Up until a year so ago I didn’t know diddly about the economy. I was curious when my pathetic IRA bounced up and down and I have read several articles trying my best to understand cryptocurrency. (I still can’t quite get it but I do know the usage the blockchain, a more secure and anonymous technology, is beginning to spread.)
I don’t assert that I am now an expert by any means but reading the Morning Brew each weekday has widened my perspective significantly. It is laid out in short blurbs with links so that I can dig deeper if an item hits me. It is written with humor and is presented in short, very informative paragraphs.
At the end they include a little trivia (fun) or a puzzle question (not so much). The writers and editors know just exactly how to explain what is going on while not taking any strictly opinionated stands. One of my favorite thing is the very first sentence or two. Yesterday’s was:
When was the last time you got this excited? An artificial earthquake was detected in Mexico City following Chucky Lozano’s winning goal against Germany…”possibly due to mass jumping.”
I recommend this newsletter and if you decide to try it, please use my personal link: https://www.morningbrew.com/?kid=875895
The Crew gives out rewards for referrals. I am hoping for a mug.
P.S. After your first week or so of receiving the newsletter, start watching Billions on Showtime. Morning Brew will have made you feel like a big time, well informed investor.
I am proud that my father was Grand Lodge Representative of the IAofM. He became a member of the union in the 1940’s when he worked as a machinist at Consolidated Vultee, building the PBY Catalina, one of the most widely used seaplanes of World War II. After the war he was hired by the Union as a negotiator and faced several harrowing situations, spending much of his time traveling.
I guess he had had enough* by the time I was in the 4th or 5th grade because we moved to our final home way out in the boondocks (at that time) and he got a job delivering meat products for Herman Sausage Company. I began working with him summers, as he liked to say, learning what not to do and, more importantly, becoming a hot dog gourmand(!)
He died early, at age 56, after I had left Jacksonville and received my MDiv for the Methodist ministry from Garrett Theological Seminary. He had a heart attack a couple years previously and, trying to keep the connection, I wrote regular letters. I hope they were meaningful during his last days.
As all we who have lost fathers do, I wish there had been many more days we could have corresponded or talked in person. The fact of life is that there never are. The trick is, if they were warm and kind, to let our fathers live on in us. If they were mean and harmful maybe it is like my working on the meat truck, let our fathers teach us what not to do.
There is no magic to Father’s Day but we can take pasue and remember. We can give thanks for their lives.
*Recently I did a bit of googling about the IAofM and discovered that it, like other large unions, has a history of corruption, which may even exist today. A positive a slant on my father’s quitting his job might be that he was not willing to work in those conditions. Or that we did not want to get arrested
“Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed, to me:
I lift my lamp beside the golden door.
The above words written by Emma Lazarus is an inscription on the Statue of Liberty standing with raised torch in middle of the New York harbor. I read this, hear again the gnashing of teeth about immigration, and wonder: What is becoming of us?
The United States Attorney insists that people migrating to our country is a terrible crisis that can only be addressed by closing the borders. Making the path to entry more and more narrow or completely blocked seems to be this Administration’s goal.
AG Jeff Sessions announced that the asylum program is broken. No longer will being a victim of domestic abuse qualify as a reason for granting asylum. He is apparently just as oblivious to the reality of such women as he is on most other things that affect people in need.
In an incredibly poignant interview, Michael Barbaro of the NYT podcast “The Daily” talks with just such a woman. Her domestic abuse was terrible, added to that were the mores and legal practices of her home country which offered no relief made her more than qualified for asylum.
Please listen to her testimony and ask yourself are we now an inhumane, isolated “nation-state” as Sessions calls us? Or do we insist with raised voices and excellent voter turnout in November that we are America and we welcome all.
At the church where my spouse is the sabbatical minister, they are “on a journey”. In fact, as I write this a contingent of the congregation is walking from Judson Memorial to Calvary, its founding church, to join their morning worship.
Meanwhile, their regular pastor and family are travelling for this three-month period, at the end of which many of the congregation will converge on the National Civil Rights Museum in Memphis. (A place, incidentally, that should on everyone’s trip literary.)
The congregation has designated this venture Judson’s Year of Pilgrimage. It is an attempt to “move” which, “in our planning and learning about pilgrimage, two elements have surfaced that differentiate a pilgrimage from other kinds of travel: intention and difficulty.”
For me, the key word is “intentional” for, after all, all of life is a journey. What the term pilgrimage implies is that sometimes we move in different direction which, when one stops to think about it, can be very smart. An anonymous proverb puts it this way “No matter how far down the wrong road you have gone, turn back.”
When this temporary stint is over, we will do exactly that. Don’t put too much of a point on the word “wrong” but obviously we are now off on a completely different road, one with a hopeful horizon but clearly filled, as all journeys are, with unexpected turns.
As we go, the preacher of whom I speak and I ask for what is the title of Anne Lamott’s meaningful book, Traveling Mercies. Simply hope for us what has brought us this far, God’s grace.