Your Daily Miracle: Signs of Hope in the Midst of Winter

This morning in the shower as the hot water hit my head and cascaded down my back, I thought, "There comes a time when the endless rainy days become a joke--an old, tired punch line."  That time is the end of February.  Do you FEEL ME, grey, sunless people?

Martin landed in San Francisco yesterday.  When he booked this flight several months ago, he mused delightedly about how welcome a little sun would be after Seattle rain.   I received a photo of my two soggy, umbrellaed uncles (whose amazing hospitality he got to enjoy en route to a conference) splashing their way down to Pier One.  Last night on the phone he reported, "I cannot overemphasize how wet everything is here.  My clothes--soaked.  My shoes--soaked.  It's a lot like. . .well, it's a lot like home."  Still, this soaked man was eating Thai food in his cozy room in a cool industrial-style era building, and he sent me a photo of an orange tree dripping with fruit, so the San Fran trip is not by any means a wash.  (Sorry, I couldn't help myself).

Meanwhile, back at the ranch. . . .
I've been home for eons with fevered children.  This morning I thought I'd make a break for it--packed up my lunch, plotted my day (tutoring, coffee with friends, glorious, glorious library time), when Elspeth began complaining of feeling down-at-the-mouth.  The morning unfolded like this: I packed her lunch (no fever); I unpacked her lunch (fever); I packed her lunch again (no fever); she stuck a thermometer in her mouth and announced, 102.5!  Well, truly that temperature followed a hot-tea drinking session (after which I told her we'd better take her temperature rectally, an unwelcome suggestion).  But even after she'd cooled her mouth, the thermometer yielded a respectable 100.3--just fever enough to stay home.

FOILED.

Argh.  I, one of the privileged parents whose work is endlessly flexible and can actually stay home with her sick kids, am complaining, which is not an admirable past time.  But let's face it, fighting gloom in this grey time (I'm not just talking about the climate) is a battle.

So I have two hopeful things to share with you this overcast Monday.

One--this story by Will James, NPR (2-20-17).

And before I share some highlights, I want to emphasize--helping the stranger, feeling compassion that leads to action for women, children, families in danger and pain--is not at its essence about being political.  I was chatting with someone about addressing this issue of injustice in church.  Basically the reaction I received amounted to wariness:  "Well, we don't want to be political. . . ."  Oh, how I am weary of that line.  Political!  It is truly, and shockingly, revealing of our country right now that being a decent, loving, human being suddenly makes me political.  When has helping each other, and being kind to each other, and treating each other with respect ever been about being Republican or  Democrat?  Reaching out to refugees is about human decency.  It is about justice.  It is inseparable from the Christian message; it is inseparable from morality.
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Canada, our friendly neighbors to the north, is accepting refugees from the United States--refugees who fled once from oppressive regimes, and are now risking their lives and safety to flee our country.  That breaks my heart.  Reuters photographer Christinne Muschi captured the flight of families from the U.S. to Canada, including a family from Sudan who feared they would be deported if they stayed.  (Read more about the crisis HERE.)

So.  Apparently caring for refugees is political now.  The Episcopal Diocese of Olympia in Washington State is suing the federal government.  Why?  Because they resettle refugees, and the refugee ban has stopped them from doing their job.  Why are they anxious to continue their work?  Because the Bible mandates welcoming the stranger.  This means meeting refugees at the airport, taking them to their new homes, doing everything they can to "help about 200 refugees a year build a life in the Puget Sound region from scratch."

This past month, about 100 people fleeing persecution from countries like Somalia and and Iraq were temporarily halted by Trump's travel ban.  Here's Greg Rickel, diocese leader:

"We do often lean towards security. We lean towards what we know. So I think that's a natural inclination. I think at least for us as Christians, Jesus was constantly calling us to move beyond that."

_

On her way back to bed just now, Elspeth looked over my shoulder at the photo of the Sudanese refugees--a woman with three children, and commented, "That looks like a nice family."  She said it in the familiar, childlike way that often precedes a spontaneous invitation.  "You all look nice--want to stay for supper?"  I didn't have the heart to tell her the nice family is leaving our proverbial table because they no longer feel welcome.  I will tell her--I just wanted to mull over that simple phrase for some moments before I got  (pardon a moment of bitterness) all "political."

"Leaning toward what we know" and away from refugees and 'strangers'--is that a natural inclination?  Perhaps it is the natural inclination of adults.  It is not the inclination of my child, who glimpses a photograph of a Sudanese family over my shoulder and says, "That looks like a nice family!"  My daughter sees a mother like her mother, another child her own age.  She encounters others (including those who look different) with an open invitation for friendship.

My heart then, tempered by hope, tells me:  do not despair; winter does not last forever.  May we continue to find signs of spring wherever we can.  May we work to bring life and hope even from this hard, frozen ground.  May we recognize the winter but envision the spring, for this is the difficult imaginative work of moral courage.  May we continue our good work for peace and justice, wherever we are.

I said I would share two hopeful things with you this morning.  The Olympia Episcopal Diocese fighting for justice was #1.

Here's #2.  The early bulbs are blooming.