The Last Days of Guinea Worm

Yesterday as I was driving home from work, I heard this story about Jimmy Carter's efforts to eradicate Guinea worm followed by an interview with Carter.  Once again, I was struck by what an amazing man Jimmy Carter is.

I was too young to vote in the 1976 or 1980 elections, so I can't say I've always thought that Carter was amazing.  During those years, I agreed with the adults around me who saw him as ineffectual--and as president, we could make the argument that he was.  He's been a much more forceful agent for change as a former president.  He's made the work of Habitat for Humanity much more visible, for example.

The work to eliminate Guinea worm may seem like a strange choice for a former president.  It's been a huge task, as Carter explains:  "We had 203,600 villages that we had to contact and teach each one of them how to [filter their water and avoid going in water to ease the pain when a Guinea worm emerges]. And that's what's taking 30 years."

And today, there are just two cases left compared to 3.5 million a year when Carter started his work.  With luck, we could see this parasite vanquished in the next year or two. 

I like these reminders that change is possible, that painful parasites can be wiped out, that ordinary people can do extraordinary things.

We might argue that Carter has resources that ordinary people don't have, and that's correct.  I'm still heartened when people with extra resources use those resources to improve the world, especially the impoverished parts of the world.

And most of us who live in the first world have far more resources, even if they're not presidential resources, than much of the rest of the world.  How can we use some of our resources to help those who are less fortunate?

A Walk in the Everglades and Ensuing Art

Two weeks ago, we'd have been headed out to the Everglades with a group of church to take pictures and enjoy the natural vistas.  This shot was my favorite from the day:

When I took it, I thought that I'd try to transform it into a drawing.  But so far, my attempts haven't gone as planned.  Here's my first attempt:

After I drew (in blue) the swirls and trunk that I thought might represent the tree at the bottom of the photograph, I realized I didn't have enough room for the red and green "wings" at the top, so I just let my brain go in whatever direction it wanted.

Here's my second attempt:

I'm a bit happier with it, although I still didn't leave myself enough room, either for the trunks on either side of the knobbier tree in the photo or for the wings at the top.  But I carried on anyway. 

I tried to make swirls that would create the hidden face that I saw at the top of that knob.  I decided to fill in the white space on either side of the tree with the greens and browns that I saw in the Everglades.

It's not at all what I had in mind when I first started sketching, but if I don't think about what I intended, I'm pleased with it.

What's even more intriguing to me is how different the multiple attempts are--and how they preserve my memories of that day.

Muhammad Ali as Social Justice Warrior

In the hours after most of us realized that Muhammad Ali had died, I was struck by how many people mentioned his social justice work--although they might not have seen it as social justice work. 

I'm thinking in particular about his stand against the Vietnam War, and how much of a personal sacrifice it was, in terms of lost titles and lost income.  From 1967 to 1970, he couldn't fight, and he made it clear that he refused to be drafted for intensely moral reasons, not just in a desire to save his life.  He said, "My conscience won't let me go shoot my brother, or some darker people, or some poor hungry people in the mud for big powerful America. And shoot them for what? They never called me nigger, they never lynched me, they didn't put no dogs on me, they didn't rob me of my nationality, rape or kill my mother and father.... How can I shoot them poor people? Just take me to jail."

Ali's stance inspired many--some believe that his stand was responsible for Martin Luther King's shift on the war and gave him the courage to speak out against it, to set aside the worries of alienating the Johnson administration, who had made such gains in the Civil Rights arena.

I heard a clip of Bernie Sanders speaking and reminding us of Ali's Muslim beliefs, and I had a vision of Ali bringing us together in ecumenical solidarity in death--and of course, my hope would be that it would lead to more peace, more recognition of similarities, even in our differences--as he did throughout much of his life.

Trinity in Two Takes

Two weeks ago, on Trinity Sunday, I wanted to sketch something that commemorated the day.  I decided on three circles--not exactly original, but I went ahead.  I came up with this image, before I ran out of time:

I hadn't thought that I would return to it.  When my spouse recognized it as the Trinity, I thought that maybe I had been too quick to dismiss it.  He suggested that I use the colors to do something with the background, the white space.

I wanted something that suggested movement and breath for the background.  I think I did that, but I'm not crazy about the colors--they look too much like festive picnicware--but maybe that's not such a bad image for God.

We had a baptism on Trinity Sunday.  I much prefer that image that I sketched.

Does this baptism image tell us about the Trinity?

Poetry Friday: "One Intentional Mistake"

In mid-April, I was feeling a bit frazzled with all I had to do:  put the finishing touches on retreat planning, packing, getting the guest room ready, and of course, all the tasks of the work I do for pay.

I thought of the ways I would like to make the guest room (and the house) perfect.  I soothed myself by saying  "It won't be perfect, but that's O.K. because I am realistic enough to know I don't have time (or space or money or . . .) to make it perfect."

In that vein, I wrote this poem:


One Intentional Mistake

"how for years I was taught:
fly low under the radar."
                    Luisa Igloria, “Only“

Amish quilters made intentional mistakes
because only God can craft
items of perfection.

I make mistakes without precision,
scattering them across my work
with great abandon, as if to ward
off evil spirits.

Those spirits will move
on to haunt those who are too proud
of their precise stitches, their perfect
children, their houses ready to grace
the cover of glossy magazines.

I fly under the radar
of every evil spirit with my chaotic
collection of art supplies spread
out across every surface, children frolicking
in paint or mud.

But my children get their nightly baths
before being tucked into beds with bright
quilts with crooked seams. I will tell
them one last story
about the woman who abandoned
the neatness of numbered columns
for the spatter of paint and the magic
of fairy cakes in the overgrown garden.


You may notice it was inspired by Luisa Igloria, and her poem appeared on the Via Negativa site, a site I love because a variety of poets show up here each day, and most of the poems link in a way to some other poem on the site. 

It's a modern call and response.

The Morality of the Zoo and a Brief Discourse on Cruelty and Captivity

I've been watching the outrage that came in the aftermath of the child leaping/falling into the gorilla pen, which led to the gorilla's death.  I've seen all sorts of calls for punishment for the mother, as well as an interesting discussion, in many places, about the morality of zoos.

Should we have zoos?  Should we abolish zoos in favor of wildlife preserves?  Is a preserve just another type of zoo?

If a species will die out without human intervention, should humans allow extinction?  I do realize that with many species, we do just that.  And many species go extinct before we even realize they're in danger.  We are in the time of the Holocene Extinction, the 6th great die out (that we know of) on this planet.

It's an interesting discussion, one which leads me back to God.  Just as humans wrestle with the question of whether or not to intervene in extinction, and if so, what should the action be--does God have the same wrestling?  If we believe in a God of free will, is it even conceivable that God would intervene?

If we didn't have zoos, if we couldn't see these creatures live and up close, would we care at all?  The answer probably differs according to the human.

Yesterday, a colleague showed me a picture of a small dog that had a tiara on its head and some sort of clothing.  She asked, "Is this animal cruelty?"

I said no, but then I clarified, "Of course, I'm not going to see animal cruelty in a picture unless there's some part of the animal that's bleeding."

Do we see the same dynamic in the zoo?  I don't see it as cruel to keep animals in modern zoos, where efforts have been made to create a habitat close to the one they would inhabit in the wild, where they get food, where there are places for animal privacy, should the animal want it.

And the whole idea that animals are better in the wild is a false one too.  Many of these zoo animals would be in great danger from predators--and worse, from hunters and poachers.  So it's hard for me to see the zoo as a form of animal cruelty.

Still, I am uncomfortable with this kind of animal captivity for our viewing entertainment.  I think of that case in Yellowstone National Park, where the tourists took a bison calf to a ranger because they thought it was cold.  They put a wild animal in their car--what on earth made them think that would be O.K.?

I'm not sure I'd blame zoos, so much as I might blame Disney movies.  Or maybe as a species, we tend to anthropomorphize every creature--even God.  We assume that all creatures are just like us.

You might argue that God has called us to care for creation, and I would agree with you.  The nature of that care is where we might all differ--and I have no easy answers.

I am glad to see so many people wrestling with the ethical questions of what it means to be good stewards--even as I shudder at the vitriol aimed at that poor mother at the zoo.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, June 5, 2016:



First Reading: 1 Kings 17:17-24

First Reading (Semi-cont.): 1 Kings 17:8-16 [17-24]

Psalm: Psalm 30

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 146

Second Reading: Galatians 1:11-24

Gospel: Luke 7:11-17


Today's Gospel gives us the kind of miracle that's hardest to explain away (if we're in the mood to explain away). Other miracles, like the one of multiplying loaves and fishes, we understand: maybe one act of generosity inspired other people to share their food; maybe the disciples miscounted the loaves. After all, we see this kind of miracle all the time: one person is assigned to bring the main dish for potluck, and other people decide they'll bring a main dish too, and pretty soon, we've got enough food to feed all the hungry people on the block.

But bringing a man back from the dead, now that's a miracle. Even in our modern time of all sorts of medical possibility, we're still amazed when people beat their cancer, when people who were dead for several minutes are saved, when the body rallies and defeats death. We know it's just temporary. We're all headed towards the grave, and medical intervention can only hold that off for so long.

Why is it so hard for us to accept the miraculous? We are part of a religious tradition that tells stories of the miraculous week after week. We worship a God who rescues humanity again and again: from the degradation of slavery, from the oppression of societal structures, from the very grave itself.

We often forget how very often we see miracles on a daily basis. Even the non-religious have been known to comment on the miraculous nature of hurricane ravaged foliage that regenerates, of cancerous cells that shrink or vanish, of the wayward child who returns to sensible behavior, of the relationships that regenerate into a deeper love. And if we think about the even larger picture, if we consider how unlikely it is throughout the universe that carbon combines with other elements to create life forms, it becomes harder to think that miracles don't exist on our own planet. Think about our own planet, and how life manages to adapt and thrive under the most adverse conditions (like in volcanic vents under the ocean).

Wendell Barry said it best: "Whoever really has considered the lilies of the field or the birds of the air and pondered the improbability of their existence in this warm world within the cold and empty stellar distances will hardly balk at the turning of water into wine--which was, after all, a very small miracle. We forget the greater and still continuing miracle by which water (with soil and sunlight) is turned into grapes" ("Christianity and the Survival of Creation" in Sex, Economy, Freedom and Community, page 103).

Most of us have probably already abandoned our New Year's resolutions, so perhaps it's time to make a mid-year resolution. Let this be the summer that we take note of the miraculous on a daily basis. We live in a world that delights in delivering bad news; let this be the season that we train ourselves to recognize all the good news that God sends us each and every day.