Michael Frome

It’s not the fromness or the towardness
But the withness that’s at heart,
Not the upness or the downess
Or the ending or the start.

It’s the nowness; it’s the newness
It’s the oldest, timeless pleasure
It’s the comrade stepping forward
keeping pace in ancient measure.

It’s the lostness in the foundness
It’s the glass, the wood, the clay
It’s the artisan, the Bishop
Letting hands and minds obey.

It’s the driving motivation
For forgiveness, power or cure
It’s escape from worldly pressures
To a paradise that’s pure.


By June Eastvold

from “Pilgrimage” (in her book Another Second Chance):

I took a pilgrimage to my grandfather’s homestead in Stavanger, Norway this summer. I did not go to find my grandfather. He left long ago at the age of 17 to seek life in America. I came to find “the place” where he was born and where he grew. I came seeking the land, the midnight sun, the flowers, the children and the blues of flowing waters and brilliant skies; to sleep in the century-old house, made of the finest wood, crafted and designed to be a home for generations; to meet the family that stayed, sacrificed, protected and labored on the land, not because it made them rich, but because it was a sacred trust.

I came hoping Norway would spell out my portion of Grandpa’s inheritance: the seeds of simplicity, good earth, courage and clarity that have been hard to find in contemporary America. Is it any longer possible to reclaim that legacy of goodness?

Grandfather arrived from far across the ocean as a foreigner among many other foreigners. He soon discovered that not all the people had blue eyes and yellow blond hair, nor did they speak Norwegian. They spoke Russian, Polish, German,Yiddish, Chinese, Spanish…

Who is my neighbor? Is it possible any longer to claim Grandpa’s legacy of goodness?

The answer came through another immigrant, “the guy who got beat up in Milwaukee on Juneteenth Day.” He came from India. His last name is hard to spell and hard to pronounce, so his family and friends just call him Pat. Like my grandfather, he moved to the United States willing to invest in a future world where neighbors would recognize each other with respect and goodness. So he opened the Burleigh Market in Milwaukee’s central city. All was going well until Juneteenth Day when he fell into the hands of thugs who beat him and left him half-dead. Among the thousands there, many watched as one of the assailants kicked him violently, yet no one intervened.

The victim in the story of the Good Samaritan also was attacked and left to die. A priest and a Levite, like the crowd at the Milwaukee festival, passed by, either preoccupied with their own interests or avoiding the risk of involvement. In the parable, it was a Samaritan who stopped -- a despised foreigner -- who took pity, treated the man’s wounds, delivered him to an inn and paid the innkeeper to take care of him. We are not told about the victim’s attitude in the parable. Was he grateful to the Samaritan? Was he bitter and seeking revenge on the attacker? Did he judge the priest and Levite, those of the religious order, for failing to help him? Did he spend the rest of his life begging for alms? Jesus doesn’t raise these questions. Rather he asks, “Who do you think was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?” The lawyer replies, “The one who showed him mercy.” Jesus said to him, “Go and do likewise.”

Pat, the guy who got “beat up on Juneteenth Day,” puts a twist in his story. Pat, the victim, has emerged as a true neighbor. He didn’t set up shop to rob his customers. He took a beating not only for himself, but for those in the core neighborhood who have suffered violence, unemployment, poverty and political indifference for too long. His suffering brought attention to them. He is keeping his store open in the core of the city. He holds firm in his trust of his black neighbors. He will not abandon his resolve to make a difference in the character of that part of Milwaukee.

It is a surprising reversal of the usual anger such a brutal unwarranted attack would provoke. Though he may have permanent damage in his right eye, his vision of his purpose has sharpened. His pain has identified with the suffering of the community he chooses to do business with. He is not running away. He is taking a stand with them for a better life.

Two immigrants, my grandfather and Pat, like the foreign Samaritan, show us the way to goodness and mercy that transcends humanity’s penchant to destroy rather than honor our neighbors. Goodness calls to love with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your strength and with all your mind, to love your neighbor as yourself.

Sermon delivered in Milwaukee, WI, July 15, 2007