my favorite type of conversation

This is great. Important. Right on. This proves that church life and theology are fantastic ways to confront societal issues such as poverty and race. Linda Thomas teaches at Vandy.

Click here and then click on "Listen Now"

Then read Cone's book, God of the Oppressed.

to be a witness and an actor

"I heard something else; at the foot of that cross, inside the thousands of churches across the city, I imagined the stories of ordinary black people merging with the stories of David and Goliath, Moses and Pharaoh, the Christians in the lion's den, Ezekiel's field of dry bones. Those stories of survival, and freedom, and hope became our story, my story; the blood that had spilled was our blood, the tears our tears; until this black church, on this bright day, seemed once more a vessel carrying the story of a people into future generations and into a larger world. Our trials and triumphs became at once unique and universal, black and more than black; in chronicling our journey, the stories and songs gave us a means to reclaim memories that we didn't need to feel shame about memories that all people might study and cherish and with which we could start to rebuild." - Barack Obama, today

Today at Starbucks, my friend spoke of how liberation theology became embodied for her at the recent ordination of our colleague Darius. She said, "sometimes liberation theology is just so structured and I just can't feel the person in it." While listening to Obama, today and nearly everyday - a human face is exposed in the black church experience. Black, white, female, male,gay, straight - may we all seek to confront the ethnic imperialism of the white, Protestant, heteronormative experience.

twas better to die 'neath an irish sky

Like any good Irish lass, I have been known to have a Guinness (or five), and hop on small stages at places like Nanny O’Briens to sing along to joyful ballads about famine, theft, and well, . . . drinking five or more Guinnesses. Like any good Irish lass, I have read the poetry of my ancestors who mastered a language that was forced upon them. I have a stomach made for bland starches, and the skin for staying inside. I will probably have bagpipes at my wedding, exclusively for the purpose of making people with red faces and white hair weep. My DNA-given skill of implementing the silent treatment is both a blessing and a curse. Sure, I look good in green, and I find miniature, magical men with beards to be cute. But for me, being Irish has really always been about something more.

At an early age, my parents taught me that with being Irish comes the responsibility of living a life that honors the story of my ancestors. They taught me that what is most exciting and obligatory about my being Irish is my blood-given right to stand in solidarity with those who have been killed and oppressed by systematic political and military powers. My parents taught me, at a very young age, that being Irish was about the Foggy Dew. St. Patrick's Day is a good reminder for me, about what it means to be Irish.

“The Foggy Dew,” An old Irish Ballad about the Easter uprising of 1916:

As down the glen one Easter morn to a city fair rode I

There Armed lines of marching men in squadrons passed me by
No pipe did hum nor battle drum did sound its loud tattoo
But the Angelus Bell o'er the Liffey's swell rang out through the foggy dew

Right proudly high over Dublin Town they hung out the flag of war
'Twas better to die 'neath an Irish sky than at Suvla or Sud-El-Bar
And from the plains of Royal Meath strong men came hurrying through
While Britannia's Huns, with their long range guns sailed in through the foggy dew

'Twas England bade our wild geese go, that "small nations might be free";
Their lonely graves are by Suvla's waves or the fringe of the great North Sea.
Oh, had they died by Pearse's side or fought with Cathal Brugha*
Their graves we'd keep where the Fenians sleep, 'neath the shroud of the foggy dew.

Oh the night fell black, and the rifles' crack made perfidious Albion reel
In the leaden rain, seven tongues of flame did shine o'er the lines of steel
By each shining blade a prayer was said, that to Ireland her sons be true
But when morning broke, still the war flag shook out its folds in the foggy dew

Oh the bravest fell, and the Requiem bell rang mournfully and clear
For those who died that Eastertide in the spring time of the year
And the world did gaze, in deep amaze, at those fearless men, but few,
Who bore the fight that freedom's light might shine through the foggy dew

As back through the glen I rode again and my heart with grief was sore
For I parted then with valiant men whom I never shall see more
But to and fro in my dreams I go and I kneel and pray for you,
For slavery fled, O glorious dead, when you fell in the foggy dew.

it's hard to let go, isn't it?

5th Anniversary of Rachel Corrie's Death

Over the past 40 years, Caterpillar bulldozers (due to a lucrative contract with Israel) have been used to demolish 18,000 Palestinian homes in Gaza and the West Bank. 5,000 of these homes have been demolished since 2000. Caterpillar continues to sell armor plated D9 bulldozers directly to the Israeli Defense Force, despite awareness that they are used to commit war crimes, and human rights abuses, - - killing and maiming innocent civilians in their homes. For twenty years, human rights groups have condemned Caterpillar. The wall between Palestine and Israel which prevents Palestinians from access to water, other resources, and jobs is also being built by Caterpillar machinery. On March 16, 2003, American activist Rachel Corrie was murdered by a D9 bulldozer while she stood as a human shield protecting children. Caterpillar has accused her middle class parents in Washington State, of being "terrorists." Recently the United Methodist Church and the Presbyterian (USA) Church have both called for divestment from Caterpillar. Yesterday, Caterpillar announced an expected expansion of profits up to 30% in the next two years. Business is good for Caterpillar, Inc.

~
After a lovely visit with my friend Brian in Portland, I drove north, back to Seattle, and I saw the sign for Olympia. Impulsively, I decided to trust that perhaps it was time to make my pilgrimage of healing. I did not know what would come of it, but I trusted, and decided to follow the sign. It had been six years since I set foot in Palestine, and that day in April 2006 in Olympia, Washington, - - I sensed that I was crossing another check-point.

Pulling off the road into quaint Olympia, I drove downtown, parked, and went into a coffee shop. On the walls were photos of Palestinians screaming and crying. I thought, “maybe this is where Rachel Corrie worked as a barista.” I asked the manager. He said, that she worked down the street at a different coffee shop. I purchased the first of many lattes for the day, and made my way on foot. This was one of those days where with every step, the powers of God are not hidden. It was a rare day when I felt the complete presence of a guiding force, when I knew that I was simply along for the ride.

I went into another coffee shop, and another coffee shop, and another coffee shop. In a journalistic manner, I talked with a florist who had just made deliveries to the Corries on the anniversary of Rachel’s death. She cried, and told me that the community still suffers tremendous pain in light of Rachel’s murder. The man at the used book store told me about her (lack of) study habits. The overcast sky ceased from resembling the typical spring cover of the northwest, and began to serve as a veil of mourning. The lump in my throat repeated- “it could have been you” - as I know that I too have made creative use of my little blue passport to speak for visceral compassion, to stand in solidarity. She and I were the same age; we both worked in the West Bank with Palestinian children; we both watched home demolitions, and saw the outrageous insanity of children running away from bulldozers. But so what? Did I “over identify” with Rachel’s martyrdom? Why would I pray and write about Rachel Corrie when thousands and thousands of Palestinian civilians have been wiped out by Israel’s genocide? Did I see myself in them, as much as I saw myself in Rachel? If we are all God’s children, why was I hung up on the white girl from the US?

Continuing on the pilgrimage, it was suggested that I visit Evergreen College, her alma mater. I spoke with her favorite professor. I bought a sweatshirt in the book store. I stumbled upon a little memorial in the corner of a conference room on the 6^th floor of a small building. The room was full of Japanese students, studying English. I made my way past them and to the couch adjacent to a table full of Rachel’s things. I sat near this silent spring. I knew that my hours and hours in Olympia were only to reach the silence of this place, and to sit in my loneliness. Picking up her journal, I read some of her last entries. In memorial, others had written letters to her in the back of the diary, so I proceeded to as well.

I thanked her for attaching meaning to her death. The ultimate success, I think, is to conquer the living of life so well that even in one’s death there retains meaning, hope, and political agitation.

Driving back up the highway to Seattle, I felt a freedom on behalf of Rachel, - - as one of her surrogates in the world of those living toward a future of justice.

~

I sent this email a year ago; today the story remains the same except now Rachel would be 29. No justice, no peace.

March 16, 2007

Dear Faculty, Staff, and Classmates:

This morning, as I drove by the Caterpillar Financial headquarters on West End Avenue, I couldn't help but think of the Caterpillar bulldozer used by the Israeli government exactly four years ago today to kill Rachel Corrie. Rachel, a native of Olympia, Washington attended Evergreen College and worked at a coffee shop. She died while attempting to protect three children of a doctor during a routine Israeli home demolition in Palestine, on March 16, 2003.

With his group Rebuilding Alliance, my friend from Palestine, Rabbi Jeremy Milgrom has rebuilt the home Rachel sacrificed her life in order to protect. On the anniversary of Rachel's death, I encourage you to support the work of Rabbi Jeremy and Rebuilding Alliance:

http://www.rebuildingalliance.org/

Rachel Corrie would be 28 years old next month.

With hope, Kate Burke, MTS '08

sacred canopy

There's been something very clean for me to speak about how things are in Haiti or Palestine. In this place, things are this way. There, things are like this or that. In Haiti, children eat dirt cookies. In Palestine children have no plumbing.

In Bangladesh, it is bamboo being labored over and hauled around - - not sugar cane. In Bangladesh, children are not running from bulldozers, rather, they suffer a no-win battle with the rainy season. In Bangladesh I now know that poverty is not specified and particular. Extreme poverty looks almost the same everywhere. And it is heartbreaking. That sweet smell of pollution and human waste crosses political boundaries. The rickshaw, however, is special. Today, while traveling two hours away to interview micro-loan borrowers in villages, I watched hundreds of them on the streets. I likened them to sacred canopies, life-giving and vibrant with color, perhaps serving as shields.

dr. yunus says poverty belongs in a museum

It was my first week of Divinity School at Vanderbilt University, and the professor responded to my comment in a facetious manner - - "Wait, do you actually want to use this stuff?" As an academic with one foot in the ivory tower and another on the ground, I have struggled to make use of what I learn and order out of what I have experienced. Yesterday, with two months remaining in my Masters program, Dr. Muhammad Yunus sat next to me and spoke of the dangers of the university ranging from the hegemonic relationship between student and teacher to the unending elitism associated with higher education. He said, "Universities don't know much about people." Continuing, Dr. Yunus said what I have waited to hear all along, "the answers are known by those on the ground." I live in Nashville, Tennessee and attend Vanderbilt for graduate school, - just like Dr. Yunus once did.
I can only hope to find my own way to utilize what I have learned in order to empower those on the ground who have the answers but lack an access to the opportunity to change circumstances.