songs from the choir of paradox #3

I have genuinely come to love the experience - and the spirituality - of each of our four seasons. This wasn't always true, but I can confess with confidence that I have learned to cherish them all. In New England, we are in the heart of summer where heat will spike and soar in a whithering way for a few days only to disappear a few days later bringing a reprieve of thunder storms, days with stunning sunshine and gentle breezes. Our garden is flourishing: pumpkins, herbs and cucumbers are hard at work maturing and our tomatoes just began to bear fruit. As I cut the front lawn and attacked this week's crop of weeds, I felt like I was in a walking prayer of gratitude. Later, we walked Lucie through the woods and the late afternoon sun basking in the glory of creation.

I have continued to think about what Parker Palmer and Carrie Newcomer wrote recently: When someone like Howard Thurman encourages people like ourselves — people of privilege, even power — to look to “the growing edge” for hope, we’d do well to listen, rather than giving in to a self-indulgent fatalism or cynicism.

So we’ll ask you the same question we ask ourselves: What’s the growing edge of your life? Some find it inwardly, as they reach for a deeper sense of meaning and purpose. Some find it with other people, at an edge where a relationship needs to begin, change, or end. Some find it in their work, as they look for ways to bring their gifts into deeper alignment with their souls’ imperatives and the world’s needs. Others find their growing edge in joining the struggle for justice in a broken world. The growing edge is rich with the promise of new life. But in our experience, moving toward it is often as slow as the growth of a plant, so the process requires patient tending. We seem to go through three stages before we can begin to see and have confidence in the flowering.

Yesterday I suggested that as a straight, white bourgeois man, listening to the experience and insights of people of color has been crucial for my calling. Today let me push that deeper and suggest that wisdom, challenge and clues for living with compassion have come to me through listening and trusting the witness of women, too. Walking through the woods, I started my list of names of the women who have opened my mind, heart and soul. There are teachers, artists, lovers, friends, family and colleagues in this list (that will always be incomplete.)

As I sat with these names after a wee nap,remembering these women and how they have been blessings to me, I experienced another type of prayer: sacred remembrance. You might want to make your own list. Or another list of those who have touched and brought you a measure of healing. 

This list is not ranked in any hierarchical way - with the exception of the first name - Martha. More than any other woman, she opened my being to the wisdom and experience of contemporary feminism - and I have never been the same. I am so very, very grateful...

Martha Baker, Dianne De Mott, Germaine Greer, Virginia Wolf, Lucinda Williams, Kathleen Norris, Gloria Stienhem, Angela Davis, Phyllis Trible, Katie Canon, Kathy Arzt, Jesse Piscitello, Michal Lumsden, Donna Minich, Donna Mescall. Deanne Langworthy, Stephanie Paulsell, Diana Butler Bass, Dorothy C. Bass, Linda Worster, Patti Smith, Alice Walker, Marie Howe, Mary Oliver, Margaret Atwood, Mary Karr, Terre and Maggie Roche, Gertrude Mueller-Nelson, Marilynne Robinson, Annie Dillard, Maggie Durran, Betty Pulkingham, Joy Mead, Henrietta Keleman, Elizabeth Hay, Roberta Flack, Grace Slick, Joni Mitchell, Joan Armatrading, Aretha Franklyn, Joan Baez, Linda Ronstadt, Maria Muldaur, Carole King, Carol Comstock, Pam McAllister, Barbara Cohen, Debby Anderson, Jane Swartzback, Dolores Brown, Irene Lefferts, Kristie Greene, Barbara Barkley, Carrie Newcomer, Maya Angelou, Emily Dickinson, Susan Sontag, Harper Lee, Barbara Kingsolver, Amy Winehouse, Sheryl Crow, Alanis Morissette, Sarah MacLachlan, Buffy Ste. Marie, Jane Sieberry, Sally Rogers, Eva Cassidy, Sarah Coakley, Susan Thistlethwaite, Linda Schloss, Dolores Huerta, Cynthia Bourgault, Sandy Denny, Odetta, Janis Ian, Madonna, Sinead O'Connor, Elizabeth Cotten, Hazel Dickens, Mimi Farina, Kate Wolf, Laura Nyro...

songs from the choirs of paradox #2

Yesterday I borrowed words from two poets on the periphery - Parker Palmer and Carrie Newcomer - who wrote: To see life steadily and see it whole, we must find ways to hold the paradox of life-in-death and death-in-life. We can’t live lives of meaning and purpose if we succumb to the horrors of “apocalypse now” or fly off into the Aquarian fantasy of a day when “peace will guide the planets and love will steer the stars.”  Let me build on that invitation to join the choir of paradox today with this.

It is not coincidence that called Palmer/Newcomer to draw sustenance from the wisdom of Howard Thurman. Thurman's hard won equanimity was rooted in the spirituality of the African-American church. From slavery to Jim Crow oppression and beyond, this incarnation of the Church has been the institution that shaped the heart, soul, dignity, discipline, community, faith, hope, love, analysis and direct action for social change for so many people of color in the USA. When black Americans were not counted in regional records re: population, marriage, birth, etc. throughout the South, their ancestry was honored with painstaking written accuracy in the church records of the African American church. Small wonder that these two white wisdom keepers turn to Thurman at this moment in time.

When Howard Thurman calls the growing edge “the basis of hope in moments of despair, the incentive to carry on”, he’s not indulging a cheap fantasy. Those words came from a black man born into a culture of white supremacy, only one generation away from his grandmother’s experience as an enslaved human being. He stood in a long lineage of lived testimony to the fact that new life beckons to us even in the midst of horrors. When someone like Thurman encourages people like ourselves — people of privilege, even power — to look to “the growing edge” for hope, we’d do well to listen, rather than giving in to a self-indulgent fatalism or cynicism.

Those of us in the white, middle/working classes who are wrestling with the agony, emptiness and existential and political powerlessness of life within the Trump regime have something vital to learn from our sisters and brothers in the African-American realm. Their way of embracing sorrow and celebration simultaneously - living into a wisdom born of learning how to be in the harsh world of our white supremacist culture without become consumed by that world - offers us a way into the blessings and promise of paradox. Not appropriating or stealing from what is not ours; and certainly not without giving our propers. But rather respectfully and reverently, as novices, listening carefully to the guidance and witness of those far wiser than ourselves.

I believe this is white America's season to truly learn from the genius of black America. One of my mentors put it to me like this nearly 40 years ago: as a straight, white male of privilege, you need to shut up more and learn to listen, brother; watch and ponder - then you can experiment with this truth so that it might become real for you, too. Another mentor said: if you want to be an agent of compassion and justice always remember that your credibility is not portable. In each community you must prove you are trustworthy to communities of color by showing up and shutting up. 

It is time to enter the road less traveled for many of us, the way of embodied humility, for it will not only strip away all that gets in the way of love, but it will help us recognize the hopeful surprises of the Lord when they appear. The Rev. Dr. James Washington as well as the Rev. Dr. James Forbes at Union Theological Seminary in NYC used to say to me during my formative years: slow down and listen; there IS a balm in Gilead; but it is of the Lord's making not yours. Dr. 
Dorothee Soelle, another UTS professor and mentor, was more blunt: you have to commit race, class and gender suicide to be a disciple of Christ in our era.

So, if you are white, try this simple exercise: make a list of all the people of color who have touched your life and helped you grow in faith, hope and love. Here is my list that is still growing...

Maya Angelou, MLK, Malcolm X, Sweet Honey in the Rock, Richie Havens, Nina Simone, James Baldwin, Alice Walker, Ralph Ellison, Toni Morrison, Langston Hughes, WEB du Bois, Nikki Giovanni, Mechelle Nedegocello, Bell Hooks, Duke Ellington, John Coltrane, Billie Haliday, Ella Fitzgerald, Aretha Franklyn, Stevie Wonder, BB King, Miles Davis, Jimi Hendrix, Beyonce, Tupak Shakur, Gil Scott-Heron, Thelonious Monk, Marian Anderson, Drake, Childish Gambino, James Cone, Cornell West, James Washington, Mike Daniels, Jim Forbes, Mike White, Eugene Ward, Chambers Brothers, Edwin Hawkins, Ray Charles, Roberta Flack, Odetta, Eddie Harris and Les McCann, Ron Carter, Oscar Peterson, Ray Brown, Hugh Masekela, Angela Davis, Dennis Powell...



... Barack Obama, Little Richard, Michelle Obama, 

songs from the choirs of paradox...

A small but wonderfully nuanced choir is starting to sing songs of paradox these days into the apocalypse now cacophony of the USA. It is by no means our national anthem any more than "Let America Be America Again (It Never Was to Me)" by Langston Hughes has found a hallowed place at Trump rallies. But the voices of this choir are beginning to be heard around the edges of the madness. And as Hebrew Bible scholar, Walter Brueggemann, notes: God's new song is almost always first sung from the periphery. The borderland between wilderness and mainstream society is where creativity, compassion and connection are re imagined. 

In fact, Brueggemann urges those prone to despair to rediscover the forgotten and marginalized texts of our Scripture for clues: we are not the first people to be in this morass - and we won't be the last. Our great cloud of witnesses from times past once learned the hard way how to honestly ground themselves in reality so that they might boldly grieve. In time they came to understand that this was how their hearts and minds became open to the sacred surprises God ached to bring to birth within and among them. Start with "by the waters of Babylon," stay by the River Chebar as long as necessary, and keep your ear open for a new song stirring from beyond the grief that is of the Lord's creation. 

Valerie Kaur and William Barber are part of this new choir in their work of revolutionary love. Two of my favorite poets from the periphery - Parker Palmer and Carrie Newcomer - have been listening to songs offered up by the waters of Babylon, too. On Krista Tippet's "On Being" program, they put it like this:

During a decade of friendship and collaboration in words and music, the two of us have often talked about the endless dance of darkness and light that challenges and enriches everyone’s life. Then came an April 2018 day when a dear friend of Carrie’s died in the early morning hours. Carrie had kept vigil at her bedside all night, singing and reading poetry as this good soul departed after years of living bravely and well with cancer. Later that morning, one of Parker’s good friends sent a video clip of the ultrasound she’d had that day, wanting to share the pure joy she and her husband felt about the new life that’s growing in her.

That afternoon, we talked about the way death and life, grief and joy, dance nonstop with each other around the world, day and night. It might not be a friend who dies; it might be a hope, or a work, or a relationship. It might not be a baby en route to being born; it might be a vision, an opportunity to learn or serve, or a small nudge towards who-knows-what.

To see life steadily and see it whole, we must find ways to hold the paradox of life-in-death and death-in-life. We can’t live lives of meaning and purpose if we succumb to the horrors of “apocalypse now” or fly off into the Aquarian fantasy of a day when “peace will guide the planets and love will steer the stars.” 
(see the entire article @ https://onbeing.org/blog/parker-palmer-carrie-newcomer-look-well-to-the-growing-edge/mc_cid=8b78105c68&mc eid=aaa79b290f&utm_campaign
=8b78105c68-EMAILCAMPAIGN_2018_06_05_02_09_COPY_01&
utm_medium=email&utm_source=On%20Being%20Newsletter&utm_term=0_1c66543c2f-8b78105c68-69812713)

Our new band, Famous Before We're Dead, is a part of this emerging social chorus of beauty, challenge, grief, silence and solidarity, too. Over the next few days I will share some of the sounds that I trust from within this chorus. They help me know that we are not alone. We are not going crazy. We don't have to reinvent the wheel. We are now learning to trust the darkness. And sing in harmony with others who know these songs better than ourselves. Here's one take on this with more to come...

famous in the right way...

Last night we practiced as a band: Famous Before We're Dead. It was a good albeit complicated time. We hadn't all played together in a few weeks given full lives and day jobs. That meant the groove didn't come easily. Naturally. It showed up from time to time, but there were clunky and awkward intervals, too. Like Chief Dan George says in the film, Little Big Man: Sometimes the magic works, sometimes it doesn't.

I don't like it when the magic doesn't work, but I know it is important. Healing even - if I pay attention. There's wood shedding I need to do; scales, riffs and experimentation so that I know each song with my eyes closed and heart open. There's encouragement I need to share, as well, with my other "famous brothers" in the band. And there is patience we all need to honor each in our own way. Life is complex. Demanding. And the heat wave didn't help. Chief Dan was so right: sometimes the magic works, sometimes it doesn't.

This afternoon, as part of my hyper- thorough house cleaning jag for July (a room each day from top to bottom), I found myself thinking/feeling/reliving last night's rehearsal. I was able to get clear what I need to practice. I also got some clues about where sharing encouragement and practicing patience might be a blessing. After my study was finished, I came across this poem at the Gratefulness Network. It is by one of my favorite writers, Naoimi Shihab Nye, which she calls "Famous." Like going to Famous Nathan's in Coney Island for hot dogs last week in Brooklyn, this too was a sign:  

The river is famous to the fish.

The loud voice is famous to silence,
which knew it would inherit the earth
before anybody said so.

The cat sleeping on the fence is famous to the birds
watching him from the birdhouse.

The tear is famous, briefly, to the cheek.

The idea you carry close to your bosom
is famous to your bosom.

The boot is famous to the earth,
more famous than the dress shoe,
which is famous only to floors.

The bent photograph is famous to the one who carries it
and not at all famous to the one who is pictured.

I want to be famous to shuffling men
who smile while crossing streets,
sticky children in grocery lines,
famous as the one who smiled back.

I want to be famous in the way a pulley is famous,
or a buttonhole, not because it did anything spectacular,
but because it never forgot what it could do.

keep your eyes on the prize...

So today is Independence Day in the United States: what an odd, challenging, beautiful, confusing, heart-breaking, demanding and paradoxical time to be alive. I used to celebrate this day by reading Langston Hughes - out loud or to myself - and listening to Springsteen. Last year, I joined Sara Lee Guthrie, the Hoping Machine and the Four Freedoms Coalition for our annual parade singing "This Land Is Your Land," "If I Had a Hammer" and more. Today, however, my heart just wasn't in it. Not even the prophetic jeremiad of "America Never Was America to Me" cut it. Instead, we ate chips, salsa and Mexican beer for lunch. 

The truth of the matter is that America's shadow is no longer in the closet: both our ugly violence and generous compassion are on full display. Ultimately, this will be cathartic. Potentially it might even be healing if we take stock of the wounds we cause by arrogance, ignorance or plain old naiveté. But inside our borders and beyond I sense it will become a lot worse before it gets better. Like a drunken, raging bull filled with fear and shame, today America is acting out in public in ways we've always tried to hide away or deny. Of course our better angels speak out daily in newspaper editorials and op ed columns, but most of us no longer read. Hell, most of us can barely read the menu at McDonald's in 2018. For the short-term, I am not optimistic.

But that doesn't mean I am without faith, hope or love. Nor does it mean that I am pessimistic. Rather, this is a season for small acts of local compassion and a large dose of quiet prayer. We are not living in a time of rising expectations. This is not "morning in America." It is twilight. And as anyone who has ever driven our ribbon of highways in a car at dusk knows, it's best to keep your eyes wide open and wits dusted off at twilight. The rising heat can play tricks on your eyes as the sun sets. Animals are feeding and sometimes dash out into the road unexpectedly. Its just best to slow way down and take stock of what is real before racing forward. 

And to my eyes I see the most vile and viscous forms of racism, misogyny and fear of the future spilling out all over this country. Children in cages. Trade wars. Honoring dictators and degrading allies. Dismantling health care for the most vulnerable. De-constructing regulations to safeguard both the environment and free elections. Encouraging racial discrimination for entrance into college. Vulgar and stupid rhetoric in public. Chipping away at a woman's right to choose. Fear mongering and bullying as standard operating procedure. At the same time, I see ordinary working people caring for their neighbors in quiet and heroic ways every day. Millions of middle class women, men and children turning out in our streets every month to protest saying, "This regime is corrupt and does not help make America great in any way, shape or form." Women being elected to public office in record numbers. Progressive candidates finding a message that has traction beyond "no!" Allies willing to call out the President's stupidity in public. New coalitions agitating for economic justice. And the return of radical interfaith cooperation on behalf of the "least of these, my sisters and brothers."

It is, as my friend P from Brooklyn says, "the best of times and worst of times" with a tip of the hat to Dickens. And it must be: our shadow must be exposed - and challenged. Our collective heart must be broken open so that there is more room to love. And America's disillusions of grandeur must be exposed so that they can be embraced by more than the radical fringe. This is how we atone for our sins with humility. Fourth of July feels to me like THIS version of Springsteen's masterwork:



Last night the speech of Frederick Douglas was read aloud to the citizens of our small community. "What To the Slave Is the Fourth of July" is no less poignant in 2018 than it was in 1852: 13 years before the American Civil War ended. Douglas celebrates what is real in both promise and deed in America even as he clearly names the evil within and among us, too. And then he closes with the words of poet William Lloyd Garrison.

God speed the year of jubilee
The wide world o’er
When from their galling chains set free,
Th’ oppress’d shall vilely bend the knee,

...

God speed the hour, the glorious hour,
When none on earth
Shall exercise a lordly power,
Nor in a tyrant’s presence cower;
But all to manhood’s stature tower,
By equal birth!
That hour will come, to each, to all,
And from his prison-house, the thrall
Go forth.

Until that year, day, hour, arrive,
With head, and heart, and hand I’ll strive,
To break the rod, and rend the gyve,
The spoiler of his prey deprive —
So witness Heaven!
And never from my chosen post,
Whate’er the peril or the cost,
Be driven.

I see it coming to pass among us - unevenly and painfully - but powerfully. Hold on, hold on, keep your eyes on the prize hold on. The Boss hits it out of the park for me today with this one as he gets the joy and sorrow of this moment right.

rest is renewal of our energy so that we can struggle for peace and truth with vigor...

On July 20, 2018 we will host a house concert for 20+ friends @ 7 pm. One reason for this gig will be to raise funds for RAICES (https://actionnetwork. org/groups/raices-refugee-and-immigrant-center-for-education-and-legal-services) They continue to provide boots-on-the-ground legal services for migrant families still separated and brutalized by the Trump regime. Our goal is $500. NOTE: if you would like to support this work but can't join us for the party please consider making a donation here:https:
//www.facebook.com/ donate/1195048157298760/. My brother/sister have already started this ball rolling and you can help, too. So, if you would like to join us, please RSVP to me @ desertjames@gmail.com. We have room for 20+ and are about halfway there.

A second reason we're gathering is to showcase our new band, Famous Before We're Dead, especially our more introspective and challenging songs. There are tunes that work well in bars and clubs - and we're working them up as we start to line-up bookings. But others require thought and reflection in a setting that encourages listening. Check out our Facebook page @ https://www. facebook.com/famoushal/

And the third reason we'll gather is simply all of us need times to be with those we love in safe and restful places. Jean Vanier of L'Arche recently put it like this:

I am realizing more and more that there are many people who do not know how to relax. It took me a long time to learn. Obviously, people know that they must sleep, but relaxation is more than that. Sleep, moreover, can be a way of avoiding reality, an escape, a kind of depression. Real rest is the renewal of our energy so that we can struggle for peace and truth with more energy, enthusiasm and hope. So relaxation is finding new sources of energy, and being affirmed and supported in the awakening of these energies. It is rediscovering trust in our mission and what is deepest in us. It is the opposite of slumping in sadness, apathy, lack of self confidence and doubt. Real rest involves relaxing the heart with friends and family through celebration, laughing, singing, joy, humor. It means feeling well and happy in our body, house, family and community.

My deepest hope is that by opening our home to your visit - sharing music, refreshments and a little fund raising - we will be bringing both a measure of rest and resistance to kindred spirits.

do not let the heart's silence be blotted out by busyness...

Today was chill: the morning was given to working on a new song, "Small Is Holy," the afternoon to practicing scales and gardening. Some may recall that I fiercely love me some pumpkins. So, as the heat moved off from scorching to sun stroke, we added three sugar pumpkin plants to the side garden as well as two hearty cucumber seedlings. Di re-potted some green onions, watered the herbs and I pulled poke weed. This evening we'll drop by for tapas and maybe some jazz. Today's Jean Vanier reading from L'Arche Canada was spot-on:

In order to grow towards a deeper sense of identity and to open our selves to others, we need times of quiet and reflection, times of inner peace and relaxation. If we are preoccupied with plans and a compulsive need to succeed and be appreciated, or if we are tired, tense and stressed, it is difficult to slow down and welcome and listen to reality and to others. Our internal motor runs too fast. It is impossible to be silent and stand back from what is happening in order to consider our motives and fears. The heart’s silence is blotted out by the noise of the motor. Growth demands that we are fit, well rested, and relaxed both in body and spirit. So it is important to find a healthy rhythm of life, and to know how much rest we need and the types of relaxation that give life.

Today I give thanks to God for another year's journey around the sun. I rejoice in the love I share with so many in this world. I am grateful for the notes of love and support you sent today and look forward to a deeper solidarity in our work of compassion and peace in whatever time remains. Blessings.

the story isn't over yet...

A friend and colleague in Canada recently said to me, "Well, when the next world war happens, perhaps Germany will be one of the good guys?!?" I've been haunted by the wisdom, sober realism, emotional/political challenge, and totally upside-down-from-my-world-view logic of these words. It was yet another wake -up call for me to see a vision larger than my own habits, limitations, fears, and self-importance.

One of the great ones of this era, Representative John Lewis, put it like this in a meme that went viral on Facebook: Do not get lost in a sea of despair. Be hopeful, be optimistic. Our struggle is not the struggle of a day, a week, a month, or a year, it is the struggle of a lifetime. Never, ever be afraid to make some noise and get in good trouble, necessary trouble. He was, of course, speaking to the shock and awe many white, middle class liberals are experiencing as the Trump regime ripens. 

The equilibrium and commitment to diversity, justice and measures of social cooperation that many of us grew up with are clearly coming to an end. Like much of contemporary Europe, nativism, misogyny, racism and economic myopia are ascending. Unlike Europe, however, the US lacks the insights of a long obedience. We are consequently condemned to relive our own tragic ignorance, naiveté and arrogant isolationism as we usher in a 21st century gilded age where American robber barons buy and sell presidents, Supreme Court justices, elected officials and regulatory agencies. Lewis asks that we not harbor any illusions: fascism 2.0 is the rule of the day in these once modestly United States. But this is not the end of the story.

Three other quotes have ministered to me as my soul wrestles with staying focused, faithful, and real in this season of cruelty. One comes from Pema Chodron, the wise Buddhist elder, who is crafting an authentically Buddhist message for the West. She writes:Things falling apart is a kind of testing and also a kind of healing. We think that the point is to pass the test or to overcome the problem, but the truth is that things don’t really get solved. They come together and they fall apart. Then they come together again and fall apart again. It’s just like that. The healing comes from letting there be room for all of this to happen: room for grief, for relief, for misery, for joy.  Many of us who have been part of various US liberation movements know the old aphorism: Each generation must make freedom their own. Too often, however, I have considered this to be a linear truth when, in fact, it is inward and circular. "Things fall apart and then come together again before once again falling apart." Right now, things are clearly falling apart. This isn't the end of the story. The healing, as Lewis and Chodron know, is making room for the wounds and chaos. I am not good at this at all - but my heart tells me it is true.

Another quote comes from Toko-pa Turner who urges us to make space for the wisdom of our elders (like Lewis and Chodron.) She writes: If you are without elders in your life, or if the older people in your life aren't the wise ones you are longing for, consider befriending some in your community. Find those whose eyes still sparkle, who carry some gravitas, who are using their lives in service to something greater than themselves alone. Make a respectful courtship of them by showing up to support or keep them company in a consistent way. Listen to their stories, ask them for guidance, learn what they’re willing to share with you. While in Canada last week another wise friend told me that over and over she experiences big hearted young people who ache to live for compassion. What they lack are guides and elders who can help them go deeper. One of the challenges before those of us who are chronologically closer to the end of the race than the start, is to become soul friends with those ready for gravitas. And hope. And sober realism during this harsh season. Remember and trust: the story isn't over.

And then there was this article by public theologian and former Dean of the

Chicago Theological Seminary, the Rev. Dr. Susan Thistlethwaite. In an article based upon the recent public heckling of members of the Trump regime as they went out for dinner, she writes: Press Secretary Sarah Huckabee Sanders was refused service at a Virginia restaurant, Homeland Security Secretary Kirstjen Nielsen, Pam Bondi, the Florida Attorney General who has supported Trump throughout his tenure, and Stephen Miller, a Senior Trump Advisor, have all been recently heckled in public places.

Today, I am persuaded that this kind of prophetic witness is needed in light of the intolerable words and actions of this current administration and that it stands in the same line as the prophetic witness of the biblical prophets and Jesus of Nazareth. The massive amount of systemic cruelty, especially to immigrant children, and the extreme bigotry that has incited prejudice and even violence against minorities, is intolerable. When these are combined with consistent lying and undermining of constitutionally guaranteed rights, as this administration has done, these actions must be confronted. They cannot be allowed to become normalized. This isn’t normal. This isn’t right. And when you collaborate with it, you should be called out. 

Her point - one that I endorse - is that normal public civility often becomes tacit support of unjust cruelty when a nation embraces fascism. Not ad homenim attacks, but rather calling out public figures' complicity with evil. She continues:

Theologian Dorothee Soelle, who grew up in the Germany that had been so morally corrupted by the Nazis, has written powerfully about why societies cannot tolerate the intolerable. For example, in her book The Strength of the Weak: Toward a Christian Feminist Identity, she counsels against tolerating massive intolerance. She argues, in her profound way, that “if we love heaven, we find ourselves less and less able to tolerate hell.” (pp. 69-70). Make no mistake. For a child to be ripped from her or his parents’ arms and locked in a cage is the very definition of “hell on earth.” This administration has admitted plans to build concentration type camps on military bases for persons trying to enter the United States. The President has advocated denial of due process for these individuals. How much more evidence do you need that what America is becoming today is intolerable? Do not tolerate it.

(http://www.patheos.com/blogs/religionnow/2018/06/do-not-tolerate-the-intolerable-public-shaming-can-be-a-justice-action/)

Our elders are calling some of us to live as elders for those ready to go deeper into the way of compassion. Let us care for one another tenderly as we let go of our addiction to "passing the tests" of things falling apart. Shit happens. But it doesn't last forever. Shit gets better. Yes there is pain. To be sure there is struggle. But we can resist and even thrive as we make space for the shit, trusting that it has a place within the cycle of life and death, joy and sorrow, dancing and mourning. Holding my baby granddaughter this week in Brooklyn - laughing with my precious grandson, too - made those words flesh for me. The story isn't over yet - and our young ones need us.

notre quartier le jour de la fête de Saint Jean-Baptiste

Yesterday was The Feast Day of St. John the Baptist in the Christian world. It is also the Quebecois festival of cultural and national sovereignty. Canada Day is July 1 but the Quebecois decided in 1977 to begin their Fête Nationale on what is considered the French equivalent of St. Patrick's Day. The former premier of Quebec, René Lévesque, made it a paid provincial holiday at the height of the movement for independence and it is now vigorously celebrated with parties, concerts and lots of alcohol. We spent a little time last night in Gatineau listening to the Quebecois Rednecks at a street festival. Clearly, a good time was had by all.

In Tucson, St. John Day was a water festival. It marked the traditional start of the summer monsoon season when rain swells the arroyos and dormant wild flowers break out unexpectedly into a surprise desert bouquet. In North Country it is a fire festival more akin to the summer solstice. Both are wonderful to behold! The Nativity of St. John the Baptist is paired with the birthday of Jesus of Nazareth - the only two birthday celebrated in Christianity - set six months apart at times in the Northern Hemisphere that approximate the summer and winter solstices.

Today was going to be another day of exploration, but already it feels too lazy. Sometimes, as the old song says so well, you need to "lay around the shanty, momma, and put a good buzz on." It has been a satisfying sojourn: I was able to work out next year's calendar of participation at L'Arche Ottawa, say farewell to a L'Arche assistant returning to his home in Paris and a new career as a lawyer, honor another assistant's birthday, check in with my friends at Mountainview and enjoy quiet time with my sweet heart. We'd forgotten that in notre quartier le jour de la fête de Saint Jean-Baptiste. That was a bonus. I will meet with another L'Arche community leader tomorrow morning and learn more about the unfolding changes.

Before we head back to the US - and a quick visit to loved ones in Brooklyn - we will celebrate one more chill day in this great town.

what famous musican are you...?

Last night leaving the Lake Street Dive concert at the Ottawa Jazz Festival, while waiting in line to drive out of the parking garage, there was a gentle tap on my side window. Startled, I looked up to find a man about my age standing and smiling. I put the window down and he said, "I was wondering about the Haddad Brothers bumper sticker on your car: what does it mean?" It took a few seconds to register before I replied, "Oh, that's the name of the car dealership where we bought this great old car." He smiled and said, "Ok, I get it. That's my name, too and I was just curious. Its common from the old country."

"Lebanon, right?" He smiled again. "Where in Massachusetts are you from? We have family we visit often in Connecticut." When I told him Pittsfield he noted that they travel through there regularly on the way to see his brother. He waved goodbye - and then I realized one more thing. "Oh, not only is Haddad the car dealer's name, but it is also the name of the drummer in our band!" "How sweet is that?" he mused and headed back to his vehicle.

Earlier that afternoon, while looking for yet another bracelet, the street vendor said to me, "Are you a famous musician?" When I returned her smile with, "Not yet famous," she continued, "I met Chaka Kahn's bass player yesterday. I get a lot of musicians during the jazz festival. Can't wait to see her Monday night." I guess my look gave me away... It was a fun exchange.

On Friday, July 20, 2019 @ 7 pm our band, Famous Before We're Dead, will play a house concert to support the essential work of RAICES - the Texas based law consortium - fighting to reunited immigrant families with their separated children.

FAMOUS BEFORE WE'RE DEAD



House Concert 7-9 pm

(90 minutes of new music plus refreshments and a chance to connect)

This is a unique time in our culture. We’re inviting you to James and Dianne’s home to hear our new groove, share a drink, and raise emergency funds for RAICES: the best legal group assisting migrant children and families with boots on the ground in Texas. Our new music will encourage and challenge you. Being together in solidarity will strengthen your spirit. And it will be a whole lotta fun. Rain or shine.

Learn more about RAICES @ https://actionnetwork.org/campaigns/endfamilyseparation

For more information go to the Famous Before We’re Dead FB page @ https://www.facebook.com/famoushal/

don't quit now...

Off to Ottawa - then Brooklyn - in the morning. Laundry and lawn work are the order of this day. Last night's full band practice was smokin' with some great new arrangements of original material. We are planning on hosting a small house concert mid July at our place to raise funds for RAICES (check them out @ https://actionnetwork. org/campaigns/endfamilyseparation) Watch for details here (or at Famous Before We're Dead @ https://www.facebook. com/famoushal/) Two comments before I go AWOL for a week:  

+ First, let us rejoice soberly that the regime was impelled to end part of its onerous and inhumane treatment of migrant children and their families. At the same time, do not forget that the agents of hatred and incompetence have no plan for reuniting the 2,300 children already in concentration camps. This will fall to NGOs (hence our fund raiser for legal help.) Also never forget there is a line connecting this outrage that touches the original Muslim band, the lethal neglect of Putt Rico and fear mongering about "hordes of brown gang members" swarming across our southern border.

+ Second, our commitment to birthing a new way of being Americans together in solidarity continues. Please consider reading the following from Valerie Kaur et al and acting on it.

The stories are nauseating. Babies torn from their mothers while breastfeeding; children led away "for a bath" to be warehoused in cages instead; others forcibly torn from their parents. More than 2,000 children have been separated from their parents so far. This is state-sanctioned torture of children happening in our name, on our behalf.

We cannot go numb.

We cannot look away.

We can stop this. But only together.

Remember the wisdom of the midwife.

Breathe. Then Push.

Today the President reversed his family separation policy. Let's be clear: The administration's zero-tolerance policy will still detain children indefinitely, just with their parents. We are against child prisons — and family prisons. There is also still no plan to reunite the 2,000+ children who have been separated from their parents. We are pushing 3 major mobilizations this month. Which one will you join?

MARCH. Saturday, June 23rd: Pack the National Mall in DC for a mass rally to restore the moral conscience of America with Rev. Barber and the Poor People's Campaign.

MASS CIVIL DISOBEDIENCE. Thursday, June 28th: Join mothers who will put their bodies on the line in a mass civil disobedience in Washington, DC, led by the Women's March.

RISE UP. Saturday, June 30th: Rallies are planned all across America for a National Day of Action for Children. Find an event near you and bring your sign #RevolutionaryLove.

Please take good care of yourself. Let us take good care of each other. We will not let the unapologetic cruelty of this administration take away our ability to respond with love - for others, our opponents, and ourselves.

Scroll down to find more ways to #BreatheAndPush with us.

In Chardi Kala - ever-rising spirits even in darkness,

Valarie, Amy, and the Fellows of the Revolutionary Love Project

There are many more ways to push. Which one can you do today?

GIVE: Support the advocacy groups on the frontline of this fight with a single donation. Donate here.

CALL. Demand your legislators take action for immigrant families. Here's how to call.

SPREAD THE WORD. Forward this email to your friends and family and post on social media. You can stay updated on the latest actions with this living document from Feed Our Democracy.