While leading a congregational service this weekend, someone read these words:
After this I looked, and there was a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, robed in white, with palm branches in their hands.(Revelation 7:9)
Alligator Alcatraz is no more.
Bombs no longer fall on Gaza hospitals.
The colonized are free.
ICE is vanquished.
The gulags are closed forever.
The impoverished stand liberated.
All people — every nation, tribe, and language — serve as beloved witnesses.
And if all of these things are no longer — in this vision, or another vision you hold dear — why not work for them now?
Frieda is an opportunist. But if you think about it, isn’t any spider? The right criteria for a web placement seem to involve maximum opportunity for stability and the ability to catch bugs for dinner.
I visited Cedar Point for the first time over the weekend. My favorite activity was riding the gigantic Ferris wheel. A sizable spider had taken up residence on the wheel, spinning her web in the triangle of red-colored steel bars. I named her Frieda. All day long, she rode the same wheel, round and round, and at night her masterful web glowed pink in the shimmer of colored lights. I have hardly ever seen so many bugs attracted to one web. There were already plenty, and as we stopped suspended at the top, I watched more fly in, even as new riders loaded below.
Right place, right time.
Years ago, I was gifted some purple basil seedlings. One day, to my sadness, I noticed they were wilting in their planter container. It was almost time to replant them in a proper pot, but now their stems were completely wilted, lying flat on the dirt.
So I moved the soil into small clear bowls and added water. Those little plants drank it right up, and in short order, they sprang back into growth. It was astonishing to see how resilient they were.
Right place, right time. Right boost, too.
If we want to see human beings flourish, maybe it’s worth thinking about where and how we can be part of that. Sometimes it means being opportunists — casting our nets (or webs) wide. Sometimes it involves being someone’s boost. Growth happens when the right place, the right time, and the right help come together.
I haven’t been to every precise place in Ann Arbor, obviously, but I thought I had been to all the neighborhoods. Tonight I found a section of Ann Arbor I’ve never been to by car, walking, biking, or visiting anyone.
And I was having so much fun exploring that I forgot to look down and see my 3000 mile turn.
All miles have been in Ann Arbor, going street by street in alphabetical order. I’m only on the Es but will be in the Fs in a couple of days. I have biked the equivalent of a cross country journey — just right here.
The Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe, image from Artisan Landscape. Children are coming out of this shoe in all directions!
“What if you think of it this way?” she said.
Sometimes, we can shift a situation simply by reframing it.
Years ago, a friend of mine was feeling sad, frustrated, and angry. Then, as we sometimes do, she began to turn those feelings inward — feeling sad, frustrated, and angry with herself for having such feelings in the first place. In the midst of that, she had a conversation with someone wise. That person said,
“Imagine you’re a grandmother, and you have so very many grandchildren. In fact, you have more grandchildren than you can count, and maybe they’re running around all over the place. It probably feels pretty disorienting. Frustrated though you are, you’re a loving grandmother, so rather than lashing out at all these grandchildren, you approach them one at a time, and you try to figure out why each one is acting up. These grandchildren are your feelings. Maybe they have some things to tell you. What if you approach them one by one and ask them they need?
“Maybe you say, ‘Honey, you can’t run around like this, and you can’t hit your sister feeling over the head. But come here. Can you tell me why you’re frustrated? Can you tell me why you’re feeling so sad? I’m listening to you.’
“Then listen to yourself. Really listen. Mirror back what you hear. ‘Oh, I hear that you’re scared. Yes, that can feel scary.’ Then say, ‘I’m here.’ And give these grandchildren what they need — love, reassurance, and confidence that you’re going to be present and that you’ll protect them.”
This was a wise reframing.
Sometimes, we especially need to remember that we are in relationship with ourselves. Entering that recognition more deeply, we can have important insights and grow. None of us is uniform or monolithic. We have parts, and sometimes, some parts of ourselves need to be heard by other parts. We can have internal dialogue. No need for shame spirals. We can hear ourselves with loving intention.
So if it’s helpful, I offer this reframing: You too can be that grandmother.
Bees bumble from flower to flower, using the navigation of bright colors to bring them to life-giving nectar. They collect it and covert it to honey to care for their young, and by extension, the whole hive.
But they have no idea about something else. . .
They have no idea they are pollinating so much of the world’s food supply.
It helps me to remember that. The lives of bees are already so intricate and complex even in what they do intend, but beyond that, their work yields more life and complexity than they know.
Maybe this can remind us:
Individually, and especially collectively, our best intentions, our best connections, our best work, our best loves, and our best visions may yield more life and complexity than we know too.
If you follow Robert Reich on Substack, you’ll notice he gives off the vibe of that line from Hamilton: he’s steady, strong, and not going anywhere (thankfully!)—but he also writes “like he’s running out of time.” He’s prolific, always creating, naming challenges, proposing solutions, and encouraging others to fight for democracy and economic justice in this country. After serving as Secretary of Labor in the 1990s, he became a beloved professor at UC Berkeley for decades, and he believes in young people above all. He co-founded Inequality Media to expose the fallout of widening gaps between the super-rich, the middle class, and the poor, and to propose policy solutions.
Just in the past few weeks, he was on The Late Show with Stephen Colbert, released a new book (Coming Up Short: A Memoir of America), which immediately shot to number one on the New York Times Bestseller list, and was featured in a new documentary, The Last Class. The film follows him as he teaches his final economics class at UC Berkeley, urging students to use their voices in this era. It has even been called “the art film of the summer.” I’m going to see it in a couple of weeks.
One life can have a major impact.
When Reich began his tenure as Secretary of Labor, he noticed that his office walls were lined with portraits of the men who had held the position before him. “Where is Frances Perkins?” he asked. In his mind, Perkins, the first woman to hold a U.S. cabinet position, was the most consequential Secretary of Labor the country had ever had. Eventually, he found her portrait in a storage closet, in need of repair.
He had it restored and placed directly above and behind his desk.
One life can make an impact.
In 1911, Frances Perkins had a life-altering experience when she witnessed the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory Fire. Workers — most of them young immigrant women — were trapped in a burning factory due to horrific conditions. She watched them leap to their deaths. It was devastating, and she resolved that no one should ever endure such circumstances again.
She spent her life petitioning for labor changes, and President Franklin D. Roosevelt eventually appointed her Secretary of Labor. Thanks to her vision and leadership, we now have the eight-hour workday, unemployment insurance, and Social Security.
One life can make an impact.
Never underestimate how far one person’s influence can travel. But here’s the thing: No one, even those who accomplish much, gets anywhere alone. We are shaped by countless people, named and unnamed, who form us. We are shaped by the impacts and influences that give rise to who we become, what we care about, and how we act. All those lives have a major impact.
This post was inspired by watching Robert Reich and Heather Lofthouse have a conversation about current events on their most recent video on Saturday Coffee Klatch.
A closed laptop in the center with eyeglasses resting on top, and a wireless mouse on the right. Public domain.
“Mom — Grandma! Look!”
This is the phrase I heard so many times while I was recently in Kroger. A young girl — maybe 8 or so — kept requesting her Grandma’s attention. She kept accidentally calling her Mom but then correcting herself.
“Mom — Grandma! Look!”
Then Grandma would look, and she did so with affection every single time. And that’s when the little girl would break into song. I wonder what sort of personal connection they had to this song. It was known to just about everyone in the store, but it seemed to have particular meaning to them.
“Oh, when the saints! Go marching in! Oh, when the saints go marching in!”
“Mom – Grandma! Look!” The girl opens the ice freezer. “Oh, when the saints! Go marching in! Oh, when the saints go marching in!” They laugh.
“Mom – Grandma! Look!” The girl picks up a grocery bag and starts marching. “Oh, when the saints! Go marching in! Oh, when the saints go marching in!” Grandma sings too.
People are watching them interact, but the girl mostly just notices her Grandma.
Over and over again, she is expressing a need to be seen, and Grandma is seeing with affection. This is such a profound, human need.
Certainly, we don’t all shout “Lookit!” and break into song in the grocery store, but that being said, I don’t think we ever outgrow this need to see and be seen. It is a joy to recognize the moments when we are held in a loved one’s vision, and it is a joy to see loved ones with the same kind of affection and connection.
Storm clouds gather over a long dirt road in Albany County, Wyoming; Highsmith, Carol M., 1946-, photographer, Public Domain
This sermon was preached with Celtic Cross Presbyterian Church in Warren, Michigan and was focused uponLuke 6:17-26. A written manuscript is below:
“Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God. “Blessed are you who are hungry now, for you will be filled. “Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh.
“Blessed are you when people hate you and when they exclude you, revile you, and defame you on account of the Son of Man. Rejoice on that day and leap for joy, for surely your reward is great in heaven, for that is how their ancestors treated the prophets.
“But woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation. “Woe to you who are full now, for you will be hungry. “Woe to you who are laughing now, for you will mourn and weep.
“Woe to you when all speak well of you, for that is how their ancestors treated the false prophets.”
— Luke 6:20-26
Mother Teresa used to say, “If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to one another.”
We long for peace… Peace of every kind…
And we do belong to one another… but have we forgotten?
How easy it is to forget… And yet God is always beckoning us back into this belonging, this Sacred Belonging rooted in connection with God, with our neighbors, and with the earth. God calls us to this again and again. And we find blessedness there — Blessedness in this larger form of Belonging.
As Jesus traveled around Galilee and Judea, he was surrounded by crowds. Large crowds. Sometimes, the crowds were so big and so pressing in their needs, that they began to press in upon him. There were times that he would find creative ways to step aside just a bit and work with nature so that he could address them collectively — getting into Simon Peter’s boat and pushing it out into the water, climbing up the Mount of Olives and letting it serve as a natural amphitheater, or here, coming down from a mountain where he and his disciples had been praying and standing on a level place to address the people.
In all of these moments, Jesus spoke to them all at once, and I wonder… As the members of these crowd stood or sat side by side, listening in the same direction, breathing in the same direction, and dreaming in the same direction… I wonder… did they remember once more that they belong to one another? Did they experience an invitation into that larger, Sacred Belonging? With God? With neighbors? With the earth? Did Jesus step away just a bit and turn them toward one another? Did he turn them toward a larger vision? A vision that could invigorate their own lives?
Biblical scholars call this section of the Gospel of Luke, The Sermon on the Plain. It’s very similar to the Sermon on the Mount, which is found in the Gospel of Matthew, but in Luke, it has its own unique telling. It’s possible that Jesus gave the same address, a very memorable one in his life and teaching, and Matthew and Luke recorded it differently, at the Mount of Olives and here, on a plain, and with different nuances.
But it’s also possible that these teachings of Jesus were a frequent address as he traveled. These teachings might have been one of his primary stump speeches, so to speak. He may have spoken them many times to different crowds, and as the disciples traveled along with him, they may have come to internalize these words. They may have come to a recognition that they belonged to the vision within them.
The Sermon on the Mount and the Sermon on the Plain both begin with words of blessedness. We might remember the opening words in Matthew which we called the Beatitudes —
Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven,
Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted,
and many more words of blessings.
But here, in the Sermon on the Plain, Jesus is much more direct:
Blessed are you who are poor —
not blessed are the poor, but blessed are you who are poor; not blessed are the poor in spirit, but blessed are you who are poor, poor right now —
for yours is the kingdom of God —
not for theirs is the kingdom of God, but for yours is the kingdom of God — yours, yes, right now.
These blessings are direct and for the people who seek belonging into this vision. They are present for those who find themselves suddenly held within the belonging of this vision.
And here, in the Sermon on the Plain, Jesus is much more direct with something Matthew does not include. He has a list of woes:
But woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation.
Woe to you who are full now, for you will be hungry.
Woe to you who are laughing now, for you will mourn and weep.
Woe to you when all speak well of you, for that is what the ancestors did to the false prophets.
These might be… harder to hear. And yet, do they cast some people —perhaps some of us — out of this larger Sacred Belonging? With God? With neighbors? And with the earth? Or…. do these words also call us right back in?
What is Jesus doing here? Of course, we can’t fully know, but I wonder if we might consider a few things. Jesus grew up as a recipient of scriptures from the Hebrew Bible which today are often called apocalyptic literature. These include scriptures from the prophets that speak about final things… about a sacred, final future when God will cosmically and dramatically liberate the poor and disenfranchised, destroying their enemies and every single force that seeks to oppress them. These scriptures are written from the perspective of those who are abused and humiliated, who need to proclaim the strength of a truly Liberating God toward a liberation that is truly longed for and deserved.
It is a Great Reversal of fortunes. Is that what Jesus is lifting up here?
Maybe.
But I also notice that these woes don’t really have cosmic, dramatic judgment attached. They don’t say, “Woe to you who are rich, for the moon will turn to blood and you will have fear and trembling on the great, final Day of the Lord.” They don’t say that.
No, they say things like, “Woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation.”
You sought riches, and you gained them on the backs of others, and you have them. And they make you impoverished in a totally different way.
They’ve separated you — or they give the illusion of separation to you, perhaps also giving the illusion of superiority to you, and from there, perhaps turning you against your neighbors so that you oppress them, and they do not have what they need.
You sought riches, and you’ve received your consolation.
You’re not living in alignment with this better vision, this transformative vision of the Kingdom of God.
The sun, moon, and stars are not falling out of the heavens here, but we shouldn’t underestimate these words of woe.
As Mother Teresa used to say, “If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten we belong to one another.”
The Gospel of Matthew and the Gospel of Luke have their different nuances here in these words of blessing. But there’s one thing in common, one thing we could easily miss. I missed it for many years when I read these passages: In the midst of this great crowd — in both the Sermon on the Mount and the Sermon on the Plain — Jesus doesn’t begin by addressing the crowd as a whole. Instead, he addresses his disciples directly while the rest of the crowd watches.
He seems to make a division, and he puts an emphasis of the disciples. It isn’t the kind of separation that turns the gathered body against one another, Instead, it is a separation that invites. It is a separation that calls. It is a separation that beckons to us, saying,
“Come over here. Come to this blessedness. Come this Sacred Belonging. Come to your neighbors. Be gathered into this fullness. Follow me into this way of life. This is the way… not your riches, or your full bellies, or your too often shallow laughter, or your great reputations. Leave your trust in these. Come over here where there is life… where God is transformative, where neighbors matter and belong and have what they need — including from your riches. Come over here into a vision where the earth is filled with flourishing people and all of creation is transformed. Come over here.”
This is Sacred Belonging. This is our invitation.
The Great Reversal is likely much more than a flip-flop of fortunes. It is an invitation to remember again that we belong to one another — yes, right this moment –and we’re invited into the very blessing of that vision.
Smuggling Grace 