Here we are, Day 4 of the 12 Days of Christmas, midweek between the birth of a child and the birth of a new year. I am writing this on Day One, struck by the overlap of year’s end and the new beginning that Christmas signifies, feeling the tug between them.
I’ve borrowed "Endbeginnings" from a gifted writer and oncologist/therapist, Rachel Naomi Remen. Her book Kitchen Table Wisdom (1996) is one that any cancer survivor or cancer endurer would appreciate because it sheds so much light on life in its midst. She crafted the word to describe her dawning awareness that endings and beginnings are mutually dependent, that "there is no ending without a beginning."
"For a long time I never noticed the beginnings," she says, launching a story that might have looked like the end of something except for a change of heart and mind. I think the same could be said of the Christmas story, which can be seen as a beginning only in retrospect. The stars and angels knew and spread the word, but it would be a long time before the baby’s birth began changing the world.
And I’m sure it looked like an ending to Herod the Great, which it turned out to be, but only after his fearful response rained terror on the heads of his people. "People never give up power without a fight," says my attorney friend Richard Harriman, who has spent the last 30 years working to see the laws of the land reflected in this valley’s landscape. He has more experience with people’s reactions when they have to give up power than most of us would want.
I think we can look at the conflict in Lindsay as an endbeginning. Pam Kimball’s 875-word guest commentary last week bore all the marks of someone struggling to keep a sinking ship upright. See all the good we’ve done she wheedled, blaming the finger pointers "who have done very little over the years to help" for interfering with the progress they’re making under new management. "(W)ith a little less criticism and a little more help, the effort to improve lives and expand options here in Lindsay can continue," she ended, hoping for a happier New Year.
What she’s trying to dismiss is a huge thing, an awakening of people to the misuse of this community’s resources on wasteful projects with enormous price tags, both past and present, to the detriment of the average citizen. There is also an awakening - and a flexing of the hope muscle - about our abilities to change that. What she finds irritating and unpleasant is actually a tremendous sign of life in what were previously dead limbs, like when a paralyzed leg begins to function again.
The citizens of this town are waking up and starting to move, getting some coordination back after being out of commission for so long. It is a beginning, which requires an end. It is an endbeginning.
Monday, December 26, 2011
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Imagining Justice......
Here we are, in the last days before the world will be changed. Mary’s contractions have started; her water’s about to break. The burro carries them both, led by Joseph, plodding heavily to Bethlehem for the head count to be taxed. To Bethlehem, where people say "It’s always been this way, you’re not going to change anything."
We’re also at the last verse of John’s song, past the wise men and Mary and the shepherds. We’re in our own backyard, where despite that world-changing event two millennia ago, people still say "It’s always been this way..."
It’s hard to believe things can change. At last Tuesday night’s council meeting I delivered four sound reasons why the park plan should be suspended until more public input can be gained, but the council passed the consent agenda containing the contract for the park’s demolition moments later. Demolition of what little remains of our old park is scheduled to begin this week, even as we enter Bethlehem and start looking for a place to stay. So I’ve been singing John’s song to keep my spirits up.
"So sing us a song
for the wise ones unsung
Who still see God’s promise
in worlds filled with dung
As empires take census
to count up their spoil
The earth is their refuge,
their measure, their toil
As life seems to shatter
and hope wants to flee
They look for the starlight
that some cannot see
They speak to old powers,
a dawn, a new day
And imagining justice,
lead home a different way."
I saw some starlight Wednesday night in the old Memorial Building right next to the park. Lucia Gonzales and Irlanda Ramirez, two women from the Delores Huerta Foundation who have been working with the Spanish-speaking people in our poorer neighborhoods to help them learn how to ask for what they need, had organized a Christmas party/meeting and invited several of us from the recall effort to join them.
So there we are: my new sisters Delma, Lorena, Yolanda and I, sitting in old metal folding chairs with our neighbors, nos vecinos. We had met several of them at city council meetings where they had respectfully spoken of their neighbors’ desires for repaired streets, sidewalks, lighting, a park, and it was a joy to be there with them. Every single one of us has been speaking to old powers and imagining justice, some of us louder and longer than others. But the communion was wonderful. It ended with singing and food, as all real meetings should.
John ends with two choruses, both essential.
"Wise men, wise women,
children and elders
whoever you are
Sing a world without terror,
imagining justice,
We sing for the wise ones
who follow the star
Wise men, wise women,
children and elders
from near and from far
Sing a song for the wise ones
who dream dreams and visions
We follow the people
who still see the star."
Merry Christmas, fellow startrackers.
We’re also at the last verse of John’s song, past the wise men and Mary and the shepherds. We’re in our own backyard, where despite that world-changing event two millennia ago, people still say "It’s always been this way..."
It’s hard to believe things can change. At last Tuesday night’s council meeting I delivered four sound reasons why the park plan should be suspended until more public input can be gained, but the council passed the consent agenda containing the contract for the park’s demolition moments later. Demolition of what little remains of our old park is scheduled to begin this week, even as we enter Bethlehem and start looking for a place to stay. So I’ve been singing John’s song to keep my spirits up.
"So sing us a song
for the wise ones unsung
Who still see God’s promise
in worlds filled with dung
As empires take census
to count up their spoil
The earth is their refuge,
their measure, their toil
As life seems to shatter
and hope wants to flee
They look for the starlight
that some cannot see
They speak to old powers,
a dawn, a new day
And imagining justice,
lead home a different way."
I saw some starlight Wednesday night in the old Memorial Building right next to the park. Lucia Gonzales and Irlanda Ramirez, two women from the Delores Huerta Foundation who have been working with the Spanish-speaking people in our poorer neighborhoods to help them learn how to ask for what they need, had organized a Christmas party/meeting and invited several of us from the recall effort to join them.
So there we are: my new sisters Delma, Lorena, Yolanda and I, sitting in old metal folding chairs with our neighbors, nos vecinos. We had met several of them at city council meetings where they had respectfully spoken of their neighbors’ desires for repaired streets, sidewalks, lighting, a park, and it was a joy to be there with them. Every single one of us has been speaking to old powers and imagining justice, some of us louder and longer than others. But the communion was wonderful. It ended with singing and food, as all real meetings should.
John ends with two choruses, both essential.
"Wise men, wise women,
children and elders
whoever you are
Sing a world without terror,
imagining justice,
We sing for the wise ones
who follow the star
Wise men, wise women,
children and elders
from near and from far
Sing a song for the wise ones
who dream dreams and visions
We follow the people
who still see the star."
Merry Christmas, fellow startrackers.
Monday, December 12, 2011
How Shepherds Heard....
When shepherds got word to go see the baby king, we’ve heard the sky was a riot of light and song, filled with angels. But imagine what it was like moments before.
It was dark. If you’ve ever spent a moonless night outside in uninhabited areas where there are no lights, you’ve experienced dark. Where stars shed just enough light to distinguish the shapes of trees, a hillside, the line between earth and sky.
Imagine yourself a shepherd at night, when wild animals or thieves might prey on your flock. When ewes might give birth, maybe need help. The sheep are bedded down, but your ears are tuned to any unusual sound.
And then a flock of angels descends from who-knows-where, right out of the sky, singing. The third verse of "Song for the Wise Ones" tells this story.
Shepherds surrounded
by beautiful hosts
Fell on their faces
as if they’d seen ghosts
Like humble, wise people
accustomed to birth
Embracing the hillside
and clutching the earth
How could these poor commonfolk
in this dark hour
Simple by custom,
naive about power
See beauty through terror
and angels that stayed
And bid them through darkness
"Now go, be not afraid."
I cry every time I sing this verse because I realize how much I love the shepherds, not only in the Christmas story but the shepherds all around us now.
Who are they? They’re the ones who run the wind machines, something I felt fully last week as they rumbled through the nights. I remembered the one night I got to ride along as three friends kept watch on thermometers and each other, tending the crop, protecting our community’s wealth from frost damage.
The cold and the dark were breathtaking, literally. Driving into the middle of dark groves, getting out into the headlights with flashlights to see the start buttons, saying a prayer no one had stolen the battery, remembering each machine’s special features - that was all fascinating. But it was being surrounded by the dark that was most memorable. Angels could have appeared at any time, and, with 20/20 hindsight, not been a surprise.
One of the friends, Pat Mears, a beautiful woman who farmed, was taken from us by the angel of death this year, and I miss her. That night, in between turning the wind machines on and off, she lit up her kitchen and made a huge meal of eggs, ham, coffee and toast, laughing and talking, filling that empty spot that comes about 3 a.m. Then, as the coldest time approached right before sunrise and it was safe, we drove to grove after grove, shutting the machines down.
Our shepherds now also run the irrigation systems and the field crews, keep an eye on the pests and the markets, the trees and the soil. They raise calves as well as lambs, goats as well as sheep. They pick olives and oranges and pomegranates en masse and raise corn in their yards if they’re lucky enough to have one.
The verse ends:
Wise men, wise women,
Children and elders
go far and come near
Sing a song for the wise ones
who still can see beauty
who hallow the ground
and who go without fear.
Merry Christmas, brother and sister shepherds.
It was dark. If you’ve ever spent a moonless night outside in uninhabited areas where there are no lights, you’ve experienced dark. Where stars shed just enough light to distinguish the shapes of trees, a hillside, the line between earth and sky.
Imagine yourself a shepherd at night, when wild animals or thieves might prey on your flock. When ewes might give birth, maybe need help. The sheep are bedded down, but your ears are tuned to any unusual sound.
And then a flock of angels descends from who-knows-where, right out of the sky, singing. The third verse of "Song for the Wise Ones" tells this story.
Shepherds surrounded
by beautiful hosts
Fell on their faces
as if they’d seen ghosts
Like humble, wise people
accustomed to birth
Embracing the hillside
and clutching the earth
How could these poor commonfolk
in this dark hour
Simple by custom,
naive about power
See beauty through terror
and angels that stayed
And bid them through darkness
"Now go, be not afraid."
I cry every time I sing this verse because I realize how much I love the shepherds, not only in the Christmas story but the shepherds all around us now.
Who are they? They’re the ones who run the wind machines, something I felt fully last week as they rumbled through the nights. I remembered the one night I got to ride along as three friends kept watch on thermometers and each other, tending the crop, protecting our community’s wealth from frost damage.
The cold and the dark were breathtaking, literally. Driving into the middle of dark groves, getting out into the headlights with flashlights to see the start buttons, saying a prayer no one had stolen the battery, remembering each machine’s special features - that was all fascinating. But it was being surrounded by the dark that was most memorable. Angels could have appeared at any time, and, with 20/20 hindsight, not been a surprise.
One of the friends, Pat Mears, a beautiful woman who farmed, was taken from us by the angel of death this year, and I miss her. That night, in between turning the wind machines on and off, she lit up her kitchen and made a huge meal of eggs, ham, coffee and toast, laughing and talking, filling that empty spot that comes about 3 a.m. Then, as the coldest time approached right before sunrise and it was safe, we drove to grove after grove, shutting the machines down.
Our shepherds now also run the irrigation systems and the field crews, keep an eye on the pests and the markets, the trees and the soil. They raise calves as well as lambs, goats as well as sheep. They pick olives and oranges and pomegranates en masse and raise corn in their yards if they’re lucky enough to have one.
The verse ends:
Wise men, wise women,
Children and elders
go far and come near
Sing a song for the wise ones
who still can see beauty
who hallow the ground
and who go without fear.
Merry Christmas, brother and sister shepherds.
Monday, December 5, 2011
When Wise Men Were Summoned...
We don’t know much about them, the wise men who play such a large part in the Christmas story. They appear only in the Book of Matthew, which neither names nor counts them. No titles, resumes, or country of origin. Just “Magi.”
We are told they came from the east, following His star. They brought gifts fit for a king to bestow on a newborn. They conferred Messianic status on this manger baby, status well beyond Herod the Great’s, who had been dubbed “King of the Jews” by the Romans. Their news scared the crap out of Herod, and his fear drove him to have every boy under 2 executed. If it weren’t for the dreams of Joseph and the wise men, the Christmas story would have ended right there.
“Song for the Wise Ones,” which I quoted last week, opens with the Magi.
This is a song
from a scene long ago
When wise men were summoned
for what, they don’t know
To seek for the truth
in a world dark and sore
Where empires took census
to strangle the poor
As Herod of Terror,
who schemed far and near
Was blinded by greed
for his profit so dear
He missed the peace star
that shone bright as the day
And the wise men, in dreaming,
went home another way.
The message of the Magi is the critical importance of people who march to the beat of a different drummer, different than the siren of well-being or the bugle of power. We can see some of those in our midst today.
Think of Massachusetts Attorney General Martha Coakley, who last week filed suit against 5 banks for their illegal foreclosure procedures. Apparently AGs from most states have been trying to negotiate with the banks but getting nowhere. California’s Kamala Harris withdrew from the negotiations because many states were settling with the banks without winning any ground for their constituents. But Martha Coakley decided that Bank of America, Wells Fargo, JP Morgan Chase, Citigroup and GMAC need to be reined in. “The single most important thing we can do to return to a healthy economy is to address this foreclosure crisis,” she said, using her position on behalf of her constituents instead of Caesar. Taking a daring route toward putting us back on track.
“Wise men, wise women,
Children and elders who stay and who roam,
Sing a song for the wise ones
Who still can see visions
And lead all God’s creatures
Another way home.”
Monday, November 28, 2011
What Mary Saw.....
It’s Advent, just in time. We so need to remember what the Christmas story is all about: Justice. Peace. Compassion.
This need is held against a dark ground: Greed. Terrible inequality. Terror, war. Hunger. Homelessness.
This need is held against a dark ground: Greed. Terrible inequality. Terror, war. Hunger. Homelessness.
The Christmas story starts nine months before Bethlehem with a girl and her unexpected pregnancy. My friend John Pitney tells the story in “Song for the Wise Ones:”
“Justice was born
In a barn full of hay
In wisdom it happened
To Mary that way
But how would she know,
She would never assume
What promise she bore
As it knit in her womb
“She pondered a free world,
The poor all redeemed
A world where economies
Served all she dreamed
Of land’s wealth divided,
No terror, no war,
All people satisfied,
hungry land no more.”
The Christmas story starts with Mary’s dream of a better world.
One morning, after reading Lindsay’s transportation audit (reported beautifully in last week’s front page article,) I woke with this cry: where is the outrage over our horribly misspent monies?
The focus seems to be held on whether or not the bad spending will make the city liable for repayment of state and federal funds (to the tune of almost $9,000,000 for the TCAG and home loan boondoggles alone.) This causes the city council consternation, but they seem to be holding their breaths, hoping the grants won’t be called by the funders and everything will be ok.
No one seems to be looking at the actual impoverishment of the city’s residents from all this money. There are the families who were not helped become home owners who the funds were for: the improvement of those families’ conditions would have trickled up through our local economy and helped stabilize home values, as well as their children’s educations. There are the neighborhoods whose roads have become so decrepit they ruin our cars and bring down property values, especially relative to the areas where the roads have been improved. And there’s the tax burden on all homeowners if and when the city’s liabilities come due.
What has happened in this city should be an outrage to every teacher who worries about the poorer kids in their classrooms, every health professional who sees people not getting the care they need, every clergyman whose congregation wants to help needy families this season. Every businessperson who dreamed of serving a revitalized community. Every citizen who feels a compulsion to stay.
My friend John finishes the verse above with this chorus:
Wise men, wise women,
Children and elders compassion unfurled
Sing a song for the wise ones
Who bear pangs of justice
To bring God’s Shalom
To a laboring world.
While singing the songs of Christmas this season, may we find our voices and begin speaking of justice in this laboring world we inhabit. And may we begin dreaming of a new Lindsay, where the land’s wealth works its way through the hands of our families and businesses, all people satisfied, hungry town no more.
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