it can feel schizophrenic, yes?

From time to time, my friend Pam evokes the words of Dickens when reflecting upon the state of the world: "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times." (Tale of Two Cities) I often feel much the same way - especially after reading through my morning news resources. For Lent I turned off TV news for good - including PBS - because it has become a vulgar exercise in manipulation and sensationalism. Today, however, there is such a melange of discrete and troubling updates that I feel compelled to restate the apocalyptic insight Frida Ghitis posted on CNN after the Notre Dame fire: it feels as if:

... We were watching a metaphor, a prelude, a warning... Our times feel so fraught, as if through our animosity and divisions we are destroying the foundations of civilization.

At the same time - in the very same moment - I am preparing to be with my precious family for the finale of Holy Week. My grandson, Louie, will be singing with his children's choir on Easter Sunday. My grand daughter, Anna, is running and spreading joy wherever her feisty 18 month body will carry her. We will feast with those who fill our hearts with love and hope. I am also engaged with a cadre of musical soul warriors who are committed to bringing light into the darkness - and after yesterday's rehearsal I feel invigorated. And soon I will have the chance to celebrate the marriage of two of my oldest friends as we travel into the sunshine of a California spring. It can feel schizophrenic, yes?

On the third day of Holy Week, this poem by Naomi Shihab Nye speaks to me:

We Did Not Have Drinking Water in the Middle of the Ocean

Essentially, that would be the metaphor for my entire life.
I immigrated to the land of the free,
but my people weren't free.
Tried to speak up, little droplets of words,
to a tidal wave powering over me.
Homeland trampled, ripped in pieces,
often by people who weren't there.
How dare they?
They had their own interests.
They couldn't see us.
We were tiny as pebbles to them
that you push with the toe of your shoe. What kind of people
do that? I remember the ship I came to the New World on,
how rough it was, stormy sea and sky,
deck heaving, people sick on the floors at night,
but the size of our stupid hope some mornings
as we looked across calm water and thought,
Now it will be good.

Tomorrow is Holy Thursday - there will be choir practice and foot washing - and then Good Friday, cross and the emptiness of the tomb.  It is the best and worst of times, indeed.