"Moments of rest, glimpses of laughter are treasured"

Moments of rest, glimpses of laughter are treasured along the road.


"Cursing the quest, courting disaster, measureless nights forbode."


In Dan Fogelberg's song those two lines are reversed. But I am so taken by the gifts of laughter and rest, I have to use that as the title for this post.

I take risks. I drive through blizzards. I get up when I should stay down. I persevere when I should get the hell out of Dodge. So it may not surprise you that I left on this long trip without all of the necessary funds in place. The proverbial check was in the mail. It really was.

But it wasn't. And it isn't. That was not the motivation for staying with people. The people, these very ones, were the motivation for staying with these people, to learn from them more about the gifts of grace and graciousness. These wonderfully gracious hosts and friends were the point and the impetus for the trip.

I did not, however, have arrangements for every night. I wanted it that way. Indecision is the key to flexibility. A lack of planning creates open space.

Flexibility, I've got it! Open space, open indeed.

This is a good thing and a bad thing. I couldn't live with it all the time. But I'm living with it some of the time and it is reminding me of the power of synchronicity -- of recognizing the magical mystical quality in an unexpected moment, a new friendship, chaos. The power of putting two unpredicted people or qualities or moments together and seeing something totally new, absolutely brand new! come to life and grow.

My life has been changed irrevocably already in these two and a half weeks. And not in the ways I might have anticipated. I have cursed the quest: the empty wallet, the skipped meal, spending the night in a Service Plaza/truck stop and my car. And I have courted disaster: driving in Boston! taking all the roads not taken, normally.

What have I learned? It's more fun if you have the money to play mini-golf, or watch the whales, or sleep in a bed (or sofa) every night. But I've also learned that it is survivable to just sit on the bench and watch the golf, to anticipate whale-watching on the next trip, and to become one with my car.

And most important, I've learned that people are kind. Generous. A guy just gave me three quarters yesterday to park in Harvard Square instead of trading me for my times. I left Nantucket with one mongo cinnamon roll to last for days. Friends missed work, drove across town, complicated their own lives in order to enrich mine.

After experiencing great evil, this is no small thing: to learn that people are kind, more than kind, generous. That people will go far out of their way for you. That even though you learned to not be trusting, there are more trustworthy people in the world that you ever dreamed.
When one encounters great mercy, gutsy generosity, and pure grace, one relaxes, leans into life in a more trusting way, gives away more because more is coming in. And then, it is simply inspiring.

Pretty cool.

This is an advanced degree program, if you want to put it that way.

I am on the hunt!

A journey of a single ice-blue Subaru headed out on an odyssey searching for signs of grace begins with --- a detour. Or two, or three. And road work. Lots of road work. And a herd of wild horses.

Now, that is grace! Right there. Right at the start. Stopped for road construction, the wild horses are right out my window. A couple of dozen beautiful horses nipping and sipping from the pond, chewing grass, posing for pictures. A gleaming palomino, the horse of my dreams was alive before my very much alive and watchful eyes. A gift of grace, those horses.

And so the day continued. Little bits of grace, like this one: a "hey, no problem! We're good! Really, it's okay, we're good!" response from the gas station manager when I -- for the first time in my life -- pulled away from the pump with the hose and nozzle still very much attached and in my car. "No biggie. We're good."

I envisioned my odyssey ending right there in tiny town Kansas. But no. Grace.

It is time for grace. It is time for gracious signs that the universe is full of good.

And it is time for me to experience grace, and gracious acts of welcome and kindness, most especially from myself.

I am on an odyssey that currently looks to last through September and take me roughly 6500 miles across the U.S. From Colorado to Connecticut, the coast of Maine, and back. Up and down, over and around. Searching for, finding, being delighted by grace.

In this process of healing and redemption from injury I've pushed and challenged myself. My motto is "The lines are there to be hit," and "Lean forward," all intent on urging me on.

What I realized was missing was grace. Gracious care for myself. The reminder that I am more than I was reduced to. That I am still a part of all I have been, have seen and experienced and loved. That I am still part of what I accomplished. That the strong, worthwhile, and, yes, even gracious person I have been is not gone, just was MIA awhile.

So, the next thirty days or so will be about this odyssey of grace. And I would love it if you would respond by telling us about your experiences of grace and graciousness too!

A herd of wild horses couldn't stop me.

"Accompanimento"

31 years.

31 years ago American-trained El Salvadoran rebels killed Archbishop Oscar Romero in the sanctuary of his church.

Why? For opposing the American backed fascist dictatorship at war with El Salvadoran rebels whom we lumped together with "the worst people in the world," Soviet-style communists. It was complicated. But not really that complicated.

We were on the wrong side. Our objectives were not in the least bit noble. We trained the El Salvadoran fascist army at the School of the Americas near Atlanta. We trained them to kill their own people for reasons that were ours, not theirs.

Perhaps you remember, it is such a long time ago, the four Roman Catholic nuns who were slaughtered too. For caring for the poor. Sounds sentimental in our day. But true.

Susan Brooks -- where are you? -- was a member of the congregation I served as pastor in the (downtown) Loop of Chicago. We had a reputation for doing things like this but Susan's decision was, to me, a supreme commitment and literally laid her life on the line.

After Romero was assassinated, the Lutheran Bishop, Medardo Gomez, was increasingly in danger. The Lutheran church devised a plan to help to keep him safe.

Accompaniment. The ministry of accompaniment. Being there. Walking along with. Susan went to El Salvador after a very moving service of commissioning at our congregation. Susan, you understand, was a beautiful inside and out, humble, quiet, lovely young woman from South Dakota. And she chose to move for a time to El Salvador and basically shadow Bishop Gomez. The premise was that the soldiers were not likely to risk killing an American civilian, so if Gomez was with Susan, he was safer. The ministry of accompaniment.

I think of it often. I have over the years. The work of walking alongside another who needs not to be alone, or vulnerable, or exposed. What a gift! I thought about that during my work with victims of clergy sexual abuse in the 1990's: if someone would walk with them. It was certainly a part of the civil rights movement in this country. It was important in the fight for equal rights for gay and lesbians, in claiming the rightful dignity for those with HIV/AIDS.

I think of Ann Hafften and her accompaniment of Palestinians on the West Bank, Gaza and Jerusalem. I think of friends with cancer, depression, no jobs. We can accompany them. And now I am thinking of my old (well, from eons ago) friend, Andy or Andrew Larson, whom you can find here on facebook if you haven't already. He is engaged in a very important ministry of accompaniment. Andy walks along with Muslims. He is learning and then teaching about Islam. He is helping me, and others, to understand, respect, safeguard and love Muslims and their faith. He is building bridges, as we say, but as I read his blog and other reports, most of all I see him in the ministry of accompaniment.

It is no small thing. It is no small thing at all.

Susan on the dusty roads of El Salvador in the 1980's, bouncing, jostled, certainly uncomfortable, sometimes scared. But I remember she said afterward, "I received so much more than I gave." Which prompts me to wonder then, who is accompanying who?

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Let's shut down the School of the Americas so Jean Martensen doesn't have to chain herself to the fence on Thanksgiving weekend and get arrested for the umpteenth time, to protest. There's a petition posted to my (open) facebook page you can sign. Write a letter to the President. Contact - SOAW Media Updates salsa.democracyinaction.org SOA Watch is a nonviolent grassroots movement that works through creative protest and resistance, legislative and media work to stand in solidarity with the people of Latin America and the Caribbean, to close the SOA/WHINSEC and to change oppressive U.S. foreign policy that institutions like the SOA And pray for the Susan's and the Bishop's still out there, being hunted, risking it all, to try and stop the violence. Accompany them with your spirit, as they accompany the vulnerable, exposed, and generous people in creation. Peace.