^{This is a poem I read at the 100,000 Welcomes fundraiser in Lebanon, Ohio.
The theme was ‘Rooted in Faith’ based on Jeremiah 17:7-8}

Prophets and sages extol
the wisdom, the resilience of trees.
Liminal beings reaching to Heaven
and far into Earth,
stronger growing together.

Living as community,
creating ecosystems,
mycorrhizal,
where connection sustains
through cycles of seasons.

Every contribution needed,
necessary.
Each generation nurturing
those before and after.
Life increased
through reciprocity.

We do well to heed exhortations
to turn toward the ways of trees:
Establishing deep roots connecting us,
generating mutuality,
creating beauty and abundance,
whatever lies ahead.

Please tell me what you are doing
in the midst of these dark times
to birth a little joy or kindness or life or hope
or creativity back into the world,
even if only joining collective Artemis II awe
for a few minutes today.
If you see these words,
if you see me,
please tell me yours
and I will tell you mine.

I don’t know if there is hope for people
who are drawn in by a man who convinced them
any bad thing they hear about him is fake news,
to the point they cheer him on as he does evil,
believing evidence of his administration’s harm is lies,
betraying the goodness in their own hearts.

I don’t know if there is hope for people who cling
to those elected saying loudly they oppose him,
insisting they will save us,
while those supposed saviors quietly
line their pockets with money
from the same parties who fund the man,
doing nothing to stop the harm.

I don’t know if there is hope
any of these folks might pause if they knew
there is not a single road they must walk
in one direction or the other,
that to leave the harmful behind does not mean
they have to follow the opposite way.

I don’t know if there is hope that
it might break through the rhetoric
and cause them to listen to their own questions
if they saw there are many
off-ramps, side roads, walking trails,
such a delightful array of other paths
that people have taken back to
themselves and their own goodness.

I don’t know if there is hope
but I want to believe that there is,
and that one day soon we will see each other
out here in the beautiful wilderness
we all discovered when we walked away
from the false duality of that road,
hearts healing, hands helping,
working for collective liberation.

(Or the Rich Man and the Children)

Jesus tells his followers to sell all they own,
give their money to the poor,
and come to him as a child.

Somehow, much of the American church twisted this, distorted it,
worshiping those who hoard wealth and practice cruelty to children,
Jesus nowhere in sight.

The news and the almanac are calling tonight’s
full moon the Snow Moon,
but Robin Wall Kimmerer tells us
many Indigenous people knew
this moon as the Hunger Moon,
arriving so deep in winter that both
stored provisions and game grew scarce.
Communities braced against the cold,
dreaming together of warmer, more abundant days ahead.

And here she is again, the Hunger Moon,
arriving this year on Beatitudes Sunday,
when the lectionary gives us Jesus
blessing the merciful, the peacemakers, the persecuted,
those who mourn and those who hunger for righteousness,
longing for us to live in right-relationship
with each other and the earth.

Perhaps tonight the Hunger Moon
holds vigil with those of us hungering–
for food where it is scarce,
mercy where there is cruelty,
peace where there is conflict,
protection where there is persecution,
comfort for those who mourn,
restoration where there is brokenness–
and she echos blessings for all of this hunger to be filled.

How wonderful to be a human
being, learning, experiencing.
What a gift to seek out and receive
knowledge, understanding, wisdom.

What a miracle to come to a new belief
or value or way of existing in the world
by interacting with these precious gifts,
changing your mind,
and choosing a new path.

These people, so gleefully cruel and violent,
who lean ever deeper into the propaganda of the mighty,
do not understand that while they think that they are important and powerful,
they are, in fact, completely replaceable, interchangeable agents of the state,
readily discarded, cast aside when they no longer serve their purpose.

While every single person they harm or terrorize or kidnap or kill
is a beautiful, irreplaceable part of a tapestry of care.

People who live severed from their humanity and refuse to change
will never know what it is to encounter a neighbor or a stranger
and offer kindness without expecting anything in return,
what it is like to be welcomed in community
based on connection and mutual care.

The only love they know is the love of power—
to accumulate it, wield it to control, inflict pain on anyone
who doesn’t yield to their sense of dominance and authority.
The only feelings they understand are their urges of coercion
and rage when they are challenged.

They will never know the depths of our love that’s the root
of our heartbreak seeing the brutality with which they enthusiastically harm
the vulnerable, the children, the mothers, the helpers.

They will never know what it is to look upon
someone whose actions are truly abhorrent to them,
whose way of existing in the world troubles their mind,
and want healing, not destruction, for that person.

They will never experience sitting in a circle of solidarity
where people shedding tears over the ruthlessness they see
also hold even their enemies in their hearts with grief and prayer.

They will never know,
but we do,
and we will continue to meet
their malediction with benediction,
their heartlessness with heart,
their atrocity with art,
their fruit of hatred
with love and joy and peace
and patience and kindness
and goodness and gentleness
and self-control.

We’re past the holidays and into the new year
according to calendar time.
The view out the window in this part of the northern hemisphere
is varying shades of gray and white, gray-ish white.
Cloud Dancer, some might call it.

Grayscale. Bleak.

Tempting to stay inside, stay neutral,
hide away, waiting the grayness out.

But venture into this season enough and you will see
that underneath is still a world of color.

Deep burgundy sporophytes reaching skyward
from bright carpets of moss.
Orange-and-brown clusters of tiny mushrooms, fruiting up,
forming neighborhoods on a stump.
Cerulean and sage turkey tail polypores
overlapping down the side of a decaying log.
A still-scarlett Black Cherry leaf, somehow protected from the wind,
not yet fallen to the ground.

The color, the life is there,
even when things look grim,
you just have to look beyond the gray
to see it.

You keep showing up, talking head,
suit pockets weighed down with blood money,
Devil on your shoulder you’ve convinced yourself is God.

You think you’re hiding your disdain for us
behind empty eyes as you repeat your lying words of blame,
acting powerless when you’ve hoarded all the power,

your humanity so shrouded under the deceit
you weave to obscure what you’re really doing,
yet acts of cruelty you think you’ve cleverly
sold to us as responsibility reveal what lurks beneath.

Every day more of us see through your charade.
Every day more of us see we care about our neighbors more than you care for any of us.
Every day more of us see we have more in common with each other than we do with you.
Every day more of us see that you would not stand up to bullies when you had the chance
and now you’re one of them.

It seems you have forgotten there are so many more of us
than there will ever be of you.

Every day more of us see how powerful we are when we stand together in community.
Every day more of us see how joyful we are when we take care of each other.
Every day more of us see how bountiful life can be when we share instead of hoarding.
Every day more of us see how hopeful we are when we are working together to build a world
where we are all enough and have enough.

And we hope, some day, you may see it is so beautiful
that you will want to empty your pockets of what keeps you
separated from your own humanity,
cast off your shroud,
and join us.

Do not believe them
when they tell you it’s okay.
Let their lies pass you by
like unwelcome road noise 
fading into the distance 
as you turn your heart toward 
compassion.

Do not believe them
when they tell you cruelty is justified
because of where someone was born
or because they oppose the powerful.
Listen to your own tender soul crying out 
to ease the suffering inflicted.

Do not believe them
when they tell you this is how it has to be,
when you know in the depths of your being
it isn’t.