Tools
A poem by Wilda Morris.
A poem by Wilda Morris.
We are all tired of Covid-19, but evidently it isn’t tired of us. Therefore, we set the policies that feel right to us and respect when others do the same. As much as we care about making people happy, and want to make things easier for them, right now is a time we ask that they cross the river, stay on the train, and do whatever it takes to honor our boundaries. We do so in part because the lives we have, as created beings, aren’t a privilege but a gift we’ve been invited to tend with loving care.
The Lenten season and Holy Week recall gospel lessons and other passages of Scripture appropriate to the season, yet we need to ask if we read these sacred texts of “Old” and “New” Testaments with awareness of the history that has unfolded over the past two millennia.
I have a particular love, and appreciation, for pastors. And I worry that “a time is coming, and now is…” when we will not be able to make a living being pastors.
Jesus, on his purple journey, faced injustice, unequal treatment, and unfairness. Yet his final few teachings remain the cornerstone of Christianity
Here’s how you play.
Wake up in your safe suburban neighborhood, move
ahead two spaces…
Walk into store and watch
as they stare at your half-hidden face.
The mask, useless. Your onyx hair and
crescent eyes betray
your invisibility. Move back
three spaces.