#star thrower

the water rises up to meet the shore i am yours

crawl across the sand in supplication and bear the crown of generations but in my heart i know you can't be tamed for the moment love distorts, it turns to blame

then i'll become the monster you create my breath and blood to consecrate sinking down to where the seaweed tangles quench to break this iron rangel

the water rises up to meet the shore i am yours

take my hand, it’s colder than the grave there’s nothing left inside of me to save except the space you carved inside my soul a black hole, black hole, black hole, black hole

paint my face with symbols of the sun tell me that my suffering is done but i will only find another way to come upon your shore another day

Two weeks ago, I answered a national call for clergy to to Minneapolis. The invitation was urgent, “We need you. We need your presence and your witness.” We were asked to be present, but also to share what we saw and experienced.

We started by learning from locals about what to do and how we could have a positive impact. And then a group of us got on buses and we went to an area of town with mainly immigrant business and we went on patrol. I did not know what patrol is - but we were given some broad guidelines: bundle up, stay in groups, walk around to observe what is happening and to meet people who live and work in the neighborhood.

If we saw ICE, the national immigration officers, we were told not to engage, to make noise and to take videos. Don't engage to lesson possible violence. Take videos for accountability. Make noise so that the people who are able to come, can witness. Make noise so that the people who need to leave, can go the other direction.

So we’re walking up and down the street, on patrol with locals. Which in of itself feels weird. What does it mean to be on patrol as a minister in a major city? Well, Minneapolis felt like a battlefield. Picture a large city, a normal street lined with shops. But many of the stores were closed. They were closed to keep the workers and patrons safe, safe from the risk of being detained or deported. Some of the businesses remained open, but the doors were locked, with someone standing inside who would let you in and lock the door after you entered.

These people are living in a state of fear. This is an occupied city, a city occupied by an outside power. I did not fully understand before I went, that the people from ICE are not locals. This is not local law enforcement. They don’t live there nor do they have relationships with the population. ICE agents are shipped in to occupy, deport, and leave.

The people we interacted with were very happy to have us visit, glad to know that they were not alone. Those Minnesotans we met were also tired. They have been resisting for so long that their resilience is worn down. They are living in fatigue after living in fear day after day There was a lady we met on the street corner who said that she comes out every day: everyday with her whistle, bull horn, hand warmers and double gloves. She watches for ICE and when they are spotted she sends out an encrypted text message to others. There is an organized resistance so locals can let people know where ICE is and what they’re doing - to keep their community and their neighbors safe.

This isn’t about politics; it’s about human dignity.

I did not interact with federal agents. One of my colleagues did. He was present when four cars pulled up and 12 agents jumped out to surround a woman going to get groceries with her children. So he videotaped, he witnessed. His story can be seen here. The woman had whatever papers she needed to have. For the moment, she was left alone. How many times have you been stopped on the street and asked for your papers? I have never had that experience. But being asked for "papers" is the reality in the United States, right now.

There were other news articles, one which was shared a lot was that some ministers were arrested at the airport. My colleagues went to the airport knowing there was a high chance of being arrested. The purpose wasn’t to shut down the airport or disrupt travel. The purpose was so the population would start looking at Minneapolis. News of clergy getting arrested helps bring a national focus.

The entire time in Minneapolis I was thinking about the story of “The Star Thrower”. The story of the star thrower is a tale about how one small action can make a difference, using an example of someone walking own a beach and throwing starfish back into the ocean. I was thinking that our small action was making just that, a small impact.

When I heard of the clergy getting arrested, and knowing that I did not want to be arrested, I started thinking of another parable about making a difference. This story is sometimes referred to as the “Upstream Parable” or “River Story” and isn’t about starfish, but kittens; and not at an ocean, but a river. The story goes:

Someone is standing at a river and sees kittens floating downstream. This person is appalled and wants to go and save these kittens. So they start grabbing the kittens, bringing them out of the river. Other people come and they call or ask others to join them in saving the kittens. There is a group soon, grabbing kittens and hauling them out of the river. But there is also a need to go upstream to see what’s happening, to understand why the kittens are going into the river.

Therein lies a decision. You can save the starfish on the beach, you can save the kittens from the river. Or you can try to figure out the cause. You might actually have to pause saving kittens or starfish, to go “upstream” and see why they are coming in.

The parable says that sometimes we need to pause the tangible work and go up the proverbial stream. But there is a deeper truth - different people feel called to different tasks. I did not want to be arrested. Others were really interested in making that public statement and being arrested. Some people were unable to walk outside. Maybe I can’t navigate uneven surfaces or I’m not up for being outside in subzero weather. That’s okay. There was other witnessing; there was other learning and training. This was exciting! This was the organizing. It was happening. We were changing the tide, right? I mean, look at this news from the march.

One estimate I saw had the number of people at 50,000! 50,000 people braving negative 20 to negative 10 degree weather, marching through the streets! So much love, so much support. I felt warm - frigid, but warm. The march ended with a huge rally of music and speakers, what an uplifting end to my fast trip.

And then... and then I stepped back into my privilege that I can return home. I don’t have to stay in the battle zone in Minneapolis. I don’t have to live this reality every day. Except that there is ICE activity happening near me to. Detentions have taken place in Norristown, Abington, Ambler, Plymouth Meeting, King of Prussia, Lansdale and many other communities in PA near my hometown and the church I serve. This is happening in our community, too! The organizers warned us. They said that Minneapolis is a testing ground. They’ve seen this before and they know it’s coming to other places.

So there I am, living into my privilege... leaving behind the pain and the hurt. Then on the plane, as we are boarding, I hear about one more killing, one more needless shooting. Oh, we can get into the weeds of precise actions and where someone’s car was pointed or bringing a firearm to a protest, or whether all orders should be followed without question... arguing these specifics isn’t the point. The point is that Renee Good and Alex Pretti were trying to keep their neighbors safe. They were trying to stop violence. This violence in the streets, which was is being brought by outsiders.

I hear of ongoing violence and I get to the point where I think that nothing I do matters. I mean, I didn't think it was all going to change at once. I know that we weren’t saviors coming in for 60 hours and changing the world. But I thought that something was happening.

Just the one starfish, the one march, right? The one kitten... What impact can I have for a more just and more peaceful world? Well, I go back again to my very brief trainings in Minneapolis - what I learned there and in the streets. I have some news. The news is - it absolutely is the case that throwing in one starfish, saving one kitten makes a small impact. That’s the truth.

But imagine if all of us did that. Imagine if all of us threw in one starfish. Imagine if all of us saved one kitten. Imagine if, oh, hypothetically, nearly 50,000 people marched in sub-zero temps in Minneapolis. Not only that, but there are other people doing the work that you aren’t able to, can’t or don’t want to do.

I don’t want to get arrested. We can’t possibly attend all the marches and rallies. I don’t have the power to change policy, but there are people who do and can. There are people who can walk upstream, who can do that other work.

So... so I come to a place of saying, what do we do? What do we do? There is a strategy. People are organized. Look for your local Indivisible; support or read about MARCH (Multifaith, Antiracism, Change and Healing); learn about the iceout map and app; connect with leaders in your community! There are groups who are focused on justice, equity, compassion and inclusion. I reiterate: this isn't about politics. It's about human dignity.

There are so many takeaways, so much we can do to help promote justice. Here are two main points I want to leave you with. One: do not do this work alone. Not only will you have very small impact, but you need to take care of yourself. Do no go alone. We need to be a community to take care of our community.

The second lesson is that together, we can make a difference. If you want to make the world a better place: do it in community, and small groups can make a difference. I end with a familiar quote attributed to Margaret Mead.

The art is by Retirement Fund on etsy or veganpatches.com

moon light rides across the sky in one low silver arc a thin crescent carving through the quiet of the dark even in its shadowed face a softened glow remains the light from earth reflected across the mare plains

below the treetops settle in as all the world grows still and silence gathers in the sky beyond the distant hill though my heart drifts through the dark unsure of where to roam the moon reminds me that I am never truly alone

i’m getting high as fuck tonight aiming for the clouds until I feel alright cut the lines under the bathroom light bumping elbows with every girl in sight

heat is liquid lightning through my veins but its the afterburn that numbs my face my pulse hits harder than the neon night my skull’s a glass rocket begging for flight

the bar melts down into a liquid chrome i’ve never felt this perfectly alone the bass line is the only thing that's real it tells me how the fuck i’m supposed to feel

my thoughts are racing faster than the beat each one's a perfect glittering defeat of all the simple things i used to be i’m buzzing like a neon, colorful and free

In Blackwood deep where shadows cling, The winter wind has teeth that sting. Light cannot pierce the endless shade, Where haunting tales of death are laid.

They say a beast of bone and mire, Who shies away from torch and fire, Stalks the roads on moonless nights, Yet cannot move within your sights.

Its gait is still, its breath is thin, It waits for night to draw you in. A single blink, a turned away glance, And all your screams are silenced hence.

For years the kingdom’s hunters swore, They’d drive it from the forest floor, But none returned with hide or head, Just shredded cloaks and tales of dread.

The nobles laughed, as nobles do, “Old wives’ tales meant to frighten you.” Yet none who rode through midnight wood, Returned with stories ever good.

But war was near, the Prince must go, Through Blackwood’s ancient path of woe. A carriage drawn by four pale mares, Two drivers kept with iron stares.

Six guards on horseback flanked their side, Each armored knight with trembling pride. Their torches burned in thin cold air, Though every man could sense the snare.

The Prince, unshaken, gave command, “Make haste, we ride! This path is planned!” The wheels cut stone, the axles creaked, And Blackwood’s Horror deftly creeped.

The horses snorted, eyes gone wide, They felt a presence just outside. A branch broke once, a shadow swayed, And every soul felt hope decay.

A knight cried out and broke the line, Left no trace, nor track or sign. The night grew close, the stars withdrew, And Blackwood’s shadow trickled through.

For something stirred beyond the flame, A faceless dread that had no name. Three knights dismounted, swords unsheathed, Yet vanished all, like breath to teeth.

The horses shrieked, the carriage reeled, Their terror cracked the whip’s old seal. The leading driver seized the rein, While lanterns swung in frantic strain.

One light went out, then two, then three, The forest swelled like blackened sea. The Prince within began to shout, “Do not let that lamp go out!”

The second driver struck a spark, His trembling hands betraying dark. He cursed the flint, he begged the night, Till flame did at last ignite.

And when the lantern burst to glow, The carriage stilled its mortal throe. The Prince fell silent, eyes too wide, But still the steeds would not abide.

Through Blackwood’s maw the wheels careened, And two knights bled, yet clung and leaned. One horse collapsed, its body torn, Another dragged through roots and thorn.

At last they burst from shadow’s snare, Where morning’s breath had cleared the air. The horses stopped, their sides were raw, The world was still. The men in awe.

Only two knights with wounds remained, And both too weak, with faces drained. The drivers dropped to solid ground, To see what fate the Prince had found.

The carriage door swung open slow, The Prince emerged with measured glow. No scratch adorned his flawless face, He stood poised with regal grace.

One driver stared, his voice unsure, “My lord… your nose, a spot… I’m sure…” The Prince wiped quick, the stain erased, A single bead no man should taste.

And then he smiled, so nice and wide, His voice a gentle, practiced guide, “Come, men, we’ve all endured the plight. We'll not speak of what happened this night.”

They say the Blackwood Horror still Resides where moonlight cannot spill. But some now whisper what they fear, The beast may walk the court this year.