It feels "normal" again in Atlanta, whatever that means.
Columns
"Death sucks." Five years ago this was the opening of a eulogy by a minister for a mutual friend who died tragically.
I'm beginning this column at about 30,000 feet, en route to Akron, Ohio. We're doing the Who Speaks for God?
What time-honored edible has all of the following: the warmth and comfort of hot bread; the fragrance of a baking cake; the staying power of potatoes and gravy
An article on breakfast about did me in for reading any more words on what's new, healthy, or chic in the food world. Dismissed out of hand as never appropriate was the classic American morning meal of eggs, bacon, pancakes, coffee. I felt a certain amount of proletarian ire: Perhaps some of us need those kind of calories for our work, or maybe some of us really like that kind of breakfast.
Then, not long after, I found myself alone at the table with a tuna fish sandwich, cherry Kool-Aid, and Oreo cookies. "Would you look at this. Where is the arrugula salad with olive oil?" sniffed the New York Times food section fan inside me. "Comfort food," answered the inner child.
The spectrum of people's food preferences runs from gourmet to ordinary, from high fat to low, from health food to junk. I suspect many of us travel back and forth between the extremes. I also suspect that when life gets tough, we return to foods that are familiar to us.
Earlier this year, a cooking school in Austin, Texas, invited famed Louisiana chef Paul Prudhomme to give a demonstration based on his new book about low-fat hot and spicy cooking. But at the end of his presentation, the inquiry that drew loud and instant applause from the crowd of 500 had nothing to do with vegetable-based, low-fat food preparation. Rather it was: "How do I get the coating to stick on my chicken fried steak?"
Obviously, a lot of us want to eat and cook interesting, healthy fare. But we also want to continue the food traditions of our families. We don't want to spend an arm and a leg on exotic ingredients, at least not very often. We want to please our eaters, which may occasionally mean Velveeta cheese, meatloaf, or white bread.
American democracy is the envy of the world. And millions of us will wake up on election day and realize just how lucky we are before deciding not to vote.
Bunch of sourpusses.
But the rest of us—the patriotic citizens who value our freedoms and who, if called on to serve, would gladly make the ultimate sacrifice (specifically, giving up our favorite TV shows to watch U.S. soldiers fight on CNN)—we will vote. We'll carefully look at the issues, re-sponsibly select the people with the most integrity, and then faithfully go to the polls to cast our vote. Unfortu-
nately, nobody with integrity ever runs, so we'll just vote for somebody else.
But let's look on the bright side. The campaign is almost over, and so are the months of acrimony and negativism. But enough about Kathy Lee Gifford. We're here to talk about the race between Bill Clinton and Bob Dole.
For one thing, the media are pleased that the long-awaited GOP convention has finally taken place. After months of having to awkwardly refer to Bob Dole as "the presumptive Republican nominee," relieved journalists can finally call him simply "the guy who looks really uncomfortable talking to regular people."
It may be the most creative thing that’s ever happened in Woodruff Park in downtown Atlanta.
In deciding whether or not to sign the Republican welfare bill, Bill Clinton faced the most serious moral test of his presidency. It was, as several observers said, "a defining moment." He failed that test and more clearly than ever defined the character problem that has dogged his entire political career.
Clinton, smart but political, realized that this was a bad bill, but signed it anyway in a strategic retreat from previous principles. The results could be a disaster for poor families and children, but Bill Clinton did make it more certain that he will be re-elected. Since compassionate Christians care deeply about the former, many will care much less about the latter. Since Clinton has already offended many Christians on the issue of abortion, angering more of them on the treatment of the poor could prove significant.
Most in the religious community do favor a more decentralized, effective, and values-centered approach that would actually alleviate poverty. But the six-decade national commitment to provide a federal safety net for the poor was simply dismantled by this bill and replaced with block grants—of less federal money—to the states, without any uniform national standards or accountability. The poor of Mississippi must now trust their fate to the social conscience of their state's legislators and to Gov. Kirk Fordice—who cynically offered to buy each welfare recipient an alarm clock as his state's contribution to welfare reform.
Churches also support the transition from welfare to work, wherever that is possible. But the new system imposes a five-year lifetime limit on receiving benefits and requires most on welfare to find work within two years, without any new national commitments or funds to provide job training and job creation. Millions of mostly uneducated, untrained, and unskilled single mothers will now be forced to compete in a shrinking employment market for fewer and fewer jobs that provide a living family wage.
At home, the best-known of Sojourners' Washington, D.C.-based ministries is the Sojourners Neighborhood Center, where Barb Tamialis has served as executive director and her husband Jim Tamialis has served on the board since the Center's inception. When Barb and Jim's 25th wedding anniversary rolled around, we threw these original community members a party and put into action another Sojourners ministry: We "published" a collection of memories and wishes from their friends and family.
Love, commitment, and faith come up often in 25 Years Together (a limited edition), as do references to Barb and Jim's adoption of three children over the years. The following excerpts testify to their witness in marriage, children, vocation, and community.
— The Editors
On the eve of her wedding to Jim, after the rehearsal and dinner, Barbie questioned her father about the mural wallpaper he had purchased to hang in the dining room. He had to admit that getting the yard in shape for the outdoor reception had taken all of his time and he had not been able to hang the wallpaper mural.
"No problem, let's hang it now," she said. So the mural was hung by Dad and Barbie on the eve of the wedding day and it still hangs there today, 25 years later.
— Mom and Dad Wallis (Barb's parents)
Twenty-one years ago, these two people gave me a gift that many children today only dream of—they gave me love and they gave me a family. I cannot say, honestly, that I have returned to them that same generosity, but they have been there for me nonetheless.
— Mike Tamialis (Barb and Jim's son)
A visit to the United Nations stimulates reflections and emotions regarding humanity's striving for community. Approaching the U.N. complex from 46th Street and First Avenue, you see the flags of the 185 member nations flying at the same height, placed in the alphabetical order of their country's names. The sight speaks of equality—the Stars and Stripes of the world's superpower is number 175 in this even row of national banners.
Stepping from the sidewalk onto U.N. property, you learn that technically you have left the United States and now stand on international soil. The scene around you changes dramatically (or is this one's imagination?). It seems that most of those entering the U.N. building are people of color, a visual reminder of global population realities. Clearly the human community comes in all shades of black, brown, yellow, and white.
A guided tour of the United Nations calls to mind the significant moments in humanity's quest for community as represented in the 51-year history of this organization. From the dark days of World War II, when the Allied nations foresaw international collaboration in the service of peace, to the actual Charter of the United Nations and its ratification in the spring and fall of 1945, to the first General Assembly of the then-51 member states in January 1946, you get a sense of early gropings toward the "one world" that those pioneers envisioned.
The list of secretaries-general recalls the names that have become identified with the innumerable issues, dialogues, dramatics, and sheer boredom that have characterized this five-decade pursuit of a truly global community: Trygve Lie (Norway), Dag Hammarskjold (Sweden), U Thant (Burma), Kurt Waldheim (Austria), Javier Perez de Cuellar (Peru), and Boutros Boutros-Ghali (Egypt). Each name speaks eloquently of humanity's yearning that "all may be one."
If the opening campaign ads from the Democrats and Republicans are any indication, it could be a long fall.
It may be the most creative thing that’s ever happened in Woodruff Park in downtown Atlanta.
Catholic religious congregations these days find themselves in uncharted waters as they increasingly move toward internationalizing their communities.
One day in early May I left Sojourners Neighborhood Center for about an hour to run to the post office and the bank.
I am going to begin this story, in a sense, where it ended, and where it will never end.
One can only marvel at couples who successfully manage life in community alongside their own needs as spouses.