Memorial Day and the Feast Day of the Visitation

Today is the feast day of the Visitation, a feast day that celebrates the time that Mary goes to visit her cousin Elizabeth. Both women are pregnant in miraculous ways: Mary hasn't had sex, and Elizabeth is beyond her fertile years. Yet both are pregnant. Elizabeth will give birth to John the Baptist, and Mary will give birth to Jesus.

Some feast days leave me shaking my head and wondering what modern folks are to do with them. Some feast days, like today's, make me wish I'd known about them earlier. I think about my younger self who was enraged that so much femaleness seemed to be erased from Christianity. What would my raging feminist self have done with this festival?

I'm not sure she'd have been appeased. I was also in the process of trying to assert that biology isn't destiny, while also acknowledging that I was one of the first generations to be able to assert that idea.

My middle-aged self is willing to admit that biology is often destiny, although not in the womb-centric way that the phrase is often bandied about. I'm seeing too many people at the mercy of bodies that they have increasingly less control over.

In an odd twist, today is also Memorial Day, a day where we will remember and honor those who have died in military service to the U.S.  It's another holiday where biology is destiny--young men have been expected to serve in this way, and when not enough of them do, they have been drafted.

As I've thought about the juxtapositions between the feast day of the Visitation and Memorial Day, I've thought about how both days celebrate those who are working in service to a vision that's greater than just themselves.  In fact, they may be working in service to a vision that they don't quite understand, but they have faith in the ones who have called them to the vision.

Of course, the difference is that the governments who use soldiers don't always have the best interest of the soldiers uppermost, while God, who called Mary and Elizabeth, was looking out for their best interest.

Nothing drives home the cost of war more than a visit to the Vietnam Memorial and seeing those 58,000 or so names carved into a black scar of granite.

How might our thinking about war change if we also added the names of all the maimed war veterans? What a cost.

And then there are the civilians. And the family members. So much wreckage on so many sides.

I'm thinking of the 2005 trip to France I took with my mom and dad and our stops at a variety of WWI cemeteries. That effect, too, is similar to the one that the Vietnam Memorial--those graves, stretching on as far as we could see.

So, on this day which has become for so many of us just an excuse to have a barbecue, let us pause to reflect and remember. If we're safe right now, let us say a prayer of gratitude. Let us remember that we've still got lots of military people serving in dangerous places.

And on this feast day of the Visitation, let us say a prayer of thanks for elder generations who look out for younger ones, who give them safe space to process what God has called them to do.  Let us give thanks for people of all ages who know what needs to be done to protect the mission that God gives them.  

Let us pray for all who need courage to do what must be done.  Let us pray that in the future, no blood needs to be shed to achieve and preserve freedom.

Of Housing Markets and Arks

 We spent yesterday the way we often spend our Saturdays, talking about the housing market, talking about possible timelines for the end of my job, talking about seminary plans and what path to the future appeals to my spouse right now for himself (teaching?  grad school?  city government work?  something else?).  

I had this article from The Atlantic on my brain, along with the house sale news from our good friends in the neighborhood, who are no longer in this neighborhood.  The article argues for waiting to buy a house; it posits that the blazing hot housing market won't be hot forever, but also that there's not a crash in the offing.  It will be more like a return to normal.

The article argues that we're looking at a classic supply and demand issue that has been decades in the making.   And what do the experts expect?  One expert suggests looking at the supply of houses:  "After crashing to an all-time low in April, active inventory has actually increased for three straight weeks. That’s the good news. The bad news is, at its current pace, the number of houses on the market nationwide won’t reach normal levels for about 14 months, all things being equal."

So maybe it's no surprise that my brain returned to my poem series that looks at modern issues through the lens of Noah, Noah's family, and the ark.  Yesterday another idea for a poem about Noah's wife occurred to me. She sees the ark as a vehicle to a new life, and he sees it as a container to save the old life. How does this post-flood marriage survive?

I thought about also tying it into my idea about the cicadas.  Were they worth saving, if they are only going to be active every 17 years?

I do worry that others will find it tiresome, seeing everything through the eyes of Noah's wife.  But then again, I don't really have to worry, do I?  I'm not even sure I'm going to assemble it into a book.  It delights me, and that's what matters.

What I Read During My May Vacation

While I was on vacation earlier this month, I said to my sister, "This may be the last time I can read for pleasure."  We had been talking about my seminary journey, so I didn't mean it to sound as apocalyptic as it sounds a week later when I type that sentence.

I still have the whole summer to read, and I'm aware that the MDiv program may not preclude pleasure reading the way that my PhD in English did.  But still, this last time at a resort by a different part of the Atlantic felt like the last time I will read for pleasure.

So, did I bring the kind of novel that I expect not to have time to read in the near future?  No, it didn't come to the library in time.  I had planned to read Kim Stanley Robinson's The Ministry for the Future.  It's 563 pages, and I often need a vacation time to tackle a book like that.  But maybe I can plan for a Memorial Day week-end reading fest.

Instead, I read a variety of books.  For my certificate in spiritual direction certificate program, I needed to finish The Enneagram:  A Christian Perspective by Richard Rohr and Andreas Ebert, so that work wove its way through the week.  My spouse showed some interest, and I wanted to know what Enneagram number(s) he would assign to himself and to me.  We had some interesting conversations.

I did read one work of fiction, but it didn't take me very long:  Jhumpa Lahiri's Whereabouts.  It's a book for which the word "spare" was invented.  I find my thoughts returning to it, even though as I zipped through it, I thought that I wasn't finding it very compelling.

I read another book that was similarly slender of pages, but deep in content:  Anne Lamott's Dusk Night Dawn:  On Revival and Courage.  I rarely buy her books anymore, since until this one, a lot of her later books seemed similar to me.  But even in their similarity, I enjoy visiting the books again.

This latest book of Lamott's feels different:  less angry, approaching the spiritual stuff from a different angle.  Perhaps that's because the book deals with the navigations that come with a new marriage--and this marriage is one between people who are not teenagers.

Here's one of my favorite parts of this book:  "Most of these prophets were introverts.  Jesus definitely was.  He's never really doing all that much, if you think about it.  He doesn't even tell His own stories.  He'd be fired from most churches today.  He's in a world of great fear, there's evil, violence, and need all around him, so He often finds He needs time along--in silence, in the desert, on the mountain, on the beach, beneath the stars--to get strong and patient enough to go back and face Peter's lame and endless questions for the tenth time:  'Is now when we get to be in charge?  Is now when we take over?'"

I was most thrilled to be able to get Mark Bittman's latest book from the library and relatively quickly.  A book with the title Animal, Vegetable, Junk:  A History of Food from Sustainable to Suicidal is not one that we might associate with vacation reading, but it was great.  In some ways, it didn't tell me much that I didn't already know on some level.  But it gave me depth and perspective.

It was less about the individual types of food we eat, but more about how the food is produced.  In other words, it wasn't a diet book or a nutrition book, but it was a deep dive into agriculture practices.  It had deep analysis of justice issues.  I realize that's not everyone's idea of a fun vacation read, but I enjoyed it thoroughly.

What I enjoyed most about my vacation reading is that I read more on paper, less on pixels.  I had the chance to do some deep reading in a way that I don't when I'm at home where there are so often chores to do and a variety of work for pay that needs doing.

The Kingdom of God is Like a Quilt

Today I was reading Luke 13, in The Message translation.  I was struck by the opening of some of the parables/metaphors; in verse 18:  "How can I picture God's Kingdom for you?"  And then there's the story of the acorn that grows into a tree and after that, the woman baking bread.

This morning, I also thought of another metaphor that Jesus uses in many of his parables:  the Kingdom of God is like a feast.  Jesus also uses work metaphors, like workers in the field.  I wonder if modern readers hear that and think about backbreaking labor, not the abundance of a vineyard.

The other day as I was finishing Morning Watch, I made up my own metaphor:  the Kingdom of God is like a quilt group, where friends decide to get together to work on their quilting projects together.  They bring their favorite foods to share and they enjoy each other's company.  They have such a good time they decide to meet regularly.

I've continued to think about this metaphor.  Would I need to extend it to have the quilt group buy a big house together?

This morning as I read the parables about small things that grow big, I thought about the quilt as metaphor.  How can I explain God's Kingdom for you?  A woman has a bag of scraps that are too small to make into a shirt or a scarf, scraps left over from other projects, scraps from beloved items that have become frayed and worn.

She puts one piece of fabric next to another piece of fabric and delights in the way that they look together.  She chooses a third scrap and attaches it with neat stitches of sparkly thread.  She continues in this way until the collective can cover a bed.  

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The Readings for Sunday, May 30, 2021

First Reading: Isaiah 6:1-8

Psalm: Psalm 29

Second Reading: Romans 8:12-17

Gospel: John 3:1-17


As we celebrate Holy Trinity Sunday on May 30, let us pause to consider the power of three. You probably learned from your Composition teachers that three main points have a greater chance of creating a solid essay; not one point, not two points, not seven, but three. If you've arranged objects on a mantel or a sideboard, you've probably noticed that three objects most often leads to balance; more looks cluttered, less looks sparse.

If you're a breadbaker, you've probably experimented with braids and twists. There's something beautiful about a braid of bread:

Consider the braid, how much stronger it is than the individual strand. You can easily pluck individual hairs out of a scalp. It's much harder to yank a braid of hair loose from the body.

We worship a God in three persons, as we commonly understand it; I have long suspected that our God contains multitudes, but our human brains can scarcely comprehend a God-in-three, much less a God-in-millions, so we stop at 3.

I have spent a lot of time thinking about communities of all sorts, and I love this idea of God as a communal God, God dwelling as 3-in-one. Throughout our Scriptures, we learn all sorts of lessons about community, and in the New Testament, we begin to perceive that God, too, dwells in community. And God who dwells in community invites us to be part of that community.

On Holy Trinity Sunday, we might spend some time thinking about all the aspects of God whom we've met: Creator, Mother, Redeemer, Savior, Fellow Traveler, Inspiration, Father, Breath, Mystic, Provider, Healer, Leader, Spiritual Director, Dreamer . . . the list could go on and on. Which incarnation of God speaks to you most?

Which incarnation do you need to invite to be part of your life?

Sermon Recap: Our Pre-Pentecost Hinge Moment

Earlier this week, our church got the go-ahead from our insurers and our bishop to have more participation in the worship service, meaning we can now have others at the lectern as part of the worship service.  My pastor asked me if I wanted to preach on Sunday, and I said yes.  It's Pentecost, after all--the sermon practically preaches itself.

For the first part of my sermon, I talked about knowing Easter people and Christmas people, but no one says that Pentecost is their favorite church holiday.  I said that lately, the time between Easter and Pentecost has been speaking to me, with the disciples not being sure what to do with themselves, so they go back to doing what they had been doing before--witness the end of John, where the disciples go back to fishing.  I talked about the disciples hiding in a room before Pentecost--sound familiar?

I talked about the disciples as traumatized people--we tend to forget or underplay the trauma that they have experienced.  We know that traumatized people don't snap back immediately or automatically.  I talked about our current age as one of traumatized people and that we should be gentle with ourselves.

But the Holy Spirit doesn't come to leave us there.  The Holy Spirit makes it possible to go bigger.  I talked about what that would look like, in terms of the first believers:  going out 2 by 2 and bringing the good news, being part of the community that is open to the message, being the type of disciple that has resources to share, being part of the community that does the hard work of staying rooted and growing the seeds that the disciples plant before they move on.

I talked about the hinge moment where we find ourselves.  We've been through a huge trauma, and we shouldn't undercount that.  We have an enormous opportunity to reshape our world--and there's the danger that we'll go in the wrong direction.  I talked about God's dreams for us, that we're here not just winning our entrance into Heaven, that God announces the inbreaking Kingdom, right here and right now.  What would that look like as we move forward?

I finished with a sort of prayer, although I don't know that the congregation realized that I was praying:

Give us comfort as we cope with our collective trauma.

Give us a vision of the better world that is possible.

Give us the energy to begin what the vision requires.

Sustain us to see our vision to completion.

Lurching Towards Inclusivity

Two weeks ago, we'd have awoken to the news of the election of Megan Rohrer, the first openly transgender bishop in the Lutheran Church (ELCA version), the first transgender person to serve as bishop of any mainstream Christian denomination.  My family was together in Hilton Head, SC.

Why is this fact significant?  Back in 2009, my spouse and I spent the week with my mom and dad in Hilton Head while the national assembly of the ELCA met.  That was the assembly that passed the historic sexuality statement, the one that provokes so many people in so many different ways.

But that imperfect statement did pave the way for the ELCA to recognize officially the call of Rohrer; a year later, seven pastors were reinstated and churches welcomed back to the ELCA.

Maybe my family should meet in Hilton Head more often.  I say this in jest, of course--and yet, it's so striking to me that my memories of family reunions in Hilton Head will always be connected to memories of the ELCA lurching towards inclusivity.

Fifteenth Visit to the Spiritual Director

Yesterday I headed down to see my spiritual director.  I am astonished at how much more traffic I'm seeing.  It makes the trip down and back seem even more arduous.  When I first started working with her, the pandemic was getting underway, so traffic was much lighter.  This is a problem that will solve itself when I move to Washington D.C. for seminary, so I'll continue.  I like her very much, but the drive is at least 2 hours round trip, which means the appointment takes a big chunk out of my day.

Yesterday we didn't cover much new ground.  We talked about the recent developments in the trajectory of the disease.  I talked about worrying about overscheduling myself now that more of us can gather in groups.  We talked about ways to avoid that.

We also talked about my seminary plans and my spouse's need to decide what kind of future he wants:  to go with me or to stay here.  If he decides on staying here, he's got decisions to make about how to earn money.

In past spiritual direction sessions, we've talked about my need to control things, about the need to detach with love.  Yesterday we talked about how hard it is for me to detach with love.  I can detach, but it's hard for me to do it with love.

We also talked about my spiritual direction session in the morning, where I led a friend through a lectio divina process reading Psalm 91.  We talked about my realizing that I don't pray as much as I wish that I did, a realization I had while reading Psalm 91 several times.  

I'm hesitant to do that, because my problems seem so small compared to the larger problems in the world, and we talked about that too.  We aren't required to have bombs falling on our houses to be eligible to pray for help.

We talked about spiritual practices being a process that can help us remember to pray throughout the day.  As always, these ideas aren't new to me.  I like having these conversations because it's good to remember what I already know.

My resolution for the coming months, as I'm detaching, I want to remember to pray to God to ask that God help me detach from the process, not detach from my love.  And I want to remember to ask God to help--with detaching and with life in general.  

Land Distribution and Intergenerational Wealth

 If you wonder about poverty, if you think about generational wealth, consider these ideas about the development of the U.S. from Mark Bittman's Animal, Vegetable, Junk:  A History of Food from Sustainable to Suicidal:

"In all, more than a quarter of all the nation's land was given away or sold for cheap, and since much of that total (two billion acres) is unfarmable mountains or desert, that quarter represents the majority of arable land.  If you are looking for the roots of today's income inequality, you might start here, with a federal donation of land--the foundation of most wealth--to an exclusive club of white men" (p. 81).

Bittman then discusses the aftermath of the Civil War and how formerly enslaved people got some land and then lost their land.  He also discusses the Homestead Act, and all the people who couldn't take advantage of it, a fact I did not know before.

He concludes:  "Had there been a fair redistribution of land in the last third of the nineteenth century, one that acknowledged the rights of Indigenous people, of women, of formerly enslaved people, and of other people of color, the twentieth century would have looked much different, with millions of additional small and medium farms run by families concerned about their land, the food they grew, and the communities around them.  Instead, the federal government joined with former slaveholders to establish a system that remained unjust, and that increasingly focused on cash crops and monoculture" (pp. 83-84).

I have just started thinking about this dynamic of land distribution throughout history--I imagine that if we looked deeply, we'd see similar patterns in other countries.  It's an interesting way of understanding why some groups are ahead in terms of wealth, while the rest have been left behind.

Now if only I could see an elegant solution to this injustice . . .

Faith After Doubt: Brian McLaren's 4 Stages

Being able to participate in various conferences and presentations is one of the joys of these days when more opportunities have moved online.  Last year, I signed up for the Festival of Homiletics.  I bought the package where I could view presentations at any point, and I have yet to do that.  This year, I signed up for the free streaming option.

On Tuesday, I heard a great presentation by Brian McLaren.  I suspect it's a distillation of his latest book Faith After Doubt: Why Your Beliefs Stopped Working and What to Do About It, but it was still a great presentation.

He says, "It is not doubt that harms your faith; it is dishonesty about your doubts."  Well, I haven't had much problem with being honest about my doubts.  Happily, he didn't spend too much time on this point.

Instead, he talked about the 4 stages of modern faith/doubt and their characteristics:

1.  Simplicity:  Dualism.  Faith in authority figures.  Faith before doubt.

2.  Complexity:  Pragmatism.  Authority figure as coach.  Faith managing doubt.

3.  Perplexity:  Relativism.  Authority figures as iconoclast.  Faith falls apart.

4.  Harmony:  Integration.  Non-dualism.  Authority figures as mystics, visionaries and saints.

McLaren cautions that if we live too long in the land of Harmony, we can find ourselves back in a place of Simplicity, that unquestioning assumption that we know it all.  He also says that a vast majority of churches and individuals are at stage 1 or 2.

He addressed preachers and pastors specifically, saying that we need a plan for guiding through stages of doubt.  He reminded us that we're likely to have all 4 types in our pews, and we need every sermon that we preach to address all the stages, to affirm and challenge each stage:

1.  For people in Simplicity, we can encourage learning, stressing growth, not perfection.

2.  For people in Complexity, we could model unknowing as we present options.  We could present literary literacy (instead of fact-based truth) and curiosity.

3.  For people in Perplexity, we can offer meaning but not factual truth, reverence in the face of mystery.  We can stress radiance and depth.

4.  For people in Harmony, we can offer different contemplative practices like those of silence and the arts.

As I was listening, I was scribbling notes and thinking, some day soon, I could be preaching more often.  Let me take good notes!  But perhaps I should also read his book.

He concluded with these wise words, both for those of us preaching sermons and for those of us living our lives in other ways:  Emphasize what needs to continue--de-emphasize what doesn't need to continue, de-emphasize and replace what doesn't need to continue.

It was a great presentation.  I'm really glad I had a chance to participate.  I'm even happy for virtual participation--it's great to see how the form can work (more notes for a possible future of designing online enrichment).

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel (Pentecost)

The readings for Sunday, May 23, 2021:

First Reading: Acts 2:1-21

First Reading (Alt.): Ezekiel 37:1-14

Psalm: Psalm 104:25-35, 37 (Psalm 104:24-34, 35b NRSV)

Second Reading: Romans 8:22-27

Second Reading (Alt.): Acts 2:1-21

Gospel: John 15:26-27; 16:4b-15

Ah, the liturgical year cycles back to the feast of Pentecost. It really should be the second most important festival of the church year, second only to Easter, but I suspect that many churches pay more attention to Christmas than to either of the other two festivals. I've talked to many a Christian who didn't know the first thing about Pentecost.

Maybe we're afraid of some of the more, well, pentecostal elements of the holiday: the speaking in tongues (but in languages that could be understood by native speakers), the rushing wind, the fire. Maybe we're feeling overwhelmed by the example set by that first generation of believers.

For many of us, the past year has been exceptionally hard.  We haven't been able to see family and friends.  We've been isolated from our important communities, and while it's great to have Zoom calls and other ways to stay connected, some of us have yearned for me.  We've experienced death and a fear of death in a way that has been unusual for most of us.  

As we look at the Pentecost story, it's important to remember that Christ's resurrection didn't immediately transform the world--in fact, it didn't transform the world at all, in many ways.  The Roman empire continued its brutal ways.  The disciples went into hiding, and they stayed there, even after seeing Christ in resurrected form.

Then the Holy Spirit breaks through, and the disciples will never be the same.  They go out and transform the landscape, in ways big and small.  Let us also celebrate the communities that they create, communities often shaped by women, communities that lasted, communities that gave people a viable way to live within the crushing confines of empire.

We celebrate Pentecost as the birthday of the Church, but we often fail to mention that this birthing, with all its pain and messiness, is an ongoing process. We tend to look back at the early days of the Church with idealistic vision, but if we carefully reread the letters of Paul, we see that those churches had just as many problems as our current churches. We tend to see ourselves as deficient, but we don't have the longer view.

On this festival day, revel in the promise of renewal that God offers. Be alert for new visions and different directions. Trust that desiccated ruins--whether that be our lives, our Church, our neighborhoods, our nations, our planet--can be reinvigorated.

Catching Up with Campus Pastors

A week ago, we'd have been at Hilton Head Island with my parents and my sister.  We knew that family friends were vacationing in nearby Charleston.  They were willing to come to us for dinner, and we were willing to cook.  What a treat of an evening.

I am startled to realize how long I've known these family friends.  When I was a teenager in Charlottesville, Virginia, he was the UVa campus pastor with an office at St. Mark's Lutheran Church, and she was the choir director. My mom was instrumental in bringing them together; she had conversations with each of them, when each one expressed their interest in the other.  She asked each one if she could let the other know, and they said yes--that would be the best kind of matchmaker to be.  They've been together ever since. 

Later, he came to be campus pastor at the University of South Carolina, where I was a graduate student.  Every Wednesday, I headed over to the student center for dinner, worship/programming and fellowship.  Occasionally, we'd go to Sunday worship.  Those were great years.

Forty years ago, I was the crucifer in the wedding of these family friends, and when my spouse and I got married in 1988, we asked him to officiate, and he said yes.  In later years, we've all lived in a variety of places, but we've kept up with each other.  It was great to see them again last Tuesday night and catch up face to face.

I enjoyed hearing what everyone had been up to, and as a person who is headed to seminary, I was glad to hear about the trajectory of their lives, to remember that there are many ways to serve the church:  campus pastor, parish pastor, staff member/director of a regional group that supports campus ministry--and that's just in one life.

I also found his creative path interesting.  He's one of the few people I know who got a PhD in Literature and Theology, an intersection which he explored both as a scholar and a creative writer.  But in the last 20 years, he's been exploring visual arts, primarily photography and painting.  And here I am, exploring similar paths.  He talked about an opportunity that he had to paint and to retreat and to study in Assisi.  What a dream opportunity that would be.

There were moments throughout the last week away when I had that wrenching realization of how many decades I've already been on this planet, and how the same is true of everyone I love.  I am lucky in that I expect to have a few more functional decades.  I'm trying not to give in to anticipatory grief as I realize how old my parents and friends are getting, which is also anticipatory grief for me. 

There's also the realization of how many people I've lost track of:  other campus pastors who were important to me, for example.  At the University of South Carolina, the Lutherans were joined with Episcopalians and Methodists in one center, and the Methodist pastor was very important to me.  Her five year assignment ended, and she went on to her next call.

But let me be happy that she was there.  Let me be grateful for all the important people in my life to whom I am still connected.  Let me be happy that there are all sorts of trajectories that so many of us are still exploring.

A Repeat of a Perfect Vacation

Careful readers may have noticed a change in my blog in the past 10 days.  I have been away.  Often when I'm away, I blog as usual, but that's when my spouse is at home.  When we're both away, I try to be careful on social media.  

I do realize that my attempt to be cautious is perhaps laughable.  I doubt that burglars are monitoring my Facebook account and saying, "Now is the time to break in!"  No, anyone paying attention to the house day after day will realize we're away.  But still, it's wise to be cautious.

We had such a good time during our low-key, Hilton Head vacation in September that we decided to try for a repeat in May.  And we were succesful!

In September, my spouse and I drove up from Florida, and my mom and dad drove down from Virginia.  We only went out to do some grocery shopping, some walking on the beach, and exploring an outdoor park where there was a farmer's market of sorts.  We are lucky in that we all like to cook and eat the same type of food and that our idea of relaxing involves books, not outings.

This time was similar, even though we're all fully vaccinated.  We didn't go out to eat, and we didn't do much exploring of the island.  My mom is great at finding deals, so we were in the same beautiful Marriott resort.  That resort has done a great job of keeping chairs around the pool distanced, and we were at a quiet pool.

This vacation was different too, in that my sister joined us.  On Friday night, she flew into the Savannah airport, and we picked her up on our way north.  There were many places that plan could go wrong, but we had back up plans--and we didn't need them!  It couldn't have been more perfect.  We parked at the airport, waited for 10 minutes, and then her plane arrived early.  Hurrah!

In September, I had decided that I wouldn't be visiting any other friends, so that the potential for disease exposure stayed low.  This year, I made the same decision, in part because of disease exposure (my sister has only had the first vaccine dose), but in part because I didn't want to do the additional driving, the additional planning.  Hopefully I will have other travels where I can see friends.  I decided to keep the focus on my family this time.

In the upcoming days, I will likely do some additional writing about the trip we just took.  But now I need to go to an annual doctor appointment, one that was put off last year.  Another difference between now and September--I have 2 days off, today and tomorrow.  Our school's new owners celebrate the Jewish holiday of Shavuot, and so, I am off.

I've always wanted to have time off at the end of vacation to have an easier re-entry.  This time is the first time I've been able to do that.

Reasons to Hope

Recent insights from a week away:

--I saw an older man cooking two hot dogs on a grill, and at first I was sad.  Then I decided to see it as one of the most perfect expressions of love that I had seen lately.

--Similarly, I've seen gatherings of humans on the beach at early hours to watch the sun rise.  The planet puts on a good show, and I am heartened at how many people get up to see it.  If I had to argue for the redemption of humanity, for reasons to love humans, I'd use this fact.

--If you put vegetation back onto dunes, and if you do more than give the dunes sea oats, you'll get deer.  I understand all the reasons that people see deer as a curse more than a promise.  But seeing my fellow humans captivated by early morning sightings of deer made me happy this week.

--I am happy that more 12 -15 year olds will be vaccinated soon.  I'm happy to see those shots going into younger arms.

--I am afraid that we are loosening up on masking and distancing too early, right about the time that the virus variant from India will come crashing to our U.S. shores.  Why can't we learn from the mistakes that other nations have made?

--Let me return to earlier reflections.  Let me remember what I have seen that gives me hope.  I have seen young fathers and mothers who are involved with their children, couples who appear to be equally involved with child rearing.  I have seen older generations interacting kindly with their grandchildren.  I know that I should be able to take these things for granted, but I don't.  

--It is almost time for another walk to watch the sun come up, an event that happens every morning, but rarely fails to fill me with wonder.   

Update:

I forgot to mention what fun we've had doing music bingo and name that tune all week.  Yesterday's crowd was the biggest ever, and I want to remember people of all ages, remembering/singing all sorts of songs from the 70's and 80's, even the young teenage boys whose parents may not have been born when those songs first came out.  But they knew a lot of the songs.  Young teenage boys singing "Let It Be"--a reason for hope.

And the sunrise, each day; here's today's capture:

God's Personal Pronoun Choices

For all of my adult life, I've been trying to use gender neutral pronouns when referring to God.  I'll use masculine pronouns for Jesus; it's hard to ignore the fact that he was male, but that's a subject for a different day.  For God the Creator and for the Holy Spirit, I've tried to avoid gender-based pronouns.

For awhile, I did try to balance the male gendered references with female:  for every God the Father, I'd use a God the Mother.  But that got to be exhausting too.  And does the Divine really have gender?  Aren't we inviting a new set of problems when we think of God's gender?

So, a gender neutral God seemed to be the solution.  Through the years, I've realized how hard it is for people to move away from the idea of a gendered God.  This week, I had another jolt as I read this article about the election of Megan Rohrer to be the first openly transgender Lutheran bishop.  The closing statement made me consider the gender of God in a different way:

"Rohrer told NPR: 'I am honored and humbled by the Synod's affirmation of my leadership skills. And, I am delighted that my election points to the unending love God has for Their fabulously diverse creation.'"

I have experimented with plural pronouns for God; after all, if we worship a God who is 3 divinities in 1, a plural pronoun should work.  But that's not what Rohrer is doing in the above quote.  I believe that Rohrer wants to point us to a broader view of God, in much the same way that any change in traditional masculine God language does.

Many of us grew up with the idea of God as a father, which can work on some level.  Of course, the idea of God as father, particularly if we only speak of God as father, is problematic in all sorts of ways.  What if our experience of fatherhood isn't positive?  How does having God as a male father privilege male experience?  Can we have a more equitable society if the Divine is male?

I'm interested in enlarging our sense of God, but I'm also interested in how an enlarged sense of God can also lead us to an enlarged sense of our communities and the possibility for greater community.  I'm interested in how seeing God as transgender might make us more compassionate to transgender communities and to all communities, particularly those who have been so marginalized.

Of course that won't happen right away.  People who have aligned against transgender communities aren't likely to even consider the idea that God might be transgender or the implications of a God who is different than we've been trained to believe.

But those changes won't happen if we don't start.  And thinking about a transgender God is a great way to shake us out of our complacency.

Megan Rohrer, First Openly Transgender Lutheran Bishop

Before we get too much further away from the event, I did want to note the May 8 election of the first openly transgender bishop in the Lutheran Church (ELCA version), the first transgender person to serve as bishop of any mainstream Christian denomination.  

Megan Rohrer has been groundbreaking for decades, so I'm not surprised at their election to be bishop.  Lutherans can be groundbreaking in elections to bishop; there are lots of previously marginalized people serving this way.  But when it comes to leading big congregations, we still don't see many women or people of color or people in same sex relationships or transgender people.  In the ELCA and in most denominations, the big churches are still led by men, and many of them are fairly traditional males, at least to judge by outer appearances:  older, whiter, not-disabled men.

In some ways, progress is so slow.  But I remind myself that back in 2008, Rohrer was serving a church congregation that had been kicked out of the larger denomination for having chosen them as pastor.   In 2009, the ELCA adopted a sexuality statement that allowed Rohrer and other ministers to serve officially and for churches to issue a call.  And now, almost 12 years later, a transgender bishop!

The sexuality statement is far from perfect.  It still allows churches and individuals to opt out of inclusiveness.  It's wishy-washy, or maybe it's revolutionary in its agree to disagree stance.  We won't change the hearts and minds of people by forcing a belief from the top down.  But opening the door and allowing people to serve might be the catalyst to change as people see that these humans once thought to be so different are actually quite similar.

I've often said that most of us have the same longings as humans:  we want to be safe and cared for, we want the children whom we love to be safe and cared for, we want the ones we love to be safe and cared for.  From these yearnings, it's not a great leap to want that same love and care for everyone, whether we know them or not.

I've been following Rohrer for years, and I am thrilled for this election.  Rohrer has been a source of hope and blessing for the San Francisco area for decades, and in the online arena too.  My hope and prayer is that more people can feel that level of hope and blessing and care.  The world is in such desperate need of that abundance.

May more of us be able to accept it.

Days of Ascension and Cloister

Today is the feast day of Julian of Norwich, a female mystic, one of the earliest female writers in British literature.  As a 14th century anchoress, she lived in a small cell attached to a cathedral, in almost complete isolation, spending her time in contemplation. She had a series of visions, which she spent her life elaborating upon. She is likely the first woman to write a book-length work in English.

It is also Ascension Day, the day that many Christians celebrate as the day that post-Easter Jesus is taken up into Heaven.  It's not Pentecost yet, so the followers still don't have the sense of mission that they will exhibit later.

These stories remind us that there are many ways to be true to one's purpose, many ways to serve, many ways to be a witness.  Julian of Norwich took the world in a direction it hadn't been before. She's one of our first known female theologians written in English, and because she did it, others coming afterwards would take their own visions and their words seriously too--as did other people.

And yet, she didn't set out to change the world. I comfort myself by reminding myself that Julian of Norwich would be astonished if she came back today and saw the importance that people like me have accorded her. She likely had no idea that her writings would survive. She was certainly not writing and saying, "I will be one of the earliest female writers in English history. I will depict a feminine face of God. I will create a theology that will still be important centuries after I'm dead."

I imagine that most of those early disciples also did not realize how much they were changing the world and how astonished they would be to return to our modern Christianity.  They thought they were solving problems within their communities and their home faiths.  At least at first, they weren't looking to transform themselves into a group called Christians.

These days, I often repeat Julian of Norwich’s most famous quote: “All shall be well, and all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well.” Would Julian of Norwich be pleased that so many of us derive comfort by repeating those words? Or would she shake her head and be annoyed that we have missed what she considered to be the most important ideas?

I remind myself that she would have such a different outlook than I do. She was a medieval woman who served God; she likely would not even view her ideas as her own, but as visitations from the Divine. If I could adopt more of that kind of attitude, it could serve me well on some of my more stressful days when divesting could be the most helpful thing that I could do.

In these days, divesting ourselves of our plans/expectations for the future, of our need to be sure of the future, of our worries and fears, would be helpful for many of us. Let us repeat the words of Julian of Norwich, even if we don't believe them:

“All shall be well, and all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well.”

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, May 16, 2021:

First Reading: Acts 1:15-17, 21-26

Psalm: Psalm 1

Second Reading: 1 John 5:9-13

Gospel: John 17:6-19

Parts of the Christian world will celebrate Ascension Day this Sunday, the one before Pentecost. The reading for today comes before the Crucifixion story in John, but it still makes a good Ascension Day text.

Here is the paradox of our Gospel Good News. The Kingdom of God is both here, now, already, but it is also not yet fulfilled. Those two conditions seem impossible to reconcile, impossible to live with both conditions in our head--and yet, it is what we are called to do.

But how?

The words of Jesus point the way. We are to be in the world, yet not of the world.  That seems complicated as well, another paradox, impossible to be both things.

In some ways, it is. But in this passage, Jesus reminds us that we are sanctified consecrated, and sent out into the world. The not yet message of the Gospel reminds us that God invites us to be part of the creation process. And this Gospel passage reminds us of the stakes: Jesus prays that we will be protected from the evil one.

In many ways, our most basic task is to confront evil. Everything we do, everything we create, needs to be a challenge to evil. We are not to go through the world with our business as usual selves. We are not to have a self that we bring out on Sundays, in church, and our week day self, and our Saturday self. Our task is to live an integrated life, a life that lets the light of the Good News shine through us and our actions.

So, it's all still a bit abstract? That's the beauty of our religion. We worship a God who came to model life's potential for us. Whenever we're confused, we might ask ourselves how Jesus would handle things.  Jesus would care for people, and the happy news:  there are so many ways of showing that love and care.

We can start by praying. The beauty of prayer is that you can do it anywhere. In your car, on your way to work, pray for yourself, your boss, and your co-worker. When you take a break during the day, remember to pray. In your car, on the way home, pray for your family. As you watch the news and read the newspaper, pray for all those victims of various traumas.

As you move through the day, be on the lookout for ways to be the yeast in the bread, the salt that flavors the soup. Look for ways to show Christ's love.  Radiate love, as often as you can, and you will be a far stronger advocate for God, and a person who is far better equipped to fight evil.

Each day, pray the prayer that Jesus prayed so long ago, that his joy may be fulfilled in you (verse 13). May that joy spill over onto others, as joy invariably does. Each day, ask God to guide you as you seek to be God's love incarnate in the world.

Love Notes in the Sand

This morning, I walked on the beach.  My sister got great sunrise pictures on her solitary walk yesterday; I had decided to stay inside and catch up on e-mails and other social media.  While I didn't particularly want pictures, I do want to be more intentional with my time.

I was much too early for sunrise, but that's fine.  I needed to get a bit more exercise than I've been getting.  I walked and walked, and I came across this message on the beach, writing encased in a heart:

Married here

2016

Ian and Jen

I spent part of my walk wondering about Ian and Jen.  Are they back to celebrate their 5 year anniversary?  Did their message mark the exact spot on the beach where they pledged their troth?  And if so, what was it about that stretch of beach?

I thought about how old they are.  I pictured young kids, just out of college, getting married on the beach because it was the first place where they got drunk and realized they loved each other.  But it's just as likely that they were two humans on a second or even a third marriage, two humans who felt lucky to find each other in the midst of all the heartbreak that a life can hold.

I suppose I should have wondered who was out there with me on the beach--I might have walked past Jen and Ian and not known it.  There weren't many people out there, and the message must have been put in the sand since the last high tide.

And of course, my poetry brain started thinking of the symbolism of it all, our loves and our lives washed out to sea before we know it.  Or perhaps, I should think of it differently, in a more planetary way:  matter is never destroyed, but simply transformed.  Our love may wash out to sea, becoming part of the larger ocean, the ocean that is coming for us all.

 

Music for Mother's Day

 A year ago on Mother's Day, most of us were away from our mothers, separating Mother's Day (if we lived in the U.S.) from a distance.  This year, some of us might be fortunate enough to celebrate together, and I imagine that restaurants will do a booming business, as they usually do with these holidays.  Yesterday I was in the grocery store watching some people pick through bouquets of nice enough flowers, and I thought about all the mothers out there who would be getting flowers and chocolates and last minute gifts from the grocery store.  It's a better way of celebrating than many.

This year on Mother's Day, I could post a poem, but I'll post a link to the song that our church choir put together last year.  Go here to listen to our version of "Will the Circle Be Unbroken." 

We were lucky--we were standing much too close to each other, singing and recording, but happily, no one got sick.  We were not punished.

I am not crazy about my singing voice in the video. Happily, my spouse sang the verses, and he really carries us.

I remind myself that we only rehearsed the song for about 20 minutes before the worship service. After the service, we ran through it several times, and then we recorded.

In this version, as our pastor is close to us, you can hear our individual voices. I think we sound better as a chorus when you can't pick out our voices. I've been feeling bad about my singing voice since--well, forever--and I wonder if now is the time for voice lessons.

But what I love about this type of music is that it can accommodate a variety of voices. If you listen to various versions, you'll hear people who would never be successful opera singers or featured choir members. Some of those people, like the Carter family, have become musical icons.

And in the end, it's not about how wonderful we sound--it's about the joy of making music together while we can, doing our best, looking for ways to improve, knowing that the important part is to show up.

Prayer Streams that Sparkle

I am always on the lookout for new ways to think about prayer.  I think that many of us feel like we don't know how to pray, or we feel that our prayer life is stale.

A friend of mine wrote the following in an e-mail, and I wanted to remember it:

"I always picture sparkly pink and gold streams of energy covering the people I love. Kind of my way of praying."

I think it's a cool way of thinking about asking for blessings (or protection or just about anything) to rain down on people.

Students and Food Stability

  In pre-pandemic days, I would go to Publix, our local grocery store, at 5:30 a.m. every Monday.  They would give me the carts of baked goods with pull dates that would send them to the garbage if I didn't take them away.  I would spend the first hour of Monday mornings at work unloading the car and putting out day old bread for students and staff to take.  Throughout the week, I would put out plates of treats for students and staff to enjoy.  Usually, I got enough day old treats for the whole week, and despite the pull date, they would last.

I knew that some of our students had food insecurities, and I often wished that I could provide more nutritious food.  I kept some of the bread aside and put it out throughout the week, and we always had a big jar of peanut butter.  I consoled myself by thinking that at least we provided some calories and some nutrition, and I knew that for some of our students, that food was an important supplement, and for some of them, it was all they had.

A year ago, students returned to campus for labs, and our goal was to get them in and out.  We didn't put out food; in fact, we locked the student lounge.  It was the early days of the disease, when we weren't sure of the best ways to keep students safe.  We were more afraid of contagion than of hunger.

A few weeks ago, I got the reminder that the issue of student hunger hasn't gone away.  We had a student who was shaky and out of it, and when we asked him what was going on, he said he hadn't eaten in a few weeks.  We gave him a granola bar and some peanut butter crackers with some juice.

We know we can't solve the problem of student hunger, but we started strategizing.  I applied for a microgrant from Thrivent, the financial group that used to do insurance only for Lutherans only (now they do all kinds of investments for all sorts of people).  Yesterday, we did our first shopping.

We plan to have a basket of snacks and treats always available:

And we'll have something more substantial in the cabinets.  Here's the start we've made on stocking the food pantry/shelf:

Because we know that students need more help than food here and there, we'll also keep handouts with up to date information about where to get more food.  Right now, there are plenty of opportunities; my church's food pantry has never been more well funded, for example.

I'm not under any illusions.  I know that the problem of hunger is far deeper than one food pantry can solve.  But it feels good to be doing a small part to help students stay nourished and stay in school.

All the Pastors I've Known--and Will Know

 The other day my spouse said that he knew over 100 pastors.  At first I thought he was exaggerating, and then we started to count; sure enough, we do know lots of pastor people.  We grew up as Lutherans, so there's our past pastors.  We went to a small, liberal arts Lutheran college which prepared students for ministry, and many of them went on that journey.  We've gone to a variety of gatherings and stayed in touch with some of those pastors, and we've kept going to camp as adults.  Some of our pastor friends have pastor children.

Almost everyone I know is in the education field or the pastor field.  In part, that's because those are the only fields that give parents some flexibility.  I have known lots of single moms who are frank about their needs to have a work life that meets the vacation schedule of the public schools where their children attend, so they often find jobs in the public schools.

It's an interesting time to be planning to go to seminary.  This past year of COVID-19 has created lots of pastor burnout, and I know that many pastors are making post-pastor-life plans.  I am thinking of all the classmates I had who went on to seminary right after undergraduate school.  Some of them have already retired.

As I've been more and more open about my seminary plans, I've heard from one classmate who is also planning to attend seminary this fall.  Like me, she's already had one career.  Like me, that career was in education.  Another friend who I know from Create in Me retreats had been to seminary once before, but she didn't go the MDiv/ordination route, choosing instead to get a Master's degree.  After working in church settings, she realized that more doors would open if she had gotten that degree, so she went back to complete it.  She has just been ordained.

In fact, she's the one who told me about the scholarships that made me think it might be possible for me to go back to school.  I checked into the onground intensive coupled with distance learning approach of the only Lutheran seminary that offered it at the time.  Luther Seminary required a 2 week onground intensive twice a year, and two weeks away at one time is tough for an administrator.  It's probably tough for most people in a non-church setting.

We had a congregational meeting on Sunday, and it was the first time that some of my fellow church members have heard about my plans, the first time that they've heard that my campus is closing at some later point, probably this year.  We also heard that I will be the first seminary student that comes from my congregation since the early 90's.  In some ways, that says a lot about the trajectory of my local church, which is probably similar to many churches:  fewer families, fewer college age kids, fewer people with resources who can go to seminary.

It will be interesting in future years to read accounts of these times.  How many people are making decisions that they might not otherwise have made if the disease hadn't come along to show life in a different light?

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, May 9, 2021:

Acts 10:44-48
Psalm 98
Shout with joy to the LORD, all you lands. (Ps. 98:5)
1 John 5:1-6
John 15:9-17

This week's Gospel continues where last week's lessons about the vine and the branches left off. Notice how many times Jesus commands us to love each other.

Yet most elements of Western culture encourage us to put ourselves first, to keep ourselves isolated. But Christ calls us to a different kind of life. In Eat this Book, Eugene H. Peterson says, ". . . the words of Scripture can no longer be handled by means of definition, 'who is my neighbor?' The text insists on participation, 'will you be a neighbor?' Jesus insists on participation. Jesus dismisses the scholar with a command, 'Go and do . . .' Live what you read. We read the Bible in order to live the word of God" (84).

Again and again, Jesus tells us to love each other. He knows how much we need each other’s love. As a church, we don't devote much time to Jesus' Ascension into Heaven and in a way, that's a shame. It would be a perfect opportunity to remind ourselves that Jesus leaves his mission in our hands. We are the ones who must work towards concrete actions in the physical realm. In today's Bible reading, Jesus makes it clear that we're his equals. He calls us friends. We are to go forth and bear fruit.

On this Mother’s Day, as we read the Gospel, we might see Jesus as the ultimate mother. Jesus nourishes us. But Jesus doesn’t nourish us just to keep us close and smothered and dependent. Like any good parent, Jesus nourishes us and trains us so that we’re ready to leave the nest, ready to be resurrection people shining light into a darkening and desperate world.

You may not be feeling like you’re in a loving space right now. Pretend that you are. Make the effort that it takes not to snap at your troublesome colleague. Pray for the people that annoy you. Leave love notes for your family members. Say please and thank you more often. Look for ways to make play dates with God and with the world.

You will likely find yourself transformed by your own actions—and hopefully, you’ll find the world transforming around you in response to your loving kindness.

And in this way, you can be the nourishment that the world so desperately needs, the vine that delivers God's love to the world.

The Violence of Collision: Interstellar Space, Flannery O'Connor and Other Inspirations

 I've been thinking about how we conceptualize mortality:  do we use images of moistness (mold, exploding cells, rot) or dryness (bones with no flesh, aridness)?  This morning, I tried writing a poem that used those images along with cicadas.  I thought about incorporating ideas about breast cancer.  I read this article about menopause and thought about using some of those ideas.  I was listening to Friday news round up show on NPR, which covered the death of the astronaut who stayed in the ship as the two men walked on the moon for the first time.

From there, I started a new poem about astronauts and satellites and interstellar space.  And now I have 2 rough drafts and a head full of ideas about interstellar space.  The second poem makes the most sense to me, but the first poem made some unexpected leaps.

Now I will let it all percolate.  Maybe tomorrow I'll revisit these drafts or maybe I'll start with something fresh.

Let me record two other ideas before they fade away from me:  this morning I thought about returning to my poems that may be making a series, my poems about Noah and Noah's wife.  Perhaps the few that aren't about Noah's wife I should refashion into poems about Noah's wife.  And this morning, I thought about writing a poem about Noah's wife and cicadas who emerge after 17 years to mate for a month or two (or the whole season of summer).  I'm thinking of Noah's wife and menopause and sweeping away the dried husks.

And my other inspiration: one of my Create in Me female pastor friends made this Facebook post about visiting a congregation to talk about South Carolina retreat centers:  "How wonderful to eat ice cream in a cemetery on a sunny day surrounded by all the saints."

I loved this image--could I do something with it in a poem?  It also reminded me of the graveyard that was beside the campus of my undergraduate school.  Some people found it creepy, but I found it peaceful to take walks back there, to read work for class, to have the occasional picnic.  One of my college friends had his grandfather's grave in that very cemetery.

It also seems like a very Flannery O'Connor kind of detail, which made me think about possible short stories.  But so far, I've got nothing--except for this strange realization that much as I love O'Connor's short stories, they show a sort of meanness and cruelty.  I was thinking about the woman and the traveling salesman who is interested in her wooden leg and how she doesn't have perfume, so she dabs some sort of nasal spray on her neck.  Am I remembering correctly?  And I always see her as pathetic, but lately, I'm beginning to think I may be more like her than I want to realize.

Of course, that thought is so disturbing that I turn away.  Am I like her in her snootiness?  Am I like her in that I am a pathetic excuse for modern womanhood?  Am I like her in that I am vulnerable in ways I don't even like to consider?  Yes, to answer all those questions.

And if I'm a kind scholar, I would say that's the point.  O'Connor's stories work like Christ's stories:  to warn us, to call us to our better selves.  But yesterday morning, I had my doubts.  Maybe she was just delighting in the foibles of humans and meanspiritedly showing how we're all just dupes.  Maybe she sat aloof and judgmental and Godlike.  Her theology is not always (or often?) my theology, so I could see her view of God coinciding with ideas of aloofness and the violence of collision.

The Violence of Collision:  if I was writing a book of scholarly criticism on O'Connor, that's what I would title it.

But now, on to more mundane things:  time to get ready for a Tuesday work day, which hopefully will not include collisions.

Big Girl Trousers

I am having one of those mornings where I am tired of my clothes, all of which do not fit me, but each piece doesn't fit me in a different way.  I am thinking primarily of my pants.  I am tired of so much right now, but I know that I'm lucky to be able to feel tired in the ways that I am tired, not in the more catastrophic ways of feeling tired.

I am tired because I stayed up later than usual talking to friends.  I'm tired because I went to bed with a heavy meal in my stomach, and I realize I'm lucky to have a heavy meal shared with friends, a bed to sleep in, the AC temperature that I couldn't quite get right.

The night before last, I got a great night's sleep, and that, too, is a mark of fortune.  My spouse fell asleep in the living room where he slept through the night.  I went to bed early and instead of waking up at 2 or 3 a.m., I slept through the night.  Was it because I had the whole bed to myself?  Was it because the house was slightly cooler?

I have sent my online students their last e-mail, and now I wait for their last essays.  In the meantime, there's church that will be in person this Sunday, along with a congregational meeting.

Let me get ready.  I will put on my big girl trousers (I mean that literally) and head off into my Sunday.

Solidarity Forever! Happy May Day!

Here we are in the merry month of May--how can it already be May?  The first day of May has ancient roots as a celebration of Spring and new growth and the return of warm weather.  More recently, the first day of May has become a celebration of workers.

So let's think about some ways we could make the day special:

--The traditional way would be flowers, traditionally flowers that we would leave on dark porches for people to discover when they woke up.  It's probably too late for that approach, but it's not too late to appreciate flowers.  You could buy some flowers or a flowering plant.  Or, for future enjoyment, you could do what we did.  We bought 6 packets of flower seeds and planted them all in our front planter box.  We left them alone for the most part.  And now, 3 months later, we have a profusion of flowers:

Even as they decay, they're beautiful:

--It is probably also too late to weave long ribbons around a Maypole.  But we could braid ribbons or strips of cloth and meditate on the types of joy we'd like to invite into our lives.

--Today is a good day to think about workers, workers of all sorts.  We're having more of a national conversation these days about work, about gender, about who takes care of children and elders while people work, about the locations of work.  I look forward to seeing how it all turns out--I'm holding onto hope for positive change, even as I'm afraid we can never make the improvements that need to be made.

--If we're one of the lucky types of workers, the ones who aren't under threat by bosses or by globalization or by robots, we can support those who aren't as lucky.  Send some money to organizations that work for worker's rights. I'm impressed with the Coalition of Immokalee Workers, which works to protect the migrant workers in the fields of Florida, but you certainly have plenty to choose from.

--Can't afford to make a donation? Write letters on behalf of the unemployed, the underemployed, everyone who needs a better job or better working conditions. Write to your representatives to advocate for them. What are you advocating? A higher minimum wage? Safer worksites? Job security? Work-life balance?

--Today, Anglicans, Episcopalians, and Lutherans celebrate the feast day of Philip and James; others will celebrate May 3. These are not the most well-known disciples. Today you could reread the Gospels, a kind of literary Easter egg hunt, to try to find them.

--Can you create something that weaves these strands together? Here are some possibilities: a sculpture made out of ribbons that explores the world of migrant workers. A poem that celebrates flowers and contemplates the ways that we love some blooms (flowers) but not others (algae, cancer). A painting that uses weaving in some ways to think about the past century of efforts to enlarge the workplace and make it safer. A short story that updates the story of Philip--who would he be today?