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From Amnesty International

"Last week, two men were hanged after being accused of inciting the post-June 12 election violence that erupted last summer in Iran. The Iranian government failed to answer one key question - how these men could have been responsible for the violence when they were being held in detention long before it even occurred?

As if this injustice wasn't enough, now the lives of 9 more men hang in the balance on similar charges. We fear some of them may be executed before February 11th - a date holding much significance in Iran and one that could signify an end to these abuses.

February 11th is known as Victory of the Revolution Day - equivalent to the Fourth of July in the United States; it is meant to symbolize liberty, independence and freedom. Authorities in Iran fear that February 11th will spark a wave of massive protests and unite Iranians in their calls for change and accountability.


That is why on February 11th we intend to do all we can to stand in solidarity with the Iranian people on this important date, but we need your help.

In the days following the contested Presidential election, Iranian authorities took aggressive measures to stifle dissent and stem the flow of information. No outside reporters were allowed in. Iranians were not allowed to freely report out.

Virtually the only way the Iranian people could expose the horrific treatment being inflicted on them was to share their stories online, using blogs and websites like Twitter and Facebook.

We expect Iranians will once again rely solely on the Internet to carry their messages during next week's expected demonstrations. That is why we are asking everyone to show their solidarity online on February 11th - whether it's on your blog, website, or social networking profile. Help us raise the voices of those calling for freedom and justice inside Iran.
Bloggers Unite: Join our network of blogger's covering Iran and the events on February 11th.
Twitter Followers: The hashtag #iranelection was one of the most widely-used in the post-election aftermath. Since the violence is still unresolved, we'll continue to tweet using this hashtag. Make sure your related tweets include: #iranelection.
Share Online: Help share the message of February 11th by adding our solidarity image to your blog, website or social networking profile.
We will be keeping a close watch over Victory of the Revolution Day events. Our collective voices can help keep high-level Iranian officials in check. If authorities yet again brutally suppress people's right to peacefully express their opinions, we will harness the power of the Internet to push right back!"

Let us join in however we can, as well as hold the Iranian people in the Light. This matters.  Your prayers matter. so be it.

Amy
<a href="http://www.amnestyusa.org/iran"><img

I got the following chain letter in via email.  I am a breast cancer survivor- not yet 5 years out.  I pass it on with a caveat and commentary:

What a lovely story! My cheeks are still wet.  But oddly enough, though I don't mind if folks want to do something by buying the stamps, I have mixed feelings about breast cancer research.  I have a conviction that the "cure" to cancer will only be found by prevention. Things like cleaning up the environment, restoring the Earth to vibrancy, and eating healthy organic food, and not all that stuff in process precooked food that isn't actually meant to be eaten (all that phood). 

The increasingly expensive and sophisticated protocols once someone has breast cancer )or any cancer, really), such as chemo and radiation therapy, will never be available to all who need them. But that's not really what I am trying to say.   What is it? What touches me about the story is the love and sweetness and caring that the children and teachers had for this principle.  It seems that either she is an extraordinary person or the children and teachers are- or both.  What I want to "fund" or spread around is that love and caring and sweetness.  But how do you do that? How do you provide the opportunities and the encouragement? how do you enable people, children, teachers and administrators who are ordinary to aspire to this kind of action?

I do believe that everyone has that which is extraordinary in them, that of God, the light, a spaciousness that can lead to this kind of behavior. Maybe just passing on the story, itself, will help.


Please read the following story...

   Like most elementary schools, it was typical to have a parade of students in and out of the health clinic throughout the day. We dispensed ice for bumps and bruises, Band-Aids for cuts, and liberal doses of sympathy and hugs.  As principal, my office was right next door to the clinic, so I often dropped in to lend a hand and help out with the hugs. I knew that for some kids, mine might be the only one they got all day.
   One morning I was putting a Band-Aid on a little girl's scraped knee. Her blonde hair was matted, and I noticed that she was shivering in her thin little sleeveless blouse. I found her a warm sweatshirt and helped her pull it on. "Thanks for taking care of me," she whispered as she climbed into my lap and snuggled up against me.
   It wasn't long after that when I ran across an unfamiliar lump under my arm. Cancer, an aggressively spreading kind, had already invaded thirteen of my lymph nodes. I pondered whether or not to tell the students about my diagnosis. The word breast seemed so hard to say out loud to them, and the word cancer seemed so frightening. When it became evident that the children were going to find out one way or another, either the straight scoop from me or possibly a garbled version from someone else, I decided to tell them myself.
   It wasn't easy to get the words out, but the empathy and concern I saw in their faces as I explained it to them told me I had made the right decision. When I gave them a chance to ask questions, they mostly wanted to know how they could help.
   I told them that what I would like best would be their letters, pictures, and prayers.
   I stood by the gym door as the children solemnly filed out. My little blonde friend darted out of line and threw herself into my arms. Then she stepped back to look up into my face. "Don't be afraid, Dr. Perry," she said earnestly, "I know you'll be back because now it's our turn to take care of you."
   No one could have ever done a better job. The kids sent me off to my first chemotherapy session with a hilarious book of nausea remedies that they had written.
   A video of every class in the school singing get-well songs accompanied me to the next chemotherapy appointment. 
   By the third visit, the nurses were waiting at the door to find out what I would bring next. It was a delicate music box that played "I Will Always Love You.."
   Even when I went into isolation at the hospital for a bone marrow transplant, the letters and pictures kept coming until they covered every wall of my room.
   Then the kids traced their hands onto colored paper, cut them out and glued them together to make a freestanding rainbow of helping hands. "I feel like I've stepped into Disneyland every time I walk into this room," my doctor laughed.
  That was even before the six-foot apple blossom tree arrived adorned with messages written on paper apples from the students and teachers. What healing comfort I found in being surrounded by these tokens of their caring..
   At long last I was well enough to return to work. As I headed up the road to the school, I was suddenly overcome by doubts. What if the kids have forgotten all about me? I wondered, What if they don't want a skinny bald principal? What if.
   I caught sight of the school marquee as I rounded the bend. "Welcome Back, Dr. Perry," it read. As I drew closer, everywhere I looked were pink ribbons - ribbons in the windows, tied on the doorknobs, even up in the trees. The children and staff wore pink ribbons, too.
   My blonde buddy was first in line to greet me. "You're back, Dr. Perry, you're back!" she called. "See, I told you we'd take care of you!"
   As I hugged her tight, in the back of my mind I faintly heard my music box playing . . . "I will always love you."

{Breast Cancer Stamp Booklet
 
 It would be wonderful if 2010  were the year a cure for breast cancer was found!!!!
 The notion that we could raise $35 million by buying a book of stamps is powerful! As you may be aware, the US Postal Service has the "Fund the Cure" stamp to help fund breast cancer research. The stamp was designed by Ethel Kessler of Bethesda , Maryland . It is important that we take a stand against this disease that affects so many of our Mothers, Sisters, Friends, Coworkers, and Spouses of Coworkers.
Instead of the normal 44 cents for a stamp, this one costs 55 cents. The additional 11 cents will go to breast cancer research A "normal" book costs $8.80. This one is only $11.00. It takes a few minutes in line at the Post Office and means so much. If all stamps are sold, it will raise an additional $35,000,000 for this vital research. Just as important as the money is our support. What a statement it would make if the stamp outsold the lottery this week. What a statement it would make that we care.

1. Go out and purchase some of these stamps.
2. E-mail your friends to do the same.

Many of us know women and their families whose lives are turned upside-down by breast cancer.
It takes so little to do so much in this drive.

We can all afford the $11.00}


While your at it, spread the love.  Don't forget that someone near you might need your caring and your smile more than you can tell.



 

 

 

How many times do we have to be told that we need to eat more vegetables? Vegans exhort us to treat animals as our siblings rather than food, nutritionists exhort us to eat less meat, more fruits and locavores act as if money grows on trees! Why can't humans be more like trees, anyway?  Why can't we get our energy, our fuel, directly from the sun like plants?!  If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride, as my Gramma would say.

Yesterday outside of Reading Terminal Market, there were 3 guys asking for spare change, but I only noticed two.  I had dropped a few coins in the one man's cup and was headed across the street to put some quarters in the cup of the one playing beautiful drum music, when I nearly bumped into the third.  I hadn't gotten my money out yet, and there was a crush of people since it was lunchtime; I barely had a chance to greet him as I swept by, let alone give him some change.  He looked at me and instead of asking for a handout saw my cocky hat with the polka-dot feather and exclaimed," that's a fine lookin' hat!" Despite myself I grinned and said, "thanks."  Now as I am writing this I wish I had gone back and given the hat to him. I don't even know where it came from- so many things get left at our house- perhaps it was Grampa George's...

 

 This is the time of year when many of us think about giving. Though it may be fiscally illogical to give more than usual when you are having financial trouble yourself, it makes a different kind of sense to be more generous when times are tough for everyone.  Did you know that research has shown that the less you have the more you give, percentage wise? This may not be true for folks who are not used to having less, but is true for those who have never had much. At this time of year it might be good to recognize the Scrouge-like tendencies of those of us accustomed to having more. The more you have the tighter you hold on to it, or so it seems.

 

A while back my mother told me a story about her mother and the depression. My grandmother, Sara, was famous for the buns she made. I remember them well myself, though this story takes place when my mother was little. They were just plain, but delicious, white bread buns, kind of like hamburger buns, but chewier.  She came from a large working class family, the oldest of 12. She had been working for wages since she was 11 or 12 herself.  She was real smart and went to school until she was 15, then got a fulltime job as a lab assistant during WWI. The owner of the lab was so impressed with how quickly and well she learned that he offered to send her back to school and pay for college- but her parents declined because they couldn't do without the income she made.

 

Sara married at 18 and had 5 kids of her own. Her husband though a charmer, I believe would be diagnosed with ADD today, but back then was called irresponsible and had a hard time keeping a job. So Sara became the most consistent breadwinner of the family. She did various things from teaching at a private elementary school to sewing fine tailored cloths in her own small business.  Of course she also did all the cooking, cleaning and childrearing as well.

 

Not only that, but during the depression she never turned anyone away from her door empty-handed. All she gave to the hungry men who came to the back door was a bun or two, but word got out that she never turned anyone away and also that the buns were delicious. My mother claims that the appearance of men at the back door asking for food was a daily occurrence.  All they ever got was a couple of buns- but they were tasty, homemade and often fresh out of the oven!

 

I am not sure what the modern day equivalent  of my grandnmother's generosity would be- but I am trying to follow her example.  Mostly I give $$ to organizations like Project Home, Philabundance and World Vision- but it doesn't seem to quite measure up. Sometimes when I have the time and think of it I make soup and take it over to the local homeless shelter.  In some ways the most effective thing that can be done is to work for more equitable sharing of the worlds resources. We, Quakers, have an organization dedicated to this. Try proclaim:  "God calls us to the right sharing of world resources, from the burdens of materialism and poverty into the abundance of God's love, to work for equity through partnership with our brothers and sister throughout the world."

 

Times are tough, here at home and around the globe. Be more generous than you feel you can. Research has also shown that it lifts the spirits of the giver as well. Generosity is also good for the heart and the soul despite the misuse of the admonition that it is better to give than to receive, which most of us had shoved down our throats inappropriately when we were too small to distinguish when that was true and when it was an excuse.  So give till it hurts, or makes you feel good; let's not forget that venerable karmic truth, what goes around, comes around.  Happy Holidays and here's to your generosity!

 

 

I have tried seriously to be a vegetarian twice in my life.  The first time was when I was in my twenties, in the 1970s. I read Fracis More Lappe's book, Diet for a Small Planet and took it quite to heart. Accordingly, then it was not about taking or not taking life- but about food distribution and poverty.  Feeding all those chickens and cattle all that grain that could and should be used to feed the starving folks in the third world was not OK with me. Just a few short weeks later I found myself in Kenya as a college student learning experientially. 

I happen to  have a remarkable young man as a housemate. About a year ago he realized something was missing in his life. He knew he could make a difference in the world, but how and where? Somehow Julian's heart was touched by Haiti. In his head he thought, "Haiti's small and not too far away, I wonder what good things are being done there by Haitians, themselves, that I could support?" No sooner had he asked these questions than people with the answers started showing up. He was put in touch with a young woman from Baltimore and a church there that was involved with a group called Haiti Partners.  By May he was off in Haiti for 4 weeks, taking most of his summer vacation time to go and see what he could do.

He came back in love with the town of Fayet and just about every Haitian he met. He could not stop sharing about Gerald and the Heads Together group that ran adult literacy programs and free elementary schools in rural Haiti not far from Port Au Prince, the capitol. Nearly every waking hour he isn't working since then, he devotes to raising money, refurbishing little netbook computers, praying for Haiti and learning Creole.

On January 1, 2010 Julian and his sister, who he recruited to his cause, left for a two week trip to Fayet and surrounds. Christa is a graduate student in sustainable growth and the environment.  Among other things they were going to look at the feasibility of building a retaining wall for the river that flows through Fayet and regularly floods during hurricanes, washing away soil, trees and houses.  Two days before they were to return the earthquake struck.  Unfortunately they were only a few miles from the epicenter, but fortunately they were in a small two story building.  Julian, Christa, Gerald and Wenson were all on the second floor checking email and chatting together when they felt the first shock wave of the quake.  Julian and Christa having grown up in Alaska where all school children participate regularly in earthquake drills, knew what it was.

They warned the other two urging them to get out of the building fast and ran for their lives. Julian made it to the first floor dorway, just steps infront of his sister as the wall and roof colapsed trapping her. Gerald and Wenson were still at the top of the stairs and miraclulously neither of them was badly hurt.  Julian sustained some deep cuts to one foot, but Christa's legs were under a pile of rubble and slabs of concrete. It was another miracle that only her legs were affected, the stair railling and a metal cabinet had save her from being crushed completely!  Julian could barely hobble around, but hobble he did.  Christa remained calm.  After a few seconds of conferring, Wenson left to find help and Julian and Gerald tried to find tools nearby.  It was not long before Wenson came back with a pick ax and was able to break up some of the concrete enough that the other two could begin removing it.

After an hour Christa's legs were free but one was nearly severed a few inches below the knee and she was bleeding badly.  Christa instructed her brother to use some electrical wire to tie a turnicate just above the crushed part of her leg. She needed medical help and needed it badly. A complete stranger took Christa on his motorbike, cradled in Wenson's arms to the base of UN Peacekeeping forces stationed a few miles away where there was a hospital of sorts.  By that time it was night and very dark. Gerald took Julia to the soccer field in Dabon where everyone gathered to sleep out in the open.  Few houses were left standing, but no one dared sleep inside as the aftershocks went on all night!

The next morning brother and sister were reunited at the UN base. The soldiers were all Sri Lankan and spoke no French and not much Creole, not even the commanding officer! The doctor put a splint using part of an old fence post on Christa's leg and gave her some sleeping pills, but there was not much else he could do.  There was intermittent internet access at the base and Julian emailed family and a few friends, begging for a medevac plane to be sent.  Christa actually had insurance that including medevac services, but the problem was how to get her to the Port Au Prince airport to a plane. The situation became more desperate, Christa was not looking too good. The Sri Lankan Comander somehow begged a ride to were he knew there was a US/UN ambulance some 20 miles away and convinced the driver and a doctor to come and get Christa and Julian.

By that evening they were at the airport and sometime during the night Christa was flown to the hospital in Miami that was receiving earthquake victims from Haiti.  But it was not a medevac plane.  It was a private jet that a Miami resident was flying back and forth!  The next morning Julian was also evacuated on the same jet and once again reunited with Christa.  Unfortunately her leg could not be saved and was amputated a few inches below the knee. By some miracle and the help of many friends and strangers she was alive!

Though the news from Haiti continues to be desperate, there are many other astonishing stories.  Of course, most them focus on the many and varied efforts of foreign volunteers, which should be noted and praised. What I am absolutely certain of, is the many other stories that do not get attention, the stories of Haitians helping Haitians, or as in this one Haitians helping foreigners.  Here in lies the hope for Haiti; Haitians have suffered so much, and now have been delt this horrible blow, but they are resourceful, and amazingly optomistic people on the whole.  Over and over again the survivors can be heard praising God that they are alive and that they have the chance to live another day, grateful for what they still have.

May we all pray for such heart.

Today in morning worship I tried to pray for folks in Haiti and also for a young man in our Quaker Meeting who has had such a severe concussion that he must stay home form school for 3 more weeks. First off these 2 things seemed so incongruous.  Three hundred thousand dead from an earthquake and a million(?) wounded survivors vs a relatively privileged young man with a painful, life changing, but not life threatening, concussion.  Second, I couldn't, at first, get over the 'I don't think prayer actually helps' hump. It took sharing my thoughts out loud, in what we call vocal ministry for my real prayers to come genuinely from my heart, not my mind.

I prayed that the American young man's suffering, be not more than he can bear and that he will find the meaning of this suffering in his life.  I prayed that he will grow stronger in body from this experience, but more importantly that he grow- just grow, in spirit.  Basically I prayed the same for the people of Haiti. 

There are a few I know by name via my housemate, Julian, who was there during the earthquake and was injured himself, though not seriously. I pray for Wenson and Gerald, and Gerald's wife and children.  I pray that they have not been given more than they can bear and that they can learn from and find meaning in it.  I pray that they grow in faith and in body and in spirit. I pray for all the Haitians, that when and if they feel that they have suffered beyond endurance that they pray for and receive the help they need from each other, from us and from that which we call God.

Being a Quaker, I know, that is, I experience (not always but enough to 'know'), the light I have within me.  We call it many different things, the inward teacher, the inner Christ, the Presence... It is that which is in us, but not of us, yet which makes us kin to everyone and everything. Sometimes I experience it as a spaciousness as deep and wide as the universe itself. When I pray, when I truly pray from my heart, it is as if I give that light, that spaciousness back to God, asking, sometimes wordlessly, that it be used for those I love who are in danger or pain or who are suffering; knowing that [God]* will use it where it is needed most- not necessarily where I ask.  I know that I can't really give this light away, but the act of loaning it or offering it, let's [God] know, and perhaps more importantly, lets me know just how much I care.  It can be hard to let on, even to myself, how much I care, because then I must bear some of the pain and I might even feel compelled to do something about it!

So, what IS the use of prayer? No use at all if it does not come from the heart.  No use at all if you are not willing to let the praying change you. So don't think about it too much, open your heart, allow yourself to care and don't be afraid of what may happen.

Just one last note: at our Quaker Meeting there is a lamentation group, a group that meets once a month before worship on Sundays, that encourages honest, loud, if needed, prayers, or cries of grief or anger to God, however you experience that which we call God. I had never been to this group and hadn't felt that need, at least not since it was formed about 10 years ago, but I went the Sunday after the earthquake.  I needed it and it was helpful!

*sometimes I use [God] as short hand for "that which we call God"

 Our future is on the bus,

if we have one (as Quakers, as humans)

Its easier to care for each other on the bus

on the trolley, or subway

Smile, chat, give up a seat

to someone older, or to a dad with 3 kids

There is a community, ready made

on the bus

For two or three hours

or just 15 minutes

We are there together, forced

to be neighbors

A little too close for comfort

but its not really about comfort, is it?

This community, this time and space

we're given 
           

to connect, to resist 'passing in the night'

 

Private cars isolate us, deny us

the comforting uncomfortable closeness

Needed to  understand what

the human journey is all about

Remembering, re-connecting

Re-membering who we are

Who we really are

On the bus we rub up against each other

We fall asleep and lean on each other,

even when we don't really want to

We are given that opportunity

 

Did you loose someone dear to you?

Is that why you have teardrops tattooed

on your cheek at the corner of your eye?

How will I ever know you or your story?

How much alike we are? How different our

lives have been? What gifts we have for each other?

 

On the bus is our future, our life

The chance to be what we are meant to be

Individuals experiencing all the joys and sorrows

of our collective lives, joined by grace

by love, by longing, by a common destiny

We are all going home.

 

Get a transpass and come home

while you are coming home

 

 

 

At Quaker Meeting for worship this morning I had a startling thought- this is, somehow, like a sermon or homily. In our form of worship, based in stillness and silence, at its best, we become one, we  are as one being. And each Sunday it is different, though similar enough. If we individually and collectively listen with what I call the third ear, or the ear of Spirit, each voice, even each sound, becomes a part of the spontaneous sermon.  Even if no one speaks a word, a homily can be heard, if we listen, if we have ears to hear.