Healing words

"Don't give up!" 

Those were life saving words for a man from Cincinnati who was dying alone in a hospital. His family couldn't visit him because he had Covid-19. The nurses who cared for him were his source of hope and strength. And one was so compassionate and inspiring he had to thank her. But her mask and shield had concealed her identity. When he recovered, the man searched until he found the nurse and thanked her for her healing words and her relentless support. He believed what she said and refused to give up. 

When I saw this news story this weekend, it reminded me of a Gospel scene. A Roman centurion approaches Jesus searching for a cure. His servant is on his deathbed and the Roman knows that Jesus is a miracle worker. In fact, he's so confident in the rabbi's curative powers he said, “Lord, I am not worthy to have you enter under my roof; only say the word and my servant will be healed." And Jesus was blown away by the man's faith in him. Especially since he wasn't a Jew. 

Anyone who has had a whiff of death or suffered brutal pain and illness understands the incalculable value of a great doctor. In fact, if you've requested a second opinion and your physician is proven right, you have felt powerful peace of mind. 

People fighting terminal illness trust their physicians to predict life expectancy and prescribe experimental trials. And for surgical patients, nurses irrigate and dress open wounds while pressing doctors to adjust therapies. 

We take them at their healing words. The laying on of hands is comforting. But the merciful messages lift hearts and ignite the spirit to fight and live.

During this global pandemic, so many are risking their lives to save others. Physicians; nurses; pharmacists; radiologists; emergency medical technicians; respiratory therapists, certified nursing assistants, lab technologists, phlebotomists; housekeepers; medical supply specialists, and on and on. 

In honor of their profound sacrifice and acts of mercy, the least we can do is to do what they ask: keep our distance, wear our masks and wash our hands. In turn, those steps may just save one or more of these unselfish healers.

By the way, Jesus sent the centurion home with the promise that his request for healing would be met. When the Roman solider arrived at his servant's side, he found him well. He had recovered at the hour that Jesus said the word. 

The centurion believed what the divine physician said. 

  

Remembering Lessons from Dad

Like me, my Dad was flawed. But he was also principled. 

The Nazi invasion of Poland deprived him and my Mom of their formal educations, although they both earned degrees from UHK -- the University of Hard Knocks. Their experience provided powerful perspective throughout my childhood, especially during the turbulence of the 1960's. 

Once I reached school age, I sat next to Dad for meals at the kitchen table in our modest Detroit bungalow. We usually ate dinner about 4:35 p.m. Supper was served ten minutes after Dad arrived home from his UAW factory job at GM Hydramatic, Ypsilanti, Michigan. Just time enough for him to change clothes and clean up. He'd begin by setting his work boots outside the back door to dry. They were damp with hydraulic fluid. In the summer, if I ran home at dinner time and saw those boots, I knew I'd better hustle. 

Dad ate fast. He started work at 7:30 a.m. The plant broke for lunch at 11:30 a.m., so his appetite was raging by dinner. He had only a 26-minute lunch break, which included a five-minute walk from his work station to the restroom and back. The plant was huge. Foremen road bikes around the place. Dad wolfed his lunch and the habit carried over to dinner. I emulated him and struggle to shake the behavior to this day. But I also picked up some good things. 

Between bites, Dad would share stories from his day. Sometimes it would be a joke, if it was family-friendly or he could clean it up. Other times we'd hear about some new technology. Once, Dad was assigned to work a new, state-of-the art grinding machine to test a pilot manufacturing operation. The GM engineer nervously paced while Dad did his thing. Hearing Dad's broken English, the engineer snapped at the foreman, "This guy speaks broken English. Why did you assign him to this new operation?" Smirking, Dad's boss snapped back, "He's not going to talk to the machine, he's going to run it." Dad was very good at his job. 

Occasionally, the topic was injustice. Every time a worker in his department retired, the boss would pass the hat. Back in the day, the standard donation was two bucks a guy. Enough to buy a cake and send the coworker home with a wad of dough for a dinner celebration with his missus or her mister. But one day, no one pitched in. The retiree was an African-American. Dad was embarrassed and angry. He took his two bucks over to the guy, apologized and congratulated him on his retirement. There were times Dad shared some of my Mom's homemade cake with the gentleman. The retiree was grateful someone showed him compassion. 

Dad understood his black colleague's feeling of rejection. Although he spoke with a Polish accent, my father was a U.S. citizen. He was born in Dunkirk, New York in 1920 while his expatriate family worked U.S. jobs. My grandparents were earning a living while Poland battled invasions from Austria and Russia between two world wars. When Poland regained independence in 1920, the Stepien family returned to its farm in Europe. Likewise, my mother's parents labored in France and also returned to their Polish family farm. 

A quarter century later, after World War II, Dad decided to make the United States his home. But he was forced to leave his wife behind in Poland. Mom was pregnant with my older brother. Dad spent all he had to get to America. He lived with his older sister and her husband while welding radiators for the Hudson car company in Detroit and saving all he could. It would take well more than a year for him to squirrel away enough to bring my Mom and my newborn brother to the U.S.

One day at lunch break, glass filled his cup as Dad poured coffee from his thermos bottle. He wondered how it had broken. Loathe to spend the savings, he bought another glass-lined thermos. Next day, same problem. He found his thermos broken in his locker. Dad knew someone was pranking him. And the prankster was squandering hard-earned money Dad desperately needed to reunite his young family. 

The next day at lunchtime, Dad slowly pulled his smock over his head. Peering through an opening in the fabric he spied a guy at his locker who dropped the thermos and put it back on the shelf. The guy enjoyed bullying immigrants. Now Dad had learned a few lessons about what constitutes a fair fight in America. First, you never hit a guy with glasses. So, Dad pretended to have something in his eye as he approached the bespectacled culprit. When the guy leaned in with a sly grin, Dad snatched the glasses off his face before he began to teach him a lesson. 

That day, Dad was fired for fighting. The next day, he stood in a long line to apply for job at General Motors. He was hired and worked at a couple GM locations for 32 years. 

So years later, when fellow workers rejected a man because of the color of his skin, Dad remembered the sting of hatred. And it moved him to show compassion. He dealt with each person as an individual. It's a lesson I try to remember. 

Happy Father's Day.  

The Storm Whisperer

Do you ever feel like God has fallen asleep on you?

If you're not a believer, you may be snickering at my question. Thinking I'm naive or delusional. For those of us who understand the universe as a creation with a higher power — we see God's hand at work every day. But during these times of disease, death, distrust and dystopia, it's easy to miss the divine.

This week, while reading my daily scripture, I was lifted by this passage about the Hebrew prophet, Elijah: "There was a strong and violent wind rending the mountains and crushing rocks before the LORD — but the LORD was not in the wind; after the wind, an earthquake — but the LORD was not in the earthquake; after the earthquake, fire — but the LORD was not in the fire; after the fire, a light silent sound." (1 Kings 19:11-12)

God was in the quiet sound. Not the noise. The shouting, the crying and the fear. The explosive combustion and turmoil. The source of all life speaks in a whisper. But that whisper is calling through the storm and the sunrise. But we have to listen.

There's a parallel story in Christian scripture. Jesus is aboard a fishing boat with his disciples when a storm swells on the Sea of Galilee. He was sleeping in the stern while his fishermen friends panicked. They woke him saying, "Teacher, do you not care we are perishing." (Mark 4:38) Jesus awoke and spoke to the wind and sea. "Quiet. Be still," he commanded. (Mark 4:39) And nature obeyed. Turning to his disciples, he asked them why they were so afraid. Why no faith? They were awed.  

Like you, I have sailed through many storms in my life, and too often, forgotten to thank God for calming the waves. Of course, when all is well, it's easy to overlook the source of the warm breezes. St. Paul said, "Faith is the realization of what is hoped for and evidence of things not seen." (Hebrews 11:1)

With a grateful heart, I'm listening for that whisper. I hope you hear it, too.  

Justice on the Street.

A week before George Floyd died gasping for breath under a Minneapolis cop's knee, people around the world celebrated the 100th birthday of an iconic, nonviolent peacemaker. The late pope, John Paul II, now a Catholic saint, is remembered for his anti-war stances. For example: "Humanity should question itself, once more, about the absurd and always unfair phenomenon of war, on whose stage of death and pain only remain standing the negotiating table that could and should have prevented it," he said. 

The Polish World War II survivor was an ally and force of nature in his nation's nonviolent Solidarity movement. Without firing a single shot, the trade union of shipbuilding workers provided the willpower for their minds to overcome the muscle of an oppressive, dominant government. In 1989, they finally broke the Soviet, communist stranglehold on Poland, after a 43-year struggle. The Polish pope was intensely committed to nonviolence. He said: "Only in peace and through peace can respect for human dignity and its inalienable rights be guaranteed. There is no true peace without fairness, truth, justice and solidarity."

The signature Polish Solidarnosz graphic is unforgettable. Contemporary red lettering pulsed with the transformational power of peace as the world watched and Russia quivered. Art reflecting life as it evolves. Personal expression has helped fuel vital change throughout history -- whether a hand-stitched flag with stars and stripes, a block-letter sign shouting, "I AM A MAN" or a symbolic physical act, like a sit-in, taking a knee or a two-finger gesture of peace.

Walking Chicago's streets tonight, my wife, Ellen, and I passed working artists and their projects giving voice to a new movement. Many works appeared on wood panels that protected store windows from opportunists. One large mural memorialized Trayvon Martin and called for readers to "Say his name." A masked painter, "Joey D" is a commercial artist who felt the urge to speak out for social change. He permitted photographs from behind, preferring to remain anonymous, letting his work speak for him. Joey said he had the business owner's permission to work all day on his street art. It's message: "Love. Unity. Change." As he brushed the finishing touches on colorful cartoon characters, he shared that art has always been his therapy. At one point, Joey teared up as he talked about his kids growing up surrounded by a viral pandemic and racial tension. Joey's 8-year-old son will celebrate his birthday tomorrow. Today his father expressed fear for the world and wondered if these might be end times. 

Joey is searching for the same answers to the question that all men and women have asked in the face of injustice. What will it take for truth to triumph? 

In his own way, Jesus used a type of street art to respond. One day, a group of religious leaders challenged him to uphold their biblical law. They had caught a woman in the very act of adultery. Preparing to stone her to death, they paused to test the outspoken rabbi. "Now in the law, Moses commanded us to stone such women. So what do you say?" they asked. Jesus bent down and began to write on the ground with his finger in the temple area. He said nothing but they insisted he answer. So the radical rabbi stood up and suggested the one without sin throw the first stone. Jesus bent down again and continued using his finger to trace on the ground. One by one, the accusers left. 

You probably know the rest of the story. When the crowd dispersed, Jesus stopped  his writing, stood up and showed the adulteress compassion. With no one to condemn her, He said, "Neither do I condemn you. Go and sin no more." (John 8:11)

Joey the artist nodded. He was pleased to hear the timeless answer to the timeless question: What will it take for truth to triumph? It takes people like you and me to have the courage to speak up for fairness whenever we see injustice. And do so with peace in solidarity.  

Some people will listen.

The world began to change because some people listened.

It was just 50 days after the first Easter, some 2020 years ago today, that the Christian Church was born. It cried out from an upper room in Jerusalem, a womb impregnated by God's spirit. Modern believers celebrate that moment as Pentecost Sunday. Pentecost is Greek for Shavuot, the Jewish spring harvest festival, 50 days after Passover. It drew throngs to the historic Temple.

As Jesus' mother watched, 11 of his followers climbed down from their hiding space and into the buzzing city streets. Biblical accounts of that day tell us the crowds included Jewish pilgrims from all around the known world. Yet, regardless of their native languages, they understood the words of Jesus' friends. Some thought these first Christians were drunk on new wine and were just babbling. But scripture says they were on fire with the word of the Messiah. The Christ.

It was a transformational message of peace. Truth. Forgiveness. Mercy. Love of the Creator. Gratitude. Humility. Love of everyone, both Jews and Gentiles. Equality and the Golden Rule: Loving neighbors as ourselves. Jesus called it The Way.

In the crush of Pentecost in ancient Jerusalem, the world began to change because some people listened.

Others refused. They rejected this new perspective. Some even stoned early Christians. Yet, one persecutor changed and became an unstoppable Christian zealot. Saul, called Paul, took this word of The Way to the Gentiles, as he zig-zagged the Mediterranean Sea preaching the good news.

And the world began to change because some people listened.

This Pentecost 2020, we are praying someone listen in America's streets and to the ends of the earth. People cry out for truth and justice and mercy and equality. They protest serial trauma and tragedy; the loss of too many lives at the hands of some police who have lost perspective. Or sanity and self control.

Amidst the shameful rioting and looting are countless peaceful, justified protesters speaking a language anyone can understand. Arms raised in the air. Fingers locked behind heads. Hands held together prayerfully. The images of angry demonstrations flickered across my screen as the cable news director switched to fiery outbursts in cities around the United States.

One shot burned bright and is seared into my memory, as if by divine purpose. A young white woman, palms pressed together and her head slightly, humbly bowed. Namaste. The international gesture of hospitality. Welcome. Peace. Her recipient was an urban police officer, equipped with riot gear, wearing a helmet. It was as if she had slipped a daisy in the barrel of his weapon. Her tranquil protest said, "Please listen."

When NFL quarterback, Colin Kaepernick, took a knee during the national anthem before games, it was a silent, nonviolent protest against racial bias, police brutality and injustice. Some listened. A few other athletes joined this son of a white mother and black father. Other fans criticized him and walked out. The league soon banned the gesture. Some leaders mocked him and even questioned whether these protesting players should be allowed to remain in America. Kaepernick refused to relent. It cost him his football career. Our failure to listen to him has cost us precious lives and the soul of our nation.

The image of this man in a football uniform kneeling for justice has proved profoundly ironic. It has become an iconic and prophetic symbol of the latest civil rights movement. Because it was the knee of a Minneapolis police officer on the neck of an unarmed black suspect that led to his unjust death. The arrested, George Floyd, begged the officer for mercy, while he lay face down on the pavement. "I can't breathe," he implored.

As he breathed on his disciples in that upper room, Jesus said, "Receive the Holy Spirit."  It was the night after his resurrection, when he found his friends huddled in fear. He had been savagely crucified just three days before. And yet these ordinary men and women would soon find the courage to change themselves and then the world.

Today, on our knees, we pray for that same fiery passion. To listen to the truth of the gospel. To live in a new, loving way. So the world continues to change.

Inseparable

"Run for the forest!" the priest shouted from the pulpit. 

Nothing more need be said. The congregation of farming villagers raced for the exits. The Nazis were coming. It was a Sunday Mass service in Eastern Poland during World War II. The pastor had just learned of impending retribution. My 91-year-old mother recently shared this story from her childhood. Whenever the Polish underground succeeded in an ambush, their occupiers would make the nearby civilian community pay a deadly price. In great numbers that significantly exceeded the military casualties.

No place was safe. Not even church. My mother and father and their families endured the diabolical trauma of war, attempting to live in fleeting moments between the battles and brutality. Nazi troops frequently counted the occupied and looked for the missing and the hiding by stabbing pitchforks into haystacks.

This week, I was reminded of that horrifying, historic episode in a house of worship -- as I scrolled through comments on social media from 21st century believers. They shared a mixture of emotions about returning to church services amidst the coronavirus pandemic.

"I can't wait!" one woman said.  She was anticipating services this weekend after staying home on Sundays for two months. 

Another shared her pain and anxiety about her child who was afflicted with a disease. He hadn't been able to attend Mass for a year because he was vulnerable to attack by infection. His plight began long before the pandemic and it would continue long after. But he had found peace in uniting with God in his heart. 

On Facebook, one compassionate believer expressed her confidence, while consoling others who were at risk due to health complications and afraid to go to church. 

For hundreds of years, early Christians in Rome buried their dead in underground caves and caverns beneath the city. Jews also interred their dead there. In these catacombs, believers were safe from religious persecution to visit family graves and paint murals depicting their spiritual beliefs. These days, those who are forced to worship  from the safety of their homes are not unlike those who gathered in secret to meet in hidden catacombs. Or perhaps they're like the Jewish nation after the Babylonians destroyed King Solomon's great temple. Later Roman conquerers toppled a second temple that King Herod had renovated. The Holy of Holies was desecrated.

Yet, faith lived on in homes and hearts across the globe. And it was passed on to hundreds of generations through thousands of years, wars and plagues. 

Pope Francis has described the Internet as a miracle. During the current pandemic, he offered prayers from the Vatican before a vast empty outdoor space, normally jammed with faithful pilgrims. The electronic Web connects us in spiritual gatherings spanning the world. My wife and I have virtually joined Masses in Chicago, Boston Toronto and Detroit as we prayed this Easter season at our dining table on Sunday mornings. A practice that helps us realize we are part of a global church community; the body of a universal Christ made of billions of cells and parts. Each one a single human life united in a spiritual communion of compassion. We all celebrate and suffer together in a love that we pray transforms us by the grace of God. So, we are one with a stranger in the third world, as well as the nurse who races from the chapel in a U.S. hospital to care for her terrified patient. Or we gather with families at gravesides mourning those lost, who we cannot touch with our hands but can embrace with our hearts. Because we aspire to love everyone as our Creator does. Whether they live thousands of miles away among refugees traumatized by war -- or just around the corner in the lap of luxury. 

As St. Paul said: "For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels nor principalities, nor present things, nor future things, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature will be able to separate us from the love of God ..." (Romans 8:35, 38-39).

Shalom. Salaam. Peace be with you. 

Loving the Lepers in Our Lives

If you're troubled and anxious about being isolated by Covid-19, imagine living the life of a leper. 

In Jesus' time, the unclean were strictly forbidden to mingle with the healthy. Fear of the contagion was justified and intense. Then, leprosy was incurable. Unchecked, the gruesome disease mutilates skin, damages nerves and causes blindness. Hebrew faithful believed it was the curse of sin -- a punishment. They carefully avoided the afflicted outcasts. If they did interact with lepers, they risked their own health, lifestyle and ability to worship at the temple.

In fact, there was a Chamber of Lepers at the great Temple in Jerusalem, within the Court of Women. This is where the priests practiced their version of dermatology, determining if Israelites were clean enough to return to the congregation. Doctors actually learned remedies from the priests who evaluated a variety of skin ailments. 

This is why Jesus said, "Go show yourselves to the priests," when he cured ten lepers who pleaded for mercy and healing. (Luke 17:14) Christian Scripture says they discovered they were cleansed as they made their way to the priests. One of them returned, glorifying God with gratitude to the rabbi who had bothered to listen and offer compassion. It was healing.

There are many lonely people in our lives. People who are easy to overlook because they are older and passé; out of line with our politics; out of step due to disability; divorced and wounded; they work difficult jobs on strange shifts; they aren't wired for social interaction; they are boring or make us feel uncomfortable. They become unclean and unappealing in our modern communities. We have nothing material to gain by associating with them. In fact, we lose our valuable time and perhaps some social status by bringing them into our circles and cliques.

But this is what heaven calls us to do. To heal the forgotten. The ten lepers shouted, "Jesus, Master! Have pity on us!" (Luke 17:13) Today, during this pandemic, the silence is screaming at us to pick up the phone and talk to that long-lost friend, or relative, or that person from church, or school or even our childhood. 

And it is us who will be healed. Because when I reach out to touch the untouchable, I'm reminded of how unappealing I have been in my life. How afflicted, damaged and scarred. And how generous others have been to me, when I needed them most. 

What a way to cure the isolating curse we feel from the coronavirus. 

Lost art

As a kid in Detroit, I filled my sunny spring and summer days playing baseball. But when it was really windy, flying kites became an annual fad that would last a couple weeks.

Our next door neighbors, the Flowers, had a beautiful daughter much older than I, but no son. And Mr. Weldon Flowers would occasionally borrow me from my parents. He'd invite me to join him and his wife, Mary, on their porch to enjoy a salty snack and a Coke. Two things we rarely had at our house. When I got my dignity handed to me by a neighbor kid, Mr. Flowers taught me boxing basics. He'd been a Golden Glover as a boy. 

Then one brilliantly sunny day, my occasional mentor spotted me flying a kite and had a trick to share. Mr. Flowers tore off the corner of a newspaper ad and punched a hole in it. He then took the stick that held my kite string and stuck it through the hole in the paper. Suddenly, the wind snagged the raggedy newsprint and it began to slide up the line. Hundreds of feet into the air. 

"You're sending your kite a letter," Mr. Flowers explained. It was a magical childhood moment. The kite jogged back and forth in the wind, its fabric tail twisting and turning. At ten years old, I was young enough to still pretend the kite or someone gliding in the sky would read the airborne note. 

Penning letters is a lost art today. Or typing them for that matter. Sure, we send emails and texts with emoji's but we rarely receive a letter from friends or family. My sister, Barbara, would frequently send letters to my big brother, John, when he attended the U.S. Naval Academy. My mom would often bake him dozens of scrumptious cookies and pack them in shirt boxes to ship to our midshipman, and my sister would enclose a letter on the latest family events. He would write her colorful notes back. I enjoyed listening as she read them aloud. This was the 1960's, so long distance calls were a big deal. Those lengthy letters from home or Annapolis kept us connected. 

Personal messages in the written word are powerful and lasting. Consider the memory magic filmmaker Ken Burns achieved in his documentary, "The Civil War." Simply reading letters from 19th Century soldiers and lovers transported millions back in time and breathed life into those long gone. 

A significant portion of Christian scripture is letters from Jesus' disciples to early believers scattered around the Mediterranean Sea. Many of them impassioned notes like this: "Above all, let your love for one another be intense, because love covers a multitude of sins. (1 Peter 4:8)

Or this on love from Paul to his followers in Corinth, "It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never fails." (1 Corinthians 13:7-8)

Timeless and beautiful.

In 2020, when we are isolated in our homes and separated from each other by the the icy presence of global pandemic, we are given the gift of time. Time free from the pull of outside distractions. Time to recover the lost art of writing letters and sharing our thoughts and feelings across miles or around the corner. 

Or sky high in prayer like a message sailing up to a dancing kite. 

Happy Mother's Day.

Living a memorial

There were only a few at the graveside. Just the very closest friends and family. Services were minimal, due to the circumstances. No time for the usual mourning, eulogy, ritual and closure. 

All four Christian evangelists describe the burial of Jesus this way. Michelangelo captured its profound sorrow and simplicity in the Pieta, with mother Mary cradling the dead and battered Christ. 

During the coronavirus pandemic, this is how thousands are burying their loved ones. Only they can't touch the deceased. Most can't witness the dying's last breaths or say goodbye from the bedside.  In fact, even those who currently succumb to causes other than COVID-19 are denied traditional wakes, funerals and internment services. For example, cancer claimed my favorite uncle in March. Following the graveside service in New Jersey, his family was told only a priest and one witness would be permitted at future burials. 

Three other families I know did lose loved ones to the virus. Now, they wait for a safe time in the coming months to gather and hold memorials. 

During this Easter season of 2020, there are many compelling lessons to learn from the death and resurrection of Jesus. One is this. The best way to honor and remember those we love is to live their best values. Embody the virtues they possessed, so they walk on with us and through us. 

Also, at his Last Supper, Jesus provided a memorial in the breaking of bread and wine to share for spiritual nourishment. Imagine remembering all those who have gone before us, even once a week while we share a meal. 

"Do this in memory of me," said Jesus. And he lives. 

Easter isn't over.

Do you miss your weekly worship services? 

I'm sure your local pancake house, bakery, bagel or donut shop does. No crowds of happy and hungry folks seeking to keep the joy going when they leave their spiritual gatherings. And there are so many more who show up on Easter morning to share breakfast tables and good feelings. 

For Christians, Easter is not just a day; it's genuinely a season that lasts far longer than Christmastime. Forty days of celebrating until Pentacost Sunday align with the ancient Jewish festival by the same name — or Feast of 50 Days after Passover. 

Forty days after the first Easter, the church of Jesus Christ was born. And some people began to dramatically change the way they lived. In fact, besides the beautiful music, one of my favorite parts of Easter is reading about the early church, just after Jesus departed this world. His command was to "love one another." And so they did.

"All who believed were together and had all things in common;
they would sell their property and possessions
and divide them among all according to each one’s need.
Every day they devoted themselves
to meeting together in the temple area
and to breaking bread in their homes.
They ate their meals with exultation and sincerity of heart,
praising God and enjoying favor with all the people." 

(Acts of the Apostles 2:44-47)

Imagine living in a community like that, where everyone shares everything. In fact, the early church was so tight, its members lived communal lives. 

Now imagine my joy when I read this on a street pole in my Chicago neighborhood:

"Need Help? Want to help? Logan Square Mutual Aid is here for you. This pandemic has hit us all hard. We are your neighbors reaching out to help.

If you need: food, prescriptions pickup, caregiving, medical supplies, or help and community in general we are here to give it.

"If you can give: Your time, your expertise, your resources, your voice, we would love to have you help out."

I had to call the number at the bottom of the flyer. The voicemail recording welcomed me in English and Spanish, inviting a phone number and my specific  needs. If you visit the Web site you can experience the love: www.logansquaremutualaid.org

"In the midst of a global pandemic and recession, the best and most effective thing we can do—apart from social distancing—is to be there for each other". That's the essence of Logan Square Mutual Aid.

Today, so many are looking for answers. For hope in the face of confusion and lives lost. And they feel helpless with no where to go.

COVID-19 has closed temples, mosques, synagogues and churches worldwide. Believers are cut off from each other. Unable to gather to celebrate Easter and its promise of salvation and new life. A life based on unconditional, universal love. 

Yet in Logan Square, Chicago, the spirit of the first Christians is alive and well and experiencing a resurrection. 

A cool cup of water.

He lined up his shot and dribbled left. Thud! The kick sailed past my right side as I leaned the other way. Goal!

It only lasted a few minutes but we played a fun cat 'n' mouse game with a bright green soccer ball. Two-out-of three goals or saves won this shooter versus goalie match on the edge of Holstein Park, Chicago's northwest side. Andre was the lad's name who had created a goal with two orange cones along a high cyclone fence. It was actually the right field homer barrier of the baseball diamond. Our chance meeting yesterday occurred in the sprawling outfield where maybe a dozen or so folks frolicked in the sun Saturday afternoon. It was a merciful moment of light in the darkness of a viral pandemic that meant we wouldn't get close enough to shake hands or high-five. I had to cross in front of Andre's homemade net and soccer shooting practice to chase after our 4-year-old granddaughter.  Andre was about 12 and I a grey-bearded 63. We were two total strangers. But for a moment, I felt like a young dad again, challenging a much younger child to a quick contest. Coincidentally, our older son and his wife looked on as did our two preschool granddaughters and their grandma, smiling behind her mask.

I did manage to make one save and Andre kicked the third shot wide. We considered it a tie. As we wrapped up, I told him my name and he said, "I'm Andre. You're a good goalie!" He was very generous. That was it. We'd probably never recognize each other if we passed on the street, since we got no closer than say 25 feet apart. It was safe, physical distancing and yet the game was fun and we made a connection. Thanks to Andre sharing himself and his sport, my day shined a little brighter.

As we walked home soaking up sun, we savored the moments with beloved family at a safe distance. Others passed doing the same. People nodded and smiled behind homemade masks. Some courteously stepped out of the way to allow us to pass. At one point, we stopped to take in a two-story painted mural of a gigantic fluffy puppy. It towered at least 30 feet above our excited grandkids. The real pooch barked in the fenced yard. His owner tamed him so she could explain how she now uses the painting in her Zoom conferences with kids. She's an elementary school teacher and loves telling her story.

Jesus said, "whoever gives one of these only a cool cup of water ... will surely not lose his reward." (Matthew 10:42) He was encouraging followers to welcome and comfort those building the kingdom of God. And these days, we're parched by fear, unknown danger, and uncertain futures. A smile from behind a mask, a friendly gesture, an extra step to ensure the safety of another is a long quenching drink from the well of humanity and unconditional love.

I was so grateful to gulp down the day. Peace.

Changing. Healing. Rising.

There are many ironies about Easter 2020 amidst the viral pandemic.

Crucifixion kills by asphyxiation. COVID-19 cripples the lungs and some victims die on ventilators.

We are sheltered in place, isolated in tiny groups to protect ourselves from a deadly affliction. On the first Easter, Jesus' disciples and his Mother were huddled in an upper room in Jerusalem, hiding from those who had demanded the death of their fellow Galilean.

Roman soldiers mocked Jesus with a crown of thorns. The coronavirus is named for its crown-like characteristics.

According to Christian Scripture, Jesus appeared to many of those he loved, after his resurrection. He made sure they knew he was alive and well. Some didn't recognize him at first. Mary Magdalene thought he was a gardener at the tomb he'd just escaped. That same Easter day, when he joined two apostles on the road to Emmaus, his friends thought he was a stranger. Only when he broke bread at dinner and gave it to them did they recognized him as the one who had hosted the Last Supper. And on Easter Sunday night, Jesus miraculously appeared in that upper room where his followers were hiding. But he had to assure the first Christians he was not a ghost -- even eating fish to prove he was genuinely risen and alive. Jesus breathed on them, lungs restored, saying, "Receive the holy Spirit." (John 20:22)

Those who knew him best did not immediately comprehend this resurrected body. His glorified state. It was a profound transformation of flesh and spirit like the wormy caterpillar that becomes a spectacular butterfly. What once slowly crawled now flies unrestrained.

The physical and spiritual process of prayer, fasting and almsgiving that is Lent is designed to help us repent in time for the resurrection. Repent means to exercise the mind or rethink. This Easter, will our friends recognize us or will we have changed so much that we are in some way, unfamiliar?

As we stay home in our "upper rooms," will we reach out with our phones to touch the forgotten and welcome them into our lives? Will we leave the snarky comments and our judgement in the past like empty cocoons?

Will we find the courage to see the beautiful in the rainy day and not complain one bit? And remember the sun is shining above the clouds? Will we listen to friends and family patiently, joyfully when we're tempted to speak about ourselves?

And whenever the virus abates, will we remember to be grateful for each day we have and each person we encounter? Will we remain filled with the humility we feel as we watch others risk their lives helping the sick? Perhaps, we'll soon forget this pestilence and take our lives for granted. Will we again cling to material things and position and ignore the dignity of those in need or struggling?

The first Easter changed the world in remarkable ways. In time, a handful of believers became billons. Like a few loaves and fishes multiplied to feed a multitude. But even at that momentous event, Jesus had first told his disciples, "Give them food yourselves." (Mark 6:37)

His teachings, sacrifice and death gave birth to a new way of life, born from a womb that was the upper room of Easter hiding. Jesus healed and transformed his followers by the unconditional love and compassion we were all created to give. "Love your neighbor as yourself." (Mark 12:31)

This Easter 2020, we will be in our hiding places awaiting a miracle, a cure. But Jesus has already shown us the way to heal ourselves and the world. Happy Resurrection Sunday!

Passing over.

My spiritual DNA is Hebrew. That's true of all Christians.  "... because salvation is from the Jews." Jesus said that to the Samaritan woman at Jacob's well. (John 4:22) Before he left Samaria, she and her neighbors came to realize they had met the prophesied Messiah.

Christians believe Jesus was indeed the mashiach, or in Greek, Christos or "the Christ,"  "the anointed,"  "the chosen." Adonai or the Lord, Yahweh, the Creator of the universe had long promised a savior to His chosen people, the Israelites.

So, at this time each year, there is a fascinating intertwining of spiritual roots, vines and branches. The weeklong Jewish Passover and feast of unleavened bread with Christianity's Holy Week that culminates in Easter.

“I have eagerly desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer ..." Jesus said as he prepared to begin his passion, death and resurrection. (Luke 22:15) It was there, the Last Supper, that a new Passover began for Christian believers. 

The first Passover came thousands of years earlier, at a time in Egypt not unlike our current global circumstances and pandemic. Jews who ate that first Seder meal, stood with sandals on their feet, girded loins, and carrying staffs in their hands. They hastily dined on roasted lamb, unleavened bread and bitter herbs. They were in a hurry to escape from bondage. No time to wait for loaves to rise. 

That Passover marked the 10th of ten plagues inflicted on Pharaoh and his people who had enslaved and oppressed the Israelite nation for more than 400 years. Locusts, flesh infesting boils, swarms of frogs and a Nile River that ran red like blood horrified the Egyptian nation. None was more devastating than the 10th, the angel of death sent by Adonai to take the life of every first-born Egyptian, including their beasts. 

But Moses, the chosen mediator for his people had prepared them. Each Hebrew family had slaughtered a lamb for that first Passover of the Lord, and saved its blood to mark their outer doorways as a sign of faith. It was this mark, the blood of the lamb that would protect them from the deadliest plague. For them, the 10 afflictions would be replaced by Ten Commandments. Moses received this spiritual and moral code from God, as his rescued people wandered in the desert in search of their freedom and divine inheritance -- the promised land. 

Centuries later, when Jesus celebrated Passover in Jerusalem, thousands gathered for priests to slay their sacrificial lambs and kid goats at the Temple. They captured the blood in bowls, splashing it on a massive altar. This spectacle commemorated the miracle of mercy for a nation, when the divine shattered Egyptian shackles and set Israel free, saved by the sign of blood -- God's very life force in animals and humans. 

Today, we wander our streets, navigating unseen danger in social deserts across the world. Like pilgrims seeking refuge, we wear medical masks, many homemade, to ward of an invisible virus and protect others -- if we might be carrying COVID-19, this modern day plague. 

Yet, we know that if we escape this evil, there will be another time when we must "passover" from the temporary to the eternal. From this life into the next. Death will come and we will inherit the everlasting. A place where time is not kept. 

That was the promise Jesus offered. Not a global cure of earthly suffering. But an inner peace built on the knowledge that the death of lamb of God was a final Passover sacrifice that would mark every nation, and every person for safe passage to the promised land. 

B' Shalom. 

The Great Fast of 2020

The coronavirus is making us remarkably uncomfortable. Which may just lead us to a better place. 

Ironically, COVID-19 has gripped the world during this season Christians call Lent. That's the annual 40-day period of prayer, fasting and almsgiving -- following Mardi Gras revelry and face stuffing on Fat Tuesday. It culminates in the powerful sadness of Good Friday, the quiet contemplation and healing of Holy Saturday and Easter Sunday joy. 

Most other spiritual traditions, Judaism, Islam, Buddhism, all have periods or holy days for self denial, high atonement and worship.

But the global pandemic of 2020 is causing all of us to "fast" in ways we never imagined. We're not talking about giving up chocolate or social media time. We're not simply swapping meat on Lenten Fridays for scrumptious mac 'n' cheese, the shellfish platter or seafood buffet. We're not starving ourselves for weeks or even a day. In fact, in the U.S., we're binging Netflix, groceries and hoarding toilet paper. Meanwhile the contagion has canceled weekly worship, and many beloved traditions. No St. Patrick's Day parades. No church fish fries. All the public merrymaking is gone, that we Christians normally wrap around this fasting season to cushion its blow.

For those unfamiliar with Christianity, Lent is a 40-day period that commemorates Jesus' rugged spiritual pilgrimage into the scorching dessert before his public ministry began. Scripture tells us he fasted there for 40 days. Ate and drank nothing. Saw no one. Until Satan arrived to tempt his cravings, ego and faith. Among other things, Jesus said this to the devil, "It is written, 'One does not live by bread alone.'" (Luke 4:4) (Deuteronomy 8:3)

Similarly, this diabolical and novel virus is tormenting us in a social and economic wilderness. It's challenging our collective sanity and way of life. Of course, that's also a rare opportunity if we can avoid the urge to pity ourselves. Our current shared pain begs us to join humanity in a communion of compassion. It's being continuously served at a table stretching to the ends of the earth. All while mosques, synagogues, temples and churches are shuttered. And Christians are denied the chance to approach altars and share sacramental communion bread and wine. Now, we must gather online and partake virtually. 


Physical distancing guidelines and stay-at-home orders are giving all of us just a tiny taste of true social separation. What's it like to really be cut off from loved ones? Like parents of servicemen and women deployed to hot zones? Or the mother who cries herself to sleep worrying about her incarcerated adult child, or an estranged teen who stays out until dawn? A homeless sister or brother? Imagine the sleepless nights among families whose loved ones are healthcare professionals and workers, battling corona on the front lines. 

Like hate, this disease discriminates. So, those over sixty are more at risk when it attacks. Maybe we can feel a little of the anxiety a person carries in some unwelcoming places -- where he or she is targeted due to age, race, religion, sexual orientation or place of birth. 

Today, we fear a potentially terminal illness with no known cure. Will we identify, even just a little, with those who've just been told they have cancer? Or multiple sclerosis? Muscular dystrophy? And with dwindling supplies of critical medical tools, many must accept long delays in their elective surgical procedures. Access to quality medical services is always an issue for the working poor. 

In other words, someone is always suffering. There are people in our world who share our isolation because bombs are falling or bullets are flying in their communities. For them, the trauma and scorched earth never end. 

In part, fasting helps us connect with the source of all goodness. It reminds us that we are powerless and in need of God's love and blessings. Letting go, for a little while helps me remember someone else is always going without. It reminds me I have more than I need and have plenty to share. Including my time, talent and treasure. All three.

This COVID-19 trial and "fast" will likely total far more than the 40 days of Lent. As we watch the number of corona cases and tragic deaths climb, the financial markets continue to plummet. Our faith and hope are pushed to their limits. The national and global outcomes remain in question. 

Yet there should be no doubt that individually, whether we die tomorrow or live long lives, this time can be a great spiritual awakening. The Great Fast of 2020. How will we rise again?