These past days as the first and only American Pope has spoken forcefully for peace not war; for truth not lies; for hope not suffering

I have found myself warming to the Church in a way I have not for decades. For some time I have been roaming in what I call the Catholic diaspora. Sometimes it is a choice to side-step the rules that feel untenable at the time. Choices are made, and before long there is a sense of no turning back. Then a voice speaks:

Hearing Pope Leo exercise his moral authority over the current aberration playing out before the world gives me heart. A Vatican correspondent who has covered wars around the world said: "The first victim of war is the truth". There is no better summation of the past weeks where truth itself has been victimized to the point of obliteration. All is skewed when the words spoken by the opposing regime begin to make more sense than those of the current U.S. regime. "All people want peace", said Pope Leo. Who can argue with that?

"I would invite the citizens of all the countries involved to contact the authorities - political leaders, congressmen - to ask them, to tell them, to work for peace and to reject war and violence", said Pope Leo to the one and half billion Catholics whom he leads. This is what leadership looks like!

Pope Leo

The United States Capitol switchboard is available 24/7 and connects you directly with the office of your senators and congresspersons. (202) 224-3121. And, while we are at it, why not pray for peace.

Looking for a low-tech life . . .

. . . among the sheep and cows. Sounds a bit drastic like choosing to chuck it all and check into a convent -- or live in an anchorage like Julian of Norwich in the fourteenth century. Drastic or tempting?

Farmland and wind turbines, St. Patrice de Beaurivage, Quebec, Canada

If it seems drastic to go low-tech it may be because of how far we have wandered from such a life. The next generation, my grandkids, are yearning to break-up with their endless connections through social media. At one point, the oldest one, about to be twenty-six, stopped every so often to post a "moment in time" from her day. Now, that's drastic!

There are people and places that continue to live a low-tech life either by choice or limited resources. A way of life, is what I am aiming at here. A village of 900 people where my grandparents were born remains low-tech, 100 years after they emigrated to the U.S.

St. Patrice de Beaurivage in Quebec is still agricultural going all the way back to the time when the King of France apportioned plots of land to farm and harvest fresh food -- real maple syrup--- homemade ice cream like you've never tasted even today. It goes beyond the sweets to potatoes to tomatoes to pears and apples.

What appeals most beyond the nutritional benefits is the notion that neighbors call on each other -- know each other -- help each other. Of course, that chance exists for each of us every day. Yet, how are we to form connections beyond the screen?

Some years ago when living in Boston, on the seventh floor from where I looked over the treetops to my neighbor's rooftop garden, I thought, there is no way I will ever learn his name, let alone meet him. I simply called him "the man". Soon enough, a moment came.

In a low-tech encounter the man and other neighbors met when a local developer aspired to build-up above our mutual views. We began to meet in our apartments to share snacks and ideas about the best way to stop the greedy miser who cared not a thing about his neighbors' light.

Over many months there were home gatherings that brought us out of our high-tech lives by organizing ourselves for what would prove to be a long drawn-out battle. The man was no longer someone over there. One day, he was pruning his penthouse roses. I had something to share about an upcoming meeting. I opened my window and hollered: "Call me". He came over with his partner for yet another gathering with neighbors we could now greet by name on the street. It was a drastic change!

If I had my way, I would revert to the days that the upcoming generation seems to be clamoring for--the days when driving in my car (my very low-tech older model) was a place of solitude where nobody could reach me, or find me via a tracking app on the cell phone, and without the intrusion of the "witch in the box" or "homing pigeon" aka the GPS.

Low-tech looks like a walk in the park while my mind roams without roaming charges. Is it possible to go back to "village" life? Or, have we crossed the Rubicon on living free of devices? Another man asked me on a train one day to please watch his "ball and chain" for him. He got it right, if you ask me.

When the day came for the Boston developer to appear before the zoning board, an entourage from the neighborhood outnumbered him and his lawyers. City Hall was abuzz as always. We crowded into the room all together awaiting our turn to speak. We supported one another in making sound arguments that this neighborhood, in particular, was a small, friendly place to live. A high-rise would not only obstruct the view, it would build a wall between neighbors. We failed to convince the city officials that we mattered more than the developer's right to build to the city limits.

A tear trickled down my cheek at what felt like a gut punch. The man said he would take it to court. After a number of months, the verdict came in and the neighborhood gathered to celebrate our victory!

Last weekend I walked down that Boston street. The trees and sunlight were just as I remembered. One of the neighbors we met back then is now living in the old apartment where I lived and had gathered with others for a righteous cause.

Boston's Back Bay Neighborhood

 Years later, that little neighborhood had another chance to come together with blankets and water when the so-called "Marathon Bombers" set off two bombs at the nearby finish line. The man was a manager at the department store. He aided in the investigation that came down to arrests and imprisonment of the bombers. Later, he told me, that his employees needed psychological counseling after witnessing the tragedy. Meanwhile, on that sunny beautiful Monday, runners ran into neighboring buildings in fear. People poured out of their apartments to wrap them in blankets and give them water.

It was a long while before the neighborhood went back to normal without TV cameras and the National Guard on every corner. I often walked home the long way to avoid the scene. But the real take-away was how neighbors came out that day, the same as they had to stop a developer who did not understand the meaning of "village" life.

Mothers of Exiles!

Boston Common No Kings

These five women holding up the iconic symbol of freedom were most likely unaware when they created their cardboard cutouts that they themselves would become symbolic as "Mothers of Exiles"-- a line in the poem embronzed at the base of the Statue of Liberty.*

A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame

Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name

Mother of Exiles.*

I was among the 180,000 Americans huddled in 30-degree sunshine with my daughter to lift the flame of hope. Decent, everyday people on behalf of others and ourselves came together under the NO KINGS banner joined by ALL Massachusetts elected officials including Senators Markey and Warren. Each spoke forcefully in opposition to the current administration's ruthless policies against immigrants -- against freedoms-- given to each of us. Not to mention, yet again, an unlawful war against another country.

Meanwhile, a thousand miles away in St. Augustine, Florida waving in sunny skies were reminders of how those freedoms were fought for 250 years ago, and continue to be fought for now.

St Augustine, Florida No Kings photo by Thomas Schwartz

Those very freedoms were finally claimed for all future generations and Lady Liberty has been holding them in her other hand etched in stone forevermore.

*https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/46550/the-new-colossus