Pray With Me?

Today the immigrant day laborers I visit with every week and I had a good laugh. It's the kind of laugh that is born of deep pain and anxiety. You know, the kind of laugh so you don't cry.

Work has been desperately hard to come by. Day labor by its nature is an incredibly vulnerable way to make a living, and in this economic crisis, even more so. Workers go days without work, weeks with only a day or two here and there.

They had told me before that they don't like it when it rains because there's even less work (although they're still there, waiting faithfully...just like last week, in a cold drizzle). But at least when it snows, there's work shoveling driveways and parking lots and such.

So I asked the guys today, are they hoping it snows? Should we start praying for snow?

Well, it all depends. Most of the time the snow here in Denver is a few inches, then the sun comes out the next day and melts it off in a few hours. No need to shovel.

But if we pray for more, well, you have to be careful there, too -- if it's too much, like waist-high or more, then you can't get out to go get the shoveling jobs (and the shoveling jobs can't get to you).

Then we began to giggle. What kind of snow should we be praying for? What would bring in shoveling jobs, and let them get out to find the jobs, on a steady basis? Everybody was measuring on their bodies -- here? this high? 3 weeks? 1? Finally we figured it out:

Knee-high snows, every two weeks. That should be good. So I will be praying for that. And that they get paid for their work, as there is rampant wage theft in day labor. So that, too.

I hope you'll join me.

the one with the collar

the one
with the collar
is the one
who gets to go
to the jail
and talk to
the lady cop
who booked
her
almost
2 years ago now
imagine
and she still
remembers
although
the lady cop
sees only the collar
and is not mean
this time

the one
with the collar
is the one
who gets
all the information
and assures
the husband
it will all be ok
slow, but ok
nerve-racking, but ok
cost a little money, but ok

the one
with the collar
realizes
as she slides
the white notched
plastic
into place
that this
is their life now
naps interrupted
with emergencies
Saturday nights
interrupted with
crises
much needed self-care
interrupted
with
much needed other-care

the one
with the collar
is tired
hormonal
slightly sick
but must keep
the collar handy
more calls to make
tonight
to get a loved one
out of jail

Towanda Gets Interviewed

Tess offered up a chance to be interviewed, so here are her questions for yours truly (and my answers, of course!).

What's the most beautiful city you've ever visited, and why?

Wow, hmm. My gut response is Antigua, Guatemala, which still has much of its original Spanish colonial (as in, built by the original Spanish colonists) architecture, and what is newer is built in that same style. Bougainvillea bounds abundantly over the walls and other sorts of flora are equally bountiful. The city is small, you can walk to just about anywhere you'd want to go, and there are sweet little cafes where you can sit at a little table inside the hacienda walls but still outside, by the fountain, and have a café con leche and write. And yes, I know, it is a complexity in me to be anti-colonial and yet appreciate this architecture.

With that in mind what I also like is the presence of Maya folk, especially women, still in their traditional traje and going about town. That many are impoverished and are there selling their wares to tourists in order to feed their families is problematic, I know. However, I think their presence is also a reminder that as much as the colonists, the church, and later, the Guatemalan government have tried to wipe out the Maya through colonization, conversion, assimilation and genocide, THEY ARE STILL HERE. They are still here. The empire has not won.

What made you know it was right for you to seek ordination?

Honestly, it was because I couldn't imagine doing my work in the world any other way. And believe me, I tried to talk God out of it many, many times. Word and Table are integral pieces of my understanding of how I am called to do God's work of justice.

Do you think your passion for social justice is innate,
or was it triggered by something in particular?

Nature versus nurture? Great question. I know I have an innate concern for fairness, just ask my brothers. Maybe that's from being the oldest child? But I can also point to a specific event that initiated the whole rest of this journey that's been my life ever since. I wrote about this in in my seminary application (which you can read all of here):

My first experience of transformation, my first real sense of call, came when I was 16 years old. I was attending the 1986 Presbyterian Youth Triennium; One morning, the thousands of us gathered in the large auditorium for the plenary. After being introduced, a young woman, dressed simply, came out on to the stage, accompanied by a young man. Her name was Jean Peacock, and she began to speak of her work in Tucson, Arizona, as part of the Sanctuary movement.

I had never heard of such a thing. But I sat in rapt attention as she described the plight of Central Americans fleeing to the border, escaping brutality which at that point in my young life was new to me. She spoke of civil wars in El Salvador, Guatemala, Nicaragua, of the campesinos fleeing death threats, massacres, torture, to the supposed refuge of the U.S., where they faced new struggles of entering the country illegally, traveling a new “Underground Railroad” throughout the U.S. and into Canada, to a tenuous safety. Few lucky ones were granted asylum, but strange it seemed, the U.S. officials did not believe the stories, and the vast majority were forced to live hidden lives.

When Jean introduced the young man with her, a former death squad member from El Salvador who had repented and fled the country, already my heart was pounding, and I could sense God speaking to me between the beats, urging me to listen in a way I had never listened before. What I was hearing was difficult – such tragedy, such violence, and the complicity of my own country – but I ached to know more. By the time he finished speaking, I knew that I was being called. I could not get their stories out of my head, nor my heart, nor my soul. While the kids around me were complaining that this had been a “downer” (and, interestingly, when I met Jean years later, she told me that she thought at the time that her speech had been unimpressive), I understood very clearly the voice that was now resounding in my heart: Pay attention: This is the life I am setting before you. Your life and work are going to be connected to Central America, in working for justice and for peace.

What is it about goats that makes them so lovable?

Mmm. There's this blend of intelligence and sweetness and how they just know and you can see that in their faces. I swear Arlo knows who I am, and he comes when I call and he nudges me and nibbles at me. He seems to know when I need more attention, a little more care. The first time I did evening chores all by myself, Arlo and his mama and his grandmama circled round me as I walked through the goat pens, as if showing the other goats I could be trusted.

Working with the goats has taught me that they will trust me if I treat them well -- talking to them gently, feeding them, scritching their foreheads. Trusting me doesn't always mean they behave, right Lori? But I also know that when they refuse to go to bed, that really doesn't have anything to do with me, and I just have to laugh at them 'cause they're goofy. Getting mad doesn't help. I don't have to do or be anything special, just show up and be kind.

Plus, they're just cute!! I mean, look at this face! Who wouldn't love this face??!!

If you could own any piece of baseball memorabilia in the world,
what would it be?

Anything? Really? Wow, hmm. How about one of the home plates that Jackie Robinson stole (I'm not even sure if one is extant, but I can dream)? George Brett's pine tar bat (man, that would make my brothers jealous)? A game ball from the 1985 World Series signed by all the Royals (we lived in Kansas then and followed them closely)? An original, mint condition, Ted Williams baseball card? Oh, Tess, don't get me started!


If you'd like to be interviewed by me, leave me a note in the comments!

Ordination Eve

My parents, my youngest brother (TBro) and my aunt and her husband all got here fine today. We went out and stuffed ourselves on great Mexican food and toasted being together. Then we came back to our and played "the mother of all hearts games" per my brother's request. It was a blast. My aunt hates to lose, see, every since she was little she has been famous for it, and then there's a long history of Daddy always winning in our family games when we were growing up, and what joy it gave us to toss down the queen on Daddy. So there was much fun to be had when Auntie would set up Daddy to get the queen -- but then Auntie ended up losing the whole thing and much glee was expressed by all...especially my Daddy.

My niece -- all of her own accord, without prompting -- handed TBro a hand-made card and a baseball (tossed to her by a coach at the game they went to Wednesday...they have season tickets to the AA team in town, right down by the field, so she gets balls all the time) to bring to me, which I thought was very sweet. The card has big hearts drawn on it and "I Love You" written on the front.

I feel good about tomorrow. I can feel the adrenaline starting to pump already, which I hope doesn't mean I won't be able to sleep! But it's not anxiety, it's more of an

ohmygoodnessohmygoodnessohmygoodnessohmygoodness

kind of feeling.

The bulletin's done, my stuff is together, there's nothing left to do but show up!

ohmygoodnessohmygoodnessohmygoodnessohmygoodness

oh
my
God.



UPDATED to add -- My cielo wants it to VERY clear that SHE WON THE GAME. She's only played maybe 4 times in her life...also, I should note that I got a better score than TBro, which is pretty much my only goal...

Retreat Photos

My retreat really was wonderful. Restful, rejuvenating, healing. Did some hard, good, work. When I got home yesterday, my cielo said I was glowing. And it wasn't just from the snow/sun. I feel lighter, like I can breathe all the way through my body again. And very, very loved, by God and by the people who walk with me.

I'm still figuring how to talk about it, if I need to even. Some of it seems too intimately sacred to share, yet. But here are some photos in the meantime.


My hermitage, "Dorothy Day." (Appropriate, no?) She is nestled into the side of a ridge (as are almost all the monastery buildings, fitting the architecture into the landscape rather than vice versa), with the big windows facing south. I had a fabulous view; on clearer days I swear I could see New Mexico. That woodpile would come in handy. This was taken the afternoon I arrived.


The very next morning (Friday). Look what blew in! It kept snowing until mid-afternoon on Saturday. Gorgeous, really. My little wood stove made plenty of heat.


The monastery building, which also houses the common library and kitchen. Sangre de Cristo mountains behind, still quite snowy.


Cards and notes from friends for my birthday (Saturday was my birthday). These and the ones from my cielo were in the east window.


The monastery chapel, looking west towards the Rockies (waayyy off in the distance, on the other side of the San Luis Valley). The little bridge connects the monastery and the chapel and offers some amazing views.


Coyote (I think) prints outside my kitchen window. After the snow stopped, I would hear them every night. On the last night, a herd of mule deer came right up into my "front yard" outside the south windows but it was too dark for a good photo. I sat out on the step and watched them munch for about 10 minutes before they wandered off.


Station #11 of the Way of the Cross. Looking up (appropriately) into the Sangre de Cristo (blood of Christ) mountains. Not being Catholic and so not knowing these things very well, I had to look up #11. It's the crucifixion.


The sunset on my last night.


By the way, I highly recommend Nada if you're looking for a retreat. The hospitality is warm and genuine, the solitude well provided for (the hermitages are placed so that you cannot see one from another. Mine was at the end of the path, so no one ever came by...except once, to shovel the snow), and the landscape breathtaking.

One Step Closer

In December of 1994 I made my first trip to Guatemala, for a meeting about the program I coordinated for the Presbyterian Church. After the meeting, some of us did a little tour to a few parts of the country, spending the night in Panajachel on Lake Atitlán. We arrived in the afternoon while all the little outdoor stalls were still open selling their beautiful wares. My co-workers and I wandered through the streets trying not to buy everything in sight.

It was on towards sunset when we came up to a stall near the lakeshore, hung all over with woven stoles. My boss and I stopped and looked for a long time. Finally, I said, "I'm going to buy one. You know, just in case I might need it some day." She smiled. We both knew the possibility of me being ordained in the PC(USA) was unlikely, unless I stayed stuffed in a closet, which we also both knew was unlikely. Nevertheless, I bought one, in an extreme act of hope I suppose, a bright rainbow-y one that laid across the top of my desk for the next 6 or so years.

I gave that stole away in May 2000. I gave it to the pastor in Portland as a gift for being so kind to my cielo. Plus, I figured that I would not actually need it, having been unceremoniously dumped from my job at that same time, making clear to me that my person, my self, was not wanted. I didn't even know yet, then, that I would leave the PC(USA) for the UCC. I didn't know that I would come to love the UCC, that I would heal from the pain of leaving my childhood denomination, that I would find my way back to my path that would eventually lead me to where I am now.

Now, I have a whole set of Guatemalan stoles -- bright green/blue, darker green/black (for fall ordinary time!), deep purple, white, red, and yes, another rainbow-y one -- hand-picked by my cielo's brother in Guate and sent to me at my request before I began working at HappyChurch. HappyChurch allowed me to wear stoles as a sign of my ministerial authority even though I am not yet ordained, and I have also worn them at my new church. The red one graced BlueEyes' neck and the rainbow-y one TheologyBabe's during the great Transform columbus day Protest of 2007:

The red one is now my "official" protest stole, which I wear in marches and speaking at city council meetings...and which I carried at my trial. I also have a massively large red stole from Mexico, whichI bought from the weaver in Cuernavaca and which I wore at the 2007 protest:

I'm digressing, slightly: The point is, back in 1994 I bought a stole, in absurd hope, which I then gave away, having lost hope. And now here I am just a few more steps from being ordained.

Tonight, the HappyChurch council voted to approve the partnership between my church and theirs, which will make it possible for them to call me as the new church start pastor. The conference meets on Saturday (note to UCC polity geeks, my conference doesn't have any associations, in which this responsibility usually lies) and will vote whether or not to approve. And Sunday HappyChurch has its congregational meeting to vote to approve my call. No one expects any hiccups. One woman on the HappyChurch council said, "If the congregation doesn't approve this, I will fall down in a dead faint."

So. There you go.

Day 2, Briefly

This is the verse of the day from Sojourners:

See how they conceive evil,
and are pregnant with mischief,
and bring forth lies.
They make a pit, digging it out,
and fall into the hole that they have made.
Their mischief returns upon their own heads,
and on their own heads their violence descends.

- Psalm 7:14-16

I certainly hope the city's mischief returns upon their own heads. Because the city's witnesses today (all police) was lies, lies, and more lies.

It's a difficult spiritual struggle to sit through that.

I definitely have a cold. Tanking up on Emergen-C and vitamins.

Long day. Finished at 8pm.

City rested. Our side moved to dismiss due to lack of evidence but judge didn't buy it.

We presented one witness.

Tomorrow I testify, and my Anishinabe brother on trial with me. I go first.

Should be a verdict tomorrow. Some positive signs from the jury but still hard to say which way anything is going.

Gonna go shower off the ick of the day, and go to bed.

Love to all.

Prepared.

I have been well prayed-over by my people. I have had my head and hands and throat and heart and shoulders and feet anointed. I have had my chakras opened and light brought into my throat and heart to speak truth to power. I have had my toenails painted kick-ass red (with flowers on the big toes, no less), and there was no henna at the global bazaar thing but my people drew on my feet instead (my cielo's, too). Which is way better.




I am ready.

















What can they do to me, really? They cannot stop the power of what has been created, the community and unity and hearts opened and minds changed. There is no stopping the power that has been unleashed by a group of brave people joining arms and praying and singing for life and human dignity. No matter what they do, they cannot stop this.

















I am ready.




(And hey, the yankees are still in last place. Isn't life beautiful??!!)

Preparation

• Finishing up a paper today.
• BlueEyes is taking me for a mani/pedi (something I've never done) today. She wants my feet, in particular, to be well tended to so that I will feel more grounded, rooted.
  
• Reading the Letter from a Birmingham Jail.
• Listening to lots of Sweet Honey in the Rock. Oh, and this:
  

• Enjoying my dreams...Ysaye Maria Barnwell of Sweet Honey showed up night before last, encouraging me to sing, loudly. Dr. Vincent Harding, emeritus professor at Iliff (among other things...follow the link), showed up last week, ten feet tall and cradling me in his arms.
• Got the chance to tell Dr. Harding about my dream, and he hugged me and rocked me in his arms. (OK, the man who worked closely with Dr. King, who helped draft King's speeches including "Beyond Vietnam," hugged me, and told me I was a blessing to him. I was completely humbled and nearly speechless.)
• Tomorrow I'm going to a global bazaar thing where my cielo's women's group is selling their handmade stuff. Supposedly there will be henna...what do you say, henna painters? Well, you can get henna'd. So I am going to try to get my feet henna'd, with a design of vines and leaves, again to help me feel rooted and grounded.
• Taking my vitamins.
  
• Breathing. Lots of breathing. I feel like I need to do a yoga sun salutation series today.
• Tomorrow night my dear friends will be coming over to surround me in prayer. The traditional chocolate communion will take place.
• My own praying, praying with my cielo.
• Preparing my trial journal, with quotes that inspire me, Scripture that encourages me, and photos of dear ones to surround me (or just to make me happy, like this one. Thanks, Anita!)

• Meditating on the imagery/metaphor that came from the Spirit to help me through this: I am in my little canoe, on the river, holding on to my paddle. Trusting my river guide (Jesus) to help me get through the rapids. Recognizing when I'm not actually IN the rapids and just enjoy where I am. Knowing I am alone in the boat (with Jesus), but my friends, my family, the ancestors, the martyrs, are lining the riverbanks, praying me safely home. The paddle...is prayer, breath, awareness, singing. Remembering that the rapids are not permanent, not the end of the river, but a "slight momentary affliction" that I will get through. Knowing that even if the boat tumps over, I will be fine.

Beautiful.

From Showings
-Julian of Norwich

And so our good Lord answered to all the questions and doubts which I could raise, saying most comfortingly: I may make all things well, and I can make all things well, and I shall make all things well, and I will make all things well; and you will see yourself that every kind of thing will be well...

And in these...words God wishes us to be enclosed in rest and in peace.

(thanks, Muser, for the quote..)

Deliberate

Deliberate

Being a poem in the margin of the notebook page after watching clips of the film "Romero," about the life and assassination of Monseñor Oscar Romero, including the one above, in class this morning.

The deliberate
protecting of the body
body of Christ
scattered
called together

The deliberate
putting on of the stole
the sacred garments
vesting to confront evil

The deliberate
reclaiming
of the sacred space

The deliberate
baptism
of the whole body
the whole

sacraments as
revolutionary acts
revolutionary

The deliberate
threatening
beating
raping
torturing
killing
of the prophetic body

The deliberate
resurrection
again
and again
and agin

Thought For The Day

Ask the loveliness of the earth, ask the loveliness of the sea, ask the loveliness of the wide airy spaces, ask the loveliness of the sky, ask the order of the stars, ask the sun, making daylight with its beams, ask the moon tempering the darkness of the night that follows, ask the living things which move in the waters, which tarry on the land, which fly in the air; ask the souls that are hidden, the bodies that are perceptive; the visible things which must be governed, the invisible things that govern—ask these things, and they will all answer you, Yes, see we are lovely. Their loveliness is their confession. And all these lovely but mutable things, who has made them, but Beauty immutable?

- Augustine
Sermons 214.2

Prayer Chain

Last week I asked to be put on the prayer chain at HappyChurch. The organizer is one of my favorite people there, and talking to her about the prayer-type help (support, encouragement, energy, etc.) I was going to need over the next several weeks felt better -- safer -- somehow than standing up in church (which means getting the pastor's attention from behind his back, which feels very odd) and talking about it. I have no idea who is on the prayer chain -- both the chain members and the prayer requests are confidential -- but she told me Sunday that the people were so very happy to pray for me. And honestly I have felt a kind of buoying presence as I've worked through the things on my list since I asked for prayer-chain prayers.

This poem that came via the Writer's Almanac this morning made think of that.

Prayer Chain

My mother called to tell me
about an old classmate of mine who

was dying on the parish prayer chain—
or was very sick—or destitute—

or it had not worked out—the marriage—
or the kids were all on drugs—and

all the old mothers were praying intensely
for all the pain of their children

and for life—they were praying for life—
in their quiet rooms—sipping decaf coffee—

I bet they've been praying for me at times—
so I'll find my way—so I won't rob a bank—

I'll take them—the mystical prayers of old mothers—
it matters—all this patient and purposeful love.

--by Tim Nolan

And Yet More Baseball...

Assignment #1: Write a poem about Baseball and God

And on the ninth day, God
In His infinite playfulness
Grass green grass, sky blue sky,
Separated the infield from the outfield,
Formed a skin of clay, Assigned bases of safety
On cardinal points of the compass
Circling the mountain of deliverance,
Fashioned a wandering moon
From a horse, a string and a gum tree,
Tempered weapons of ash,
Made gloves from the golden skin of sacrificial bulls,
Set stars alight in the Milky Way,
Divided the descendants of Cain and Abel into contenders,
Declared time out, time in,
stepped back,
And thundered over all of
creation:
"Play ball!"

Philip E. Burnham, Jr. from Housekeeping: Poems Out of the
Ordinary. © Ibbetson Street Press, 2005. Via the Writer's
Almanac.

Today is the home opener for the Rockies! I am on my way home from school to watch on TV (while studying Greek, of course). My friend BlueEyes will be at the game (lucky her) and is supposed to text me about all the fun she is having. I will be jealous, of course!

Paraklesis

I am working hard on a theology class project for Tuesday, but I have my cellphone set to ring every hour so that I can review my Greek vocabulary for the quiz tomorrow.

Paraklesis, on this week's list, is the word for encouragement. I am guessing the word is the same one that results in "Paraclete," the Comforter, the Advocate. The Encourager, we might say.

I could use a little of that.

In the middle of all this homework (which I was hoping to finish tonight but no such luck) I have become aware that my greatest fear in all this is not that I'll be found guilty, but that I'll be found wanting. That, actually, I have nothing worthwhile to say or offer.

Mmm, self-worth (or lack thereof), my age-old nemesis back at work.

And suddenly it occurs to me, that my fear is all about control, that I won't be able to control everything, or anything. If I can't control it, am I a failure?

Today's sermon was about letting go of the need to control. I have to remember that God is in charge, God brought me to this place, God is faithful, God through the Spirit will give me all the words I need.

And I remember, God has filled my life with Paracletes, Encouragers, Advocates. All around me, people who say:

Let me help you
Let me hold you
Let me pray for you
Let me remind you who you are
Let me love you
Let me drive you
Let me feed you
Let me be safe space for you
Let me sit with you
Let me stand with you

I need to let go and let them do their job...

Housekeeping and Prayer Requests

Howdy all!

There's a new feature here at the window. Over in the right column and down a little, you'll see a box of links called "towanda's shared items." These are things I have found interesting, moving, funny, powerful, quirky. Enjoy!

And, I'd like to ask your prayers. This week (beginning Wednesday) is the first (and hopefully only) trial of protesters from the Transform columbus day Protest. 4 defenders go on trial; the rest of us are "on hold" until after it is finished. Please hold in your thoughts/prayers/energy all those involved -- lawyers, judge, jury, and especially the 4 defenders, and especially the 2 of the defenders who have not been on trial before (including my friend JT).

For my own self, I know a lot is riding on this trial -- how it turns out will impact what happens to the rest of us. I woke up this morning with a rising tide of anxiousness churning in my belly. And, funny enough, the closer we get to the trial, the more may shoulders, arms, wrists, and hands hurt. Huh.

I think it's no accident, however, the we go to trial right before the national holiday of someone who should be celebrated, Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King.

I am convinced that love is the most durable power in the world. It is not an expression of impractical idealism, but of practical realism. Far from being the pious injunction of a Utopian dreamer, love is an absolute necessity for the survival of our civilization. To return hate for hate does nothing but intensify the existence of evil in the universe. Someone must have sense enough and religion enough to cut off the chain of hate and evil, and this can only be done through love.

----Martin Luther King, Jr., 1957

New Year Meme

This is a meme floating around: Listing the first sentence of the first blog post of each month of 2007. I am not going to include other people's writing quoted here (like Friday Five intros). Enjoy!

January: Ok, here it goes:

February: Well, let's see.

(All right, this isn't very interesting so far...these are both the start of Friday Fives.)

March: In Hebrew class this morning, we were talking a little bit about "mystery" and how sometimes letting there be no clear answers is okay.

(That's more like it!)

April: Oh, this is so where I am right now -- and what I hope I am trying to live --

May: So, apparently I make children cry, AND piss off little old ladies.

(Ooh, remember that?)

June: Some of my seminary buddies and I talk about the slump we feel when the quarter is over -- after ten weeks of rushrushrush, writewritewrite, processprocessprocess (if you can), thinkthinkthink, there is this quite discernible collapse for several days after the quarter is done.

July: Howdy, everyone! Welcome to the new Window!

August: Remember this paper?

September: This was our near-to-last stop before we head home tomorrow: (photo) The rest of the trip has been just as fabulous!

October: Division Series Playoff Schedules!!

(Technically this is the second post...the first post was a quote from someone else).

November: Once again, Tess provides the best in video entertainment --

(Also a second post...)

December: Sometimes I wonder if my sermon-writing process must include at least one utter crisis of confidence.

Hmm...Mundane, sublime, painful, joyful, mystical. Sounds about right.

Happy New Year, everyone!

Morning Prayer

I wrote this this morning while looking out the front window at the snow blanketing everything, thinking of many friends who are on painful, but sacred, and good, journeys.

Gracious, loving God of all life,
I give you thanks for this day,
thanks for the sun rising
(not a miracle per Hume* but
I bet you've set him straight
on that by now)
thanks for a little bit of extra sleep
with calm dreams,
thanks for snuggly kitties
and the warm body of my beloved.
I give you thanks for
my family and my friends,
all those who surround me with love and care
from far away and from near
and I ask that you be with them
especially the ones who are hurting
and need your help,
need your presence,
I ask that your healing spirit
surround and melt into their hearts
like this heavy, wet snow,
melting into the dry and thirsty earth.
And I ask that you be with me,
as you have always been,
ever faithful.
Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Amen.


(*David Hume, incredibly pompous Scottish Enlightenment philosopher.)

Thanksgiving

thankful thankful thankful

I am so deeply filled with gratitude
and it has nothing to do with a stupid holiday
next week that commemorates a blasphemous lie
with bellies overstuffed with food
harvested by exploited hands,
and crashing helmets re-enacting the theft
of someone else's land,
while others starve and huddle
in bombed-out houses

No, nothing to do with that. Yet everything.

I am so deeply filled with gratitude
gratitude beyond articulateness
gratitude that stretches out
my rotated ribs and sore tendons
gratitude that soars my heart
gratitude barely contained
under my eyelids
barely contained in my throat
that wants to burst forth in

a love song a praise song
a healing song a victory song

a flying, arm-flapping,
glow-stick swinging
dance of singing celebration.

Yes.
Join your arm in mine,
friend, sister, brother,
we will turn our fury
into loving action
we will turn our silenced selves
into hurricane voices
we will turn our mourning
into dancing
we will turn our wounded bodies
into compassionate roadblocks against
hate and violence, against our own
complicity and privilege.

And for, and for, and for,
we will stand and risk and kneel
and sing and pray and cry out
for
life and love and passion
and community and
solidarity and justice and
beauty and tenderness and
peace and healing and
wholeness and integrity and
truth and liberation and
and and and

gratitude
gratitude
gratitude

words
insufficient
to describe
the gift
of your arm
joined to mine

Thanks be to God.

Back to Talking About Me

Today in my Gospel of John class a friend of mine did an exegesis presentation about John 12, where Mary of Bethany anoints Jesus' feet, and John 13, where Jesus washes the disciples feet.

At the end of the presentation, she and another friend brought out bowls and jugs of water and towels. Well, you know what that means. I don't mind feetwashing, actually, I find it quite powerful. At any rate, the friend assisting read from a writer who talks about the first followers of Jesus telling and re-telling the stories because their bodies and their lives depended on it. A very powerful quote. Then my friend said that to really know the text we have to enter into the story and experience it. Hence, the footwashing.

So, assisting friend washed my feet. As I was sitting there experiencing the warm, scented water and her gentle touch, I realized that that moment was almost exactly the time that I was released from jail, one month ago today. I thought about how during that long and lonely night I wished there were someone to touch me with gentleness, like my friend was doing for me today.

I wept. It's not particularly like me to weep in public, especially in class, but there you go.

We need to know the texts in our bodies. Our lives depend on it.

Oh yes.

These Hands Are Holy

That's what my cielo told me as she rubbed arnica gel into my wrists and thumbs. I'm hurting more this week, in rings around my wrists where the cuffs cut in, and up both thumbs. Especially on the right side, the one that seems to be hurt more, with the numbness in that thumb.

I had a paper due this week and so was typing like crazy. By now, I've written a lot of papers for school. But my hands have never hurt from typing. Usually my back gives out if I'm working hard. But never my hands. Not from typing, not from playing piano. So this is strange to me.

Is there any irony in the fact that the paper I was writing was about how white women are both privileged and oppressed by colonialism? And how I struggle with that? Hmm. (Hey Iris, can you guess what class?). Or that the day after turning in that paper, I was in court for my arraignment, hands throbbing?

(Everything went fine, by the way. The city attorney will try to add a charge to my case at my trial, which will be in January. They've been doing that to a lot of people. I think it's just to intimidate us. Won't work.)

The pain reminds me of being in jail, and how sore my wrists were. How I wished that I had some arnica, or ibuprofen, or just someone to be kind to me, to hold my hands with gentleness. The pain reminds me that even when I decided to try to sleep, I couldn't, really, because my hands hurt and I couldn't find a way to be comfortable. The pain reminds me of the loneliness in the middle of the night.

The pain reminds me of how many have suffered from columbus' legacy. If this is the price I have to pay to say "yes" to life and love and human decency and dignity and justice, and "no to empire and hatred and death and violence, then so be it.

So, now I'm working on my sermon for Sunday, so my hands won't get much of a rest. The texts are Habakkuk and Zacchaeus (Luke). Ever notice that Zacchaeus says no to empire, too?

Write the vision, God tells Habakkuk, for there is still a vision. There is still a vision.

Indeed.


P.S. A friend from school works with a physical therapist, and got me an appointment with her next week to check out my hands. For free. I'm so thankful.