Education In America : Urban

" Jesus said to the Pharisees: 'There was a rich man who dressed in purple garments and fine linen and dined sumptuously each day. And lying at his door was a poor man named Lazarus, covered with sores, who would gladly have eaten his fill of the scraps that fell from the rich man's table. Dogs even used to come and lick his sores. When the poor man died, he was carried away by angels to the bosom of Abraham. The rich man also died and was buried, and from the netherworld where he was in torment, he cried out. . . 'Have pity on me, for I am suffering in these flames.'
Abraham replied, 'My child, remember that you received what was good in your lifetime while Lazarus likewise received what was bad; but now he is comforted here, whereas you are tormented.
Moreover, between us a great chasm [in the next life] is established to prevent anyone from crossing.'  "- [Luke 16: 19-31].


I live in a largely white, upper class suburb. Only a few miles from my home, there exists a great chasm -- a broad avenue, that divides my town from the city.

You can even tell immediately when you have crossed that chasm. The roads on the city side are rutted with potholes. There is no beautified median strip, planted with seasonal flowers. Buildings appear less well-maintained on the city side -- faded paint, dirty windows, sometimes graffiti.

Then, there are the schools. There is a dirty little secret in America-- the urban schools are in serious decay.

In many urban schools, rats roam the hallways. Roof leaks have buckled the gym floors, and it is not safe to play outside. So, there can be no physical education. Walls are crumbling, there is sometimes no heat in the winter, teachers lack basic supplies, and the school library has few books -- let alone computers. Some urban school districts lack the funds to supply school buses; the students rely on sometimes unreliable public transportation. In one school on the Lower East Side of Manhattan, almost half the students are homeless; they come to school one day, and disappear the next.

Urban school teachers are not only scrambling for pencils and notebooks; they are handing out toothbrushes and shoes; they are teaching kids how to use a fork and spoon, so the kids don't eat with their hands. In some urban schools, students enter fifth grade, reading at a kindergarten level.

Music teacher Christopher Hartel of Bassick High School in Bridgeport, CT, calls this "fishing without a net."

In contrast, in suburban schools, there are gardening committees who beautify the garden beds by the front door.  Wealthy parents hold galas and silent auctions, to raise money for  technology, such as an iPad for each student and a smart board in every classroom. One elementary school near me has a kitchen in every classroom. Another school has its own Nature Trail.

We want to think that the Bible is ancient history, but this story of Lazarus is just as relevant today as it was 2,000 years ago. Today, suburban families have every privilege at their hands, while remaining blissfully ignorant of  the inner city students, who have shockingly little.

In Hartford, CT, a group of parents from both city and suburban schools actually filed a lawsuit in 1989, arguing that this kind of inequality is unconstitutional. And they won the case . . .

Meanwhile, as the court case wended its way through countless witness testimonies, delays and appeals, a remarkable woman-- Norma Neumann-Johnson was already starting a magnet school in Hartford. In 1991, there was no funding, there was no school building, there was not even a classroom. No, the first Magnet School was begun in a corner of a school hallway.

It was only after the court case was finally decided, that the CT law on charter and magnet schools was solidified, requiring that the state pay for funding of magnet schools.

I spoke recently to Norma Neumann-Johnson, founder of  Breakthrough Magnet Schools.
Norma is a determined woman, who readily demonstrates her passion for equal education for all students. Her Breakthrough Magnet School was named the #1 Magnet School in 2015 by the Magnet Schools of America.

One of her magnet schools teaches students Character Education -- in the use of Emotional Intelligence, students become aware of their own emotions,  aware of others' feelings and responsibility for one's own reactions.

She bases her schools on the acronym B.R.I.C.K.-- teaching her kids to turn their Breakdowns into Breakthroughs; expecting Responsibility for self; promoting Integrity and the importance of keeping one's word; requiring Contribution of community service; and emphasizing academic Knowledge.

To those who say, magnet schools siphon off the best students-- the truth is, that is not possible. Matriculation is determined by a lottery available to all urban and suburban students who want to apply. The magnet schools are composed of 50% urban students and 50% suburban students, so that there is guaranteed diversity.

To those who say, "We cannot afford these magnet schools." -- I say, "These are our Children. We cannot afford not to build them."

On September 7, 2016, Judge Thomas Moukawsher of the Hartford Superior Court, in a 90-page opinion, ruled that the current educational system in CT is unconstitutional. He said, "It has left rich school districts to flourish and poor school districts to flounder, [making] a mockery of the state's constitutional duty to provide adequate educational opportunities to all students."

We need MORE magnet schools, not fewer. Or, will we be like the rich man, not knowing, not caring how much the poor suffer?

[Related Posting: "Education in America -- Suburban", Aug. 28, 2016].

(c) Spiritual Devotional. All Rights Reserved.

Why I Quit Wall Street

" Jesus said to His disciples, ' The person who is trustworthy in very small matters is also trustworthy in great ones; and the person who is dishonest in very small matters is also dishonest in great ones. If, therefore, you are not trustworthy with dishonest wealth, who will trust you with true wealth? If you are not trustworthy with what belongs to an other, who will give you what is yours? No servant can serve two masters. He will either hate one and love the other, or be devoted to one and despise the other. You cannot serve both God and mammon.' " --[Luke 16: 10-13].

In this parable in Luke, a rich man praises his dishonest manager for managing his money in a cunning and fraudulent way. The story is a perfect example of how the lure of money can trap us into dishonesty and corruption. The temptation becomes so bright and alluring, that we lose sight of the people we are trampling along the way.

When I was at university, I studied law and business.  Right away, I got a job working for a financial services firm. My subway stop was -- you guessed it-- on Wall Street. I was starry-eyed. I had made it -- to Wall Street.

This was the heady 1980's.  Everybody on the Street knew the name Lou Ranieri of Solomon Brothers, the working-class kid who had dropped out of college and started out in the mail room at Solomon Brothers. By the 1970's, Ranieri had invented the private mortgage-backed security. By the 1980's when I arrived on Wall Street, Ranieri was regarded with awe, as if he were some kind of a god.

At first, as I was learning this Wall Street business, I tried to tell myself that my work, financing public projects, was an important and civic stewardship. As the years passed, however, I began to see dark clouds on the horizon.

My unease was about far more than the fact that, as a woman in a man's field, I was required by my employer to wear heels, stockings, and a skirt, never pants.  Even my silk blouse, with the floppy tie at the neck, felt like a fraud.

The argument for the mortgage-backed security was lofty: that, investors buying up mortgage  securities from the banks, would free up capital for others and would support the housing market.  Good for everyone, right?

But, the beginning of the end came when I was at a conference on securitization, and listened to talks on the securitization of home loans, car loans, boat loans, student loans, and even foreclosed tax receipts. The message was -- if it moves, if it has an income stream, securitize it!

One speaker tellingly said that, the only downfall was that, as demand for loans increased, quality could go down; in which case, everything would collapse.

Another "beginning of the end" came for me, when an investment banker pitched a bond security collateralized by junk bonds. He reassured us that the security was perfectly safe, because it was 110% collateralized.

A friend and I, sitting in this meeting, looked at each other and could hardly keep ourselves from bursting out laughing. After all, 110% of nothing is STILL nothing.

I was noticing that the Rating Agencies were being pressed to assign high ratings to securities that they did not even understand. Auditors would come in and have no idea how to analyze the structure of the securities.

Investment bankers were bundling their junk asset-backed securities, and giving them fancy alphabet soup names-- Were the investment bankers just trying to wrap their wares in shiny paper, to get the faulty loans off their books?

My "epiphany" came when I realized that behind all these loans were REAL people-- with real loans, real debt, real homes. I finally saw the human fallout that happens when we marry Wall Street greed with people's personal lives. With a gasp of breath, I said to myself, 'They cannot DO that to people.'

It could be a melt-down. A disaster. There would be foreclosures, bankruptcies, suicides, homelessness, divorce, child abuse, depression, substance abuse -- you name it.

I could not reconcile what I was even tangentially involved in as a banker, with my identity as a Christian. How could I ignore how this fraudulent stewardship was destroying people's lives-- while at the same time claiming that as a Christian, I deserved God's riches both here and in His Kingdom? I could not serve both God and money.

I told my Division Head about my concerns. Even if he possessed little concern about the ordinary citizen, being involved with this kind of product could easily destroy the bank's reputation. But, I was accused of "concocting doomsday scenarios."

So, in 2001 I got out. I became a stay-at-home mom. Co-workers thought I was crazy. Why would I throw all this away? I cried when I told my boss I was leaving. I had worked feverishly to become Vice President in my department. The division manager was furious with me. I could hear her bad-mouthing me on the phone to Head Office, venting about my "shocking disloyalty".

 I put raising a son and caring for my family FIRST.  Nurturing. Making meals. Tucking my baby in at night.  Reading bedtime stories. Raking leaves. Running errands. Making morning coffee for my husband. Dusting. Weeding the garden.

It all felt so right. But, in 2008, as I watched the financial crisis unfold, it was all as shocking and tragic and inhumane as I thought it would be.

Suddenly, all over again, I did not want to be right.

I have learned that if you are not trustworthy with the dishonest wealth of this world, which often compounds exponentially off the backs of the poor and the struggling; THEN, how can you even dare make a claim for a place in the Kingdom of Heaven, where "the foundations of the city are made of jasper, sapphire, chalcedony, emerald, sardonyx, carnelian, chrysolite, beryl, topaz, chrysoprase, jacinth, and amethyst; the twelve gates made of pearl; and the street of the city paved in gold?" -[Revelation 21:21].

HOW would I even dare?

(c) Spiritual Devotional 2016. All Rights Reserved.

The Lost Coin

" The tax collectors  and sinners were all gathered around Jesus. But the Pharisees and the teachers of the law muttered, 'This man welcomes sinners and eats with them.'  Jesus said, 'Suppose a woman has ten silver coins and loses one. Does she not light a lamp, sweep the house and search carefully until she finds it? And when she finds it, she calls her friends and neighbors together and says, 'Rejoice with me; I have found my lost coin.' In the same way, I tell you, there is rejoicing in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents.' " --[ Luke 15: 8-10].


If you have ever lost something of value, you know that panicked, gut-wrenching feeling in your heart, as you frantically tear the house apart, searching for it. Life stops in suspended time, as you fear that what is missing, is presumed gone forever.

 Perhaps we would think that the woman is foolish to light her lamp and sweep the house, when she still has nine other coins of similar value? But all she can think of is that one lost coin.

During Biblical times, Palestinian women were given ten silver coins upon their wedding. These coins were as precious at the time, as our wedding rings are today.

Not too long ago, I lost a wedding band that had belonged to my Nana.

 I have wonderful, vivid memories of my Nana, but only hazy memories of my grandfather.  You see, my grandparents lived in the "Old Country" where my father had been born and raised. My grandfather died when I was about four. My father was the only one in his family to move away to the States.

After my grandfather died, we suddenly stopped returning for annual trips to my visit my father's family.  Years later, as a grown woman, I did the math, and confronted my father ---

" We never visited Nana, for a decade or more after your father died. You went back there for the funeral, you taught her how to drive, you taught her how to write a check, then you left and did not return. How did she cope? Did she have to go back to her own relatives !?"-- My father just blinked, swallowed, and replied, "I guess so."

For years, I could never understand how he had abandoned his own mother, alone in her house.

Decades later, after my father died, my mother gave me Nana's wedding band. It is thin and simple, with diamonds all along the band, but they are tiny chips. The marcasite settings were more brilliant than the stones. Really, it looked like nothing special.

But it is precious to me. I took to wearing it alongside my own wedding band, as if I were carrying a torch for the grandmother I was named after. . . the one who was abandoned by her own son; the one who-- according to my cousin-- died of a broken heart.

One evening before bed, I was taking the ring off and I dropped it. I froze and gasped. I never heard it drop onto the wooden floor. So, I searched the carpet, hoping for a soft-bounce. . I searched the basket of clean laundry right next to me. I tore the room apart. My husband begged me to go to bed. Finally, exhausted, I gave up.

The next morning, I searched again. Nothing. So, I sent an email to all the women in my prayer group. Pray! Just Pray!

I started to fear that, IF Nana's ring was lost forever, was SHE lost forever again? I had promised to keep her by my side always.

Later that day, I checked the laundry basket AGAIN. Something prompted me to check the folded-up cuff of my twill cargo pants. And THERE IT WAS! --- Utter Joy!

Like the woman who found her lost coin, I called all my friends and neighbors! I told them, I have found my lost ring! -- Pandemonium ensued. Messages of Joy. Expressions of tears and gladness.

For years, I almost hated my father for abandoning his own mother.  I wore her ring-- as if by keeping her ring on me at all times, as an emblem of loyalty, I could unilaterally fix that !

 For years, my Nana waited for the day when her son would return home to her.  Towards the end of Nana's life, we did return to see her. She never expressed any bitterness. She was overjoyed.

I am beginning to realize that this ring is about not just the loss of my Nana. It is also about Nana's loss of her son.

And maybe, just maybe, it is about the Loss of my father to ME. . . because of all those decades I spent, blaming and judging HIM for abandoning his mother.

After I found Nana's ring, it dawned upon me -- the loss of Nana's ring was NOT all about the Loss and the grieving. But, it IS all about forgiving and welcoming back.

You see, when I put my Nana's ring right back on my finger; I welcomed her back after a wrenching 24 hours of grieving. But I was no longer wearing the ring AGAINST my father.

I was beginning to see that, IF God could forgive the tax collectors and the sinners, He could forgive my father for abandoning his own mother.

Not only could God forgive my father, God is also very capable of tears of Joy at my father's return to Him. And, if God is capable of so very much Love, how could I possible hate -- my own father? How could I turn my back upon HIM?

Just WHO is the abandoner here?

So, now I pray for God's Mercy upon my father. May my father, once lost-- be found with God!


(c) Spiritual Devotional 2016. All Rights Reserved.

Set Free

" I, Paul, an old man, and now also a prisoner for Christ Jesus, urge you [Philemon], on behalf of my child Onesimus, whose father I have become in my imprisonment; I am sending him, that is, my own heart, back to you. I should have liked to retain him for myself, so that he might serve me on our behalf in my imprisonment for the gospel, but I did to want to do anything without your consent, so that the good you do might not be forced but voluntary. Perhaps this is why he was away from you for awhile, that you might have him back forever, no longer a slave but more than a slave, a brother, beloved especially to me, but even more so to you, as a man and in the Lord. So, if you regard me as a partner, welcome him as you would me." --[Philemon 9-10, 12-17].


This Scripture is in the form of a letter from Paul to a wealthy friend, Philemon,  a convert to Christianity under Paul's preaching. Onesimus, a slave belonging to Philemon, had apparently stolen from his master, and then run away to Rome.

Onesimus met Paul in Rome, where Paul was under house arrest "in imprisonment for the Gospel."  From Onesimus' ministry to Paul, came the slave's Conversion; and ultimately his Freedom in Christ.

Many have written that Paul implicitly sanctions Roman slavery, by sending Onesimus back to his master. Others have even suggested that Paul's letter to Philemon is a clear justification for slavery.

But, NOTHING could be further from the Truth! Paul tells Philemon quite clearly that Onesimus is  "[his] own heart"; that Onesimus is his own child;  that he is Onesimus' 'father'; that Onesimus "is no longer a slave, but a brother, beyond beloved especially to me."  In closing, Paul exhorts Philemon to "welcome him as you would me."

This passage shows me that, clearly, going from slavery to Freedom is not an all-at-once, instantaneous, lightning-bolt moment. No, it is a journey -- a long walk of trauma, struggles, and hope following-- sometimes wanely --on the heels of despair. And, it is a journey of Conversion, as we tread closer and closer to God.

In her new book, "Troubled Refuge: Struggling For Freedom in the Civil War", Chandra Manning writes about how, during the Civil War, slaves would run away from their former Confederate masters, to Union military camps. In so-called Contraband Camps (under the Confiscation Acts of 1861-2), former slaves were declared the contraband property of the Confederacy, and thereby freed to the Union.

But, as reviewer Mark Smith [ History Professor, U. of South Carolina] writes, in the Contraband Camps, those freed were "leaving slavery and becoming something other than 'unfree' ". --[WSJ, 8/27-8, 2016]. Smith writes, "How complicated was the destruction of slavery and how circuitous the path to freedom."

The former slaves did not know what it was to be free-- they had to learn it. As Harriet Tubman said, "I grew up like a neglected weed -- ignorant of liberty, having no experience of it."

I grew up like that, walling myself off from the abuses and cruelties in my childhood home. By the time I was five, I was in survival mode, and in the habit of raising myself up -- putting myself down for naps and finding food on my own. My family was by turns neglectful and rejecting; but then, at times so controlling that I had no choice as to what color to wear, what courses to take in school, how to wear my hair, what friends to be with, what job to accept and so forth.

I took to performing extra chores and extra acts of kindness for my family-- weeding my mother's garden, knitting my sibling a sweater,  sewing my father a new tie, or doing some painting around the house, all as a child. But, this was not a free kind of Love, since I performed these kind acts out of Fear. Could I "buy" my family's Love, or at least be left unharmed by them, if I did these things?

As I grew into adulthood, I did what Onesimus did, I "ran away". I saw my family only for holidays. I finished school, got married, became a mother, built my own life in another state.

One spring day, when I was an adult, my father woke up, had a cup of coffee and suddenly perished. When I received that phone call, I knew instantly that I would be confronted once again with my relationship with my family-- which I had never resolved.

When I went to my church to pray, I realized that confronting my frail, overwhelmed mother, whom I still feared, but who needed me so desperately back in her life -- would be a monumental task. One I could never tackle alone.

And so, dear friends, I converted. And yes, I did take my mother back, despite all that had gone on between us for my entire life.

I think that my mother could never quite believe it. She thanked me every day. She was amazed at my Love and kindness to her. I saw her almost every day, until the day she died.

As for me, I was performing these acts of Love -- finally -- out of Freedom. I was no longer bound to her as a scared child, as her puppet or her slave. It had taken my Conversion for me to see that I could Love out of Joy, not out of constricted bonds. I had become a daughter of God.  My Love was freely given.

I am still learning what it is to be Free. I no longer have to worry about where I am going to find food. I am safe in my bed. I try to wear color more often, instead of the more reticent black and gray which I usually wear as a sort of armor. Sometimes, I am startled when someone notices me and says hello -- it is still feels safer to believe that I am invisible. If someone tells me that she missed me or she loves me, I am trying to trust the Truth in that. I am developing my own opinions and am finding my voice to speak them, even if these beliefs are not always too popular.

Out of ignorance of Liberty, I am learning what it is to be Free!

(c) Spiritual Devotional 2016. All Rights Reserved.

Education In America -- Suburbia

"There are different kinds of gifts, but the same Spirit distributes them. There are different kinds of service, but the same Lord. There are different kinds of working, but in all of them and in everyone, it is the same God at work." -- [ 1 Corinthians 12].


THIS IS a two-part series on Education in America.


It is the end of August. Students in America will be returning to school within a matter of days. Some have already returned to school.

The public educational system in America has always been, academically, largely a state-based system. Each state has historically set the standards of academics for its schools. The states test their students on academic compliance regularly.

The public educational system in America has always been, financially, largely a community-based system. Each town taxes its residents on the value of the homes that the residents own. These taxes are the main source of educational budgets in every town and city.

That there is a disparity in tax revenues, in wealthier suburban towns vs. poorer urban cities, is fairly obvious.

Parents vie to buy homes or rent residences in wealthier suburbs, so that their children can receive the best possible education.

I know of suburban schools that boast a kitchen in each classroom. A nature trail. A smart-board in each classroom. Tablets for each student in Math class. High-tech Science labs.

But we have to ask if all those bells and whistles lead to a better result for the students?

As a Christian parent, I value a work-life balance. Even Jesus took time off from his busy ministry to go off into the hills for rest and reflection. I also live by St. Paul's words above -- each of us has a unique set of gifts given by God, distributed by the Spirit. I truly believe that "There are different kinds of working, but in all of them and in everyone, it is the same God at work."

I am not the only parent out there who is tremendously stressed and distressed over how grueling my child's schedule is. Each weekday, nine months of the year, I have to decide to either wake my son a bit earlier so he can eat breakfast before school, or let him get the rest that he so sorely needs.

If my son is to get the 11-12 hours of sleep that American doctors recommend for teens, he would have to go to bed at 7:30 a.m.  With mandatory after-school sports, his days run from 12 to 15 hours! That  leaves no time for family, or friends, let alone for homework or community service.

My son has homework, seven days a week. He has homework over Thanksgiving break, over  Christmas break, over Spring break and over the summer.

There is not a whole lot of time in his schedule for eating, either. Happy thoughts of Jesus hanging out with His disciples, imparting His precious wisdom, and roasting fish on the shoreline, are modern-day impossibilities. My son and his peers are given five minutes between classes. There is no eating IN class, and no time to eat between classes. The students are given 30 minutes for lunch. By the time my son gets to the head of the line, he has time to get the food, but not to eat it -- that is, IF there is any food left at the counter.

My son's tutor, and his doctor advise, both with straight faces, that he consume liquid protein replacement meals for breakfast, for lunch and before athletic practices . . . That would mean going 24 hours with no solid food. . . .

I find that my son is busier in High School, than I was in college. He takes 6 classes, plus sports. I took 4 classes per semester in college.

This is the first generation I have seen that is being taught NOT to take care of themselves, but to continue working at all costs. Ironically, while this generations' parents are eating organic food, exquisitely balanced for one's genetic predisposition, for hitting all healthy food groups and for reaching maximum metabolic efficiency-- this generation is being told to consume a liquid diet, and to keep going without stopping.

We, as parents, count our thousands of steps each day, we practice yoga, we obsessively count and analyze our sleep patterns. But, our kids are being taught that school work trumps all -- sleep, a healthy diet, even play.

We seem to have decided that play is no longer worthwhile. If we do allow play, it is all structured by adult rules-- swim lessons, music lessons, soccer or basketball, chess club. But free-play helps kids of all ages-- pre-school to teen-- to relax, to encounter people different than themselves, to problem-solve, to be creative.

Academically, students in suburbia are subjected to pages upon pages of rote learning. This kind of assignment promotes the belief that there is only one answer to a question.

OR, in college preparatory schools, they are receiving assignments that are overly complex and probably not appropriate to the brain development stages of a typical teen-- such as requiring them to design their own home, calculating square footage, cost of various floor coverings not to exceed a certain budget, and writing a sales proposal with at least two comparable listings -- all for one Geometry unit on surface area.

Many suburban students are also not-so-subtly expected to get A's in every subject. If a student does not receive at least a B, he is handed back the test or essay and told to correct it. Not only does this dilute the valuable lesson of doing one's best the first time; it also teaches the student that nothing he does is ever good enough.

This kind of academic environment has meant that more and more of the younger generation is on anti-psychotic or anti-depressant medications. Instead of a parent asking, 'What is wrong with how we raise and educate our children', the schools ask, 'What is wrong with your child?'  If a student cannot keep up with the 12- 15 hour days, or the academic quantity or quality of work, the schools send the student to a therapist or suggest medication.

This system is also creating a generation at much higher risk of illness and disease. Early childhood stress may be a harbinger of artery risk.  We have this zeal to give them a super-enriched environment of education, music, sports, when what our children REALLY need is love and nurturing, and time to explore, to make mistakes and to play. . -- If we schedule every minute of our child's life, our child may conclude that they have to grow up very fast, and take care of themselves because no adult will. This could mean that our kids adopt a "live fast and die young" mentality. [Source: Alison Gopnik, WSJ 3/26/16].

It is undoubtedly very difficult to be a Christian parent today. I want to teach my son that he might not receive A's in every subject. That it is okay to have a few special God-given gifts, but that he may have other areas where he may struggle. That there are different kinds of working but the same Lord. That the most important thing is to do his best.

In fact, studies show that the most successful people in life are the ones with integrity -- responsibility, honesty, patience, perseverance, compassion. The most successful people are NOT the ones with the most impressive resume but with no Soul.

I very much want my son to know that his value as a human being is summed up by far more than just his grades in school. That his sense of humor, his compassion, his gentleness, his knack for seeking and promoting peace and justice, are worth far more to the world than his "A" in Algebra or how many words he memorized for the vocabulary quiz.

I do NOT love my son for his good grades or his tournament wins. I love him for his quirky grin, his  thick curly hair, his love of a good hamburger, his quick wit. I love him for all those ineffable qualities that we can never, ever sum up, when we try to describe our love for someone.

Jesus knew that a person's greatest and most valuable quality is the ability to Love. These things -- Love, joy, patience, peace, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control-- cannot be measured. That is because these are priceless. . . .

[Next Part in the Series: "Education in America -- Urban Schools"]

(c) Spiritual Devotional 2016. All Rights Reserved.


RESOURCES: "Beyond Measure", by Vicki Abeles, author of "Race To Nowhere".

The First Shall Be Last

"People will come from the east and the west and from the north and the south, and will recline at table in the Kingdom of God. For behold, some are last who will be first, and some who are first will be last." --[Luke 13: 22-30].


When I was growing up, I was definitely the "Last".  I was the baby and the only daughter; I am told that I should have been cherished. But over and over, by the behavior of my parents and sibling, I was taught that I did not matter. That it was best to not be noticed. To go invisible. I was blamed for everything, even for things I did not do wrong.

Amazing how God works in one's life.  Being firmly rooted at the bottom of the pecking order has given me a huge heart for those in the same position in life. The widowed. The children with no mother. The poor. The immigrant. The person of color. The marginalized woman. The homeless. The laborer. The uneducated.

In America, status is just about everything. We judge status by the neighborhood in which we live, the car we drive, the clothes we wear, the schools we attend, the places where we vacation.

I ignore ALL of these things. A job with physical labor tells me nothing about your morals or ethics. Your status as an immigrant or a person of color tells me nothing of the quality of your soul.

In fact, if anything, I find that a person who has been marginalized, ignored, downtrodden, or maltreated has been through rough times and, often possesses more compassion and tolerance than the typical successful person.

But my relationship towards those who are considered "Last" goes far beyond attitude.

Sometimes, I remark to my husband that my days are so busy, that I rarely sit down. When I account for how I spend the hours in my days, I realize that, other than feeding my family, cleaning my house, sleeping and taking care of the garden, my hours are spent helping others.

You can tell a lot about someone if you look at how they spend their time; if you realize what their priorities are. Someone who has a lot and who spends most of his free time time aggrandizing himself, or aggregating even more resources for himself, is putting himself first. He is not putting the Last first.

In a spare moment, I may call a friend who lives alone. I may send home-baked goods to a neighborhood family -- perhaps because the wife/mother has died; or because the lady is too elderly to bake any longer. I may pick out someone from my contact list and send that person a note or photo.

Many years ago now, my husband and I found a wooden trestle table at a yard sale. We stripped it of its many layers of paint and repainted it a soft green.

The little wooden trestle table sits on my front porch. People drop off donations. I never know what I will find. Yarn goes to the Senior Center knitting club. Personal CD players go to the local hospice. Hand-knitted hats and scarves go to the local shelter. Empty plastic flower pots go to a school with a community garden. Toys and games go to the Family Center at the local shelter. Children's books go to the city magnet school. Non-perishables go to the town food pantry.

Friends tell me, "You are a great person!" They tell me I am amazing. They say, ' Most people cannot take care of themselves, let alone others.'

But I say, No. This is the kind of thing we are supposed to be doing. . .

In today's culture, we say, "I am taking care of Number One." We promote ourselves by posting endless "Selfies."  Most of our sentences begin with the pronoun, "I". . . We spend our days making our own happiness the priority. We say, " I can work each day to set goals for MYSELF. I can succeed at my OWN happiness. I deserve everything I can achieve for myself." -- I am not exaggerating, I hear this kind of thing every day!

BUT how much time do we spend on the welfare or happiness of others? What is YOUR priority as to how you spend your time, after your basic needs have been met?

In this Scripture, Jesus talks of people coming from East, West, North and South to recline at the table in the Kingdom of God. In Biblical times, in the early church, meetings were held in the biggest homes of the community. Those mansions of the wealthy had an inner room big enough for only a chosen few to recline at the banquet table. All others were relegated to the courtyard, crowded in an outside area, where the rain could fall, straining to hear the Word and to receive the Bread of Life.

In the Kingdom of God, ALL will come from every direction, to recline at the banquet table. There will be no marginalized. No poor, no sad, no forgotten children of God.

And, IF we do behave in way of believing that some of God's children are Last, and should remain that way, we will find that Jesus has turned the tables on those who believe that they are First!

For the Last shall be first. And the meek shall inherit the Earth!

[Related Postings: "Putting the Last First", 8/25/13; "And the Lowly Shall be Exalted", 9/1/13.]

(C) Spiritual Devotional 2016. All Rights Reserved.

Division

"Jesus said to His disciples: 'I have come to set the earth on fire, and how I wish it were already blazing! . . . Do you think that I have come to establish Peace on earth? No, I tell you, but rather division. From now on, a household of five will be divided, three against two and two against three; a father will be divided against his son and a son against his father, a mother against her daughter and a daughter against her mother, a mother-in-law against her daughter-in-law and a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law.'  " -- [Luke 12: 49-53].

Jesus came to be our Prince of Peace, yes.

But He also said, " Everyone will hate you because of me, but the one who stands firm to the end will be saved." -[Mark 13:13].

The priest who preached at Mass today said that we have stark choices. He spoke of telling his brother about his own call to become a priest. His brother vehemently disagreed with that plan. The man who ultimately did become a priest had to put the Lord first.

These choices reach far beyond which friends we choose, or which boss we need to stand up to. Putting God first can sometimes mean serious divisions within families.

In my family growing up, there were so many divisions, we were fractured. Not one of us had an ally in another. My mother had had a sad and lonely childhood. Over her years of married life, she was never able to overcome her anxiety and depression from those lonely early years.

My father, hoping for a deep emotional attachment in marriage, found only a woman who was alternately sad and controlling. And so he turned to me, the only daughter. At times, he took his anger out on me. Other times, his emotional attachment to me was manipulative and boundary-breaking.

My sibling, sensing that I was the fulcrum in our parents' marriage, became jealous. He decided that he hated me, and he did his best to minimize me, or even eliminate me as a threat. He called me ugly every day, he stole my things, he booby-trapped my room, he lead the neighborhood children in sorties to verbally torment me.

My mother, unable to cope with our "war", perhaps barely able to get through the day herself, would tell me that I was "too sensitive". My brother's abuse became physical.

After I became about 14, we stopped going to church. I was told not to believe in that "God stuff" since "religion is the opiate of the masses."

My choices were to turn to sin and anger and violence and promiscuity. To become them. Or, to bide my time and believe what I did-- in the possibility of Peace and Love and Mercy.

To bide my time, I had to take my Faith underground. I had to tiptoe around, for fear that what I did, seemingly innocently, would set them off.

Jesus paid for his steely bond with God, with bruises and blood; with mockery and blasphemy. So did I. . .

I was a child. But I knew the right Way. I knew what I wanted was Love -- and this is not what I was being given.

Today, I realize that I fought hard for His Truth. I had to endure physical wounds, emotional abuse, scathing verbal abuse, including being called a failure. I had to refuse to believe their rhetoric. I had to choose God over my own family. Sometimes, I hide in my room. Sometimes, I escaped the house and sat under a huge pine tree in a neighbor's yard.

But nothing could make me give up on the Truth.

I have been seriously depressed that such was my life. Now, I find that, in being a follower of Jesus, this is to be expected. The Way is narrow, my friends.

As a child, I had to shut down, barely eating, taking a vow of silence, not going to sleep until all family members were asleep, numbing my emotions. Because becoming unavailable to my family  was preferable to their trying to convert me to their ways.

I have serious damage from this fight. Physical damage, emotional damage, psychic damage. If I had it to do all over again, would I do things differently and in essence, surrender, and become them?

No, never. I would do what I did, all over again.

 I put the Lord first.

(C) Spiritual Devotional 2016. All Rights Reserved.