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”
New Rules
For those who are fans of Bill Maher, his show, “Real Time,” ends with a segment called “New Rules.” This is a humorous rebuttal to the common wisdom and some of the follies of the week. Yes, I know some of Bill’s language is a bit rough, and his attack on religion gets a bit tiresome, though in many cases we have earned his scorn.
New Rule on flirting: “Humans cannot be trusted to just flirt with other attractive humans. And the MAGA crowd cannot be trusted to flirt with dictatorship. Not everyone who flirts cheats but all cheating starts with flirting. ‘I’m not in bed with Putin; he’s just my work wife.’ Okay, aren’t we kinda past the flirting stage? Sure, Trump’s love letters to Kim Jong Un, and his siding with Putin at Helsinki and the tanks in the streets on his birthday — all coquettish good fun. And the ‘lock her up’ chants, and suing the press and calling them the ‘enemy of the people,’ and saying that shoplifters should get shot on sight – innocent flirting, all of it. Except, you know, I don’t know. Now it seems a little less like just flirting and now more like we’re actually meeting every afternoon at the Motel 6.”
New Rule – no flirting with dictators and autocrats. Vladimir Putin and Victor Orban are not our friends.
The old rules on church attire were that woman wore dresses and men wore suits, white shirts and ties. I still remember the time my brother came up to Inyokern to visit. That Sunday I overheard one of our teenage boys pleading to his mother: “If the pastor’s brother can wear jeans to church, why can’t I?”
New Rules: The old dress code is out the window. Though we did have to have a dress code for our foster daughter whose motto was, if you’ve got it, flaunt it.
Jesus institutes New Rules – the hundreds of laws and customs are boiled down to one simple command in John’s gospel: “I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you.”
In the reading from Acts, we see that the Jesus Movement is expanded beyond its Jewish origins. It is open to all beyond the circumcised. Beyond those who observe the dietary laws. “No creed or race can love exclude if honored be God’s name,” as a line of the hymn goes.
Peter, honoring this love commandment, baptizes the Gentiles from Caesarea. Peter, upon his return to Jerusalem compelled to defend his decision in the Book of Acts.
“Three men, sent to me from Caesarea, arrived at the house where they were. The Holy Spirit told me to go with them and not make any distinction between them and us. These six brothers also accompanied me, and we entered the man’s house. He told us how he saw an angel standing in his house and saying, ‘Send to Joppa and bring Simon, who is called Peter; he will give you a message by which you and your entire household will be saved.’ And as I began to speak, the Holy Spirit fell upon them just as it had upon us at the beginning…If then God gave them the same gift that he gave us when we believed in the Lord Jesus Christ, who was I that I could hinder God?’” New Rules, indeed! All means all.
And so the Jesus Movement grew, energized and enriched by an expanding Love.
Our nation is sorely in need of some New Rules right now. As this shambolic administration is at one hundred days and then some, New Rules are desperately needed. Their vision of humanity is so crimped, we’re abandoning even our so-called friends. Its all about the “Art of the Deal” – old loyalties are cast aside.
Secretary of Homeland Security Kristi Noem said in a statement on Monday. “Afghanistan has had an improved security situation, and its stabilizing economy no longer prevent[s] them from returning to their home country.” There’s a reason why these refugees are here under Temporary Protected Status.
Situation improved??? Improved??? Not for these people.
How could this woman be so willfully ignorant? So devoid of any human decency? These are Afghans and their families who supported the American effort to defeat the Taliban. They steadfastly stood beside us in that twenty-year war. These are people for whom a return means a virtual death sentence. And the girls will most likely be sold into sexual slavery to the highest bidder.
Improved? You’ve got to be kidding. What happened to “Family Values?” Apparently, that was all a lie.
New Rules – Honor our commitments to those who supported us.
Abandonment will cause what’s left of America’s tattered honor to be dragged through a pit of sewage.
God help us all. New Rules —
Remember when the nation held the president to the highest standards of probity? Even old Tricky Dick ultimately respected the rule of law. He turned over the tapes.
Never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined that the holder of the highest office in the nation would have the temerity to turn the presidency into “America’s Home Shopping Network.” Here’s a man who would know the price of everything and the value of nothing, including the sacred trust connected with that office.
It’s all for sale. Grand opening. You want a Tesla? Well, just stroll down the White House driveway and pick the color you want. Oh, and did we mention the new Donald J. Trump meme coin? At just a little over $13 each. You can own your own keepsake of the ruination of this republic. Buy lots and lots and you might get a free dinner with the most ignorant, opinionated host ever. Lots and lots more gets you a visit to the White House.
I was surprised that my wife turned down a gift of a Melenia meme coin for Mother’s Day. But folks, you can phone in your order now. Operators are on standby. They’re going fast.
This goes well beyond the Teapot Dome scandal of the Harding administration in the 20s. Way beyond Nixon or Reagan’s clandestine Iran “Contragate” scandal. The only legal part of that escapade was the birthday cake Oliver North took over to the Ayatollah.
And all the money goes right into the Grifter-in-Chief’s pocket. One buyer has already purchased $148 million worth of Trump coins. Really hoping for that White House dinner. It will be the most expensive Big Mac he ever ate. And how many foreign actors are investing in this grift to curry favor and make deals? Who knows? It’s a black box.
But it looks like he might get a huge jumbo jet to tool around in and, later, for his library for his efforts. Nice to have friends in rich places. BTW, did you get a plane, or even a return call? Buy more coins. They’re the new hot item.
Meanwhile it’s slash and burn the safety net for the neediest, the least of these.
Now, where’s that Emoluments Clause?
New Rules – Thou shalt not turn the White House into a den of thieves.
Yes, New Rules – Let the Emoluments Clause of the Constitution be enforced. Excruciatingly! No meme coins or Teslas sold from the White House.
New Rules – Greed is out. Compassion is in.
New Rules — Thou shalt love the Lord your God with your heart, mind and strength. And the second commandment is like unto it. You shall love your neighbor as yourself. On these two, hangs the entire Law. This is the Love Commandment.
That means respect for the covenant of laws and norms that bind us together as a people — such things as honesty, decency and faithfulness to your office. Whether that office is an elected one or the office you hold as simply as a citizen of this republic.
It means charity to neighbor and stranger alike – even if they come from Afghanistan.
It means assuming the best of others unless evidence is to the contrary.
It means honoring the rich and diverse fabric of this nation. As I often say, “All means All.” E pluribus unum for sure.
In sum, treat others as you would like to be treated. That’s what that Lady with the Torch who stands astride that golden door in New York harbor is all about. Let us live up to our highest aspirations and ideals. In such a New Rule is our personal and our national salvation. And against such charity there is no rule.
I close with the words of James Baldwin, “In this world there may not be as much humanity as one would like to see; but there’s enough.” [1] The same must also be said of America. There’s enough to right the ship. Amen.
[1] Bruce Springsteen’s quote of Baldwin at a Manchester concert tour, May 15.2025.
Entrusted with Resurrection Power
It was most distressing for those communities ravaged by fires in Los Angeles these past months to see the baren hills and flat lands. Mile after mile of charred skeletons of houses and businesses – what many had spent a lifetime building only to see it go up in flames. Some of the many landmarks communities grieved over were the loss of many of places of worship.
These hallowed landmarks were places of deep joy and sorrow, places of desperate prayer and joyful song. Now, all gone.
The first church I served in the upper Mojave Desert had gone through a similar experience, though many years ago.
Soon after I arrived, I began visiting the three small communities, Randsburg, Johannesburg and Red Mountain that were served by this old United Methodist congregations. Since the former pastor was so shy and introverted, he hardly visited anyone. With a little effort the place began to grow. The woman next door who had been a member long ago, wrote one of the former pastors, now living in Ohio. Mother Carrie, as she was affectionately known by the other Methodist clergy, was the first woman in that conference to pastor a church.
A most amazing thing then transpired. Mother Carrie wrote me a wonderful letter concerning her time out there in the 30s through the 50s serving that congregation and another close by in Inyokern.
Her husband, John Oval had been the pastor, arriving in the late 20’s. Shortly before he died his brother had come to visit – his brother with a serious drinking problem. One night he fell asleep drunk with a cigarette still burning. A fire began in the parsonage, which was attached to the wooden church. The whole thing went up in flames. I still have a picture of that tragedy that someone had taken. Fortunately, everyone, including the brother, escaped unharmed. But the church was a total loss.
Not long after that, Pastor John died. Carrie had been going through the conference course for lay preachers, so she asked to be appointed in her husband’s place. Mother Carrie was not without her detractors; in fact there were many. Not at all used to a woman preacher.
Mother Carie soon organized a rebuilding effort while the congregation met in the VFW hall. This church would not be of wood. Mother Carrie had managed to get hold of some concrete block making machines. These were third-world devices operated by hand.
Every evening as the miners came out of the mines she had them organized to begin making concrete blocks. The women would arrive to cook dinner and they would work late into the night. After many, many months, through a joint effort of church members and many others not connected to that congregation, a Resurrected church arose.
It wasn’t long after completion that one of the usual fierce desert winds came up and tore a good chunk of the metal roof off the new church. Some of Mother Carrie’s detractors wrote the superintendant down in Pasadena, “We told you not to send this woman preacher out here. Now God has taken matters in his own hands. Soon, we will have nothing again.”
Mother Carie wrote me of that message to the superintendent with the follow up, “And I was reappointed for another year.” And many more years to follow.
Today we celebrate such mothers, whose fierce love for us has made us who we are. A blessing to ourselves and many others. And they didn’t do it all themselves. They organized the necessary resources to keep going.
When we read the Resurrection story in Acts of Tabitha (known as Dorcas in the Greek), it’s essentially a community effort. After she died, the attending widows, having washed her for burial, sent two men from Joppa to Lydda, having “heard that Peter was there with the request, ‘Please come to us without delay.’ So Peter got up and went with them; and when he arrived, they took him to the room upstairs. All the widows stood beside him, weeping and showing him all the tunics and other clothing that Dorcas had made while she was with them. Peter put all of them outside, and then knelt down and prayed. He turned to the body and said, ‘Tabitha, get up.’”
Peter, with Resurrection Power, awakened the woman. In our hyper individualistic culture, we tend to focus only on Peter – one individual. But it wasn’t just Peter. This Resurrection of their lost Dorcas was a community effort — God in them, they in God. The entire community is endowed with Resurrection Power.
The entire community, using all the spiritual resources at their command is empowered. Facing their tragedy, just like Mother Carrie, this little band of the faithful used all the resources available. They shed tears; they prayed, they hoped together. They summoned help. they waited in expectation. It took many to summon Resurrection Power.
It will take many to summon the Resurrection of the democracy of our nation. The call has gone out, in many cases led by strong women, many of whom are mothers who know what’s at stake as programs like Head Start, Women Infants and Children (WIC), Planned Parenthood, and the Departments of Education and Health and Human Services, and Medicaid are all on the chopping block to provide gigantic tax cuts for the richest ten percent. Mothers know what’s at stake.
Sarah Palin was right about one thing concerning a mother’s fierce love: “What’s the difference between a hockey mom and a pit bull – the lipstick.”
At a corner demonstration, widows in their 70s and 80s, even one in her 90s know what’s at stake when the Veteran’s Administration is eviscerated and benefits cut. Where’s the “Thank you for your service” here? Yet that small monthly survivor’s check along with SSI is the meager amount that pays the rent, provides heat, cover medical expenses and puts food on the table.
All across the country Resurrection Power is in the hands of us ordinary folk, mass gatherings in the unlikely places as Utah, Alaska – did I mention that I saw a picture of our former hometown of Petersburg – Idaho and Montana, Alabama and Mississippi. Resurrection Power amplified through our common strength. Mama pit bull love.
It was a distant relative of our family, Julia Ward Howe – Grandma’s lineage on my mother’s side), who summoned up the strength of our mothers in her first Mother’s Day Proclamation. She was a feminist, a Suffragist, an activist for the woman’s vote, an abolitionist — I close with that. Maybe that’s where I get my activist genes – a goodly heritage indeed!
Mother’s Day Proclamation – Boston, 1870
“Arise, then… women of this day!
Arise, all women who have hearts, whether our baptism be that of water or of tears! Say firmly: We will not have great questions decided by irrelevant agencies. Our husbands shall not come to us, reeking with carnage, for caresses and applause. Our sons shall not be taken from us to unlearn all that we have been able to teach them of charity, mercy and patience. We, women of one country, will be too tender of those of another country to allow our sons to be trained to injure theirs.
From the bosom of the devastated earth a voice goes up with our own. It says: Disarm, Disarm! The sword of murder is not the balance of justice. Blood does not wipe out dishonor, nor violence vindicate possession. As men have often forsaken the plough and the anvil at the summons of war, let women now leave all that may be left of home for a great and earnest day of council.
Let them meet first, as women, to bewail and commemorate the dead. Let them then solemnly take council with each other as to the means whereby the great human family can live in peace, each bearing after his own kind the sacred impress, not of Caesar,
but of God.
In the name of womanhood and of humanity, I earnestly ask
that a general congress of women, without limit of nationality,
may be appointed and held at some place deemed most convenient,
and at the earliest period consistent with its objects, to promote the alliance of the different nationalities, the amicable settlement of international questions, the great and general interests of peace.“
~ Julia Ward Howe
And I tell you what – This sure beats the hell out of the simpering Hallmark sentimentality found on our supermarket card racks. Today we celebrate the Resurrection Power inherent in all those pit bull women who have fiercely loved us and passionately cared for this nation. Yes, these women of the Spirit knew – it always takes a village. Amen.
May 11, 2025
Easter 4
Acts 9:36-43; Psalm 23;
Revelation 7:9-17; John 10:22-30
“Entrusted with Resurrection Power”
Resurrection – Present Day
This last week, Resurrection was evident in the labor of love that put in the first of 30 vegetable beds at St. Francis. Work began early with Barbara opening the gates and unlocking the church. By 9:00 a.m. we had several members — Joseph, William, and yours truly — laying out the chicken wire to prevent gophers dining on our new plants. Miguel, our paid farmer, was also on the job.
We had approximately nine beds laid out by the time the first truck arrived from Burrtec with 30 cubic yards of mulch that Christopher had arranged for free. The aromatic odor wafting across the field of woodchips was definitely the smell of Resurrection. Wonderful to sniff.
We ended with a break for pizza that Barbara provided with some delicious root beer and Pepsi. And the satisfaction of having done a righteous deed.
As I previously mentioned. A great Anglican divine once wrote that if Resurrection was only a one-off historical curiosity, it would have been of minor significance – UNLESS it is lived as a daily reality, Christ raised in our hearts and minds. And I would add, also in our date books, wallets and credit cards. And in the voting booths. Yes, let us pray for the insight and wisdom to notice Resurrection as a daily event in our lives.
Saul, bent on destruction of the incipient Jesus Movement, breathing threats as he heads to Damascus, is struck down. “Suddenly a light from heaven flashed around him. He fell to the ground and heard a voice saying to him, ‘Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?’” Saul, raised from the ground, welcomed into the home of some of Jesus’ followers becomes a new man, Paul. Raised from the deadened life of hatred. Resurrection to be sure!
Resurrection is vibrantly alive in the daily work of those in recovery. Arlie Hochschild, in her new book, Stolen Pride, has some marvelous stories of how some in Appalachia have discovered Resurrection in lives ruined by poverty, despair and drugs.[1]
James had just arrived in an emergency room after his fourth heroin overdose. His sister Ashley, a student at the University of Tennessee, after three calls from a hospital, dreaded that next call would be “the call – James is dead.”[2]
It wasn’t too long before James’ sister’s worst fear came true. One day she received a call from the paramedics. James had been found without a heartbeat. After some effort with CPR the paramedics brought him back.
First, Ashley just sobbed. Then she realized she had to do something. “I took a breath, got online and spoke to James: ‘James, are you ready this time?’”[3]
Yes, he was ready. Ashley had found the best recovery program in eastern Kentucky, Southgate. And while they usually only accepted clients referred through the criminal-justice system, they made an exception for James. Ashley got the costs covered by a special grant. There, James bonded with one of the counselors over their love of punk rock bands.
There, James hit rock bottom. Soon after arrival, he was sitting out in the yard feeling sorry for himself – that his life had gone nowhere, that he had lost everything, that he had messed up his family and had no self-respect left.
As he sat on a bench, he noticed at his feet a line of ants. They were scurrying along, carrying bits of food, grains of sand. He noticed one ant carrying a dead ant. The light went on. That dead ant being carried was him.
James understood in a flash that his counselor, Tom Ratliff “became the carrier ant willing to carry the dead – or nearly dead – ant, me. The man saved my life.”[4] Resurrection! Fresh from the grave.
Through this program, James became alive to his own emotions, feelings he had stuffed and buried through drugs. Shame and pride.
He inwardly made the decision to work at his recovery, no matter the pain of realizing what he had lost – because the vision of what he had to gain was so alluring, so life-giving. That is Resurrection becoming reality.
James, looking at that line of ants had made the decision to be a carrier ant. He no longer wanted to be carried as a dead, desiccated man. Resurrection!
Through the stuff of ordinary life, beautiful sunrises, gardens, family, the daily work given to our hearts and minds, lies Resurrection joy and possibility. Within our very selves we have all the makings of a miracle.
Cassie Chambers – It’s the family name of a most wonderful, extended family throughout Appalachia, one of whose shirt-tail members runs the little market in Bethany, Chambers General Store, just down the road from the Forney Family Farm we now own – and did I mention the most wonderful sandwiches Mr. Chambers makes while you wait. I even dreamed the other night of standing in front of the refrigerated case of cheeses and meats ordering my favorite bologna sandwich with lettuce, tomato, Swiss cheese, mustard and mayo. And make those slices of bologna extra thick, Bob. Total delight – a veritable taste of Resurrection.
But I digress. Cassie Chambers, in her book, Hill Women,[5] tells of one of the influencers in her life. In the midst of the poverty of Owsley County, Kentucky, in which she grew up, there was always Granny. And family.
Cassie tells the story of sitting one evening and watching TV in the living room, and the importance of family just being together.
Her father, Orlando, wanted to watch a University of Kentucky basketball game. Her mother, Wilma, not that interested in sports, tried to get Granny to go watch a movie in another room.
“Granny, a serious look in her eye, scolded her, ‘Orlando has been at work all day. I’m goin’ to sit right here and spend time with him. I reckon you best do the same.’ Granny and Wilma joined Orlando to watch the game. Granny didn’t know anything about basketball, but she cheered enthusiastically. It was a particularly physical game; at one point she jumped from her seat and shouted with venom, ‘you ain’t nothin’ but a big bully – take your tail end home.’ My parents looked at each other in shock.”[6]
The joy of family – a small moment of Resurrection. The same delight and pride I took in our son Christopher as he reported on his efforts to repair a drawer at his unit in the triplex my brother had left me in Loma Linda. A tiny spark of Resurrection joy.
With eyes to see and ears to hear, Resurrection’s all around. In the Risen Christ I continue to believe that I can make a difference. I can be a carrier ant. WE can make a difference – we ARE making a difference – carrier ants. Resurrection is awakened gratitude for the new life that blooms all about each day.
I opened the paper and noticed an article in the New York Times on the disastrous, chaotic, corrupt first 100 days of this presidency. More about that in sermons to come, in letters to the editor to come. But I had an overwhelming sense of joy for the reporters, for their truth-telling. That truth come to light is Resurrection.
As I look towards my next trip to West Virginia, I drool as I think of my bologna sandwich purchased at the counter of Chambers General Store. A small bit of Resurrection delight.
With that sort of nourishment, fueled with coffee, and in the Risen Christ, we go forth with the audacity to believe that today and tomorrow, we can make a difference – carrier ants. St. Francis folk, how does your garden grow? Wonderfully well, with peas and carrots, kale and lettuce, plums, tomatoes and peaches – wonderfully well. Let it be ever so. The smell of Resurrection. Amen.
[1] Arlie Russell Hochschild, Stolen Pride: Loss, Shame, and the Rise of the Right (New York: the New Press, 2024).
[2] Op cit., 147.
[3] Op cit., 148.
[4] Ibid.
[5] Cassie Chambers, Hill Women: Finding Family and a Way Forward in the Appalachian Mountains (New York: Ballantine Books, 2020).
[6] Op Cit., 83.
May 4, 2025
Easter 3
Acts 9:1-20; Psalm 30;
Revelation 5:11-14; John 21:1-19
“Resurrection – Present Day”
