Custody of the Tongue

Considering a spiritual disciple for Lent

Sometimes, it comes over me like a blast of hot air from an oven. It usually starts somewhere in the middle of my chest or from the back of my head. Sometimes, it even causes a slight tremble in my hands.

Despite my best efforts, the free-floating anxiety that seems to be in the ether these days begins to feed my anger, and suddenly, my mouth opens and I’m spewing. Except, I like to think of it as ‘venting’.

God knows we need to vent. We need to have safe places and safe people to say the quiet parts out loud. It’s one way to discharge the tension in our bodies. The pressure valve in our heads open and lets off some steam. It helps to relieve some of the heaviness around our hearts.

Except . . . except . . . when we become part of what feeds the anxiety and anger in others. Except when we misplace or displace our anger and hit easy targets like, for example, “The Democrats”. We want SOMEbody to do SOMEthing to make it STOP. And, isn’t that what our elected party leaders are supposed to do?

Except, every time I see Hakeem Jefferies these days, he looks pale and exhausted, like he has been chased by dogs and has been blown around like a rag doll in the face of an open, full-force fire hose. Which is a pretty good description of what’s going on in the Sacred Chambers of Congress these days. 

 

This is the deliberate practice of guarding one's speech, carefully considering the words they speak to avoid negativity, gossip, or harmful language, essentially exercising control over what comes out of their mouth to maintain a spiritual focus and positive attitude; it is considered a key aspect of living a mindful and dedicated religious life.

One of my dear colleagues, someone I greatly admire, was venting (spewing) the other day about the Democrats during the Joint Session of Congress. She was angry because all they could do was to hold up “wimpy” signs and a few of them walked out.

What would you have them do, I asked. SOMEthing, she responded. ANYthing, she practically yelled. Boycott. Walk out. Stand up and turn their backs every time he lied. Yell at him the way they yelled at Biden and Obama.

Really, I asked. And, what would that have accomplished? She gave an exasperated sigh and said, they would have let the American people know that they are fighting for us. You don’t think they are, I said. Not by holding up wimpy signs, no.

Wouldn’t we look like hypocrites, holding them to the rules of decorum when we are in power but not abiding by those same rules ourselves? She shook her head and said, we have to do SOMEthing.

I heard her, loud and clear. Her voice has repeated itself several times over the last few days, especially when the latest outrageous, unconstitutional decision has been made or cruel policy enacted. There’s a part of me that wants to do something, that wants the Democrats to do anything. Whatever it takes to Make. It. Stop.

I didn’t watch the 100-minute Congressional lovefest the POTUS held for himself, which he sprinkled liberally with his usual lies and misinformation, exaggerations and, of course, political venom. In the clips I saw, he sounded more like a Wrestling Character who had won the Championship but couldn’t stop spitting and growling about his opponent.

I understand her anxiety. I share her anger. I just don’t know what good it does to dress down the Democrats for not being able to fight back against a man who has kept his promise to be a “dictator on Day One,” and has filled his cabinet with people who have no education or experience but are intensely loyal to him, while breaking constitutional law left right and center, six times before breakfast.

I, at least, can turn off the news. I, at least, can walk away and lower the volume. Our elected officials can’t. They have to stand there, in front of the blast of an open furnace, and take it, knowing that the POTUS controls both chambers of Congress and the majority of the Supreme Court.

“Likewise, the tongue is a small part of the body, but it makes great boasts. Consider what a great forest is set on fire by a small spark. The tongue also is a fire, a world of evil among the parts of the body. It corrupts the whole body, sets the whole course of one’s life on fire, and is itself set on fire by hell.” (James 3:5-6)

As I considered all that a thought came to me that I - without a law degree, without having survived a political election and been voted into office, without any practical knowledge or experience of how government actually works, on the ground, in the trenches and back rooms and golf courses and tennis courts and over gourmet meals in a high-priced restaurant in The District - I, even I, have no room to criticize.

It occurred to me that I am no different than the MAGA folks who, without any medical education, suddenly become experts on immunology and the management of a pandemic. Or, without any knowledge of the art and science of education, presume to tell teachers what and how to teach children which includes more children than just my own. Or, participate in the hypocrisy of advocating for First Amendment Rights on the one hand while banning books from libraries on the other.

Or, the hipocrisy that really pulls my poor, last, tired nerve: Refusing to take vaccines during a pandemic or to immunize their children saying "You can't tell me what to do with my body," but cheer when Roe v. Wade was overturned and Dodd passed, denying a woman the very same right.

Yes, it is important - critically important - that I am in communication with my elected officials. They must know that we know that democracy is based on the principle of “participatory representation,” and take our part in the government “of the people, by the people, for the people.”

And, it is important that we allow ourselves to find safe people and places where we can vent. And, spew. And, rage, when necessary.

That said, I am also remembering something the nuns of my youth taught me. It’s a spiritual disciple called “custody of the tongue.”

This is the deliberate practice of guarding one's speech, carefully considering the words they speak to avoid negativity, gossip, or harmful language, essentially exercising control over what comes out of their mouth to maintain a spiritual focus and positive attitude; it is considered a key aspect of living a mindful and dedicated religious life.

It’s based on something James said in one of his Epistles, “Likewise, the tongue is a small part of the body, but it makes great boasts. Consider what a great forest is set on fire by a small spark. The tongue also is a fire, a world of evil among the parts of the body. It corrupts the whole body, sets the whole course of one’s life on fire, and is itself set on fire by hell.” (James 3:5-6)

So, this Lent, one of the spiritual disciplines I am committing to practice is “custody of the tongue”. I commit to being a safe person and creating safe places where my friends can do all the venting and spewing they need, but I commit myself to not participating in that activity with them.

I will listen, actively and compassionately. I will practice custody of the tongue

I commit myself to being gentle and compassionate with and kind to myself so that I can be gentle and compassionate and kind to others. I will practice custody of the tongue.

I commit myself to working out my anger and anxiety and rage with my spiritual director and therapist. I will not hold my tongue there.

I commit to finding ways to channel that righteous anger and understandable anxiety and moments of blind rage into activities that involve my presence and energy in activities of “participatory representation” of government.

To wit: March 15th is the #IdesOfTrump - a postcard campaign to break the record set by Hank Aron of having received over 900,000 postcards. I am quietly inviting friends to a postcard-writing party where, for two hours, we’ll sit and write postcards to the current (for now) POTUS, telling him the things he hates to hear. Like, “You are the most unpopular POTUS in the history of this country.” And, “You are a failure.” And, “You are not a patriot.” And, “You are a disgrace.” And, "You're FIRED".

No, he won’t read them. Of course, he won’t read them. But, he will know if we’ve broken Hank Aron’s record with a million postcards in the White House mail room.

And I can show up for the Indivisible Protests in my area, which are happening every Saturday morning from 9-noon out on Route One in front of the Walmart (Attention, Delmarva Peeps).

And, I can attend Indivisible Meetings and ACLU information sessions to learn what I can do that will begin to make a dent in the movement to rid ourselves of the far right, fascist MAGA White Christian Nationalist curse while sending a strong, loud, and clear message to our elected officials that we’re here, we’re with them, that they are not alone, and that they should keep on keepin’ on and find creative, effective ways to send a strong, loud and clear message to those who control the levers of power in our government that we are here, we are fired up, and we are fighting back.

Will it work? Will it help? Dunno. I suspect it will be far better for my soul my mind and my body than missing 40 pieces of chocolate.

Custody of the tongue. Who knew that something I used to giggle about outside of the hearing range of the nuns would be something that I would consider in my own life?

 

The Route of Stone and Water

Finding the way back to the light

The author at Finisterra - the end of the world - the traditional end of the Camino.

NB This essay recently appeared in The Delaware Communion Magazine, Spring 2025, a quarterly publication of the Episcopal Church in Delaware.

As you read this, we will be in the midst of walking the pilgrim’s way we call Lent. For many of us, the world has never felt darker and more confusing and chaotic. This year, this Lent, we seem to be in the midst of an especially foreboding and disquieting pilgrimage.

How is it that pilgrims can walk through the darkness, feeling confused and lost, and then find their way to the light and back on the path?

I have walked The Camino de Santiago (The Way of St. James) as a pilgrim twice. In 2018, I walked from San Sebastian in the Basque Region of Spain, on the border of France. My second pilgrimage was on the Camino Portuguese, from Lisbon to Santiago, Spain, in 2022.

I was on the “Ruta da Pedra e da Agua” (Route of Stone and Water), a few kilometers from Armenteira, in the province of Pontevedra, Spain, in the region of Galicia where we had spent the night. Without a doubt, this is one of the most beautiful parts of the entire Camino. The path from Armenterira to Vilanova de Arousa is referred to as The Spiritual Variant, a path that leads mostly downhill to the sea; a gift for sore feet and aching knees.

I confess that I could never be considered a hiker. I am more of a walker with a definite penchant for strolling. I always smile when I hear about those who have walked 18–20 kilometers of the Camino in one day. I’m that person who literally has to stop and smell the flowers. In that area of God’s realm, it’s more like the small blue, pink, or white buds of rosemary that cover the border walls of farmland and the periwinkle hydrangea that seem to burst into huge, glorious pom-poms just about everywhere. Oh, and the eucalyptus trees in the Souto da Retorta forest and along the coast!

To paraphrase Ms. Shug in The Color Purple, I think it really pisses God off if a pilgrim does not notice (and smell) the rosemary and hydrangea and eucalyptus.

So, typically, I start the day with other pilgrims after breakfast, but then an hour or so later, they have all moved on and I am on my own, which suits me just fine. Indeed, I was often designated The Sweep, i.e. the person at the end who makes sure the folks we started with are in the designated place at the end of the day. This nickname is better than Pokey Little Puppy, the other term of endearment bestowed upon me by my fellow pilgrims.

Never mind. There are lots of pilgrims on the Camino from all over the world. Language? Not a problem when you can point and embellish with a few newly learned words. Also, the ubiquitous yellow Camino arrows or stylized shells are always pointing you to the right path; sometimes they are painted on a stone with the number of kilometers to Santiago.

How is it that pilgrims can walk through the darkness, feeling confused and lost, and then find their way to the light and back on the path?

It is very hard to get lost on The Camino — except on The Route of Stone and Water. This area was more like an enchanted forest, with charming little bridges over babbling brooks under which I fully expected a troll and three Billy Goats Gruff to appear. That morning a light, persistent rain bowed the limbs of some of the saplings that provided playful little splashes as I walked past them. It was early October, so the cold rain landed on the still-warm earth, gaving rise to small puffs of misty clouds, the stuff on which fairies love to perch and flutter their gossamer wings.

It was easy to get lost in all that beauty and magic and imagination. And so, I did. No worries. Someone will be by soon. I stood at the intersection of the path, where one way went down and seemed to follow the river, while the other went up a hill and through the ruins of an ancient water house. I looked all around for a yellow arrow or shell. Perhaps, it was on that fence? No. Ah, here, on this rock, covered with moss? No. On the ground, I wondered, as I moved dirt and dry leaves around with my walking boots. No such luck.

Ah, this must be a message from The Camino, telling me to stop and enjoy. So I did. For about 10 minutes. And then, I began to worry. Just a little. No one was coming by. This was my second Camino. This was unusual. Someone always comes by.

Fifteen. Twenty. Thirty minutes. No one. Trying not to panic, I struggled to swallow my pride and called our guide, Marco, from my cell phone. He would laugh. Silly American. But, he would hug me when he saw me and have something profound to teach me.

I didn’t have to wait that long.

“Marco? It’s Elizabeth. I think I’m lost.”

(Soft laughter) “You are not lost. You are on the Camino. Tell me what you see.”

(Belying my anxiety with some humor) “Stones and water.”

(Not amused) “Very funny. Tell me what you see. Maybe I can tell where you are.”

“One path goes down and follows the river. The other goes up by the ruins of a water house.”

“Yeah, I don’t know where that is. You’re right. You are lost.”

(Full panic now. It didn’t take much). “But, Marco, I have looked everywhere for a yellow arrow. I have looked back where I came. I’ve looked all around me. I have looked ahead on both paths. There’s nothing here. Oh my God. I AM lost. Whatever am I to do?”

“Stop. Elizabeth, stop. Now, take a deep breath and listen to me. Are you listening? Now, when you are lost, do not look back. That will only tell you where you’ve been. Do not look around. That will only tell you where you are. And, don’t look ahead. That is the unknown, yet to be discovered. Elizabeth, when you are lost, look up. When you are lost, always look up. When you look up, you will always find your strength. You will always find your way. For our strength and our help always come from above.”

I had started to cry but I looked up and, through my tears I saw it. There! On the tree! Just above my head. Someone had carved a bit of the bark off the tree, and painted there a yellow arrow. Up. Go up. Walk up by the ruins of the water house. That was The Way. The Camino.

 

 

This Lent, when things feel darkest and you feel lost and alone, know that this is just an illusion. We are not alone. Not really. You just have to swallow your pride and call someone and ask for help.

There will not be a bright yellow arrow, pointing you to the way out, but thre is yet to come, after the darkest Good Friday, a bright light which we call Easter. 

And, don’t forget, as you travel through this Lent, past the stones of our faith and the waters of our baptism, when things seem their worst, to look up. There you will find your strength and your help. At the end of this Lenten Season, we will arrive on Easter Day, having learned anew the deep spiritual lesson that Jesus is The Way and The Truth and The Life.

After two Caminos, following the stars on The Milky Way of the Compostella de Santiago, I have learned this: Sometimes, you have to reach way down in order to touch the stars.

The Temptations of This Lent

Considering the right deeds for the wrong reasons

Image: Pacher, Michael. Legend of St. Thomas Becket. 1470/80.

Now is my way clear, now is the meaning plain:
Temptation shall not come in this kind again.
The last temptation is the greatest treason:
To do the right deed for the wrong reason.

That is the last stanza of the poem in T.S. Eliot’s 1935 Murder in the Cathedral.

It’s Lent, so I’ve been thinking a lot about Temptation. In Western Christendom, in those churches that follow the Lectionary, the gospel for the first Sunday in Lent is Luke’s reporting of the Temptation of Jesus in the Wilderness.

I’ve been thinking of my own Temptations, especially in these times of chaos and confusion. Especially in these times when our Democracy is being intentionally dismantled, stone by bloody stone, plank by bloody plank, pillar by bloody pillar.

Here is my Great Temptation: I’ve found myself - no, literally ‘found myself’ as the action was not thought out or intentional but ‘found myself’ - standing in front of my library shelves reading Greek myths, studying them, comparing and contrasting them, with this sole purpose: To learn how it was that the ancients killed monsters.

Murder in the Cathedral? Pshaw! Apparently, my subconscious has been searching for ways to do murder at the White House.

I am horrified and ashamed. What have I allowed myself to become? Turns out, the greatest temptation of evil is to repay evil with evil.

In T.S. Eliot’s verse drama, the play portrays the assassination of Archbishop Thomas Becket in Canterbury Cathedral during the reign of Henry II in 1170.

As the scene of his Temptation begins, Becket knows that his martyrdom is eminent and has embraced it as inevitable. Three priests are the voices of Temptation, offering a parallel to the Temptation of Christ.

The first tempter offers the prospect of physical safety. The second offers power, riches, and fame in serving the King. The third tempter suggests a coalition with the barons and a chance to resist the King. Finally, the fourth tempter urges him to seek the glory of martyrdom.

When the Tempters have done their work, Beckett’s “mind is clear.” He says,

The last temptation is the greatest treason:
To do the right deed for the wrong reason.

Greater minds than mine or yours have considered the weight of those words. ‘To do the right deed for the wrong reason’. To perform an action that appears morally good on the surface (in Beckett’s case, to seek martyrdom), but the underlying motivation behind it is not pure or virtuous (for his glory).

Essentially, it is doing something considered "right" but with a self-serving or ulterior motive, like helping someone only to gain favor in return, not out of genuine kindness.

There seems to be a lot of that goin’ ‘round these days. Congress seems to be a chamber teeming with Temptations. It may be that it was ever thus, but it certainly feels to be at a greater level of intensity and intentionality. That is not, however, to excuse my own soul from considering Temptation, albeit subconsciously.

At the close of the play, the knights address the audience to defend their actions. They maintain that while they understand their actions will be seen as murder, it was necessary and justified so that the power of the church should not undermine the stability of the state.

” . . . . the power of the church should not undermine the stability of the state.”

Talk about the last temptation! Or, perhaps it was that they had it in reverse. Perhaps their confession is that they believed they were doing the wrong thing for the right reason. Nevertheless, it sounds like a prescription for Appeasement. We know where that once got us.

And yet, this particular year, this Lent especially, I feel compelled to do something, to avoid some small temptation as a way to prepare myself for the Temptations I know are coming.

I do believe that theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer, in his collusion with a plot to assasinate Hitler, was led to the gallows in a German concentration camp because he was Tempted by the defense to do the wrong thing for the right reason. In turn, his executioners were no doubt guilty of doing the wrong thing for the same right reason as Beckett’s soldiers -”the power of the church should not undermine the stability of the state” - even if the state was doing great evil in the name of Jesus.

That was 1945. Shortly before he was hanged, Bonhoeffer reportedly said to a fellow prisoner these last words, “This is the end. For me, the beginning of life”.

Here’s the thing I’ve been wrestling with, thus far this second day in Lent: I don’t think giving up chocolate or wine is going to change one iota of the trajectory of either my salvation or that of the world. And yet, this particular year, this Lent especially, I feel compelled to do something, to avoid some small temptation as a way to prepare myself for the Temptations I know are coming.

Temptations for me. Temptations for my church. Temptations for the church. Tempations for every person who claims to follow some religion or a Great Teacher on the path to being a better human. A moral person. A person who, perhaps, does the wrong thing for the right reason.

Ultimately, the only way I know that ‘the state’ has ever been stabilized. It is a great Temptation facing the church today.

The challenges of this particular Lent seem enormous and occasionally overwhelming to me. If they are to you, as well, then I want to suggest that you consider the importance of being part of a community of people who are also curious and troubled and seeking to navigate their way through the Temptations of Life.

I am hearing a line from the musical, Hamilton: “History has its eyes on you.”

Soon and very soon, we’ll be called to actions that will be questioned by generations to come. I am haunted by these words from Bonhoeffer: “The ultimate responsible question is not how I extricate myself heroically from a situation but how a coming generation is to go on living.”

As I’ve thought and prayed on this, I’m thinking that, while giving up chocolate or wine for 40 days and 40 nights might not save my soul, I’m considering that there might be great wisdom in starting small. With the seemingly insignificant. And, with great intention and purpose and prayer.

Sort of like the Karate Kid thinking “wax on, wax off” was a meaningless task to polish Mr. Miyagi’s cars, only to discover he was practicing an important defensive move.

It occurs to me that the act of giving up chocolate - or something seemingly insignificant that I love, like an entertaining TV program or a particular creature comfort - is not enough to save my soul. Rather, it is the intentionality of using it to prepare myself for the overwhelming task of avoiding the last Temptation: To do the right deed for the wrong reason. Which includes the Temptation of the misguided notion that I can save my soul 40 pieces of chocolate.

It’s the clarity Beckett had that I’m aiming for. (“Now is my way clear, now is the meaning plain.”) That’s going to take at least 40 days and nights to figure out.

The hope is that it will redirect the energy I’ve been spending considering how the Greeks killed their monsters. Come to think of it, that might just save my soul.

I hope something good happens to you today.

Bom dia.

 

Ash Wednesday: Freedom Song

Art: Flying Edna

 

 

 

Remember that you are dust and to dust, you shall return.

Later on today, I will impose ashes on the foreheads of those who are ancient of days and live in what used to be known as "Nursing Homes" but are now called "Extended Care Facilities" (ECF) or "Long Term Care Facilities" (LTCF).

They have long ago moved from - and some have long forgotten - the homes they once lived in, and loved in, and made love in, and birthed and raised children in, and paced the floors one interminable long night, and cooked fabulous meals in, and celebrated holidays and holy days in, and wept in and laughed in and cursed in and sang in.

And now, they share a room no bigger than their former living room with a stranger who is also ancient of days, who cries out in the middle of the night for her children, or his comrades on the battlefield, or just simply, "Help me. Help me. Help me." until their voices are hoarse, yet they continue in a whisper until the light of a new day filters in their room.

Maybe that's not so much the cry of the demented. Maybe they have seen something and know something we don't yet know and haven't yet seen.

Maybe asking for help is the most courageous thing they've ever said in the whole of their lives.

Maybe they are finally free to say it. Out loud.

All of their earthly possessions have been reduced and are now contained in one small closet, one four-drawer dresser, a bedside table, and a hospital bed.

And, implausible as it seems to ones who are younger than them, it is enough.

When I impose ashes on their foreheads and say the ancient words of this day, some will look away, others will look bored, but a few will look me right in the eye, silently accusing me of redundancy.

But there's always one - one ancient soul - whose memory has been replaced with wisdom (which may be the wisest thing), whose watery eyes will dance with some happiness, deeply hidden in the wrinkles and crevices of her face.

I will say, "Remember you are dust and to dust you shall return," and he will pat my hand and say, "Yes, yes, child," as if I am singing a freedom song.

And, perhaps I am. Perhaps that is the greatest wisdom scattered and hidden in the ashes I carry.

This pilgrimage has a destination that is contained within itself. When we come to know that the journey is our home while we are here, there is a wonderful liberation.

Or, so it would seem.

All caution, disturbing memories, and soul-wracking anxieties are thrown to the wind, where they will be carried and scattered and, somewhere, mingled with the light feathers of hope.

And, they want nothing more than to go back home from whence they first came: Help me. Help me. Help me.

Remember that you are dust and to dust, you shall return.

Scattered amidst the song of the limits of our mortality is the song of our liberation as children of God.

If you quiet yourself and still your wildly beating heart, you will hear it, and then you will know the freedom to love wildly, generously, lavishly, and wastefully, the way God loves us.

And you will find forgiveness for yourself and others.

And your heart will be brave enough to ask for help.

And your soul will be free.

May that be your prayer as you begin this Lenten Journey.

Remember that you are dust and to dust, you shall return.

Fat Tuesday

 

Note: You can also find this reflection on TELLING SECRETS on my SUBSTACK page where all my other reflections are kept. If you subscribe to Substack, these reflections will be emailed to you automatically. There is no subscription fee. Substack will suggest it, but it is not required.

I live in Sussex County, Delaware. It has a nickname. “LSD”. That stands for “Lower, Slower, Delaware.” The locals think the “slower” part refers to the pace of life of the rural farmers in the west and the resort life in the east, near the ocean. Some of the folks “up North,” and “above the canal,” hear it a little differently.

”Lower” is not just a reference to a geographical location. It has to do with the perception of a social demographic. ”Slower” has to do with a perception of the mental acuity required of farmers. Chicken farmers. Cash crop farmers. People who have lived on the land and from the land for generations. Indeed, many are considered “land poor”. People who may not own a suit, except maybe the one they wore for their wedding or their parent’s funeral. Maybe.

People who talk with a distinctive accent which is an amalgamation of particular inflections spoken in Delaware, Maryland, and Virginia, for which the Delmarva (Del -Mar-VA) Peninsula also gets its name. The ‘r’s’ are hard but the vowels get swallowed.

The famous “M R Ducks. M R Not. O S A R.” (Translation: “Them are Ducks. Them Are Not. Oh, yes they are.”) is credited generally to “The Eastern Shore” but there are similar variations of it here, “below the canal”.

”Lower”. And, ”slower.” See? At least, that’s how many of the folks “above the canal” and some of the people who have moved here, primarily from Pennsylvania, New Jersey, and New York to escape the high real estate taxes, see their new neighbors.

I’ve been stunned and a bit shocked to see it in the attitude of some of the Kent and New Castle County clergy and how that is reflected in the conversations and discussion concerning some of the resolutions that come up at the annual Diocesan Convention - especially those that would empower small congregations. (There, now I’ve said the quiet part out loud.)

As the “land poor” farmers have been pushed out of their land by The Developers, the difference between people who are “from away” who live in McMansions and those who have lived here in Sussex all their lives in Manufactured Homes is more sharply drawn around lines of class, educational and economic status.

Lower Slower Delaware - LSD - is the polite way to say PWT (“Poor White Trash,”) or TPT (“Trailer Park Trash”). Except, everybody knows that it’s not polite. At. All.

It’s not exactly the stuff of JD Vance’s “Hillybilly Elegy” but then not too many around here have had the opportunity to go to Harvard and then sell their soul for the company store. But, the resentment is real. It smolders just underneath the surface. It’s gotten worse - much worse - in the past decade.

We bought this house in 1998. I moved here in 2008. Ms. Conroy and I commuted for 18 months from a friend’s house in New Jersey until she could transfer to a position here. I have worked as a Hospice Chaplain all over Sussex County since 2008. I (finally) retired in June of 2024.

In those sixteen years, I’ve worked on both sides of Sussex County. I’ve been privileged to have been invited into homes where three and four generations live together in a small, single-wide Manufactured Home, plopped down on a quarter or half-acre piece of land that was left to them when Daddy or Auntie sold off the rest of the farm and the bank (and then) The Developers took the rest.

Treatment for one heart attack or stroke, COPD, or lung cancer (thank you, Monsanto), without health insurance, can wipe out an entire profit margin from the sale of your property.

The thing that has impressed me, over and over, as I’ve had the privilege to be invited into the homes and lives of the families to whom I’ve ministered, is the love and the joy I’ve experienced in those families.

Oh, sure, many of these families put a Capital D in dysfunctional. They are also no strangers to another D word. Drama. Lots of drama and not just for yo Mama.

D also stands for Disease - mostly lung and heart (Thank you, Monsanto.) And, unfortunately, D stands for Drugs. And, Death.

Despite all of these challenges, there is love and joy. Sometimes, you have to listen closely and set aside your assumptions and expectations before you can see them, but love and joy are at the center of their lives.

O S A R. 

 
I’ll never forget one Hospice patient. He was 74 but he looked closer to 90. End-stage COPD and lung cancer. Cash crop farming will do that to a body (See also: Monsanto.). He lived in a pop-up tent camper in the driveway of his daughter’s rented single-wide Manufactured Home where she lived with her husband and their daughter, granddaughter, and her newborn, a great-grandson.

He had his own Manufactured Home but was no longer able to tend to himself, so his son-in-law borrowed a popup tent camper from a friend at the chicken factory. They ran an electric cord from the house to the camper and plugged in a small electric heater which warmed things up nicely.

He also had a small refrigerator which kept some of his medications and some food and drink easily accessible. He had everything he needed, including his oxygen tank and a spare for backup, a bedside commode, and a pill planner that his Hospice nurse would come twice a week and fill for him.

The Hospice Social Worker had arranged for Meals On Wheels to deliver food daily but I quickly learned that he “shared” most of it with two of his grandchildren when they came home from school.

One day, I arrived just as the Meals On Wheels driver was delivering the day’s fare: a cheese sandwich, a bag of potato chips, a small plastic container of mixed fruit, a large, chocolate chip cookie in a plastic baggie, and a small, wax covered cardboard carton of whole milk. There was also a plastic bag with plastic utensils and a small portion of salt and pepper in a paper container.

The kids came in right after me, hugging and kissing Grandpa who lit up like a light bulb as they showered their affection on him with the lavish abandon of childhood. They took the white Styrofoam container which held their grandfather’s only meal for the day and set about to cut the cheese sandwich in half.

Suddenly, the older girl looked at me and then looked at her grandfather. They exchanged a glance and a nod and then she took her half and cut it in half and offered it to me.

“Oh no,” I said, “thank you, honey, but I’m fine. I had a great big lunch not long ago (I lied). You have it.”

The child continued to slowly push the quarter of a cheese sandwich my way as she cast a questioning glance at her grandfather.

He looked at me and said, “No, you take it,” and then, with a warm smile that revealed the image in the back of his mind that had come to him from a time, long, long ago, when he was a child, said, “Mama always said you’re never too poor to share what you have.”

I pushed back gently, one last time, “Oh, thank you, sir, but honestly, I’m really not hungry (that was truth).”

He smiled gently, tenderly, and said, softly, “Oh, I think you have no idea just how hungry you really are.”

I could feel my eyes well with tears as the realization of the truth of his words found a place deep in a place in my heart. I nodded, swallowed hard, and took the quarter piece of cheese sandwich with a gratitude I had never felt - or tasted - before.

”Son of a gun,” I said, “and here I am supposed to be ministering to you.”

”Aw, now child,” he said, “Jesus said we’re supposed to minister to each other. You just do it with fancier words than I do. Now, I want you to tell my grandkids here a Bible Story. Which one do you want to hear, children? Maybe Noah? Maybe David in the lion’s den? I’ll bet this chaplain can tell us a great story from the Bible.”

Tomorrow is Ash Wednesday. Many of us will go to church and get a smudge of ashes on our forehead and be reminded that we are “dust and to dust we shall return.” And, while that’s true, I think we miss the point if we forget that in between the dust from which we are formed and the dust to which we return, there’s a lot of love and joy.

I think, this year - especially this year - my Lenten discipline will be to concentrate on finding the love and the joy in the midst of the dust and ashes. I suspect I’ll find there the riches of my life amidst what I might see as poverty. I’m betting solid money I’ll find that I’m hungrier than thought I was, but it won't be due to any fasting on my part. I’m hoping that I’ll choose to stop eating the Bread of Anxiety and begin to feast, instead, on the Bread of Love and Joy.

I think Lent is a great time to go back and reread some of the stories from the Bible that captured my heart and imagination when I was a child. I’m hoping it will spark something in me that I felt then.

There’s a real shortage of religious imagination these days. There’s more to life and politics than the cost of a dozen eggs.

I suspect we’ve been so focused on scarcity and not having enough that we’ve forgotten the abundance of our God.

There’s a lot of work to do. Good thing we’ve got forty days and forty nights.

Have a Holy, Blessed Lent.

I hope something good happens to you today.

Bom dia.

Spiritual Defense Against Bullies.

It's been hard to avoid. The social media feeds, the national and local news channels, and national and local print media have all carried the image of the President of the United States and the President of Ukraine, war hero and the newly understood leader of the Free World, in a full-throat argument.

There he is, mouth open as he spews a fire hose of talking points from the President/Resident Dictator of Russia, his right hand attempting to stop any rebuttal or counterpoint. And, there is President Zelensky, appropriately dressed for combat, back straight, hands folded, pushing right back.

Off camera is the Vice President who started the argument - something about President Zelensky not showing gratitude  (Seriously?) - and the Secretary of State, who was sinking into the sofa, looking like he could think of six places he'd rather be in that very moment. And then, there was the Ukrainian ambassador who sat in her chair, hunched over with her head in her hands.

It was almost immediately clear that this was a staged ambush. It was a setup, designed to show the President of Russia that we - strike that,  they - are on his side. There were almost immediate calls from the Right for President Zelensky to apologize and express his gratitude for the rare privilege of signing over rare mineral rights as payment for the billions of dollars in support of Ukraine's defense against the Russian invasion of their country.

Mind you, no other country has been required to do this. Indeed, on 9/11, when the countries of the United Nations sent their armies in to defend the attack on our country, no one demanded that America repay any of them for their support - which included the death of their soldiers in combat.

That's just not the way it works. Or has worked. Ever.

Transaction - tit-for-tat, quid-pro-quo - works in business, not peaceful geopolitics.

The reaction from the world stage was also immediate. A flood of enthusiastic endorsement of solidarity with Ukraine and its president was overwhelming. Mr. Zelensky was embraced by the Prime Minister of Britain, and invited to tea with the (actual) King of England. All around the world, our allies in Canada, France, Belgium, Australia, Italy, Mexico, Denmark, and Norway not only pledged billions of dollars in financial support, but also promised to boycott American-made products and, instead, buy Canadian. Even Turkey and the Baltic Countries have sent supportive messages to Ukraine.

The Turning Point

I've been looking at that picture of that historic moment in the Oval Office. I've come to realize that this is an image of the state of this country in that moment. And, that moment was a turning point not only in the early history of this administration, but also in our history and the history of the world.

Six weeks into this new administration, some of us (47%, according to most polls) are sitting on the side like Vice President, actively supporting and, in fact, cheering on the President.

Others of us are sitting on the couch, like the Secretary of State, stunned and sinking deep into our seats, embarrassed and paralyzed and not knowing what to do. And, a few of us are, like the Ukrainian Ambassador, holding our heads in dismay and despair.

But other pictures - important pictures - are emerging of some of the other 53% of us who are rising up and resisting the direction of this administration. The Vice President's getaway family weekend ski vacation in Vermont was marred by protestors on the slopes as well as along the route back to the airport. There are demonstrations at Tesla Dealerships - the company owned by the co-POTUS, Elon Musk.

Protestors flooded national parks to protest cuts to jobs and services. Rallies and demonstrations are popping up in unlikely places, some with a specific focus against Musk and DOGE, or the reckless immigration policies, or Gaza or Ukraine. 

During the Congressional break, GOP leaders have found that their traditionally "informational, check-in, feel-good" town halls have become raucous events packed with their Republican constituents loudly voicing their objections to the policies of this administration in general and Elon Musk in particular and demanding and chanting, "Do. Your. Job," as they stopped their feet and clapped their hands.

This is exactly what is taught in anti-bully classes. There are three actors in a bully situation: the bully, the victim and the bystanders. The best way to deal with a bully is for the bystanders to stand up to the bully, letting them know that their behavior is not allowed.

Good on them. Good on us. There is no question in my mind that this is a time when Evil is being allowed the opportunity to grow and for acts of brutishness and vulgarity and cruelty to become normalized. Resistance and Resilience are the order of the day in an American culture which has become ripe for bullies to flourish as the earliest manifestation of the presence of Evil.

Taking to the streets, organizing meetings and rallies and public protests are all very important. There is a spiritual component to our movement, which we ignore at our own peril.

There are several approaches to strengthen our spirituality in the fact of these challenges which include an active acknowledgment of our interdependence, the exercise of our capacity for compassion, and the practice of mindfulness. 

Religions that teach and promote a spirituality of interdependence are healthy organizations. In the human family - the "human race" - no one is really separate from anyone else. Reminding ourselves that we are all interconnected assists us in cultivating empathy, wisdom, and compassion.

In a spiritual context, compassion is a feeling and action that involves being moved by the suffering of others.  It's a way of opening your heart to others and caring for their needs. Yes, this includes our adversaries and enemies.

Listening to "the other" is a critically important component of devising a way to defeat them. Deep, spiritual listening helps us to hear what it is our adversaries want and what makes them so willing to compromise their own souls in order to achieve. This does not mean that we give them what they want. It does mean that we will be better able to defeat them in their own efforts by developing effective strategies, while also defending and protecting the state of our own souls.

Tai-Chi Posture

In the ancient Chinese martial art of Tai-Chi, there is a movement that stops and then takes the negative energy and moves it aside. It is highly effective when you understand the nature of the negative energy you are rejecting because it not only moves it away from you but it also comes from a place of the deep understanding of our interconnection and interdependence as well as compassion for the effects of the negative energy on the soul of your adversary.

You do not have to actually do Tai-Chi in order to accomplish deeper spiritual understanding and compassion. It is important to keep this body posture in mind when you listen to the news or scroll through social media posts. Do not take on the negativity. Move it aside. Allow your curiosity to be awakened. Wonder about the cause(s) of this abhorrent behavior. Allow this to engage your creativity and imagination.

Finally, mindfulness is an important spiritual component which is especially critical at this moment in time when there is a veritable firehose of information and misinformation coming at us in a 24/7 news cycle. Mindfulness is a state of an awareness of the present moment that involves paying attention to thoughts, feelings and bodily sensations without judgment. It is about being fully engaged in the present moment, observing one's experiences with acceptance and curiosity.

This is the best of the Tai-Chi movement. Mindfulness leads to an awareness of our interdependence which helps us find compassion within ourselves. This then allows that compassion to extend to others which stops the negative from taking to our souls and turns it into curiosity and creativity. 

A word of caution: While these practices are helpful and healthy, they rarely lead to an immediate solution. This is not "spiritual fast food". It does, however, make for a healthier body, mind and soul, capable of resistance and resilience, which are the pathways on which we will find the road to peace.

In this country, whenever there has been a sudden, abrupt cultural change, violence to body, mind and spirit, has always been present. History teaches us that, in those situations, were not able to turn the tide until we found our own spirituality, our own moral core.

What has become crystal clear since the most recent historic debacle in the Oval Office is that we are beyond political rhetoric. We are now deeply engaged in a moral struggle that affects the very soul of our country and every American citizen.

The present occupant of the Oval Office is not the problem. He is a symptom of a moral problem that has been part of the very DNA of this country which was built on the immorality of slavery. That immorality  has surfaced from time to time as Manifest Destiny, McCarthyism, and White Christian Nationalism. And now, it has resurfaced in the movement known as MAGA.

I have become deeply persuaded that we will not find resolution much less peace in this country or the world until we engage our souls along with our minds and our hearts.

I hope something good happens to you today.

Bom dia.

Change. Transform. Transfigure

Kelly Latimore Icon

The last pilgrimage I took before the beginning of the COVID pandemic in 2020 was to Israel-Palestine. There were many places there that deeply affected me, but none so much as visiting the Basilica of the Transfiguration on Mt. Tabor.

This morning's gospel for the last Sunday after the Epiphany and the Sunday before the beginning of Lent on Ash Wednesday is the gospel story of the Transfiguration, which takes place on Mt. Tabor, where there was a sweeping view of the beautiful Jezreel Valley, one of the most important travel routes connecting Africa, Asia, and Europe.

In the ancient world, you couldn’t get much of anywhere without passing through it. Whoever controlled the Jezreel Valley controlled intercontinental trade. For 7,000 years, many important, historic battles have played out there.

Jezreel is a feminine Hebrew word that comes from the words zara', which means "to scatter seed", and 'el, which means "God", so "God sews," or "May God scatter seeds." It has become a metaphor for "spreading the word of God." Jezreel is also the name of the first son of Hosea and Gomer, and became symbolic of God's judgment against Israel.

It is also known as the Valley of Megiddo, after the important administrative center in ancient Canaan, in Gallilee, in what was then ancient Palestine but now claimed as part of Northern Israel. Megiddo may be translated to mean "invading" or "instrument/place of exposure". 

The Jezreel Valley was the scene of many important battles – those waged by Egyptians against Canaanites and by Philistines against Israelites. A victory was led by Deborah and Barak against the Canaanites. The city of Jezreel was the site of many murders by Ahab and Jezebel. Jehu, the founder of a dynasty that put Jeroboam II on the throne, massacred all the descendants of Ahab in Jezreel.

Saladin defeated the Crusaders there. Napoleon conquered the Ottomans in that place. The Book of Revelation predicts that Armageddon, the final battle between good and evil would happen in the Jezreel Valley.

The Jezreel Valley is a place not only of war and death, but also of beauty and life. Two million years ago, the Jezreel valley was an underwater channel that connected the Mediterranean Sea to other major bodies of water. As geological forces raised this land upwards out of the water, it became the best farming land in the region, the very “heart” of the Holy Land.

Mt. Tabor

As I stood on Mt. Tabor, overlooking the Jezreel Valley, it was easy to imagine that Jesus must have visited this place as a child as it is only 8 miles from Nazareth.

Jesus changed as a child, growing older to become a young man. As Jezreel Valley grew lush with a wide variety of fruits and crops, Mt. Tabor remained unchanged as it had for the millions of years since the tectonic plates deep in the earth moved and shifted to transform the geography and landscape.

It was from Mt. Tabor, a place that overlooked the change and transformation of the Jezreel Valley, that Jesus chose his transfiguration.

I don't think that is insignificant.

Yes, it is a reflection of the transfiguration of Moses when he stood before God on Mt. Sinai. The face of Moses shone after he came down from the mountain where he had spent 40 days and 40 nights receiving two tablets of instructions from God, known as The Ten Commandments.

Jesus, of course, has spent 40 days and 40 nights in the wilderness, having been sorely tempted. He did not emerge with instructions for his disciples, but with clarification about the mission of his life, leading to the transfiguration he would need for his earthly pilgrimage to the final spiritual battle he would endure, which would take him - and us - to the glory of Easter.

As we begin Lent, we are asked to consider what we will change and how that might change us, spiritually. However, if we stop there, just changing the way we eat, giving up wine or alcohol, chocolate or sweets, we'll have missed the opportunity to make the deep spiritual symbolism of the Lenten pilgrimage one that not only changes and transforms us, but transfigures our very souls.

Image: Mike Moyers

God knows, as a nation and as the world, we are walking into a time of chaos and confusion, a time when all of what we believed to be right and good, noble and true, is being challenged.

It feels to many as if we are brinked on a dangerous precipice of an epic spiritual battle of good and evil. If the heated, vulgar exchange between two bullies and the actual Leader of the Free World that took place in the Oval Office last Friday didn't convince us of that, I don't know what will.

There is no doubt in my mind that we will emerge from this time changed and transformed and we may never again be the same. And, that might not be a bad thing, as an ultimate result.

I am more concerned, for myself and for my country and the world, that we take this time - Ramadan for Muslims (Feb 28, 2025 – Sat, Mar 29, 2025), Lent for Christians (Wed, Mar 5, 2025 – Thu, Apr 17, 2025), and Passover for Jews (Apr 12, 2025 at sundown; ends at nightfall on Apr 20, 2025) - as an opportunity for the change, transformation and transfiguration of our lives, our hearts and our very souls.

Change. Transformation. Transfiguration. It's an amazing, dangerous pilgrimage. The tectonic plates in the earth are shifting again. The earth is rising. Mountains are appearing. Epic spiritual wars are being waged and moral battles are being fought. The threat of Armageddon looms large in the minds of many. 

 
And yet. . .  and yet . . . The Jezreel Valley is also at our feet, lush and rich with a wide variety of nourishment for our souls.

It is important to hold this image of the transfigured Jesus before us as we begin this Lenten pilgrimage. The Light of Christ has not extinguished but grows deeper, guiding us to the destination  we know as Easter morning.

We are not alone. Like Peter, James and John, we will make this pilgrimage together. In community. More important than what you give up or take on, being in community is the best way I know to walk the spiritual path that is before us.

I hope something good happens to you today.

Bom dia.

The Transfiguration of Paul?

Saint Paul by Pompeo Batoni

 

Good Saturday morning, good citizens of the cosmos. We are in a time of transition – not only in our own chaotic world but on the church’s calendar. The last Sunday in the season after The Epiphany was traditionally known as Quinquagesima (from the Latin for ‘fifty’) Sunday, being the last Sunday before Lent begins and 50days before Easter –if you count Easter itself. 

 

It had been traditional to begin fasting on “Septuagesima” – or 70 days before Easter – and to put away the Alleluias. However, in almost all of Western Christianity, fasting begins on Ash Wednesday and the Alleluias are put away or “buried” on the Last Sunday after The Epiphany.

Tomorrow, we will finish up the season after The Epiphany and this time of transition into the Season of Lent with the story of the Transfiguration of Jesus. It’s a wonderful story, reflecting the transfiguration of Moses on Mt. Sinai which we will also hear on Sunday.

It's a significant story because, in the days of Jesus, many thought of Elijah as an important “candidate” from their Holy Scriptures (what Christians often refer to as the “Old Testament”) to replace Moses. It is important, in Luke’s telling, that Elijah and Moses stand with Jesus in the vision and that the voice of God says, “This is my Son, my chosen. Listen to him.”

I should also note that this passage is so important that it is thought by many scholars to be an important precursor to what Muslims believe was the single most important event of Muhammad’s life, the Mi’raj (“night vision”. 

Ramadan Mubarak to all my Muslim friends who observe! May this holy month bring you peace, prosperity and endless blessings. May Allah accept your prayers and forgive your sins. Ramadan Kareem!

The Mi‘raj – the moment when Muhammad is purified in his sleep begins the sequence when he is then transported in a single night from Mecca to Jerusalem by Jibril (Gabriel) a winged mythical creature.  From Jerusalem, where the Dome of the Rock now stands, he is accompanied by Gabriel (Jibrīl) to heaven, ascending possibly by ladder or staircase (an allusion to Jacob?). This story is claimed by several prominent Christian and Muslim scholars as having been inspired by the story of the transfiguration of Moses and Jesus.

Muhammad's Night Journey

Which is fine. I mean, clearly the story of the transfiguration of Jesus was inspired by the story of the transfiguration of Moses – right down to the change in the appearance of their faces.

I suppose it is important, in the liturgical cycle, to have Jesus clearly transfigured and identified as the Son of God before we begin our journey into the wilderness of Lent, taking us to the glory of the Resurrection on Easter Day.

 

None of that concerns me. It’s tidy and neat and the "tidy and neat"  “systematic” nature of this particular theology always bothers me.  Logic and order and tidiness have its place, I suppose, in the faith journey. That’s important to the very souls of some.

Me? I like my religion disorganized, tending ever so slightly to the chaotic which, I think, acknowledges the presence of the sacred in our lives of faith in the midst of that which cannot be controlled and contained, which is challenging and scary and unpredictable.

Personally? I think that makes our stories part of the ever unfolding story of God’s unconditional and eternal love for all of God’s creatures and creation, as it was in the beginning when the Spirit was sent to brood over the chaos and call new creations into being.

Which is precisely why I have a problem – Big. Huge. – with the selection of the Epistle for Transfiguration Sunday.

The passage chosen by the brilliant, logical minds of the Lectionary wizards is from 2 Corinthians 3:12-4:2. Listen to the first few sentences.

“Since, then, we have such a hope, we act with great boldness, not like Moses, who put a veil over his face to keep the people of Israel from gazing at the end of the glory that was being set aside. But their minds were hardened. Indeed, to this very day, when they hear the reading of the old covenant, that same veil is still there, since only in Christ is it set aside. Indeed, to this very day whenever Moses is read, a veil lies over their minds; but when one turns to the Lord, the veil is removed.”

Oy, gevault! The violence done to our Jewish sisters, brothers and siblings simply takes my breath away. I mean, it is beyond the kind of ‘cringy’ feeling I get when I hear John’s gospel blaming “the Jews” for the crucifixion of Jesus. We all know that this was a state execution which was supported by the Religious Leaders – not “all the Jews” – for their own purposes.

 

“Not like Moses”??? The one who inspired the story not only of Jesus but of Muhammad?? Moses??? Who apparently intentionally put the veil over his face to “keep the people of Israel” from being able to see the eventual glory of Jesus? The “people of Israel” whose “minds were hardened – indeed, to this very day?” To this very day?? “Christ is set aside”??? And, only “when one turns to the Lord (Jesus), the veil is removed”????

Seriously??? 

Paul Preaching on the Ruins Giovanni Paolo Pannini

What is a preacher to do? I mean, the ending of this passage is comforting but this particular pericope of scripture is way too loaded to have to unpack in even a 15 minute (God forbid) sermon.

I think it is best handled not in a sermon but in a Bible Study or an Adult Forum or in a seminary or EFM class on the writings of Paul in general and the context of this pericope in particular.

But, how many people today are going to stay an extra few hours on Sunday after church, or schlep back into church midweek for an Adult Forum or Bible Study?

The problem of Bible Illiteracy in the church is real.

 

My impulse is to skip to verse 17 where the beautiful, comforting part begins and to focus on how we are transformed by moments of encountering God. However, to read that whole passage while ignoring the tough parts of this text, especially in these days of rising Christian Nationalism and its attendant anti-Semitism, is not only dangerous, it is akin to pastoral malpractice.

Indeed, if I were still rector, my bishop and I would be having a serious conversation about eliminating that first pericope entirely and not reading it in church at all. But, I’m not still a rector and I won’t be having that conversation with the bishop here.

So, I’m taking this question to some of the smartest, compassionate, loving people I know. You. What say you, dear ones who are faithful readers of my Blog?

Many of you have taken EFM. Many of you have studied scripture in general and St. Paul in particular. We know that the “old covenant” or “Old Testament” has not been revoked or superseded. God’s word is everlasting and God’s promise can be trusted.

We understand that Paul’s rhetoric in this passage is part of a debate around whether Gentile converts to Christianity needed to observe Torah. It’s important to be clear that Paul’s contrast of freedom or grace with the law does not mean the denigration of Jewish Torah observance.

We understand that Paul is speaking to Gentiles new to the biblical faith. In Corinth - known then as "Sin City". Corinth is a place where the Jews were a tiny part of the population holding on by their fingernails against the prevailing pressures of the presence of and devotion to Greek gods on the one hand and pagan worship on the other. And then, there were the Romans and their gods, which carried additional political weight and consequences.

 Then, here comes Paul, challenging not only centuries of Greek myth, pagan gods, and Roman rule, but also the very foundations of Torah with the teachings of this new Rabbi.

I have come to understand and develop a greater appreciation of the complexities of Paul, as a devout, practicing Jew who was Roman citizen, preaching the new biblical faith of a radical Rabbi who had been crucified for his teachings.

Artist Unknown (taken from RC source)

Indeed, after my pilgrimage to Greece and after walking in the footsteps of Paul, I have come to understand that Paul was proud of his own Jewishness, and responded pragmatically to problem situations but continued to observe the Torah himself.

That’s a whole lot to include in a 15 or even 20 minute (God forbid!) sermon. Too much, I think.

And yet, given the perilous times in which we live, the responsibility to challenge the rising waves of anti-Semitism and Christian Nationalism has never been greater. 

 

If this passage is going to continue to be read in church today, how do we help the congregation relate to Jewish people and Judaism today? How do we help Christians become more biblically literate?

How do we preach the transfiguration of Paul without skipping the hard parts? How do we preach a transformation which was nowhere near as dramatic as that which happened to Moses or Jesus or Muhammad, and yet remains an important model for how we, too, are transformed by moments of encountering God?

I hope something good happens to you today. 

Bom dia.