There’s a Movement Afoot

Political authorities are anxious. There’s a movement afoot. Hierarchical norms are being threatened. And by whom? A young upstart, a radical who refuses to follow their long-held rules, who speaks of a new way, a better way that bypasses familiar authoritarian structures firmly in place. A young man no one had even heard of a few short years ago.

Now thousands of people gather around him, listen in awe to him, as he speaks words of wisdom well beyond his years. Words that make sense. Words saying that clearly something is wrong, very wrong. Something has to change. The old ways are the way of death and destruction.

He and his friends speak of the marginalized, those who are left out, pushed aside by a society that focuses on the educated, the wealthy, those from the right families. So they include them, make them part of their message in a profound way, and people listen. Intently.

Yes, he knows that money often changes hands in the power structures that be. Money he wants no part of. Even those who clamor after him and hang onto his every word do not fully comprehend. He wants no part of earthly power as it presently exists – corrupt, compassionless, evil.

To proclaim loudly and boldly for all to see that he is a different kind of leader, he rides into Jerusalem on the back of a donkey. No kingly procession for him. Just a humble one, befitting the humble servant of all humankind that he is. A humble servant who has come to spread a message of love, life, and liberation.

They treat him with disdain, dishonor. He is spat upon, mocked, whipped, and killed. Killed by Roman authorities in the most painful, excruciating way – by crucifixion. The authorities think they have won, but how wrong they are. How very, very wrong.

Because you cannot kill a movement, no matter how hard you may try. With opposition, movements grow, leaders are born, people find their voice. Momentum propels it forward as more join the movement because it is right. Because they too, are weary of the way things are. Because they too, know that new life lies ahead. Because they, too, have had enough.

His name is Jesus. The year is 33 AD. Or is it?

This Holy Week, as Christians remember Jesus whose death and resurrection started the Jesus Movement that is still going strong over 2,000 years later, may we all, regardless of our faith tradition, be emboldened to join new movements of justice in our own time.

Our voices are needed. Our commitment is needed. Our unfailing hope in a new tomorrow is needed. Desperately.

Because now, as then, enough is enough.


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Olympic Dream Born

There’s nothing like the Olympics. Nothing. The best athletes from around the world gather to represent their countries, to give it their all, to get to know one another, and of course, to compete.

olympicsHowever, the competition this year feels different, contains within it a seed of hope. As South and North Korea process in together under a unified flag even as nuclear threat looms, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity presents itself.

Gone is the posturing. Gone is the fear. Gone is the threat of the annihilation of literally millions of people. In its place are smiles, waving young people joined together in spirit if only for a moment. If only this could be the reflection of life today instead of military parades on both sides of the Pacific. If only nations could compete not on the battlefield, but on the sports field. If only.

One Olympic athlete excels beyond their dreams. Another has one mis-step that costs them everything. People are meant to compete in sports where hard work, skill, and relentless training all play a part, as can chance. Not in an arena filled with drones, nuclear warheads, and ICBMs where innocent people have no chance and all the skill in the world is utterly useless.

As Kim Jong-un’s sister smiles and waves seated a stone’s throw from Mike Pence, I can’t help wondering what is going through her mind. Does she grasp the reality in which her people and the South Koreans live? Does she see the pain behind the smiles? Does she see the worry? Does she see the abject fear?

An invitation extended. A small step taken. A tiny spark ignited. God at work.

An Olympic dream born.

The ancient Greeks had it right. Let the games begin.

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Things That Have Never Been

Creating Anew“And now let us welcome the new year, full of things that have never been.” – Rainer Maria Rilke

How daunting and thrilling it is to realize in a profound way, that the days ahead of us have never been. On the one hand, of course they’ve never been; we all know that. But the deeper question is what does or can that mean for us?

The reality that each day that lies before us has never been gives each of us an opportunity to join our creator in the act of creating. For you see, it is we who have the power, and I would assert – the call – to create something good and holy and life-giving from the days that are yet to be.

It is up to us. Each and every one of us. Are we going to allow others to define our days, who we are, what we do and how we shape them? Are we going to be merely reactive in a world that baffles and confuses us, or proactive?

In our country and world, where so much is at stake, I believe we are each called to not let others set the agenda for us. For whether we view Jesus, born anew this Christmas, as the Son of God (as do Christians) or a prophet (as do Jews and Muslims) or a good and decent human (as do many), our world would be a far different place if we followed his teaching and life.

His teaching that when we do something, anything, for the least of these our sisters and brothers, we do it to him – whether visiting the sick, the imprisoned, the poor, the lonely; whether feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, or welcoming the stranger. (Matthew 25) His teaching to love our neighbor as ourself. His actions of breaking taboos and reaching out to women, time and time again.

Imagine our world. Just imagine. In this year ahead “of things that have never been” it is we who will write the script and live the life. It is we who can join with our creator in creating anew that which is good and holy, if only we will do so.

Yes, opposing forces are all around us. They have been so from the beginning of time, and they always shall be. It is up to us to resist them and join together in creating a 2018 that follows the example of the One sent to us in a tiny manger over 2,000 years ago. He came and dwelt among us for a reason.

What will your 2018 look like?

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Following the Light

starI recently attended an Advent gathering at an Episcopal Church in Florida. It was held outdoors, under the stars, on a pitch black night. While walking in, I saw what I thought was a homeless person standing next to a wall. He had a beard, long hair, and was bent over wearing a baggy garment. Approaching with care, thinking of what I would say and how I would welcome him into our church community, I suddenly realized it was not a man, but a statue.

Rounding the corner, I saw a camel led by another man who was guiding the lanky animal down a winding path. Further ahead was a person crouched down, looking up at the stars. I then realized that these were life-size figures in a nativity set making their way to the Christ child and suddenly, I found myself on the journey with them, right in the middle of the seeking and wandering, wondering exactly what lay ahead.

It was a holy moment as I experienced for a short while what it might have felt like to those early travelers following the light of the star, following their hopes and dreams of a savior, a new tomorrow. My heart began to beat more rapidly in anticipation of the promises foretold and I was captivated by the moment.

Oh how we have lost that feeling in the busyness of our days filled with shopping, preparation, troubling news day in and day out. Yet how much we need to recapture it, reclaim it for ourselves, for our very souls.

For what is at stake is, in fact, our soul. I am convinced that when we read and watch a 24-hour news cycle filled with hate, discord, enmity among our sister and brother Americans, it can be and is soul-destroying. In the midst of the stark partisanship and focus on the sins of others while ignoring our own, we lose a piece of ourselves.

And what we lose is literally peace. The ability to reflect. The ability to see the Christ in others, especially those with whom we disagree. This season of Advent, of waiting for the Christ child, is one in which we are meant to reflect on what it means that Christ came into the world over 2,000 years ago as a tiny, vulnerable baby. Vulnerable to all the vicissitudes of the world. Vulnerable to the forces that seek to divide and destroy and tear apart.

It is ultimately those very forces that led to Christ’s crucifixion 33 years later, seeming victim of the hatred of a world gone mad. But we know the end of the story. Christ was victorious and rose again to say ‘no’ to the principalities of evil and destruction, ‘no’ to that which destroys and breaks down and tears apart.

We who seek him now must follow him in the days ahead. Regardless of the personal cost. Regardless of where it leads us. For if it is Christ we seek this Christmas, then it is Christ we must follow in the days to come into the way of justice, truth and light.

On that dark night, those who wandered and wondered were led. They followed.

Will you?

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Thoughts & Prayers?

Charleston, SC church shooting. Nine dead.
My thoughts and prayers are with the victims and their families.

Las Vegas massacre of fifty-eight innocent people at a country music concert.
My thoughts and prayers are with you.

Sutherland Springs, Texas church shooting. Twenty-seven dead.
My thoughts and prayers are with all in the community ravaged by this tragedy.

What does it mean to pray? Does it matter? If it does, why does nothing seem to change?

Prayer does matter; it can move mountains, change hearts and minds and souls. But….prayer without action is less than it can be, less than we are each called to do, less than what is needed in our world.

Action is needed and act we must…or truly nothing will ever change. Lives will continue to be lost, senselessly. People will continue to grieve the loss of innocent loved ones, and we will be left on the sidelines shaking our heads saying….

My thoughts and prayers are with you.

thoughts and prayersSo what can caring people do? We can discern, carefully, how God is calling us to act. We can keep up with legislation and contact our representatives. We can email them when relevant bills come up and urge others to do the same. We can educate ourselves on the complexities of the issue. We can go to meetings, join groups, witness to others, and more.

On a more personal level, many in our country are feeling overwhelmed, unable to absorb yet one more senseless tragedy. Our presence and friendship matter, especially now. We can be a listening presence, a loving friend who says, “I’m here. Let’s get together.” No act of kindness or caring is too small. Your presence can and does make a difference.

And in the final analysis, yes, we can pray. Not only for victims, families, and communities, but for ourselves that we, too, may not let the darkness overwhelm us. That we may have the wisdom to act.

Prayer and action. Together. Try it.

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The Good, Bad, Loud, and Violent

I could feel it the moment I walked into the stadium. Big money, high stakes, and testosterone. The choreography of the day rivaled that of the best Broadway musical. From start to finish each second of the NFL game was meticulously planned from blaring rock music, neon lights circling the massive stadium, flashing beer and car ads, bouncy cheerleader routines (do scantily clad young women still prance around like that?), to fighter jets flying in formation, and the 75-yard long American flag.

Suddenly the players ran onto the field as the music rocked. A giant black inflatable Carolina panther spewed forth fire and smoke as the team literally ran through it, while cheerleaders gyrated in sync. Then the star players ran through one at a time like gladiators into the arena, filled with power, ready to annihilate the enemy.

Sheer power, male power, spewed forth as cheerleaders danced in unison with their pom poms and white go-go boots moving up and down in a mesmerizing unity and I found myself shocked. I had only attended one professional football game in my life and it was 25 years ago. Had I changed or had the sport changed? Clearly it was me. Nothing new here, except perhaps the sheer size and scope of it.

Next came the national anthem, beautifully belted out by a young cherubic looking boy. A dozen New Orleans Saints players sat or knelt during the anthem. One Panthers player remained in the locker room. But in the midst of the overwhelming sights and sounds, I missed their silent protest even though I was looking for it. And the massive celebration continued.

I let out a deep sigh. No wonder, I thought. The bubble effect, I thought. So many of us (women in particular) choose not to focus on what excites, moves, and stimulates many in the rest of our country. Opera and ballet are hardly great American past-times. Nor is theater. Nor are tennis or golf. Nor are basketball and hockey. No, far and away the king of American sports is professional football. And professional football is sheer, raw male power with ever present scantily clad cheerleaders, the epitome of sexism.

And it was equal opportunity sexism with women of every race, ethnicity and hair color included. Someone for everyone to ogle, to covet, to make them believe for just a moment that all women are between the ages of 26 and 33 with the figure of shapely models.

The coin is tossed and the game begins with a soaring kick into the end zone. Within 3 mtackleinutes, the Panthers star wide receiver is injured and taken out for the remainder of the game. My mind begins to wander to the many players who years later suffer brain damage due to the heavy, relentless hitting of the sport. Gladiators in the arena risking permanent, irreversible brain damage. For what? Stardom? Glory? Money?

My eyes return to the cheerleaders and I am taken back to my college days. One of my classmates was a Dallas Cowboy cheerleader in the Tom Landry glory days of the team. She, too, was tall and thin with long flowing hair. Beautiful, shapely, the envy of all. Ten years later she stepped in front of a moving train. What is the long-term effect on these young women of being objectified week after week, year after year with a smile plastered on their face, until they’re forced into retirement at the ripe old age of 33?

What is the long-term effect on the players? Concussions and other repetitive play-related head blows have been shown to be the cause of CTE (chronic traumatic encephalopathy) which has led to player suicides, memory loss, dementia, depression, anxiety and more (Meehan, Concussions, 2016). Seventy percent of America’s football players are youth, with 23,000 youth athletes suffering non-fatal traumatic brain injuries every year.

What is the long-term effect on the crowds viewing these games? A mindset is born. A mindset is perpetuated through the ages – one that is male dominated applauding aggression, violence, and sexism which spills over into many facets of American life, including politics.

And what of the millions of people watching the games at home? While many delight in an enjoyable Sunday afternoon with family gathered around, others are not so lucky. The Quarterly Journal of Economics reports that calls to police reporting men’s assault on their wives or intimate partners rose 10% in areas where the local NFL team was expected to win but lost, with assaults occurring during the final hour of the game or up to 2 hours afterward (Robert Wicks, “Crime and Football”, UCSD News, March 2011).

“Professional football, like no other American game, clearly represents America – the good, bad, loud, violent, ugly and beautiful” (The Wall Street Journal, 2014). The problem for us as spectators arises when we become inured to what we are seeing and accept it as normal, letting it eke out of the stadium and into our value system, our expectations, our very lives.

Naming the many layers of the complex game of professional football, calling it out for what it is, has the power to save us all – players, cheerleaders, and spectators alike.

If not now, when? If not you, who?

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Two Countries

“It was the best of times; it was the worst of times.”

Okay, so I borrowed that first line. But it was. And it is. Some things are universal. History repeats itself. Over and over.

In the last six weeks our country has lived through Charlottesville, Harvey, Irma, and Maria. Hurricanes are natural disasters beyond our control. The events that unfolded in Charlottesville were not.

In natural disasters, our country pulls together. Neighbor helping neighbor – good Samaritans bringing boats to rescue the stranded from flooded homes, restaurateurs cooking thousands of meals for the suddenly homeless, neighbors offering dry homes and power for friends in other areas, churches rallying to help those within and outside their church walls.

But in equally disastrous situations not brought about by nature, a different story of a seemingly different country is told. Not a Tale of Two Cities, but a Tale of Two Countries. A country divided against itself. A country where for the first time since Germany during World War II people marched with the Nazi flag, vociferously shouting anti-Semitic slogans.

There are no white hoods covering faces in shame as in days of old in the US during equally racist gatherings. Oh no, these marchers are proud of their rallying cry, willing for all the world to see who they are and what they stand for. They are young. They are naive. And they have no clue of history.

“I may be a Nazi,” said one young man after being called out on social media, “but I would never hurt anyone.” WHAT? A Nazi who doesn’t hurt anyone? Who was this guy’s history teacher, and yes, they were all guys. White guys to be precise.

I find it singularly interesting and disheartening that the majority of WWII veterans were dead before this disturbing behavior manifested itself in a new generation. As if the generation older than their grandparents had to be unable to witness such an atrocity before even they could partake in it.

“It was the season of light; it was the season of darkness.”

Yes it was. And yes it is. There is a challenge for those of us witnessing and living in this one country divided in two – one where people care not about the color of their sister’s skin or their brother’s religion – and another that is painfully divided along racial, ethnic, and religious lines.

The challenge of not allowing ourselves to be engulfed, consumed by the darkness that is all around us. The challenge of not letting the very hate we so abhor enter our own hearts for those we see chanting slogans and carrying torches. The challenge of being a bearer of light no matter what.

a candleIn reference to Eleanor Roosevelt, Adlai Stevenson once said, “It is better to light a candle than to curse the darkness.” Yes, it is. And the candles of hope, of love, of light are all around us even in the most difficult of times, especially in the most difficult of times.

In all catastrophes, both natural and man-made, we can look for the helpers. They are there without fail – those who risk their lives to run into burning buildings, to pull a person from their car that has been engulfed in high flood waters, to airlift a woman and child to safety in hurricane force winds, to hold hands and peacefully march in prayer during the shouting of heinous racial slurs and the brandishing of weapons.

We become what we focus most on. With God’s help, let us focus on the best in us, the light that is in us and all around us. Let us find our own candle to light. Today. Right now.

Where is yours?

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Just One More Step

Standing high on a hill on the banks of the Ohio River, looking across at the state of Kentucky, history was coursing through my veins filling me with a sense of time past and time present. As both crowded my heart and mind, I was swept up in the historicity of the ground on which I was standing and the purposeful sense that the work is and the work must continue. 

I was at the Rev. John Rankin House, home of an influential Underground Railroad Conductor in the thirty years leading up to the Civil War; he is my ancestor four generations back. I stood at the window where he left a lantern burning when it was safe for escaping slaves to cross the river on one of its narrowest sections. He and his sons waited on the other side ready to risk their lives, as slave catchers chased their prey into and around the woods. Hiding, ducking bullets, dodging snarling dogs, they safely guided over 2,000 slaves to freedom not losing one to death or capture. 

Rankin also wrote and organized. His Letters on American Slavery, written in 1836 to his brother Thomas who owned slaves, not only changed his brother’s mind and life forever, but those of many in and outside his community. With a bounty on his head and an attempt to burn down his family home with his wife and 13 children inside, Rankin continued unabated, literally helping to change the course of history. When Henry Ward Beecher was asked at the end of the Civil War, “Who abolished slavery?” he answered, “Rev. John Rankin and his sons did it.” (Beyond the River: The Untold Story of the Heroes of the Underground Railroad, Ann Hagedorn, p. 275)

The steps leading up the steep hill to The Rankin House are widely known as the 100 Steps to Freedom. “Just one more step,” I can hear the escaping slaves saying between ragged breaths. “Just one more step. I’m almost there.”

Rankin houseJust one more step.

Most of us are not called to literally risk our lives to work for the freedom of others, but I believe we are called to do something. Today there are more slaves in the world than at any other time in history. The US State Department and social scientists estimate that there are as many as 47 million slaves in the world today. By contrast, there were a little under 4 million slaves in the United States in 1860. 

Human trafficking and slavery is a $150 billion/year industry, with the motivation again being the evil desire to profit from human flesh. Forced labor and child labor, sex trafficking and child sex trafficking, involuntary domestic servitude, and recruitment of child soldiers are all aspects of modern day slavery. What steps can we take? To begin, just buying our products from Fair Trade Certified organizations can and does make a difference. (See for a list of Slave Free companies.)

And there’s more, much more we can do in various arenas. Many people in our own backyard although physically free, are enslaved to addiction with the opioid epidemic out of control in our country. Americans consume 80% of the world’s pain killers – a type of enslavement to a substance that costs countless lives each year. (Business Insider, 5/14/2012)

In addition, many around the world are enslaved, trapped, in multi-generational poverty with no hope of escape. Yet you and I hold the key. Programs that cut at the heart of the systemic issues surrounding poverty can and do enable some to literally escape its grip. Nelson Mandela has written, “Education is the most powerful weapon we can use to change the world.” Yes it is.

Yet I find in my own work in secondary education in Cameroon, West Africa, it isn’t always easy, with many obstacles to overcome. Rev. John Rankin faced them; my colleagues and I face them; you will face them. Whenever there is a force for good, for love, for care in the world there is often an equal force pushing back against it that can feel overwhelming at times. Some would call it the force of evil, others a force of fear of change, but a force it is nonetheless. 

In those times, I find myself mystically one with those I am called to work with and for. “Just one more step. Just one more step,” I say to myself, knowing that God is with me, knowing that God already has and still does overcome evil, that love will win in the end.

One more step to freedom. Just one more step. Up the steep hill to Rev. Rankin’s house. In our own backyard. Halfway around the world.

Are you called to join the parade?

-The Rev. Canon Elizabeth Rankin Geitz

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Tweet, Tweet, Tweet . . .

tweetThe whole world is aflutter with tweets these days. Some attacking, some informing. Some bullying, some encouraging. Some transparent, others obfuscating. Some trolling, some genuine. Many purposefully attracting attention. 

Those written to garner headlines unfortunately never fail to do so, from the original tweet to the ever-present multitude of pithy and often biting responses. Regardless of which side of the current political divide we find ourselves on, many find this behavior troublesome at best, defaming of our country at worst. 

Yet we continue to read and respond, easily manipulated by those pulling the strings. The more we cry “foul” the more we continue to engage, becoming addicted to the outrageous, the unthinkable, the whims of politicians, celebrities, anyone in the public eye. 

Is there an antidote? A way out of the rabbit hole? Of course! There always is. We just need to find it, pursue it, and cultivate it. 

Last week I could not listen to one more piece of Breaking News. So I escaped to my own backyard and took a print book instead of my ever-present iPad with Kindle app. 

As I read the book in my hands and turned the pages, savoring the feel of them, I gradually began to notice the sounds of nature all around me. All God’s creatures heralded their presence with splashing, croaking, gobbling, grunting, chattering, and you guessed it – tweeting. Two birds began having a “conversation”. One to my right, high in an overhead branch, trilled excitedly. Then one on my left near the ground in the bulrushes, responded in kind. Soon they were excitedly communicating with one another in melodious song. 

Then the excitement passed and their pace slowed down. Soothing tweets filled the air lulling me into sleep filled with an awareness of my oneness with nature, filled with a sense of connection to something much larger than myself. Just before nodding off, I felt that peace that passes all understanding that is pure gift from God. Feelings of “all’s right with the world” enveloped me, hugged me in warm embrace. 

The depth of that oneness with creation, and all God’s creatures, will stay with me a long time. When I’m tempted to become embroiled in the circus created by a 24-hour news media, I remember the stark contrast between real tweets and media tweets, bringing to mind a meal blessing I am currently teaching our 2 1/2-year-old granddaughter:

Thank you for the world so sweet.

Thank you for the food we eat.

Thank you for the birds that sing. 

Thank you God for everything. 


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Local Love

“There will be a price adjustment on that for you.”

“Why?” I asked, not completely understanding.

“Because it wasn’t exactly as I thought it should be,” the local proprietor replied. 

“Oh don’t worry,” I said, very pleased with how everything had turned out. 

“Absolutely not!” he stated emphatically. “It’s on us.”

The non-profit organization I co-founded, Good Shepherd SLF which is building a high school in Cameroon, West Africa, had rented space for a board meeting in town. There were some minor glitches in the beginning that were no big deal to me or to the board. Nonetheless, it was a very big deal to the owner. As a result, he gladly and without hesitation, gave us the space rent free.

t-t10_milford_music_festival_5820_mobiAfter our meeting, I happened to walk into another local business in search of some ingredients to make a special dinner for my husband that night. The establishment had everything I needed except one item. I guess the owner could see the tiredness in my eyes, the slump in my walk in high heels after a long meeting and he said, “Wait a minute. I might have just what you need in the back for the dishes we make here.”

Then he went into the kitchen, returning with more than I could use in a small plastic bag. No charge. 

That’s what doing business in a small town is like, not that people give everything away for free, nor should they! But they care. They go the extra mile to satisfy, to please, to say, “We’re part of the same community. You’re my neighbor and I want to help.”

And you can’t put a price on that. It truly is priceless, as MasterCard would say. 

I know. I grew up in a small town in Tennessee and my father was a local business owner. He, too, went the extra mile for everyone who walked in the door of his men’s clothing store – hand delivering the suit for that special occasion if time was short, staying open late for the person who needed it, supplying everything needed for the Boy Scouts at a discount, as well as for the local high school bands. 

He worked every Saturday and yes – he had a staff of salespeople, but he wanted, felt he should be there. He came home late and bone tired every Christmas Eve and when he finally arrived home there was a family celebration.

But when hard times hit with high interest rates in the 70s hurting small businesses across America, not all, but some of those people he had gone the extra mile to help  forgot about him, turned their back on him. And it hurt. Not just my father, but our entire family.

I pray I never do that to anyone and I pray you don’t either. Local merchants who give to us, deserve to receive from us as well.  Christmas shopping will be here before we know it and birthdays occur often. Let’s take care of the people who have taken care of us all year long.

Let’s remember. Each and every one of them deserves it.

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