Seeking Authentic Voice

I lived in Chicago for forty years and during that time I became adept at navigating public transportation, both buses and trains, suburban and city. I have also taken the subway in New York City and public transportation in San Francisco. I’ve been on empty buses and trains and I’ve been in standing room only, squashed so tight one could not turn around, and the sheer volume of bodies kept one standing when the train or bus lurched to a stop or turned a corner. I’ve taken Amtrak from one state to another and I’ve flown across the country many times, not to mention driving across country dozens of times in my life. For many years I commuted to work, taking a bus and then a train from my home on the outskirts of Chicago to downtown. I remember thinking, on more than one occasion, that it was amazing that all these human beings could crowd into a small moving container and be safe. Sure, occasionally an individual was accosted or killed, but otherwise the mass of humanity traveling by ...

A reflection 1 Kings 17:8-24, for Proper 5C In the early evening, as the temperatures were cooling from a hot June day, the family arrived. Clamoring out of the van was the mother, young and very tall with a beautiful face. Following her were five children, four boys and a girl, ranging in age from 17 to 4, and the grandmother, an elderly Islamic woman. This elderly woman was the mother of one of the three different men who had fathered the five children. They made an odd, rag tag group of international travelers if there ever was one. But more than what comprised them as a family, what I remember most is the look in their eyes. These fourteen pair of eyes were tired, worn weary by too much despair, loss, and probably violence.. The eyes told me of a pain so deep that to survive these people had shut down all feeling. They were simply going through the motions of unloading the few pieces of luggage; all that remained of their material lives. And most likely the suitcases, and what...