Iraq Vets Make Art from Old Fatigues

This is one of my favorite peace organizations on the planet, plus what they do is so darn creative in this video!



Anybody wanna join in?

Darkly Spinning Carousel

Tonight I went to see the Court Theater's production of Carousel, one of Rodgers' and Hammerstein's classics. I was blown away.

I think I expected something light, comic, perhaps sappy or cheesy. After all, wasn't this a Technicolor film of the fifties?

This was not that, even if one is familiar with all the songs. No, this production carried a gravitas I wholly unexpected. Here was laid out starkly the issues of turn-of-the-century industrial living that we still face today: grueling factory (sweatshop) labor, domestic violence, economic disparity and economic despair.

Now, before I go much further, I have to admit I never saw the original production or the film. YouTube provides some clips. The film I hope to rent someday; as for the play, on account of growing up poor and rural, I have missed much of the standard repertoire of even high school productions.

Still, here tonight were no carousel colors, except for the owner of the carnival ride herself, in stark contrast to the worn, faded clothes of the fishermen and mill girls. Poverty and the lack of options for women were cast at the forefront and the romances became the background, the opposite of how this has often been staged according to several sources I looked up. Billy is not so glamourous as troubled, and it is heartbreaking to see him finally come together for the purpose of raising his child right, only to careen down the wrong path for the right reasons, to his death.

The actress who played the wise cousin/gatekeeper of Heaven/graduation speaker was just remarkable. Ernestine Jackson has this beautiful deep voice for both singing and speaking, and has reknown for multiple Broadway roles, as well as some stints on 'Law and Order,' and a role in 'Bonfire of the Vanities.'

There was a disturbing theology at work in the middle of the play that I'm still mulling over. When Billy Bigelow dies, he wants to see the Judge himself, but is only assigned a local magistrate. Shortly before he dies, his friend tells him that only the wealthy ever get their cases heard by the Supreme Court, and that's what it's like in heaven, also. For me this stirs up thoughts on the current 'Prosperity Gospel: Wealth and blessing, wealth as indicative of goodness; poverty as indicative of cursedness; economic justice issues abound.
Curiously enough, heaven also offers Billy the chance to go back and attend to unfinished business. It's almost abrupt, hastened over, the actions that he takes--it's careening towards the final number. (And after I looked it up, it does this also in the movie of some decades ago).

But, in other thoughts and impressionts--what is this carousel but an empty entertainment, a colorful facade? It is good to enjoy a little for amusement but it is also the source and symbol of much pain, of broken promises and dreams. Actually, it is not much fun at all in the backdrop of the wider social problems. Is it an enigma?

Mail in Jail, and Getting Ready to Go

Greetings everyone,

I had a chance to speak with an officer at the McHenry County Jail to find out a little more about conditions inside and relating to the outside world. Interesting chat...

First of all, here is the address to write me while I am in the jail:

McHenry County Jail
Le Anne Clausen
2200 N. Seminary Ave.
Woodstock, IL 60098

Please send letters on simple stationery (no metallic or string-like or glitter attachments) without newspaper clippings or internet printouts, or other gifts/enclosures. Please do not send blank paper, stamps, or envelopes either. These will be discarded. I'd love it if you only wrote on one side of the page (and use additional pages), so I can use the other side to keep my journals, etc. That way, when I am able to get paper, I can use it to send letters out.

I also found out that I will have access to a Bible, and that there is a library inside, although, according to the officer, "Not a very good one." There's an overabundance of romance novels (as I was afraid of). However, they will accept book donations to the jail itself (you can't mail them to me specifically). It's wise to have someone bring them in person, so they can be approved/rejected by the guard. Pornography or violence would not be permitted, some religious themes would also be rejected, but classics and contemporary thought and humor and poetry and textbooks should be fine. Women's themes would also be good. If a few friends would like to organize such a drive, particularly those living in and around Chicago, that would be very welcome. This would then benefit everyone I am with, including after I am there and gone again. You could make additional inquiries to the jail at 1-815-338-2144.

Visits: The visit restrictions are still pretty tight, with only one visit per week during the visit hours, for 30 minutes maximum, and maximum two people per visit. Apparently it's also not an in-person visit, but over closed-circuit television. Lawyers are the only exception. Pastors must also be approved by the guard and should call in advance. In order to coordinate who is coming when, I think it's best folks contact my sister-in-law, Erin. She and my brother are my closest relatives able to visit. You will need to bring a goverrnment-issued ID and follow the instructions carefully on the website. Please do not worry about disappointing me if you can't make a visit--it is very difficult under these circumstances, and I'll probably enjoy your letters more. Or, rather than visit, get together and throw me a party when I get out. By then I could use some friendly faces and hugs and good food. And I'll be happy to come out to your church or group afterwards and talk about the SOA and civil disobedience, etc.

Speaking of parties, the co-op will be hosting a farewell potluck for me on Sunday. Please bring your well-wishes and a dish or beverage to share! Classmates had hoped to do something at the seminary, but unfortunately that week there's a time conflict with the Public Theology conference. I am actually grateful for a time to see friends I might otherwise miss altogether. Finally, please remember there are many things you can do, not just to support me, but the cause for which I committed civil disobedience, that is, to close the School of the Americas. Please take the time to visit the SOA Watch website, www.soaw.org, and follow the suggestions for talking to your Congresspersons about cutting funding for this program which has destroyed so many lives.

peace,

Le Anne

A Few Thoughts on Turning Thirty

Thirty. "Club 3.0," as my friends who have already reached it refer to it.

This year my birthday falls on a Tuesday, and that night I am in class as well. So we began celebrating on Friday, modestly each time, but something each day to mark the occasion. Mostly wine and good chocolate. An excellent, perfectly gooey chocolate cake from my brother and sister-in-law. Quiet parties and gatherings here at the co-op and around. More cake at church. Chocolate chip cookies at class on Monday. Tonight, watching Monty Python and the Holy Grail on the new computer that arrived, nibbling pistachios and a beer for St. Patty's Day. Moments of gratitude I didn't have to eat fake green frosting on anything this year. Mint is one thing; spray paint is another.

Thirty for me is counting each new gray hair on my head with glee. I'm up to about ten now; I wish I had more and would like to speed their arrival if I could. My folks would not; I have to guard my head when I'm home so that they don't pull them out when I am sleeping. After all, if I'm old enough for gray hair, what does that say about them? I also enjoy my wrinkles, most of which are laugh lines. I am less fond of still having acne.

These days I am often given some deference by others as being older and wiser than they. I can't quite get used to this. I feel like I still don't know anything yet, am still not nearly thick-skinned as I should be for this tough world, or for ministry; am still not as self-assured as I think I ought to be by now. Occasionally, I think I've actually regressed. I still feel wierd putting on grown-up clothes. On the other hand, I no longer worry about makeup, or even that much about hair.

I imagine I'll come back and edit this again later, as the age settles in this year. I've actually been calling myself thirty for the past six months, since no one believes you when you say you're twenty-nine.

Today I spent a nice walk listening to relationship advice from an eight-year-old girl, my professor's daughter, as we went to pick up lunch. She suggested thirty to thirty-five was a good age to have a baby, you're not too old or too young. But first I should find a husband and get married. I replied that I thought this was a wise plan, but that I wasn't interested in getting married; and perhaps there are enough children in the world without parents I should care for them instead. She liked that idea, and announced she hadn't didn't want to get married either, and it was nicer to adopt, preferably one who was older and didn't cry at night. I hope I didn't put these ideas in her head, but this girl is independent enough that I shouldn't worry.

What I do worry about, however, is that I've become an insomniac again, waking up after only a catnap's worth of sleep and unable to doze off again for a few more hours. I think this is the combined stress of seminary politics and preparing for jail, and hoping that my work is progressing well with the peace center. So much happening now, so much of it good, and yet enough of it that must simply be endured. Not so many illusions about the difficulty of realizing one's dreams anymore. But still a dose or two of good hope. May it be also with you.

Going to Jail, Part I

Greetings friends,

I received the letter this evening with orders to report to jail for my 30-day sentence for civil disobedience at the U.S. Army School of the Americas. I will need to arrive at the McHenry County Jail in Woodstock, IL on Thursday, April 3rd, at 2pm. Oddly enough, the jail is located at 2200 N. Seminary Ave. Someone in the Bureau of Prisons may have a good sense of humor. Details about the jail: http://www.co.mchenry.il.us/Common/CountyDpt/Sheriff/ShrCorrections.asp

Woodstock, IL is 60 miles Northwest of Chicago. I know that this will come as a great disappointment to the many of you who have hoped to come visit me while I was serving my sentence. I also need to tell you that the visiting policy at this jail is quite restrictive. The details are listed on the website above; if any of you feel that you would still like to come, please let me know and we will see what can be arranged.

There is a third restriction that I will find intensely difficult: I will not be allowed to have any books, magazines, newspapers, or other media (including clippings or internet copies of the same) while I am in jail. In addition to class books, I had hoped to have my Bible and my closest companions of Bonhoeffer, Berrigan(s), and Dorothy Day to see me through the month. I will however be allowed to send and receive mail on plain paper/envelopes. You may not send any packages or gifts in the letters, including extra stamps or envelopes. I had been previously advised that the conditions in a county jail are more restrictive than in a federal prison camp; and that there was a chance they could send me somewhere outside Chicago and/or my hometown in Mason City, IA.

There are male and female prisoners in this facility, including one floor dedicated to U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement; as well as violent and non-violent offendors; and people awaiting trial as well as people serving sentences and/or awaiting transfer to other prisons for longer sentences. County jails receive funds from the federal government to take federal prisoners due to overcrowding. I am not exactly sure how prisoners are separated; I imagine I'll get to make quite a few new friends. I confess that I am far more afraid of the isolation than the conditions, though. I will look forward to your letters.

Some classmates have asked about the possibility of arranging a farewell event or service before I go in, and I would welcome this also, as it's quite possible I may not see many of you again until at least the fall. I see though that I will be leaving just after Reading Week and the Ministerial Institute, which may be a pretty crowded week already. When I return, it will be the middle of finals, another chaotic time. I would welcome the efforts of any friends who would like to think on this and arrange a time; and meanwhile, I'll start getting my bills and other things in order.

Finally, there are other things that would be helpful in support of my civil disobedience and to further the cause of closing down the SOA. First on the list is contacting your Representative to support House Resolution 1217, cutting funding to the SOA and thereby ending its continuing contributions to human rights violations in Central and South America. The SOA Watch website, www.soaw.org, has all the details. Second is learning more about the SOA, and if desired, I am able to provide several videos that could be played between classes on campus about the history of the School while I am away. [Susan Sarandon's in some of these, too, as one of her main causes, and I hear we like her a lot around here!] Third, if you would like to drive out to the jail on April 3rd to see me off, I believe there will be a caravan from among the peace community in Chicago and Northern Illinois. They'd love to meet you, and I hope you will enjoy their company.

Finally, I will welcome and lean on the help of my classmates in Dr. Terrell's, Rev. Karen's, Dr. Speller's, and Dr. Haldeman's classes for good notes. I will also need some friends to type my handwritten replies and forward them to others by email or share in class. Who knows? Perhaps I will find something of Community Transformation in McHenry County Jail. Can there be Worship that is/ as Transformative Art in jail? Perhaps being housed with so many other women, white and black, in jail, they will have things important to say to Womanist and Feminist Christologies, or on Religion in America. I hope the time can be of the greatest benefit to the most. I will let you know if I find out anything more.

peace to you,

Le Anne

Reviving the Bones

Sermon for March 9, 2008
Hyde Park United Church

Ez. 37:1-14, Ps. 130, Rm 8:6-11, Jn 11:1-45

[Introduction to a new congregation]
Good morning everyone,

You may be wondering, who is this new student we’ve ended up with? Where did she come from? What’s she going to be like? And how long is she here?

Well, my name is Le Anne, I’m turning 30 next week, I study at Chicago Theological Seminary, this is my fourth year in Hyde Park and on the South Side of Chicago. Places in the path to here included growing up in Iowa, heading to Israel and Palestine and Iraq; Syria and Lebanon, Iran and Afghanistan, and a few places in Central America. You could say I saw a few wars in those years. I came back to start seminary and work in the church; some days, as you might know that feels like a “war zone” too. But not always J In as much as I am able, I try to work for peace. Sometimes peace work will put a person in jail; I will be spending some time there in a few weeks for civil disobedience at the U.S. Army School of the Americas this past fall. Then I’ll be back again. That’s me. If I haven’t met you yet, I look forward to meeting with you in the weeks to come.

--

Last week in the lectionary, we heard the words of the 23rd Psalm,
‘Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me.’

And this week, here is that valley.

There is death in this valley, more than a shadow; here these people lie not just dead but slain.

Slain, like so many schoolchildren in Chicago and school campuses in our nation. You’ve seen the news and you know what I’m talking about. Slain, like Baghdad. Slain, like Rwanda.

Slain, like El Mozote, where SOA graduates slaughtered 900 people in one village, only one woman to survive….a woman who until her death this year, remembered at the SOA vigils ‘that was my daughter, that was my neighbor,’ as we read their names and called, "Presente! We remember'" them, these slain, like all the places and all the ones we hold with pain in our hearts.

Now let’s think about the claim, ‘I will fear no Evil, for you are with me.’ Huh? Is this for real?

This week in the Psalm [130], we hear what sounds like a more realistic response to the violence which we see and which we know: “Out of the depths I cry to you, o Lord, hear my voice!”

Skeptics would say that those bones were abandoned. They’re dead! What good does it do them to hope? What a silly story! Who comes back to life?

Who indeed. As Christians we wonder, who indeed comes back to life? In whom do we place our hope, even in the face of so much pain and death?

--

I had not before in my life until this week thought of Ezekiel as a Resurrection story. And it is, it is. Here is death, but not just death; here also is the framework upon which the Holy Spirit is about to move. In this valley, and in Lazarus’ tomb, and only a few weeks later in our Savior’s tomb. We have these stories, and they comprise a history of a God who does not let death stand in God’s way.

And here comes Ezekiel, brought here to this lonely place by the Lord. Maybe they’re even people Ezekiel once knew, and misses, and mourns, and remembers. Maybe he is struck by despair. There were so very many in the valley. And they were so very dry.

Can these bones live?

Can’t you just hear him saying, crying, I don’t know Lord, only you know?”

--

How many times have you found yourself saying, 'I don't know, Lord?" Or even, “my bones are dried up?” How many times have you been too tired to go on? Whether it’s falling down into the chair at the end of too many too-long days of work, or waiting at the bedside of a loved one whose life barely lingers, or because you’ve been hurt one too many times. Maybe it's this winter that just won’t quit and your health hasn’t gotten any better, or you still can’t seem to get a job and you don’t know how you’ll make it. Maybe you want to say,

"Our hope is lost, we are cut off completely!"

I know that I have been to that dark place, many times, and it is lonely. It is a deep valley, and the shadows are heavy, and like the Psalmist, my soul cannot wait any longer for a sign of comfort that troubles will not last forever.

I hope that you have not been to that dark place, but if you have, or when you are, remember this: When you want to lie down in your grave and not get up, when even your friends are ready to let you stay in that grave because you stink like Lazarus, you're so far gone, this is where God comes to us, commands the stones to be rolled away, and calls us out:

"Thus says the Lord God: I am going to open your graves, O my people, and I will bring you back to the land of Israel and you shall know that I am the Lord, when I open your graves and bring you up from your graves, O my people, I will put my spirit within you and you shall live and I will place you on your own soil; then you shall know that I the Lord have spoken and I will act,” says the Lord.

--

All this, and yet Mary and Martha grieved at least four days for their brother Lazarus.

And they had hard questions for the Lord. The families of these who lay slain, of course they grieved, and of course they had hard questions for God. None of this means we won’t have grief, or hard questions, and anyone who tells you otherwise is a liar. It only means that grief and death will not win. If God has to go to ends of the earth, or even to the grave , to restore any one of these children that She loves so much, God will.

And in those moments, have you known them? There comes an inexplicable new strength in our bones, new breath to revive our souls, in those moments we are finally un-bound and let go, on that day we are reunited with those whom we have loved. Death and grief will not win. God has not yet quit.

May this hope rest firmly in you and with you, and may it give you strength to live your days and respond to God's calling to be prophetic in your lives. May it be with all of us. Amen.

Space Alien in the Seminary

Somedays, I feel like a space alien.

I tried to talk about this feeling in my parish integration class (more on that in a sec), the feeling that I am often just not talking the same language as other people. And am never really sure if I'm communicating what I truly feel or think.

I tried to say in integration class that while I am surrounded by friends, I often feel lonely. This is not for lack of good or close or 'real' friendships, but perhaps I mean that I feel so different, coming from such a different experience, than my seminarian friends. I simply cannot make them understand what I'm talking about when I talk about activism; they don't have that inherent pull or part of their lives. [And I brought this up in integration class, as I often bring up things that happen in my life on campus as a student, because it's a class about integrating ministry with your whole life. Can't go around pretending the twenty hours or so a week I spend on campus doesn't exist, or only involves my brain getting full with abstract stuff].

So, when I tried to bring this up in class, one of my classmates said, I just need to go out and make more friends outside of seminary, that would be good self-care. Well, I think she meant well, but the comment wasn't really helpful. And then I realized she probably just can't get it, it's just outside her experience. Maybe.

This is not the same for when I'm around my activist friends. In fact, I am better able to talk theology with my activist friends than I am able to talk activism with my seminary friends. Perhaps this is because talking about God is doing theology, whereas even getting to the point of talking about activism with my seminary friends, isn't really the same as doing it together.

And that is a problem that I see in the seminaries today: that we talk about activism, but we don't really have ways of encouraging people to go out there and do it. You're really on your own, even if all your professors themselves brag about having marched with MLK or against the war or whatever. There's no 'field studies requirement' built in for talking to Congresspeople, or negotiating interfaith understanding, or human rights accompaniment, or other things for which religious leaders are so desperately needed in the world these days. In fact, it's hard to find a good course on just plain community (or congregational) organizing.

I thought that, and then I read it in a book this morning, that seminaries basically over-educate and under-equip students for ministry with other people. What little training happens is farmed out to practice parishes, and not talked about with professors with much parish experience.

So yes, I feel alienated in seminary, even though I'm surrounded by friends. I feel that I should have something more to say about this, something more profound, but that's perhaps all. Although, I am rather attracted to the title of Dorothy Day's autobiography, 'The Long Loneliness,' and for the parts I've read of it, I think I find it comforting. Loneliness, after all, is not the worst cost when living the life that I have chosen.

peace,

Le Anne

Bad blogger, again

Already a whole month has gone by and I haven't posted anything. Bad blogger, bad. No biscuit!

This is not to say I've been doing nothing, or even writing nothing.

School is definitely back in session for the spring, and I see that I've spent more time writing to organize at school, as usual. 'Pastoral' letters, letters to the editor, letters to the administration, letters of inquiry, letters to friends in jail, and letters to friends at seminary and elsewhere who are panicked because I am going to jail.

Let alone leaves of a notebook, stuffed full, waiting to be typed up and put to some good use: reflections on ministry, poems, articles, theologies ('God-talks'), future book chapters, rants--about life in general, and from the viewpoint of an activist seminarian in particular.

Plans. Did I mention plans? Budgets? Pro forma? Flowcharts? Yikes.

Oodles and oodles of meeting notes. Oh, and class notes. Sometimes I take those too. With rants in the margins. Or more 'God-talk'.

To-do lists. I seem to always write them, and then can never find them again when I need them.

I've been carrying around my book manuscript too, trying to make revisions. I have since learned that the worst thing to say when approached while doing this is, "I'm making revisions to my book." This will start a conversation that will quite possibly erode all the time you had planned for actually making those revisions. Apologies, Sandy, I'll send it in soon...

I need these tangible writings in life though. I need to feel paper and pen, or printed-out copy, and to see others reading and responding and the expressions on their faces when doing so. Not always, but often, when I go on jags away from writing online. Real human interaction. Call me old-fashioned, but in over a decade of writing online, I still find no fully-fulfilling substitute.

After a while, after I've had my fill though, I'll collect all these pieces and put them here, or nearby. I'm looking forward to it, and it's also a relief of sorts. In most of that past decade, I've lost track of the written pages. They simply take up too much room, and are hard to leaf through. But I can look back at the past five years on this blog, for example, and remember I used to have a very different life. That too, is helpful. And very fulfilling.

Speaking of which, I think I may be going back to that life, at least in part, soon. I had a good conversation, and need to make a few phone calls and see. More to come...

Civil Resistance

Sermon for the week of February 29, 2008
University Methodist, Madison, WI

1 Sam 16: 1-13, Psalm 23, Eph. 5:8-14, John 9:1-41

Good morning everyone,
It is an honor to be here with you this morning, and an encouragement to see so many faces of old friends and new, especially those of you who have been with me throughout this weekend in Madison as I speak about our work together for peace. I hope I might have something useful to share.

--

Psalm 23 is a familiar comfort to us, so often in times of sorrow, or distress, at funerals most especially, but helpful in any difficult time. "Even though I walk in the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me." "You make me lie down in green pastures and restore my soul." "I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever." Yes, these are words of often-needed comfort and assurance.

However, there is something discomforting in the other two passages for today. In Romans we have a catchy passage on darkness and light; we know who wins. And yet verses like these in our broken world can quickly be twisted into a preference for light skin over dark. Be on the watch against those who mishandle these verses, promoting white supremacy, sowing hate. It does happen. We must not let it pass.

This is also a caution for the Gospel lesson today. The question, ‘who sinned, that this man was born blind?’ is still asked in different contexts and different subtleties today. We still assign a social stigma to those with disabilities, a stigma of lesser-humanity, of lesser-intelligence. We equate "blindness" in our churches with immorality, without considering how this is heard by those who are physically blind. We must not allow this either.

The title suggested for my sermon today, 'Civil Resistance,' is not a term familiar with today. I often use the terms 'Civil Disobedience,' or 'Divine Obedience,' and was not so sure I liked the sound of the term. But then I got to thinking, that the purpose of 'Civil Resistance' is really to 'Resist incivility.' Resist incivility wherever it happens and creates harm and brokenness among God's creation. I believe this must be done in nonviolence, and with a care not to cause further harm.

What we see in this Gospel story is a heavy dose of incivility, showing up on the part of the neighbors and religious leaders of this blind man and his family. In fact it's so bad, the family is afraid to resist--after all, they'd be kicked out of the synagogue, the congregation they have known and loved.

Here is a blind man who is no longer blind, and no longer silent, no longer being made irrelevant in his home and congregation and community; he has been witness to something powerful and true, and he is causing a stir. He won't quit! He is resisting their games, obedient to something more than narrow-minded human authority.

Similarly, Romans is asking us to shine a light, to uncover, to expose systems of injustice and not cooperate with them by keeping them silent. The systems of injustice are powerful as they are harmful, and real consequences exist for those who take these risks.

I know of a few other acts of civil resistance, good ones that try to heed this call, and I want to share them with you:

Of course, I've been asked to talk about our arrest for nonviolent civil disobedience at the School of the Americas, an action taken to call attention to the ongoing abuses committed by graduates of the SOA, of church workers needing to flee their parishes in South America; of known human rights abusers from these schools coming to teach the students, actions that speak louder than the words of the so-called human rights curriculum.

But I also want to tell you about Raging Grannies, senior women who will also not be silenced, who sing loud and with wit against our systems of militarism and destruction of our earth.

I want to tell you about civilian diplomacy, such as the trips to Iran organized by the Fellowship of Reconciliation. If our leaders won't meet to make peace, at least honest people are willing to try.

Now, I also need to tell you about a man I know, blind from birth, who even still became a professor at Seton Hall and retired honorably. He, too, crossed the line at the SOA, not just this year but several times before. The judge refused to prosecute him, and he was sent away to be silent. But he will not be silent, and he will not go quietly away. He came back again and again, and this past January, he stood in front of the judge and demanded the same sentence as others got; he demanded to be treated as an equal being; equally intelligent (moreso, with his degrees), equally convinced and convicted. The judge, embarrassed, asked if he would take house arrest. He said no. He got ninety days and a fine. This man will not be underestimated by the civil authorities.

When I have chosen civil disobedience, it has been at times when I have not just felt strongly convicted of the justice and need of the cause, but also that I have considered my ability at the time to bear the costs--whether jail time, or fines, or other burdens that may arise. I am not just ready, but able, to serve my sentence, and I continue to prepare spiritually for it.

Perhaps you are asking yourself, how far can you go? Well, if you have the means to act larger, the time and freedom, by all means do so. To whom much has been given, much will be required.

However, do not despair if you don’t have such means. There cannot be any hierarchy among actions or those who act. No one should ever feel coerced into such a move as this. The costs can be quite high. And, more importantly, most significant acts of civil resistence take place closer to home. Do not underestimate the resistance of a woman finding freedom from from her abusive partner. Or the resistance of joining the Sanctuary movement to provide safety in our churches. Or the necessity of calling our Congresspeople to voice objection to injustice and suffering. When you can do no other, you can always pick up the phone.

But it is amazing what some folks do, that we assume they can't do. In Chicago where I live, a few months ago, people in wheelchairs "stormed" the State of Illinois building, fed up with not being taken seriously, and with the State's slowness to make transportation and other public services more accesssible. Let me tell you: three wheelchairs stop up an elevator. Four hundred wheelchairs bring a whole building to a standstill, damn quick. And those baffled police officers--it seems the paddy wagons weren't wheelchair-accessible, either! Truly these people were living out this Gospel like none other.

Yes, there are laws, customs, conventions that are unjust; Biblical interpretations that are unjust and lead to injustice; there are so many of these that are just plain un-civil. And it will take resistance to change them, to create a more just and more equal world. The road is long. And sometimes it hurts. And sometimes when you think it won't hurt so much, it hurts more, a lot, like you never expected. Sometimes you are like the blind man healed, with not just sight but insight, and you find yourself cast out by your community, even your congregation, even perhaps your family, and you are lying there, at the side of the road, wondering, crying, "Who is this Jesus? Please, show me!" And it is then, in the pain, in the loneliness, that God has not abandoned us, that sits with us and holds us; this is the Christ sometimes we can only see reflected in others; other times God calls us to reflect this light to those who suffer around us.

Be that light.

Receive that light.

Go forth, speak truth, and believe, confident in God's love.

Amen.