Opinion
A demonstrator holds a sign calling for an equal rights amendment (ERA) in Washington, D.C., on Jan. 19, 2019. REUTERS/Joshua Roberts
It is well past time for the Equal Rights Amendment — now ratified by 38 states and supported by a supermajority of the populace — to be fully enshrined as the 28th Amendment.
This sermon was edited from a message delivered Aug. 26, 2018 at Metropolitan AME Church.
Travis Cains, who grew up in Cuney Homes with George Floyd, speaks on the phone next to a mural of Floyd in the Third Ward ahead of the trial of the former Minneapolis cop Derek Chauvin in Houston, March 3, 2021. REUTERS/Callaghan O'Hare
Last week, jury selection began in the trial of Derek Chauvin, the Minneapolis police officer who was arrested for the killing of George Floyd after kneeling on his neck for 8 minutes and 46 seconds — a horrific killing that sparked a movement of racial reckoning. In part, this trial is about justice for the Floyd family, about whether a jury will find Chauvin guilty in the murder of George Floyd. However, this trial, this moment, is about far more. It is about us and the future we want to build.
Author of the New York Times bestselling book, The Sum of Us: What Racism Costs Everyone and How We Can Prosper Together, Heather McGhee speaks with Rev. Jim Wallis on the impacts racism has on our economy. Changing the narrative, she says, goes hand in hand with comprehensive policy.
Today marks one year since the World Health Organization declared the coronavirus a global pandemic. As we enter year two of this pandemic in the middle of Women's History Month, we must reckon with the fact that women have disproportionately felt the negative impacts; the fallout of this inequity will be felt for years to come.
Anne (Olivia Coleman) and Anthony (Anthony Hopkins) in The Father. Image courtesy of The Father on Facebook.
The film immerses us in the mind of 80-year-old Anthony (Anthony Hopkins) as he navigates the onset of dementia and his increasing dependence on his daughter, Anne (Olivia Colman). In a recent interview with Zeller, he told me the play was based on his own experience of caring for his grandmother as she battled dementia, when he was just a teenager.
The U.S. Capitol Building is reflected against an ambulance in Washington, July 16, 2020. REUTERS/Tom Brenner/File Photo
The American Recovery Plan, which lays out a bold and significant investment in the fight against COVID-19 and which has been passed by the House and is now in the Senate, is all three. It addresses the deep inequities of suffering from the pandemic including the racial and wealth disparities, meets immediate and urgent needs of the moment, and is supported by an overwhelming majority of Americans.
Collectively, this group envisions and works toward a wide and bold church community that cares for creation, centers those who the church has historically marginalized, and holds both political and faith leaders accountable.
This approach might serve as a model of what a community-based, compassionate, justice-seeking America — simultaneously “global” and “neighborly” — would look like. The point would be to emphasize neighborhood co-ops. The possibility of energizing folks who live down the farm road instead of a suspect federal bureaucrat who appears out of nowhere could make a great difference. The same dynamic with different faces could make a similar difference in poverty-stricken urban areas.
Photo courtesy of Netflix.
Where the particularly eclectic Venn diagram of true crime enthusiasm and religious history nerdery overlap, you’ll find your binge-worthy streaming recommendation for the weekend: Netflix’s compelling new limited series, Murder Among the Mormons.
A photo from John Dear’s meeting with Rep. John Lewis in 1995. (John Dear/Waging Nonviolence)
This weekend marks the 56th anniversary of the Selma march.
WandaVision poster. Disney+/Marvel Studios
Grief is a powerful, disorienting thing, as so many can attest this second Lenten season of a global pandemic that has claimed more than 2.5 million lives. “I’m so tired,” says Wanda Maximoff in the penultimate episode of Disney+ and Marvel Studios’ hit show WandaVision. “It’s just like this wave washing over me again and again. It knocks me down, and when I try to stand up, it just comes for me again. And I … it’s just gonna drown me.” Wanda is referring to the loss of her twin brother, Pietro, but the picture of grief is familiar.
Demonstrators at the White House protest President Donald Trump's decision to phase out DACA, Sept. 9, 2017. Photo by bakdc / Shutterstock
This year is the best chance we have had in nearly a decade to change our broken immigration system.
Supporters hold a banner to support pro-democracy activists before a court hearing over the national security law in Hong Kong on March 1, 2021. REUTERS/Tyrone Siu
As Beijing continues to arrest Hong Kong’s pro-democracy leaders, the temptation is to just fight harder, not to mourn — but prophetic work requires both.
Dr. Leana Wen shares her hopes and her major concerns with trust and vaccine distribution.
Samuel Emanuel at the funeral of his son Samuel Emanuel Jr., 55, who died from complications from COVID-19, at Fifth Ward Missionary Baptist Church in Houston, Feb. 13, 2021. REUTERS/Callaghan O'Hare
This week the United States surpassed a tragic milestone: Half a million people in this country have died from COVID-19 — a number that, while devastating, doesn’t even take into account the full human toll of the virus. While numbers of cases, deaths, and hospitalizations have begun to fall precipitously (for a variety of overlapping reasons) and nearly 50 million Americans have received at least one dose of the vaccine, this dark winter feels like a prolonged wilderness of grief and loss.
Congregation of Sixteenth Street Baptist Church in Birmingham, Ala., in 1963. Photo from collection of the Smithsonian National Museum of African American History and Culture, Gift of Monica Karales and the Estate of James Karales.
Our stories — and our futures — are the ways we have stood up for what’s right and kept on living when dreams were deferred, hopes unrealized, lives lost, and bodies wearied, and our hearts beating fast as our feet moved across red carpets in old churches rejoicing that we are given of life. These stories are our shining joy. They have become gospel to a people bent and broken.
Seniors arrive for their vaccine appointments at Pennsylvania Avenue Baptist Church in Washington, D.C., on Feb. 11, 2021. Photo by Madison Muller for Sojourners.
If we are going to overcome vaccine hesitancy and achieve equitable distribution of the vaccine, the Black church will have to take the lead in advocacy for our people who have been among the hardest hit, messaging accurate medical information, and providing greater vaccine access.
National Guard personnel and pharmacists administer vaccines at the Clark County Event Center at the Fairgrounds in Ridgefield, Wash., on Jan. 27, 2021. REUTERS/Alisha Jucevic
Given that the CDC has found those with underlying medical conditions to be 12 times more likely to die from COVID-19, you’d think these folks would be among the first to receive the vaccine — but in many states, you’d be wrong.
Photo by Alex Ranier on Unsplash.
I’m latecomer to Lent. It wasn’t until I joined Sojourners in my first role as senior political director in 2004 that I learned from my Catholic colleagues the significance of this 40-day liturgical season in which we spiritually travel with Jesus through his fasting in the desert. In 2021, this time of reflection — so often marked by what we give up — comes amid what already feels like a dark, cold, and perilous winter.