I had just returned from a mission trip organized by the Episcopal Diocese of Louisiana's Office of Disaster Response when I read Jim Wallis' column for the April 2007 issue, "All Hands on Deck."
There were dozens of people in a bleak group. It's a very specific look, one you will find only outside the Baghdad morgue.
Whenever there are billions of dollars and then billions more available to bomb Baghdad, but never enough to rebuild New Orleans, an American city, parts of which still look like a Third World coun
The depth of my sorrow for the loss of life on all sides seems beyond expression.
As a Jewish person in this Christian peace witness, I felt affirmed and welcomed by the other participants.
From my seat in the balcony in the National Cathedral, I realized that the crowd I saw numbered nearly the same as the number of American soldiers who had fallen in the last four years.
As we stepped out of the cathedral, wind blew snow from the rooftops, past the lit windows of the Cotswold-like cottage beside the cathedral.
Walking beside me was our 15-year-old son, David, and Odess Monsanje, from Zambia, who is living with us for a year.