#this was a common fear among NY Jewish communities of the time because there were more bats that got into more of their spaces

[zorilleerrant]

I don't think there will ever be a consistent canon reason (altho certainly lots of people have ideas about it and might bring it up in the comics in interesting ways) because it's a part of his character design since long before comics were expected to have realism-based reasons why costumes looked how they did.

My theory is that it's because he's a noir detective, so his costume is meant to look like the silhouette of one: the hat is pulled low over his eyes, so it covers half his face. The cape is based on the classic long coat, the bat ears are the cigarette sticking up out of the hatband (or else the elongated shadow of the divot), the utility belt is that same coat's buckle. So I think his mouth is exposed for dramatic effect, as it would be the only think shown on stage or screen, a spotlight aimed at it, when the mysterious figure came to discuss all the murders going down (with the One Good Cop).

So, yeah, it's so you can see him speak.

Actually, is there a reason why Batman leaves half his face unmasked? Sure, he has a rebreather in his belt but having to take that thing out and put it on does cost a few valuable, potentially life-saving seconds.

Jason had the right idea with his helmet/face mask. Not the elongated, lipstick one, though.

I don’t know the canon reason one. I can imagine it probably has something to do with being able to speak clearly and so people are able to see he’s human?

Or maybe he knew it was a crime to hide away such nice lips and such a good jawline.

[ecoracismenc]

Robert Moses and The Harlem Pools

Robert Moses was the New York City Parks Commissioner from 1924-1963. His work shaping the landscape of NYC is still impactful today. His deliberate attempts to undemocratize access to public recreation spaces created a racial discrepancy that cannot be overlooked. Marta Gutman, a professor of architectural and urban history at the City College of New York, describes Moses as “a tempestuous, arrogant, and very effective bureaucrat”. Moses had a personal antipathy for people of color and was not reluctant to put these personal prejudices into his public policy. In 1938, Moses viciously bombarded an amendment to the NY state constitution that would have allowed the government to battle discrimination in the private sector . The best example of his racial discrimination is in his building of NYC’s first public pools. In the 1930’s, Moses and then mayor Fiorello La Guardia secured New Deal funds to create the first public pools for the city . This story will focus on two pools, the Jefferson Park Pool and the Colonial Park Pool. The former in a white neighborhood in East Harlem, and the latter in a black neighborhood in Central Harlem. It is important to note that Colonial Park was renamed to Jackie Robinson Park in 1978, but to minimize confusion, I will continue to refer to it as Colonial Park. Charles S Johnson, the first black president of Fisk University, wrote in 1930, “The most common point of racial friction in the recreation field has been in the use of the swimming pools”. This discrimination came from the perception of white people that POC were dirty, diseases, and sexually immoral. While these preconceptions have obviously been proven untrue, it is hard to overstate their importance to the construction of NYC’s first recreation spaces. Jefferson Park, in East Harlem, underwent large demographic changes in the late 1920’s and early 1930s. The neighborhood went from primarily Jewish, German, and Irish to mostly Italian, Black, and Puerto Ricans. These changes predictably caused quite some tension when considering construction of the pools in Jefferson Park. Robert Orsi, a professor of history at Northwestern University, argues that an intense “concern with drawing and defending boundaries” paralyzed East Harlem in this time period. This racial tension even went as far to have an intangible boundary on Lexington Avenue. Orsi asserts, “If the border was crossed, it was done intentionally”. This community awareness of divide is astounding. So where did Jefferson Park, the site of the new pool, lie? Directly in Italian claimed territory. This placement was intentional on Robert Moses’s part, he knew that if a Black person crossed that boundary, then they would met by incredible violence and unrest. To add salt to the wound, Moses also ordered the waters of Jefferson Park pool unheated. This intentional grievance drew uproar among the citizens of Central Harlem where the next pool, Colonial park, was to be built. Thus Mayor La Guardia expedited production of this pool to counter these charges. At this time in Central Harlem, public play places for children were few and far between. School teachers often took children on field trips to Jim Crow resorts which barred black children from even attempting to use their facilities. Children played on city streets simply because there was nowhere else for them to go. For the most part, this racial divide worked. Whites, and those who were white passing, swam in Jefferson Pool and black people and Puerto Ricans swam in Colonial Pool. However whenever these racial boundaries were crossed, violent beatings took place. Whites routinely beat blacks and Puerto Ricans who tried to swim in Jefferson Park. While at Colonial Pool, minorities remained powerless to white intrusion due to fear of police retaliation. This story of the two pools is an excellent example of the intrinsic problems with the idea of “Separate, but equal” which was ordained by the Supreme Court of the time. As long as one group was upheld as superior, equal access to amenities was impossible. These two parks still stand today even though the neighborhoods around them have wildly changed due to gentrification and redlining. Central Harlem remains majority black with a percentage of 54.3%. It must be noted however that this is a significant decrease from its majority of 77.3% in 2000. East Harlem, meanwhile, remains a haven for white flight with a doubling in its population from 7.3% to 14.0% in the years of 2000-2019. While these neighborhoods and demographics may change substantially as years go by, they are still marred by the racial injustice committed against them in the 1930s. Thus highlighting the importance of race consciousness when community leaders argue for improved access to these resources.

[orbemnews]

Why some Asian Americans are embracing their heritage by dropping their anglicized names This feature is part of CNN Style’s new series Hyphenated, which explores the complex issue of identity among minorities in the United States. Tshab Her grew up feeling like she lived a double life. Like many Asian Americans, the 29-year-old Hmong American artist was always switching between two names: an Asian name and her “American” name. Jennifer, her legal first name, was what teachers and employers called her, and what she used in “White spaces,” she said. But her middle name Tshab, which means “new” in the Hmong language, was what her family and close friends called her within their small community in Aurora, Illinois. The Hmong ethnic group is spread across China and Southeast Asia, but most Hmong Americans — like Her’s parents — are refugees from Laos who fled during the Vietnam War. “When I went as Jennifer, I felt like I was playing a role — this White-assimilated, American Dream type,” said Her, now based in Chicago. “Tshab and Jennifer were always at tension with each other … I felt like I was always living a different life as Jennifer, than who I wanted to be as Tshab.” There’s a long history of Asian Americans using Anglo or anglicized names — whether they adopted new White-sounding names like John or Jennifer, or changed the pronunciation or spelling of their original name to better suit English speakers. The practice was popularized in the 19th century due, in part, to fear in the face of intense racism and xenophobia. Tshab Her, a Hmong American artist whose work pays homage to her heritage and family. Credit: Tshab Her America has since undergone a cultural sea change. The past decade alone has seen surging demand for greater diversity, inclusion and representation. And as the national conversation shifts, many Asian Americans, including high-profile creatives and celebrities, are facing similar personal reckonings with their names. The list includes comedian and producer Hasan Minhaj, whose interview on the Ellen DeGeneres went viral when he corrected her on the pronunciation of his name; Marvel actress Chloe Bennet, who said she changed her surname from Wang because “Hollywood is racist”; and “Star Wars” actress Kelly Marie Tran, who called her family’s decision to adopt anglicized names “a literal erasure of culture.” After reflecting on her identity and how she presented herself, Her decided to drop Jennifer and go by Tshab when she started college. It felt empowering, she said — an affirmation of heritage, the Hmong language, and her parents’ journey to the United States in the ’70s and ’80s. Unbeknown to many Americans, Hmong soldiers were recruited by the CIA during the Vietnam War. They died by the thousands and were forced to flee when the US withdrew from Vietnam, essentially abandoning the ethnic group. To this day, the Hmong community is among the most marginalized Asian American groups. For Her, just existing under her Hmong name “creates space in itself” and pays tribute to her roots, she said. An artist, she also incorporates the journey from one name to another in her work, which celebrates Hmong history and iconography. One embroidery piece reads “It’s pronounced Cha,” while another reads “My name is Tshab, but the check is payable to Jennifer Her.” A history of violence and assimilation Asian Americans have been Anglicizing their names since the first major wave of immigrants in the late 1800s and into the 20th century — a practice also common among Jewish and European immigrants, according to the United States Citizenship and Immigration Services (USCIS). There are a number of reasons why, with the most basic being convenience. English speakers often had trouble pronouncing or spelling non-English names, and for many immigrants it was just easier to choose a new “American” name. There were financial motivations, too — immigrant business owners may have felt that an anglicized name would better appeal to customers. Over the years, USCIS archives have recorded countless such name changes from a Russian immigrant named Simhe Kohnovalsky who asked to become Sam Cohn in 1917, to a wartime refugee named Sokly Ny, who fled Cambodia in 1979 during the Khmer Rouge regime and renamed himself Don Bonus in California, inspired by a “bonus pack” of gum. Chinese immigrants play cards while waiting in the immigration offices at Ellis Island, US, around 1940-1950. Credit: Keystone-France/Gamma-Keystone/Getty Images Any change that might smooth their way to the American Dream was seen (by many immigrants) as a step in the right direction,” wrote Marian Smith, a former USCIS historian, in a 2005 essay, adding: “There were all kinds of reasons, political and practical, to take a new name.” But this seemingly eager pursuit of the American Dream doesn’t fully capture the dark realities immigrants faced. Asians in the US were often demonized, exploited and discriminated against from the moment they arrived. Assimilation — including the adoption of a new name — was seen a survival tactic. Early Chinese immigrants were lynched by mobs, and anti-Chinese sentiment was so strong that the US banned all immigration from China between 1882 and 1943. The fearmongering “Yellow Peril” ideology meanwhile depicted East Asians as dangerous invaders. An estimated 120,000 Japanese Americans — the majority of whom were US citizens — were forced into concentration camps during World War II. Asian men being interrogated by an immigration officer on February 2, 1951 in Brooklyn, New York. Credit: AFP/Getty Images An increasing number of Japanese Americans changed their personal names during wartime in order to “prove their patriotism and to reaffirm their American identities,” according to a 1999 paper in Names, a journal dedicated to onomastics (the study of names). “Makoto became Mac, and Isamu shrank to Sam.” Asians in the 19th and early 20th century were largely portrayed as “strange, but also inferior, dirty, uncivilized,” said Catherine Ceniza Choy, a professor of Asian American and Asian diaspora studies at the University of California, Berkeley. “(Back then) the desire to fit in is also about surviving an overtly racist, hostile society” that targeted “Asian difference.” In the period 1900 to 1930, about 86% of boys and 93% of girls born to immigrants (of all origins, not just of Asian heritage) had an “American name,” according to US census data analyzed in the journal Labour Economics. Now, a century later, it’s common for members of the third or fourth generation not to have an Asian name at all. The cost of sacrificing a name The nation and its racial tensions have evolved since then — but Asian and non-English names continue to be othered, treated as strange or used as cheap punchlines. In 2013, for instance, a TV station reporting on a deadly Asiana Airlines plane crash fell for a prank, and announced that the pilots included “Captain Sum Ting Wong” and “Ho Lee Fuk.” In 2016, the governor of Maine joked about a Chinese man named Chiu, pronouncing it with a fake sneeze. In 2020, a professor at Laney College asked a student, Phuc Bui Diem Nguyen, to Anglicize her Vietnamese name “to avoid embarrassment” because Phuc Bui “sounds like an insult in English.” The list goes on. Asian Americans have continued to proactively adapt their names, many citing ongoing forms of discrimination. Bennet, who started her acting career as Chloe Wang, spoke out about changing her surname on social media after being questioned about it in 2017. “Changing my last name doesn’t change the fact that my BLOOD is half Chinese, that I lived in China, speak Mandarin or that I was culturally raised both American and Chinese,” she wrote. “It means I had to pay my rent, and Hollywood is racist and wouldn’t cast me with a last name that made them uncomfortable.” Kelly Marie Tran poses with ‘Star Wars’ stormtroopers on the red carpet in London on December 18, 2019. Credit: Tolga Akmen/AFP/Getty Images Tran, the “Star Wars” actress, has also spoken publicly about the pain of assimilating. Growing up, she internalized racist narratives “that made my parents deem it necessary to abandon their real names and adopt American ones — Tony and Kay — so it was easier for others to pronounce, a literal erasure of culture that still has me aching to the core,” she wrote in the New York Times, before declaring, “You might know me as Kelly … My real name is Loan.” Their public testimonies are part of a growing conversation about the potential psychological toll of adapting or compromising your birth name. Names aren’t just an arbitrary collection of letters and sounds; for Asian Americans, who often juggle multiple languages, cultures and socioethnic circles, a name can encompass various elements of identity. Tanaïs, a Bengali-American novelist and owner of a beauty and fragrance brand. Credit: Max Cohen For instance, Tanaïs, a Bengali American novelist and owner of a beauty and fragrance brand, was born with the name Tanwi Nandini Islam. Tanaïs, 38, uses they and them pronouns. Their parents, who had immigrated to the US from Bangladesh, chose their birth name carefully; “Tanwi” has various meanings in Sanskrit, including a blade of grass. “Nandini” means daughter, and is another name for the goddess Durga. And “Islam,” which also reflects their family’s Muslim background, means peace. Tanaïs, the name they go by today, is the combination of the first two letters of the three names. “To have a name that holds all these cultural meanings, is very powerful,” they said. “I am all of those things, from my ancestors to where I am now.” But during childhood, nobody knew how to say “Tanwi,” or put any real effort into learning, they said. Tanaïs does not even remember teachers saying their name out loud, with a first grade teacher declaring that “Tanwi” was too hard to pronounce and using Tony instead. “I was Tony for the whole year. I hated it, it wasn’t my name,” said Tanaïs. “I remember being very unhappy — I felt misunderstood. I felt misgendered because it sounded like a boy’s name to me.” To accidentally bungle someone’s name upon introduction can be an innocent mistake. But to deliberately dismiss their name as too strange or complicated to attempt, like Tanaïs’ teacher did, sends the message that “you don’t matter, you don’t belong,” said Choy, the UC Berkeley professor. “The consistent mispronunciation or misspelling of one’s Asian name — questions and requests for you to simplify or change your name — do take a toll on one’s individual psyche,” she said. “Names reflect your presence, your being, your history. When people constantly do that, they’re not acknowledging you — as a person, as a human being.” Research has reinforced just how pervasive this problem is. A 2018 survey of Chinese students in the US found that the “adoption of an Anglo name was associated with lower levels of self-esteem, which further predicted lower levels of health and well-being.” However, the study cautioned that it could be a case of correlation, not causation — for instance, people who already have higher self-esteem could be more reluctant to change their names, and less influenced by stigma. Another survey of ethnic minority students, conducted by California researchers in 2012, concluded that “many students of color have encountered cultural disrespect within their K-12 education in regards to their names … When a child goes to school and their name is mispronounced or changed, it can negate the thought, care and significance of the name, and thus the identity of the child.” Minhaj, the comedian and producer, called out Anglo-centric hypocrisy surrounding names during a segment on “The Ellen DeGeneres Show,” where he corrected the host on the pronunciation of his name. “When I first started doing comedy, people were like, ‘You should change your name,'” he went on to explain. “And I’m like, I’m not going to change my name. If you can pronounce Ansel Elgort, you can pronounce Hasan Minhaj.” A reclamation of heritage There are, however, signs of gradual change. The number of people adopting new names fell in the late 20th century, said Smith, the former USCIS historian. This was partly due to the emergence of automated systems, like those used to register drivers’ licenses, that are designed for just one legal name. But social change was likely a bigger factor, she said. “While the economic, legal, systemic pressure to maintain one name grew, social pressure to Americanize names also lessened as more Americans embraced cultural pluralism or multiculturalist views,” Smith said in an email. We see this cultural shift in how people respond to instances of discrimination or xenophobia. Things that previously may have flown under the radar are now being called out, loudly and publicly. For instance, the writer Jeanne Phillips sparked intense outrage in 2018 when she encouraged parents not to give their children “foreign names” on her syndicated column Dear Abby, adding that they can sound “grating in English.” Furious parents and minority commentators argued she was perpetuating racist and assimilationist narratives, in a controversy that made national headlines. The Laney College professor who asked a Vietnamese student to Anglicize her name also faced widespread backlash and was placed on administrative leave. Demonstrators gather for a rally against anti-Asian racism and violence on March 13, 2021 in Seattle, Washington. Credit: David Ryder/Getty Images In March, the Atlanta spa shootings that killed eight people — six of whom were Asian women — reignited similar conversations. After several news outlets released abridged or inaccurate versions of the victims’ names, furious and grieving Asian Americans spoke out online about the racist treatment of their names amid a wave of anti-Asian violence and hate crimes. “PLEASE STOP BUTCHERING THE VICTIMS’ NAMES,” tweeted Michelle Kim, co-founder of Awaken, an organization that runs diversity and inclusion workshops. “These might be small inconveniences to people. But our names are our IDENTITY. It’s our HERITAGE. It’s what we have left that remind us WHO WE ARE. WHERE WE COME FROM.” These recent controversies are a reminder of how much work is left to be done — but also show that minority groups, and wider society, are redefining the norms of what is acceptable and what needs to be held accountable. It reflects an increasingly multicultural context — a shift that has resulted from broader changes around the world like globalization and a reshuffling of power. “Going as Tshab was an act of resistance… That was the start of me resisting this Whiteness of American culture that was forced on me.” Tshab Her Some Asian countries have become major political and economic players in recent decades, and have also wielded influence in the form of soft power. Bollywood, K-pop, anime and other aspects of Asian pop culture, for example, have gained legions of fans worldwide. And in the US, immigration policies in the late 20th century have allowed the Asian American population to increase exponentially, said Choy. “That’s just such a different social context to be in, compared to the way it was in the ’50s, ’60s, ’70s,” she said, adding that technological advances and globalization mean the “dominance of Anglo-American culture” is now “lessened.” This new chapter is reflected in the growing demand for greater diversity across nearly every sector: entertainment, politics, food, education and more. And among young Asian Americans, there is also an increasing awareness of what their immigrant parents or grandparents had to give up to survive — a “realization that there is a loss of heritage and culture from the Asian home country,” said Choy. For some, this realization can spark a desire to get back what was lost. By studying their parents’ or grandparents’ first language, for instance. Others might visit their ancestral homes to reconnect with their culture. Tshab Her’s work “Returning,” is inspired by the first time her parents traveled back to Laos since they immigrated to the United States as refugees. Credit: Tshab Her For Her, embracing her Hmong name has become a way to assert her heritage. “Going as Tshab was an act of resistance,” she said. “I just want to be who I am, and who I am is Tshab, not (Jennifer). That was the start of me resisting this Whiteness of American culture that was forced on me. “I think, for me, it’s natural for me to feel like I am connected to my parents or my ancestors, going more as Tshab, and not wanting to forget where I come from, where my family (are from) and what the Hmong people have gone through.” Top image: A piece of embroidery by Hmong American artist Tshab Her. Source link Orbem News #Americans #anglicized #Asian #dropping #Embracing #Heritage #Names

[firstumcschenectady]

“Rainbows and Rain” based on Genesis 9:8-17 and Mark 1:9-15

When do you look for rainbows?  After it rains, right?  The Genesis story connects the rainbow with God's promise not to flood the earth – again.  It is an oddly timed symbol for such a promise, because by the time it stops raining and the rainbow shows up … it has stopped raining and the fear of flooding is likely already relieved.

Or, maybe that's the beauty of it.  

Because during a rainstorm we can anticipate it.  “When this is over, we can look for a rainbow!”  So, even during the storm, we anticipate it's ending and the reminder that all will be well.

Of course, in these days of climate changed by humans, rain can be rather scary at times.  Floods come more often, and more destructive than usual.  But that actually fits.  The ancient Israelites were desert people and deserts have weird relationships with rain.  That is, they need water for life, and have less of it than most, but because the earth is so parched most of the time, and water tends to come in deluges rather than sprinkles, heavy rainstorms quickly lead to flash flooding.

The ancient Israelites may have had some of our current misgivings about torrential rain, and this story may have been a way to center in the midst of their fears.  While it rains, you can anticipate God's promise.  When it is pouring, you start preparing for God's sign of hope.

While I believe that the rainbow became a symbol for LGBTQIA pride because of the diversity of colors representing celebrating the diverse ways of being, I have always appreciated this anticipatory hope aspect of it as well.  The choice of the rainbow symbol, to those aware of this Genesis story, is a choice to say, “things aren't good now, but they're gonna be.”

Or, in the language of the African American church tradition, “God is the one who makes a way out of no way.”  (I'm so thankful for the creation of pride flags that intentionally include people of color as well as the trans community in the beauty of human diversity.)  

Dear ones, the rainbow feels like a good symbol in the midst of our current “Rainstorm”, doesn't it?  Or perhaps you want to call it a monsoon.  Your choice.  ;)

Which, come to think of it, is also the Jesus narrative, and our gospel lesson today. So much of what happens in the story assumes a greater knowledge of the time of  Mark and Jesus than we generally have, so let me retell the story with some context put in:

“In those days, Jesus came from Nazareth (Nowhereville) of Galilee (sketchy!) - leaving behind his family, friends, and village – everything he knew, everything he was.  He was baptized by John – a rural Holy Man, in the River Jordan, the traditional waters for the Ancient Jewish People. Baptism marked Jesus as a student of John's, it also symbolized his choice to leave behind his society and culture and obligations, and follow only the Divine.

As he was coming out of the water, he had a God-experience, a rather beautiful one.  It was as if the heavens were torn open and God was more accessible, and the Spirit came right there to be with him.  Jesus heard a voice offering a blessing, claiming him!   "You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased."  In such a way, he who had left his kin was adopted into God's family.

After such a profound blessing though, the Spirit of God send Jesus into the wilderness.  Jesus did not choose it, the wilderness is the place where it is hard to sustain life, and he was alone, and he struggled, and he was tempted, and he had to figure out what it would  mean for his life to be a Holy Man too.  He was there for 40 days, like Moses was awaiting an audience with God.  With God's help – again proving Jesus as God's kin – Jesus made it through.

When he came back out of the wilderness, his teacher John had been arrested.  He was on his own as a Holy Man.  He went back to Galilee, that suspicious place he was from, and started speaking God's 'good news.'  Which didn't sound exactly like people expected it to.  He said, 'The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news.'”1

That “good news” seems to require a little bit more examination.  One scholar points out, “'Gospel' was most commonly used in antiquity to announce benefits to the populace.”2 Another summarizes what Jesus says with, “He boldly announces that the reign of God – with its dreams of justice and love, equality and abundance, wholeness and unity- is dawning.”3

Jesus is a rainbow.

He is a sign of hope, in the midst of the storm.  He comes out of nowhere, is claimed by God, and offers a message of hope and promise. The world with its power hierarchies, the world that counts some people as “disposable”, the world where economies exist to let rich people get richer on the labor of the poor, the world that wants to appropriate religion to support the powerful, the world that tells the 99% to fight each other for the scraps left over after the 1% have been fed, the world which says to take care of yourself and your own first and let other's fend for themselves – the WORLD's powers are at an end.  A new reign is coming, and it will look entirely different.  

In God's kindom, there is no hierarchy, everyone is working toward for the common good.  In God's kindom there are no disposable people, all are treated as beloved children of God.  In God's kindom, there are neither rich nor poor.  Instead, each person offers their gifts and labor for the betterment of the whole, and resources are distributed according to need.  In God's kindom, we all treat each other as “insiders” and work for each other's well-being as well as our own.

To repent is to let go of the fear, the competitiveness, and the judgements of the WORLD, and allow the love, the hope, and the compassion of the kindom to take root.

This isn't easy.  It never has been.  Nor is it now.  Judgements are hard to let go of, including judgements of ourselves.  They're extra hard in matters of life and death, like vaccines, and access to health care, and decisions about masking and distancing and schooling and childcare and caution vs. risk these days.  Right?  The issue is that these judgments slip far too easily into shame, including self-shame from people who have gotten COVID, which IS blaming victims.  

I don't claim the authority to know about the best vaccine distribution plan, but I do think it is useful to take a kindom look at our pandemic lives.  What does it look like when we look from love, hope, and compassion?  

From that angle, I see a lot of gratitude:  for the ways people have adapted to make all of us healthier, for creativity and hard work in trying to keep things going as they need to, for those offering care or services even when there is risk to self involved.  

I also see more clearly the injustices of the moment:  that not all “frontline workers” have had a choice about if they want to be in the frontlines at all, and that far too many people are forced by economic circumstances to take risks they don't want to take.  That people of color have been impacted in a multiplicity of ways:  with less access to adequate housing, with more people doing “essential work”, with less access to protective gear, with higher poverty rates that require taking greater risks, with less access to health care, and with less responsive health care when it is accessed.  (To name a few.)  Each of these systemic pieces of racism in our society are highlighted by the higher infection rates and higher death rates among people of color, and show us yet again the impact of disparity on people's very lives.  Lack of equity kills, and movements from the world-as-it-is to the World-as-God-would-have-it-be are movements from death to life.

Looking at the pandemic from the kindom view, mostly, I'm overwhelmed with compassion:  for the impossible decisions everyone is making to the best of their ability;  for the dehumanizing isolation so many are living with; to the life-draining balancing acts being asked of mothers, fathers, and caregivers.  From this view, judgements lighten, and love grows.  

Finally, the kindom view reminds us that we are no stronger than our “weakest link.”  That is, we are unable to be healthy in isolation.  Until the WORLD is vaccinated, all of us are at risk.  And that's always been true, but now we can see it clearly.

We're all in this together.  We're all in this storm together (although it impacts us differently.)  And from the midst of this storm, we're all reminded that at the end of the storm, the rainbow comes.  God doesn't abandon us in the storm, hope doesn't die, the kindom is at hand, repent and believe.  Entering into the kindom's values will help kindom come.  Remembering the rainbow helps us live through the storm.  Thanks be to God.  Amen

1Summary influenced by:

Ched Myers, Binding the Strong Man (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1998 and 2008, ~128.

Bruce J. Malina and Richard L. Rohrbaugh Social-Science Commentary on the Synoptic Gospels (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2003) 146-7.

Debie Thomas, “Beasts and Angels” https://www.journeywithjesus.net/essays/2924-beasts-and-angels 2-14-21, accessed 2-18-21.  

2Malina and Rohrbaugh, 148.

3Myers, 91.

February 21, 2021

Rev. Sara E. Baron First United Methodist Church of Schenectady 603 State St. Schenectady, NY 12305 Pronouns: she/her/hers http://fumcschenectady.org/ https://www.facebook.com/FUMCSchenectady