I Heard the Bells....

I snuck over to the office this morning—a holiday, but I thought I’d get a few things done.

Everything OK?  Check.
E-mail answered?  Check.

Apparently I didn’t need to sneak.

On the way home the organ was playing Music for a Merry Christmas.  Ding-dong, Hark, Oh Come, Joy...you know.  As I drove down the Boulevard I Heard the Bells...and then I looked up...and there she was.  I don’t need to describe her for you.  These days we all know her.

As I drove on I wondered if the conversation could for once move beyond, “there but for the grace...” and “the poor you will always have...”. But then I realized that in order for that to happen, I’m going to need to change.  Not just everyone else.  Me.

I’m going to need to change, and many of the things I hold dear—the trappings (yes, trappings) of a capitalist culture rooted in the nostalgia of Euro-perfection (“nostalgia ain’t what it used to be”)—are going to need to go away, to be replaced by that new/old idea: that love of neighbor is the only guiding energy that will ever bring about that long hoped-for change and save us from ourselves.

If the hungry are going to be fed, I need to feed them.
If the naked are going to be clothed, I need to clothe them.
If the people without homes are going to find their way home, I need to help them.
If the planet is going to be saved from destruction, I need to stop the cycle of buying and dumping.
And if the walls are going to come down, I need to take them down.

If all that sounds radical, consider the tradition that makes the outrageous claim that the Divine can somehow be embodied in our own love of neighbor.

Sounds pretty radical to me...and kind of rings a bell.

Happy Holidays
Merry Christmas
Healthy New Year

I Am James

At first it all seemed fairly innocuous.  But then I wondered.

He was nice enough, even sincere.  And he even brought a gift.  But when the stranger named James left, I was left wondering...

The other night around eight I heard a voice at our door.  There stood a young man with some wind-chimes in his hands.

“I’ve walked by your place a bunch of times, and this may seem a little weird, but I have these wind chimes and I can’t put them up where I live, and I thought this was the kind of place where they would go.”

See what I mean?  After we chatted, after he gave me the wind chimes, after I thanked him for his thoughtfulness and after he left, I wondered:

Was he checking things out?  Was he casing the joint?  Would he return later on with nefarious intent?

I mean, he seemed nice enough.  His name was James...from Vermont...doesn’t live too far from here.

I was extra careful to lock the door that night, and have to admit I didn’t sleep all too well.  But the next morning everything was fine.  Even so, at work that next day I wondered if maybe I’d come home to a ransacked house.  But when I got home, everything was fine.

This evening I went out for a walk.  As I was traipsing around up in the hills I passed a woman: a stranger.  She smiled at me and said “hello,” but I could tell she was a little leery of this stranger walking down her quiet street.  And then it hit me.

I am James.

I’m a stranger to most everyone in this world, a stranger with no ill intent, maybe even with a smile or a gift.  But people don’t know me, and these days, more than ever, we’re all a bit suspicious.  With all we hear about and read about, it’s almost hard for us to imagine that a stranger would NOT wish us harm, let alone wish us well or give us a gift.

Which makes me wonder how many gifts are out there waiting for us, and how many strangers are out there waiting for—even NEEDING—our gifts, but we all seem to have forgotten who our neighbors really are.

Face It.

Face It!

Before we understand words, before we can put words to our thoughts, we can read.  But it’s not words on a page that we’re reading—it’s faces!

We don’t need the research to tell us this.  All we have to do is look at our babies. See how they are watching?  They are watching and they are reading very carefully—without a single word, they are reading all about our love, our joy, our anger, our sadness, our hope. 

Did you know that of all the living creatures on earth, human beings are among only five species that recognize our own faces?  Besides us, great apes, Asian elephants, Eurasian magpies, and bottlenose dolphins recognize their faces in a mirror. (Source: National Geographic...please see link below). But human beings are alone in the range of emotions we feel when gazing at our own reflections, and reading the faces of others.

I wonder, sometimes, how it must feel to be so completely rejected by society that people won’t even look—they only turn their faces away so they don’t have to expose themselves and read the pain, the hunger, the desperation on the faces of those they walk by.  I wonder, but the people we are helping at PATH (the agency where I work with some pretty amazing people to help end homelessness in Los Angeles) don’t have to—they experience that pain of rejection every single day. 

Every. Single. Day.

We often hear talk about the different ways people communicate.  With phones ringing and computers buzzing all around us, most of the time we think of communication in terms of words.  It’s verbal.  But there are other ways we communicate, ways often more powerful than with words—the so-called “non-verbals” like body posture, and facial expression. 

And so I ask, friends, what sort of message are you sending today?  What are people reading on your face?  Is it care?  Concern?  Hope?  Is it frustration, or impatience?  And what are you reading on the faces of those who have been rejected simply because they haven’t yet made it home?

It might just be a look—YOUR powerful look TODAY—that finally gets a message through—that someone really cares—turning the page and opening the door for healing to happen.

The Signs are Everywhere

In our little neighborhood we are celebrating the addition of a single stop sign.

For years now, crossing Fountain Avenue at Cherokee in Hollywood has been a source of wonder (as in, I wonder if we’re going to make it across?) and an adventure in trust (Does that driver see us?  Will they stop?).  The design of our frequent neighborhood walks has been patterned on the level of risk we have been willing to take, with optional routes considered taking into account factors like the time of day, the day of the week, and how much we happen to be enjoying life at the moment.

But no more!  Not long ago I was yet again contemplating the risk factors of a Fountain crossing when I was delighted to see that contemplation was no longer necessary.  The intersection that had so controlled us for decades was now under control, sporting a handy-dandy stop sign (a four-way, to boot!).  

Which got me thinking...

It’s just a stop sign, but without it, we’ve had to plan our lives differently than we do now.  We no longer need to wonder about our safety in the same way (True, just because there’s a sign there doesn’t mean they will stop for it!).  Our plans have changed.  The pattern of our lives has, even if only in a small way, changed.

There are, of course, bigger signs on the horizon.  The signs of the times have troubled many of us, and we are not alone in wondering if the pattern of life as we know it will be forever changed—and certainly not for the better.  Some of us may have read earlier signs and interpreted them to mean that the arc of history was indeed bending toward justice—but now we’re starting to wonder.  Are we at a dead end?

And there’s the actual climate, not just the political one.  Heat, fires, floods, droughts, oh my!  Have the signs been there all along...that our rampant consumption and self-centered and wasteful destruction would one day come crashing home and leave the whole biome crippled forever?  What new patterns of behavior are we willing to walk to help heal the planet?  What can each of us, and all of us, do?  

Maybe start by reading the signs.

When people are marching because they truly believe that they are superior to, or threatened by people who look a little different or pray a little differently or celebrate a different culture, that’s a sign.

When so much wealth is so concentrated in the hands of so few that it pushes people out of affordable housing and doesn’t provide them the support they need to live—when more and more people are not even a paycheck away from destitution, that’s a sign.

When we are stepping over human beings on the sidewalk without thinking (except maybe to pinch our noses and make that judgmental little “Tsk” noise we make), but get truly angry when the health department tells us that Foo Foo the Poodle shouldn’t have free reign in Trader Joe’s, that’s a sign.

When ice caps are melting and ash is falling from the skies, that’s a sign.

Stop.

Think.

Maybe it’s time for a re-design, based on an altogether new pattern for your life.

An Old Broom

I’m not even sure where it came from.  I think I found it in the gutter somewhere, or maybe on a trash heap.  Seems someone had pitched it because it seemed to them no longer useful.

Truth be told, it was no longer useful—at least not in the way it had once been.  The bristles were worn and many were just missing.  It kind of reminded me of the Wicked Witch’s broom AFTER she’d used it for a torch on that poor Scarecrow.  And you know, I’m sure I would have thrown it away too if I were only relying on it to serve its original purpose.

But purpose can change, can’t it?  That old broom that had been tossed aside is now the perfect tool for getting into those tight spots that a fully-bristled younger version might miss.

Which is all to say that as it turns out, there was nothing wrong with that old broom after all. It was only a lack of vision that tossed it on the trash heap.

I hope, one day, someone finds a use for this old broom too—even after it looks like the fire’s gone out.