The Scarlett Tide

Last night I spent reading church newsletters online of an Episcopal Church I know. The letters from the vicar – as well as the sermon notes still online – expressed a deep faith in Jesus and confidence in scripture. He took a risk with his community, a community he had founded many years ago but it appears there was an intervention from Elsewhere and the risk failed. It saddens me more than words can say to have read these church newsletter and the sermon notes and to feel that there was a major casualty in this crisis and somehow I missed it, I was so caught up with the issues facing my own community that I did not know.

There are many casualties in this crisis, many who are brokenhearted, many who are enraged because they are in pain. I am wondering, as I sit here in the Starbucks on 19th Street in the heart of our nation’s capital, of the physicians’ oath “to do no harm.”

I wonder about two million dollar loans and interviews with the BBC. I wonder about the people who are sitting outside this window on an unusually warm January afternoon and if they’ve ever come across that Carpenter from Galilee. I wonder about that little village in the Sudan. I wonder about an old friend in Orlando. I wonder about why Hillary Clinton cried or why I failed to hear the cries of a friend just up the road.

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