Thurvey

I was a bit disappointed in last week's response. I mean, it was a softball. Apparently there was not that much interest in teaching the world to sing.

But it is once again Thursday, and time for a survey. If you wish to comment on the question, or if you now know which song you would like to teach the world to sing from last week's question, click on "comment" below, type your comment in the comment box, click on anonymous, then click publish. If you wish to remain anonymous, disguise your handwriting. Give us your name if you want the world to know. Today's survey topic:


The news, talk radio, and the religious books racks contain an increasing amount of opinion about the Israel/Palestine conflict (fueled by the argument of whether the political entity known as Israel is the same Israel as the chosen people of God of the Hebrew Testament), and the perceived takeover of the world by Islam.

What's the answer? Or at least, what do you think about these propositions?

Now doesn't that make you want to teach the world to sing? If so, what song?

The poor will always be with us . . .unless we starve them to death.

The Alabama Legislature, or more correctly, the Republicans in the Alabama House of Representatives, could not have been more clear.

Fairness is only for the wealthy.

About an hour ago the Alabama House Republicans, voting as a block, prevented the bill abolishing the sales tax on groceries from coming up for debate. That killed it. By one damn vote.

But don't worry. Those who make more than a couple of hundred thousand a year are safe. Their taxes won't be increased. They won't have to settle for a cheaper vacation destination, or a less prestigious college for their child, or a sensible vehicle.

And the poor? They have been having to deal with choices for years. Medicine or food. Rent or car payment. Child care or no care.

No one will have to change.

The Alabama Statehouse, where the legislature meets, is historically known as "Goat Hill."

And today they lived up to the name.

How perfect. See Matthew 25:31.

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You can wash swine flu from your hands, but not this . . .

It is a little late on Sunday to begin a post, but it may be an important week for the soul of Alabama, and I wanted to get a head start.

A couple of things that Jesus said have really been on my mind lately.

"Give to Caesar what belongs to Caesar, and to God what belongs to God."

"What you have done to the least of these my children, you have done to me."

If you live in Alabama, many of the state services you enjoy are paid for by the excruciating choices of the poorest among us; food or medicine, insurance or tires, shoes or jackets, necessities or absolute necessities.

We in Alabama tax food so that we can have the state services we want. Four percent of the grocery bill may be insignificant to those of us to whom much has been given, but to the least among us it could mean life, or at least a more bearable life.

It is morally wrong to tax food. There is no excuse.

But for a follower of Jesus, it should bring grief.

We could change it this week as the legislature will probably consider abolishing the state sales tax on groceries. Call your legislator. Call all the legislators. It may be brought up as early as Tuesday. Call Monday. Call others to call. Then call on Tuesday.

If we do nothing, they will do nothing.

It is easy to wash our hands of this injustice. That crazy legislature just won't do right. We've given the responsibility for justice or injustice to Caesar haven't we?

But they might do right, if we ask them. Do it for the least of these. But don't do nothing. Because that responsibility cannot be given to Caesar. It is mine. It is yours. If nothing is done, it is because we did nothing. If the least among us are saddled with cruel injustice and oppressive tax on the necessities of life, it is us that are inflicting that pain on them and the One who loves them. But at least we won't have to have tougher choices about what vacation to take, what car to buy, or where to send our child to college.

What we do or fail to do for the least, the last and the lost affects them. But it defines us.

Let's begin to re-define Alabama. Call some legislators today, and tomorrow.

Go to Alarise.org for phone numbers.

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Older man and the sea . . .

Saturday morning. Coffee. Not on my sofa.

I just came in from a sit/walk on the beach. I would have posted directly from the surf side, but I don't need any more foreign matter clogging my keyboard or clinging to my screen. I won't go into detail, but having an allergy plays havoc with computer hygiene.

Living in North Alabama, I suffer from a landlocked neurosis. There is something deep inside me that draws me to the sea like those creatures on Discovery Channel or National Geographic or Animal Planet that defy physical common sense to make the pilgrimage to the briny deep. Most of the time there is some mating ritual involved. In their journey, not mine. Shells are the only thing I pick up.

It has been too long since I have been here. So I was up early, as the eastern sky began to lighten. I hurried through the hotel lobby, where I filled my coffee tankard, and headed out the back door to the beach.

At the edge of the water I stood still, not knowing what to do next, like a date with an old friend who years ago had known everything about me and me them, but so much time has passed.

Turning my eyes from the gulf, I began to walk along the beach, looking only at the sand in front of me where my next step would land. But the waves kept breaking a few feet away, unrolling like a carpet of foamy, bubbly ripples to soften the path.

Like a good friend the sea let me walk on in silence for awhile, walking as if I had somewhere I had to be, some distant goal to achieve. Actually I had already set my sights on the long pier that jutted into the gulf about a mile away. My pace quickened.

But something in front of me caught the morning light and threw it back at me. For about thirty feet there were piles of sea shells. White and red, bluish grey, sandy brown. Perfect and flawed. Whole and broken.

I stopped.

My first thought was to find the best ones and take them. Suddenly I felt tired. I walked a few more feet, beyond the shell deposit, and sat down.

For about an hour I sat down, sipping coffee, staring into the face of my old friend. Occasionally something inside of me would say "you need to get up and walk, or go back to the room . . .you need to do something."

But that voice, the voice of my everyday, was quickly lost in the endless sound of the waves, as if my friend were saying, "don't go yet, it's been so long. there is still so much to talk about, or not to talk about. Just sit still with me a while longer."

And so I did. Thinking of nothing and everything.

As the sun grew higher, others came and walked along the beach. All of them offered a "good morning."

And they were right.

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