What could go wrong?

Exterior view of a Quaker Meeting House with a garden, featuring a sign that reads 'Think it possible that you may be mistaken!'
These radical non-conformist Quakers built this very first meeting house where we met this morning in 1689. That’s a lot of stupid wars ago. Two hundred Quakers are buried in these stunning gardens, their lives continuing to nurture the lives and hopes of us now.

So, what could go wrong? A 79 year old man surrounded by people who cannot possibly stop him just busted a bunker of an 86 year old man surrounded by advisors with the identical intellectual and spiritual bandwidth.

Of course the world is better if Iran doesn’t have nuclear weapons. It would be better if the US, Russia and Israel didn’t, either. It would be better if those with constitutional responsibilities obeyed their oath, didn’t steal and put the people first.

And Jesus, Mohammed and every Hebrew prophet are screaming in one voice that It would be better if religious leaders led out of the peaceful side of their particular faith. Among the tragedies is how all three of these old men have tethered themselves to the radical tribal versions of their faith in the US, Israel and Iran.

There really was nothing to say, so I walked over to be silent with the champions of sacred silence, the Quakers. These radical non-conformists built this very first meeting house where we met this morning in 1689. That’s a lot of stupid wars ago. Though known for silence, they can turn a phrase: To King Charles II in 1660 they said, “We do utterly deny, with all outward wars, and strife, and fightings with outward weapons, for any end, or under any pretense whatsoever…The Spirit of Christ…will never move us to fight and war against any man with outward weapons.”

Don’t skip past the nuance that predicts Gandhi, King and Lewis: no outward weapons. So how do you get the inward weapon? Ah, that is what Islam and Quakers agree is the great Jihad, the truly lifetime struggle.

Over the entrance of the meeting is a simple sign, “Think it possible that you may be mistaken.” Quakers once held slaves and participated in the cotton, sugar and chocolate industry which to this day is built on exploitation. But they don’t bluster, pose and “Whatabout….” They consider and try again to be more deeply accountable.

The 19 quiet people this morning did not look radical; sort of grey and drab, actually. I lowered the average age when I walked in. But there are young ones asking for the heart of radical faith to beat again. With such a remarkable past it is easy to miss the fact it is already beating in scientists, activists, politicians, actors and doers of good of many kinds. It lives and hopes, not just remembers.

Only last year the “school for moral ambition” kicked off in Amsterdam offering the age old promise of giving your life to something that matters most. Not religious but full of the radical spirit of practical hope that makes God happy. The young have not given up on the planet and are radicalized by the obvious weakness of 30,000 pound bombs.

There is another way.

Inward power is tectonic. Spirit, truth, humility gather slowly but irresistibly.

Will it be enough or in time? No. In the short term a handful of quiet people is not going to stop a runaway man-child who can send billions of dollars of deadly tech around the world when he needs a political distraction. Five million noisy witnesses did not seem to have much affect last week. But 10 might. Fifteen, more likely. Twenty?

In the back of the church where saints have sought the other way for 335 years is a copy of a book written by Jim Cochrane, me and the Leading Causes of Life Fellows, illustrated by Cagn Cochrane, “Mobilizing Religious Health Assets for Transformation.” I have no idea how that book, written in South Africa found its way to Skipton, but it speaks to the way living systems work. It was drawn from an academic book* by the Barefoot Collective because leaders need good theory to work with. This same ensemble is honing the same body of logic for Interfaith America’s Faculty Summit in Chicago in 5 weeks hoping to provoke another wave of deeply grounded imagination

This is, oddly, a time for humble silence in the light of generations that have sought mercy, justice and peace. Silent, but not alone; conscious of all who seek the way of peace, undistracted by those who want us disoriented and afraid.

Sign for the Society of Friends (Quakers) indicating a meeting for worship, set against a stone wall and greenery.
Down a side alley, easy to miss. But George Fox and the founders of the Quaker Movement knew it well.

We should focus exactly where the authoritarians want us to look away. Rule of law, free civil voice, no stealing or lying. Legislation for the good of all. Science. Almost all of the citizens of Iran, America, Russia and every other people on the planet want that. You don’t even have to sit in silence for an hour to realize that.

But you might consider spending some time quietly being clear with yourself about how you can be part of the healing and lend not the weight of your one and only life to the forces of outward power.

* Religion and the Health of the Public, Palgrave, 2012

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Democracy is a meadow

A scenic view of a vibrant, green meadow filled with wildflowers, extending towards rolling hills under a clear blue sky. Two birds are seen flying across the horizon.
Democracy is like a meadow, dependent on grown-ups acting wisely over time, which creates space for radical abundance. Gawflat Meadow, Skipton, North Yorkshire.

Maybe you’re thinking that the tanks, drones and bunker-busters have a point. If something needs crushing, there are tools at hand that crush. And their promise seems so oddly clean; “once and for all.” Bust the bunker and be done. Why bother with the dubious prospect of persuading people to think differently, be they Iranians, MAGA, or my deep blue peeps.

But it never works. Ever. Not once.

Even the most obvious thing that deserve crushing (nuclear bombs buried in a mountain)—

who could argue against that? Nope. For millennia we have learned over and over that humiliating defeat metastasizes infinitely into generations of more bitter violence.  Three big guys trading in fear, 75, 79 and 86. Our big guy could kill their big guy whose last breath would be to issue a permanent fatwah on every American daughter and grandson using knives, not nukes.

Tutu was right, “anything war can do, peace can do better.” So obvious that it’s not even that smart. Just not 30,000 pounds of dumb.

It is possible to grow things, even peace. But the way is hard, like threading a camel through the eye of the needle; but only if the beast kneels.

A patch of yellow wildflowers growing between stone slabs, surrounded by greenery.
Nature never misses an opportunity for beauty, even amid the bricks.

The lazy urge to crush is driven by one unforgiveable sin: believing God has made a world in which there is simply not enough for all. If that is true—that God just miscalculated—then everything violent follows; it’s not even wrong. If there isn’t enough hamburger, water and whatever to go around, there will absolutely be a fight over the too-little. This what you-know- simply must sell in order for his fear to remain powerful: “Not enough! We’ll be replaced! Our children will never have jobs!” There’s not even enough sex and fun to go around as those damned gay blue people are having way too much for any to be left over for the normies.

All that’s wrong. But not entirely wrong. There is not enough for everyone to stay in gilded hotels, graze a stable of prostitutes and play golf every day. Peace is only possible in the presence of mature grown-ups that know when enough is enough for everyone. Peace needs the simple virtues of modesty, kindness, patience, forbearance, generosity and empathy. Sex is still okay, but not for rent.

Peace, like democracy, is something of an unnatural act among adults.

Peace, like democracy, is more like nurturing a meadow, than dropping a bomb. This occurred to me as I came across a rare urban meadow just a thousand steps and up a small hill from where our narrowboat is resting. Gawflat Meadow is a few acres on a small clay hill left by the glaciers 8,000 years ago, topped with too little soil to be worth a farmer’s bother. For hundreds of years the meadow grew enough grass to be mowed and thus resist the encroaching woods. And in the last 50 years as 97% of Britian’s other meadows disappeared beneath the crush of high intensity farming, this little patch caught the attention of the Skipton Civic Society, which looked after it—legally, by getting it included into an adjacent park and practically, by organizing volunteers to tend to it. Grown-ups.

A meadow, like democracy and peace, is something a bit unnatural. Even small human towns are easily overrun by blustery principalities and powers. When there is no law, process or civil norms, the venal and violent have their way. And how modest are the powers of law; mere agreements to not presume or take or suppress those who annoy by simply being in the way. How could that ever work?

A meadow never sleeps. It holds open a place for constant activity of hundreds of kinds of life—rabbits, voles, bees, nematodes and owls from the barn next door to swallows from South Africa finding their way year after year after millennium. Building peace is also everyday labor, making sure that the abundance we have to work with gets into the lives of everyone who needs it. The food—to all. The vaccines—to all. The books—to every daughter and son. There are far more people doing that work every day than in all the armies, commanded by all the impatient fearful commanders combined.

It turns out that meadows need little than the annual mowing. All the little plants and animals thrive; but they do need someone to keep the big trees from taking all the sunlight. This too needs some modesty and restraint. You can pour on fertilizer and grow stuff that looks like grass that can be mowed three times a year, but not for two hundred years. The grass of a long-tended meadow is rich with nutrients and the soil gets better every year. To rift off Tutu—anything chemicals can do, nature can do better.

Like a meadow, democracy is beautiful when the light is right. You can almost see the joy of people behaving naturally toward each other, celebrating the thriving of normal relationships of respect and delight in the wild variety of people creating the next horizon for their childrens’ children. It’s not all dull labor. Distinctive human qualities like ironic humor, multi-generation vision, curiosity and delight are there to see now and then. Like last Saturday, in thousands of places where citizens congregated stand up for the most obvious things—peace, law, decency for all.

A serene meadow at sunset, featuring a variety of wildflowers and silhouetted trees against a cloudy sky.
Everything that lasts–faith, meadows, democracy–does so because of their adaptive complexity. They change, but slowly. Not rigid, so as to be easily busted.

Everything that lasts–faith, meadows, democracy–does so because of their adaptive complexity. They change, but slowly. Not rigid, so as to be easily busted.

The most mundane of all social structure—the congregation—in this way. Its strengths lie in the complexity of the social relationships over time.

“This all sounds so somber, dutiful, and full of heavy purpose. That is not at all what it feels like. It feels like life, surprising life.

“I have heard it said more than once that you can tell if anything lively and new is happening in a research laboratory by the laughter. Humor and discovery are closely linked because both thrive on surprise. So does a living congregation. It turns out that God has hardwired a joke into the universe that you only get once you have been to the breaking ground and been flipped upside down. Like all humor, this cosmic joke rests on unexpected reversal, and it is a good one: Humility endures, while pride dies in the dirt; sacrifice endures, while acquisitiveness ends with death; knowledge remains incomplete, while love fulfills and is never wasted.

A laughing God nudges us in the ribs: “Do you get it?”

//////

From Deeply Woven Roots (Fortress, 1997)

Live, the People

Historical industrial building at dusk, flanked by greenery and a pathway.
Belle Vue Cotton Mill used to dominate for miles with thread wove of slave-raised cotton. All gone, but the building is good for techies now. Our boat way down in the lower left corner on the canal that used to bring the cotton.

We live only if we are connected.

The FaithHealth networks in Winston Salem were so woven into the neighborhoods that somebody on the team knew every single homeless person by name. And where the Mayor ate lunch (West End Cafe). Thin filaments of trust, subtle as the forest mycelia, threaded every neighborhood including even into the Sherriff’s Office and, yes, ICE. Every now and then we’d host a lunch with ICE agents and Hispanic clergy so that the humans knew each other, not as cartoon characters.

The very first of the Leading Causes of Life is connection because all life flows across relationships, as real as the grittiest street in the toughest neighborhood.

Once, local ICE agents rescued a woman being trafficked and didn’t know where to put her safely. FaithHealth paid for a hotel (I didn’t ask the hospital CFO!). And when we convened the undocumented, we had enough trust to tell the ICE folks which church to stay away from. I am sad for these friends’ as they are debased by venal “superiors.”

Every human structure—church, hospital, university, Marines and ICE exists like honeycomb for the bee to help us attain our God-given capacity to thrive. This behavioral structure is hard-wired in the bees; no queen ever goes rogue to subvert her hive. Humans go rogue all the time debasing themselves and those with less power they coerce. Jonas Salk wrote, The Survival of the Wisest, about how our lack of hard wiring made us capable of adaptive choice. And, of course, it makes possible the corruption of power you can now see at your neighborhood Home Depot. Bees don’t have to think about being true to their purpose; we do.

Walter Wink observed that a) all human structure is designed with a Spirit for good that b) always tends to be corrupted and twisted against good so that c) the work of every human is to redeem and restore the structure to make mercy and justice possible.

When a damaged person obtains power, they can debase structure built for good and twist it to serve perverse ends. Social Security—one of the moral icons of the last two centuries—can be twisted into a weapon against vulnerable working people whose payroll deductions leave a trail. This is what Musk was doing. In the same way, our highest principle of free speech makes it possible for Journalists trained to articulate the truth debase language to confuse, distort and inflame. Marines trained to risk their lives to defend democracy become like Halloween clowns, threatening citizens who are protesting the violation of the Constitution they swore to defend.

This happens. Most of us just didn’t think it could happen in the constitutional democracy of the United States. At least most of us who are white. I don’t know anyone Black or Hispanic who is even surprised by the amoral vacuity of Musk/Bannon/Miller/Marco, serving a guy who hasn’t even read the constitution, much less a whole book about it. They have seen this for centuries.

This happens. But it never sticks.

TC and I live for now, for a season, in northern England on a canal dug by shovel 250 years ago by poor people who were valued little more than the sheep shorn for wool. The workers were guided by exquisite engineers working for rich families. They were digging for the same reason the container ships come to LA and deliver all the Chinese tools and Canadian lumber to the Home Depot that is put on shelves by people who mostly speak Spanish. I doubt if anyone in the White House has ever shopped in one personally. But they might wonder where their golf balls come from. Same ship.

It was—always has been—one world. But in the last two hundred and fifty years, the pace and scale has escalated profoundly. Even in those simpler times the relationships were woven in cotton and tobacco. Slave grown cotton from the Carolinas traveled to Liverpool on the same ships that had brought them from Africa to work the clay soil. Just west of Winston was the largest plantation in the state developed by British bankers from Liverpool. Our canal is known as Leeds to Liverpool, but it really runs to the hot fields of the Carolinas, across the South to Mississippi. A Manchester cotton company still owns thousands of acres of cotton land surrounding where TC was born, including the barn where Emmett Till was killed by some thugs way down the debased food chain of power.

A Venn diagram illustrating the concept of 'LIFE' at the center, surrounded by five overlapping circles labeled 'connection,' 'conference,' 'agency,' 'blessing,' and 'hope' in varying shades of orange and yellow.
Leading Causes of Life leads with connection. If you want to kill something–say, a democracy–disconnect it.

We grow ever closer to each other, which makes some afraid and thus easy for those who twist power to inflate those fears. LA shows us one structure of power in a last desperate ill-considered rush to hold on to its privileges, debasing all and everyone to the very last Marine.

Webs of power never last because the soil wears out or some technical gizmo changes everything again. The Belle Vue Cotton Mill behind our boat dominated everyone for miles around, spinning slave cotton into thread that was shipped around the world, even unto India where they conspired to make it illegal to spin cotton themselves.  The rich built big houses thinking they would be lords of industry forever but did not imagine Gandhi who taught the people to spin for themselves and be free. Today the mill is full of flats and offices with people wearing shirts made in Vietnam spinning little bytes around screens built in China.

Human structure dissolves when it ceases its proper work and is bent to evil. The Marines pointing guns against citizens violate their own oath and become something else, sadly. Many in my family took that same oath, some buried at Mt. Vernon. They swore to serve only the People. So did all the people in Our White House, but you expect more from a Marine.

Why such a rush to scour the Home Depots anyway? There is more violence at an average English soccer league game. The desperation is so obvious as to be sad. They have already lost when they have to pretend that Home Depot needs the Marines.

Statue of Liberty illuminated at dusk, holding a torch and a tablet, with a sunset background.
Stand strong lady in the harbor. We will not debase you.

They have to finish their debasement quickly before the People can vote again. Once we get within a year of voting, even the most emasculated Republicans will hesitate to risk everything for a 79-year old lame golfer. So they are right to hurry. It is said that if you go at the King, you must kill him. And what if the wanna-be king goes after democracy? He must kill it, too; and so completely that we will not remember it. Our job is to follow the Constitution and make it clear that the only insurrection is the one behind the Resolute Desk in the People’s House.

Things that cannot continue don’t.

But they do until people look up from the screen, move into the physical world and behave differently. Find your local Interfaith Alliance witness and act like a citizen.

/////////

If you or a family member are in the National Guard or active-duty military and you believe you are being ordered to violate the constitutional rights of U.S. citizens, call the GI Rights Hotline for advice and support, at 877-447-4487.

Boss power

An abstract painting featuring vibrant swirls of colors including blue, green, yellow, red, and purple on a white background.
The many paths of the Mississippi North of Memphis. Drawn by Kathryn Gunderson for the Cover of Religion and the Health of the Public (Cohrane and me, Palgrave).

How does power work in a time of no boundaries, rules, or words that mean anything?

Robert Reich, who is normally pretty smart, said the other day that power is a zero-sum struggle; that is, if someone has more, the other has less. There is a limited amount of power; the only issue is who has it. This is a mistake as it turns our attention to taking power instead of making power. Generals usually prepare to fight the last war, unprepared for the one they are in. So are social change-makers. It focuses us backward, thinking we need the kinds of power that created the mess instead of building the strength to subvert or bypass with new power. Even the Mississippi River, when confronted with a new barrier erected by some foolish human, goes around or under it, leaving it behind as a monument to folly.

There is no taking back the money Trump and his awful dependents have stolen. But how many gilded hotels can a family rent to how many bit-coin suckers? Who is going to stay in Trump Gaza for $1,000 night? The stuff stolen is mainly circulating among other thieves, so let them stay in each other’s hotels, fly on jets and swap wives, too.

The techno-poofs of Amazon, Apple and Meta didn’t become big by preying on whales. They want to be whales by consuming teeny krill like you and me one download at a time. They are mass market consumer companies just as vulnerable as Tesla has been in the face of global revulsion against its owner.

Tim Cook, Zuckerberg and Bezos have surely joined millions of their customers in downloading Springsteen’s meteoric hit recorded live just days ago in Manchester, England about 50 miles south of where TC and I are at the moment. I ran into a woman at a Skipton store yesterday. She was SO disappointed that I was an American but I assured her I was a Springsteen patriot not, well, you know. “Oh, she said, I heard about his Manchester concert…..”

Download his four-song set from pretty much anywhere and thrill to the “sound of freedom ringing.” You’ll be reminded “it’s going to be a long walk home.” He is as vivid as Dr. William Barber: “the world’s richest men are taking satisfaction in abandoning the poorest children to sickness and death.” You’ll find courage as he quotes James Baldwin “In this world there isn’t as much humanity as we would like.”  And you’ll probably follow him as he urges us to pray as a bridge into “this train.”

It’s not his best music, but surely his best speech. (The speech is My City of Ruins (Introduction) [Live in Manchester, May 14, 2025])

I believe when the Boss says that we’ll survive this.

But how? The Don taunts the courts and those who hope law prevail, “whose army will enforce your judgements?” Good question. Can new power be created enough to turn over a lopsided accumulation of old power?

You’ll be watching the answer happen June 14th, which is when we’ll see two kinds of power face off—62,000 soldiers embarrassed to be disgracing themselves in the Don’s silly parade dwarfed by 6 or 10 million disgusted citizens. First time we’ve ever seen president with such weak self-esteem that he needed such a ridiculous thing; soldiers are for fighting not fawning. So even the soldiers will be be humming Springsteen, not Kid Rock. The organizers are calling this “no kings day,” which is really not fair to actual kings, which have agreed to submit themselves to the Law and the People for a thousand years.

Many, many of the citizens will be signing songs forged in the long walk to freedom of the Black Church. If you are of the faithful persuasion, you can register here to find the Interfaith Alliance march closest to your church.

Aerial view of a winding river with vibrant blue hues, showcasing its curves and natural patterns.
Landstat image of the Mississippi’s wandering ways–never ceasing to power around, never through.

Last month I noted a new song by my friend Sally Morris whose new hymn makes the same point as Springsteen (and millennia of saints):  “These simple lessons are the teachings of God. Diverse and Equal and Included by God, we rise to righteous calls

each time we topple walls.”

You can listen here. My earlier blog has the words. Here’s the link to the full sheet music so your choir can sing it Sunday, if they can’t do Springsteen.

Is there new power in the world or are we left to scrape and struggle for scraps of the old? Jesus laughed at those who thought that God had already spent all the creative energies there were in the world. God can raise up new children out of dry stones (Matthew 3:9). And if children, why not citizens?

Bees politics

TC and I arrived in Skipton, Yorkshire (UK)  Tuesday to live for a while near her twin sister Lisa. On Thursday an urgent pounding on the door revealed an anxious Royal Mail man gingerly holding a box of 10,000 loud bees that we had ordered from Abelo in York. He did not stay for the congratulatory selfie.

A person wearing a beekeeping suit and veil smiles for the camera, with a beehive visible behind them, nestled in a lush hawthorn hedge.
Buckfast Bees nestled into the hawthorn hedge by the Leeds and London Canal.

We introduced the bees into their box nestled into the hawthorn hedge bordering the canal behind Lisa and David’s home. The honeybees were a nucleus 5 frame hive of Buckfast bees, a distinctive species developed at Buckfast Abbey by Brother Adam after many years of careful breeding.

I noticed some difference from my Italian-Americans in the Carolina’s. My home bees dispatch a line of sentinel bees to the opening, lift their rear ends high in the air and fan the scent of the hive to help its missing members find their way home. The Buckfasts maintain a very British dignity with no anal display at all. But within an hour all the bees that had been in the delivery box were enjoying their spiffy new hive with lots of room for new sisters and, eventually honey.

As if to welcome us and the bees, David Attenborough posted the very same morning about the ancient practice of “telling the bees.” He noted that “beekeepers in 18th and 19th century Europe and America believed that bees were not just insects—they were members of the family, messengers between this world and the next. And like any family member, they deserved to be told when something significant happened.

“When a loved one died, got married, or even when a child was born, the head of the household—or more often, the “goodwife”—would walk solemnly to the hive, knock gently, and whisper the news. They’d say the name of the person who had passed or wed, and even drape the hives in black cloth during mourning. Why?

“…it reflected a powerful belief that bees could feel joy and sorrow, that they needed to be included in the life of the household. The practice likely finds its roots in Celtic mythology, where bees were seen as spiritual couriers, able to travel between the worlds of the living and the dead. Seeing a bee after someone passed away was interpreted as the soul in flight.”

A close-up of a green box containing live bees, with a warning label stating 'Live Bees', 'Handle with Care', 'Do not expose to Direct Sunlight', 'Do Not Drop', and 'Do Not Shake'.
How would YOU like to the mail man delivering 10,000 bees?

I’m a Baptist-Druid, which rounds out to being Celtic, so this all makes perfect sense to me. It is why a friend suggested I should tell the bees that the young experiment with democracy in the Colonies was dying.

The bees already know. For what democracy could survive in a culture willing to poison itself? The bees are not the vulnerable species here. They’ve survived many, many times longer than humans and seem certain to last millennia beyond us.

They are an untamable species without rulers, which is why they are smart. Dr. Tom Seely, the epic honeybee scientist from Cornell wrote Honeybee Democracy that documented how all major honeybee decisions are made after transparent deliberation of comparative data. (Here’s his great lecture.) Seely says that there is no boss bee expected to know everything. Male humans back to Aristotle thought the biggest bee ruled the hive who they assumed to be King. She is not a King or, really a queen. Despite her size and crucial role (birthing babies) she makes no more decisions than anyone else in the hive. It is a pure democracy so sophisticated we lesser species can’t figure it out.

No bee would imagine a process as flawed as American “democracy” in which fear of one deeply flawed person disables the thinking of millions so that he would not just be obeyed, but enriched with more honey than 1,000 hives could ever consume. They bees don’t need to be told about the death of this dumpster fire; they have seen it coming.

Not many humans in this part of England need to be told, either. They have seen actual kings, not the trashy American knock-off. They, like the bees, know about the certain suffering that follows from elevating one human so far above the others, wrapping them in layers of stultifying privilege and then letting them decide anything. They become stupid and then dangerous. The one in the gilded bubble inevitably make horrible decisions that damage and impoverish everyone. And then they, of course, go down, too as the consequences of their folly roll out.

View of a canal lined with boats and greenery, including a hedge, in Skipton, Yorkshire.
The Buckfast Bees love the gardens but love the corridor of canal wildflowers even more.

The English Magna Carta and closely linked tradition of habeas corpus were evolutionarily necessary for the human species to survive. They first established that nobody—certainly not the king—was above the law. The second established that no human could be judged without a fair trial. No human society that violates these can survive. Trust dies first, then facts, marked by random decisions that fuel greed, fear and loss of every certainty. There is no way to navigate or talk: nothing but raw violence as the single ruler and the tiny group he depends on run us all off the cliff.

It would be so convenient if it was possible for one person or a tiny group to manage all the vast interwoven complexities of life on this wild earth. Democracy is messy, inefficient and slow. But letting one person, especially a man decide things is dumber than any insect could survive.

The English figured this out about a thousand years ago, so this can’t be considered a “secret sauce.”

We don’t have to tell the bees. We should ask them.

Missionary Position

Not that one.

Part of the historical mural at the Simms Community Center in Happy Hills. The mural was designed by Kayyum Allah, who also guided and instructed the students throughout the painting process.

White progressives, wondering why the big resistance protests are mostly blue-eyed, are asking Black people, “could you run over that race stuff again?” Like 18th century missionaries mumbling about their position on the Middle Passage.

This goes down poorly with the Black women who voted 92% for the Vice President as well as the vast majority of the Black men (who also had empathy for their brothers and sisters who could not vote for a prosecuting attorney of any hue). Black people have seen MAGA for centuries and know that serious violence waits just out of sight. And the dogs rarely bite missionaries. As a faculty friend said, “we have white colleagues; not comrades.”

A lot has happened since King and Malcom (who would have turned 100 this past month). And a lot has not happened, even between Black and White, hardly even begun with Brown.

This was all in the middle of the room during last week’s gathering in Winston Salem organized by Action4Equity, Love Out Loud and We In the World. We were trying to move toward “equity and liberation.” But what “we?” “We” can’t build mercy and justice out the trust we don’t have.

There has been strikingly little violence in these early MAGA days with the exception of the show bullying of defenseless Spanish-speaking dads and moms. Black people have seen this all before and know that once the resistance movement staggers to our feet—as it most certainly is—it will trigger white rage. They believe that white fragility justifies white violence.

Modern heroine, Tonya Sheffield explains the Happy Hill story of gritty resilience to the regional visitors.

The immediate issue is with the white moderates who may or may not be trusted once things actually get going. Who even begins to build the tools and tactics for doing good when we don’t trust?” Are we a we?

We were meeting in historic St. Stephen’s Missionary Baptist Church with the modern blend of religious folks and those of raw Spirit. Rev Dr. Paul Ford called us back to what Dr. King saw from his Birmingham jail 62 years and 15 days ago:

“If today’s church does not recapture the sacrificial spirit of the early church, it will lose its authenticity, forfeit the loyalty of millions, and be dismissed as an irrelevant social club with no meaning for the twentieth century. Every day I meet young people whose disappointment with the church has turned into outright disgust.

“Perhaps I have once again been too optimistic. Is organized religion too inextricably bound to the status quo to save our nation and the world? Perhaps I must turn my faith to the inner spiritual church, the church within the church, as the true ekklesia and the hope of the world.” (read full text here).

But…. could you run over that race stuff one more time?

Paul also called my attention to these words form Rev. Dr. William Lamar IV in my Dean Corey Walker’s book on African Americans and Religious Freedom given to everyone at the meeting (I think Paul was the only one that read it):

“American notions of liberty, prosperity and the divine are ideas that can mean everything and nothing at the same time. Who defines these terms? The National Rifle Association supports liberty. The Black 43 African Americans and Religious Freedom: New Perspectives for Congregations and Communities Lives Matter movement supports liberty. The Koch brothers are all for prosperity. So are Angela Davis and Noam Chomsky. Jerry Falwell Jr. believes the divine hand is upon America; so does Jeremiah A. Wright Jr. But this divine hand is not engaged in the same activities. These terms — liberty, prosperity, God — are blank screens upon which we project dreams and nightmares. For me, the concept of religious freedom is of the same dubious pedigree. It means nothing. It means everything.”

“Black people offer many unwanted gifts to the American empire — our hermeneutic of suspicion concerning all things American, our refusal to believe everything that the American empire says about itself and our creation of theology, art and culture that does not shrink in the face of perpetual assault.”

Every syllable of King and Lamar is true for the Spanish-speaking churches who are the main ones now within punching range of Miller, Bannon, Bondi and Noem. Few of us can even speak the language of their prayers. But God does.

We need no missionaries, no matter what policy position they take on this or that part of the MAGA assault on law, freedom and justice. Those of us low on pigment and high on privilege need to listen carefully to those who have been here before, seen the raw edge of power afraid of history, terrified of the radical diversity of the world God has created.

The tree of life on the mural in Happy Hills teaches Marcus Garvey: “A people without the knowledge of their past history, origin and culture is like a tree without roots.”

As we find our feet to stand for law and functional government and modern science, we may find we need the full “we,” to build a future quite sharply different from the past. How? It is amazing to me the kindness with which an honest question is received.

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AFRICAN AMERICANS AND RELIGIOUS FREEDOM:  NEW PERSPECTIVES FOR CONGREGATIONS AND COMMUNITIES, Sabrina E. Dent and Corey D. B. Walker. Available here for free.

Dei, Image of God

Sunrise between Iceland and Greenland.

Every morning for a hundred days the Trinity went silent as the breaking edge of the early sun sped past Iceland, Greenland and then onto American soil. Spirit sighed as Son complained, “I saved their ungrateful asses for this kind of behavior?” Godhead was silent as godheads tend to be, but noted that maybe they should have gone with the dolphins as the lead species. “These humans don’t deserve to walk by forests and rivers, much less have dominion.” The Three/One gave up and stepped back to let the foolish species simply erase itself. It would leave only a very minor archeological layer of plastic as evidence of an experiment gone awry. “It’s a lovely little planet; someone will come along and treat it right.”

Somebody has to remind God not to give up. That usually means an artist with a soul that could not be silent, even against all the evidence. This time it was my friend and colleague Sally Morris who noticed that DEI–the target of the most sophomoric obsessions of you-know-who—also spell the Latin word meaning “of God.” Once the phrase “imago Dei”—“image of God”—entered her thoughts, she knew that other Latin terms and elaboration on them would follow. She turned to her poet and theologian friend Mel Bringle to keep faith with the subtle nuances of Latin and, well, God. The lyrics:

Imago Dei is the image of God.

Diverse and cherished, we are made by one God.

Each gender, class, and race reflects God’s holy face.

To see your likeness, help us, O God.

Voluntas Dei is the strong will of God.

Of equal standing as we follow our God, no longer slave or free,

we join in unity.

To work for justice, help us, O God.

Caritas Dei is the wide love of God.

Included gladly in the arms of our God, of this, we have no doubt:

God’s grace leaves no one out.

To welcome others, help us, O God.

These simple lessons are the teachings of God.

Diverse and Equal and Included by God, we rise to righteous calls

each time we topple walls.

To live your Gospel, help us, O God.

Descant:* Imago Dei. Voluntas Dei. Caritas Dei. Auxilio Dei.

*English: Image of God. Will of God. Love of God. By the help of God.

As Mel explains, “The concluding phrase about toppling walls alludes to Ephesians 2:14, where we are again called to live as one in Christ, because “He is our peace [who] in His flesh has made [us] one and has broken down the dividing wall, that is, the hostility between us.” (NRSV).

Saul Alinsky said long ago to never go up against a group of people that sing together, especially when they are singing like their life depends on it.

Table Mountain, South Africa. From the Interfaith Chapel of Goedgedacht.

Every church and organization on the verge of forgetting its identity should sing this song five times a day. Every waffling Board of every faith-related university and hospital should, too, or else they’ll embarrass themselves as they scurry into some safe corner in which to hide from history and their own self.

Artists remind us who we are.

Sometimes the artist reminds God to live up their name, too. Don’t give up on us God!

Tomorrow another day unfolds, built on the shambles of previous bad decisions. But not without hope that even when we waffle and fail, someone will come along to remind us who we are.

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You can download lyrics and full sheet music with a better explanation by the artists on the GIA website. https://giamusic.com/resource/imago-dei-is-the-image-of-god-pdf-du01930

If you use it, please let Sally and I know, maybe with a video link. Gary.gunderson@gmail.com or morrissa@wfu.edu

Do not pass over the stranger

Jesus family fled as strangers.

This is the week in which the Jews, seeking God, were taught empathy for the “stranger” over and over for a couple millenia. It’s not an easy lesson.

This is also the week when Jesus turned toward Jerusalem, showing empathy for the Palestinian before being killed by the empire and its complicit todies. Same thing would happen this week on the very same tortured soil. Whether this is week is sacred for you by its eternal consequences (the saving cross) or eternal lesson of empathy, honor it.

Say the name of the stranger most strange to you.

“Palestinian” for the Jews and Americans who provide the two-ton genocide bombs turning hospitals to bloody dust. Ask why a dictator would want their name silent and do not pass over the answer: if you cannot share the human vulnerability of any stranger, you have already lost your humanity for those you think you love. You have already given the King—or somebody who foolishly wants to be King—power reserved only for God. It is the Jews who teach this. Honor them this week by saying the name of their stranger and ours. “Palestinian.”

And the names of nations nearby speaking Spanish who we have treated despicably; propping up their cruel tyrants valuing bananas more than the strangers who lived there. And now paying blood money to get the weakest ones off our streets. Say their names.

Say the names of the strangers who need Medicaid, HIV/AIDS medicine and mental health care. And the thousands of honorable strangers employed to serve them, now humiliated and discarded in political blood circus across the globe; community health workers in Cape Town and North Carolina.

It is, of course, not enough to say their names. Esppecially not just for one week. Few of us drop the strangers’ bombs; but we pay the taxes tomorrow so that others can. Few of us fly the planes to El Salvador; but we are quiet as they take off. Few of us take medicine from a child; but we don’t even call the Senator whose job it is to ensure the government functions. Surely this week is a good time to call?

I read the Contrarian, founded by Washington Post journalists who quit rather than drink from the timid complicity of its owner. Jennifer Rubin wrote about why Pesash matters now. She referred to to ProPublica’s bone-chilling reporting, that flight attendants on deportation flights were told that in case of an emergency, “evacuating detainees was not a priority or even the flight attendants’ responsibility.” It is hard to escape the conclusion that evacuees are treated as being less than human. (“Don’t talk to the detainees. Don’t feed them. Don’t make eye contact,” attendants were told.) 

The empathy is not lacking only among those who tend toward red hats. I have worked in the organizations and universities who gathered their (our) privileges and wealth in the name of helping strangers. But we have often not been zealous, efficient, effective or much less empathetic. We have been bad or lazy managers at turning empathy into program and program into mercy and mercy into justice. We made it easy for cynical people to hurt the those we are supposed to serve.

Passover—Pesash—is for all of us own our lack of empathy and to own our complicity in the resulting cruelties.

Pause this week. Let you-know-who do whatever dumb and venal thing crosses his mind. But don’t us be dumb and venal. Listen for the stranger; do not look away. Call their name.

Riding the rift

There is an ever-pregnant crack that runs down the Atlantic Ocean called the “rift.” The word focuses attention on the separation of the continents in exactly the way the fear mongers try to focus us on what drives us apart. Look closer at an actual rift and you’ll see nothing but molten possibilities welling up. New earth forces through the thin part of the crust millimeter by inch by yard by mile as new rock grows between the Americas and Europe and Africa. A rift connects by rearranging power and place.

Most of the way to and from Cape Town we ride the rift.

We flew one way down the rift from Washington to Cape Town as a human politician looked invincible, forcing proud law firms and universities to the knee. Two weeks later we flew back the other way just as four million citizens from around the world rose up like new lava. One man dividing with emergencies and fears. But as lava does, people rose up in the thin places with new land to stand on. where he pushed us apart.

All human fields of thought is connected by the upwelling of change: academic disciplines, political theory and movements, racial identities, nations, peoples, skills and techniques that seem stable enough to imagine even a few decades of time called “career.” It is easy to gin up fear of the new lava, people and relationships. But fear has so little to work with, really.

We were in South Africa where the Leading Causes of Life learned to walk over the past three decades. We met at Goedgedacht Farm and retreat center whose name means “well thought.” This is difficult land getting harder; Mediterranean climate until twenty years ago; now moving rapidly toward dry and hot, semi-desert. The Karoo is just over a few ridges and coming closer.

Honeybees and olive trees adapt to the challenging and changing environment.

The farm has deep Christian roots, but now it has an interfaith chapel and a vision increasingly tuned to life logic. It is a laboratory of mercy, justice and, well, life. And it is a real farm growing olives for market just like Koinania Farms grows pecans. In COVID-19 they had no money for pesticides and fertilizer. Peter, their Afrikaner farmer, had to look with new eyes at the dirt, bugs, trees, bees and all that rots. He liked what he saw and learned how to live in the rift between old ways and new regenerative ways. He is now the happiest farmer of olive trees I’ve ever met.

Pieter describes falling in love with the regenerative dirt.

Leading Causes of Life grows well here, too. LCL-I is about more than Faith and Health, or as we learned in Lesotho, FaithHealth. Peters says that when you see something that troubles you, look closer; pay attention and do not look away. Good advice for growing olive trees near the Karoo or democracy in times of rift. Whenever we gather it feels like Iceland; molten, connectional, expectant, unfazed by the structural uncertainties.

Some time ago The Carter Center built an Interfaith Health Program built on the upwelling of Faith and Health. We didn’t have to pull them laboriously toward each other one footnote at a time. They were already linked by new energy the way Iceland works, riding lightly on the lively connectional rift. That can be hard to navigate as the field look broken with fractures and gaps. I don’t know Icelandic, but in the Appalachians a gap is the way through the otherwise impenetrable barrier. A gap is a geological fracture that allows one to walk through; not unlike walking on lava once it cools. The gap is the place to head to what comes next in your life. Gaps connect.

This is practical way to navigate in a time of radical rifting. Personally, I’m happy with as big a gap as possible between me and Proud Boys. But even there, it is hard to miss all sorts of new molten organizations, networks, and such emerging. My favorite new upwelling is the organization “Indivisible” which helped liberate the global energy on April 5th  movement. Hold.Health, We in the World and Rethink Health the also rise up out of space in between.

The five gaps helped us to look more closely at the rifts so we can head toward those people, ideas, places, values and perspective we could build with.

  • The Gap between people we know and those we do not yet know, or could know if we wanted to.
  • The Gap between knowledge we already have and the new knowledge that might extend or complete what that knowledge might make possible.
  • The gap between places we think of as separate from places that we now see are actually quite intimately connected.
  • The gap between values we have and new implications and possibilities to fulfill those values.
  • The gap between what we think we need now and what our childrens’ childrens’ children’ childrens’ childrens’ children will need. That’s a seven generational span, counting us and our parents, long enough to expect radical difference, but short enough to imagine caring.

Each of the five gaps is a fluid emergent connection on which we can live like Icelanders or sub-Karoo farmers. Each gap is a way through something that feels like a dangerous barrier. Each gap is a kind of opportunistic connection that might shape our curiosity and active search. We can ask and follow the answer through each kind of gap.

On the harsh South African land our thoughts turned toward the cause of life we call generativity, intergenerativity or simply blessing. This focuses on how we find our life by the flow of life among the flow of people. This speaks to finding our way when we know we are poised appropriately on the rift between what has been and that which is still potential.

Sunset in Hout Bay is sun rise in Brazil on the other side of the rift. (photo by Jim Cochrane)

We can navigate the unknowable time between stabilities by looking for the new relationships, new relevancies of existing values, new knowledge, long term needs of those who will live on the other side of the rift.

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Leading Life

The health of the public is the work of life; fibroblasts for broien bones, Leading Causes of Life for the broken public.

When all is turbulent, take care of the mind, heart and soul of those who will build whatever comes next. Teach, evoke, give courage. Liberate the rising ones to find their words and ideas fit for their hard labors. Help them move boldly toward joy. They might let you come along.

Dr. Linda Alexander, the Chief Academic Officer of the Association of Schools and Programs of Public Health (ASPPH) of does every bit of that first paragraph­.

That’s why she teed up Howard Koh, Soma Saha and me to bring the Leading Causes of Life into the group probably more in the bullseye right now than any group of educators in the land. These faculty and institutions lead the research, teaching and formation of the core functions of public health and, well, public everything. Duck and cover? Not around Linda.

LCL was born in, and born for these people and times. Conceived at The Carter Center, but birthed in the tough streets of Memphis and the townships of southern Africa where ideas better be tough or they get mugged—before noon.

The Leading Causes of Life help teachers and the students into the positive social complexity of the ever-muddling gaggle of humans we call “the public.” Public health is the academic discipline and daily practice to help every person and neighborhood live into its dignity, freedom and abundant life. As Howard Koh quoted William Sloan Coffin, “the glory of God is a human fully alive.” But how do humans fulfill that promise? Not by dodging all the leading causes of death, or avoiding anything.

We move boldly toward life. How?

The basic purpose of LCL language is to help you navigate in the right direction—toward life; away from death, even—especially—in confusing times.

Connection: we live because of how we are together. No such thing as a single human, ever. Endless vital mysteries in the radical complexity. But there are always living surprises in between the words for family, gender, members, citizen and and and ….

Coherence. Not the list of things we think we believe (that hides how much we don’t know). The sense in the gut of the Big Story in which we find life. “Salutogenesis”—still up on the NIH website that opens up the mystery of health.

Agency. The human capacity to act, choose, do, not do, move, find, care—even amid radical turbulence when the connections fray and coherence evaporates.

Intergenerativity or Blessing. Linda’s teachers find their own life by being in generative relationships with their students—transgenerational, is the key. And in doing so finding the life that flows to them from those that shaped them. Most grown-ups experience this with their children and extended families when they give their lives to those more important than themselves. Normal people of faith.

Hope. Not optimism, although even that works better than the pills about a third of the time (placebo effect). Hope is like a memory that guides us … but for living into the future. For the people God so loves—the public, not just me. It animates our connections, focuses coherence, drives generativity and puts our agency to work.

The five causes hold open space like tent poles keep to avoid premature simplicity. Not a road map of the whole journey, but a way to keep you from tripping over your own feet and dithering over the first 10 minutes of the rest of your life.

Since LCL was born it has spawned a whole library with continued application (leading-causes.com). You can see life in the practical language of the Vital Conditions that many communities are turning to amid contentious turbulence. LCL is being integrated into the remarkably hopeful work of Interfaith America as it convenes dozens of universities to sharpen the crafts of faith and health.

Life logic works best in really tough times when we realize our silicon gizmos cannot save us. Heather Wood Ion, our friend and LCLI Felllow, once gave Jonas Salk a bit of a meteor that had all the amino acids, the chemical base for life. He already knew that “life finds a way.” But we all need friends to remind us.

If this resonates, you have people. Hold.Health, Leading Causes of Life Initiative, We In the World, Community Initiatives, ASPPH, Partners for Better Health, and Goedgedacht and many, many more; Even a School of Divinity!

That’s how life works.

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TC and I left ASPPH and flew 14 hours to Cape Town to be with the deep southern contingent of the LCL Initiative Fellows. We will celebrate the final release of the Handbook on Religion and Health: Pathways for a Turbulent Future with a global web event at the University of Cape Town. Rising Amid the Storm will be streamed live from the University of Cape Town Wednesday 2nd April 2025 17:00-19:00 (SAST)( 11am Eastern Time).

Join us at: https://us02web.zoom.us/j/82836382633