Learning Compassion

This month's Synchroblog topic: New Year’s Resolutions are usually somewhat self-serving. But is there a way you can serve others in 2013? . .  Where, when, how, and to whom will you be the hands and feet of Jesus? 



My son asked a few years ago, almost casually: “How do you teach compassion?”

The question caught me a bit off guard. We exchanged some ideas, moved on to other things, but I found myself returning to the question: not just “how do you teach compassion,” but “how do you learn compassion?”

The more I thought, the more I saw that my idea of compassion, of teaching it, of learning it, was very small: an occasional activity. A box on a check-list. Something picked up and set down. A weekend, even week long project, not the ambition of a lifetime.

I've been praying God would give me a deeper view of the compassion lived out by Christ, when he came to be one of us, aligning himself with us so deeply that our grief became his, our sin became his.

That prayer has been answered in ways I couldn't have imagined. As I dig through "what matters," and consider this month’s Synchroblog topic, "Serving others in the New Year," this word, compassion, asserts itself: compassion shows me what matters, and teaches me to serve.

Just over a year ago, a mom I’d come to know through my years in youth ministry called to ask if I'd talk with her son. He was struggling, needed someone to talk with, and had mentioned he might be willing to talk to me.

A few days later, we met over hot wings and soda, and he poured out his story.

His family was in trouble, for a host of reasons, some that made him angry, some that made him sad. He couldn't change anything, couldn't fix anything.

He was exactly the age I was when my own family fell apart, when we lost our home, separated to different households, changed schools. I had felt very alone, and fearful. I heard that aloneness in his voice, that fear.

Somehow, in the course of that diner meal, and the following conversation with his mom, his challenges became mine. His family became my own.

And God sketched out his curriculum for compassion. It means “suffering with.” Or – more broadly – “feeling with.”

I agreed to spend an afternoon and evening a week, helping with whatever needed to be done. And I agreed to align myself with the challenges the family was facing, to do what I could to help with practical, emotional, spiritual obstacles that had become almost overwhelming.

That first evening I experienced the frustration of a single mom with teens who don’t listen, mountains of dishes, laundry everywhere.

I experienced the anxiety of too much noise, too little space, the frantic search for school papers lost in a mountain of debris, schedule out of control, all priorities lost in the jumble of what comes next.

And I caught a taste of a long-forgotten refrain: not enough money, and no way to make more, with the endless juggling of bills, gas, postponed repairs, school trip permission papers set aside, requests for clubs and teams answered, again, with "we don’t have the money."

Compassion means seeing it all from a different point of view. From inside, rather than outside. From the place of pain, and weakness, and poverty, rather than the place of sheltered comfort.

Compassion ate several weeks of last winter, as God opened a door for the family to move to a house that offered more room.

And compassion led me back to thrift stores and yard sales, looking for furniture, bicycles, a lawn mower for the new yard. I discovered freecycle, and also discovered that there are people who will “give away” things that are far past any hint of usefulness.

Compassion invited me to explore local Laundromats: I can tell you where people are friendliest, where the washers are biggest, which stays open latest.

And recently, compassion led me to sit in our church's food closet waiting line, thankful in an entirely new way for the gracious hospitality of the food closet volunteers, and the generous contributions of our local grocery stores.

I have learned, again, how much I don’t know, and how much I do:

I don’t know why some people are given resources beyond measure, and others start life with far less than enough.

I don’t know why those with much find it so easy to judge those with less.  

I do know that prayer is most real in situations where my own wisdom, strength, and patience fail.

I know that God’s love is not dependent on performance, appearance, contribution, compliance. And I know I feel that love more deeply as I learn to love those others he loves, as his children become mine.

I know, too, in a much more tangible way, that our own feeble attempts to share God’s love are surrounded, energized, and blessed by riches far beyond our own.

When I left youth ministry, I grieved the loss of contact with kids, of random outings with strange mixes of teens, the incessant questions, the rowdy card games, the conversation and prayer with parents.

All that has been given back in new formats, in a freer, more organic way. No permission slips needed. No planning months ahead.

This past year included trips to several local farms, a fishing expedition, a paddleboat outing, multiple picnics, my first ever go-kart ride. Car conversations, long and short. Doubts shared over dinner dishes. Card games. Projects.

Yes, I have kids of my own. But they’re all grown and doing well. I’m thankful beyond words for who they are, the good work they’re doing, and for the fact that they grew up in a stable home, with two parents who loved them, money for school outings, lessons, camps, clubs.

And yes, I have grandkids of my own. I have fun outings with them as well. Some the same, some different. They have two parents of their own, four very attentive grandparents, aunts and uncles happy to teach them to fish, take them to parks, make sure they have wonderful vacations.

I find myself aware, far more than ever, of all the families who have no back up, or not enough, or contingent in destructive ways. Single moms whose extended families have few resources, little experience of success. Immigrant families with no community support, struggling to understand the complexities of life in a new country. Families with special needs kids with no safety net of available grandparents nearby. Families struggling with mental illness, addiction, long histories of multiple dysfunction.

How many of those families can I walk beside, “suffer with,” consider part of my own family? More than I would have expected.

And what would our churches look like, what would our communities look like, if every family with resources to spare walked alongside an individual or family needing support? If every beleaguered parent had the phone number of a compassionate friend willing to share inconvenience, anxiety, frustration, joy?

I’m not sure what the year ahead will hold. I do know my life is richer as the walls of my household extend toward others, as the boundaries of my heart melt with compassion for families not my own. I expect challenges I’m not prepared for. Questions I can’t answer. Setbacks and successes.

I pray God will draw me deeper into living his word, until compassion shapes each thought, and writes its agenda on each day. 

Be devoted to one another in love. Honor one another above yourselves.  Never be lacking in zeal, but keep your spiritual fervor,serving the Lord. Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer.  Share with the Lord’s people who are in need. Practice hospitality. . . .  Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn. Live in harmony with one another.  Romans 12

This post is part of the January 2013 Synchroblog. Here are posts from other participants:

•          Glenn Hager – Finding the Joy in Loving Others
•          Chris Jefferies – A Light on a Path
•          Jeffrey Meyers – Serving Others in 2013
•          Liz Dyer – Little Things
•          kathy escobar– three things about one word: serving

This is also the second of a series for the new year: "What Matters"

• What Matters
• Learning Compassion
• Traveling Toward Hope and Freedom
• Seeking Justice
• Choosing Life
• Embracing "Conversatio"

Please join the conversation. Your thoughts and experiences in this are welcome.
Look for the "__ comments" link below to leave your comments. 

Advent Two: Outsiders In

Eugene Higgins, There Was No Room
at the Inn, monotype, c. 1940, NY

No one can celebrate a genuine Christmas without being truly poor. The self-sufficient, the proud, those who, because they have everything, look down on others, those who have no need even of God--for them there will be no Christmas. Only the poor, the hungry, those who need someone to come on their behalf, will have that someone. That someone is God. Emmanuel. God-with-us. Without poverty of spirit there can be no abundance of God.--Father Oscar Romero, 1978 Christmas Eve homily

I grew up as far from Bethlehem as one can imagine, in a gracious, well-groomed suburb of New York City, in a community of spacious, lovely homes, a world of quiet, green backyards, live-in help, excellent schools.

I lived with my grandparents, in the only non-two-parent household I knew. My grandfather, a first generation Italian-American, had built the house and others in the neighborhood. He kept some of his contractor supplies in a locked shed in the back yard, kept tools in the locked garage, kept his basement workshop locked, his office off the driveway locked, kept a large TV turned loud in the master bedroom, also locked. He traveled through the house with the jangling of keys, and, depending on the level of inebriation, with loud, sometimes obscene proclamations about whatever caught his eye or sparked his simmering anger.

My birthday was two weeks before Christmas, but I never had a party, mostly for fear my grandfather would ruin it. In some strange, childhood way, I considered our school Christmas parties my own; my name, after all, is Carol. I imagined every Christmas carol we sang was a birthday present for me. Strange idea, I suppose, but in some ways I was a strange kid, always watching from the edge of things.

Christmas, for me, wasn’t so much about decorations. Most years we had a tree, but some years not. If our grandfather decided on outdoor decorations, we’d all be drawn into hours of unhappy compliance with his whims.

It also wasn’t much about presents. Most years there’d be just one gift, usually something practical: a winter coat. A pair of boots. Occasionally a good surprise would surface, but usually not. No reason to lie awake at night, wondering and hoping.

Christmas cookies? We had some, but my grandmother was a good cook, and she baked year round: bread, pies, cookies.

For me, Christmas was more about the carols: songs of mystery and longing, of promise fulfilled, of exuberant celebration.

In third grade, I earned a small Sunday School Bible of my own by memorizing the books of the Bible, and I started setting the Christmas story beside the already memorized carols. I was struck by the bit about Herod and the babies, and the flight to Egypt to escape Herod’s jealous wrath. I felt a kinship with Jesus, living in the shadow of a malevolent, unpredictable power.

I also felt a kinship with the shepherds, partly because I would have loved to have a lamb or two of my own, but more because they lived outside, as I would have been happy to do. As I grew older, I realized they were outsiders like me, not quite part of the community around them, marginal younger children, tolerated but not quite welcome.

Arthur Allen Lewis, Shepherd, 1927, NY

The more I lingered in the stories of Christ’s birth, the more I saw a growing cast of outsiders: Mary, am unmarried teen, suspiciously pregnant. Ragtag shepherds, running through the dark to share a ridiculous story of angel choirs and strange pronouncements. Old, extraneous Simeon, not quite ready to die. Strange old prophetess Anna, offering words quickly forgotten.

Even the wise men, the mysterious Magi: weren’t they outsiders too? Neither Jews nor Romans, travelers from some unknown land, carrying inappropriate gifts, setting off that chain reaction of jealousy, suspicion, and slaughter.

I saw in those stories hope for an outsider. Did God choose outsiders deliberately? Or were they the ones who were watching, and waiting, ready to hear something new?

When I got around to tackling the genealogy in Matthew 1, I found more outsiders. In the middle of endless names of men, there were just a few women: Tamar, a Canaanite, whose two evil husbands died, whose children, Perez and Zerah, were the product of pretended prostitution. Then Rahab, a Canaanite prostitute rescued from Jericho. Ruth, a Moabite, great grand-mother of King David. Bathsheba, mother of Solomon, recorded as the wife of Uriah the Hittite, although Solomon’s father is listed as David. That one short sentence carries a reminder that Bathsheba was unfaithful to her husband, and David arranged for Uriah’s death to hide the resultant pregnancy.

All four women were outsiders, alien in some way, with the hint of scandal attached to their names. If Matthew’s goal was to convince readers that Jesus was the ideal choice as Messiah, those weren’t the names to use. But if the goal was to say “God uses outsiders, and redeems broken families,” those names are deeply comforting.

Comforting as well was Mary’s song, the first Christmas carol:

His mercy extends to those who fear him,
    from generation to generation.
He has performed mighty deeds with his arm;
    he has scattered those who are proud in their inmost thoughts.
He has brought down rulers from their thrones
    but has lifted up the humble.
He has filled the hungry with good things
    but has sent the rich away empty.

I still go back, sometimes, to the question that troubled me as a skinny kid, in my baggy hand-me-down sweaters and itchy, too-long wool skirts: Was it that God chose the outsiders? Or were they the only ones ready to listen?

As my life becomes more comfortable, as I find myself surrounded by a warm, loving family, by caring friends, as I find my cupboards and closets full, I wonder: in my riches, am I less able to hear? Do I miss the good news, the voices God sends that aren't part of my comfortable circle?

Do I shelter myself from outsiders, like the shepherds? Would I welcome strange prophets, or weary travelers, carrying unexpected treasures?

In this season of lights, and food, and gifts, what can I be doing to keep my heart open to the humble, the hungry?

What a grief it would be, to find my stomach full, and my own heart empty.

To be an insider in things that don’t matter, and an outsider in the family of God.

O Rex Gentium
O King of our desire whom we despise,
King of the nations never on the throne,
Unfound foundation, cast-off cornerstone,
Rejected joiner, making many one,
You have no form or beauty for our eyes,
A King who comes to give away his crown,
A King within our rags of flesh and bone.
We pierce the flesh that pierces our disguise,
For we ourselves are found in you alone.
Come to us now and find in us your throne,
O King within the child within the clay,
O hidden King who shapes us in the play
Of all creation. Shape us for the day
Your coming Kingdom comes into its own.
                  Malcolm Guite, 2011 

Jourmey of the Magi, James Jaques Tissant, 1894, France

This post is part of the December synchroblog: Tell Me a Story

Jeremy Myers, Santa Clausette

Liz Dyer,  Dreams Do Come True

Leah Sophia, Planting Hope

Glen Hager, Christmas Surgery   

Kathy Escobar, the christmas story, friendship, and our crazy notions about neat & tidy

Wendy McCaig, Once Upon A Time  

It's also the second in a four-week Advent series. Other Advent posts:

Advent One: How Do I Know? Dec. 2, 2012 

The Christmas Miracle, Dec. 24, 2011

Common Miracles,  Dec. 18, 2011 

Voice in the Wilderness,  Dec. 11, 2011 

Metanoia,  Dec 4, 2011

Advent One: What I'm Waiting for, Nov. 26, 2011

Christmas Hope,  Dec. 24, 2010 

Marys' Song,  Dec. 19, 2010 

Advent Two: John the Baptist,  Dec. 12, 2010 

Makers, Takers, and Immoral Wealth Transfer

We’ve been hearing for years now: “47 percent of Americans don’t pay taxes.” Memes are hard to trace back, but this one seems to have started with a 2009 report by Tax Policy Center fellow Bob Williams, estimating that 47 % of “tax units” would pay no federal income tax in 2009. That number has shifted from year to year, but the 47% idea appears impervious to fact, and was solidified by launch of a "We are the 53%" Tumblr site: "Those of us who pay for those of you who whine about all of that . . . or that . . . or whatever."

We’ve also been hearing references to “makers and takers.” While this idea dates back as far as Ayn Rand (and probably far beyond that), it was affirmed and publicized by a 2008 book by Peter Schwizer called Makers and Takers: Why conservatives work harder, feel happier, have closer families, take fewer drugs, give more generously, value honesty more, are less materialistic and envious, whine less . . . and even hug their children more than liberals.” (And yes, that's all part of the title.

A Fox News editorial in July energized the "maker taker" discussion once again:

"'A house divided against itself cannot stand.'  Abe Lincoln used those words in 1858 to describe a country that was careening toward civil war. Now we’re a house divided again and another civil war is coming, with the 2012 election as its Gettysburg.
Call it America’s coming civil war between the Makers and the Takers. 

"On one side are those who create wealth, America’s private sector. . .

"On the other are the public employee unions; left-leaning intelligentsia who see the growth of government as index of progress; and the millions of Americans now dependent on government through a growing network of government transfer payments,  from Medicaid and Social Security to college loans and corporate bailouts and handouts (think GM and Solyndra).

"Over the past century America’s private sector has been the source of productivity, innovation, creativity, and growth–and gave us the iPhone and iPad. The public sector has been the engine of entitlement, stagnation, and decline -- and gave us Detroit and the South Bronx.   . . .

"That public sector . . . brought us to the point where 48% of Americans are now on some form of government handout."

New York Times, Business Daily, How Do the 47% Vote?

Arthur Herman’s comments were repeated, reposted, retweeted thousands of times, and the ideas he shared continue to surface in poltical speeches, both private and public. The takers, that lazy 47 or 48%, are ruining our economy, fueling our debt, dependent on government handouts.

Set aside, if you can, the damaging, deliberately divisive image of a coming civil war.

And set aside the misleading suggestion that those who don’t pay federal income taxes don’t pay taxes at all, and the reality that many pay state, local, social security and FICA taxes, and all except the most indigent pay sales taxes.

And set aside the mean-spirited idea that our retired, our young, our disabled, are simply “takers” because our contribution can be accurately measured by whether we pay federal income taxes.

And set aside the strange idea that somehow the “private sector” is always the good guy, and the “public sector” just gets in the way.

Or the mention of "handouts" to GM and Solindra, without honest acknowledgement of far larger handouts to fossil fuel, banks, agribusiness, and a host of other private sector enterprises never questioned by those decrying "the growth of government."

Who, really, are the “makers” and the “takers”?

And which direction is wealth being transferred?

This whole question of entitlements is at the heart of the upcoming election: aren’t we tired of the entitlements of the old, the sick, the poor? Aren’t we angry about grants for low income students, subsidized housing for low income families, nutrition assistance for those who don’t work hard enough to feed the children they brought into this world?

And isn’t it immoral to transfer wealth from one group to another?

There’s the question that interests me most: transfer of wealth. Isn’t that socialism?

We’ve been watching a transfer of wealth on a scale hard to imagine, made possible by globalization and the increasing mobility of the global elite.

Fueled and funded, in large part, by quiet shifts in rules that allow government handouts to those who need them least.

But the transfer isn’t the one “makers and takers” proponents have their spotlights on.

Just consider one small change: the capital-gains tax cut of 2003.

A May, 2003, the House Ways and Means committee reported: “In tax year 2003, the capital-gains tax cut which only covers eight months of the year is worth $30,700 to millionaires, but only $42 to households with incomes between $40,000 and $50,000.”

If the average millionaire saved $30,000 in 8 months, that’s $45,000 for the next full tax year. Not bad for a small tax sleight-of-hand.

Most of the “entitlements” so hotly denounced yield small amounts for the families in question: the average SNAP (nutrition assistance) benefit for a family of four is about $6,000. A maximum Pell Grant for a full-time college student is $5,550.  The maximum SSI (social security income) for a disable individual is about $8,400 a year.

Where’s the outcry for the $45,000 a year in wealth transfer accomplished through the capital gains tax cut?

And that’s for the average millionaire. For those in even higher brackets, the take is far, far greater.

Another wealth transfer to consider: mortgage deductions. Why does the government subsidize home ownership, and at what cost? Who benefits?

Full disclosure: my husband and I own a home. We deduct our mortgage – which gives us a tax break each year of at most $2,000.

If we owned a larger, more expensive home, the break would be bigger: according to a recent Pew Charitable Trust study, families in the highest income categories receive a tax subsidy on average of almost $18,000.

I’m happy to see some of my tax dollars help provide housing for those most in need of it. In fact, yes, I’d be willing to give up my own mortgage deduction to ensure adequate housing for families I know who are currently living in substandard, crowded rentals.

But I’m not happy to think that tax subsidies are incentivizing purchase of second homes, or wasteful McMansions. And puzzled that the same people who object to small contributions to the poor are so unconcerned about very large contributions to the rich.

Last year four thousand families with net earnings of over a million each paid no federal income taxes at all. That’s a wealth transfer of hundreds of thousands per each “tax unit.” Do we care?

The difficulty in all of this is a distaste for numbers, a dislike for taxes, and a willingness to believe that “they” are stealing “my” money.  But who are “they”? And what can I do about it?

The Center on Budget and Policy Priorities works hard to make numbers visible: their contributions make clear that “the takers” are not always those struggling hardest to get by, and while there may be some “takers” at the low end of the economic ladder, the biggest takers, and the most dangerous to our economy, are at the other end:

Read that housing benefit chart carefully: last year, the goverment gave $105,000,000,000 - $105 billion - in tax benefits for mortgage deductions. Add all the other housing subsidies together, and the total is less than half that. Who are the takers? Where's the wealth transfer?

The current wealth transfer goes much deeper, though, than tax cuts for the wealthy. I’m still trying to understand: how did it become possible for CEOs to pay themselves hundreds of times more than their workers? Why do workers reap an increasingly small share of profit in companies with strong bottom lines? Why do almost one in three working families still struggle to make ends meet? Who benefits from pushing back worker protections, or holding the line on minimum wages?

Who are the takers: the Walmart employees who make $11.75 an hour, $20,000 per year, often paying a large percentage of their wages for health care benefits, often scheduled week to week, with shifting hours that make a second job impossible?

Or the six heirs to the Walmart fortune, who now have a net worth of 89.5 billion, equal to the bottom 41.5 percent of US families combined.

Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr. wrote in 1904, “taxes are the price we pay for a civilized society.” Who benefits from the argument against raising taxes in the upper brackets? Which loopholes are our politicians willing to close, and at what cost, what benefit?

Another Supreme Court justice,  Louis Brandeis, wrote in 1897, “we may have a democracy or we may have great wealth concentrated in the hands of a few, but we cannot have both.” That's even more true when that great wealth can be used, without limit, to influence elections, platforms, policies.

The Apostle James, two thousand years ago, wrote:

“Listen, my dear brothers and sisters: Has not God chosen those who are poor in the eyes of the world to be rich in faith and to inherit the kingdom he promised those who love him? But you have dishonored the poor. Is it not the rich who are exploiting you? Are they not the ones who are dragging you into court? Are they not the ones who are blaspheming the noble name of him to whom you belong? If you really keep the royal law found in Scripture, 'Love your neighbor as yourself,' you are doing right. But if you show favoritism, you sin and are convicted by the law as lawbreakers.”

Givers? There are many ways to give. Money is only one measure of our contribution.

Takers? We all take, some of us humbly, and with gratitude. Some of us on a far greater scale, with a far greater sense of entitlement, and far greater harm to those we take from.

Immoral wealth transfer?  The divide continues to grow. The question James asked the church has never been more relevant: “Is it not the rich who are exploiting you? . . . Are they not the ones who are blaspheming the noble name of him to whom you belong?”


Join the conversation.  Look for the "__ comments" link below to leave your comments.  

This is part of an continuing series about faith and politics: What's Your Platform?

Blessed by Government

Last Sunday evening, kayaking on nearby Marsh Creek Lake, I startled a great blue heron, which flew up, squawking, to watch me from a perch high in an dead tree.Two young wood ducks stood their ground on a tree trunk sloping into the water; a belted kingfisher scolded as it flew across the water. 

Circling the far end of the lake I saw a large bird flying toward me, large and dark against the pink of the setting sun. As it came closer I saw the clean white of its stately head, the white of its tail, the strong beat of its large, dark wings: a bald eagle. It passed not far over my head and I turned to watch it go, powerful, determined. I hold the scene in my mind: the striking black and white of the eagle, the pink of the perfect clouds, the green of surrounding trees, the still, blue black of the quiet lake. 

As I turned back toward the landing, a strange thought hit me: this is government at its best. Be thankful. 

Odd thought, right? Yet the moment was made possible by wise government, effectively applied. 

Not long ago, the eagle was on the brink of extinction. Once common on any open waterway, hunting and loss of habitat had diminished their numbers. The 1940 Bald Eagle Act made hunting eagles illegal, but numbers continued to slide.

In 1962, Rachel Carson’s book Silent Spring described the impact of DDT on eagles and other birds of prey. The chemical, indiscriminately sprayed to control mosquitos and other insects, was ingested by birds, resulting in thin-shelled eggs which broke prematurely. In the following decade, ornithologists, ecologists, toxicologists, insect control specialists and cancer researchers testified regarding the wide-spread harm of DDT, not just to birds, but to the rest of us as well, and in 1972 the federal government banned its use.

By the mid-sixties, fewer than 500 nesting pairs of bald eagles existed in the continental U.S.; now, four decades after the DDT ban, that number is up to around twenty thousand and it’s once again possible to see eagles flying over local lakes and rivers. 

Without federal environmental regulations, properly enforced, the eagle would be long gone, and with it much of the open land, clean air, beautiful shorelines that contribute so deeply to our quality of life.

But my moment of enjoying the eagle in Marsh Creek Park also owed much to state funding of the Department of Conservation of Natural Resources, DCNR, which funds and operates 120 state parks. Other government entities have a hand in the park as well: it was created to help supply drinking water through the Chester County Water Resources Authority. The Pennsylvania Department of Environmental Protection maintains oversight of water quality, ensuring safe water for our community and others. The Pennsylvania Fish and Boat Commission oversees fish populations and boating safety. 

I’m thankful for them all, and thankful for the lake, the park, the clean water every time I turn my faucet. 

I’m thankful for government, and all it contributes to me, my family, my friends. 

I find myself increasingly impatient with arguments for “small government,” or admiring repetition of Grover Norquist’s fatuous goal: “to shrink government to the size where we can drown it in a bathtub.” 

Yes, there are countries with smaller governments than ours. Most of them have high rates of illiteracy, inconsistent power supply, inadequate water and sanitation, makeshift health care, insufficient infrastructure. Somalia comes to mind. With no Coast Guard, piracy is rampant. Only 8% of girls in the country enter secondary school, along with 12% of boys. Just 30% of the population has access to “improved” drinking water. Life expectancy? Fifty. 

Maybe we don’t really want a government small enough to drown in a bathtub? Just cut it in half. That would put us at the level of Ethiopia, with government spending at 19.4% of GDP (ours, in 2011, was 38.9%). Ethiopia’s literacy rate?  35.9%. Girls in secondary school? 23%. “Improved” drinking water? 38%. Life expectancy? Sixty.

This argument for smaller government misses the point: we’ve agreed that well-cared for public roads are a value. We’ve prospered with well-funded public education. We’ve asked for help in caring for our elderly, our poor, our chronically ill.  We’ve voted for parks, museums, libraries, infrastructure like public water, sewage, trash collection. We worked hard for regulations on air, water, wages, working conditions. 

The issue, as far as I can see, isn’t big versus small but effective versus ineffective, just versus unjust, wise versus unwise.

There are voices calling to privatize everything from education to roads to parks to ports. 

Who profits? Who loses? Who benefits? Who doesn’t?

In my own state of Pennsylvania, our governor and representatives refused to tax the booming natural gas industry, instead charging a modest “impact fee.” The 2012 budget cut business taxes by $288 million and doubled funding for tax credits for businesses supporting privatized education.

In the name of “smaller government,” it reduced child care programs for low-income working families, eliminated cash assistance for some of the state's most chronically unemployed, sliced funding for county-provided human services, significantly reduced environmental protection staffing at a time when that protection is needed more than ever. The “small government” budget also ensured that needed repairs on roads and bridges are postponed; Pennsylvania now holds the dubious honor of being the state with the largest number of deteriorating bridges. Five thousand of our bridges, one out of four, are in need of structural repair.  

“Government” isn’t some elusive, alien power, sapping our energy, intent on stealing our health and wealth. “Government” is the elementary strings teacher, Mr. Madden, who taught me to love music and practice hard. The deeply commited principal, Carol Bradley, who postponed retirement to shepherd my kids’ elementary school back from the brink of divisive disaster. It’s our old friend Jim Wilson, getting up at four in the morning to go plow the highways, or John M., the park ranger, working hard to preserve park programs he fought for but can no longer staff as his budget is cut once again. 

As I said, I’m thankful for government. Deeply thankful: government helped me pay for college, helped us buy our first home, helped us keep my grandmother in her home when she was too frail to navigate her daily tasks. 

Are there places where I’d make cuts? Happily:

Ecowatch: How Your Tax Dollars become Twinkies

I’d be happy to cut spending on high-tech weapons when we already outspend the next fourteen nations combined. 

And happy to see us spend less locking non-violent offenders away, exploring a mix of public service, restitution, rehab. 

I’d gladly cut agribusiness subsidies - billions of dollars a year spent to undermine our health and undercut small organic farmers. 

And fossil fuel subsidies: do companies whose CEOs receive millions a year really need government billions to keep themselves afloat?

I’m sure I could find more to cut, although oddly, the things I’d cut are the things defended most strongly by those advocating small government.

But teachers? Policemen? Bridge builders? We’ve cut too many already. Hire them back. Fast.

What about government inspectors checking conditions in slaughter houses, factories, restaurants? According to small government proponents, we don’t need them. Not the EPA, the FDA, the FAA, OSCHA.  

A ProPublica review of 220,000 natural gas well inspections found that one well integrity violation was issued for every six hydraulic fracturing wells examined, yet in Pennsylvania, the DEP (Department of Environmental Protection) has had its budget cut so sharply that less than one in three wells are inspected each year, and those inspections are done so quickly it's a wonder any violations are observed at all. 

Who benefits when regulations and staffing are cut? When manufacturing waste is dumped into rivers or allowed to seep into uninspected aquifers? When working conditions are left to the good will of employers? When companies can tell you what they want about their products and you have no way of knowing if it’s true?

I suppose that question, who benefits?, will have to wait for another day. 

For today, again, I’m thankful for government, imperfect as it is. Thankful for the bright blue, unpolluted sky, the clean water in my tap, the well-paved roads, the traffic lights that work, the dependable public sewage, the electric grid that powers this computer. 

And for all those people, part of government, who have contributed, continue to contribute, to the lives we take for granted, lives unthinkably easy compared to those with smaller governments, lives unimaginably blessed.

What aspects of government are you thankful for today? Which would you grieve the loss of? Which do we take too much for granted?

Join the conversation.  Look for the "__ comments" link below to leave your comments.  

This is part of an continuing series about faith and politics: What's Your Platform?

Welfare to Work and a Plea for Wisdom

Happy Labor Day.

I’m thankful today for jobs I’ve had – for the chance to work, to grow, to contribute. I’m thankful for my husbands’ good jobs, that my kids have work, that we have health care, homes, food to eat.

And I’m prayerful for all the people in my life who aren’t able to say the same: who have never had jobs that allowed them to thrive, who have never had room to stretch and grow, whose health care is uncertain, whose days are devoted to counting change, juggling bills, wishing there were a few dollars more so the kids could go on the next class field trip.

I was tempted to repost my Labor Day post from last year. The issues I discussed are relevant to current political discussion.

But this past week there's been much discussion on another labor related issues: welfare to work and the new state waivers. I've been hearing that "Obama gutted welfare reform," listening to people repeat “Obama said people on welfare don’t need to work.”  I've been praying for greater wisdom, on the part of leaders and voters, about the complex, troubling world of the poor, and I've been wishing that all of us, rich, comfortable, opinionated, wise in our own well-being, could spend a week or two exploring the reality of poverty in these United States.

First, we’d learn, fast, that survival is complicated. Start with the acronyms. Ever heard of TANF? That’s Temporary Assistance to Needy Families. Note the “Temporary.” TANF is the program prompting all the discussion. It grew out of the Welfare to Work legislation of 1996, but is so overburdened with record keeping, reporting requirements, conflicting conditions and consequences that many states find themselves putting more energy into documenting compliance than in effectively helping people find jobs. Here in Pennsylvania, people I know who have attempted TANF compliance have found themselves logging hours in a room with some crumpled want-ads, with no real hope of finding work, caught in a perpetual study hall with nothing to study, while their children are watched by neighbors or running free on city streets.

Which partially explains why 29 Republican governors signed a letter back in 2005 asking for waivers allowing state governments more flexibility in helping people move into the work force. Governors Rick Perry of Texas, John Huntsman of Alabama, Jeb Bush of Florida, Mike Huckabee of Arkansas, and Mitt Romney of Massachusetts were among those who signed the letter. Then President Bush ignored the request, but the issue was raised again last summer with a detailed proposal from Utah Governor Gary Herbert of Utah.

Those requests were met last month with a ruling authorizing increased flexibility, dependent on states continuing to meet or exceed the original goals of TANF: “helping parents successfully prepare for, find, and retain employment.” As the explanatory memorandum from the Department of Health and Human Services makes clear:

 “The Administration for Children and Families (ACF) is interested in more efficient or effective means to promote employment entry, retention, advancement, or access to jobs that offer opportunities for earnings and advancement that will allow participants to avoid dependence on government benefits. . . HHS will only consider approving waivers relating to the work participation requirements that make changes intended to lead to more effective means of meeting the work goals of TANF.”

Center on Budget and Policy Priorities

The fact that governors who requested waivers are not strongly and vocally supporting this decision seems the height of dishonesty. Anyone who wants to see an end to regulation, stronger states rights, less federal government interference, should be applauding this change, rather than spreading misinformation and turning a malignant spotlight on those who find themselves in need of help.

Let’s pause, though, and ask: how much money are we talking about here? And how many people? People talk about welfare queens, as if there are people taking their ease while public assistance pays the bills. Current TANF allotments in most states are less than half the poverty level. In Pennsylvania, a single-parent family with two kids can expect $407 per month. Not enough to pay rent on even a studio apartment in any but the poorest neighborhood, so the single moms I know are camped out with their kids in one bedroom in someone else’s house, or scraping together whatever help they can find to perch precariously in inadequate, aging housing, hoping the sole toilet doesn’t break.

According to TANF regulations, no family can receive assistance for more than five years, total. And if a parent tries to go back to school to make a slightly better job possible, current TANF regulations allow exactly twelve months of assistance before that parent needs to get out in the work force.

Add in SNAP (that’s the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program – previously food stamps, now a digitized card, like a credit card), and a family on assistance is still far below the poverty level.
Since the Welfare to Work legislation took place, the number of families receiving aid has declined by 60 percent, even with increased unemployment and significantly increased poverty.

While Welfare to Work rules have encouraged significant numbers back into the workforce, it has also resulted in more and more families in extreme poverty, with less and less help for food, rent, and other necessities.

Center on Budget and Policy Priorities

What happens when families are “sanctioned” because a parent fails to comply with the job search requirements? Or when the sixty month window expires? Assistance ends. Even though there are few jobs available. Even though the jobs open to someone with a GED and one year of training often pay minimum wage, no benefits, an no control over hours.

So back to my wish. For those with strong opinions about welfare and “the lazy poor”, of those not interested in poverty platforms, I wish we could all spend a week trying to figure it out: how to get to the welfare office by bus with a child or two in tow. How to feed a family on a few dollars a day, with limited transportation, limited space for storage. How to look and smell clean when there's no money for the laundromat. How to prioritize when there's not enough money to meet even the top priorities of housing, food, clean clothing.

We’d learn that life is confusing, with piecemeal offerings of help, confusing requirements, changing deadlines. We’d learn that hard choices are constant: get the brakes on the ancient van fixed, or buy the calculator needed for school? Pay the phone bill, or stock up on toilet paper?

Forget sports teams for the kids, summer camp, music lessons, braces. The questions are more immediate: milk or orange juice? Sneakers that fit, or a second-hand winter coat?

Yes, if you want, we can go back to the underlying question: isn’t it their fault they’re poor? These single moms: didn’t they make some bad choices?

Here’s a question of my own: where were you living when you were sixteen? Who was helping you think things through? Who was making sure you had a bed to sleep in? Who was holding you when you cried?

The 2009 film Precious, based on the first-person account of a young urban mom, did a great job of capturing the reality of many who struggle. Not an easy film to watch, but maybe it should be required viewing for all of us, politicians, pundits, person in the street.

This issue of work, welfare, and what we say about the poor is personal to me. My own family was on welfare when I was sixteen: food stamps, rent and medical assistance. We lived in a single parent household, with my grandmother as sole guardian. She was working long hours at a low wage job, working so hard she had a heart attack. Fortunately, she lived. Not every story ends so well. The issue is also personal to me because of my years of involvement in a poor Philly neighborhood, and my many friends with painful stories of their own. Until we find better ways of intervening in cycles of dysfunction, sexual violence, neglect, mental illness, drug dependence, we will not solve the problem of poverty.

Yes, there are people who continue to make unwise choices, and some who game the system, but the people I know who benefit from TANF are longing for a chance, struggling to survive, wishing they could find good jobs, worrying about their kids. They would benefit from more creative, more flexible programs. They are badly hurt when assistance to the poor becomes a political football and their needs and hopes are buried in partisan maneuvering.

What do I take from this?

• Our politicians need to be honest about programs and policies. If they endorsed a policy because of its merits, they should say so, rather than be silenced by party politics, or bullied into opposing something they know would help.
• Arguments about putting the poor to work should acknowledge our current climate: even people with years of experience, with extensive training and supportive networks, find it hard to find jobs that support their families. There are better ways to help families in need than insisting ill-equipped parents waste time looking for non-existent jobs rather than take the time needed to improve parenting and literacy skills and train for real long-term employment.
• Compassion for the poor requires knowing people who struggle, trying to understand the realities they face, and finding practical ways to share the burdens. Without that compassion, our opinions are sounding gongs, or clashing symbols, and do far more harm than good. 

“This is what the LORD Almighty said: ‘Administer true justice; show mercy and compassion to one another.  Do not oppress the widow or the fatherless, the foreigner or the poor” Zechariah 7:9-10

This is part of a continuing series on politics and faith: What's Your Platform.

Please join the conversation. Your thoughts and experiences are always welcome. Look for the "__ comments" link below to leave your comments.

Struggling to Proclaim Good News

We’re four months away from an important election. Pundits who have watched our election seasons for years seem alarmed at the way this particular season is playing out, and respected analysts who track the ups and downs of economies and parties worry that we are at a particularly troubling time in the progress of democracy.

We all have theories about what’s gone wrong, who’s to blame, what should be done.

How many of our theories have been carefully explored? How many of our assumptions have been handed down, gathered up, passed on with little understanding of what’s behind them, where they might be taking us?

I’ve been puzzling over a lecture by N. T. Wright, until recently Bishop of Durham in the Church of England, now Research Professor of New Testament and Early Christianity at  St Andrews University in Scotland. The lecture, delivered at a symposium on “Men, Women and the Church” sponsored in 2004 by Christians for Biblical Equality, was about women in ministry, not American politics, but in his introductory remarks Wright called attention to a concern I find increasingly relevant, and increasingly troubling. Wright was attempting to explain that his position, and his language, might easily be misunderstood and misrepresented by American Christians:

Part of the problem, particularly in the United States, is that cultures become so polarized that it is often assumed that if you tick one box you’re going to tick a dozen other boxes down the same side of the page – without realising that the page itself is highly arbitrary and culture-bound. We have to claim the freedom, in Christ and in our various cultures, to name and call issues one by one with wisdom and clarity, without assuming that a decision on one point commits us to a decision on others. I suspect, in fact, that part of the presenting problem which has generated CBE [Christians for Biblical Equality] is precisely the assumption among many American evangelicals that you have to buy an entire package or you’re being disloyal, and that you exist [that is, CBE exists] because you want to say that on this issue, and perhaps on many others too (gun control? Iraq?), the standard hard right line has allowed itself to be conned into a sub-Christian or even unChristian stance.

Wright highlights a problem that any thoughtful Christian has surely encountered: if I say I’m a Christian, the assumption, from both left and right, is that I endorse a long list of positions that have little to do with faith in Christ or commitment to scripture. As Wright says, many American evangelicals, and many who oppose them, assume that the Christian platform is predetermined, uniform, and clear.

But if, as Wright suggests “that standard hard right line,” as he calls it, “has allowed itself to be conned into a sub-Christian or even unChristian stance,” then as followers of Christ, we not only have the freedom, but the responsibility, of naming and calling issues “one by one with wisdom and clarity.”

Wright’s concern, in the lecture in question, has to do with the role of women in ministry. He mentions gun control and Iraq as two other places where assumed agreement with “the hard right line” might be problematic for thoughtful Christians, but that list of questionable check boxes grows longer by the day:

Global warming? How did the “Christian” view become so strongly linked to the ambitions of the fossil fuel industry, and so strongly opposed to concerns about climate change, desertification, clean water and clean air?

Gun control? Since when do followers of the Prince of Peace endorse the right to own machine guns, carry concealed weapons, shoot first rather than turn the other cheek?

Immigration? Health care? Nutrition assistance? Public education? What shapes our views? How do “biblical values” play out in the political arena? What do we do when “biblical values” have no biblical basis, but instead mirror the agendas of global corporations, wealthy investors, powerful entities determined to protect their power?

As I was thinking and praying about the role of government, I received an email update from a blog I follow. Vinoth Ramachandra, a Sri Lankan leader in the International Fellowship of Evangelical Students, reflects on "Compassion and Justice":

"Justice is the fundamental calling of governments. The biblical picture of the ideal king (e.g. Psalm 72) is of one who renders justice to the afflicted and downtrodden. Interestingly, even the healing ministry of Jesus is seen by Matthew as not merely expressing compassion, but as the fulfilment of the Messianic promise of justice realized (see Matt 12: 15-20). Justice restores human beings to a state of flourishing.

"All this is deeply relevant to the debates taking place today, in Asia and Africa, as much as in Europe and North America, about the responsibilities of government. Churches and NGOs are often unwitting instruments in the hands of those governments who want to abdicate their responsibility to their poor citizens (and, indeed, the poor elsewhere who are affected by their policies). Governments would rather have the churches and NGOs alleviate the social discontent arising from their misplaced priorities. Alleviation we should do, but not at the price of silent complicity in those policies.

"Whenever Christians unthinkingly join the right-wing protests against “welfare cheats” (a miniscule number in comparison with the number of rich folk and companies who steal from public funds), argue against government economic regulation (in the name of “minimal government” which, in practice, is government that gives charity in the form of tax breaks, subsidies and bail-outs to the wealthy and powerful), or speak of poverty as if it were simply a matter of individual choice, even their private charity (however sincerely motivated) may be cementing the walls of injustice in the world. Should they not be returning to their Bibles and delving more deeply into the Christian tradition that they profess?"

One of my goals for the months ahead is to do what both N. T. Wright and Vinoth Ramachandra suggest: to look at individual issues that confront us, to see them in the light of scripture, to think them through as faithfully as I can.

For those dear friends who have said “I like when you talk about prayer, but wish you’d leave politics alone,” please understand: when loud Christian voices affirm policies that oppose the good news of God’s kingdom, when groups espousing “biblical values” denounce attempts to help the poor and unprotected, my (our) silence is complicity. The message of hope we’re called to share cannot be heard when the message of “Christians” becomes a message of exclusion, self-protection, judgment. How do we join with Christ in proclaiming good news to the poor without first examining our allegiance to the rich?

More than ever, I welcome your thoughts about which issues to consider, as well as your insight, comments, and questions.  Look for the "__ comments" link below to leave your comments.

‘The Spirit of the Lord is on me,
    because he has anointed me
    to proclaim good news to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners
    and recovery of sight for the blind,
    to set the oppressed free,
to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour.’
    (Isaiah 61:1-2, Luke 4:18-19) 

This is part of an continuing series about faith and politics: What's Your Platform?

More than ever, I welcome your thoughts about which issues to consider, as well as your insight, comments, and questions.  Look for the "__ comments" link below to leave your comments.

The Great Reversal: A Resurrection People

“Jesus's resurrection is the beginning of God's new project not to snatch people away from earth to heaven but to colonize earth with the life of heaven. . . . Our task in the present . . . is to live as resurrection people in between Easter and the final day.” ( N.T. Wright, Surprised by Hope)

What does it mean to live as resurrection people? As agents of hope in a world where hope is in short supply?

How do we demonstrate – in our daily actions – our confidence that death is no longer the final word?

What does it look like to live so aligned with Jesus, so like him in word, deed, motive, that people who see us see evidence of resurrection?

The sermon on the mount is a good place to start. Looking back, it becomes clear that Matthew 6 is the proclamation of the Great Reversal: a new kingdom coming, a new way to live. Jesus says: Look, you do it this way. Turn it upside down.

Blessed are the rich and powerful? No – blessed are the poor and humble.

You love those who love you? Love those who don’t as well.

You worry? Learn to trust.

You want your own way? Want my way instead.

This reversal shows up in small ways through the gospels: tax collector Zacchaeus, stunned by Jesus’ acceptance and forgiveness, decides to give half his possessions to the poor and pay back four-fold anyone he’s cheated.

Woman at the Well, Hyatt Moore, US

The Samaritan woman at the well starts her story afraid to draw water at the normal times, reluctant to talk with Jesus, a secretive woman burdened by shame. She ends her story sharing the news of Jesus with everyone in town; according to Orthodox tradition, she was renamed Photini, "Equal to the Apostles,” and went on to witness in Africa and Rome before being martyred for her faith.

Were there others whose lives demonstrated a reversal of intent, a radical, visible change? Certainly people were healed. Lives were redirected. The teaching and example of Jesus attracted plenty of attention.

But in the gospels, although Jesus taught about the coming kingdom, it wasn’t really visible in the lives of his followers. The sons of Zebedee, James and John, were still wondering how to maneuver their way to power. Peter, self-focused from the start, was busy with his own off-beat agendas. Mary and Martha bickered about the proper role for a spiritual woman. All seemed convinced their own ideas, their own plans for the future, would somehow work better than whatever Jesus had in mind.

What Jesus had in mind, in his cross and resurrection, took their ideas, plans, hopes, vision of how the world should work, and shredded them. Completely.

Want power? Turn the other cheek. Again.

Want a future? Let your best hopes die.

Want to be an insider? Part of the gang? One of the club? Align yourself with the marginalized, forgotten, despised. Set your reputation with theirs. Claim their abandonment as your own.

The resurrection isn’t some sweet idea of spring and tulips and happy thoughts rising as the days begin to lengthen.

It’s God’s deep song of joy, rising up from the very darkest place of pain and grief: the story isn’t over. The hardest word is not the last. The thing you feared most is the best gift yet. The deepest loss is the avenue to deepest joy.

Beyond that, with the knowledge of that, everything changes.

The Crucifixion of Peter, Filippino Lippi,
c. 1581 , Florence

The disciples, once fearful, found themselves courageous beyond imagining: singing in the face of imprisonment, merry in the face of floggings, buoyant when confronted with crosses, lions, vats of oil, stones, beheading, new instruments of torture. Their persecutors exhausted themselves trying to find more frightening forms of execution. And still the disciples, and those who came after, women, teens, thousands on thousands, went to their death rather than deny the truth they’d come to believe: Jesus was God himself, raised from the dead, bringing freedom for anyone who would follow.

Origen, an early church theologian, at seventeen lost his father to beheading, lived most of his life under the threat of persecution, spent years in hiding and more years suffering a mix of ingenious tortures. In his “Principles,” he wrote:

“When God gives the Tempter permission to persecute us, we suffer persecution. And when God wishes us to be free from suffering, even though surrounded by a world that hates us, we enjoy a wonderful peace. We trust in the protection of the One who said, ‘Be of good cheer, for I have overcome the world. . .  From His victory we take courage.'”

The power of the Christ’s victory showed up not just in the courage of the new followers, but also in outrageous generosity.

Resurrection people, from the start, have shared things with each other, and with those in need. Not just now and then. Not just when the harvest is exceptional, or the person in need a particular friend.

“All the believers were together and had everything in common. They sold property and possessions to give to anyone who had need. . . They broke bread in their homes and ate together with glad and sincere hearts, praising God and enjoying the favor of all the people” Acts 3. 

The early resurrection people acted as if they understood, and could trust completely, what Jesus had said: we don’t need to worry about our own stuff. We can let go of the anxiety, the fear of scarcity, the competitive worry that if I feed you today, my family will go hungry tomorrow.

Ignatius of Antioch:  "I prefer death in Christ Jesus
 to power over the farthest limits of the earth. . .
 He who rose for our sakes is my one desire."

Justin Martyr, in one of the earliest histories of the church, wrote:

“We who used to value the acquisition of wealth and possessions more than anything else now bring what we have into a common fund and share it with anyone who needs it.”

Clement, describing the change visible in any person who took on the name of “Christian,” noted:

 “He impoverishes himself out of love, so that he is certain he may never overlook a brother in need, especially if he knows he can bear poverty better than his brother. He likewise considers the pain of another as his own pain. And if he suffers any hardship because of having given out of his own poverty, he does not complain.”

Clement, like the others who chose to live the resurrection, put a high value on love: your pain is my pain. Your poverty is my poverty. Your illness is my illness.

In Philippians 2, Paul says “Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of the others.”

Who does that? Who puts the interests of others first? Not occasionally, but daily? Not when it’s easy, but when it costs health, future, personal safety?

When plague devastated the 3rd century world, Christians cared for the sick, gathered and took into their homes people thrown into the street by family members fearful of becoming infected.

When Romans and others threw their deformed, surplus, unwanted babies on trash piles or into rivers, Christians gathered them up, fed them, cared for them as their own.

John Chrysostom taught, "If you see anyone in affliction, do not be curious to enquire further... [the needy person] is God's, whether he is a heathen or a Jew; since even if he is an unbeliever, still he needs help."

As Justin Martyr observed:

“We used to hate and destroy one another and refused to associate with people of another race or country. Now, because of Christ, we live together with such people and pray for our enemies.” 

Inexplicable courage, outrageous generosity, sacrificial love. There have been glimpses of those in every culture, in every age.

But only in gatherings of resurrection people do these traits become visible on a scale that rearranges history.

St. Francis and the Leper, Frederic Loisel
1961, France

Resurrection people were the first to imagine free, generous care for the sick.

Resurrection people were the first to offer financial and emotional support for the aging who had no families to care for them.

Resurrection people started the first orphanages, the first free schools, the first homes for the mentally unwell.

Resurrection people worked, and continue to work, to end the ugly sin of slavery.

The story goes on and on, from the first centuries following the resurrection, through stories of Benedict and Francis, through the leper colonies of Africa, mission to untouchable Dalits in India, prison ministry in forgotten holes of misery around the globe.

Yes, generosity shows up in people of other faiths, and no faith. So does courage. So does love.

And yes – people calling themselves Christians have done great harm, in many ways. That’s a story for another day.

But the sheer volume of care, poured out by resurrection people, year by year, country by country, gives proof to a reversal of agenda with no other explanation than Christ’s defeat, through love, of hate and death, and his invitation to live as new people in a new, unending kingdom.

Where that reversal is visible, God’s glory is made clear, the good news is heard and joyfully received, and God’s people “shine like stars as they hold out the word of life” (Philippians 2:15).

This is the second in a series about Resurrection.

• Risen Indeed: The Hermaneutic Community

As always, your thoughts and comments are welcome. Click on the   __ comments link below to post.