JoJo--Yours, Mine and Ours

This is my one year anniversary of blogging. I wrote one entry on June 3rd 2004, but the first one I really loved writing was on June 7, 2004 called "Prince Albert Goes to War" and it is still one of my favorites. If you read this blog and have never read that post, I would love for you to do so because it's a sweet story about my mom's brother, Bill, who died this time last year.

One startling reality of that passing is that my mom is the last living member of a large "yours, mine, and ours" family. You wouldn't know by her demeanor that she's shouldered the loss of not just her mate and both of her parents, but also all of her sisters, brothers, their wives, and her niece, who was like a sister.

Her demeanor may be to a great extent influenced by her birth order.

First, her natural birth. Do you know any toddlers whose siblings are all teenagers? You know how little ones like that are often doted on by everyone? You know the little one that everyone picks up and loves? Well, I think my mom, Emma Jo Evans Choate, was a much loved little one. This could have produced an overindulged unpleasant type of person. But, not in this case. This "yours, mine, and ours" baby matured into JoJo.

JoJo opens her arms. She picks us up. She loves us. All of us. The whole family. The whole church. The kids at school. The whole staff at Kroger's.

She loves you and you love her.

But don't be fooled into thinking that her cheerfulness precludes a deep seated grief over the stinging losses she sustains. A demeanor like hers can hardly be sustained simply by a natural birth order. It is her second birth, her life in Christ, her spiritual self that keeps the twinkle in her eye, the song in her heart, and openness of her spirit. It is the Holy Spirit that gives birth to an irrepressible spirit of love and hope.

God loves her. She loves us. We love her.

Because God is her father and Jesus is her brother she has embraced the promise of brothers, sisters, fathers, and mothers Jesus promised those willing to give it all up for him.

JoJo and Jesus. Yours, mine, and ours.

We are all freshman; we are all seniors

At the piano-Kieran Patrick Dowdy of

Huntsville, Alabama on the occasion

of his senior piano recital, Sunday, April 18, 2005

In the foreground, his parents, Jim and Rachel Dowdy

.

The cloudless morning of September 11th brought the class of 2005 into high school and into a new era of life in America. We all became freshman again, treading nervously a new terrain.

We who teach have walked with them on a kind of balance beam seeking a point of equilibrium that may exist at some point out of our range of sight, perhaps out of our dimension. On the morning of September of 11, 2001 my government students opined that their current event assignment was SO boring. The headlines consisted of an education initiative (always exciting to teens) and a couple of shark attacks. The shark attacks were disturbing, no doubt, but hardly brought about any sense of personal threat to our suburban land locked teens.

What followed the World Trade Center attack was the end of our insulation. Shocked into awareness of threats that had existed for a long time, they saw headlines transformed from tedium to terror. From random shark attacks to beheadings.

Then we went to war in Iraq. As Jimmy Carter accepted his Nobel Peace Prize bombs went off in Bagdhad. The political fallout went from the smashing of Dixie Chix CD's, to french fries, to elections in Iraq.

In our examination of public policy, I often felt that we had to balance the possibilities for solutions to world problems with the gravity of the threats. Because even while living with the fog of war--kids still need to be kids.

In those days before September 11, this class charmed us through their toddlerhood, amused us with missing and disproportionately big incisors, entertained us with their voice changes, and startled us with physiques taking adult shapes, overnight, or so it seems.

We assumed this Class of 2005 would have a world like our’s in which to mature. We assumed that we could prepare them for the ups and downs, and to a great extent we have.

But even as we walk under a cloudless sky, we are a country at war.

This week, graduation ceremonies begin, tassels will be turning, taking these kids away from us. The subject of the photo on my blog today rates as my favorite among the class of 2005. He can be favored because he doesn’t go to the school where I teach, and because he is our nephew, Kieran Patrick Dowdy, the child of Jim Dowdy, my husband’s brother, and his wife, Mary Rachel Formby Dowdy. Graduating from Huntsville High in Huntsville, Alabama Thursday night of this week, he will be noted as a summa cum laude scholar. Along with his stellar academic achievements, he has the added charm of being an accomplished pianist.

As we sat at Kieran’s senior piano recital, mesmerized by his rendition of a Rachmaninoff piece, my heart jumped in my throat when my camera captured Jim and Rachel in the foreground with Kieran performing in between them. For a moment I saw them representing all of us who have launched our children. Sitting, watching, and absorbing the artistry of life. Feeling at once the joy and the pain of being a family. Contemplating what love has wrought. Hearing the music, cheering the achievement, anticipating what's next.

We watch this class of 2005 on one hand confident we have equipped them for the trek ahead. We watch this class of 2005 with an unraveling sense that they are walking a path that we have never walked. Both sensibilities are true.

We are all seniors. We are all freshman.

The vicissitudes of pollen and Prague

My hairstylist's appointment book won't budge until after the big dinner. Twenty essays demand grading. Driving to school, my hair at the miserable can't do a thing-with-it-until-its-cut stage; I glance down noting the floor mats need vacuuming. The brake fluid light shines red and the low coolant light beams yellow. Yellow pollen covers the car. The windshield wipers, sans fluid, turn the dust into yellow granular slimes. As I pull out a quick glance at the mailbox reminds me that the mulching is undone and the snapdragons await planting.

Thoughts turn to home and five loads of laundry awaiting sorting, suds, drying, and worst yet--putting away. Thankfully the Christmas tree is down and put away, but weeks after Easter the fancy eggs from Prague still need nestling in their storage box. Problem is, getting that storage box out would mean opening the pantry which would remind me of the need for grocery shopping and restocking. Restocking the pantry will remind me again, that my husband and son are vegetarians and that I just don't have a good rhythm for meal planning yet. So, it's been three years. My pre-vegetarian meal planning rhythm wasn't all that great either.

Thinking of the stack of unread news, home decorating, and church leadership magazines irks me momentarily until I refocus on the irksomeness of the driver in front of me who seems to think blinkers are for ordinary people. I hope that a few minutes of NPR will help me focus on something more than the cruel vicissitudes of appointment books, pollen, and unread articles. Just my luck. It's pledge drive week.

How much more could go wrong?

Now it's nighttime. I stop working on my classes about 10:30 p.m. and contemplate a couple of pictures my husband Ken and I took on our recent trip to the Czech Republic.

First, Wenceslas Square. Home of the Prague Spring. Few folks alive can forget the thrill of seeing thousands of Czechs gathering there expressing their desire for freedom. Few can forget the spring of 1968 when Soviet tanks and troops crushed the nascent democratic movement.

I see the picture we took of a little wrought iron plant holder mounted on a tile on a building close to the square. I asked Ken to take the picture because I thought the plants were cheery and the wrought iron holder clever.Stepping closer, I saw an inscription on the tile. Our friend, Eddie White, read the Czech inscription explaining that it is a memorial to a 50 year-old woman who was shot and killed at that spot in 1968.

Someone, perhaps her grandchildren, placed the color plants.

What luxury--no, what grace---to experience appointment books, pollen, unread magazines, and ungraded essays as the vicissitudes of life.

Wenseclas Square 

Hi friends.
This week Ken and I are in Brno, Czech Republic with 23 other folks with the GACS Czech Mission Team. We have enjoyed cloudless blue skies and the company of members of the Brno Church of Christ as well as the students at the Brno Gymnazium Videnske--a secondary school. If you are interested in our trip journal Czech us out at www.gacsczechtrip.blogspot.com

Grace and peace to you.

Here's a view from the train station...

One night at the cinema and a week of TV news

Hotel Rwanda
Red Lake Reservation
Fulton County Superior Court
Woodside Hospice
Guantanamo Bay

A tiny kitchen in a small apartment in Duluth

Matters of life and death
Matters of morality
Matters of politics

As we celebrate the resurrection of Jesus from the dead
Do it again God
Do a mighty work

Let your angel roll away stones
stones of
unbelief
hatred
racism
violence
oppression
war

Let your people find their broken selves
quickened by
faith
love
brotherhood
gentleness
service
peace

at our kitchen tables
may we speak truth and love and purpose
in the face of hopelessness and threat
may we copy the courage of Paul Rusesabagina
and be students of Ashley Smith

in the halls of power
may we speak truth and love and purpose
in the face of hopelessness and threat
may we copy the courage of the prophets
and be the imitation of Christ

The Object of a Thousand Prayers

"'One day we may able to laugh at this, but right now I have to tell you that your son is going to die." Speaking softly with his Indian accent, the doctor went on, "The number of white blood cells in his body will be nearly impossible to overcome. We have ordered a life flight helicopter to take Trevor to the Children's Hospital in Birmingham."

Monday, March 10, 1986

The evening before he spiked a fever. We rushed him home from church. After pouring some Tylenol down his little throat and giving him a bath, we put him to bed planning to call the doctor in the morning. Trevor awoke early running a high fever. We got into the car heading for the pediatrician's office calling the doctor while on the way. On the examination table lay my Trevor listless and bleary-eyed. After ruling out strep and an ear infection, the doctor suggested it might just be a virus. I was to give him fluids and bring him back if he did not perk up.

I asked if the doctor wanted me to bring Trevor back the next day, and he said, "No, bring him back today." He muttered something about Reye's syndrome. I didn't know much about Reye's syndrome, but I knew it was serious.

Bewildered, I put Trevor in his infant car seat, and believe me, it was the easiest time I ever had putting him in. No thrashing, no resisting, no trying to get out. I offered him a cup of juice which he took and then let fall out of his hand. As I drove watching him in the rear view mirror, I realized that although he was not asleep, he was not moving. I turned the car around and went back to the doctor.

Spinal tap

When we arrived back at the doctor's office, he directed us to the nearby hospital where Trevor was quickly admitted. Right away they tapped his spine to check for meningitis. A nurse came out and commented that he was "sooo goooood." Remember, this was Alabama. Then she said, "We tapped his spine and he didn't even cry." That's when I fell apart inside. When I was four the doctors at Henry Ford hospital in Detroit tapped my spine. To this day I recall it as the single most painful experience of my life. No crying meant something was very wrong.

Within a few minutes the doctor told us that Trevor's spinal fluid showed positive for meningitis. Whether it was viral or bacterial was uncertain, but the doctor hooked him up to intravenous antibiotics anyway. He ordered a life-flight helicopter. The prognosis could not have been worse.

Trevor's strawberry blond curls matted around his neck and forehead. Motors, monitors, bottles, tubes, and needles flushed fluids into his tiny little hand. Flat on his back, he laid comatose on a gurney. Ken and I went in. We washed his hot, still body with a rag and sang a little song we sang to him everyday, "Trevor, Jesus loves you; Trevor, Jesus loves you; Trevor, Jesus loves you; and love came gushing down. Seek and ye shall find, ask anywhere, give a knock and the door will opened and love, love, love came gushing down." Then the next verse, "Trevor, Daddy loves you," was followed by "Trevor, Mommy loves you," which was followed by "Trevor, Christopher loves you." The song continued through nearly all of the grandparent, aunt, uncle, and cousin verses. Then it went to the folks at church.

We kept singing. We kept wiping his head. We breathed in and out, but the air seemed heavy. Finally, came the roar of the helicopter landing and life-flight attendants transferring Trevor to their gurney. Just as they were leaving our sight, I saw a little hand grab at the IV cord. My heart skipped a beat. Trevor's reach was the first voluntary move I had seen for hours. The first flicker of hope.

The EMTs wouldn't let us ride in the helicopter. One hundred miles lay between our new home in slow, sleepy Sheffield, Alabama and the relatively big city of Birmingham.

The receiver on the phone seemed to weigh ten pounds. I tried to call my mom in Michigan to ask her to pray. The hospital operator patiently waited as I tried two or three times to remember our phone number and then my mom's. The numbers would run together and get out of order. I stopped and started several times until all the numbers came to me.

After receiving the call, Mom said she sat in the same chair for hours waiting to hear from us again.

The long road to Birmingham

The sun went down on the longest two-hour one hundred mile ride of our lives. Hurling through the darkness, we whispered the possibilities. Everything we ever wanted, thought, and believed seemed to crowd into our consciousness.

I remember trying to recall every promise I could think of in the Bible and I could not come up with ONE that said our baby would live.

My knowledge of meningitis consisted of three cases. Two victims died. One remained profoundly crippled both physically and mentally. The doctor told us that this infection of the lining of brain could affect any function the brain affected.

It took me an hour to begin to think of what words to think about praying. I knew I had no bargaining power. But on the other hand, I knew that God could move mountains if He chose to do so. If he could move mountains, he could cure my son.

I knew Jesus raised a couple of kids from the dead.
But he didn't raise them all.

I thought--I can ask. I can ask. I will ask.

I asked God to give us Trevor. I pleaded, if we could raise Trevor to be His Child, to be a good, loving person--then please, please, please, let him live. We wanted him. We would take him blind. We would take him deaf. We would take him crippled. We would take him mentally impaired.

We would take Trevor anyway God would give him to us.

Bright blue doors opened into the ER at University of Alabama Birmingham's Children's Hospital. As we pushed on the doors, we did not know if Trevor would be dead or alive. When the bright lights from the center hit our eyes after our long dark ride, we blinked back temporary blindness. Somewhere in that blur we heard Trevor crying.

Walking a few steps into ICU following that raspy little cry, we saw him thrashing around trying to get the IVs out. He recognized us, smiled, and when I leaned over and sang "You are my.."

He filled in, "sunshine."

Someone in the ER called our name announcing a call from a Dr. Mark Ottenweller. Mark, a brother from our church in Baton Rouge, Louisiana called to check on Trevor and to let us know that folks there were praying for him. My college roommate, Ann McDonald Lane called me. Phone calls came into the ward from all over the country including my home state of Michigan. Hundreds of Christians from the metropolitan Detroit area happened to be meeting that night at my home congregation, Van Dyke Church of Christ, to hear a fellowship luminary speak--someone like Max Lucado, Rubel Shelley, or Jim Woodruff. They prayed for Trevor.

Ten days of antibiotic therapy followed based on the diagnosis of bacterial meningitis. The head pediatric neurologist told the med students on their pediatric rotation that Trevor was an amazing case. He said there was no explanation for the his recovery.

20-15

As the years passed and Trevor reached new developmental stages, we silently, anxiously watched for residual effects. There were none. At fourteen after a battery of tests, we found his vision was 20-15. His hearing more acute than the average person. Intelligence testing---well, all parents think their kids are smart, but he's darn smart.

There is no secret brag here about our faith. We were mostly afraid. There is this memory and the realization that his life was spared.

There is the recollection that we prayed and that our friends prayed.

There is the realization that many others pray and God does not grant them the life of their child; many others pray and God does not grant the physical or mental health so deeply desired.

An aside

So this to you, Trevor--though the scriptures give no specific revelation about your life it remains true that against all odds, you survived. You not only survived, but were blessed with vision, with hearing, with intellect. You see the most intricate and interesting features of everything from photographs to flowers. You hear not only the notes in everything from symphonies to punk rock medleys---you hear everything we say no matter where or when we say it.

Now that you are a grown man please realize that your life and well being have been the object of a thousand prayers.
May God grant that you see what He wants you to see; hear what He wants you to hear; and you hunger for the knowledge of His Story.

An epilogue

As for me and Ken, we still have never found that we can laugh at this, but we thank God for Trevor, Chris, and for the length of journey here together.

arriving at the Brno train station



Only a few weeks left until--Lord willing--we will see the sign for Brno for the fourth time.

Czeching on Unity

“I believe deeply that Christians must seriously be concerned about everything that threatens the lives of people created in the image of God. Abortion is important; war and economic justice are also important. “
Jim Wallis
"An open letter to Chuck Colson"

A recent BreakPoint commentary by Chuck Colson criticized the message of Jim Wallis of Sojourners. Check out Colson’s assertions and read Jim Wallis's Open Letter to Chuck Colson. This conversation goes to heart of a Christian dialogue about politics in America. This is a time to join Jesus in his prayer for the unity of believers.

We live in the privilege of this unity, but have a ways to go to fully realize it. One reason we need to realize it lies in the big picture. We have a story beyond politics. We want that Story to reflect the essence of the message of Christ to world. We want to become one with the image of God. To that end, we must continue to examine, to search, to find, and to express this reality. This Story is a story of love, grace, and justice. We, in a free society, must continue to discern the policy implications of this message because that is part of how we express his will.

This all comes home to me as Ken and I lead a group from Greater Atlanta Christian School in a trip to Brno, Czech Republic. Our students will be participating in a cultural exchange with 19 students from a local “gymnasium” --a college preparatory secondary school. The students have been emailing each other for weeks now, and will meet when we arrive in early April. This will be our fourth time to make the trip. Of course, a major part of our culture is our life in Christ. Please pray for our group. Pray for our spiritual formation as individuals. Pray for our group spirit. Pray that we will plant seeds of the kingdom of God.

As you do, consider today's New York Times review of a Jan Hrebejk's "Up and Down," an academy award nominated film emerging this spring from the Czech Republic. The headline of the review, "Czechs So Divided That Bad News Is Rarely All Bad" speaks of disillusionment and fragmentation.

Of course, I cautioned my students that films from Prague have their limitations in expressing the nature of life in the Czech Republic as do Hollywood's films in picturing our collective life.

Are we all "Dazed and Confused," "Rambo,"Rocky," or "American Beauty"? No, but are we all a little of these? Maybe.

May it be that we are united in the essence of Christ Himself. May we, participating in the simplicity of His love and in the purity of The Story be bearers of good, good news.

Heaven goes wild


I opened the alumni section of a Christian university magazine. My eye went right to it. An alumnus from the 70s shares an update on her life:

“Divorced after 31 years and filed for bankruptcy…”

Success is sweet. We share our advanced degrees and our promotions. We sometimes subtly announce our new addresses in the gated community. And we do rightly rejoice with those who are rejoicing. Hard work and dedication in our free economy often provide the diplomas, the positions, and the deeds of our dreams.

But for some, the certificates read painfully of divorce, death, and debt. Blame can go around and around, but we’ve been around long enough to know that every divorce, every bankruptcy, and many accumulations of debt accrue through the actions not of a duo, but of one. At the same time, some such debacles result from the collaborative effort of two or more weak, sinful people.

Who among us can’t say that we are not in one way or another bona fide, certified among the weak and the sinful?

Most of us keep the pain in marriage, the burden of debt, and the certainty of our failures our deep, dark secrets waiting for success before we share.

Wonder why?

It may have to do with our lack of compassion for the failing of others. When our judgment visits us, it’s a tough companion. Maybe we hear our friends mock the poor. Maybe our view of God is such that we believe he only blesses the successful. Maybe we buy into the media images of winners and losers. Americans gets such a kick out of watching someone else hear the words, “You’re fired.” We laugh at the weakest link.

Recently I read a story from Larry James’ Urban Daily blog. Reportedly, Rich Little, comedian, did an impersonation of Ronald Reagan at inaugural party,

"'You know, somebody asked me, 'Do you think the war on poverty is over?'
I said, 'Yes, the poor lost.'

The crowd went wild. "

The crowd went wild. When we are broken from life, at times the victims of the sin and failure of others, and more often the owners of our own sins and failures, we need to remember that at the point we turn to God in our brokenness, HEAVEN GOES WILD.

The alumnus, divorced and bankrupt, ends her update with a note of grace, “…in spite of a rough year, she is still praising God.”


2 Corinthians 12 from The Message
God told Paul, "My grace is enough; it's all you need.
My strength comes to you in weakness."

Luke 15 from The Message
Jesus assured his followers of heaven's joy.
"Count on it---there's more joy in heaven over one sinner's rescued life than over ninety-nine good people in no need of rescue."
"Count on it--that's the kind of celebration God's angels throw every time one lost soul turns to God."

Profiles in purging--finding the strength to ban the bothersome

According to the Washington Post, Dennis Hastert has purged the House Ethics Committee of those bothersome folks who investigated Tom DeLay and resisted weakening ethics rules.

In reference to the ousting of Rep. Joel Hefley, (R-Co.), the chairman of the committee, Hastert’s spokesman reportedly said, "It wasn't really removing him. It was more like relieving him of his duty. The speaker doesn't like to have people who are such talented legislators like him have to spend so much time on ethics."

But don’t worry. The speaker didn’t just get rid of Hefley, he also replaced two other bothersome Republican committee members, Reps. Kenny Hulshof (R-Mo.) and Steven C. LaTourette (R-Ohio), with Reps. Lamar S. Smith (R-Tex.) and Tom Cole (R-Okla.). The Post editorial states that both of these men contributed generously to Mr. DeLay's legal defense fund.

The immoral of the story is: Don't waste your time and talent on ethics.

Stone, Campbell, & Company in Detroit

In times past, when I told people I was from the Detroit area, Church of Christ folks from other regions sometimes said, “I guess the church is pretty weak up there.”

That startled me because there were about 60 congregations of the Church of Christ when I was growing up there. Why Rochester College (the nascent MCC back then) brought us Otis and Alma Gatewood and Lucien Palmer.

Times and places all around Detroit, Michigan brought Jesus into my heart.

Summers at Michigan Christian Youth Camp.
School years with the Metropolitan Detroit Youth Chorus.
Sunday mornings at the Van Dyke Church of Christ.
Sunday nights at the Troy Church of Christ and other congregations.

With my teen Church of Christ friends--Beverly Birdwell Blair, Jan Palmer Van Horn (before Jon), Jan’s brother Ron and Linda Brown Palmer, and (no relation, except Christ) Joel Palmer, Jeff and Karen Schlender and others, the Jesus factor was so big we did things like have communion together when the clock struck midnight and Sunday began. We lit candles at our church buildings on many a New Years Eve praying in the New Year.

Lots of being together. Sort of Acts 2:42ish.

In Hearing God's Voice: My Life with Scripture in the Churches of Christ, Thomas Olbright, mentions the progressive Christians in Michigan. These non-sectarian believers provided powerful teaching and writing about Christ and discipleship. Like my friends who published the journal Integrity.

Detroiters got to hear Joseph Jones, Wayne Baker, Jerry Rushford, and Larry Bridgesmith.

One fellow, who would like to remain unnamed, read aloud to us at church camp from a book called Voices of Concern, a collection of letters from folks who had left the fold of the Church of Christ due to their objections to sectarianism. I didn’t know what to call it back then, but I remember being in 8th grade, bewildered and challenged. He probably wouldn't read such a thing in the same a setting today, but the wrestling with hard questions about church and fellowship at a young age served me well.

Dowell Flatt preached excellent expository sermons at Van Dyke for 10 years engendering a great deal of harmony and growth. He left us to attend seminary in New Orleans then on to chair the Bible Department at Freed-Hardeman University. I regret he has left us for good now, but a rich legacy remains in my heart.

Pat Boone provided our star power. He came to Detroit in 1968 and did a benefit show for us at Cobo Arena in Detroit to help MDYC raise money for our European trip.I think it was later that year, a friend named Averill Allen played a tape of Pat Boone in which Pat shared his new experiences in the Holy Spirit. We were all pretty curious about that New Song.

Up to that point, we thought maybe the Holy Spirit was a pen and ink.

We were not very Acts 2:43ish.

Once an area congregation hosted David Wilkinson of The Cross and Switchblade at a youth rally. In case you are too young to know, he was a nationally known Pentecostal in urban ministry. Afterwards, I recall hearing an elderly gentleman lead a closing prayer saying something like “please forgive us for exposing our young people to this mourner’s bench religion.”

Not everyone valued the nonsectarian thing.

Hearing John Allen Chalk at the Roseville Church of Christ inspired me beyond words. Finding me beyond words? Doesn’t happen often enough.

I’d list the women speakers, but well—let’s just say I heard pretty powerful stuff at home. My mom, Jo Choate, referred to scripture so often, so naturally when we discussed the vicissitudes of teen life that I sometimes accused her of trying to make a religious issue out of everything in life. My sisters, Deborah Choate Shepherd and Kimberly Choate Thames spoke of and served Jesus with passion and grace.

Mom remains guilty as charged.

But a church weak in Detroit? Those folks just guessed wrong.

Even as the vote goes well, does Gitmo get our goat?


Today is the day. Iraqi elections seem to be making a mark. It's certainly a good sign that so many have been able to vote. But, even as things seem to be flowing well in this particular vein, even as Al-Jezeera gives a positive report for a day, there must be a reckoning for some of our wrong doing in the "war on terror".

Because today is also a day Christians in America need to speak up. We need to demand to know if the horrific conduct at Gitmo recently reported by the Associated Press is true. Did American women sexually humiliate Muslim men to gain information? If it is true, we need to abhor and condemn it. We need to be alarmed that our fellow countrymen and women would stoop so low as to shame grown men into being afraid to pray.

Don't I know some of these people may have been trying to kill Americans?

Yes, I do. But I remember somewhere hearing a scripture that said not to fear those who might kill the body as much as to fear those who could destroy both our body and soul in hell.

Is our government allowing its operatives to debase themselves in such a way to endanger their own souls?

Are we going to rationalize this conduct?

Americans went to the polls, and according to President Bush, validated his Iraq policies.

Americans went to the polls with morality on their minds. Is morality about universal principles or is it only relevant when our interests are being served?

Will American Christians stand up and condemn this?

I found Andrew Sullivan's book reviews and commentary challenging. What do you think?

MLK, KKK, and ATL

On a clear day, I can see Stone Mountain—a massive elevated edifice of granite embossed with the figures of Robert E. Lee, Stonewall Jackson, and Jefferson Davis on my commute to work. In stark contrast to its natural majesty and artistry, Stone Mountain bears the ignoble distinction as a home for the nascent Ku Klux Klan.

To the south of my trek workward I see the skyline of Atlanta towering about Sweet Auburn Avenue. In contrast to the neighborhood’s stark urban landscape, the district preserves the Ebenezer Baptist Church, cradle to the spiritual, political, and social leadership of Martin Luther King, Jr. and the Civil Rights Movement.

Both movements claimed Christ and inflamed the hearts and actions of their followers.They represented some of the best and the worst of Biblical interpretation and ethics.

We Atlantans live with the legacy of both.

**************

by the way
Today, Wineskins at www.wineskins.org published their Inaguration Issue and included an article I wrote,
"When Red and Blue meet in the Pew." It's essentially a compilation of a few of these Bev's Blogs from the election season. If you have considered subscribing to Wineskins, maybe you could actual start up this week.

Where do we begin but on our knees?

Someone I am getting know, LaDonna Greiner, Executive Director, Georgia & Alabama World Vision, Inc. shared this with me today from World Vision's prayer mobilization coordinator.

PRAYER ALERT UPDATE

EARTHQUAKE AND TSUNAMI DISASTER IN ASIA AND EAST
AFRICA

Please continue to pray:

- For God's mercy and favor on this region, as the situation is
overwhelming and chaotic. Ask that His Spirit would be present amidst the
devastation and that His hand would be on every aspect of the relief
effort.

- For survivors who are struggling to live, who are injured or diseased,
that they would not become another figure in the death toll.

- For guidance for leaders of the relief effort who are making key
decisions, that no time would be wasted and that efforts would be
maximized. The next couple days are crucial. Ask for good coordination
between governments, relief organizations, and other groups.

- At this stage of relief, providing basics for the surivors is key.
Please pray for the effective provision of food, medicine, shelter, and
sanitation. Clean water is especially needed as contaminated water can
carry more than 50 diseases. There is fear of an epidemic breakout - pray
that this would not occur.

- Ask that money and other resources would be provided quickly and
generously. It is estimated that aid may ultimately cost billions of
dollars. Pray that donors would continue giving even after the initial
phase of relief.

- Pray for peace and comfort for the children have been orphaned, and for
all who are in a state of emotional shock. In a matter of a few hours,
they have lost loved ones and everything they own. Pray also for wisdom
and encouragement for relief workers, that they would be protected and that
their work would effective.

- Ask that in this time of darkness and despair, many will find true hope
in Jesus, and that the Church would be an effective instrument in bringing
His compassion to the victims of this disaster.