Christmas Joy!

Our home is full of wonderful people and pets, delicious odors from the kitchen, and great presents under the tree.

The Christmas Eve dinner was a grand success.

The Christmas Day dinner is in the oven.

On a whim, I made my grandmother's Arroz Doce (Sweet Rice) last night which was pronounced an unmitigated success by Ms. Conroy. It will serve as today's dessert.

Then again, it was served warm. And, she added raisins.  I'll top it off with real whipped cream.

Some are napping - a food induced coma, no doubt.

Others are figuring out how the new gadget works.

Did I mention that I got a Kindle Fire for Christmas? Oh. My. God. Is this thing fabulous or what?

One of the best parts is now trying to figure out to whom to give my "old" Kindle.

That and watching the faces of the people to whom I gave presents.

I also got a travel book to Thailand, which will come in Very Handy when I go there to visit my friend in March to celebrate his 70th Birthday.

Life is good. 

I hope yours is as well.

It's back into the kitchen for me. I've got some green beans to steam and then toss with some bacon, onions and garlic while the Pork Loin Roast finishes doing its thing.  The homemade rolls have risen and will go into the oven while the roast "rests" on the counter.

I'll get my "rest" after everyone leaves tonight, which is always way too soon.

I never want this day to end.

Merry Christmas everybody!

Be not afraid

The elusive sliver of light from a shadowed Earth is one of space tourist Guy Laliberte's most prized photos among those he took from the International Space Station in 2009.

A Sermon for the Eve of the Nativity of Our Lord

The Family Service - 4 PM

All Saint’s Church – Rehoboth Beach, DE

(the Rev’d Dr.) Elizabeth Kaeton

It’s always so wonderful to see the church filled with so many people! You all look so festive and happy. One might even say, merry and bright.

Well, most of you do. I know, I know. Some of you are here under duress. You’ve come under strict orders from Mom or Dad. Or, perhaps your appearance here is part of a deal you struck with someone in your family.

You know who you are.

I have a dear friend and colleague who is a priest in the Church of England who told me the following story which may strike a cord of resonance with you and bring you a smile.

A man in Scotland calls his son in London the day before Christmas Eve and says, "I hate to ruin your day but I have to tell you that your mother and I are divorcing; forty-five years of misery is enough".

"Dad, what are you talking about?'" the son screams.

"We can't stand the sight of each other any longer", the father says. "We're sick of each other and I'm sick of talking about this, so you call your sister in Leeds and tell her".

Frantically, the son calls his sister, who explodes on the phone, "They are NOT getting divorced", she shouts. "I'll take care of this".

She calls Scotland immediately and screams at her father, "You are NOT getting divorced. Don't do a single thing until I get there. I'm calling my brother back and we'll both be there tomorrow. Until then, don't do a thing, do you hear me?" and hangs up.

The old man hangs up his phone and turns to his wife and says, "Done! Not only are they coming for Christmas - but they're paying their own way too."

Do NOT try this at home. Your mileage may vary.

I don’t know if that’s what got you into church tonight, but I’m awfully glad you’re here.

Tonight is the night when we suspend all rational thought and – just for tonight – begin to think about the possibility of miracles. Not ‘the miracle of medical science’ or the ‘magic of television or technology’.

No, I’m talking about the miracle of God who took on human flesh and came to live among us to know our sorrows and our joys; our sufferings as well as our celebrations.

I don’t know how to explain that to you. It’s something that is beyond human understanding and comprehension. Perhaps this little story of a Christmas Eve from my childhood may help.

I am the oldest of four children. – three girls and one boy. We lived in a small, three- bedroom apartment above my grandparents. My two younger sisters and I shared one bedroom and my little brother – whom we called ‘The Little Prince’ – had his own room.

Which I hated. I mean, I was the oldest. I should have my own room, shouldn’t I?

I fussed and complained about it. A lot. Indeed, on my 9th Christmas, that’s what I asked for – the only request I made: my own bedroom. I never thought I’d get it, and I’d be happy with whatever I got, but I thought it was certainly worth a shot.

On the day before Christmas Eve, I came home from school and went directly to my bedroom to plop my stuff on my bed. Imagine my surprise when my bed was not there! I rushed out to find my parents having coffee at the kitchen table, smiling broadly.

“Where’s my bed?” I asked, confused, and almost afraid to ask.

“Come with us,” my parents said as they led me to the door I knew led to the attic. Up the steep stairs we went. When we got to the top, my father opened the door and what to my wondering eyes did I see but my very own bedroom.

Oh, it was still the attic – my father promised to fix it up a bit more over the year – but it was my very own room.. There was my twin bed (I would later get new sheets and pillow cases and blankets), and a rug on the floor, and my bedside table – but no lamp. No electrical outlet. There was a bare light in the middle of the ceiling with a long string that was not far from my bed. My mother had put some bows on it to make it more festive.

It was far from perfect but it was absolutely perfect. I was thrilled beyond the telling.

That night, I couldn’t wait to get to bed. I got myself all tucked into my bed and my parents came up to say goodnight. As they left the room and I snuggled under my comforter, my parents called out, “Sweet dreams,” as they pulled on the string and turned out the light and closed the door behind them.

All of a sudden, the room was dark. Pitch. Black. Dark. And, I was sore afraid. I hate the dark. Even today. But, as a kid with a vivid imagination, I was in hyper overdrive. Panic began to set it. I tried to whistle, but my mouth was so dry, I could hardly pucker.

As the minutes ticked on, I started to tremble with fear. I couldn’t even see my hands in front of me, but somehow, they found themselves clasped together and I did the only thing I knew how to do. I started to pray.

“Dear Jesus,” I prayed from the bottom of my wildly beating 9-year old heart, “Please, if you are the Light of the World, would you please, please, please shed a little of it on me right now? Even just a little light from your birthday candle would do. Just enough to keep the monsters I’m sure are living under my bed away from me? Please?”

And just then, I heard my mother at the bottom of those long, narrow steps that led to my new, suddenly not-so-perfect bedroom. “Elizabeth? Are you okay?”

I wanted to scream, “No, I’m not. Please come and get me out of here!” But before I could get the words out, I heard her say, “I’ll just leave a light on for you, in case you need to go to the bathroom. Merry Christmas!”

And then, suddenly – magically! – there was light!

Just a little light. A small sliver at the bottom of the door at the top of the attic stairs. But, it was enough. I instantly felt a wave of relief pour itself over my body. I felt a wonderful peace and comfort. And, I knew my prayers had been answered.

I’m all grown up now. An intelligent, independent woman, capable of rational thinking and reasoned responses.

I’m not as afraid of the dark anymore, but sometimes, I find myself in such pretty dark emotional places that I scare myself. I’m thinking some of you know of what I speak.

I don’t believe in monsters under my bed anymore, but I do know that evil exists in the world. I have seen it and I suspect you have, too.

It’s times like that when I need nights like this. I think there’s a little child in each of us that – whether we care to admit it or not – needs nights like tonight. Nights when we can suspend all rational thinking and believe, just for one night – just for tonight – that miracles can and do happen.

We need one night when, even though it makes no sense – no sense at all – to believe that God knows our fears and our sorrows as well as our joys and our delights because God once took on human flesh and walked among us.

Because, I’m telling you – even though I can’t prove it empirically – that God was once among us as Jesus.

And, I’m telling you – even though it defies all logic – that Jesus lives on in me and in you. There is a little spark of the Divine in each one of us.

That is the light that glows especially bright on this night we call Christmas Eve.

It glows in the faces of the Christ child in each one of us, who lays his head in the humble manger of our hearts every day of the year.

You can see it especially in an act of kindness – like making sure someone who is hungry gets something to eat.

Or, visiting someone who is in prison so that s/he will know that s/he has not been forgotten.

Or, working for justice to change the systems that keep wide the chasm between rich and poor.

And, I’m telling you that all it takes in this dark, hurting world is a little sliver of light to chase away the shadows of fear and mend the broken places in our hearts.

Perhaps you could be that little sliver of light for someone this night, or the next, or the one after that.

Because that’s really what Christmas is all about. It’s why we come to church, even when we really don’t want to. To draw near to the Light of Christ that we may come to know the Prince of Peace and to bring that peace to the rest of the world.

Be not afraid, the angels said to the shepherds watching their flock that night so long ago in a field near Bethlehem. And, the light of a star shone so brightly that it led them right to where the Infant Jesus lay.

May you find that little sliver of light that will bring you to Jesus.

May you find the light of Christ in your own heart that you may lead others to Jesus.

May you know the Prince of Peace that you may be a vehicle of peace in the world.

May you believe in the miracle of the Incarnation that you may begin to see the miracle that is life.

And, if you can’t, be not afraid!

Just for tonight, believe in my belief until someone comes into your life and turns the light on in your darkness so that you will be able to find your own belief and peace and comfort and joy.

Amen.

Merry Chreeshmash!

As I've been scurrying around preparing for Christmas - shopping, decorating, wrapping, writing cards, cleaning, polishing, ironing, planning menus, marketing, marinating, baking - I wonder how my Portuguese grandmother did it.

I mean, she had all those kids of her own, plus their spouses and their children, plus various cousins, nieces, nephews, and neighbors.

There were always platters of cookies everywhere - and these amazing Portuguese custard tarts which would absolutely melt in your mouth.

The crust was more like a very flaky filo and the custard was as light as air with just a hint of a lemony aftertaste.

I remember her making them in small tin cans - she used cat food cans which she collected, washed and boiled to a fare thee well before using them for baking these angelic treats.

She would also make a huge Bolo Rei - a King Cake - which was sweet - like Massa Sovada (or Pao Doce) - but had all these wonderful dried fruit on top to represent the jewels in the crown of Jesus, the Prince of Peace.

No, it was not a fruit cake. It wasn't a dense, dry cake with dried fruit and nuts. This was much more a bread - a very sweet, yellowy, yummy bread - with the dried fruit on top like crowns.

It also doubled as a cake for Tres Reis - Three Kings - on the Feast of the Epiphany, except the Christmas version had a fava bean baked into it.

The kid who found the fava bean was first to open their Christmas present on Christmas Eve. After midnight mass.  Never before. Ever.

You could also count on a wonderful plate of Arroz Doce - Sweet Rice - somewhere on the table, which was sprinkled generously with nutmeg and cinnamon.

Very often, my grandmother would sprinkle on the cinnamon and nutmeg into a holiday message or decoration. Always written in Portuguese, which she would make certain one of us could read and translate before she allowed us to spoon some into our dish.

Children were encouraged to eat the Arroz Doce. In fact, even fussy eaters were allowed to pass up on the main course as long as they had a dish of Arroz Doce - which was made with eggs and cream and served in a bowl, swimming in heavy cream.

"Good, good," my grandmother would say in her broken English. "Is good for babies," she'd say, as my uncles eyed it from afar and she gave them "the look" to let the children eat it first.

My uncles and male cousins thought it was great stuff with which to line their stomachs before knocking back a few "boiler makers" (beer with a shot of whiskey in it) or a few rounds of "cachaca", a liquor made from fermented sugarcane juice.

My grandfather made his own beer, wine and cachaca in the cellar.  He kept huge wooden barrels of the stuff - off the room from the boiler and away from my grandmother's canned vegetables and big ceramic pottery vats of Portuguese sausages and other cured meats which they had made sometime at the end of October during The Annual Pig Killing.

While my grandfather and uncles would lug up boxes of bottles of booze, my grandmother, mother and aunts would bring up great strings of the linguicia or cherico -  spicy Portuguese sausages. My grandmother would then open up a few jars of stewed tomato and onion and fry them together with the fava beans she had grown in her own garden.

She would serve it on a great hunk of Portuguese bread - crusty on the outside, soft and chewy on the inside - slather the bread with butter, place the bread in the bottom of a bowl and then pour a huge ladle of the lunguicia and fava bean stew over the top.

You didn't need a spoon. We would eat the stuff with our fingers, then drink down the hot, spicy liquid at the end. If your throat and stomach were on fire with the spices, you would have to "neutralize" it with another tart or some of the sweet rice.

If my uncles got too close to the sweet rice, she would appear as if from out of nowhere, ladle in one hand, the other hand on her hip and say, "I breaka you face!" If they were already swaying from the cachaca, she would say, "I kicka you ass, you sombeech!"

I think those were really the only words she knew how to speak in English.

Oh, and she knew how to say, "Merry Chreeshmash". She greeted most people at the door - if she could. Most people just walked right in - the door was always open - and head directly to the kitchen to give her a kiss and your holiday greeting.

If you were smiling, she'd said, "Merry Chreeshmash. You hungry?".

If you were not smiling, she'd say, "Merry Chreeshmash! Wottsamatta? You hungry?"

Food, for my grandmother, was the universal language - sure to brighten your spirits (even if they were fine) and cure for whatever ailed you.

I'm probably forgetting half the things that were on my Grandmother's Christmas table - mostly because I didn't eat them.

Especially the Bacalhau which I didn't mind so much if it was fresco but at Christmas, she made it with the salted, dried cod that my grandfather and uncles had caught during the summer months of fishing off of East Cuttyhunk, a small island about 12 miles south of New Bedford and about 8 miles west of Gay Head, Martha's Vineyard.

It was Very Salty - enough to make your mouth pucker - and, of course, very spicy. Lots of hot peppers mixed with cinnamon, cardamom, nutmeg and other spices that are commonly used in Portuguese Cooking.

Oh, and then there were the fried smelts. Now, those I ate like candy.

She would drag the small fish through corn meal, salt and pepper, fry them up in butter and olive oil, and bring out the big iron cast skillet and plop it right in the middle of the table.

We would then rip off hunks of the Portuguese bread, slather some butter on them, and pick one up right out of the pan and eat the thing whole - bones and all - which just absolutely melted in your mouth.

I think, when I die and go to heaven, my grandmother will be waiting for me with a whole pan of fried smelts all to myself which I can follow up with an entire platter of those little custard tarts.

When I think back on it all, it was an amazing amount of work which I don't think I really appreciated as a kid.

I don't remember getting a "Christmas present" from my grandmother. No toy, no piece of jewelry, no book, no money in a card. My Christmas present was her cooking - and, the memories I have of all that amazing food.

I don't know how she did it all, but I sure am glad she did.

My efforts pale in comparison, but I do try to put in as much thought and love into my meal planning and cooking as she did.

It's the memories, however, that I'll always cherish.

Check out this video to get an even better sense of what my childhood Christmases were like.

Boas Festas!

Merry (almost) Chreeshmash, everybody!

Arrested Discernment: Occupying Faith

Michael Sniffen after his diaconal ordination

It has been my great privilege and joy, over the past 25 years, to assist literally dozens people through a vocational discernment process - not all of them on the ordination path, but including more than a dozen or so young people through the process of ordination.

Michael Sniffen is one of them.

As I mentioned in an earlier post, Michael is 31 years old, recently married, a doctoral student at Drew University, and is priest-in-charge of the Episcopal Church of St. Luke and St. Matthew in Brooklyn, New York. It is my continued great joy and delight to hear him introduce me as his mentor.

He was arrested for trespassing on December 17, 2011 - civil disobedience at Duarte Square in lower Manhattan - as part of the Occupy Wall Street Movement along with his clergy colleague, John Merz, Bishop George Packard, and several others. I'll come back to this in a minute.

One of the most important things I tell folks who come to me about discernment is that it is critical to remember that it is not about being "right" or being "wrong".

Tim

It's about making the best decision, given all that you know about yourself for as long as you have known yourself, along with the situation you find yourself in - right here, right now - and where you see God's hand in it all, leading you into an uncertain future.

It's about taking a risk and stepping forward in faith, piecing together the worn threads of what is in the past and the few, fragile strands of what is in front of you, and weaving them together with the threads of uncertainty about what lies ahead.

And, it's about being a grateful evangelist for all that God has done for you in your life, stopping, every now and again, to tell people you meet along the way about how God is working in your life.

Not so that you can be "right" or convince yourself or others about how correct you are. No. You do that to remind yourself that it is only by God's grace that you have been given the will to do these things and to inspire others to seek God's grace that is present and available to them in their own lives.

And, if you've done that and find yourself "wrong"? Well, I don't believe that God sees our decisions as failures.  Life is a wonderful laboratory in which we are asked to participate and experiment. There are no failures. There are simply lessons learned for the next part of the journey.

God knows, I have questioned my own discernment at various times since my initial sense of vocation in 1982. Really? I've asked, during those lonely, spiritually dry, confusing, anxious times.

Melissa

Linda

Really? I've asked God. This - THIS - is what I'm supposed to be doing? You're kidding me, right? I could be making so much more money as a nurse and still doing an important work of ministry for you. Why don't I just hang up my collar right now?

That doesn't mean that I made the wrong decision back in 1982 when I decided to follow my "call" that led to the path towards ordination. It just means that discernment to vocation is a lifelong commitment.

Discernment is, in and of itself, a vocation.

You know, like marriage, which sometimes we learn - sometimes sooner, sometimes later - was a Very Bad decision. Not at the time. Maybe it was a Really Good decision at the time. The best we could make. Or, maybe we weren't so sure it was a Good Decision and it turned out to be the best thing we could have ever done.

It could also be a particular career path which we "found" ourselves on and then, later, learned that it was only meant to take us to a certain point - only prepared us to go only so far - so that we could begin to see the next path opening before us that we couldn't have seen any other way.

Brandon

Sometimes, we make good choices. Sometimes we make make bad choices. Whether good or bad, as Archbishop Temple once said, God still reigns.

I believe, with all my heart, that, right or wrong, good or bad, "....for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to God's purpose" (Romans 8:28).

What's remarkable about the discernment process is that, sometimes, it is, in fact, a process. A gradually awakening. A gentle nudge. Sometimes, it comes in an instant. A huge PUSH wherein one's body begins to move before the mind can make sense of it.

But, there you are, your body on the path, your mind and heart scrambling to keep up.

We are going about the days of our lives, doing the mundane, common, ordinary things one does in the enterprise of being human, and then, out of the blue, we find ourselves in a situation where it all comes down to this one thing, this one decision.

Sometimes, you have to put your body where your mouth has been.

If you've ever experienced a situation like that, you can never read the story of Thomas - whose feast day we mark on the Calendar of Saints today - or The Annunciation of Mary without feeling some visceral effect - a knot in the pit of your stomach, or your pulse racing, or your respirations quickening.

Jeremiah

Br. Morgan

You don't know if it's right or wrong. You just know that you are being called - yelled at, forcefully summoned, physically pushed - and that, right or wrong, you must act, even though others may judge you harshly for it and the consequences for your behavior may be some penalty you don't know how you will bear.

And, when you witness to what has happened to you, some will not believe you. Some will say you are doing it for your own gain. It's grandstanding. It's narcissistic.

Others - especially those who are also in discernment or are confused or anxious or frightened or (yes) envious - will attack your motives, and say all manner of evil against you. Still others will accuse you of passing judgment on those who disagree with you or who have not yet been able to take a stand.

And, that's just part of the price you will pay for acting on - and in - faith.

The thing of it is that I believe with all my heart that those who who attack your motives are also called to do just that. It's a form of refiner's fire - for both.

I say all this as a prelude linking you to a wonderful statement from Michael Sniffen. It was written at the request of his bishop, the Episcopal Bishop of Long Island, Larry Provenzano, and is now posted on the Episcopal Diocese of Long Island webpage.

It's called "Diary of An Arrested Priest", which takes us on his journey with him from the moments before and during and after his arrest at Duarte Square in lower Manhattan as part of the movement known as "Occupy Wall Street".

It's rather long but rather wonderful. I strongly urge you to read it. I love it as much for what it is as for what it is not. Here's why I think this to be so:

Jon Richardson, blessing me after his priestly ordination

First, it is thoroughly incarnational. It is Michael's story, told from Michel's perspective. It is how Michael understands himself to be living out the Gospel story and being faithful to what God is asking him to do and be in the world, and how he is responding to his perception of the presence of the Risen Lord in his midst.

It is thoroughly human. Michael articulately and eloquently expresses his doubts, his outrage, his passion, and his compassion, all laced with bits and pieces of Michael's own brand of humor.

It is not a rant against Trinity Wall Street in particular or The Episcopal Church in general. It is simply his eye-witness account of what he saw and what happened to him.  Indeed, there is neither guile nor judgment in any of it (unless you need to hear it in his questions).

Even though it is passionate and convincing and convicting, there is plenteous evidence of ongoing, prayerful discernment - every step of the way: At the fence. On the ladder. In the vacant lot. In the paddy wagon. In the jail cell. In his congregation, preaching and presiding, the next day. 

Megan, moi, and Jon

Jesus and Megan

I don't know if Michael made the right decision or the wrong decision on December 17, 2011, to move from being a witness for peaceful demonstration and pastoral presence to climbing the fence and doing civil disobedience.

I happen to think he made a courageous decision and I support him.  That does not make either of us right or wrong. It's simply where we have both discerned ourselves to be in this complicated, complex situation.

Sometimes, you have to break a few rules in order to change a few laws. And, hearts. And, minds.

You never know when that moment will arise. I chuckle when I recall that Bishop George Packard, himself a retired military man and the retired Bishop Suffragan of the Armed Forces, was first arrested at Zuccotti Park because he was bringing water to those encamped there.

Bp. Packard (Andrew Burton - Reuters)

He, himself, was neither demonstrating nor "occupying". He was just following the Gospel imperative to minister to the "least and the lost". Still, he was arrested.  "Hey, I'm not one of them. I'm a retired Army. Served in 'Nam. I'm military - just like you," he said to the NYPD officer who arrested him, but his words fell on deaf ears.

"But, I was only bringing them water," he protested to one of New York's finest as he was handcuffed.

And, in that moment, an "Occupied Bishop" was born - the one in the "Crayola Magenta" cassock, which had been given to him by Desmond Tutu, who was the first one up the ladder and over the fence at Duarte Square in an act of civil disobedience on December 17, 2011. 

I have my own share of stories of those kinds of "Thomas" or "Annunciation moments". I'm sure you do, as well.

Michael and the cake his 'friends' made him

I encourage you to read Michael's story.  Toward the end of his piece, he writes,

The Kingdom of God is inside us and all around us. The world is a mess and yet the beauty of community is springing up in the most unexpected places. In an empty lot. In a prison cell. God is building staircases into our hearts this Advent. Sacrificial love is rushing up those stairs. It is the most powerful force on earth and it cannot be stopped. “We are unstoppable,” says God. “Another world is possible.”


What happened on the 17th of December will be forgotten pretty soon. The media cycle will move on. People and institutions will move on. I’m out of jail now, but I am still arrested. God’s Holy Spirit has placed me under arrest. It’s troubling and comforting and overwhelming. I feel completely alive and scared and hopeful. I believe, Lord. Help my unbelief. Help me climb your staircase one step at a time and meet me on the other side. For you promised, “I will never leave you or forsake you.” Be with us all in this season of brokenness and mending.

I am not certain of much in my life, but I know this much to be true:

To be in discernment is to enter into the mystery of having been arrested by God and freed for service of sacrificial love to God's people.

Discernment is one of the greatest acts of faith I know.

As Fred Buechner once wrote:

"Faith is different from theology because theology is reasoned, systematic and orderly, whereas faith is disorderly, intermittent and full of surprises.....Faith is homesickness. Faith is a lump in the throat. Faith is less a position on than a movement toward, less a sure thing than a hunch. Faith is waiting".

Please read "Dairy of An Arrested Priest" to see what I mean.

In these last few days of Advent, I wish a Blessed St. Thomas Day to one and all!

No Time for Anglican Circumspection

'Peaceful demonstration', please, before 'Litigation'

On Saturday, December 17, during the attempted occupation of Duarte Square (the property owned by Trinity Wall Street and desired as a location for encampment by the protesters of Occupy Wall Street) I was in contact - through cell phone and prayer vigil - with my dear friend and clergy colleague, the Rev'd Michael T. Sniffen.

Michael is 31 years old, recently married, a doctoral student at Drew University, and is priest-in-charge of the Episcopal Church of St. Luke and St. Matthew in Brooklyn, New York. It is my continued great joy and delight to hear him introduce me as his mentor.

This is a complex and complicated situation with some astoundingly simple solutions - if there are those with the mind and heart to believe that the heart of the Scriptural message is hospitality and welcome to the "stranger" - with all the risks and entanglements involved - and that the heart of the message of Jesus is repentance so that we might turn toward the justice of God's Realm.

We've heard from the Bishop of NY and the Presiding Bishop on this matter. We've heard and seen Bishop Tutu do a rare but very telling flip-flop in his statements. We've also heard - and seen - the retired bishop of the Armed Forces, Bishop George Packard who has tried to negotiate between the OWS and TWS folks.

ENS has a wonderful, balanced summary of the day's events, reported by Sharon Sheridan. Please do go to this link and check it out.

You might also be edified by a letter written by another one of the protesters, Rev'd John Merz, to his bishop, the Rt. Rev'd Larry Provenzano after his release from jail for civil disobedience.

I urge you to read it in its entirety, but would like to highlight this paragraph:

There is no need any longer to publicly critique Trinity Wall Street for their track record. I promise for my part that I will not dwell there, but rather to move on with these parting notes:

Publicly they need to preserve face as they understand it according to their varied interests. Privately I must remark on the shocking dissonance between their professed support, their vast resources and power and the things they provided: leaving a drop-in center open, allowing group meetings in other space literally a handful if not less of times, deleting posts on their blogs that enjoined them for basic relief of human needs (porta-potties). It pains me to experience this disconnection, as they never intended to connect, listen to, and support this movement in any real way. It is a rehash of their 9/11 record (many know the real story there) locally in times of social crisis. They do the right thing only if self- preservation (image) requires it and even then only haltingly. There is no amount of explanation that can dissuade me of that. I do hope that I can forgive them. Perhaps one day they will also understand and forgive me for my challenging comments since this started the first weeks of OWS. Time will tell. But to devote another second to them would be a second wasted.

I think it's safe to say that the future of the church is in good hands.

Michael and I spoke briefly on the phone last last night as he was walking home after being released from jail. He wrote this to me early this morning, before going to preach and preside for his congregation. He has given me permission to share it with you. Indeed, he has asked me to help him "get the word out".

I am nothing if not a grateful evangelist for the ongoing revelation of God's Word.

Please take all these things and, like Mary, ponder them deeply in your heart.

Because, like Mary, the time is drawing nigh for us to take action.

Here's what Michael had to say:

After many hours in jail, the NYPD was good enough to release me along with Bishop Packard, The Rev. John Merz, The Rev. Dr. Earl Kooperkamp, other clergy, nuns, students, hunger strikers, parents, grandparents, and people of goodwill who committed the awful crime of stepping onto church property in solidarity with the poor, the least and the lost.

I did not plan to climb the fence, but I could not watch as officers used their knees and other human bodies as weapons against peaceful protesters. I am no hero, but I am a human being.

I naively thought that in this season of Advent, when we prepare for God's occupation of the world in Jesus Christ, that my brothers and sisters at Trinity Church would not direct the police to arrest me for standing in a vacant lot which they happen to own.

I was wrong.

Where were the Trinity clergy as police threw young women to the ground and stepped on them? Were they practicing a "ministry of presence" with their PR team? I hope not.

As I was having my mug shot taken, the flash of light reminded me of the Angel Gabriel appearing to Mary in today's gospel passage from Luke.
With God all things are possible.

May God grant us courage and wisdom. We cannot sit in our studies and offer commentary as God's people suffer. That is sinfulness, plain and simple.
Anglican circumspection will not do in this season. We have had more than enough time to discern what is right.

In this season, we join The Blessed Virgin Mary in saying "Be it unto me according to thy word" and we suffer the consequences and experience the deep joy that a living faith provides.

As we broke bread in our cell with a hunger striker who had not eaten in 15 days he spoke these words, "It is an honor and a privilege to break bread with you today, my friends."

Sweet sacrament divine, sweet sacrament divine.

It's all about the Incarnation, my dears.

Always has been.

Always will be.

Or, as the OWS occupiers chant: "We are unstoppable, another world is possible."

Sounds like a great Christmas message to me.

"....Another world is possible."

Bp. Packard (Andrew Burton - Reuters)

All I can say is that it's a good thing I wasn't on the preaching roster this morning.

Well, I have a few more things to say, but it is better said from THIS pulpit/blog than one in any church.

I think I might have some untoward affects on the end of the Stewardship Drive.

I would hope that would not be the case, but Anglicanism gives me a deep sense of pragmatism, the root cause of which is a unique sort of ecclesiastical astigmatism - due to "an irregular or toric curvature of the cornea or lens" - which causes blurred vision.

My own vision is fine, thank you very much, but it's been bent a bit by recent displays of some good old fashioned Anglican circumspection. These past few days, however, I'm seeing things much more clearly, now.

But, back to the gospel. I have always loved Luke's telling of the Gospel story which we hear this morning. It's from Luke 1:26-38: The Annunciation. You know the story well, no doubt. Perhaps, like me, you can almost recite the whole thing by heart.

What I love most about the story, I think, is the combination of the very human and the very divine.

I love the way Mary responds in utter confusion, "How can this be, since I am a virgin?".

I love the way the angel, very matter-of-factly, tells her. "The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; therefore the child to be born will be holy; he will be called Son of God".

Oh, I see. Well, there it is, then. No problem.

But, just in case she needs some more...um..."proof"... he tells her that, "...your relative Elizabeth in her old age has also conceived a son; and this is the sixth month for her who was said to be barren. For nothing will be impossible with God."

Then Mary said, "Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word." Then the angel departed from her.

Hmmm... was it Gabriel or Mary who was the Anglican pragmatist?

I was thinking about all these things, "pondering them in my heart", as I was going about my Saturday chores. I was also keenly aware of two things: (1) that evacuation of American troops in Iraq was in its final hours and (2) Saturday was the day of the "D17 Protest"- the three month anniversary of the Occupy Wall Street (OWS) Movement which was also the day the "occupiers", as they are know, had chosen to "occupy" Duarte Square, a vacant lot in lower Manhattan owned by Trinity Wall Street (TWS).

Now, let me hasten to say that the good rector and people of TWS have extended good, Anglican hospitality to the good people of OWS. They have allowed them to used their "public facilities" (or "restrooms" or "water closets" or "toilets"), some of their meeting rooms and, of course, the sanctuary for respite and quiet and meditation and prayer.

You know. The way they do with most of the general population on any given day.

Photo Credit: Miranda Leitsinger/msnbc.com

When the occupiers were evicted from Zuccotti Park, they petitioned TWS to use the vacant lot as a place where they could gather and meet and have a presence.

Despite the fact that this has been a largely "virtual" movement - carried by websites and live cam videos, emails and IMs and tweets and blogs - there remains a need for place and presence.

Which brought me back to the story of The Annunciation. I don't mean to sound trite or simplistic, but the bottom line of the story is that God announced, through the Angel Gabriel, the need to "occupy" Mary's womb.

And Mary said, "What? Are you kidding me? I'm young. I haven't had time to even think about such things. That's really why I'm called a 'virgin'. Besides, I've never been "occupied" before. I've been "preoccupied" just trying to figure out how to be a young woman in today's day and age."

And, the angel Gabriel said, "Well, look, here's the plan. I know it sounds unrealistic. I know you haven't had time to check with your OB-GYN specialist, much less your parents or your boyfriend or legal counsel, and let's just leave out the theologians for now, but trust me. We could do this. You can do this. It will be totally amazing. Honest. God can do anything. Even your cousin Elizabeth - the one they said was too old to get pregnant? - is already six months along. See? Just say yes. God will take care of the rest."

And, she did. And, the incarnation, as we know, changed and transformed the world. Seems that even God needs 'place and presence'. That's just how the incarnation works.

I was thinking about that as I heard the OWS protesters chant, "“We are unstoppable, another world is possible."

They were chanting that before - and long after - they "occupied" Duarte Park. Well, at least, temporarily. They were promptly arrested and removed by the NYPD.

Bp. Packard (Stephanie Keith / AP)

The first one to climb the ladder and scale the fence surrounding the vacant lot was none other than Bishop George Packard, the 67 year old retired military man and retired Bishop Suffragan of the Armed Forces in the Episcopal Church.

He blogs at "Occupied Bishop". If you haven't already, please go there and visit and send him an encouraging word.

You couldn't miss him in his "Crayola Magenta" cassock. He tumbled to the ground but then got up pretty quickly to let the rest of the crowd know that he was okay. You can watch a video of the event which is posted over at The Lead on Episcopal Cafe.

His wife, Brooke, who was videotaping the event, reports this "Occupy 2.0" for her husband, the bishop, on his blog:

At this point, I think I stood up. I was forced close to the fence and turned to face Officer Teague. His knee came up and hit me in the chest. I was grateful for the chained fence – the barrier softened the jolt. I looked him in the eye saying "Please don't knee me." He looked back at me and did again. Did he smile? Then he did it again. I fell backward into the crowd below me feeling the crush behind, in front, and from the fence which the NYPD was still single-mindedly trying to push onto those outside the fence. Then I felt someone pick me up and throw me onto a pile of people. I looked up and it was a police officer; using my own body as a weapon against other peaceful protesters. Who knew the NYPD could be so clever?

Oh, my dear, that's just the tip of the iceberg of their cleverness.

Bishop Packard has been trying to negotiate and mediate between the occupiers and the good folks at Trinity. Here's what he wrote on his blog in the early morning of the D17 protest:

I am still baffled that the Episcopal Church of which I have been a member all my life could not--through Trinity--find some way to embrace these thousands of young people in our very diminishing ranks. (Every year for the last five years we have lost 14,000 members.) Just as we pioneered an awareness of the full membership for the LBGT community what's happening here? How hard would it have been for Trinity to convene legal counsel and say, "Give us some options so that a charter could be granted over the winter months?"

I had proposed that to the Rector and I still think it was a solution. Occupy Wall Street gets a home over the winter (one that would offer food for the Homeless and a clinic--truly bring alive dead space) and Trinity would have the assurance that the lease would return to them safe and sound come Spring. Everybody wins.

With God, all things are possible. With the church? Well, not so much.

There is no paucity of places to get information on this - and other - events. Religion Dispatches has a great article with some pictures and videos. There is, of course, "The Lead" at Episcopal Cafe. Mother Jones has a story, along with a video shot in the Paddy Wagon with Bishop Packard.

Here's a link to a statement by the Rev'd Dr. James H. Cooper, rector of TWS. You can find a letter from Archbishop Desmond Tutu to Bishop Packard which you can find here. He later wrote another letter, in which he appeared to flip-flop on the matter, but I'll let you be the judge of that.

And, just for good measure, here's a link to the letters written by Presiding Bishop Katharine Jefferts Schori and another by Mark Sisk, bishop of New York - both in support of Trinity Wall Street.

I'm remembering that, the year I took GOEs, one of the questions on the exam was "What is the difference between 'the good' and 'the right'?". While I struggled for 30 minutes to respond to the question, a friend of mine was done in less than ten minutes. I later asked her what happened. She said, "Oh, that was a great question, wasn't it? And the answer is so easy."

"What is the difference between 'the good' and 'the right'? God is good and the bishop is right."

Yes, God is good. Ah, but which bishop is right? The one with the pointiest mitre, the longest staff, the biggest diocese, the richest coffers, or the most titles?

Or, might it be the one who acts most like Jesus?

On the day when we have ended the occupation of Iraq and the Occupy Wall Street movement is in search of a place to occupy and become more incarnate, we consider the Annunciation of the Incarnation of God.

The gospel has never been more alive, more relevant, more troubling - or more hopeful - for me.

Even God needs place and presence. No one know who or where or when or how God will chose.

I don't know why that is. I only know this much to be true: That's just how the incarnation works.

Suddenly, I'm beginning to hear the words of Mary and the angel and the Magnificat in the chants of the OWS protesters, "We are unstoppable, another world is possible."

Somebody in this "church" give me an, "Amen."

All About Mii

I finally figured out how to use my Nintendo Wii and I am having a grand time.

This is the BEST early Christmas present. Evah.

First of all, it takes up very little room. Just a small box, a few DVDs (well, just two for now - Super Mario Brothers and Wii Fit), a Wii Wand and something called a nunchuck controller, which I have no idea how to use or what it's for, but I'm sure, when the kids and grandkids get here, I will.

All in good time.

Oh, there is also this Wii Console, which is like an electronic balance board. It checks your Body Mass Index (BMI), and calculates your Wii Fit Age (While I'm deemed "overweight" - BOO! - my Wii fit age is 7 years younger than I really am - WOO HOO!), helps you find your center of gravity so you can work on your "core", keeps track of your pace and time and estimates the amount of calories you've burned after each exercise, helps you establish weekly or monthly goals for yourself, and keeps tabs on your daily progress.

It's like having your own personal trainer. Except, it's an Avatar (a Mii) you create in various skin tones and body shapes and then "name".

I LOVE having my own Avatar. That's not her, above. Mine has shorter, darker hair, a rounder face with a real smile and not a smirk, and is just a tad bit more plump. Her name is "Liza".

Last evening, "Liza" and I did some Yoga moves to warm up, then did about ten minutes on the Hula Hoop (GREAT exercise), and then did more than 900 steps before jogging for 10 minutes.

It was a total of 31 minutes of exercise and I had GREAT fun. I'm just a tad sore this morning - I'm amazed that the Yoga side stretching exercises really tugged at some obviously under-exercised muscles - but the soreness is mostly in my quadriceps and gluteus maximus muscles which have gotten rather maximus in the past year of not having any regular exercise - other than walking Mr. Theo.

I'm about to go out and do some marketing and shopping (Shhh... Don't tell Ms. Conroy but I'm going to get her her own Wii Wand - and maybe a Sports Wii or Wii Just Dance DVD) and then, I'll come home and "Liza" and I will hit the old Wii Console again sometime after nightfall and before dinner.

Maybe I'll even figure out how to download the Netflix program, which comes standard, but I'm yet to figure out how to activate it. Maybe one of the kids will help me do that when they arrive at Christmas.

All in good time.

I'm hoping to add an additional 10 minutes to my routine every day - or, every other day, depending on how I feel - until I'm doing an hour work out four or five times a week. Hopefully, I'll meet that goal before the end of January, 2012.

I'm already thinking ahead to when I have to travel. The Wii Fit Bundle I got came with a traveling case. I'm going to have to call ahead to hotels in Indianapolis where General Convention will be held and make sure I can hook up my Wii to the television set in my room.

Yeah, I'm hooked. Bad.

And, yes, I do miss going to the gym and making friends with the folks who go regularly. When I lived in Chatham, I used to travel a whole five minutes to get to the Madison YM/WCA. Sometimes, in the Spring, I would walk there as my "warm up" exercise. I loved to go first thing in the morning and talk with all the elderly men and women who were positively "religious" about their exercise. They were so encouraging and helpful.

We traded "heart healthy" recipes and shared pictures of our grandchildren, traded opinions about the latest news stories and celebrities, shared a bit of town gossip, and wiped down each other's equipment after a work out.

Now, it's just me and "Liza" - my Mii Avatar - who holds no opinion about anything other than me. She's just as encouraging and says things like "Nice, steady pace. Keep it up!" And, "You're moving your arms nicely. Good job!"" And, "Watch your balance, you don't want to fall!".  And, "Remember to drink some water."

I love my Liza, the Mii Avatar Personal Trainer.

One of the great things is that the whole thing cost far less than an annual membership in a gym - and, that doesn't even include the cost of a personal trainer.

I know. I know. It isn't the same, but you know, it's the best I can do right now. I'm just not going to travel 30 miles round trip four or five times a week to join the closest YM/WCA. That's an additional expense and use of gasoline that I simply can't justify.

I mean, I know this narcissistic culture of ours is "All About Me", but there is a line that can get crossed between self care and self absorption, you know?

Me? I like being all about Mii.

Anglican Cookies for the Feast of the Nativity, Rite I: A Recipe

I don't know about you, but at this point in Advent, my 'ticklebox' falls into disrepair and needs a little tinkering to get it back into good working order.

My friend, Michael Harnois, sent this to me earlier today, and it seemed to be just what Santa ordered.

I learned from my friend, Ann Fontaine, later in the morning, that it actually appeared yesterday over at the Commonweal website.

The author remains unknown or anonymous, which probably means it was a woman.

Never mind. I hope you enjoy this recipe as much as I did. If not, stay tuned for "A Cookie Blessing" that was posted at the Commonweal site by one, James Martin, SJ (of course, it had to be a Jesuit!).

Anglican Cookies for the Feast of the Nativity, Rite I: A Recipe

Serves: You and great multitudes

Directions:

Cream these ingredients, that by their commingling, you may begin to make the dough:
1 chalice of butter, 2/3 chalice of sugar.

In a similar way, when the butter is consubstantial with the sugar, beat in
One egg

Gather these dry ingredients to yourself and combine them, so that you may add them to the dough which you have already begun to make:
2 1/2 chalices sifted all purpose flour, 1/2 tsp. Salt, 1 tsp. Vanilla

Mix the precious dough with your venerable hands.

Into the refrigerator, graciously place the dough so that it may be chilled for the duration of 3 or 4 hours, before the rolling and cutting of the cookies.

When, in the fullness of time, you are ready to bake these spotless cookies, these delicious cookies, these Christmas cookies, preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

Roll out the dough and take up a cookie cutter or stencil of your choosing, fashion the cookies into pleasing form.

Sprinkle colorful adornments over the cookies like dewfall.

Bake for 8 to 10 minutes, or until the cookies have just begun to manifest the brownness that is vouchsafed to them by the oven’s heat.

May these cookies be found acceptable in your sight, and be borne to a place of refreshment at your table, there to be served with milk or hot chocolate, or with your spirits.

Amen.

A Blessing Over Cookies:

“O God, who see the cookies that you have graciously deigned to allow us to bake here according to this recipe that you have given us that we may give to others that which you have given to us here, bless, we pray, them, O Lord, that you may allow us to offer them in return to many, as we seek to preveniently nourish these your holy people, we pray, with the ineffable taste of the flour that you have graciously allowed us to refine, O Lord, with the milky milk that milkily issues forth abundantly from the many bovine animals which you have made and from the sweet sugar that sweetly comes from the sweet sugar cane plants which you have created for we your people, who humbly implore your blessings, that all of us may humbly eat of them, in order that you might, O Lord, we humbly beseech you, bless us and them, and, we pray, O Lord, and I forgot what where I was going with this prayer.”

Someone say a quick "Amen" before he starts all over again and the cookies get stale.

Jennie Linn McCormack

Jennie Linn McCormack (Robyn Twomey for Newsweek)

Since last August, I've been closely following a story no one on either side of the abortion debate wants to touch.

Jennie Linn McCormack is a woman who lives in Pocatello, Idaho. She's 32 years old, unmarried, unemployed, and surviving, barely, on the $250 of monthly child support for one of her three kids, who suddenly found herself pregnant.

No, she's not the Blessed Virgin Mary who "suddenly found herself pregnant". She's a woman who lives in poverty - well below the poverty line. In my experience, these women lower the bar on the definition of "low self esteem". Poverty is so all consuming - especially when there are children and abusive partners involved - that it's hard to pay attention to your own body.

The man who had impregnated her had just been sent to jail for robbery. She did not feel comfortable reaching out to her mother - who is a Mormon, like almost everyone in southeastern Idaho — for help.

As the reality of her situation began to sink in, she says, “My mind just kept going back to my kids, how there was no way I could do that to them, no way I could make their lives even worse.”

She knew she didn’t have the more than $500 she’d need for the two-and-a-half-hour trip from her sparse rental apartment in Pocatello, Idaho, to Salt Lake City, the closest city with a clinic willing to terminate a pregnancy.

She had no computer, no car, no one to take care of her 2-year-old — and like Idaho, Utah had a waiting period for abortions, which meant she’d have to make two round trips.

So early this past January, she called her sister in Mississippi and asked her to buy RU-486, the so-called abortion pill, over the Internet and send it to her. The cost: about $200.

"I had an abortion" - The faces of Abortion-  from Women On Web

Understand, please, that this sort of thing happens every day. Many, many times a day. Indeed, it's happening more and more as the Right-wing, so-called "Pro-Lifers" continue to wage their War Against Women.

Hundreds of online merchants will send RU-486 without a prescription, according to Women on Web, an organization that sends the drugs to women in countries where abortion is illegal.

Deep, politically surgical cuts in federal funding to Planned Parenthood - combined with increased restrictions on reproductive rights - have created the ever-increasing pressure of a stranglehold on the choices of women - especially those who live in poverty.

The drug RU-486 (or Mifepristone - often marketed as Mifegyne and Mifeprex) is rapidly changing the political and personal landscape of reproductive rights in general and the abortion debate in particular.

Ru-486 has added some interesting fuel to the firestorm about abortion which is now being played out on an international stage that involves the technological availabilities of the internet. State laws that put abortion beyond the reach of poor women are clashing with the global reach of the Internet.

The case of Jennie Linn McCormack, however, adds a new, albeit, horrifying complication.

Nancy Hass, writing for Newsweek reports that:

McCormack, who thought she was about 12 weeks along, took the pills (the protocol involves two drugs, mifepristone and misoprostol) the afternoon they arrived. The drugs are FDA-approved only for ending early-stage pregnancies; McCormack had no complications, but the pregnancy turned out to be more advanced than she thought—perhaps between 18 and 21 weeks, experts later speculated — and the size of the fetus scared her. She didn’t know what to do — “I was paralyzed,” she says—so she put it in a box on her porch, and, terrified, called a friend. That friend then called his sister, who reported McCormack to the police.

The case was dropped weeks later due to lack of evidence. Without solid proof, such as the envelope in which the pills came, her confession wasn’t enough to sustain the case.

Idaho has a 1972 law — never before enforced — making it a crime punishable by five years in prison for a woman to induce her own abortion. Although the charges were dropped, prosecutors retained the right to re-file charges. In response, McCormack's attorney, Richard Hearn, who is also a physician, got a federal injunction to prevent any woman from being prosecuted under the state’s anti-abortion statute by the district attorney. He also filed a class-action suit against the state, claiming the statute is unconstitutional. He plans to argue the case up to the Supreme Court.

Hass gives a concise description of the problems involved in this case:

It’s a bad case for both sides. The fact that McCormack kept a 4-month-old fetus frozen in the winter chill on her back porch is the sort of ghoulish image pro-choice activists try to avoid. For pro-life advocates, supporting her arrest would contradict a longstanding policy of targeting providers while holding women blameless. “It would require a massive change in direction if the anti-abortion movement now supported the criminal prosecution of women directly, which is why McCormack is troubling,” says Cynthia Gorney, a former Washington Post reporter and the author of Articles of Faith: A Frontline History of the Abortion Wars. “It would violate everything they built the movement on.”

I'm thinking that's not going to be a problem for the folks on the Right. You know. The same ones who tout "Family Values" and are opposed to Marriage Equality but enthusiastically support Newt Gingrich in his bid for the Republican presidential nomination - who has been twice-divorced and three-times married (not to mention being a callous bastard who was having an affair with the woman who is now his third wife while second his wife was battling breast cancer and had a heated conversation about their divorce with her while she was undergoing treatment in the hospital) and is now a Roman Catholic.

They also criticize the President because they believe he doesn't have "religion" (well, not a Christian one, they think, despite the fact that he is baptized and a member of the United Church of Christ), but they also have deep problems with Mitt Romney, a devout Mormon (but not a "real" - read: Evangelical - Christian).

Nah. I don't see a problem with them demonizing Jennie Linn McCormack, do you?

Indeed, Ms. McCormack has already been ostracized and humiliated in her home state.

She says she has “no friends at all, no one to talk to.” She knows no one who’s had an abortion, or at least no one who will admit it. “My mother, she’s Mormon, you know? She’s a proud person, and this is a terrible thing for her to have to look people in the eye.” After her picture appeared in the paper, McCormack got a part-time job at a dry cleaner, using another name, but people figured out who she was and stopped letting her bag up their clothes, so she quit. On a recent trip to a local state office to apply for aid, she was ignored for hours. “They made it clear what was happening,” she says. “For a while I just sat there, sort of amazed that they were just letting me sit there.” Eventually, she picked up her son and went home.

Even her attempts to bury her fetus have been thwarted. Hearn put in requests to the district attorney to have the remains released from the evidence locker, but no one has responded.

Ah, see how these Christians love one another!

Thus far, neither right-to-life groups nor pro-choice organizations like Planned Parenthood and NARAL Pro-Choice America — usually quick to publicize such human stories as ammunition for their cause — have made public statements on McCormack’s case. Hass reports that numerous calls to spokespeople on both sides of the issues went unreturned.

I know. It's a tough political climate for liberals and progressives - especially in the arena of reproductive rights. Many think we are doing well just to hold on to the essentials of reproductive rights as we continue to defend ourselves in the War on Women. The concern, of course, is that taking up this particular case will do further harm to our cause in this politically conservative climate.

Well, my friends, this is EXACTLY what we've been fighting for since Roe v. Wade in 1973. The images of a desperate woman, alone in her room with a coat hanger or in a dirty, back alley with a sleazy abortionist have been replaced with the image of a poor woman using a library computer to order RU-486 and taking it without any medical supervision or care.

Me? I'm thinking about how terrified Jennie Linn McCormack must have been when she realized that the 12 week fetus was more like 20 weeks. No woman should have to go through that alone, much less ostracized for it.

Women - throughout the centuries - have done whatever they needed to do to prevent pregnancy and, when necessary, end the pregnancy. Since 1850 BCE, women have used pessaries made of crocodile dung, papyrus covered in honey and acacia gum, as well as various plants like Queen Anne's lace, willow, myrrh and pomegranate to prevent and end pregnancy.

Many of them died of infection or poisoning.

I think I was in my early 20's when I realized that it was not an enema bag, as I had been told, that hung on a hook underneath my mother's robe in the bathroom, but something with which she used to douche. And, the brown bottle of Lysol which she kept in the bathroom was not just to clean the toilet bowl, but something with which she douched to prevent pregnancy.

When birth control pills became available, not only could she not afford them, but being a Good Roman Catholic, she would never have used them. Besides, her Good Roman Catholic physician would never have prescribed them for her.

She did what she could.

She had had six pregnancies and four children. She went back to work in the mills the minute my baby sister started Kindergarten. She wanted to provide a home of our own and education - besides food and clothing - for her children.

She did what she could.

Women always have. Women always will.

It's time to support women like Jennie Linn McCormack. All women, but especially poor women. Women who are so poor they don't have many - if any - choices. Women who will do whatever they can to protect the children they already have.

Both Sarah Palin and Michele Bachmann have both stated publicly that they considered abortion. Palin considered it carefully when she discovered that the unplanned fetus she was carrying had Trisomy-21 (Down's Syndrome). Bachmann was unexpectedly pregnant for the third time, and thought her family could not take another child at that time.

Both women decided to continue with their pregnancies. Not every woman would have made that decision, but these women were able to make the decision that was best for them and their families.

Palin carried her pregnancy to term. Bachmann's pregnancy ended in miscarriage. 

Ironically, Palin and Bachmann have used their personal stories to underscore their commitment to anti-choice policies and beliefs. The point - which is obviously lost on them - is they had a choice to do what they decided was best for them and their families.

Jennie Linn McCormack is quoted as saying, "I just didn’t know what to do. I did what I thought was right for my kids, that’s all."

Isn't that what we all want to do? Isn't that what we want for all women?

Please consider writing or calling Planned Parenthood (212-541-7800 ) and NARAL: Pro-Choice America (202.973.3000) as well as RCRC: Religious Coalition for Reproductive Choice (202.628.7700)  and urge them to support Jennie Linn McCormack's case.

No case is perfect. And, if not now, when?

One in three women will have an abortion in her lifetime.

Frederica Mathewes-Green is someone I have to cross the aisle to agree with on most any given subject. She is quoted as saying: "No woman wants an abortion as she wants an ice cream cone or a Porsche. She wants an abortion as an animal caught in a trap wants to gnaw off its own leg."

Don't want abortion?  Don't have one.

Want to end abortion? Work to end the situations that contribute to the reasons women have abortion - poverty, limited access to affordable health care, poor educational resources for women, lack of information about reproductive health and choice.

The choice is clear. Not easy. Not simple. But, very, very clear.

Please support Jennie Linn McCormack with your prayers, your phone calls and emails, and your activism to end poverty and improve the status of women.

No fetus should be left out in the cold in a box on the back porch - or, in an evidence locker.

No woman should be left out in the cold, either.

Abortion is a personal decision. Not a legal debate.