us from our sorrow. It is a beautiful gift from God/the Universe/the Earth.

But how to find it when we have lost our view of it?

Gratitude. That is the key that unlocks the heart of joy. Gratitude.

I have said it before -- and will probably say what follows a zillion skillion times in my life. (At least.) Here it is. Wait for it. Take it in.

The time I need to compose a gratitude list is when I least want to!

Think about a gratitude list this week. Ten items. Yes, ten. We both can do it. Watch what happens when you build the list. Something will be creeping in, stealthily curling up beside you, purring. It will be your joy. Welcome her.

After all, this IS the day the Lord has made. Rejoice and be glad in it. (Psalm 118)