Rejoice!

The three surviving Christian Peacemaker Team members held hostage in Iraq have been released. Welcome home James Loney, Harmeet Singh Sooden, and Norman Kember!

Information, action requests, and memorials for Tom Fox are on the CPT website.

Links to news stories:

Al-Jazeera

The BBC

The Guardian

The New York Times

We thank you for their release, gracious God, and we pray for all who are still held captive in this war and all others. Keep them safe, and bring them home. Give all those in government wisdom to seek cooperative relationships, and give us wisdom to choose leaders who will guide us in the paths of peace.
Amen.

Affirmations

I will change your name
You shall no longer be called
Wounded, outcast, lonely or afraid,

I will change your name

Your new name shall be

Confidence, joyfulness, overcoming one,

Faithfulness, friend of God, one who seeks my face.

I love this parish. We're singing the above as our gospel hymn this Lent. It's so simple, and it's so real. Non-threatening repentance, you know? Your error is in all forms of hurt and alienation. I will bring you home.

I've known the New Zealand Lord's Prayer for years, but had never used it liturgically. It enfleshes what the more familiar version is trying to get at. It's incredibly powerful to say, "For you reign in the glory of the power that is love," surrounded by a community whose identity is invested in loving and welcoming the stranger. I'm praying, and aware of what I'm tasting, at the same time. (I'm not a stranger here anymore; haven't been since the first Sunday I attended, in October. But there's talk here all the time about how to be a more welcoming community. They're unaware of how well they already practice it.)

I went to a meeting after yesterday's service, to plan the logistics of Holy Week. I hadn't known it was happening, and didn't need to be there; I was just there for the learning experience. I expressed enthusiasm about labyrinths. Ended up not only promising to write up a one-page guide to what a labyrinth is, but being there for an hour and a half on the Wednesday of Holy Week (5-6:30 pm, if you want to show up), to teach people how to walk it. After, I tagged one of the people on the healing team, whom I'd spoken with in January. I hadn't seen her in recent weeks; she's been sick. I told her I was still interested. She said, well, talk to Tommy, I think you're qualified. What? There's a week-long, intensive (and expensive) training that you've all had, that I haven't done. She knows. But she sees this in me, and she'll teach me what I need to know. She wants to do a Saturday training and a bunch of Wednesdays, also to help build up the Wednesday healing service. I told her I only know where I'll be through May. So, she's doing it while we know I'm here.

A friend drove me from church to the Embarcadero BART. I don't know how far it is out of her way, and it's not by any means the closest to church, but we like talking and so there it is. She's been questioning the level of her own participation, because she has physical limitations that she's not used to. I said something like, "If we're going to be inclusive, physical abilities need to be a part of that." New thought for her. But isn't it obvious? You should not be limited--by yourself or other people--from doing what God calls you to. We all live in this, er, Kindom. Anyway, she responded: "I think you're in the right calling." Wow, thank you. Why? "A lot of things. It's not just this conversation."

These are the snippets I cherish, walking on an unknown road. These are my streetlights, my signposts. "Go here. Do more of that. This is where you belong." I'm so thankful for them. All I know, in my own self, is to be where God is. God is everywhere. I know I'm called to give everything I am. Utterly. I'm learning how to do that.

"The process," and politics, scare me. I need to just explore and experiment right now; to play and learn and do exactly what I'm doing. I'm grateful for this time.

Came home and attempted to study--with absolutely no success. I have a midterm tomorrow, a paper due Thursday, and a verbatim to get pinned down this week. Next week is spring break. I'm staying with my friend in Stockton next weekend, then driving to Olympia next Monday morning. I love what I'm doing and I'm meant to be doing it--but all I want to do right now is pack up the extra junk in my room, and get out of Dodge.

Rachel

Today, March 16, is the third anniversary of the death of Rachel Corrie. She grew up in my hometown, Olympia, WA. I never knew her, but we had many friends in common, and I have become friends with her family. Today, I pray for them, and I pray that Rachel's work will continue to bring peace to the world.

Rachel died in Rafah, Gaza Strip, while using her body to defend a house from demolition by the Israeli army. She knew the family that lived there; she had stayed with them, eaten with them, played with their children. She was wearing a bright orange jacket, and speaking through a megaphone to the driver of the 9-ton Caterpillar D-9 bulldozer that killed her. He dropped the blade, ran over her, and backed over her again. She died of massive internal injuries.

Whatever you think of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, here is a woman who believed passionately that peace was possible. The year before her death, Rachel organized a contingent of doves to march in Olympia's Procession of the Species celebration. She did not go to Gaza to die, but to do what she could to assist the people who were living in a world of checkpoints and armed watchtowers. She walked children to school. She slept at wells to defend them from military demolition.

Rachel went to Gaza to learn what life was like there, so she could teach about it when she came home. She went with the hope of connecting the communities of Rafah and Olympia. Her family and friends have continued that work.

Rachel sent e-mails to her family from an internet cafe in Rafah. Read them at Rachel's Words.

Here is the link to the Olympia-Rafah Sister City Project.

Here is a poem for Rachel, written by Palestinian-American author Suheir Hammad.

I remember also that the body of Tom Fox was found this week in Iraq. He was one of the Christian Peacemaker Team members taken hostage. There has been no news of the others. Today, do something in the name of peace. Plant a flower. Say hi to someone you normally wouldn't speak to. Sign up for a foreign language class. Write a letter to your Congressional representative. Pray for the work of CPT. Read Rachel's words out loud.

Lent

I meant to write Wednesday, and didn't. Been meaning to write since, and haven't. But I want to get back into this blog, and I really ought to say something about Lent.

I've always had a hard time with Lent being when it is. How can you concentrate on the finiteness of your humanity when it's Spring? It's hard to be penitential when the world's waking up. Winter doesn't happen in the Bay Area, though. I'm not having my annual mood swing because the light's back; it didn't really leave. (Winter days are shorter, yes, but still longer--and much sunnier--than I'm used to.)

I've needed to take stock of my life, though, and reprioritize things. It's good to take time to live more closely to where you want to be. I've never gotten into giving up things for Lent; I take a practice on, instead. Usually I intensify my prayer journal. I've gotten so far out of the practice of keeping one, that writing anything at all is a huge act of cleaning house. I also intended to start getting up for Morning Prayer. I didn't make it once last week. I'll try again Monday.

What am I hungry for? More quiet prayer time. More movement: walks, swimming, getting off of Holy Hill and being outside. Less time being randomly online. More focused study habits. More involvement at church--but really all I have to do is show up, and that is given to me. (I hadn't even planned to go on Ash Wednesday, but was offered a ride home across the bay if I went. Ended up doing three jobs.) More time in conversation, and more time in listening.

Know how you're sometimes given challenges just so you can learn from them? I've been so deeply called into healing. I'm really needing to learn about my own personal boundaries, and to build myself back up within them. I don't think I have a choice but to go there--and I need to create time to explore that this season.

If I make a schedule, and keep to it, this will be a fruitful time.

What can you do?

I posted this on a discussion board I visit, and thought I'd repeat it here.

What are you proud of yourself for?

I can...
Fold origami cranes in my sleep
Sing endless Girl Scout camp songs
Build a one-match fire and keep it going in the rain
Read a map, and fold it when I'm done
Spell
Make rosaries
Knit well
Crochet poorly
Walk on my knees in the lotus position
Make a really good tofu chocolate pie
Survive and be happy in graduate school
Read French
*Whistle (but not yet with my fingers)
Look at a craft and figure out how to make it
Write silly poetry
Laugh well and often

What can you do?

*A story about whistling: I was at a Christmas party with a 7-year-old that I'm friendly with, listening to someone play the piano. He recognized a song, and I asked if he could sing it. He started whistling, in perfect tune, for all he was worth. Then he answered:,"I can just sing with my lips."

What do you know...

I got tagged. I must be in now! Thank you, Dixie Blue; I haven't been here in ages.

Four jobs I've had:
*Homeless shelter and soup-kitchen organizer (aka Catholic Worker)
*Preschool teacher
*Educational Assistant with clinically-eccentric children
*Tenant Support for developmentally disabled adults

Four movies I could watch over and over:
(Make that two that I want to see)
*Looking for Comedy in the Muslim World
*The sequel to What the Bleep?

(and two that I could watch again indefinitely)
*Fried Green Tomatoes
*About Face

Four places I've lived:
*Everett, WA
*Olympia, WA
*Seattle, WA
*Berkeley, CA

Four TV shows I love:
*The West Wing (but not now)
*Frasier
*MASH
*Interesting documentaries

Four places I've vacationed:
*Someplace by Santa Cruz, CA (camping; no idea of the name of the park)
*Stockton, CA (I know--a friend lives there. She gets out occasionally; see above.)
*Cannon Beach, OR
*Lilliwaup, WA (Girl Scout camp when I was a kid)

Four favorite foods:
*Vegetarian lasagna
*Spanakopita
*Any sort of seafood
*Anything Indian or Thai

Four websites I visit daily:
See my Links box; I mostly go there.

Four places I'd rather be:
Olympic Mountains
Burfoot Park (county park in Olympia)
San Juan Islands
Out sailing right now; it's gorgeous outside.

I don't have time to tag anybody right now; I shouldn't even have written this today, but I did. It's fun playing, though.

I'll come back with a real update later. I haven't been here in way too long. 'Bye!

I Have A Dream

I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation.

Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of their captivity.

But one hundred years later, the Negro still is not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languishing in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land. So we have come here today to dramatize a shameful condition.

In a sense we have come to our nation's capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men, yes, black men as well as white men, would be guaranteed the unalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check, a check which has come back marked "insufficient funds." But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. So we have come to cash this check -- a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice. We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quick sands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood. Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God's children.

It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment. This sweltering summer of the Negro's legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end, but a beginning. Those who hope that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. There will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges.

But there is something that I must say to my people who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice. In the process of gaining our rightful place we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred.

We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force. The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny and their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom. We cannot walk alone.

As we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall march ahead. We cannot turn back. There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, "When will you be satisfied?" We can never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the unspeakable horrors of police brutality. We can never be satisfied, as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. We can never be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream.

I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow jail cells. Some of you have come from areas where your quest for freedom left you battered by the storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive.

Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to South Carolina, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed. Let us not wallow in the valley of despair.
I say to you today, my friends, so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal."

I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.

I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

I have a dream today.

I have a dream that one day, down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of interposition and nullification; one day right there in Alabama, little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.

I have a dream today.

I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together.

This is our hope. This is the faith that I go back to the South with. With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.

This will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with a new meaning, "My country, 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrim's pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring."

And if America is to be a great nation this must become true. So let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire. Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York. Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania!

Let freedom ring from the snowcapped Rockies of Colorado!

Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California!

But not only that; let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia!

Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee!

Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi. From every mountainside, let freedom ring.

And when this happens, When we allow freedom to ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, "Free at last! free at last! thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"

Miscopalians

Mimi and I met at Orca Books a few nights ago. She's Orthodox, and worships sometimes at the mission that meets upstairs at St. John's. She told me this story: They were there at the same time as the Midnight Mass. Her nine-year-old son really likes talking. She asked him to be quiet, so they wouldn't disturb the Episcopalians. "What's an Episcopalian?" She tried to explain the belief systems. Then they went downstairs for something. Xavier saw an usher. He asked his mom, "Is that a Miscopalian?"

I told her to tell him that his Miscopalian aunt says hi.

We sat on a rather uncomfortable couch in the bookstore, and talked for a long time. Then we prowled the shelves. I paged through The Best American Spiritual Writing, and ended up buying it. Here is the first paragraph of the first essay, titled "The Gift of the Call" by Christopher Bamford:

The call comes gradually, or so it seems. We must be called over and over before we hear its whisperings. Then we begin to notice. We begin to respond. Unconsciously, hesitantly, we start to listen. Incrementally, our response deepens. Finally, we realize that we ourselves are the call; that call and caller are onein life lived in obedience to the gift of the call. We come to realize that we were called from the beginning, "from the foundation of the world," as Saint Paul says. Looking back, we cannot remember a "first" call.

I forget to listen, or I get distracted and other things speak louder. But this rang true for me. I'm going to explore that idea more, when I get back to California and my life there. I'm flying back on Monday, and I won't have class for almost a month. I'm going to consciously schedule time to take walks, write, listen, and just to be with God. To dig down deep into the roots of this longing, and then when I get busy again, to hold on and not let myself let go. This call--wherever it leads me--is the reason behind everything I'm doing. In it is where I need to be.

Merry Christmas!

Not much to report; I've been hanging out in the rain and the mud (Olympia), seeing friends and taking care of my back. Having a really low-key break... and looking forward to getting back into things when I go back to Berkeley in a week.

I wanted to share this, though; it's one of my favorite Christmas songs. Sing along, if you know it. (And mess around with the pronouns at will; I do.)

God On His Birthday

When God Almighty came to be one of us,
Masking the glory of his golden train,
Dozens of plain things kindled by accident,
And they will never be the same again.

Sing all you midwives, dance all the carpenters,
Sing all the publicans and shepherds too.
God in his mercy uses the commonplace,
God on his birthday has a need of you.

Splendor of Rome and local authority,
Working on policy with furrowed head,
Joined to locate Messiah's nativity,
Just where the prophets had already said.

Sing all you tax men, dance the commissioners,
Sing civil servants and policemen too.
God in his purpose uses the governments,
God on his birthday has a need of you.

Wise men, they called them, earnest astrologers,
Watching for meaning in the moving stars.
Science or fancy, learned or laughable,
Theirs was a vision that was brought to pass.

Sing all you wise men, dance all the scientists,
Whether your theories are false or true.
God uses knowledge, God uses ignorance,
God on his birthday has a need of you.

Sing all creation, made for his purposes,
Called by his providence to live and move:
None is unwanted, none insignificant,
Love needs a universe of folk to love.

Old men and maidens, young men and children,
Black ones and colored ones and white ones too,
God on his birthday, and to eternity,
God took upon himself the need of you.

Excited jitters

I'm two short papers from finishing the semester. One's due tomorrow; the other should have been turned in after Reading Week. Oh well, it'll get there. (It still is after Reading Week...) Flying out of Oakland Saturday morning; will get into Olympia before lunch. I'll be home until January 2.

And, I have a snack food buyer! Alleluia! (I'm coordinating snack support for the third-year students taking their General Ordination Exams in January. The test is four days of essay writing, comprehensive of everything they've studied here. I get to take it myself, two years from now.) I've had trouble getting people to help with snacks, because everyone's gone the first week of January. Someone approached me tonight and volunteered.

People can be really, really good. God is in all kinds of unexpected places.

I also took my first Celexa yesterday. I don't care who knows I'm on it; I've taken SSRIs before, and they work for me. I haven't been really down, just off, and making such a major life change both helped me and shook me up. When I get back from break, I'm getting an ADD workup at Kaiser, then help for that too.

I'll come back with energy that I don't have now, and be more dedicated to school, and to the reasons I'm here, next semester. One of my goals is to get and stay organized, once I'm able to focus on anything for more than two seconds. Life is looking up all over.

My friend Keri is being ordained to the transitional diaconate Sunday morning, in Vermont. She and her family are flying out tonight. Pray for her, please, and for Jakki and Morgan.

Now, I have to write those two papers...

CPT update

I felt like I ought to update the situation in Iraq, but there has been no real news. Here's the latest from the BBC.

Capital punishment

The state of California executed Tookie Williams last night. I don't know enough to have an opinion of his guilt or innocence, and I'm not for a second excusing violent behavior. But though he maintained he didn't commit those four murders, he did anti-gang work from prison. I think that should have counted for something: if not complete redemption, then clearly progress toward it. An African-American man sentenced to die in this country has very little chance of getting that reduced, let alone overturned. He had no external reason to turn his life around. Yet, apparently, he did.

And even if he hadn't, if killing is wrong it is wrong. Whether you're acting in your capacity as a paid employee of the state, or in a desperate, intoxicated rage, it is wrong to take a life. I don't understand the thinking of people who believe in the death penalty. Can anyone enlighten me? Tookie would have been under strict lockdown forever. He never could have killed again. Why was it necessary to kill him?

My friend Beck wrote, "I wonder what Jesus would think... after crucifixion, to whom would Jesus give the needle?"

CPT hostages in Iraq

It's easy to live under a rock when you're in school, busy, and not listening to NPR. I heard Sheila Provencher speak in Olympia last summer. She herself is safe in Syria; four of her teammates are not. They are held hostage in Iraq and may be killed tomorrow.

This is an emergency alert. Please, follow this link, learn about the people and the project, and take the action they ask of you.

Christian Peacemaker Teams

Here's a BBC News article on their situation.

Update courtesy of the BBC. Their lives have been extended until Saturday. Read the article here, and please keep doing what you're doing on their behalf.

Here is Tom Fox's blog. He is one of the four men held hostage. You can read here about what CPT volunteers do and why they do it. Particularly now, his writing is very powerful. (Thanks to RevGalBlogPals for publishing the link.)

Pray and work for peace.

A blessed Advent to everyone!

It's time. It's finally cold in my part of California. We say Evening Prayer in the dark. Purple candles grace the altar, and we try to figure out how on earth to wait quietly for the Incarnation while we're finishing the semester. We go deep into our darkest places, and we prepare for the coming of the One Who Is, who loves and heals us all, who draws us into God.

And I? I revel in churches at night. I've just come from an ill-timed but much appreciated weekend in the Valley. We went to Advent concerts Friday and Saturday, one at the Roman Catholic cathedral in Stockton and the other at St. John's, Lodi (her church, where my other friend is priest). Saturday, we drove east to the mountains (Placerville) to get a Christmas tree. We also got apples and a pie, and drove back with the sun in our eyes. Sunday, instead of studying (me) or working on a pile of projects (Andee), we decorated the tree all afternoon. Then we ate Chinese matzoh-blob soup (that we'd seemingly been working on all weekend), and went to the Lessons and Carols service at St. John's. I love that space. I took a picture of the interior last summer. Here it is in daylight:

In the daytime, it's full of light so that you can almost forget you're inside. At night... quiet, spacious, peaceful. Darkness rests on you gently. You can open your heart and breathe, pray, be with the mystery. I wish I could do that more often.

Intermixed with the music, were the prophecies. Rick and I laughed later because my homework was being done for me. Now, I need to do the project I'd told him about. It's due tomorrow--right after my Greek final. Peace be with all of you, and a blessed Advent.

I leave with a question: What do RC churches do with their crucifixes at Eastertime? He's not there anymore.

It's raining!

Yay! Started last night. It sounds--and feels--like home.

I'm going to go dance around outside.