PAINTING ON CANVASS BAG: RICHARD DURATE BROWN
Is this the manner of fasiting I wish,
of keeping a day of penance:
That one bow his head like a reed,
and lie in sackcloth and ashes?
Do you call this a fast,
a day acceptable to the Lord?
This, rather, is the fasting that I wish:
realeasing those bound unjustly,
untying the thongs of the yoke;
Setting free the oppressed,
breaking every yoke;
Sharing your bread with the hungry,
sheltering the oppressed and the homeless;
Clothing the naked when you see them,
and not turning your back on your own.
Is 58, 5-7

Fasting desired by the Holy One is more demanding than giving up chocolate, texting, or movies. While the author of this section of Isaiah carries on the theme of social justice central to the earlier chapters of the book, he goes further, challenging us to expand our vision of just WHO is “our own.”

I can read the list of requirements of fasting that is pleasing to God and still maintain my distance from those I treat as “other.” I can drop money in a collection for Haiti or take used clothing to a local Saint Vincent de Paul shop and still not recognize and embrace the “others” closer to home.

This reading calls out to me to consider who are “my own,” and how I turn my back on them. The author of today’s OT reading proclaimed to his audience that salvation was open to all and that all are God’s beloved. (Is 56) That means everyone is “my own.” The gay man down the street, the transsexual at work, the popular crowd that makes life unbearable at school, the irritating neighbor, the homeless people on the streets of my own city. The list is endless.

Today’s reading doesn’t suggest I should not give alms or volunteer. Those are good things, but there is more to do. Lent reminds me that actions alone are not enough. It was not enough for the Israelites to participate in cultic rites and fasting. The Holy One was calling them to conversion of heart. They had to come to know that those suffering were “their own,” and when anyone is oppressed, all are oppressed.

The Compassionate One is asking me to share in her Great Heart, to reflect on how my life style contributes to injustice, to increase my awareness of the poor, and yes, those who have no access to health care or decent housing in this country of abundance. I am called to understand that in God’s eyes, no one is “other.” No one is special. No one is less.

Giving up chocolate was a lot easier.
© 2010 Mary van Balen

IMAGE FROM Rhodes Jewish Museum

Blessed is the one who walks not in the counsel of the wicked,
nor stands in the way of sinners,
nor sits in the seat of scoffers.
but whose delight is in the law of the Lord,
and who meditates on God’s law day and night
Psalm 1, 1-2

What comes to mind when you hear the word “law?” Traffic regulations? Tomes of legal statutes? Rules that you cannot break without suffering consequences? Laws, unless changed by legislation or edict, are static and guide individual and societal behavior.

Such definitions come quickly to a modern, western mind, but not to an ancient Hebrew one. To them, law (or Torah) was given by God not only to regulate their behavior, but also to help them become a wise people. (see Dictionary of Biblical Theology by Xavier Leon Dufour)

The Law was not static, but developed as Hebrew history unfolded. By the time the Israelites had returned from Exile and the Psalms were written, “law” was equated with “Wisdom,” and to love the Law was to love God.

It is in that spirit that I read today’s Psalm. I cannot imagine meditating on a long, dry list of rules and regulations, but I can imagine spending time, especially during Lent, reading deeply Scripture, the living Word, which draws me into a conversation with the Holy One. If I approach Scripture with an open heart and a quiet mind, Wisdom can reveal herself to me right where I am: Lent 2010. With all its complications and challenges, its joys and sorrows.

The great, ancient prayer of Lectio Divina, often connected with the Benedictine tradition, though universal in its appeal, is a good way to approach Scripture this season. Meditate on it, carry it in your heart, and be still to hear Wisdom speaking in your deepest center.
© 2010 Mary van Balen

PHOTO: MARY VAN BALEN

“…Behold, thou desirest truth in the inward being;
therefore teach me wisdom in my secret heart.
Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean;
wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.
Fill me with joy and gladness…
Psalm 51, 6-8a

Today begins the ancient season of Lent. While it is often connected with “giving up something,” the next forty days are more than a time to lose weight by not eating sugar. It is a time to deepen one’s relationship with God by reflecting on what separates us from intimacy with the Holy One.

I love Psalm 51 and it’s statement of the Divine desire for Truth to fill our inmost being. To be filled with God’s Truth is to be filled with Compassionate Love, for ourselves and for all. How can this happen? How does one grow in the ability to hold God’s Presence within?

While giving up candy or too much television may be good things, they are good not because candy or television is innately “bad,” but because they can give us the illusion of filling up the emptiness placed in our deepest center, the emptiness that can be filled only by the Holy One.

What speaks to me in this section of Psalm 51 are the words: “Therefore, teach me wisdom in my secret heart.”

In order to receive this gift of Wisdom, my heart must be receptive. I must be aware of existing in the Holy Embrace, undistracted, present to the moment where God and I both reside.

That is the challenge of Lent for me: To spend time with this greatest Lover, time to repent of habits and preoccupations that keep me from opening my heart and receiving the Gift so faithfully given.
© 2010 Mary van Balen

PHOTOS: MARY VAN BALEN
After the third snowstorm in as many weeks, I am receiving emails from friends who say, “Enough is enough!” One, who knows how much I love snowy winters, suggested I go around town, gather up the white stuff and haul it to Minnesota where I happily spent last year.

When Vancouver is getting rain while children in the usually slushy midwest are building their third or fourth snow man, I am sure climate change is at work. But for those who would will winter away, I have but one thing to say: Savor the gifts of the season.

“Winter gifts,” you say?
1. TIME: Take advantage of those closings that scroll across the bottom of your TV screen. When you are unable to attend some activity on your schedule, don’t bemoan the change of plans. Dust off the book or magazine you have not had time to read. Write a letter. Bake cookies with the kids. Build a fire in the fireplace, sit in front of it, and do nothing. Take a nap. Look at cancellations or slick roads not as an inconvenience, but as a gift of time.

2. BEAUTY: Even if you hate the white stuff, you have to admit that it transforms everything it covers. The trash you still have to haul to the back is no longer an eye sore; it is a mound of pure white. Unkempt gardens, remnants of last fall’s leaves, anything that is less than lovely when in view becomes a freeform sculpture. And what about a bird perched on tree branch, shrubs and red berries with tall white caps, evergreen branches drooping with loads of snow looking like they came right off a Christmas card? As Pete Seeger sings in his 1964 song “Snow, Snow” even barbed-wire is beautiful in snow.

3. QUIET: Have you ever noticed how snow muffles sound? Step outside and listen to the quiet. Fewer cars, fewer people, and what noise remains, even grating, irritating noise, is muted.

4. PLAY: When temperatures are moderately cold, snow offers a chance to play. Getting past interia and thoughts of unbearable cold is the hard part. Once you put on boots, coat, hat, and gloves and step out into the weather, you may be surprised to discover that human beings can function just fine on a winter day. build a snowman or be creative and try something else. My brother’s last work of snow art was a five foot squirrel! Do children live near-by? Grandchildren visiting? Have them join in the fun.

Go sledding or for something gentler, take a long walk. Front lawns are like galleries. Instead of tacky plastic snowmen (and women), you will see the real thing.

5. FOOD: What is better than a warm cup of hot chocolate and a plate of cookies on a cold day? Maybe with a splash of Bailey’s. Steaming cups of coffee or tea spiked with something alcoholic for those so inclined. Comfort food tastes even better when munched while looking over a moonlit snowscape.

I can hear the protests. My mailbox may fill up with objections. But I still say, snow is here weather you like it or not. Instead of grumbling, enjoy it’s gifts.
© 2010 Mary van Balen

LINKS: Ted Kooser Home Page
NPR Ted Kooser Shares the Poetry of Valentine’s Day

One afternoon, I heard a story on NPR about a small town post office in Valentine, Nebraska where a kind-hearted and patient woman hand-stamped their unique postmark on thousands of envelopes filled with the holiday greeting. I listened, heartened to know that such things still happen in a modern world filled with people in a hurry. The woman interviewed said she enjoyed her job and had time to add the arrow-pierced heart to anyone’s valentine who took the trouble to get it to her office. Apparently, people from all over the country did just that. I went about my work that day with a smile.

Months later, I attended a writers’ conference where poet Ted Kooser delivered the keynote address which, much to his audience’s delight, he embellished with readings of his poetry. He read one written for Valentine’s Day and then shared his tradition of sending out valentines to people all over the country. The project began simply as writing a poem for his wife, and then later, sharing it with other friends. At readings, including ours, he offered those attending the opportunity to sign up for the special cards.

“Just find me and give me a copy of your address,” he said. I wrote down my address and that of one of my daughters, a poet herself, and handed the small piece of paper to Mr. Kooser at lunch. He smiled and graciously promised a Valentine when February came around.

I watched him slide the paper into his sport jacket pocket and hoped it would not get lost in his travels. Months went by and as Valentine’s Dap approached, I wondered if my two addresses had found their way onto his mailing list. If not, I would understand, I thought, preparing for disappointment.

Then, on February 14, a small white postcard appeared in my mailbox. A big, red postmark grabbed my attention: Valentine Nebraska! Of course. Ted Kooser lives in Nebraska. I remembered the NPR story and the sweet woman in the little Nebraska post office. My postcard was one of thousands she stamped that year, and Ted Kooser made sure his valentines landed on her desk before one of them sailed into my mailbox.

THIS PAPER BOAT

Carefully placed upon the future,
it tips from the breeze and skims away,
frail thing of words, this valentine,
so far to sail. And if you find it
caught in the reeds, its message blurred,
the thought that you are holding it
a moment is enough for me.

Number 22, and the last of the series.
Ted Kooser, Valentine’s Day, 2007
© 2010 Mary van Balen

LINKS: “Delights and Shadows” by Ted Kooser Home Page Ted Kooser’s Official Website “I’m In Charge of Celebrations”

PHOTOS: MARY VAN BALEN
“He has a fish house on the lake behind the Abbey and goes out there, drinks tea and reads poetry. He welcomes visitors. Once he invited the Queen of England when she was in the States, but she sent her regrets, saying she was “devastated” that she could not come.”

My heart beat faster, and as Byrd Baylor says in her book, “I’m in Charge of Celebrations,” I knew tea in this monk’s fish house would be an experience worthy of anniversary remembrances.

The comment was part of general conversation at my daughter’s college graduation party. Friends gathered to mark the occasion, and while discussing unique aspects of studying at a university connected with community of Benedictine monks in rural Minnesota, a professor mentioned the fish house.

I plied the speaker with questions, hungry for more details. First, there was the matter of learning what a fish house looked like. I had visions of an old oriental carpet laid directly on the ice. What about the hole for fishing? Would that be there? Did he plumb the waters as well as verse? And how did he make tea on a frozen lake without melting something important, like the floor?

My questions were answered patiently, Minnesotan to clueless but curious creature from warmer climes. I hung on every word, both excited and resigned to a life that likely would not include enjoying the opportunity also regrettably missed by HRH Queen Elizabeth.

Six years later, while at the Collegeville Institute, I was riding into town with Br. Wilfred, the Institute’s liaison to the Abbey. As we passed frozen lakes dotted with fish houses on either side of the road, I remembered the graduation party conversation.

“I once heard that a monk here had a fish house where he went to have tea and read poetry. Is that true?”

“Oh, yes,” Wilfred said with a smile. “That would be Br. Paul. He once invited the Queen of England, you know.”

My heart beat faster. “Is he still living?”

Wilfred laughed. “Yes. He’s not that old really; he works at the library. Every winter when the ice is thick enough, he pulls the fish house onto the lake.”

“Wilfred,” I said earnestly, “could you finagle an invitation for me? Ever since I heard about tea in the fish house, I have wanted to go.”

Wilfred chuckled again. Perhaps at my eagerness. Perhaps at my plea for “finagling.” The monks, true to Benedictine values, were hospitable and approachable, and any day after prayer I could have asked Br. Paul myself if I had known which one he was.

“Oh, you will get a chance to go. Every year he invites the Institute scholars out for tea. He’ll send an email.”

I sat back in the seat and smiled. I was going to meet Br. Paul and share tea in his fish house!

Wilfred was right. An email soon appeared inviting scholars for tea. The invitation included a schedule of possible dates and times, a map, and encouragement to bring poetry to share. On February 13, carrying a camera and book of Ted Kooser’s poetry in my bright yellow Thai monk’s bag, I joined two others and we began our trek to the fish house.

Andu, an Ethiopian scholar, was uncertain about the prospect of walking on a frozen lake. Lois and I, usually up for any adventure, had no qualms. We drove as far as we could, parked the car and walked a short distance through snow-covered woods to the lake’s edge.

In the distance we saw a small plywood hut raised slightly over the ice by what appeared to be long boards resting on six sets of wooden blocks spaced along the two longer sides. Paul appeared outside and walked toward us, smiling and waving as he came.
Over the past week, air temperatures had risen above freezing a few of times, and the ice was brittle where it had melted and refrozen over small pockets of air. Andu’s face registered horror as he took a couple of steps and heard crackling sounds as his feet broke through the thin top layer and sank a centimeter or two before coming to rest on solid ice. Paul reassured him and we laughed as we made our way to fish house.

The front had a door and small window that closed with glass and a shutter. I later learned that the two windows, one in front and one in back, were used to regulate the temperature in a rudimentary way: When the room was too hot, they were opened; when the inside became cold, they were closed.

Paul opened the door and warmth and smell of burning wood welcomed us. In the right back corner that was lined with metal printing plates sat the smallest wood burner I have ever seen. A few chairs, a bench, and a table draped with a red cloth and set with white teacups, silver ware, and bowls of nuts and cookies filled the remaining space.

The afternoon passed pleasantly. Paul, meticulous about brewing tea (The Queen would have approved.), filled the teapot with hot water from a kettle that sat on top of the little stove, swirled it around and once the pot was warmed, tossed the water out the back window. He then poured boiling water over loose tea, timed its steeping with a gold stopwatch, and filled our cups with steaming Earl Grey.

We ate nuts and cookies as conversation turned to St. Benedict and his Rule.
The monks’ promise of conversion of life moved me. Isn’t that what we are all called to do? To be open to change, to growing and deepening in our experience and understanding of God and what that demands of us? The Benedictine does that in the context of the community to which he or she belongs.

When a Benedictine monk advises one to take the “long view,” he is speaking from experience. The Benedictine “Order” is ancient, predating any others and its members can view the slow evolution of Church doctrine and organization as well as political and environmental issues with patience borne of immersion in an institutional memory spanning fourteen hundred years. The Benedictines have a unique structure. Sometimes called “the Order without order,” each Abbey is autonomous and links with all others in a loosely connected federation, really not an order in the canonical sense.

“We are pretty much left alone by bishops and the Vatican. They don’t know what to do with us,” Paul joked. It sounded like a good position to me.

We moved on to talk about Icelandic epic poetry and illustrations from the Edda that formed a border around the top of the walls just below the ceiling. Years ago, when he arrived at the Abbey, Br. Paul asked a literature professor for an Icelandic grammar and had taught himself the language to read Icelandic poetry.

Then we shared the poems we had brought. Lois brought one she had written about her deaf mother and growing up in a large Mennonite family. I read Ted Kooser’s poem, “A Box of Pastels,” reflecting on the wonder of holding Mary Cassatt’s pastels in his hand. His poetry reveals the sacredness of quotidian, and our afternoon in the fish house was surely a sacrament of the ordinary. Andu had not brought a poem. Instead, he stood and swayed gently, moving his hands as he sang an ancient Ethiopian hymn in its unique cadence and mode.

Paul pointed to a paper hung on the wall: a poem written by a friend who had visited the fish house years ago. We talked about the picture of Queen Elizabeth that gazed at us from her perch over the door and about other visitors who had shared tea in this room.

Time passed quickly. Evening Mass was fast approaching. Paul insisted on doing the clean-up. A wilderness backpacker, he would bundle up everything, tie it onto his orange plastic sled, and pull it back up to the Abbey. Lois, Andu, and I returned in high spirits and joined the others at Mass. This time, I had no trouble spotting the monk with the fish house. We exchanged smiles across the sanctuary as we had across the table at tea: both holy places… both places to celebrate the Sacred in our midst.
© 2010 Mary van Balen

PHOTO: MARY VAN BALEN
My world is more chaotic than usual. I am still looking for a job, throwing my net wide. The move from one home to another is not complete, and early this week, my father was taken to the hospital. Along with my brothers and sisters, I have been spending time there, talking with doctors, holding dad’s hand, and keeping other family informed. This morning I woke at 5am, overwhelmed with thoughts of preparations to bring dad home and writing tasks left undone. My agitated spirit reminded me that I had not spent time with Lectio for the past few days either.

I dressed and settled at the dining room table. The empty house was quiet and as I began to sing “Come Holy Ghost,” tension began to ebb away. I opened my small black Bible and began reading slowly to find my “Word.”

The Spirit hovered over the chaos.
© 2010 Mary van Balen

LINK: Text of President Obama’s State of the Union Address

PHOTO: CHARLES DHARAPAK/ ASSOCIATED PRESS
Two phrases from President Obama’s State of the Union address remain with me this morning. One is “a deficit of trust.” He was talking about American’s lack of trust in their government and the lack of trust between our political parties. It makes working together impossible. No compromise, no legislation, no progress. The status quo reigns when those responsible for leadership and change don’t believe that others share their vision and genuinely want what is best not for their re-election but for the country.

The second phrase came early in the speech when Mr. Obama recalled times of uncertainty of the very existence of the United States. It was not predetermined or destined to be. “We chose to move forward as one people,” Mr. Obama said. As a people we must chose to move into the future, but there is no movement without trust.

Implications of the national deficit of trust are clear: No movement. No change. The poor, uninsured, and unemployed will continue to live in fear of illness or accident. They will wake up worried about basic food and shelter. Jobs that do not provide living wages will continue to look better than no job at all, a reality many stare in the face everyday.

This morning I am thinking also of effects of a “trust deficit” in situations other than the current impasse in the US government. Lack of trust effects relationships between countries making fear mongering easier and isolation attractive. Combating ignorance and the fear that fuels prejudice and violence is impossible when one feels threatened by the other.

Employees generally are not as productive as they might be when suspicious supervisors and managers monitor their every move expecting the worst. When enthusiasm for the company’s work is lost and everyone looks out for personal advancement at the expense of others, morale plummets.

Relationships crumble without trust. Marriages fail when the partners no longer believe that the other has the best interest of both at heart, but focuses on himself or herself instead. Friendships wither when not watered by trust.

And what of the most personal form of trust: trust in God-With-Us? In the wake of Haiti’s devastating earthquake, I have heard people question the existence of God: “It makes belief in a benevolent God hard to hold on to,” one person said. The age-old question of God and suffering resurfaces whenever a natural disaster occurs. Tragedies in our personal lives can elicit similar responses: serious illness or death of a loved one, loss of job, betrayal, or shattered relationships.

How does one continue to trust when the evidence seems to indicate otherwise?
One chooses faith. Mr. Obama reminded us of dark times in our country’s history when someone took the lead and inspired others to believe. They chose to sacrifice and to do the hard work that pulled the country forward.

When we are tempted to doubt the Compassionate One is with us or even exists, we, too, can find inspiration in history: the history of Christianity and Great Faiths of the world. Who would have thought that the Jesus who agonized in the garden and felt abandoned on the cross would rise again? What are the odds that followers of this crucified itinerant preacher and wonderworker would survive persecutions and discrimination and begin a Church of billions of believers?

Who thought a small, devout Hindu could inspire a country and challenge the British Empire winning not with the power of weapons but of non-violence?

The Holy One speaks to all people calling them to compassion, love, and forgiveness. Even in the darkest times, the Creator reveals Loving Presence to the world. Many in Haiti still worship and pray together; they trust in God’s faithfulness. People of good will, some believers, some not, have responded with selflessness and generosity. We are God’s face to the world.

And what of our personal histories? Can we find moments when God was with us in difficult times? When good sprouted out of the darkness of pain? Can we remember times when we chose to trust, to drag one foot in front of the other when that was all we could do, and with time, regained our stride?

Mr. Obama is hoping to eliminate the “trust deficit” He cannot do it alone, just as we could not rise from our crisis of faith by ourselves. Community, whether a political community like a country, or a faith community like parishes, small groups, or even special relationships, offers an indispensable gift: Not everyone loses faith at the same time. Someone “keeps the trust” and shares it with those who have none.

The rebirth of a country’s trust depends on the rebirth of a deeper trust in the hearts of its people. We cannot address a national trust deficit without addressing our own. True conversation between nations or peoples or between party members or pundits cannot take place until Love begins to replace fear in our hearts.

LINKS: America.gov: Engaging the World , Food Not Bombs Website

On January 7, U.S. Agriculture Secretary Tom Vilsack announced that the Obama administration was working with the Afghan government and its agricultural framework to stabilize the country by providing its people with means to grow food for local consumption as well as export and with profitable alternatives to growing poppies. Another goal of this project is to remove some of the Taliban’s recruitment tools: People who are able to feed themselves, earn a living for their families, and who receive help attaining those goals from their government are less likely to be convinced to join the Taliban whose goals and ideology they do not share.

A Jan. 8 article on “America.gov” written by staff writer Stephen Kaufman, quotes Vilsack: “To develop a relationship of trust with the Afghan government and farmers, concrete results are needed, he said. For that reason, ‘we’re spending a lot of time … trying to listen to precisely what the Afghans need of us.’

A good idea: listening to those we want to help. The previous administration spent time and money destroying the poppy crop. Obama is going after the traffickers instead.

In a time when our country is at war and violence grabs headlines around the world, reading about an effort to change the world climate by enabling farmers to grow crops to feed the hungry, to listen to their needs rather than imposing US goals, to work through Afghan leadership, and to build trust of between people, their government, and the USA is hopeful.

This seems like a more productive way to promote peace than waging wars. I am reminded of a movement begun in the late 60’s early 70’s, “Food not Bombs.” It is still going strong, feeding people around the world, often with food that would otherwise be discarded. Both ideas seem obviously good ones and that makes one wonder why they should be news at all. Isn’t that how those that have should serve those that do not?

May the agricultural initiative between the US and Afghanistan sow seeds for similar programs around the world.

LINKS:
QUOTES: Martin Luther King
I HAVE A DREAM SPEECH AND VIDEO
WE SHALL OVERCOME: Historic places of the Civil Rights Movement
ROBERT GRAETZ’S BOOK: A White Preacher’s Message on Race and Reconcilliation

Years ago, I sat in Dexter Avenue Baptist Church, Montgomery Alabama and watched a young service woman speaking with an elderly gentleman in the front pew: One was white; the other was black. Fifty-five years ago that encounter most likely would not have taken place. I imagined the space filled with voices of Martin Luther King Jr. and crowds gathered in prayer supporting the Montgomery bus boycott.

It began with Jo Ann Robinson, head of the Women’s Political Council, who along with other women mimeographed thousands of flyers asking Montgomery Blacks to boycott buses on the day Rosa Park’s case was heard in court. The boycott’s success encouraged the black community, and the following day many gathered in Dexter Avenue Church, formed the Montgomery Improvement Association, and spurred on by its newly elected leader, Martin Luther King, Jr., called for a citywide bus boycott.

When we visited the museum at Dexter Ave. Baptist Church and watched historic newscasts, my young adult children expressed horror at scenes of protesters being attacked by dogs and thrown to the ground by water blasts from fire hoses. For many adults today, the early Civil Rights movement in this country is ancient history.

That reality prompted me to invite Rev. Robert and Jeannie Graetz to speak in my adult Even Start Class. He had accepted his first assignment as a Lutheran minister in Montgomery Alabama the same year Martin Luther King Jr. became pastor at Dexter Ave. The only white minister to publicly and actively support the bus boycott along with Jeannie, his family’s home were fire bombed and his life threatened. Their neighbor, Rosa Parks, helped clean up the mess left by the bombs and took a neighborhood collection to replace tableware smashed in the attack.
His stories of life in the South in the 60’s, MLK’s leadership, and the black community’s courage impressed the students. His call to address not only racism, alive and well in this country, but also other areas of discrimination spoke to their experience. Many lived in poverty and suffered abuse.
“Respect All Cultures Equally” is the phrase Bob and Jeannie use whenever they address a group. In addition to racism, issues that demand our attention and activity include equal rights for transsexuals and homosexuals, protection and services for ethnic minorities, and recognition of systemic discrimination against the poor in our country.
PHOTOS OF GRAETZS: MARY VAN BALEN

Everyone may be entitled to an education, but the quality of that education is determined in large part by pocketbook. People don’t flock to inner cities for outstanding schools; pricey suburbs tout top-notch education.

Did you know that in most cities in our country a person can be refused housing or be fired from a job because they are transsexuals? How many people know what “transsexual” is? Not many, yet fear of the “other” fuels discrimination and violence against them.

Martin Luther King’s work to end racism in the United States not completed. We must carry it on while extending our quest for justice to include other groups as well, both within our borders and beyond them.

Faith was the root of Dr. King’s vision and courage and that courage and that of those who walked with him, challenging bigotry and its ugly manifestations in this country. One way to honor them is to ask God’s help in seeing all as our sisters and brothers. God can replace fear with love, for as King said, “At the center of non-violence stands the principle of love.”

He challenges us with these words: “Life’s most persistent and urgent question is, ‘What are you doing for others?’” What ARE we doing? We might contact Senators and Congress-people about the shame of millions of Americans without health care and insist they pass a reform bill. We might volunteer at an afterschool center that attempts to close the huge educational and experience gap between the rich and the poor.

We might change our lifestyles, consuming less and respecting resources, and seeking justice in their global distribution. The earthquake in Haiti has refocused attention on abject poverty in our world.

As he talked about the “new” issues to be addressed, Bob Graetz liked to quote King: “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.”

Take time today to celebrate Martin Luther King Jr.’s birthday not just by sleeping in or going shopping. Reflect on his words, examine your heart, and live to make a difference.