Editors' Note: Despite the fact that it's early summer and you're probably sitting on your deck wishing you had applied sun screen, try to imagine it's winter again and you're marching in the nation's capital against the war and there's a blinding winter storm. Not working? Okay, try this: Fill a bucket with ice water and stick your bare foot in it. Okay, now the other foot. THAT's what it was like, only colder. And wetter.
Filled with the Holy Spirit—who had already performed the miracle of ending a worship service on time, despite the participation of more than a dozen major religious leaders (you know how they can talk)—we walked out of the Washington National Cathedral and into the path of a blinding winter storm that I would have described as cold and bitter, had I been able to make my mouth work.
At this point, instead of marching to the White House, I felt God was calling us to march someplace closer, such as a nearby coffee shop, where we could get something hot. ("Could I get 3,000 regular grandes to go, please, and one espresso mocha skim latte with two vanilla shots. It's for a major religious leader.") But before I could share this divine revelation, the marchers had embarked on the three-and-a-half mile walk to the home of the president, despite the fact that the vice president's house was only a couple blocks away. (And he had coffee.) I tried to mention this, but I was swept up by the surge.
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