Preparing room

The candlelight, the dinner, the presents, the rush of the day is done...now what? We are still in the Christmas season and now is when it really matters. A lot of congregations will spend time Sunday doing a carol sing. I always found that appeased and pleased the folks especially since I am one of those pastors who won't sing Christmas carols during Advent. Thanks goodness, the hymnals have made that task easier by adding some solid, singable tunes to the Advent reperatoire.....if you have to reach for "Lo, How a Rose Ere Blooming....." you had surly congregants.....

The song "Joy to the World" includes the line, "prepare him room." And, that's the rub.

Living the faith is about preparing room, making room, adding room.

Imagine what it would mean to have policies that shared resources so that all had enough, had space, had room?

Imagine what our faith communities would become if we acutally made room for everyone and worked to inlcude everyone in the life of our faith communty? One didn't need to have a certain family pedigree, or income, or fashion, or membership, or intellect --- we just welcomed, included and involved everyone. Why the possibilities are astounding!

Imagine what would change in us if we made room to listen to another and especailly to the other who's view, perspective, reality, faith and experience is completely opposite from our own.

Because the car I currently drive is in the "pray and start" phase and because it's so wonderfully easy and efficient, I've become a frequent user of the trolley system of Pittsburgh known as the T. (Also, I just enjoy telling someone that I'm taking the trolley...it's some kind of homage to Mr. Rogers). My morning and evening commutes on the T have given me an excellent glimpse of community and the possibilities present when we actually look up from our technological devices and see each other and acknowledge a fellow being.

The T gets crowded. The closer one gets to the city, the more uncomfortably crowded the T becomes. Yet, no matter how packed, whenever a senior, or a woman with a stroller or with toddlers in tow boards, without fail, several persons will offer their seat and choose to wedge themselves in with the standing hoards so someone else who needed the room of a seat could have theirs. I confess, witnessing those small acts of kindess gets my day off to a lightened start. It's even more fun when two or three people offer seats similtaneously.

A simple practice of faith is to pay attention, notice, look up, look out, look out for.

As the year draws to a close, notice when and where and who and how folks prepare room and make room. Share those reflections.

The gift of my mother was frequently heard saying to anyone who came to her home, "Come on, in. Have a seat. Can I get you something to drink? Have you eaten? Sit down, we've got plenty of room." ....yes, we do....if only we pay attention and make the effort.

sj;

Riddle me this....

So, it's National Puzzle Week ---- happy?

My mother kept her mind sharp and nimble by doing puzzles. She did the "Jumble" in the daily paper and every day my brother would print off an AARP puzzle. Truth be told, I frequently assisted on these efforts, although she was a more than adequate solver of word puzzles, riddles and make-you-thinks.

Due to my English-major self and my whole numbers are icky view, I don't do SODOKU.

I am horrible at the hands-on "take apart this puzzle and put it back together again" things. My spatial knowledge blows. Anytime I solve one of those it is total luck.

I like a New York Times crossword every now and then --- NOTE: Earlier in the week (Monday through Wednesday) they are a lot easier.

I have grown fond of the free app "Quiz Up" and recommend it most highly. One plays against the clock and a player from anywhere in the world in answering 7 questions on the topic of one's choosing. Is fun and one may get lucky and get to play someone from Uzbekistan in Baseball....stomp city!

I like folks who think.
I like folks who can pun.
I like folks who create with words and can make me pause and ponder.

The world needs folks like this --- OK, I'm not sure being able to pun will fill a major world need, yet, in those late-night meetings determining how to make sure every child has a home (news story today about the incredibly large number of children who are homeless in the USA) a person who can ease the tension with a well-placed pun wold be an asset.

How are you exercising your mind?
With what are you filling your brain?
Do you know any good riddles?

If you know this one, I trust you to just opt out --- Riddle me this: "The man can't come home, because the man with the mask is there."

Email your answer to revsj92@gmail.com and the first correct answer wins a prize.....ooo-eeee!!!!

sj;

BOO! Were you scared???

'Tis the concluding days of the Halloween season which means children will soon be jacked-up on chocolate (even those mini-size bars pack some zip!) and most likely all those Halloween decorations will be taken down --- unless of course, you were one of the few who went with a pleasant, autumnal, corn-stalks and pumpkins theme.

As per the photo at the beginning of this post, that is not the norm in my neighborhood. Of all the ghouls and the skeletal hands reaching up through the ground, this house with it's hanging heads on the front porch and blood-stained guillotine complete with a vulture near the head-catching basket wins the award for most gruesome. I did find this house quite entertaining and actually circled the block twice to capture a photo. Decapitated heads in the doorway the exception, once again, large, menacing, movable spiders were popular this season. As one whom is not easily frightened by spiders this to me is just entertaining, however, if large, movable snake decorations every come into popularity I will not leave the house until November.

What is it about our penchant to want to be frightened? The fright business of decorations, stores and haunted houses, mazes, cornfields and caverns is a $7.4 BILLION industry in the United States!!! Is it our need to get the blood pumping and the adrenaline flowing? Is it a filler for the rush one gets from riding a roller-coaster? Is it the "comfort" of living in a society where for many of us our monsters are make-believe and distant?

As the first frost has arrived and I'm making the final purchases for the Halloween treat bags I'll give to the little goblins, ghosties and hundred Elsas whom knock at my door, I've had the urge to watch a good horror film. They are being featured prominently on the cable networks this time of year and in running through the remote I came across the movie, "Children of the Corn." It was campy and hokey and I started to watch it and then, I confess, I asked myself why do I want to watch a movie that's going to get in my head and frighten me? I clicked over to ESPN.

I've never been a fan of the fear genre. I trace it back to my sophomore year in high school when the movie "HALLOWEEN" with that knife-wielding, wouldn't die, Michael Myers was all the rage. A group of friends and I went to see it. I slept with the lights on for a week and everywhere I went kept looking over my shoulder. Therefore, I was completely floored recently when I saw a gaggle of teens each sporting t-shirts with the white-masked face of Michael Myers emblazoned on the front. Why?

As for me, I'll be filling my pre-Halloween evenings reading Washington Irving's "THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW." I'll let you know if I hear any hoof beats......

sj;

Journey Onward.....

I’m not sure where I heard it, yet, I know I like it and I’ve tweaked it and adopted it. “America is the great democratic experiment of the extension of rights until all are fully equal.”

The premise works. In the founding of this nation only white, male, property owners were allowed to vote and therefore they held all power and privilege. The democratic vision or spirit or movement would not let the country stay in that reality and throughout our 200 plus years of existence we have extended rights to persons of color, to women, to children, to immigrants, to the impoverished, to individuals who are gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgendered and queer. Yes, the rights have and are being extended ---- we’re not yet there to full equality, not be a long shot, yet, we are on our way and can see the signs of our progress.

Last weekend, I went to see the film, PRIDE. Set in 1984 Great Britain, the movie is based on the true story of the coming together of a group of striking, union miners and young gay and lesbian activists in a show of support and solidarity. (For Pittsburghers, the film is currently playing only at THE MANOR in Squirrel Hill)

While watching the movie and discussing it later, I was amazed that a film set thirty years ago, definitely during my lifetime, could portray the treatment and bias and fear and hate once perpetrated on members of the GLBTQ community in a way that three decades later seem so shocking and horrible. It’s like watching the movie GONE WITH THE WIND and being blown away (pun intended) at the perception and treatment of African Americans two centuries ago.

I am not saying that we’ve arrived and I know that ignorance and injustice and hateful acts still exist in far too many ways and instances. However, we have made steps forward. We can watch a film depicting actions that took place in one’s lifetime and realize we lived through that and can now see that advances in how we hold our shared human community have occurred. The scene of the young man anxiously and fearfully stepping into the margins of the gay pride parade shifts in one’s mind to 2014 and the fact that in thirty-two states it is legal for couples who are gay to marry.

We are a people in process and a nation moving forward often in stops and starts. The key point is that we move forward and toward equality. Journey on!

sj;

Hi, Ho...Hi, Ho....

When I think of my father I think of his aluminum, workingman's lunch box. I see my mother making the ham-and-cheese sandwiches and wrapping them in wax paper, adding an apple, some homemade cookies and filling the red thermos with hot coffee, then latching the box and placing it on the kitchen counter top.

I am proud to be the daughter of a steelworker and one of the things I treasure most about Pittsburgh is our blue-collar roots and work ethic. You went to work...simply and strongly....you went to work. At the Allegheny Ludlum steel mill, my father worked shifts --- 8-4, 4-12, 12-8. During the weeks he worked 12-8 we played outside even more than usual so Dad could sleep.

I do not recall my father ever missing work, nor, do I recollect my mother taking a nap. Providing for the family and making a home, my parents went to work. When my oldest nephew, now an apprenticed electrician, was doing a report on unions, I called on my English-major skills and assisted in the effort. I am proud of Nathan and the success he's made of himself and the evidenced work ethic as he gets up before dawn to head to work. It's cool being able to look at a major project and be able to say, "My nephew worked on that." Our research of unions and the steel industry found that Western Pennsylvania was the second-leading producer of steel at one time and it was the workers from our region who produced the steel that built the Brooklyn Bridge, the Chrysler Building and the Empire State Building.

As previously noted, I'm old and now can better appreciate how much society changes. Traveling and talking with residents in the many former mill towns and manufacturing hubs I can join in their lament that "we don't make anything here anymore."

Yet, on this Labor Day 2014, it's important to remember that once we did and those workers, quite literally and metaphorically, built the nation. As we shift into a more technologically driven and computer-fueled workforce, it will serve us well to take pride in the work we do, to contribute to our shared community and to have the ethic to get up and go to work.

Here's to the workers and the laborers! Think of them today in between snacking on a grilled hot dog and swimming at the pool.

sj;

Grand old game

As the Major League Baseball trade deadline approaches, the Pirates, in serious contention, are a buyer not a seller this trade season and my thoughts turn to the grand ol' game of baseball.

While at a local eatery of the quick variety, I noticed a young Little Leaguer dressed in his uniform. The uniform was of major league quality: a heat resistant top with a very cool script of the home team on the front; the child's surname in block letters on the back; a black, outlined in white, block number; a matching hat...fitted; long gray pants just like the pros wear and Nike cleats.

Times sure have changed. When I played Little League my uniform was some kind of flannel hybrid, with a black stripe along the pant legs and "Bures Ford" splayed across the back...no number...no name...a car dealership.

No matter how we try to kill the game with free agency in the millions of dollars, artificial turf, tied all-star games and strike shortened seasons, the game survives. Forget soccer (America has post World Cup...right?) the beautiful game is baseball.

It's a game that's geometrically appealing in its lay-out and structure --- 9 innings, 3 outs, 3 strikes, 9 players. Keeping score at a baseball game and checking the players' stats is the closest I come to having any interest in numbers or math. The stats matter and form the foundation for discussion on who are the greatest players.

I've just come inside from playing catch with the neighbor kid --- it got too dark to see the ball; we're looking into lights, he's already asked his Dad.

How wonderful is playing catch? We talked about the Pirates and our favorite players; he shared how his traveling Little League team is 0 and 12 and how they've been "mercy ruled" for over half their games. (For the uninitiated, the mercy rule is when a team is trouncing their opponents so convincingly and leading by more than 10 runs after 4 innings the game is called...mercy). My catching buddy thinks this is a stupid rule and as he philosophizes, "It's not like were' trying to lose, can't we just keep playing for fun?!!?"

Baseball is timeless and playing catch is grace.

Part of playing catch involves pop-ups and grounders and bringing the throw in from the outfield as we imagine ourselves in those game situations. Sometime during catch, one person will pretend to be the pitcher and the other naturally crouches in the catcher's stance. The neighbor kid assumed the role of the pitcher...sigh...yes, baseball is timeless...unfortunately, my aged thighs and knees are not...

sj;

Get out!

Happy Birthday, Henry David Thoreau! Many of us first met Henry in our high school English classes slogging through his literary classic, "Walden Pond." Having taken another look at the book not from an assignment, yet, from wanting to, I found I really enjoyed it and there was a lot to appreciate about Henry.

Thoreau was a a big fan of sauntering --- which is walking around at a moderate, reflective pace thinking, observing, just being. In celebration of Henry's birthday, I invite you to saunter some today. Walden found much inspiration in nature and sought to live simply and in rhythm with the natural world. If your sauntering today leads you to the woods and you become inspired to build a cabin and take up residence, be sure to bring along writing materials, I hear that makes for a great book.

With our ever decreasing green space and our over-connected-all-the-time society, I think Throeau would shout, "Get out!" In part from incredulity and urging us to get outdoors and look and smell and go barefoot and splash in streams and sit underneath trees. At the risk of sounding pretentious, an op-ed by Timothy Egan in yesterday's New York Times entitled, "Let 'Em Eat Dirt," is a plea for parents to allow their kids to get muddy, eat dirt and run freely in the great outdoors. Egan's inspiration for the column came from watching a little boy playing in a muddy tide pool and then runnning off in pursuit of a butterfly and the author's friend remarking how rare it is to see children just outside being with all the cool stuff in nature -- no date-planners, no scheduled play dates, no helicopter parents.

I'm thankful for a great childhood where days were spent swimming in the creek, walking in the woods, playing catch in the field, digging in the garden and eating meals outside. This upbringing has served me well. Now a suburban dweller, I am making it a point to take daily walks near the river and to make time to just be outside in nature, with trees, the music of birdsong and animals that scurry loudly in the leaves.

The sun is shining, the weather is warm, the landscape is green....what are you waiting for? GET OUT!

sj;

Animal instinct

I consider myself an open person, as long as you're not hurting anyone feel free to do your own thing. In fact, I like the folks who dance to their own full orchestra. That said, I must confess that I do not understand nor do I get the entire Furry deal. For the uninitiated, the Furries is the name given to the persons who attend the Anthrocon conference, which is an annual gathering of persons who identify with animals and wonder what it would be like if animals could walk and talk to the point where they dress up and walk around as said animal.

Pittsburgh has become the host city for the annual Furry Convention. Last week, one could see numerous individuals walking around the city with three-foot tails attached to their pants or wearing animal ears atop their head or completely costumed as the animal of their choice. Many sport blue and white tails, purple heads with green horns or do a full-costume wolf in courtier clothing.

I admit that I don't get it.
I admit that I remain incredulous at the amount of press this gathering received. Even the local NPR station ran a story.
I admit that I don't know how they fill a full three days of a convention. What are the workshops? "How to be a blue fox in a red and gray world"

Personally, I enjoy narratives about animals given human characteristics found in the good story, well told. Perhaps the best to do this is the author whose birthday is today, 11 July --- E.B. White who wrote "Stuart Little" and the classic, "Charlotte's Web" for which White received much of his inspiration living on his farm in Maine.

The more I think about it the more I realize that this gathering of tail-wearing, big-animated-head sporting folks is in large part what "Charlotte's Web" is all about --- friendship. So, if these Furries find a connection, hang-out with friends they perhaps see only once a year at the convention --- then more power to 'em.

I probably will never get the whole animal identity thing, yet, friendship and finding folks with whom one can be one's self and belong --- that I get.

sj;

Dog days...

Happy July! In Southwestern PA we are in our tropical season with our "3 H" summer of heat, haze and humidity. I'm not a fan.

Exactly when do the "dog days" of summer officially begin?
(I looked it up: 3 July through 11 August)

If this isn't the dog days then we are at least in the puppy period of the summer.

So you are "in the know" and can impress folks with this bit of knowledge, the "dog days of summer" are named for the time when the star Sirius, known as the Dog Star, is in conjunction with or lines up with the sun. Sirius is the brightest star visible from earth. Ancients believed that the combination of energy and heat coming from these two great stars would naturally make the weather even hotter. Quaint and in a lot ways I can see why they would've thought that, forget the fact that a star is so far away from earth it could never generate enough heat to warm us. Yet, feel free to toss out this insight at your next picnic or barbecue.

All I know right now is it is stinkin' hot!

July is the heart of summer, the month that is wide-open with school neither ending nor starting, the month of vacations and get-aways.

July is the month when, and I'm blaming it on the heat, we slow down and begin to move as if in molasses. Spiritual guides warned of being wary of the "devil of the noonday sun." Their point is when one's spiritual life becomes more grinding then grace-aware and when your inner light is bushed and busheled instead of bright and a beacon to recognize it and remedy it.

Ask what it is that moves you, speaks to you, sparks your spirit. Be intentional in finding the WOW moments --- catch a sunset, notice a flower, listen to bird song. Do what is just. Instead of bemoaning how horrible is everything, do something: call your elected official, write a letter-to-the-editor, join a group committed to the cause.

My mother always referred to late spring and early summer "as the greening of America." We joked about it, yet, she was right and I can't help but notice how lush and full and green is the landscape. In the heat of summer, the challenge and the call is, in the words of Mary Lou Kownacki, OSB, "to be ever green, a strong shoot of justice, a steadfast tree of peace."

Blow the dandelion

In my time, I’ve made a lot of wishes. I’ve wished on pennies and nickels before tossing them into a fountain or placing the coins on the super-fast, spinny thing one finds at Malls --- you know the thing that goes down into a funnel and the closer the coins come to the bottom, the faster they spin. I’ve wished on a shooting star, birthday candles, my Terrible Towel, my Pirates hat turned inside out rally cap and the Roberto Clemente statue in front of PNC Park.

Like any good wisher, I tell no one my wishes.

That’s why I was so shocked recently by the what and the how of the wishes made by some kids by the shore of the Allegheny River. Two boys and a girl, accompanied by their mother, came waking up, set down their bags and the girl and one of the boys each removed from their bag a baseball. These were the real deal, leather-made, 108 stitches baseballs.

The boy pronounced he was going to make his wish, grabbed the baseball, threw it into the river and exclaimed, “I wish I would die before my sister!”

To be honest, I don’t know what winded me more, the wish from this five or six year old boy, or the fact that he willingly threw a perfectly good baseball into the river. After a minute or two his mother asked, “Why did you wish that?” I was waiting for the follow-up question of why would you throw your baseball into the river? The first question went unanswered and the second was never asked.

At this point, the sister, baseball in hand, threw hers into the river exclaiming, “I want to become rich!”

No profession of care for her brother, she wanted money.

As I watched the baseballs floating up the Allegheny River (they were headed toward PNC Park so maybe there was some good juju there), the boy exclaimed, “I’m going to wish on my shorts because I’m going to throw them into the river!” That was quickly followed by, “I’m going to wish on my underwear because I’m going to throw them into the river!”

NOTE: All parties remained clothed and no further active wishing ensued.

A couple of observations, clearly there was no treasuring of the baseballs that were so quickly and without a second thought tossed into the river. When wishing at a fountain, one throws in pennies, maybe a nickel or dime, the occasional quarter --- one does not toss an Indian-Head nickel into the wish fountain. Were the children just wanting to toss something into the river? Why not a rock or skipping stone? A stick? Did someone tell them that wishing on a baseball granted the wish?

We tend to believe in the power of wishes. There’s a significant amount of coinage in the wish fountains; statues of our heroes and heroines have evidence of folks rubbing said statue’s nose or hand or bat or sword or gun (why are our statues so laden with phallic imagery?) as the case may be; who knows the pleas or hopes shared.

Wishes are serious business. There are certain rules established and followed with precision: toss the coin over your left shoulder, blow out all the candles, tell no one what you wished for.

One of the most supported and positive charitable programs is the “Make A Wish” foundation. It’s a tangible way to do something for someone in need, to bring a little light, some happiness when the illness or the tragedy leave us unmoored in their randomness.

No matter our age, we are a people who make wishes. A wish is a spoken hope beginning to be acted upon. Keep wishing. All I ask is to use coins and candles and save the baseballs.

sj;

Pack one....

We’ve entered the warming season with a touch of humidity and as a woman remarked to me, “It’s hot out here….yet, after the winter we had, I’ll smack anyone who complains that it’s too hot!”

OK.

The warm weather and the sunshine are just more obvious hints that we are in summer and nearing the official start of this glorious season. Other more subtle hints are an abundance of sidewalk chalk art, the chirp of crickets, fresh strawberries waiting to be picked and people populating their porches.

Today, 18 June is National Picnic Day. The picnic as we know it today evolved from the more elegant moveable outdoor feasts enjoyed by society’s wealthy in previous centuries. Whether it’s a blanket and a hot dog in the park or a packed basket at the beach, picnics are for everyone and remain a delight.

My family has a rich picnic tradition. As a small child, I remember my mother filling a thermos with chocolate milk, making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, tossing in two apples placing it all in a brown bag and encouraging my sister to take her baby sister down the path to the pinewoods to share a picnic lunch.

My father loved to eat outdoors. He made a most impressive, large and weighty wooden picnic table, varnished it, set it up perfectly level and from around late May through late September the family ate dinner every day outside on the picnic table. My father even packed the back-pack, gathered the clan and we walked into the October woods on many a Sunday afternoon for a cook-out.

As previously noted in this blog, my mother was an amazing cook and she even excelled at exercising her culinary artistry cooking outside over a campfire. I'm talking a major meal of roast and potatoes and not just weenies on a stick.

On this National Picnic Day, celebrate a meal outside! Pack a lunch and eat it in the park or fire-up the charcoal and plan to grill dinner. In this season try and have at least one meal outside each day --- be it coffee and a donut on the front porch or a sandwich near the river or take-out in the park.

Get out!

sj;

Beggars looking for bread

I've heard someone define a community of faith as "beggars looking for bread and telling others where to find it." The image works for me. We are each looking for that which will nourish us, feed us, sustain us, strengthen us --- seems to me a community of faith is as good a place as any in which to find this.

The image of "beggars" humbles us and puts us on an even footing with our fellow beggars in the search for nourishment. If you've ever visited one of the old churches built circa 17th or 18th centuries one notes how high up is the pulpit. The preachers of the day towered above their trembling congregants as they preached down to them and often told of pending wrath. Not my style. Yet, I've preached in pulpits where I had to climb a few steps to enter and in pulpits where I was enclosed very uncomfortably and felt...well, trapped and caged.

I much prefer the "church in a round" style of design where everyone is on the same level and sits in a circle to be able to see one's neighbor and the pastor moves among the folks or, if going from notes, makes use of a small lectern placed in the center of the congregation. Often when beginning a new appointment a congregant would ask, "So, what do we call you?" "Sally is fine," I replied. More times than not the parishioner was a bit taken aback and stated, "No, I mean do you like Reverend or Pastor?" "I like Sally, that works for me." My favorite reference was from the kids who called me Rev Sal or from one parishioner who took great delight in calling me Padre.

It seems to me when one is part of a group about seeking nourishment and being fed, titles are quickly discarded...as they should be. I must confess, however, when in need of a perk, I do still, on occasion, drop the Reverend Snyder line....sigh.....

Why I like the metaphor is the implication that we are to be invested in one another and are to help one another, to help all the others....no exceptions. I who remain top of the list of persons least-likely to be ordained am in no position to question any one's calling. Yet, I do believe that being involved in ministry must have a prophetic foundation. The ultimate goal must not be about earning (as if we can) enough heaven points to make it in, the goal must be about active help, proactive compassion and shared labor for others. If I know where there is bread and tell only the folks like me or those whom I like and think are good enough and virtuous enough, then I have ceased to be a beggar helping my fellow beggars to be strengthened and have become a "bread baron" controlling and judging and ignoring persons still hungry and still searching.

We need to be asking why so many persons, and many of them in their 20's and 30's, find organized religion irrelevant and inconsequential. Perhaps we've grown complacent or we don't want to put in the work or listen to what they would tell us and then make the necessary...gasp!...change.

I was raised in a home where my grandmother and my mother baked home-made bread. One of the best things is that first slice of warm bread! I was raised in a home where when persons who were lost or hungry or impoverished would knock on our door they were welcomed in and a fresh pot of coffee was brewed and a loaf of bread and strawberry jam was placed on the table and shared.

Happy Pentecost.

sj;

Hot dogs, baseball and calls

Staying power --- resiliency --- to keep showing up --- to be you....beautifully, boldly you.

Those qualities have always attracted me and persons who evidence them have my respect and admiration.

This week, we mourn the passing on of the writer, poet, advocate, presence and passion Maya Angelou. Almost twenty years ago, I had the opportunity to hear her perform live and what stayed with me from that performance was first, that deep, elegant, rich voice and second, that the spoken word when delivered from the soul spot can captivate and capture an audience.

When I learned of her passing, I tweeted that in her memory I would have a hot dog and a Corona for Maya said, "I love a Hebrew national hot dog with an ice cold Corona, no lime. If the phone rings I won't answer it until I'm done." Now that's my kind of woman (although I do like a slice of lime in my Corona) -- a woman totally comfortable with herself and present to the moment....the phone call can wait...the email can wait...the knock at the door can wait... it's the time for a cold beer and a hot dog.

Before the poem at President Clinton's first inaugural, Maya was perhaps best known for her poem, "Still I Rise" and the opening lines:

"You may write me down in history With your bitter, twisted lies, You may trod me in the very dirt But still, like dust, I’ll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you? Why are you beset with gloom? ‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns, With the certainty of tides, Just like hopes springing high, Still I’ll rise."

I encourage you to read the whole poem. Better yet, commit it to memory. Better still, live that self-awareness and contained fire.

This week I was in Harrisburg for a meeting and the Harrisburg Senators, the city's Double-A minor league baseball team, were in town so I walked to the park to catch a game. It was a delight! What really impressed me was the age of some of the players --- 29, 30, 31. For a baseball player that's nearing old age and to still be playing on the Double-A level....whoa. Yet, they were out there enjoying playing the game, taking their cuts and inning after inning hustling to their positions in front of the 2500 fans who gathered. Their love of what they were doing, playing the game of baseball kept them showing up.

I've been doing an on-line course based on the book by Sister Joan Chittister, OSB called "Following the Path." The book is about answering one's call and doing what one has been gifted to do and placed on this earth to accomplish. I believe we each are called...it's not just a clergy thing. A hint on what that calling may be is that which when you are doing it you feel most alive, most present and have no sense of time nor do you check the clock.

Whatever one's calling...by all means and purposes and with passion and preparation...do it!

By the living of it, one will be most alive and that is a blessing that abounds and resounds!

sj;

Happy 60th!

While working at the Children’s Defense Fund in Washington, DC, once a year the entire staff had a day of volunteering. We were divided into teams and sent to various projects around the District. One year, my team and I were sent to a local, public elementary school. I do not recall the name, yet, it was the stereotypical, inner-city, Washington, DC school found in a lower-economic, crime burdened neighborhood that persons with money avoid and send their kids to private schools.

The first thing I remember as we walked to the school were the bullet holes on one of the doors that lead into the building.

As we entered the school and headed to the classroom to talk and spend the day with a classroom of fourth graders, I noticed the only signs on the hall walls were ones made from construction paper by students for their school elections campaign work. My favorite, by far, was Alisha whose sign was, “VOTE FOR ALISHA FOR CLASS SECRETARY! I CAN WRITE IN CURSIVE!” I wanted to be her campaign manager.

As we talked and interacted with the students several told us that the previous week they could not go on the playground because “someone got shot and died there and the cops had to come look into it.”

Others shared, “Most weeks we probably get to go out on the playground a couple days a week cause of the crack vials and the needles. Teachers don’t want us out there.”

These fourth-graders shared this matter-of-factly as one would tell about last night’s little league game.

This is an elementary school in 21st Century America.

May 17, 2014 is the 60th Anniversary of the historic “Brown .vs. Board of Education” Supreme Court Ruling which said public schools must be integrated. Of course, with most Supreme Court decisions there’s the ruling and then the implementation of the ruling. In other words, we’re still working on this one.

A free, public education is foundational to democracy.

Every child should go to a school in a safe neighborhood, with clean playgrounds, the most modern technology and the very best teachers. Every child.

Good for the kid who goes to a school with posters promoting summer education trips to Florida; great for the kid who can take Japanese as a language option. Should we not, however, make sure every kid has small classroom size, current textbooks, and computers?

I spent five years working as a regional and statewide organizer for the “Good Schools PA Campaign” which anchored our work in the belief that every child should have access to quality, well-resourced education and that one’s zip code should not determine the quality of one’s education.

You and I both know that zip codes still are indicators of the quality of education a child will receive. Schools are becoming re-segregated around lines, yes, of race and also of income...sadly, those things seem easily interchangeable.

One of my most favorite quotes is by Simone Weil who said, “Love’s first step is attention.” If this post grabbed yours, then I’ll be curious to see where love leads you.

sj;

Women Strong

This year marks the 100th Anniversary of the official start of the Mother’s Day holiday. In 1914, President Woodrow Wilson declared the second Sunday in May to be celebrated as Mother’s Day. Harry Hallmark smiled.

Before brunches, flowers and mandatory phone calls, the original intent of the holiday was a peace movement sustained by women who grieved their sons and husbands and brothers broken, maimed and killed in war. Ironic that it would be during the Wilson presidency the “war to end all wars” began and has never really concluded.

I am drawn to the image of women strong who wrote, rallied and raised awareness on the state-sanctioned carnage of war. The story reminds me of the women known as the “mothers of the missing” who gathered in the Plaza de Mayo in Buenos Aires, Argentina to stand in strong protest over their children who disappeared in what was known as Argentina’s “dirty war,” a time when the military juntas terrorized the country and over 30,000 sons and daughters went “missing.”

“I keep on looking for my children and everybody else’s children, because to me your daughter is my daughter, she’s a little bit mine. My children are a little bit yours,” said Carmen Robles de Zurita, a woman who is the Mother of two missing children.

There’s the rub. Whether one birthed and borne, or adopted and welcomed in, or have children in our lives that we care for, watch over and help raise…..we are all called to be mothers.

I come from a strong line of women who were resilient, connected to the land, had a deep-river faith, and for whom family was central. They provide me with a powerful lived image of strong women and tender mothers.

Although my Mom was a beauty whom when she put on her “Sunday best” matched shoes to clothes to jewelry and was elegant; when I think of her I see her in jeans and sweatshirts and sneakers. She had work to do and she did it very, very well. She succeeded in that most important labor of making a house a home, raising her children, doting on her grandchildren and every other child whom was blessed enough to be a part of her world, and being always there at the table where she would feed anyone who stopped by whenever and from wherever….nourishing in ways along with and a part from the food on the table.

She did not boast about her strength nor did she flex her power….Mom was always just there steady and strong and constant.

The strong women I know don’t complain, they are the originals of just getting it done.

The strong women I know set their resolve and rebound and remain.

The strong women I know love with a beautiful mix of tenderness and fierceness.

The strong women I know give voice not when it’s popular, yet, when it’s necessary.

The strong women I know are to be celebrated yes, on this day, yet, even more in how each of us follows their example by living our lives with strength and grace and continuing to mother and care for the children in our lives.

Happy Mother's Day;

sj;

Celebrating?

Happy May Day and what a celebration this is!

Does anyone know if elementary schools still recognize this holiday? I remember my elementary school years celebrating this holiday with the traditional May pole grabbing ribbons and dancing around the pole. Sure….innocent enough and as kids it was a celebration of Spring.

With it being the “rainy season” here in Western Pennsylvania, we could use a little May Day brightness and energy.

Of course, the origins of May Day are pagan in nature and it was a celebration of the first spring planting and hopes for an abundant crop extended to a celebration of fertility and the rising of the May pole being symbolic of…well….ummm...it’s still a man’s world…..then and now….just count the number of commercials you see with matching bath tubs (I still don’t get that visual).

Later, May Day became the International Workers’ Day.

As we enter the month of May, there is a rush of celebrations in which to participate; sure it’s not the big name holidays and I doubt “Hallmark” has a greeting card for them, yet, these days provide an opportunity to have some fun and there should always be time for that!

The Kentucky Derby is this weekend (Saturday, 3 May) and under the counsel of Oprah (we do listen to Oprah) she once said that everybody should at least once celebrate the Kentucky Derby by having a mint julep and smoking a cigar. I can check it off my list…..

In Pittsburgh, Sunday, 4 May is the running of the Pittsburgh Marathon. Go and cheer on the runners for that is an impressive feat especially when I consider that I don’t even drive my car 26 miles in one day!

Monday, 5 May, is Cinco de Mayo, a celebration of the Mexican army’s victory over France in 1862. It’s also a great opportunity to celebrate Mexican culture and have great Mexican food. Interesting that Cinco de Mayo is not a huge holiday in Mexico, yet, in these United States we tend to see it as an occasion to party.

The point of all these ramblings about celebrations is to remember to be intentional and find reasons to celebrate, to throw a party! Find a reason….any reason to gather friends and family and celebrate --- celebrate the blooms, celebrate the sighting of the first goldfinch of the season, celebrate the Pirates scoring more than one run in two consecutive games….just celebrate whatever the season….who needs a reason!

sj;

One and done

What would you say is the great American novel?

A fun question --- Perhaps, John Steinbeck's GRAPES OF WRATH? Nathaniel Hawthorne's THE SCARLET LETTER? According to Oprah Winfrey (and we do listen to Oprah) the quintessential American novel is TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD.

I ask the question because today is the 88nd birthday of the author of TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD, Harper Lee. She wrote the novel in 1960 and it received grand acclaim, was made into a fantastic film and the book has sold millions and remains oft read and popular.

I guess that many of us first read TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD as a high school English assignment. If that's the first and last time you've read the book, I strongly encourage you to get a copy and read it again. The book is a classic. Personally, I've used the book as a selection in two previous book clubs and have always found the discussion deep and insightful. A couple of years ago with some members of the cross-disabilities group with whom I work, we read TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD and their relationship to the character of Boo Radley proved the timelessness of great literature.

In music they refer to groups with one hit records as "one hit wonders." I don't know if they have a term for that in literature. Yet, TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD, a classic, was the only novel that Harper Lee ever wrote. She also has remained for the most part out of the public eye, rarely doing interviews and allowing her great book to carry the message.

Along with admiring the work of our artists, I think it as fascinating to study and learn from the process of our artists. Harper Lee wrote a classic, basing many of the characters and setting on her hometown of Monroeville, Alabama. I wish she would have written another novel, yet, TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD is made of that wonderful artistic quality of having staying power and lasting impact. Maybe, it's not the quantity of one's work as much as it is the quality.

sj;

The best Easter basket

The assignment for the classroom of first-graders was this: Make an Easter Basket.

Being a kid whom always enjoyed (and still does) those assignments that involve creating and using my imagination, I was excited to get home and get started.

I wanted to do something different, to bring in a basket that would be something no one else would ever do. Therefore, anything that had to do with knitting a basket or weaving one out of colored paper strips was promptly eliminated. I did, however, briefly consider doing something with the basketball net hanging off the hoop on our garage.

Feeling the vibe of my creative energy, my mother began asking questions to guide the process. What is something that could hold an Easter egg? "The plastic thing in the refrigerator," I replied. "OK, what else," said my mother. My baseball glove? A sock? "Well, you wouldn't be able to see the egg in a sock would you?" inquired Mom. Hmmm....I pondered....I thought...I looked around the house......

My grandmother, so wise and so aware and so unassumingly present, called me into her room and said, "Sally, can you help me with something? I'm cleaning out my closet and can you take these old dress shoes of mine downstairs?"

Sure, I said as she nodded at me that yes, I could have a piece of candy from the candy jar. As I walked down the steps...EUREKA! That's it! One of my Gram's old dress shoes would work perfect for a basket! I yelled to my mother, ran down to the kitchen, held up the old dress shoe and said this is what will be my Easter basket! Mom smiled.

Mom gathered the pipe-cleaners and paint and I set about decorating my Gram's old dress shoe. Mom added the finishing touches of the grass and chick, my Gram placed the little Easter hat on the back of the shoe and I smiled.

I still have that Easter basket. It reminds me of my Gram and of my Mom. It speaks the Easter message of that which is old is made new again. The shoe symbolizes the journey of faith I make moving ever forward carried by the saints who have trod the road before me.

Resurrection happens --- to old dress shoes, to tulip bulbs hidden in the ground, to us.....practice Resurrection!

sj;

Noah, the Jewish Film Festival and Twenty Dollars

10 April is the birthday of one of my favorite authors, Anne Lamott.

If you have never read her…..sigh…..to remedy might I recommend Traveling Mercies or Help, Thanks, Wow.

In light of this birthday, I figure…sigh….what a perfect day to once again, in the midst of a ridiculously stressed (April is National Stress Awareness Month ---- I’m aware….you?) schedule to once again post to the blog.

I went and saw the film, NOAH. I liked it. I recommend it. Mind, it’s not the Noah of Sunday School nurseries with a kindly, old gentleman with a long, well-groomed white beard, smiling as a pair (of course) of cuddly bears and gregarious giraffes provide the backdrop.

Aronofsky’s NOAH is dark in tone….then again, the story is about the destruction of the world, so if you’re in the mood for a Romantic Comedy….not your film. What I liked about the movie was the statement made about human beings. I found certain bits like how Noah and clan managed to keep all those carnivores from eating the herbivores fascinating. See the film. Discuss. Ponder.

Being a lover of film, I see a lot of movies and always keep my eye out for the variety of film festivals offered in Pittsburgh. A favorite is the Jewish Film Festival and a friend and I went to the debut of the powerful movie, THE GERMAN DOCTOR.

Planning on buying our tickets at the door, we arrived and were told it was a sell-out, yet, we were in luck because there were still a few tickets available. As we approached the ticket window and pulled out our credit cards the cashier stated, “Cash only.” Between us we had $3. Tickets were $10 each. Looking behind us, the line was long and leaving the theater to visit an ATM would mean no chance of getting a ticket.

At that moment, a gentleman whom neither of us knew, pulled out a twenty dollar bill and handed it to me saying, “Here. You’re good for it.”

I was completely blown-away by this act of kindness, generosity and trust from a stranger. How did he know I was “good for it?” Would I be so generous?

There comes a time when one person must trust another.

There comes a time when one person must actively assist another.

There comes a time when one person must simply and profoundly be kind to another.

There is always a choice --- fear or trust, ignore or assist, apathy or kindness.

Choose wisely and build a better world.

sj;

Sprung

Could it be that we have been sprung from the long winter of our discontent? On this the first full day of Spring, I do feel released.

Amazing fact: the Farmer’s Almanac, to which my grandmother referred, referenced and trusted was spot-on accurate about this winter!

At the risk of admitting that a certain softness has crept in --- I must confess that in comparison of the winters experienced in my youth this one wasn’t so bad. Confession number two --- I enjoyed this winter until about mid-February….then I had enough.

Spring is a glorious season! There is something about a long winter that makes spring even sweeter. This morning I made it a point to take note of some little flowers that have bloomed and touched the furry bulb on a magnolia tree --- I needed a few tangible reminders as the snow swirled….sigh…

My favorite quote about spring comes from Anne Lamott who writes, “Spring is when God tarts it up.” Go ahead and make note of and celebrate this season of show-off-ish-ness. Take note of the blooms and the breezes and the birthing. Make time to take in the vibrant colors and the growing greenness.

Whatever the season, we are compelled to live with the intention to notice and to be thankful. Spring with its flowers and colors and life bursting out all over makes it easy to do; the challenge is to do so when God is not so flashy in appearance and when the colors fade and the blooms fall to the ground.

On this start of spring here’s a challenge for each of us --- every day take five minutes and look out that familiar window, on that known street and find something whose beauty makes you pause. Tell someone about it.

Happy Spring!

sj;

Hmmmm.....

I was just waking this morning when I heard the following story on NPR. Garrett Peterson, a 16-month boy born with a defective windpipe would go through phases when he turned blue from being unable to breathe. Obviously, this was a critical, life-threatening decision that had his family at the edge. Doctors, using the technology of a 3D printer, constructed a device to hold open Garrett’s windpipe and help in to stay in place until the windpipe becomes strong enough to work on its own.

Amazing!

Yet, what caused my pause was this quote from the doctor, “We’re talking about taking something like dust and converting it into body parts.”

I applaud the wonders of technology and the doctors out-of-the-box thinking and persistence in finding a way to help Garrett. It was the whole dust to body parts thing that got me. Call it a Lenten season response, yet, quotes like that bring me to a line from a man whose birthday we just celebrated, Albert Einstein, who said, “It has become appallingly obvious that our technology has exceeded our humanity.”

I have set my dvr to record the episodes of the new Cosmos series featuring Neil deGrasse Tyson and I do believe members of the faith community must have ongoing conversation with science and that we need to balance and compliment one another.

Perhaps, I am missing the voice of faith being shared and highlighted and listened to in the key conversations of our lives. I find myself frequently asking, “Where’s the voice of the faith community?”

The role and perspective of faith needs to be invited into the conversation, the view from the faith lens needs to be shared and we need to be ones who boldly think, who use our reason and our experience and our tradition and the stories foundational to our faith need to be part of the dialogue.

Technology moves rapidly and sometimes I think our humanness has a hard time keeping up. The faith voice can serve to re-mind us who we are.

Thoughts?

sj;

Let us journey

What is the traditional greeting for this the start of the Lenten season? Does one wish a happy Lent? An introspective Lent? A good Lent?

Once again we begin the season where, as Frederick Buechner states, Jesus went to find out what it meant to be Jesus. We mark these 40 days, this holy season to do the same....to find out who we are and how we are living; to seek to live more wholly, more aware, more spirit-centered lives. The point is that as we journey through, over, down, above and along the path to Easter we should arrive, though maybe a bit weathered and worn, more whole and more aware...more fully and abundantly you.

I seek to make the most of this season. To assist me, I am taking Sister Joan Chittister, OSB along for the journey; as well as Ruth Everhart. My journey mates will be the gifts of creation, the persons whom I know well and the folks whom I encounter frequently and those I meet along the way. The deal is to pay attention, to listen and to look, to ponder, to wonder.

As a possible assist for you on your journey, I share with you the following link: http://www.patheos.com/blogs/nadiabolzweber/2012/02/house-for-all-sinners-and-saints-40-ideas-for-keeping-a-holy-lent/

This will direct you to Nadia Bolz-Weber, a Lutheran minister, who I have recently come across through her book, PASTRIX. Her emerging church sense, her real-ness and her at times cussing irreverence against staid and stale institutions toward a radical and welcoming and lived in the day-to-day grime and grind and glory speak to me.

At the church she planted and waters and grows in Denver, Colorado when they were putting together their church's website for the section: What We Believe they went with, "To find out what we believe, come and see what we do." Now there's a mark to strive for this season.....

sj;

Have a heart...

Happy Valentines Day!


A shout out to public school --- that wonderful experiment where the farmer’s kid and the professor’s kid and the steelworkers kid and the surgeon’s kid all attended the same school and on or around Valentines Day they, and each kid in the classroom, got a Valentine stuffed in their self-decorated brown bag from everyone of their classmates! Some kids even attached those heart-shaped, red lollipops to their Scooby-Doo Valentines. I believe they went on to hold political offices.

Remember the awkward Jr. High years and you were thankful your mother made sure you had a Valentine and even baked heart-shaped sugar cookies to help sugar-away the “I wish I had my Valentine’s brown paper bag to put over my head” twink-riddled blues of early adolescence?

Then you go through the hard, calloused, cynical years and you attend Anti-Valentine parties and play games like: “Who can name the most co-dependent love song?” The winner from my experience was Trisha Yearwood’s “How Do I Live?” Go ahead and google the lyrics….tell me if you agree…..aack!

We grow up, have experiences, find ourselves and are able to define love using more than the sentiments stamped onto those pastel candy hearts and look back and ponder.

Did you reflect on high school days and wonder about the why and the meaning (not about Algebra 1) behind the rituals of love and dating? Admittedly, not a frequent participant, can anyone explain the silver halves worn by adolescent couples? It was a half a heart, the sides jagged and sharp with, one comes to find out, a Biblical verse printed on it which was from the Book of Ruth and referenced a daughter-in-law’s love for her mother-in-law...go figure!

Why did girl’s wrap the class rings of said beaus in that colorful yarn...was it angora? I understand the reason was so the ring would fit on her finger, yet, why use that furry, bright yarn? I thought she had some special affinity for her Persian cat.

What was the point of the girls whom were dating members of the high school football team wearing their jerseys on the day of the big game? Does anyone see these rituals as some sort of ownership sticker and claim slip that girls, in need to display the “I have a boyfriend” affirmation stamp, too eagerly participated? Of course, I never did any of that….probably because I was never asked….yet…..still…...really?

The latest fad from Paris sweeping the nests of love birds, is the locks on bridges. Here is a photo I took from one of the many bridges in Pittsburgh:

The concept is couples buy a lock; may or may not write their initials or names on the lock; go to the bridge of their choosing (and there are many to pick from in Pittsburgh); confess their lasting love; lock the lock; and throw the key into the river below. What does it symbolize if one of the many over-sized carps in the rivers eat tossed key?

I don't know. I blame the French.

Happy Valentines Day! Have some chocolate……...

The Games

The poet, Langston Hughes, is often quoted, “What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? Or does it explode?”

With the start of the Winter Olympics in Sochi, Russia we once again marvel at a gathering of disciplined dreamers, beautiful and athletic and with a degree of commitment and achievement that leaves me gobsmacked. (I always wanted to use that word in a post)

The Olympics are one of the very best sporting events in part because of the many nations participating and the stories of the athletes in their efforts to go “faster, higher and stronger.” Here’s a fun fact, the Olympic motto --- “faster, higher, stronger” is accredited to a Dominican Priest, Henri Didon, who used the words when he addressed an opening ceremony at a school sporting event. Yowzers, that must have been some school! The only words I remember spoken before my school sporting events were, “Have fun.”

What I will most look forward to in these Games are the stories of the athletes most of whom we have never heard of, coming from small towns and villages of which we also are not familiar.

Although, I have zero clue what they look for or how they score anything in snowboarding, Sage Kostenberg claimed the first gold medal of the games for his victory in the Snowboard Slopestyle and he was a picture of hip and cool as he chewed gum on his last run sporting what looked to be khakis.

Of course, there will be the stories that break our sporting hearts -- the American athlete coming into the Opening Ceremonies on crutches after injuring her knee in a training run already has started the crack. I will look for the tales of the athletes whom have no chance of “making the podium,” yet are there to compete, to have their Olympic experience and simply to be part of the moment.

Enjoy the Games. Celebrate the stories.

There is something about the Games that lends itself to envisioning one’s own athletic glory. Tell me, you have never imagined yourself an Olympic luge contestant while sledding down the hill or, Sarah Hughes in a gold-medal skate while gliding across the local pond?

In this “the winter of our discontent,” I am imagining that the International Olympic Committee (IOC) has named snow shoveling an Olympic sport. In the competition, the judges are looking for style, crisp lines and clean surfaces. I’m going for the gold! Then again, I would gladly put away my shovel for the big melt and train for the Summer Olympic sport of mowing the lawn.

sj;

The Groundhog and the Big Game

The first thing I did this morning was find out what Phil said.

Yes, I needed to know what the groundhog from Punxsutawney said about the weather. Being from “these parts” it’s natural, what’s even more amazing is that people around the country and I dare say the world want to know the weather forecast from a rodent.

Be honest, if for some reason loveable Phil hadn’t seen his shadow this morning, would you be celebrating? Preparing the Spring wardrobe? Putting away the snow shovel? Hey, Phil didn’t see his shadow, Spring is on the way!

We tend to chuckle when we read of our ancestors consulting the entrails of animals or rolling the bones to determine what course to take. We say reading tea leaves is bogus and the “Magic Eight Ball” was just for fun….we never believed any of it.

Do you have a lucky shirt or jersey you wear for every Steelers game?

Did you wear the same Pirates hat for each game during last season’s “Blessed Be, We Finally Are Winners” baseball season?

When the Steelers are in the Super Bowl, do you sit in the same seat you’ve sat in for every playoff game, eat the same food and sport the same undies?

We are a superstitious lot. Part of it is fun. I think pre-game rituals are good because it can be centering….I’m talking of course about the players...although, whatever steps you take to make salsa that guarantees victory for your team, go for it.

Enjoy the Super Bowl --- a true American spectacle! Plan when to make the potty run so as not to miss any of the good commercials. And...if you booed Phil today...seriously????

Sing a song

On his banjo, Pete Seeger had these words printed: "This machine surrounds hate and forces it to surrender."

The passing on of Pete Seeger brought a moment of gratitude for all he gave to our nation's song book and, even more, our nation's character and labor to become more just in living up to our ideals. I spent time reflecting on his music and how significant a role it played in my life.

While in my second year of seminary, the first president George Bush began the first (isn't it sad when we get to the point that we have to number our many conflicts) Iraq war. For me, this was the first time that I was aware of war. I was in my early twenties, I was studying to enter ordained ministry and our entry into war unsettled me, caused me to pause and ask "why?" and I was scared. Admittedly, having my political leanings being left of center, I joined in the peace efforts. Not surprisingly, the seminary community held a pray and protest service and one of my classmates picked up his guitar and sung the Pete Seeger song, "Where Have All the Flowers Gone?"

The lyrics and the melody of that song struck a deep chord. I went and purchased a cassette tape (yes, I'm very old) of Peter Seeger songs and played it constantly. To this day, every time I hear that tune, I am transported back to that moment in that chapel at seminary.

At a gathering of folks at the Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Museum in Atlanta, Georgia on the anniversary of his "I Have a Dream" speech I crossed arms and linked hands with a Latino woman and an African American Muslim and with hundreds of other representations of our beautiful diversity sang chorus after chorus of the Seeger classic, "We Shall Overcome."

One of the great gifts of music is its ability to transport us to a certain time and place and moment --- what we were like, who we were with....It is testament to the man, that the Seeger songs were central to generations of folk-music lovers and peace activists and community organizers.

Recently, I realized that I have not been listening to a lot of music. Instead, I find myself listening to the radio --- NPR -- and to podcasts of persons' life stories. I was challenged to begin listening to music at least 10 minutes a day.

I have my I-pod ready and loaded and I'm proud to say it is full with a diverse collection of music and genres. Because the radio and cd-player in my car has not worked in six years, I no longer have the luxury of cruising to music and singing along. Therefore, I sing loud and proud in my home. If you happen to stop by and hear me singing....don't run away...be gracious with my screeching and tone-deafness (if I ever form a musical group it would be called "Sally and the Deaf Tones") and remember this quote by Pete Seeger, "There's no such thing as a wrong note as long as you're singing it."

Just like starting over....

With temperatures in the single digits and soon to plummet to the below zero mark, I have been letting my mind wander to thoughts of Spring Training and that leads to the Pirates which leads to their manager Clint Hurdle. Throughout last season's wonders one of my favorite things was "Hurdles Hygiene Tips." After every game and notably after every loss Coach Hurdle would say, "We're going to shower well and wash this one off and get ready for tomorrow."

Obviously, after playing nine innings it's a good thing to shower and wash off the stink. Metaphorically, it's a good thing to wash the game away ---- like washing that man right outta my hair....a shout out to Broadway musical fans.... to forget about it and move on.

So, showered and shampooed, I begin the blog yet again.

I'm a big fan of the clean slate, the first of the month, the empty page, the break of dawn.

In the many times I've started over, I've learned be prepared. When I cook (should I pause for you to catch your breath, suppress your laughter or pick your fainted self off the floor?) I have learned before cracking a single egg or turning on the oven to be sure to line-up all the ingredients, the needed utensils, the bowls and the pans.

When one starts something and one commits to it --- just keep going. Like stealing a base, once you take the huge lead off the base and break for second just keep chugging even if the pitcher throws to the first baseman and gets you in a run-down just keep running.

For everyone who has ever been granted a new beginning, a don't worry about it and a it's a new day affirmation, I thank you for continuing to follow the blog. Whenever there is a lot of starts and stops and starts again it is frustrating for everyone involved. Yet, my hope is to have gained some discipline; to have adjusted priorities, to have matured and to share a blog that speaks of the daily moment filled with lessons that deepen wisdom and WOW's that spark one's spirit. I hope to share with you observations, truths made so through experience, words that bring a nod of recognition and photos that cause you to reflect and take a second look.

The Ministry on the Margins blog is exactly that, tales and triumphs, stories and struggles from answering my call while with folks who live on the margins of things.

I invite you to join me....it's good to be back....

sj;