To Saint (for All Saints Day 2022)

 

To Saint

If a saint is a very virtuous, kind, or patient person, who is the first person you think of? Today I’m using the word “saint” as a verb-an action word. We are remembering people we love or have loved, and those we have lost. We each have our list. Who has sainted you? Who has been an example of all that is good, kind, and true?

We know we’re all a mix of saint and sinner, that’s our human condition. But there are those special people who seem to get love right. Jesus Christ taught us how to love and warned us against any kind of selfishness, cruelty, greed, and exclusion in his blessings and woes sermon of this morning. (Luke 6)

Saints might seem rarer these days when hate is on full display. I have spent the week thinking of people who personally and more broadly “sainted” well. I found my mind wandering to people who have blessed and taught my children through their lives. I haven’t named them, but perhaps you’ll recognize some of these behaviors.

Who has taught you to love? Who has taught you to care about the world? Who has sainted you?

Is it the person who bandaged a knee or dried your tears with gentle kisses when you fell?

Is it the person who read all the books on the shelf to you while you were cuddled before bedtime?

Is it the person who taught you how to gently catch spiders in the basement and put them outside because all creatures matter?

Who has sainted you?

Is it the person who taught you how to make cookies and didn’t care if flour covered the kitchen counters and floor?

Is it the person who sliced a crisp fall apple and evenly divided the slices with you, even though you always ended up with an extra slice?

Is it the person who showed up for football games, choir concerts, parent-teacher conferences, robotics competitions and positively affirmed every moment?

Is it the person who taught you how to write a poem about springtime?

Is it the person who taught you how to talk to God?

Is it the person who never over-explained, but simply answered your questions with open-ended thoughts?

Who has sainted you?

Is it the person who was patient when you made an emotional decision, had an elaborate pity-party, or were too self-focused?

Is it the person who carefully guided you back to safety when you were going down a wrong path in life?

Is it the person who listened to your mess-ups and didn’t judge you or make fun of you or scold you?

Is it the person who failed, made a huge mistake, hit bottom, and then got back up again, and told you the truth?

Is it the person who embodies or embodied the fruit of the Spirit, love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.

Who has sainted you?

Is it the person who taught you what Jesus meant when he said that the poor are blessed, the Kingdom of God belongs to them. They are the people worth hanging out with and caring for?

Is it the person who showed you how to feed the hungry?

Is it the person who showed you how to wipe someone else’s tears and help them laugh again?

Is it the person who defends or defended those who are excluded, reviled, and defamed for no good reason? Did they show you how to bring everyone in and keep no one out?

Who has sainted you?

Is it the person who never took themselves too seriously, and taught you how to let pride and ego go?

Here is another question. Whom have you sainted?

Is it the person learning about love, kindness, and generosity from you?

Is it the person learning patience from you?

Is it the person learning about forgiveness from you?

Is it the person learning how to love strangers and neighbors and enemies from you?

Whom have you sainted?

Last week I gave you a little homework. I asked you to think about your own funeral. This was not meant to be a depressing task. Your funeral is your last dance on earth. How do you want it to go? What music, hymns, solos would you like? Which hymns fill your heart, or bring tears to your eyes? What are your favorite scripture passages, poems, prose? If there was an open mic, who would you like to stand up and tell stories about you? Which stories? Whom have you sainted and continue to saint?

We’ve got one shot on this earth to do all the good we can. Of course, it’s not about good for ourselves, but good for all people and creation. If we follow Jesus, we have the perfect road map. If we love well, we’re traveling in good footsteps.

Today we remember and thank God for those who have sainted us and taught us how to saint.

May we leave today with new inspiration and wonderful memories of those who’ve taught us boldness, joyfulness, openness, and generosity along the way.

Blessed are you, dear friends, when you bring Jesus Christ into the world with your words and actions.

Blessed are you, dear friends, when you meet the needs of another.

Blessed are you, dear friends, when you don’t know everything.

Blessed are you, dear friends, when you walk in another person’s shoes.

Blessed are you, dear friends, when words of kindness spill out of your mouths on a regular basis.

Blessed are you, dear friends, when you speak the truth in love.

Blessed are you when you treat others the way you want to be treated.

Blessed are you, dear friends, when you face life’s losses and remember death is not the final word.

God bless those with broken hearts today. May the Holy Spirit of God mend the rugged places and bring you peace and wholeness.

For all the saints. For all of you. Continue to saint.  Grace, peace, and love. In the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.

Maren's Shoes

 

Maren’s Shoes

No! She was not going to wear her shoes. Her sock-covered feet ran as fast as they could.

When you are two years old, you have all the power in the world.

“NO SHOES!”

Her beautiful, patient mother tried again. “Maren, it’s time to go. You need to wear your shoes.”

“NO!”

People were swallowing their last sips of specialty coffees and bites of bakery donuts. These treats brought by Maren’s parents to celebrate her second birthday. The whole congregation sang “Happy Birthday to You!” But now, after delicious delights and conversation, people were putting on their coats. Sunday morning was over. It was time to go home.

All in the church were wearing shoes.

All but one.

I watched Maren run from her mom. Her determination complete. Her steely will on full display. Spunk and sparkle fill her entire being.

I called out her name. “Maren…”

She stopped and looked at me.

“Would you like to wear my shoes?” I asked.

She looked at my feet in my black Sunday pumps. Her socked feet moved slowly in my direction.

Was this some kind of adult ploy? Some trickery to take control of her feet?

Still wearing my white clergy robe and a Sunday dress underneath, I awkwardly knelt to the floor and sat. I took off my shoes.

Maren stared at my shoes. Then her two-year-old feet carefully stepped into my shoes, one socked foot at a time. Her feet slid as if on tiny slides. Losing her balance she fell forward, arms outstretched.

I caught her hands in mine. She regained her balance.

Her beautiful and patient mother came over with small shoes in hand.

“May I wear your shoes?” I asked.

Maren nodded solemnly.

I took one of Maren’s shoes and stuck out my stockinged foot.

I tried to put it on. I smashed it around my toes. Nope.

I looked at Maren. “It doesn’t fit.”

She reached for my hands as she removed her socked feet, one by one, from my shoes.

She sat quietly contemplating life as her mother put small shoes on small feet.

This two-year-old girl is a lover of the color pink, full of determination and steely will. This two-year-old girl is going places. I’m excited to watch her grow. There is intelligence and light in her eyes. Her parents have passed on that intelligence and a sense of curiosity to both Maren and her big brother Alexander.

She is quite an adorable force.

Maren didn’t fit into my shoes.

And I know there is no way I could ever fill hers.

COMING SOON! IN SICKNESS AND IN HEALTH, book five of the Pastor Maggie Series, will be available by Labor Day, 2021! Get ready for more hilarity, surprises and love as Pastor Maggie and the folks of Loving the Lord Community Church find themselves navigating through the sorrows and joys of life. 

Maggie’s faith is strong, but will she withstand the pressures of being a wife, mother, and pastor? 

With her first baby on the way, Pastor Maggie is busier than ever, but happiness turns to frustration when her trusted administrative assistant heads off on a three month Australian vacation, leaving Maggie with a troublesome new office worker who refuses to be managed. A life-threatening health crisis for more than one beloved friend, concerns for a family in the grip of a terrible secret, and weddings galore force Maggie to juggle care for her flock and family, all while preparing for her own little bundle of joy. 

Sickness and health are part of all of our lives, but Maggie must finesse her caregiving in challenging situations she never expected. Only time will tell if she is up to the task.

This book will be available from Pen-L.Com and Amazon.com

Quarantine Resurrection

 

Quarantine Resurrection

What does resurrection look like when we feel like we’ve been in a tomb for over a year?

What is new about life when four walls have shrunk down around us until we can’t breathe?

Spring flowers dance in the gentle breeze. They bob and nod together with no fear of death.

Various snowbirds are home gobbling worms and building nests. Some take flight and go to the highest branch or to the feeder prepared for them. No limits on movement. They sing full throttle.

Will the Easter Bunny wear a mask as the baskets are delivered to the children this year?

Churches questioning. Congregants taking sides. Who will be open? Who will remain closed? Who decides? Who knows for certain what is safe and what is just a longing?

Empty Easter dinner tables, or full?

Who’s vaccinated and who isn’t?

It’s our second Quarantine Resurrection.

Last year was a novelty. We thought restrictions would be lifted by Easter. We made the best of it when they weren’t.

But there is nothing novel about this second quarantine resurrection.

All the days from last Easter to this Easter have taken their toll. Too much death. Too many tombs. No stones to be rolled away, no empty tombs to discover with joy. Just death.

And yet…there have been other Easters draped in black before this year or last. History tells us of pandemics and war times and hard times when a shroud hung heavy.

Loss and pain and disruption have been visited on previous generations. We grieve for them because we can say, “We now understand some of what you have been through.”

And that is what prods us to remember this: The cross and the tomb couldn't hold Jesus.

Every year on this Great Anniversary death doesn’t get the last word.

Yes, too many people were healed into eternal life this past year. Too many people are being healed into eternal life right now as we watch infections and hospitalizations rise again.

But the tomb of Jesus Christ will still be empty this Easter morn.

The promise of eternal life is still our promise.

The hope for redemption from all the messes we have made as human beings, is more than a hope. It’s reality.

Jesus Christ lived and died and lives again. This is our glorious fate.

Yes, we will gather for worship again – all of us, not just a few. We will sing the hymns, stand for the Gospel reading, and get chills when we hear the words, “Do not be afraid…he is not here, he has been raised, as he said.”

Easter dinner tables will be heavy-laden with feasts for family and friends. And we will be able to see their faces, not just their eyes.

Spring flowers will delight us. The snowbirds will teach us to fly again.

Jesus will lead us from the dark tombs we have grieved in, and into the glorious light of his healing grace.

That’s what Jesus does year after year, and generation after generation.

It’s not novel. It’s something like a miracle.

Jesus Christ is risen!

He is risen indeed!

Amen.

Church Keys

 

To the congregation of North Park Presbyterian Church, Grand Rapids, MI

 

Church Keys  

My new church keys are waiting on the desk. One key for the large wooden church door. One key for the administrative assistant’s office door. One key for my new office door. They are heavy keys. I slip them on to a keychain and into my bag.

I enter a new church. I have done this before, received the keys to outside doors and inside doors. But on this day in mid-February, I enter and find few people. So many are not inside these doors.

“Who,” you ask? A congregation. Grandmas and grandpas. Moms and dads. College students. High school students. Little ones. Single people. Married people. Married-more-than-once-people. Widows. Widowers. Singers. Musicians. The creative ones. The-good-with-numbers people. The cranky ones. The happy ones. The crying ones. The smiling ones. Saints. Sinners. A congregation. Not so much a congregation as a family.

My church keys get me in the church door. They get me into my new office. I can even sneak a water bottle from the admin’s office because of my church keys.

New relationships begin. I hear a few stories and learn about families. I hear about funerals of loved ones through tear-filled eyes. I learn who is a senior in high school and the strange year they’ve had with books at home, class on a computer. No in-person graduation this year (again).

I’m aware this congregation, this “family” has been separated for over a year now. Church keys have opened an empty church. No palm branches on Palm Sunday. No white lilies on Easter. No red on Pentecost. No Sunday school program. No Christmas.

Family separation is a terrible thing. The longing for one another is a never-ending ache. There is a silent sanctuary ready to be filled. Sunday school rooms longing for children. Sunday morning coffee waiting in the canister.

Of all the times I have been handed church keys, happy and curious about the future, this is the most challenging time I’ve had as a pastor. I meet a few of you with masked faces. Most of you I have only seen in the church directory.

When? When will we be pastor and congregation tethered together by the Holy Spirit? When will we gather to sing and pray and praise the God we love? It will be a glorious day, won’t it? Yes, it certainly will!

Worship on YouTube is…um…different. Preaching to absolutely no one is tricky. I need your faces. Even if you fall asleep half-way through the sermon, at least I can see you. I want to hear a baby cry in the middle of the service so I can say, “Now there’s a real preacher!” I want to know you. I want to hear your stories.

Church keys open the large wooden door. Church keys open my new office door. It’s exciting. It’s different.

But the best days will be when I have the keys to your hearts.

You already have the key to mine.

Peace and joy,

Pastor Barb  

Christmas 2020

 

Christmas 2020

 

Next week we will make our way to the manger and marvel at the little one lying there. We do this every year, but this year, of course, is different. We will sit at individual creches in our own homes.

 

Our year has been one of darker days as a silent virus has ravaged the world. Over three hundred thousand funerals have been officiated in our country. Over three hundred thousand chairs will be empty next week. It’s a heavy time.

 

We use the phrase, “the holidays are upon us,” and most years it’s with anticipation. But this year it’s more like our breath will fade away from under the heaviness of it all.

 

Jesus was born in a heavy time of history. Oppressed people. Corrupt government. An insane king who wanted the baby boy slaughtered.

 

Jesus was born to an unwed teenager. He was born in the midst of animal noises and smells. He didn’t have a nurse to bathe him and check his APGAR scores. He was born with the weight of the world upon his tiny shoulders, though he knew nothing of it yet.

 

His parents had to get him out of town, so they became refugees in Egypt. Other baby boys were slaughtered by the corrupt king. There were funerals. Heaviness.

 

The manger is the place we gather every year at Christmas. We gather with joy and with hope for the future. We gather knowing God is with us. We go to church and sing our favorite carols. We end by singing, Silent Night, Holy

Night, as we raise our lighted candles to heaven. We sing with others, so that if our voice falters, the song is still sung.

 

We hope, we pray, we believe. Our faith brings us through the darkness. Our faith lifts the heaviness from upon us. The voices near us pick up the song when we can’t sing. And there will be some who just can’t sing this year.

 

Some of us will have to sing on zoom next week. Or, we will have to sing along with Frank Sinatra, Josh Groban, or the King’s College Choir. The holidays are upon us. And feeling alone may be the heaviest weight of all.

 

So, dear friends, let’s reframe this year. Take heart. God is here. We have the means to lift each other up, even if it’s only through FaceTime. Perhaps the holidays are not upon us, but around us. The voices of family and friends around us. Cards, gifts, kind and hopeful words around us. Hope for brighter days, future celebrations, and no more virtual hugs, but real arms around us.

 

The way a young, unwed mother wrapped her arms around her baby boy, perhaps remembering what the angel said, “Do not be afraid.”

She didn’t have to be afraid anymore. She wasn’t alone. She was able to breathe. And on that silent and holy night, the heaviness of the whole world lifted.

 

Please remember, the tiny baby we worship next week, became the man who healed broken minds, broken spirits, and broken hearts. He takes the pieces of our lives and puts us back together again. He walks us out of the dark places. We breathe again.

 

May God bless you and relieve any heaviness you bear with the Light of the World who shines forth from a straw-filled manger.

 

Let’s meet there next year.

 

Bruises

 

Bruises (updated November 3, 2020)

Many years ago, when I was blissfully young and ran several miles each day, I suffered from plantar fasciitis. The pain in my feet was excruciating. But I kept running. I finally went to my doctor and he said, “If you continue to run every day, the trauma to your feet is like the action of punching a bruise. You must stop the daily trauma. You must let your feet heal. Stop running.”

Today is election day 2020.

Of course, voting has been going on for days and weeks in many states. Counting votes after the election might take some time, as well.

How have the last four years been for you?

Are you healthier?

Are you safer?

Are you more fulfilled?

Are you less stressed?

Are you happier?

Are you more joyful?

Where do you find goodness, gentleness, and kindness?

Where do you see generosity, empathy, and hope?

Personally, I feel like the last four years have been one punch after another on bruised souls. On a bruised and battered country. I’m tired of running from the chaos.

A nasty President has treated the people of this country, those he took an oath to serve and protect, with disdain, deceit, and death.

He treats children and adults from other countries with cruelty and torture. Families ripped apart on our land, children who may never see their parents again. Parents who have no idea what happened to their little ones.

Infants, children, and adults have died from his direct schemes, malignant passivity, and savage commands.

Babies in cages.

Kurds slaughtered.

Innumerable gun deaths on our streets, in our schools, at social gatherings, in houses of worship.

Over 230,000 people have died of Covid-19 due to his lack of planning, refusal to speak the truth, and incompetence of leadership as the pandemic swept our nation earlier this year, and in now is surging again.

He’s not really a pro-life kind of guy.

He’s brutal.

So many punches. So much trauma. Bruised. Battered.

But not broken.

His crimes will unfold and all will eventually be revealed. His cohorts will have no place to hide. There may even be a little bit of justice.

Justice for all.

Liberty for all.

We’ll see.

The list of offenses is long. Four years of daily assault. Four years of abusing human rights. Four years of corruption. Impeachment.

Four years of simmering racism and White Supremacy set on fire. Four years of unbridled violence and fear.

Four years of punching the bruise.

What will happen today, election day? Who will be inaugurated January 20, 2021?

We’ll see.

For now…

I wish you time to catch your breath. May we begin to heal the bruise of exhaustion, with the balm of remembrance.

Remembrance of what we have been and what we can be.

I hope your health is manageable and that you are listening to doctors and scientists.

Wear your mask.

May we begin to heal the bruises of dangerous lies and deceit, with the balm of truth.

I pray that if you need food, shelter, a job, healthcare, a break, a tiny spark of hope…that you will find exactly what you need with the support of people who are reliable and available to you.

We are a community called to care for one another. May we begin to heal the bruises of loss, fear, and despair, with the balm of loving our neighbor, loving the stranger, loving "the other," and building and sustaining, authentic relationships.

If you are lonely and weary of the pandemic, please be courageous a little longer. May we begin to heal the bruises of isolation with the balm of belief in restoration.

If you are missing your loved ones, consider sending emails today listing the things you love most about each and every one. Then you will begin to heal the bruise of separation with the balm of love.

How have the last four years been for you?

Are you healthier?

Are you safer?

Are you more fulfilled?

Are you less stressed?

Are you happier?

Are you more joyful?

Where do you find goodness, gentleness, and kindness?

Where do you see generosity, empathy, and hope?

Today is election day 2020.

Breathe. Pray. Vote.

Stop running. Instead, let’s walk with hopeful purpose into a brighter future.

It’s time to heal the bruise.

 

September 2020: Thoughts on Covid 19

September 2020: Thoughts on Covid-19 

 

Our wall of masks has grown, as Doug brings one home from the hospital after work and hangs it up with the others. A daily reminder of the days of mask-wearing.

The weekly pan of lemon bars makes its’ scheduled appearance. I wonder if we will hate lemon bars once a safe and tested vaccine is available to us? Once a safe country is available to us?

We eat the lemon bars when we watch Father Brown and Schitts Creek at night.

A dozen (at least) yellow finches have been in our backyard the last few mornings to join the other bird choruses. Their delicate song sounds like fairy chimes.

We made one of those dreaded trips to the ER when Doug tore his quadriceps. Surgery followed three days later. His recovery will be long. He is a pleasant patient and I love caring for him. He has a medieval torture device (a brace) on his left leg. It is not pleasant.

I’m preaching for our Tennessee church, Covenant Presbyterian Church in Johnson City. Five weeks of sermons recorded in five different locations. Preaching gives me spiritual exercise.

While Doug was in surgery, I sermonized into my cell phone camera while ensconced in the hospital chapel.

People enter the chapel with pleas to God for the lives of their loved ones. Hospital chapels have such a specific use; prayers for life to conquer death. Covid-19 has made the pleadings in hospital chapels almost impossible. Visitors and family members are often restricted from the hospital, let alone God’s small house.

E-mails, phone calls, and even a few in-person (masked and socially distanced) visits have filled the corners of my days.

The food bank is still the most worthwhile ministry I’ve ever been part of.

Our daughter will be married this month. We will make our way to Chicago and joyfully “marriage” (her word) Lauren to Sylvester Fejokwu. It’s not the wedding they had planned, but it’s still all theirs. The celebration of their nuptials will not be lessened just because the guests are fewer.

So many things have changed for those who marry and those who bury in 2020.  

Time has dragged during these months of Covid-19, at least for us. The news that our President was aware in January of how deadly the virus was, and yet took no action, is beyond the pale. The spread of Covid could have been slowed, and lives saved. That’s the truth.

Hospital and mortuary workers have watched almost 200,000 dead bodies flood their spaces. They are exhausted and traumatized. Some have succumbed to the disease and some have lost their own lives.

It all could have been lessened and this horrific pain minimized.

The President, who strives to instill panic in the American people every single day with false fears and shocking rhetoric, is pretending he didn’t want to panic the American people with the news of a deadly pandemic. His administration supported his self-serving cruelty. He, and they, can’t lie and excuse this away.

Death has conquered too many lives. Prayers were prayed by the bereaved, while their loved ones died alone in a hospital room.

There is no excuse. Everyone making an excuse for the most dangerous President in our history needs to finally stop. Just stop. There are no more excuses to spout. The mouths of his willfully ignorant followers must cease their protestations of what is true: The President chose to let the people of this country spread a deadly disease just by breathing. He chose to let us die.

His followers have been fooled by the greatest and most dangerous fool of all.

Besides the horror of death, jobs have been lost, businesses have been shuttered, schools are now social experiments, families don’t have enough food….

Systemic racism is no longer led by cowards hiding under white sheets. The toxicity of White Supremacy is on full display and led by the man living in the People’s House.

It’s September 2020. In less than two months we will elect a President and specific congress women and men. My prayer is that sanity will be restored by people of integrity and those who desire to be true servants of this country.

Doug and I will watch the happenings of election night, hopefully sans brace, while eating lemon bars.

As a good friend of mine said, "When life gives you lemons, make lemon bars..."

I hope it’s the last pan of lemon bars I bake for a long, long time.

  

Isolation

Isolation

We were told to isolate.

A worldwide pandemic hit our shores and we were told to stay indoors. No work, no play.

Just stay.

Some people had to go to work, their work was critical. Doctors, nurses, police, fire fighters, grocery store stockers and cashiers, food banks. They had to keep the rest of us alive.

But some of us didn’t survive the pandemic. The numbers are climbing to over 113,000 souls who didn’t make it. Covid-19 suffocated them. There will be more victims.

Maybe they were, or are, unable to isolate.

Isolation is nice for introverts. A great excuse to stay away from other humans. But even the most introverted introverts begin to find themselves going a little insane. Isolation isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Zoom meetings might be overrated.

As humans, we are created to be in community. We are created to be part of families and churches and classmates and friends and workmates.

Some of us just don’t like to be told what to do. “I don’t want to isolate.” “I don’t want to wear a mask.” “You are taking away my freedoms.”

“Give me freedom or give me death!” Okay. Maybe think that through.

Some families have done well. A few squabbles, perhaps. Occasional short tempers. Tears once in a while. But it’s not hard to “love the one you’re with.” Moms and dads are learning fifth grade science. Kids are loved and families are growing in positive ways.

Some families have had a rougher time. The news reminds us of the dangers of isolation. Dangers for children and spouses. Children being brought to hospitals badly beaten.

Badly beaten.

No schools to give safety and necessary food. No teachers or neighbors to see what happens in isolation. No safety nets can catch those who are caught in the grip of an abuser.

Verbal abuse. Emotional abuse. Physical abuse. Sexual abuse. But the people who care can’t hear the cries.

Isolation.

Our country was told to Isolate.

But that was already happening. Not because of the pandemic.

The leader of our country shunned and rejected our allies and friends around the world.

The leader of our country could have told us to isolate due to the pandemic much earlier, when he knew it was here on our shores. He could have saved thousands of lives.

The leader of our country is worried more about re-election than a deadly disease unleashed on the people of America.

The leader of our country refused to order PPE for our hospitals.

The leader of our country told us to take the wrong drugs and inject disinfectant into our bodies.

The leader of our country turned our military on peaceful protesters.

The leader of our country defamed the Bible.

The leader of our country has suffocated us with hatred, fear-mongering, and dangerous lies.

And don't forget, the leader of our country locks brown babies in cages and destroys their families.

The leader of our country is an abuser. 

He is our abuser.

In the midst of a deadly pandemic, an economic catastrophe, lies and misinformation, something else happened…

A black man died. He did not die from the pandemic. He did not die because stock market dropped.

A black man named George Floyd, was killed by an abuser. A dirty white cop who thought he could get away with murder. Not this time.

George Floyd was suffocated out of life. He was calling for his mother.

Our eyes are open. We can hear the cries. And we have cell phones.

Not all cops are bad. Many are heroes. But hero cops aren't enough. We need healthcare for all. We need mental healthcare for all. We need food for all. Those who say no to these things wear the name "Abuser."

And abusers have to go.

Go directly to jail.

There are no more “Get out of jail free” cards.

“We are sick of this shit!” The whole world says. “People are leaving isolation, marching in the streets, marching until they can’t march anymore. Then they rest and march again.”

Our friends and allies around the world have left their isolation after losing so many of their own people (they are still our friends and allies). It’s risky for everyone, marching during a pandemic. But perhaps it’s riskier to stay silent.

Isolation saves lives during pandemics. It’s not meant to be permanent. We are meant to be in community. Community in healthy families, churches, schools, friendships and workplaces.

An isolated human will eventually go mad. An isolated country will live in fear and danger.

We are so sick of this shit.

Donald Trump, the abuser of our nation, must be put in isolation. Not in the beautiful Peoples House, not in one of his garish bedbug properties, not on an island far away.

Isolation in a prison cell is the only place to stop the abuser. The cop, the parent, the spouse, the President.

We have the power. We won’t be his victims. We will rise in solidarity, change the occupants in our government, see peace and equity restored, celebrate the diversity of our sisters and brothers, and help all those in need, so they can be their potential-filled-very-best-selves.

When this many-layered nightmare is over, I for one will get down on my knees, and with thanksgiving I will remember all the lessons I’ve learned, the dangerous paths to avoid, the beautiful new faces I’ve met, the love that has been virtually shared, the heart-stopping moments, the cheers of victory!

And because I’m a woman of faith…I will remember the God who has cried with us in our Babylon. I will also remember the faithfulness of God, who not only guides us, but brings us safely out of our isolation.