Opinion

Public transportation shapes our worship, our theology, and how we live out Christ’s call to love our neighbor. If we are to learn to love our neighbor, we must then ask who they are, as the expert of the law did in Luke 10:29. Jesus responded with the Parable of the Good Samaritan and invited the man to go and do likewise — to be the one who shows mercy. To be a neighbor is to show mercy, which requires a kind of knowing. I learned who my neighbors were by taking the bus. By being with them, I grew in knowledge of them. By growing in knowledge of them, I grew in love for them.

Ten years ago, Michael Brown, an unarmed Black teenager, was killed by a police officer in Ferguson, Mo. Young people gathered at the local police station refusing to accept this as just another “unfortunate incident.” They demanded answers and accountability; their determined stance sparked a movement for racial justice that this nation had not experienced in decades.

How does a Black woman call for help and get killed by the people who came to support her?

In the quiet oratory of Holy Wisdom Monastery in Middleton, Wisc., I spent my mornings gazing at the face of Jesus. On the far wall of the room where we prayed hung an icon of Jesus holding a tablet that read, “Behold, I make all things new.” Outside the prairie was a technicolor parade of coneflowers, whorled milkweed, and purple loosestrife, while robins, cardinals, and song sparrows continued their song; but it was hard for me to believe that Christ was making things new in the present.

As a dedicated sports fan, I am extremely excited to watch this year’s lineup of the 2024 Summer Olympics, starting in Paris on Friday, July 26. The U.S. women’s basketball team is competing for their 8th consecutive gold medal; Simone Biles may just win it all — again; and though I know nothing of the sport, I am always excited to catch a fencing bout. However, as a Christian, I am also paying close attention to the ways in which religion is being utilized — for good and for bad — at this year’s Olympic Games.

Like any other Gen Zer, I’ve grown up hearing about the potential harms of social media: As early as elementary school, teachers and parents warned us of stranger danger, not just in the grocery store, but also online. I was 12 when I got my first social media account on Instagram (even though my hand-me-down iPod Touch didn’t have a camera). In seventh grade, I, and many of my classmates, wrote our final essays for English class on the influence of social media on teenage girls’ body image. I was in junior high when news broke that Facebook user data had been improperly harvested to manipulate U.S. voters. In my high school’s speech and debate club, I learned about dangers of doxxing — posting people’s personal information, like addresses, online as a way to target them for violence. And in my own work here at Sojourners, I regularly see the hate and homophobia that shows up in social media comments.

I had been doing therapy for a decade with little results, but things really began to change when I started meditating.

A group of us stood on a hill overlooking northern Gaza this spring, not far from the border fence. We were close enough to see the buildings of Beit Hanoun and Jabalia. After a few minutes of description by our guide, we surveyed the scene with binoculars. On closer inspection, what had appeared to be buildings turned out to be rows of rubble. While for months we have viewed such images on screens, actually seeing the destruction, through plumes of smoke and dust, was surreal.

Despite the familiarity of home, Haitian citizens are attempting to leave their country to flee to the United States and neighboring countries in hopes of a better life. Some Haitians are doing this illegally. But what does it mean to enter a country illegally? What are we to make of borders and those who seek to cross them?