A pastoral letter
Columns
In the five months since the workers' uprising began in Poland, events there have been thick with irony.
In a Guatemalan parish, four men were seized and hung up on a wall of the church.
While many of us were distressed at the choices, or lack of them, facing us in our presidential election, another election held just four days before our own put at stake very real issues concerning the well-being of the poor and the distribution of the world's power and resources.
Sojourners' masthead has recently displayed two changes involving names that have been familiar to our readers for a longtime.
"I just don't have space in my life for prayer." How many times I have heard these words.
I have not always been pro-life. In the years of the late '60s and the decade of the '70s I was for abortion. It was the popular opinion of everyone I knew.
When I walk down 13th or Euclid Streets carrying my son Peter in his frayed, blue backpack, he is greeted by people leaning from fourth-floor windows, by children playing in the yards, and by old men sitting on their porches.
Autumn is here, the frost is on the pumpkin, the back-to-school sales are over, and the culmination of a long and bitterly fought contest is upon us.
Laughter and prayer together may be the most fitting response to the presidential election. Both are characteristic of the prophetic vocation.
One afternoon I was eating cookies with my children, Eric and Yurie. I asked them if they had ever heard the term "oreo" to refer derisively to someone who is black but acts white.
The following guest editorial was written shortly before the second Review Conference of the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty held in Geneva, Switzerland, August 14-September 5.
Summer burst upon the neighborhood like the first firecracker to come spiraling to the sidewalk from the hands of a local mischief.
'Love of money is the root of all evil." I heard these words paraphrased about six years ago while riding in the lurching jump seat of a truck-bus in rural Central America.
It showed up in our refrigerator one day—round and pink and wrapped in plastic stamped "Bologna." It stayed there for almost a week, and no one was quite sure how it got there.
I read once that the world was born with a dance, when God moved over the face of the waters. And since then, all of nature has responded in movement to God's creative love.