This afternoon I sit outside staring at the intersection of Eighteenth Street and Connecticut Avenue. Men in suits, men in shorts, women in dresses, women in pants move by. I correct a couple of typographical errors. The sky is a very pale almost colorless shade of blue. The Sunlight feels warm against my skin. A breeze teases the paper sheets in my notepad. A white Jeep, a red nondescript minivan and a red hatchback wait for the traffic light to change. Life continues. People move by me. Some are smiling, some are frowning. Some have white wires dangling from their ears. Some have rectangular cell phone against their faces. Every now and then a group of talking and laughing adults move by. But, this afternoon more people are alone, walking alone, running alone. Some walk quickly with purpose, some creep by slowly. Some carry paper shopping backs, other leather-like briefcases. A column of cars approach from the south, pass by. Two men on bicycles one wearing a helmet, the other not move by. A bus half empty goes north on Eighteenth Street. Near me a woman talks about an event where journalists are not allowed, she discusses the cocktail hour. She is confused about how some of the speakers will be able to present their papers to the group. A man in a slightly faded red shirt locks his bike up, then pushes his shirt into his pants before walking into the shop. A big black backpack dominates his back. The woman talks about meals, vegetarian meals, salmon is the new vegetarian. A man in a white shirt briefly holds the glass door open for a woman in pale green slacks and a tan blouse with a blue and green design. She wears a necklace that looks like hard tinsel.
And there is laughter. And people walk by carrying bottles, carrying boxes. There are women in sleeveless tops, women in shorts. There are women laughing about someone getting divorced, laughing about someone who announced his impending divorce. Overhead a helicopter flies in the colorless sky.
And the beauty of this day is the unasked question, the unspoken statement. Motion exists. Movement remains visible.
The image of God, seeking the image of God on a Wednesday afternoon in Washington, DC as a helicopter flies overhead, as a woman with dark hair walks by carrying a baby.
The breeze returns. The vegetarian meal returns to the conversation. Another typographical error occurs, is corrected.
Showing posts with label Washington DC. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Washington DC. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Thoughts for a Rainy Week
This city is often filled with tourists behaving like tourists with cameras and maps and questions for hurried, harried residents slightly amused, slightly frightened by these strangers with accents. The summer is filled with all colors and fabrics and voices talking, laughing, asking for directions to the Zoo, to MacDonalds, to the Cathedral.
July contains an emotional shift of opportunity, playfulness as weekend trips away dominate many conversations. There are always sights, sounds, sales. Pedestrians often have pouting defiant lips. Everyone wears flip-flops. Everyone has bare ankles. Everyone yells into their cell phone from time to time. There is a subtle anxiousness, a nervous stammer. For everyone looks at the faux leather skirts, faux leather purses, everyone notices something which will not be mentioned now but will be shared with friends during dinner and happy hour. There are thigh high black leather go-go boots. There are kittens in well ventilated black mesh bags. There are people pointing, people waiting to cross the street.
I walk to the Cathedral of Saint Matthew the Apostle each day aware of the waves of hope, waves of hopelessness. There is anxiety. There are questions about the tidal basin. There is motion, lots of movement. There are faces, there are helmets. Moving through the city is a highwire act requiring balance, confidence, looking forward, looking upward. There is noise, groans, grunts, gasps, laughter, accents. There is motion. At times I feel as if I am on a bridge not walking by a crowded coffee shop.
And I walk to the Cathedral of Saint Matthew the Apostle, hearing conversations in Spanish, Japanese, Greek, Russian; seeing people smile, laugh, pout, gesture. Sometimes I forget the city streets. Sometimes I imagine the outdoors, trees, the countryside. How great solitude and silence looks from the distance! How grand it would be to rest in the shade of a tree or wander around a pasture.
Living in this city creates many bucolic diversions while trying to decide whether to have broccoli and goat cheese added to my salad. Living in this city presents many opportunities for goodness, kindness, holiness. Living in this city presents many opportunities for prayer.
There are trees and parks. There is despair. There is silence, hidden suffering. Prayer for everything is needed.
And I walk to the Cathedral of Saint Matthew hundreds of tourists with cameras and cell phones and plastic bottles and cardboard cups pass by me. There is anticipation, anxiety. The faces are enjoying this moment. Enjoying the humidity. Enjoying the restlessness. Speed is important. Pedestrians race and dodge around each other. Some people bump and nudge on their separate journeys. But, it is important to remember that all those who believe in Christ are never alone, God is always with us.
There is much to see in the city. Each day there are lessons in goodness, lessons in kindness. The city is filled with all types of signs. Summer presents temptations and diversions. Summer reminds us to take time to be pray, to take time to praise and give thanks to God. There are so many signs in the city. Which do we read, which do we obey, which do we remember?
There are so many signposts directing us to God. Which do we read? Which do we obey? Which do we remember?
The Cathedral of Saint Matthew the Apostle is often filled with tourists behaving like tourists with cameras and maps and questions and pointing fingers and waving hands and posing bodies. The Cathedral welcomes all, encourages all to enjoy the silence, to take a moment to offer thanks and praise to God. Here is a place to pray.
July contains an emotional shift of opportunity, playfulness as weekend trips away dominate many conversations. There are always sights, sounds, sales. Pedestrians often have pouting defiant lips. Everyone wears flip-flops. Everyone has bare ankles. Everyone yells into their cell phone from time to time. There is a subtle anxiousness, a nervous stammer. For everyone looks at the faux leather skirts, faux leather purses, everyone notices something which will not be mentioned now but will be shared with friends during dinner and happy hour. There are thigh high black leather go-go boots. There are kittens in well ventilated black mesh bags. There are people pointing, people waiting to cross the street.
I walk to the Cathedral of Saint Matthew the Apostle each day aware of the waves of hope, waves of hopelessness. There is anxiety. There are questions about the tidal basin. There is motion, lots of movement. There are faces, there are helmets. Moving through the city is a highwire act requiring balance, confidence, looking forward, looking upward. There is noise, groans, grunts, gasps, laughter, accents. There is motion. At times I feel as if I am on a bridge not walking by a crowded coffee shop.
And I walk to the Cathedral of Saint Matthew the Apostle, hearing conversations in Spanish, Japanese, Greek, Russian; seeing people smile, laugh, pout, gesture. Sometimes I forget the city streets. Sometimes I imagine the outdoors, trees, the countryside. How great solitude and silence looks from the distance! How grand it would be to rest in the shade of a tree or wander around a pasture.
Living in this city creates many bucolic diversions while trying to decide whether to have broccoli and goat cheese added to my salad. Living in this city presents many opportunities for goodness, kindness, holiness. Living in this city presents many opportunities for prayer.
There are trees and parks. There is despair. There is silence, hidden suffering. Prayer for everything is needed.
And I walk to the Cathedral of Saint Matthew hundreds of tourists with cameras and cell phones and plastic bottles and cardboard cups pass by me. There is anticipation, anxiety. The faces are enjoying this moment. Enjoying the humidity. Enjoying the restlessness. Speed is important. Pedestrians race and dodge around each other. Some people bump and nudge on their separate journeys. But, it is important to remember that all those who believe in Christ are never alone, God is always with us.
There is much to see in the city. Each day there are lessons in goodness, lessons in kindness. The city is filled with all types of signs. Summer presents temptations and diversions. Summer reminds us to take time to be pray, to take time to praise and give thanks to God. There are so many signs in the city. Which do we read, which do we obey, which do we remember?
There are so many signposts directing us to God. Which do we read? Which do we obey? Which do we remember?
The Cathedral of Saint Matthew the Apostle is often filled with tourists behaving like tourists with cameras and maps and questions and pointing fingers and waving hands and posing bodies. The Cathedral welcomes all, encourages all to enjoy the silence, to take a moment to offer thanks and praise to God. Here is a place to pray.
Summer’s Over; the Praying Begins
I am drifting along, playfully goose-stepping against the tidal wave of khaki pants, worsted wool, cotton, flip flops and angst. Is that anxiety or exhaustion in the frowning faces? I want to ask questions. I move forward, looking into the defeated faces, angry faces. There are sleepy eyes, serial killer eyes looking around, looking at me.
On Connecticut Avenue today there are racing umbrellas. There are dogs on leashes, owners with hands wrapped in plastic. There are leather purses or canvas bags or folded newspapers pressed against a chest. There are smart phones and briefcases and coffee cups and bagels and pinstripes, umbrellas and brightly colored bold rubber rain boots, and the look of ill informed nineteenth century soldiers wearily beginning a last charge, with the damp fear of not returning. That is this morning. The bodies are animated like figures in an amusement park ride. Everything is planned, regimented, slightly creepy. There is a lack of preparation. This is a march of dread and resignation. Today each pedestrian seems lost, looking far away. Some are thinking of the Republican debate, some are thinking of this report, hopefully some are thinking of something higher, something better, hopefully some are preparing to serve the Lord.
Labor Day is now both a memory and a mystery. September is always a different beast. People no longer leave the city in well-organized platoons of shorts, suntanning lotion, brie, strawberries, and assorted bottles of alcohol. Labor Day announces the return of something and the end of something. The summer here is more associated with freedom, with the frontier spirit. And this is a frontier city in search of a state and voting rights in the United States Congress. Someone will wonder about the Ottawa jet accident, someone will wonder about Perry’s electability, someone worry about their feet getting wet. This is the city. People worry here.
The buses are crowded, the cabs disappear on rainy days. There is something in a few faces, something that is not adult. There are a few faces with smiles, with glances kind and gentle which say, “Be kind. Remember to pray.” But that is my interpretation, my conclusion. Others may see something else, may want to see something else. September always begins with a panic, begins with some sort of bang and people waiting for the repercussions, waiting for the next memo.
Since May there have been al types of upheaval all over the world, dictators have been chased out of power, people jailed and killed. Life this summer has been awkward, a tangle and tussle of ideas, ideology, politics, culture. The battle cry of this summer was freedom, equality. But it is easy to yell words and slogans in a crowd, harder to define the words, create governments built upon those words. These are the lessons and fears that arrive with this September rain. There is a conscious effort to be optimistic about these events but that takes an artistry and delicacy that few possess for the world is a dangerous place with all types of weapons waiting to slip undocumented into the wrong hands.
September is the month of the inadvertent conversation about everyday life, childhood, the tangle of reality and memory that each adult learns how to dance around with quick asides, self deprecating remarks, and sighs. I stood on a Connecticut Avenue corner, during the Month of Sighs. September is the month of sighs. The rain makes each passing vehicle howl and hiss as it speeds by.
I am aware of the hunger in the streets. Washington is one of those strange places where life continues, Labor Day is like any other constituent after the election, forgotten, ignored until there is a crisis. Everyone is filled with anxiety, angst, apathy. Washington alternates between goose stepping and lock stepping armies. Everything is urgent, everything is serious, everything has consequences. Some people talk of making money. Some people talk of saving lives. Some joke about making love, being saved. The smart phones beep. Conversation topics change. The character of the individuals remain the same.
The crosswalks are filled with the downcast expressions of burdened faces carrying the world’s aspirations, inspirations, realities, fears on silver platters, on borrowed silver platters from a well regarded caterer. The crosswalks are filled with faces in need of prayer, compassion.
Saying that strangers need prayer is not original, is not revolutionary. It is a simple fact. Things happen. There are facts visible and facts invisible to my gaze. There is sadness, loneliness, despair around. I am not always aware of the things but at times I am, sometimes I do pay attention. With all human beings there is an implicit connection, implicit interest usually fleeting, usually hopeful. We all share convergent, intersecting story lines. Life is not to be experienced alone. It is to be shared. Prayers silent and brief are always good, always necessary.
Life does not stop. Prayer can not stop. Goodness, kindness, holiness are always needed. September is simply one of twelve months with thirty days for each of us to share humility, charity, compassion, obedience. Allow God to be preeminent in your heart, in your life.
May we all have the courage and confidence to drift along with God.
On Connecticut Avenue today there are racing umbrellas. There are dogs on leashes, owners with hands wrapped in plastic. There are leather purses or canvas bags or folded newspapers pressed against a chest. There are smart phones and briefcases and coffee cups and bagels and pinstripes, umbrellas and brightly colored bold rubber rain boots, and the look of ill informed nineteenth century soldiers wearily beginning a last charge, with the damp fear of not returning. That is this morning. The bodies are animated like figures in an amusement park ride. Everything is planned, regimented, slightly creepy. There is a lack of preparation. This is a march of dread and resignation. Today each pedestrian seems lost, looking far away. Some are thinking of the Republican debate, some are thinking of this report, hopefully some are thinking of something higher, something better, hopefully some are preparing to serve the Lord.
Labor Day is now both a memory and a mystery. September is always a different beast. People no longer leave the city in well-organized platoons of shorts, suntanning lotion, brie, strawberries, and assorted bottles of alcohol. Labor Day announces the return of something and the end of something. The summer here is more associated with freedom, with the frontier spirit. And this is a frontier city in search of a state and voting rights in the United States Congress. Someone will wonder about the Ottawa jet accident, someone will wonder about Perry’s electability, someone worry about their feet getting wet. This is the city. People worry here.
The buses are crowded, the cabs disappear on rainy days. There is something in a few faces, something that is not adult. There are a few faces with smiles, with glances kind and gentle which say, “Be kind. Remember to pray.” But that is my interpretation, my conclusion. Others may see something else, may want to see something else. September always begins with a panic, begins with some sort of bang and people waiting for the repercussions, waiting for the next memo.
Since May there have been al types of upheaval all over the world, dictators have been chased out of power, people jailed and killed. Life this summer has been awkward, a tangle and tussle of ideas, ideology, politics, culture. The battle cry of this summer was freedom, equality. But it is easy to yell words and slogans in a crowd, harder to define the words, create governments built upon those words. These are the lessons and fears that arrive with this September rain. There is a conscious effort to be optimistic about these events but that takes an artistry and delicacy that few possess for the world is a dangerous place with all types of weapons waiting to slip undocumented into the wrong hands.
September is the month of the inadvertent conversation about everyday life, childhood, the tangle of reality and memory that each adult learns how to dance around with quick asides, self deprecating remarks, and sighs. I stood on a Connecticut Avenue corner, during the Month of Sighs. September is the month of sighs. The rain makes each passing vehicle howl and hiss as it speeds by.
I am aware of the hunger in the streets. Washington is one of those strange places where life continues, Labor Day is like any other constituent after the election, forgotten, ignored until there is a crisis. Everyone is filled with anxiety, angst, apathy. Washington alternates between goose stepping and lock stepping armies. Everything is urgent, everything is serious, everything has consequences. Some people talk of making money. Some people talk of saving lives. Some joke about making love, being saved. The smart phones beep. Conversation topics change. The character of the individuals remain the same.
The crosswalks are filled with the downcast expressions of burdened faces carrying the world’s aspirations, inspirations, realities, fears on silver platters, on borrowed silver platters from a well regarded caterer. The crosswalks are filled with faces in need of prayer, compassion.
Saying that strangers need prayer is not original, is not revolutionary. It is a simple fact. Things happen. There are facts visible and facts invisible to my gaze. There is sadness, loneliness, despair around. I am not always aware of the things but at times I am, sometimes I do pay attention. With all human beings there is an implicit connection, implicit interest usually fleeting, usually hopeful. We all share convergent, intersecting story lines. Life is not to be experienced alone. It is to be shared. Prayers silent and brief are always good, always necessary.
Life does not stop. Prayer can not stop. Goodness, kindness, holiness are always needed. September is simply one of twelve months with thirty days for each of us to share humility, charity, compassion, obedience. Allow God to be preeminent in your heart, in your life.
May we all have the courage and confidence to drift along with God.
Friday, March 25, 2011
The Repetition of
On Thursday I came up with this great idea to create images which could simply tell a story, make a point with very limited words from me. I spent several hours creating the images. Technology is great. It presents many possibilities.
How we see the world is important. How we imagine the world is important. How we pray is important. How we prepare to pray is important.
Our prayers are influenced by what we see, by what we hear, by what we sense.
On Thursday I came up with this great idea to create images which could simply tell a story, make a point with very limited words from me. I spent several hours creating the images. Technology is great. It presents many possibilities.
How we see the world is important. How we imagine the world is important. How we pray is important. How we prepare to pray is important.
Our prayers are influenced by what we see, by what we hear, by what we sense.
On Friday I posted the images.
How we see the world is important. How we imagine the world is important. How we pray is important. How we prepare to pray is important.
Our prayers are influenced by what we see, by what we hear, by what we sense.
On Thursday I came up with this great idea to create images which could simply tell a story, make a point with very limited words from me. I spent several hours creating the images. Technology is great. It presents many possibilities.
How we see the world is important. How we imagine the world is important. How we pray is important. How we prepare to pray is important.
Our prayers are influenced by what we see, by what we hear, by what we sense.
On Friday I posted the images.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Monday, January 24, 2011
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Joining A Protest Before a Thuder Storm
Today, July 25, 2009, was the Global Day of Action for Human Rights in Iran. Demonstrations were held in major cities around the world. Three events were held in Washington, DC. This event was sponsored and coordinated by Amnesty International and other human rights organizations.
The stated purpose was to display universal solidarity with the Iranian civil rights movement and to demand respect for the human rights of the Iranian people. In Washington, a protest was held at the UN offices, then there was a march to the National Mall, and finally a rally with the U.S. Capitol as a backdrop.
Photographers and writers like any opportunity to observe strangers. A march is a low budget parade without floats or people dressed as clowns. People carry signs and repeat slogans. In many ways a march is very close to a high school pep rally. The only difference is that a pep rally usually lasts for thirty minutes in the gymnasium and a march lasts for a couple.
A march is a moveable pep rally with bullhorns, people cheering, reciting slogans. This march obeyed most traffic rules. Babies in strollers, people in wheelchairs, men and women of all ages, all races were present. This was a solemn occasion.
The Archdiocese of Washington recently celebrated Global Solidarity Month to commemorate the anniversary of the Papal visit. How great it would have been if a march had been held, too! How great it is to participate in this event, to see the expressions, to read the signs and banners! Being Catholic means believing in social justice, working for social justice.
This entry is not about politics. It's about basic human fairness. This is not about the internal political controversies in Iran. This is about individuals around the world through their presence at events like this one, making a statement.
Social justice does not always mean equality. The quest for social justice is a quest for something beyond civil rights. Social justice wants all human beings to have the basics food, clothing, and shelter; all human beings to be treated fairly and with respect; human dignity should not be denied.
Social justice takes time to be achieved. It takes sacrifice, dedication, hard work. Prayer is also very important.
The name Global Day of Action suggests something beyond one issue, one country. Work is needed everywhere to help the homeless, to combat poverty, to develop fair immigration rules. The number of issues which require attention is endless.
Today's events were successful because people took the time to participate. Some brought their children, friends, parents; others brought their cameras and their imaginations.
Everyone left with a measured optimism and an understanding that the journey is just beginning.
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