May I Have Your Attention
We are a distracted nation. I see folks walking down the sidewalk in front of my house, their faces in their phones. Having no idea of what’s going on around them.
Kids in restaurants with their parents, what might be quality family time, but in their phones. And sometimes it’s also the parents captivated by their phones.
We’re bombarded with hundreds of messages daily seeking to get our attention. Overwhelmed, I sometimes have several tens of thousands of e-mails awaiting my attention at my inbox.
With such competition, how can God possibly get a few moments of our undivided attention? Only when things get catastrophic, or unusually emotionally disturbing. Or sometimes so radiantly beautiful it knocks our socks off. Or when something so deeply speaks to our heart that we’re speechless.
The little vignette in Luke is all about attention.
Jesus is an itinerant, homeless street preacher who happens upon the home of two unmarried sisters. He’s tired and hungry and initially they must be overjoyed to have the change of routine this visitor presents.
Not only does Jesus violate custom by imposing on these two women, but he’s soon pushing the boundaries of what’s acceptable. He soon fills the house with his presence, takes it over. He invites both women to “tremble forth into their souls” as he expounds on what makes for life – humility, generosity, patience, truth, justice among other matters.
But Martha is too busy with extraneous busyness. She is all about herself – me, me, me she proclaims three times. Jesus notes her distraction, and yet there she might be, before Holy Ground – at his feet.
“Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things; there is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her.” In his rebuke, Jesus invites Martha to also sit as his feet also where Eternity is revealed.
In that moment, the presence of the Lord is asking both women, “May I have your attention?”
In the midst of our infernal busyness of phones and meetings, that voice still echoes, “May I have your attention?”
The summons comes through the excruciating pain of ICE raids. The stories of inhumanity cry out to the heavens. Pain our Lord embraces utterly and completely. Holy Ground.
Matilde, from Mexico, age 54 – not a threat to anyone, every day worked her taco cart, providing for herself in Pacoima. Every day, early in the morning she set up her business, selling tacos and tamales near Lowe’s.[1]
As ICE agents began swarming the parking lot, grabbing up anyone with dark skin, she began hastily taking down her stand.
One agent, no identification ran up to her, provided no warrant, never asked about her immigration status, but grabbed her from behind and held her in a suffocating bear hug. “I could feel his vest on my ear. ‘I told him I couldn’t breathe.’”
The agent pulled up her shirt exposing her bra. As she tried to pull her shirt down the agent applied more force.
Matilde can’t exactly remember what happened next because she fainted from lack of oxygen. She came to on the ground crying, “I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. “’My chest hurts.’
But they didn’t listen. They ignored me.”
“I looked up at the tree where I had a picture of the Virgin posted and began to pray, ‘Virgin Mary, please help me, don’t abandon me. I don’t want to die.”
Another agent came up who identified himself as a paramedic. She told him that she had high blood pressure and was a diabetic and that her chest was hurting.
Though someone dialed 911, they left her on the ground unattended. Videos taken by bystanders show her now on the ground unconscious.
One woman in the crowd screamed in Spanish at one agent, “You have Latino blood!” Another, “Does it feel good doing this?
When Matilde arrived at the hospital, the doctor told her she was fortunate that her veins weren’t too clogged. Otherwise, she would have to have been rushed into open heart surgery. She was told that she had had a minor heart attack.
In all 29 years she has lived in this country, she could never have imagined that America would have come to this.
She is now kept sleepless many nights from anxiety and pain. Because of the bruises on her arms and legs she can’t do much, not even cook.
She and her husband had come here for the opportunity and to send money back to relatives still in Mexico. They have raised a family, paid taxes and abided by the laws of their new home. Her 28-year-old daughter is a nurse and her 15-year-old son wants to go to college.
“We both suffered from our sacrifice…but we wanted a better future for our kids…we wanted things just to be better.”
To stand before both the pain and the hope of Matilde’s story is to stand on Holy Ground. If God doesn’t have your attention through the aching humanity of this story, you are as hopeless as Martha. Just flitting about, a complete flibbertigibbet.
And yet, I would imagine, Jesus still asks of the Martha in each one of us, “May I have your attention?”
While overwhelming sorrow and pain is the Holy Ground Jesus enfolds in his own being, so also is unimaginable beauty. Gaze upon the Milky Way and perceive the Holy asking, “May I have your attention?”
As the hymn proclaims in the second verse, “Lord, how thy wonders are displayed, where e’er I turn my eye, if I survey the ground I tread, or gaze upon the sky.”[2] Yes — may I have your attention?
This week I opened the science section of the New York Times and gazed upon spectacular beauty revealed in the photo covering the entire lead page, God had my complete and undivided attention. It was our universe; that’s right, the whole shebang laid out right before my eyes.[3]
With a new telescope in Chile, we will now be able to stitch together, photo by photo, the panorama of the entire universe in exquisite detail. Looking back almost to the time of the Big Bang.
Thousands of galaxies in this one small frame, dating back to almost the beginning of it all. Millions upon millions of galaxies we’ve never before seen. Imagine the billions of stars they must contain with multiples of planets orbiting most of them. It astounds with Glory.
This was a story of the Vera C. Rubin telescope perched high in the mountains in northern Chile. Dr. Rubin and her team were the ones to first postulate the presence of dark energy and dark matter. Dark matter is that mysterious energy propelling the ever- increasing expansion of the universe, gaining velocity with each passing second. Discoveries that would transform the study of astronomy. One of her colleagues commented, “She was the ultimate role model for women in astronomy in the generation after her.”[4]
Just as an aside, this, the Befuddled Administration, in their signature legislation passed this week – the Big Bodacious Boondoggle — reduced funding to the National Science Foundation by 56 percent – a significant reduction in any D.E.I. efforts. The sort of effort that would bring a stellar scientist (pun intended) like Dr. Vera Rubin to the fore. How crazy is that? But I digress.
And how many might have sentient life? Boggles the mind. The beauty of it all held me in rapt attention. All I could murmur was, “Thanks be to God” — “Gloria in Excelsis.”
With every new dawn our undivided attention is requested in a hundred different ways. It may be the invitation to dwell in the pain and distress of a fellow human being. It may be in the lingering beauty of an embrace. It may be in the anticipated birth of a baby. In it all, the summons of such, Eternity addresses our puny existence, “May I have your attention?” Those who have ears to hear, let them hear. And those with eyes to see, let them see. Amen.
[1] Ruben Vives, “Outrage and criticism over immigration sweeps,” The Los Angeles Times, July 15, 2025.
[2] “I Sing the Almighty Power of God,” The Hymnal 1982, No. 398 (New York: Church Hymnal Corp., 1985.
[3]Kenneth Chang, Katrina Miller, “Technological Marvel’s Stunning First Images, The New York Times, Science section, June 24, 2025.
[4] Katrina Miller, “A Powerful Telescope, with a Legacy to Match, The New York Times, Science section, June 24, 2025.
July 20, 2025
Pentecost 6, Proper 10
Genesis 18:1-10a; Psalm 15;
Colossians 1:15-28; Luke 10:38-42
“May I Have Your Attention”
Made for You and Me
On the Fourth we celebrate in all sorts of ways: some with downright jingoism, some with smoky barbecues, some with a sporting event, some just chillin in the park with friends and family. Oh, and don’t forget the fireworks.
July 4th is also a popular date for naturalization ceremonies wherein immigrants officially become US citizens — ceremonies often held in parks, courthouses, stadiums, or even historical sites.
America means many things to many people, but it’s especially precious to the many who have chosen to move here from far-away lands and make America their home. Precious to those who have seized the golden opportunity for a better life.
As Neil Diamond belts it out, “America.”
“On the boats and on the planes
They’re coming to America
Never looking back again
They’re coming to America”
Coming to America is coming to the full promise of America. It’s about all men and women being created equal,”the existence of unalienable rights — life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.” It’s about a government “of the people, by the people, for the people.” Sacred principles that must be fought for every single day.
That’s the reason they’re coming to America. Compared to the many places of corruption and dictatorship, oligarchy and rule by drug lords, for all our flaws – America, to much of the world, spells opportunity.
To my mind, the greatest tragedy is to miss the open doors of opportunity, to fail to make something of oneself, or contribute to a cause greater than self.
During college, when I worked in L.A. County Juvenile Hall, one of the saddest days of my experience there was one day on the night shift.
Mostly what we did at night was just to monitor those sleeping, and because of the overcrowding, many slept on mats on the floor. If a boy needed to use the restroom, we would accompany him down the hallway and unlock the restroom door, wait until he finished his business and then walk him back to his dorm.
This one evening, a young fellow who had made a life’s career of juvie hall over many of his twelve years or so, upon returning from the bathroom paused with me at my desk. I’ll never forget his words. He said, almost a prayer, “I wish I’d studied in school and listened to my Mom – so I wouldn’t be where I am now. I wish I’d been like you.”
For this young boy, the hope and promise of America was so, so far away. But it doesn’t have to be this way.
Last Thursday I had lunch with a fellow who did listen to hope and promise beckoning.
Michael, a former gangbanger, a former inmate of California’s correctional system sent up for murder, at fifty-two, is a changed man.
Michael gave me a paper he had written for an English class on critial thinking. It told his life story.
Michael writes: “Growing up in a broken home, with my siblings all in gangs, it was all around me.” His father, his mother’s fourth husband, after an episode of domestic violence, left the family when Michael was three years-old. Michael was one of ten children, every one of whom was, or still is, in a gang.
Michael ended up in prison for murder, killing a man when he ran a red light while high on PCP. He was sentenced at the age of twenty-four to 19 years to life. Somewhere along the line in his despondant loneliness, the Spirit spoke. “Your life doesn’t have to be like this — an addict behind bars for the rest of your life with no future ahead but death.” In that bleak instant, Michael listened. “Your life doesn’t have to be like this.”
Michael has been released. He has turned his life around. Found sobriety – he’s been sober many years. Found a wonderful woman and made a family. He’s on the cusp of completing his A.A. degree and headed for a B.A. in addiction recovery. He now wants to work with those stil incarcerated, to let them know they have a better choice.
I must say, his GPA is far better than mine was in my first go around at college. Far better!
Michael is the promise of America. He is living proof that recovery works. Catching up with him over lunch, Michael reaffirms my hope in the work we do, and in the promise of our nation. He shines brighter than any sparkler that I’ve ever set off. Michael is the promise of America. This Fourth I celebrate him.
I need to hear again and again Michael’s story because it is easy to become discouraged and jaded by the chaos, brutality and lies of this government. His story gives me the courage I need to press on, doing whatever I can to “Keep Hope Alive.”
Michael focused on what was life-giving during his time in prison. That is what James Baldwin urges. The only fact for certain is death. The other fact is the choice we make to live a life worthy of the brief moment we each are given.
At the conclusion of this earthly drugery, there are no do-overs. But in the midst of it, the moment may be seized for a worthy life of self-respect, a life of true companionship with one’s neighbors, family and friends.
The question is ever and always: what is owed? And to whom?
In our lection for today, again Jesus’ opponents confront him with a ploy to trick him into sedition. “’Teacher, we know that you are sincere, and show deference to no one, for you do not regard people with partiality, but teach the way of God in accordance with truth. Is it lawful to pay taxes to the emperor, or not?’” Just an aside here – while such empty flattery usually works to sway the Orange Felon, Jesus has no patience for such hypocritical fawning. “’Bring me a denarius and let me see it….Whose head and title is on it?’ ‘The emporer’s,’ they answered. ‘Then give to the emporer the things that are the emporer’s and to God the things that are God’s.’”
This choice of allegiences is becoming abundantly clear to many Americans as we head into the sixth month of this incompetent, inhumane administration. The choice is becoming clear as we come together to celebrate the Fourth this year.
As we look at the human misery caused by this morally blind and shambolic administration, many are sorting out their allegiences to God and country. But above all, it’s the blatant cruelty that shocks most citizens.
In reporting by the Associated Press, there was a piece on the abhorrence of Americans to ICE raids.[1]
One fine day in San Diego, Adam Greenfield was nursing a cold when his girlfriend called to tell him that ICE was in the neighborhood conducting a raid.
Adam couldn’t be an unconcerned bystander. Grabbing his iPhone, he was still barefoot as he rushed out the front door of his house. By the time he got to the street, assembled were some seventy-five of his neighbors, resturant patrons, workers and others gathered around an ICE vehicle.
They were recording masked agents barging into a popular Italian eatery down the street in their upscale neighborhood. The crowd yelled for the agents to leave as they blocked the agents’ van.
“I couldn’t stay silent,” Greenfield said. “It was literally outside of my front door.”[2]
Continuing from the reporting: “More Americans are witnessing people being hauled off as they shop, exercise at the gym, dine out and otherwise go about their daily lives as President Donald Trump’s administration aggressively works to increase immigration arrests. As the raids touch the lives of people who aren’t immigrants themselves, many Americans who rarely, if ever, participated in civil disobedience are rushing out to record the actions on their phones and launch impromptu protests.”[3]
Finally, over the protests of the crowd and through a haze of smoke from flash bangs the agents rode off with four terrified workers.
Hauled off to where? To overcrowded, squalid and unsanitary holding pens. No due process whatsoever. Their grieving families not knowing whatever happened to their loved ones.
For Adam Greenfield, it was very clear where his allegiance lay — to God in standing up for these decent, hard-working immigrants just trying to provide for their families. Many of whom have peacefully lived among us 20, 30 years or more. Paying taxes and abiding by our laws. These are not the storied gangbangers, worst-of-the-worst criminals this administration claims to be targeting for deportation.
These are the real essential workers of America.
Our duty to the nation? To work the politics of our system to provide a pathway to citizenship for these unseen, unacknowledged heroes of our national life, essential workers of our communities, of our economy.
Essential workers! Whether washing dishes, picking vegetables or processing our meat – caring for our elderly in nursing homes, building our houses and highways, putting out linens in our hotel rooms or studying to better themselves. Essential workers all.
The worst of the worst? Ask yourself, how many gangbangers and criminal scumbags are out there toiling in one-hundred-degree scorching heat picking our cabbages?
Our duty to God is to stand up for their dignity, to honor and be grateful for their labor. To care for them and their families. Our duty to our country is to provide a path to citizenship so they can continue to enrich the fabric of this nation. To resist the cruelty of these raids. To open the opportunity for them to make their contribution to building this nation as have countless immigrants done before them.
They’re coming to America. Some from faraway places, some from the ghettos and barrios of our cities, some from addiction and prison cells – given a chance, they’re coming to America. Its promise and duties.
It’s children like a discouraged little boy in juvie hall, who, given half a chance would, I hope beyond hope, leap at that opportunity for a different life – that he might be coming to America.
It is folks like Michael, now making an incredible contribution to himself, his family and to this nation as he continues his journey through recovery. This Fourth — Coming to America. Coming to America. Coming to America.
That all who call this land home might seize the promise of America. This hope I celebrate with my barbecue, potato salad, cheese and beer, friends and family this Independence Day. Remember that Wisconsin saying, “With brats, cheese and beer, you can save the world.” Coming to America. Amen.
[1] Julie Watson, Jake Offenhartz and Claire Rush, “Many Americans are witnessing immigration arrests for the first time and reacting,” Associated Press, June 20, 2025.
[2] Ibid.
[3] Ibid.
July 6, 2025
A Celebration of Our Nation
Deuteronomy 10:17-21; Psalm 145;
Hebrews 11:8-16; James Baldwin Reading;
Gospel: Mark 12:13-17
“Made for You and Me”
Stories of Wonder
Today the Church celebrates the only Sunday reserved for a doctrine, the doctrine of the Trinity.
All across the nation hapless preachers will stumble from one heresy to another in an attempt to explain what can’t be explained. For you see, it is the experience that comes first, then come our feeble attempts to put inadequate words to it.
When the first humanoid looked up at the sky, beholding the Milky Way, when astounded by the immensity of the sea, when she beheld the wonder of a newly birthed child, when a person painted in caves the first likenesses of the beasts of the fields that provided nourishment, these were moments of sheer awe. They may not have had words for the emotions that welled up in their being. But as they acquired language they told Stories of Wonder. Eventually, a sense of gratitude grew for the entire panoply of nature in which they were immersed. Stories of Wonder. Sacred Stories.
Gratitude to whom? To a Great Spirit, to a Birthing Mother, to the Holy of Holies, to a benevolent and sometimes terrifying diety? El Shaddai, Allah, Elohim, Yhwh? One whom my tribe calls Creator — Father/Mother, for lack of other words.
As our particular tribe unquely received this heritage through the person of Jesus, we saw the same Force within his very persona. A Force for healing and renewal. A Force for admonishment and entreaty. The life-giving parables he told, often against exclusionist ideologies and hateful antagonists. Restoration and wholeness.
Such folks often confronted him, seeking to diminish him in the eyes of the crowd. When told to love the neighbor, one such — a lawyer (and wouldn’t you have to just know it would be a lawyer) – arrogantly demanded, “Just who is my neighbor?” So, Jesus told a story.
There was a man on the road from Jerico to Jerusalem who was beset upon by robbers, highway men. They stole everything, beat him and left him for dead at the side of the road.
Several religious folk came upon him but didn’t want to get involved, get their hands dirty, and so they ignored his sighs and passed him by.
Finally one considered a despised outcast, a Samaritan, came upon him. He tended to his wounds, loaded him on his own donkey and brought him to a lodge in the next town along the way. He told the innkeeper to take care of the man, gave him some greenbacks and said he would reimburse him for any extra expenses on his return trip.
“Now, of all who came upon the unfortunate traveler, who was the neighbor?” Jesus asked.
Of course, the lawyer was cornered, for he knew the sympathies of that crowd of listeners. Trapped, like a rat. “The man who took care of the beaten and robbed man,” he reluctantly, and barely audibly answered. “Go, thou, and do likewise,” Jesus commanded. A Story of Wonder, indeed!
Through such compassion, Jesus followers and others began to believe that within himself, within his teachings, dwelt the Divine, a spark of Eternity. “Great High Priest,” “Son of God,” “Emmanuel,” “Messiah,” “Savior,” “Bread of Life,” “Light of the World,” and many more they called him. For in their experience of Jesus they beheld the Holy. In him the saw their beginning and the end to which they were drawn – the Alpha and the Omega.
That was their experience, and the experience of those of us who have followed him down through the ages. Incarnated in John the Revelator, St. Francis, and Hildegard of Bingen –Sojourner Truth, Harriet Tubman, Mother Teresa, Martin Luther King, John Lewis – they also, through this tradition of the Jesus Movement, have revealed all that is Holy and Redemptive. His parables and teachings, his life, lived out down through the ages — a Story of Wonder.
And we have beheld the residue of that Glory. Working through imagination, working through daring impulses of courage, working through moments of utter surprise and delight, working through moments of fall-down laughing humor that puts all in grace-filled perspective. Undistilled Wonder!
When my wife Jai asked me recently how my day went, I told her of the five of us planting a bunch of bareroot persimmon trees that morning in St. Francis Garden of Hope.
Without missing a beat, she asked, “Did you plant them upside down?”
She was refering to a story I had told of my Army days in basic training. Since all of us in our Company D3 were conscientious objectors to be trained as medics, we didn’t have rifle practice and weapons training to attend. So, the Army thought of other ways to occupy our time.
One of these diversions was called “Area Beautification.” One Saturday morning before mail call, we were assigned to weed the bed of irises outside the orderly room. We were being supervised by one of our fellow draftees, elevated to acting corporal, Corporal Palmer.
As we were pulling weeds, separating the iris bulbs to replant them, my friend Bob Mead nudged me and whispered, “Just follow my lead.”
As Palmer strode over to see how the work was going, Bob began replanting the irises upside down. Palmer, in an accusatory voice, asked, “What are you doing?”
Mead responded, “Don’t you city boys know anything? You plant the leaves down so they rot and become fertilizer,” and with a dramatic swoop of his arm, he continued, “and the flower comes up here.” Palmer, most skeptical, responded, “What???”
Mead continuing, “If you don’t believe me, let’s go ask Sarge.” “Yeah, Sarge will know,” I chimed in, supporting Mead. Grabbing one of the plants, Bob strode up the stairs, Palmer in tow, and plopped the plant, dirt and all right on Sarge’s desk.
By this time we were all avidly listening at the open window. We heard Sarge yelling, “Stop. Your getting dirt all over my papers.” Bob was then going on with his explanation of how the flower grew up from the inverted iris plant.
Finally, in exaspiration, Sarge responded, “I don’t know anything about these plants, they’re the lieutenant’s flowers. Go ask him.” By this time we were rolling around on the ground in fits of laughter.
The answer from the lieutenant after hearing Palmer’s routine? “Maybe you should plant them rightside up so they all look the same.”
When Mead and Palmer returned from the orderly room to see us in gales of laughter, Palmer realized he had been had. Even he, too had to crack a smile.
An outrageous Story of Wonder.
Laughter that softens a boring, demeaning experience, we can surely call a gift of the Spirit of the Risen Jesus. Just as Sarah laughed at the incredible promise of the Three Strange Angels camped outside her tent. Laughed so hard she named that unexpected child Isaac, Yittzak, laughter in Hebrew.
Moments of unexpected insight, could only come from that Creative Force, an inspiring force those of the Jesus Movement connected with his promise to send a Comforter, a Guide, a sustaining Spirit.
Spirit — that Justice Force now prompting thousands across our nation to rise up in protest against the inhumane and unjust treatment of sojourners in our midst from ICE and and our own soldiers. Illegially dispatched, I might add. Would have been nice if President Mayhem had sent them out on January 6 when we experienced an actual insurrection. Just sayin’.
No, we did not plant the persimmon trees upside down that morning, but as I prepared to get in my car for a meeting, a monarch butterfly flitted past and then soared upwards in a current of wind.
The Spirit struck. She summoned, “Why not reserve one or two of these thirty beds for milkweed?”
Milkweed is the only plant monarch caterpillers will eat. That’s where they will lay their eggs. We can also, as cooperators with nature and God, provide food for this endangered species. Milkweed seeds are on order. Thanks, inspiring Spirit.
Creator, Redeemer, Sustainer, aka. Father, Son and Holy Spirit. That’s my story, the story of my tribe, and I’m sticking to it.
Amen.
June 15, 2025
Trinity Sunday
Proverbs 8:1-4, 22-31; Canticle 13;
Romans 5:1-5; John 16:12-15
“Stories of Wonder”
Great Balls of Fire
Take a trip down Memory Lane to your high school days. The homecoming game your team won and the sock hop at the gym afterwards. Hormones raging and some old-fashioned teacher attempting to police the two-inch distance between slow-dancing couples on the dance floor. I can still picture my girl friend of that time and to this day her perfume lingers in my mind.
And after a few slow dances, the DJ would do a change-up and on would come Elvis with “Jail House Rock” and Jerry Lee Lewis’s “Great Balls of Fire.” By then the gym was rockin’. Sweat pouring down our foreheads and hearts racing.
At the next change-up to “Love me Tender, Love me True,” we were all too hot and sweaty to dance so close together that the prude on the prowl need worry.
That’s what Pentecost is all about – Great Balls of Fire, fire in the imagination, fire in the gumption.
The most opportune moment for the Holy Spirit to get hold of us is through our imagination. To fire us up with an idea, to fire us up with hope, with a moment of sheer grace.
When the Spirit hits, it’s Jerry Lee Lewis’s song come to life.
“You shake my nerves and you rattle my brain
Too much love drives a man insane
You broke my will but what a thrill
Goodness gracious, great balls of fire.”
Well, in the words of the ’08 Obama campaign, folks touched by the Spirit are “Fired up. Ready to go.”
A saying attributed to Augustine concerning Hope – Hope has two beautiful daughters, anger and courage. Anger at the way things are and courage to change them
Here’s the story of one man fired up with anger at the high cost of higher education and upset by the countless minds going to waste because of their want of opportunity.
And ready to go with audacious courage.
Shai Reshef in his retirement as an entrepreneur thought there might be a fix to this dilemma. He had an incipient idea for a university on line, University of the People — UoP. It would be free to any student anywhere in the world that had access to the internet.
Since students in many countries, in grammar school through high school, learn English, courses would be taught in English; but since he was also wanting to include women in the Middle East who are often deprived of schooling, the courses would also be taught in Arabic.
Classes demand 20 hours a week and are kept small at 20 to 30 students. A student has 10 years to complete a degree.
A young Afghan woman, Maliha, now living in America, tells of the great sorrow in her nation as the Taliban took over.
Twenty-three-old Maliha was studying civil engineering at the University of Kabul, Afghanistan, when everything changed.
“The first thing they did was that they said that women are not allowed to go to schools and universities.”[1]
But she and many other Afghan women found a way – the internet. Surreptitiously, some 4000 Afghan women have continued their education right under the noses of the Taliban.
These women have certainly imbibed the spirit of Langston Hughes, “I have discovered in life that there are ways of getting almost anywhere you want to go, if you really want to go.” These women did.
Maliha remembers, “On those dark days that I was at home and couldn’t do anything for my future, University of the People was like a light in my darkest days.”[2]
Women in a university in Afghanistan!? – Good God Almighty. Great Balls of Fire!
Unlike many online courses which are scams – Trump University comes to mind – UoP offers fully accredited BA and Masters degrees. And they’re free. There are some fees, usually not more than $5,000 over the course of the degree. More than half the students receive a scholarship.
The founder and now president of the UoP, Shai Reshef, does it through grants from foundations and wealthy donors. He also relies on a staff of 47,000 volunteer faculty. These are mostly world-renowned professors, who in their retirement have decided to “pay it forward” by teaching without charge. As Reshef remarked, “I’m a volunteer.”
Degrees are only offered in a limited number of majors: associate and bachelor’s in business administration, computer science and health science, master’s in business administration, information technology and education. These are majors leading directly into jobs, and 80 percent of graduates end up working in the field of their major. Come, Holy Spirit, come!
With a valid degree earned online, Maliha eventually escaped Afghanistan and is presently living in the United States pursuing a master’s degree.
All this glory began with the spark of fire in one man’s mind. Yes, the Glory of God is a Woman fully alive. “Great balls of fire.”
The Fire of Compassion has struck also an Israeli former prime minister – Ehud Olmert. He has written an op ed in Haaretz (The Land), the foremost progressive newspaper in Israel – calling the government’s operations in Gaza war crimes.
Prime Minister Olmert, obviously angered at Isreal’s role there had great courage to call his nation to account. He certainly was fired up and ready to go when he wrote this.
In his interview with Steve Inskeep on NPR, this is what he had to say about the death and starvation inflicted on Gazans.
“All of us are absolutely certain that there is not any achievable purpose that is worth continuing and expanding this operation. Now, while these operations are not going to save the hostages, are not going to achieve any important national interest, and hundreds of people are killed on a daily basis, who are not involved. This is a crime.”[3]
Further…
“…the fact that senior Israeli ministers in the cabinet called expressly and explicitly to deny any humanitarian needs from the people in Gaza, a couple of million people living in Gaza, and they say they should all starve and be demolished. This is a call for war crime by the many senior ministers in the cabinet, without one comment by the prime minister that he’s not – that he does not support this.”[4]
Great Balls of Fire – an Israeli prime minister said this?
Of course, he is appalled by what he sees on this TV, as are we. The other day Israel was boasting that fifty-some aid trucks went through checkpoints, yet over 600 daily are needed daily to prevent famine and disease.
Not quite fired up? Not by a long shot.
Such enforced starvation is genocide. Tell me how this is any different from Hitler’s forced starvation of the Warsaw Ghetto.
Olmert is tragically late to this catastrophe, but at least he got there. And it’s important that he’s a former prime minister willing to go public with his anger at his own nation.
Visions of suffering and deprivation are part of the Spirit’s toolbox to stir folks to amend their ways, maybe even make restitution.
Hopefully, Olmert’s courage will fire up the rest of us yearning for a ceasefire and sufficient provision of aid. Fire us up and make us ready to go!
By the way, Gaza ceasefire demonstrations are held weekly in Claremont on the corner of Arrow Hwy. and Indian Hill Blvd. if you should happen to get fired up about this inhumanity, these war crimes. You might suggest that our government cease to send Netanyahu money and arms to support this atrocity. If that happened, the war would be over shortly, for we are the ones funding this genocide. Write your representatives.
As we at St. Francis survey the needs about us, may the Holy Spirit come with Great Balls of Fire to fire us up and make us ready to go! The Garden and Food Bank await – just sayin’. Amen.
[1]Fred de Sam Lazaro, University of the People offers students a new and affordable college experience, PBS News Hour, May 28, 2025.
[2] Ibid.
[3] Steve Inskeep, “Former Israeli PM Ehud Olmert says his country is committing war crimes in Gaza,” Morning Edition, NPR, May 28, 2025.
[4] Ibid.
June 8, 2025
Day of Pentecost
Acts 2:1-21; Psalm 104:25-35, 37;
Romans 8:14-17; John 14:8-17, 25-27
“Great Balls of Fire”
Easter Blessing
When I opened my Sojourners magazine this month I found a few articles about self-care. Yes, self-care in the face of the devastation that we witness daily as workers are summarily fired, the genocide in Gaza unfolds nightly in living color, our healthcare as put at risk by a quack administrator of Health and Human Services. Yes, Medicaid threatened with over $700 million in cuts, threatening to eliminate care for over 40 million Americans. Not to mention the damage this will do to their caregivers.
Yes, self-care is in order. Faced with such a barrage of bad news, it would be easy to turn on to trivia, tune out and drop out. I admit, some days it’s just too much.
But as many of my mentors, people like Bernie Sanders and Stacy Abrams, keep repeating – this is not the time to give up. But we need to be of sound body, sound mind and sound spirit to continue into the fray.
First, keep our eyes on the prize. As we end the liturgical season of Easter, let us rejoice that we have seen the Risen Lord.
We have received him in the rich memories of stories of healing and salvation passed down through scripture and hymn, through grandparents and Sunday school teachers.
The bleeding woman who only seeks to touch Jesus’ garment that she might be healed. The leprous man crying out at the side of a dusty road, the woman caught in adultery. All made whole.
We remember the faithless disciples at Jesus’ trial, all of whom abandon and deny him in his hour of need. All forgiven and redeemed for the most incredible mission ever.
Here is the Risen Christ amongst us in memory and steadfast faith.
Thomas says he will not believe until he can touch the scars and wounds of the Crucified One. Christ is among us in the wounded we encounter daily – sleeping on the streets, in the bombed-out homes of Gaza, in the aching bellies of starving children, not in some far-off place, but right here in America. Yes, and also in such abandoned places as Sudan, Venezuela, Afghanistan and Syria –all made worse with the elimination of USAID programs. These are his wounds. Touch and feel.
The “waste, fraud and abuse” are the bankrupt, inhuman policies of this shambolic administration. Incompetency heaped upon incompetency. What you get with “retribution” and “revenge” politics. All you get!
In the midst of such mendacity, Christ assures us of his healing presence – empowers his followers to exercise the same spiritual power for healing and the renewal of creation. Praying to God, Jesus commends his followers to Holy Guidance and Eternal Presence.
“The glory that you have given me I have given them, so that they may know that you have sent me and I have loved them even as you have loved me…I in them and you in me, that they may be one, as we are one, I in them and you in me…”
Yes, us. We are empowered as the Risen Christ to this world – we are the Easter Blessing. And might all who see that the hungry are fed, the sick cared for, the dying comforted – might they say, “Alleluia, He is risen.
In the Gospel of John, Jesus assures his followers that he will be with them, and his promise is not empty as followers, members of the Jesus Movement bring healing, reconciliation and justice to those the world regards of no account.
“We are the ones we’ve been waiting for.” True in the 80s, true today.
The Risen Christ indeed! I saw the presence of Christ in the installation of my friend Bill Dunn to be the new rector of Trinity Episcopal Church in Redlands this last Saturday. What I witnessed was an energized congregation with strong lay leadership raising up young people in the faith, serving the needs of their neighbors – and Fr. Bill, their chief cheerleader. These people in their love for one another and love of neighbor are the real Easter Blessing. Christ is risen, risen indeed in these followers.
I opened my spring issue of The Veteran to note the passing of Joan Davis, a long-serving wife of one of our Vietnam veterans – a member of VVAW for fifty years.
Following the end of that disastrous and immoral war that we had stumbled into, Vietnam Veterans Against the War (VVAW), my veteran’s organization, has organized opposition to the cavalcade of senseless wars of our nation. Our motto, “Honor the warrior, not the war.” Is one of respect for those who served. We have held teach-ins on the war machine that drives the insanity of war as the first, go-to option of foreign policy. Yes, we are against invading Canada or Greenland. We have built several libraries and learning centers in Vietnam in a token of reconciliation. We support medical care for those suffering the effects of Agent Orange, and the removal of landmines scattered about their countryside. And this remarkable woman has been at the heart of it all.
She had met her husband, a Vietnam War veteran in Chicago in one of the many street marches against the war machine. Later they moved to Oak Park, where she became a teacher.
As a high school teacher, she fearlessly presented the real history of America to her students – warts, glory and all.
“Joan brought rigor and real debate to her classes, supporting students in learning about the past and helping them understand what it meant to engage with the present and have hope for the future. Through field trips to art and history museums, bringing in guest speakers, and courageously discussing more recent events, such as the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, she was able to help thousands of young people find their confidence, opinions and values over the years.”[1]
She founded a group, REALITY, on campus aimed at enlightening students about racism, welcoming diversity, and making the school a more inclusive place, empowering “generations of students to become advocates for equity and justice.” [2]
She led them in exercises of constructive, respectful debate on the issues of the day. “She organized marches for human rights
Beloved by her students, she was an image of the Risen Christ. Countless students over the years have returned to York High School to thank Joan for her influence on their lives. Many have gone into careers and activism that have made the world, made America, a better place.
Yes, risen indeed. This woman, in life and in death has been an Easter Blessing. A harbinger of new life and sanity for a desolate nation that has so often lost its way. In her service to her students and community, she is an incarnation of the Risen Christ. Christ is risen; he is risen indeed. Alleluia.
Last Thursday, another truck from Burrtec arrived with 80 cubic yards of mulch for St. Francis Garden. Arranged for free by Christopher. Six workers: James, Miguel, Denis, William, Joseph and Fr. John — all braved the hot sun to get it spread it on the first of what will eventually be some thirty beds of fresh vegetables – melons, squash, cucumbers, okra, string beans and bell peppers. And later winter vegetables – kale, spinach, lettuce, radishes, cauliflower, beets.
When someone noted that it smelled, I agreed – it smells like Heaven. Smells like the Gospel in Action. Smells of the Risen Christ at the food bank. That smell is an Easter Blessing as are all who’ve worked to bring St. Francis Garden into reality.
I love that poem: “I’d rather see a sermon than hear one.” Here is a sermon that no one can miss. Out in front of God and everyone. People at St. Francis, we are the living Easter Blessing. In our labor of love, even in the hot sun, Christ incarnate. Even if it doesn’t feel like it at the moment. How does this garden grow? A nursery rhyme gets it swimmingly.
St. Francis, St. Francis,
How does your garden grow?
With silver bells and cockleshells
And lovely tomatoes all in a row
Zucchini and cabbages all in a row.
An Easter Blessing — a living sign of the Risen Christ among us. Amen.
The Scent of Heaven
Spreading it Deep
Working on a sermon that can be seen.
[1] “Remembering Joan Davis: 50-year Member of VVAW,” The Veteran, Section C, vol. 55, number 1.
[2] Ibid.
June 1, 2025
Easter 7
Acts 16:16-34; Psalm 148;
Revelation 22:12-14, 16-17, 20-21; John 17:20-26
“Easter Blessing”
