Two summers ago, a meeting was called in Washington, D.C., for those interested in organizing a protest of the Air Force Association's annual weapons exposition.
Columns
This country has always assumed, either openly or just beneath the surface, that people are poor because they are worthless and worthless because they are poor.
6:15 a.m. Monday. Wispy clouds are turning cantaloupe orange over the clock tower of Howard University. Small clusters of people are gathering at the bus stop.
When the space shuttle Columbia made its near-perfect landing in the Mojave Desert in April, most Americans felt a sense of triumph not completely associated with the accomplishments of the venture.
Last Sunday as we were settling in before community worship was to begin, the person next to me turned and said, quite seriously, "Judi, I have a small bruise on my arm."
Machismo is back in style. It never really left us, of course. But it has made a furious comeback like a dauntless cowboy out of an old western.
The ribbons began appearing months ago. Green, red, and black badges of solidarity are now everywhere in our neighborhood and in all black neighborhoods of Washington, D.C. The reason: Atlanta.
For a few days recently President Reagan's budget-cutting plan and the war in El Salvador were edged out of the headlines
The wonderful world of Washington has been hurling rocks of assorted varieties through the windows of our minds these days.
The children of our neighborhood have been part of our life ever since Sojourners Fellowship came to Washington, D.C., in August, 1975. Many of our first friends in the city were children.
In the early '60s, many people became involved in demonstrations for disarmament.
I was speaking at a Christian college, where in the course of my talk I asked, "Why was Jesus killed?"
It was front-page news recently: "Scientists Clone Three Mice." After years of authoritative pooh-poohing, science fiction had been made fact.
In a meeting a few weeks ago, a member of my household asked the rest of us for advice on whether she should join her coworkers in attending ceremonies honoring the returned hostages.
In two well-publicized speeches last December, President Ferdinand Marcos declared that he would soon lift martial law in the Philippines, perhaps by the end of January.
I am an evangelical Christian. The word "evangelical" is a good one. At least, it used to be.
Early Friday morning, October 17,1 got a telephone call: 1301 Fairmont Street, a building I had just begun working in as a tenant organizer, was on fire.
In the five months since the workers' uprising began in Poland, events there have been thick with irony.
I always thought I would go to her funeral. I met her only twice, but no one affected me like she did. I was on the road when I heard, and it was too late to get to the service.