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Living Psalm 81:1,10-16: An Appeal for Justice  Written by Rev. Dr. Karen Georgia A. Thompson

(President and General Minister of the United Church of Christ)

I am the Lord your God who called you,

God, who sheltered you in times of trouble,

provided you with vision and hope for today,

the one who brought you to this time and place.

Sing aloud to God our strength;

shout for joy to the God of justice and righteousness.

Open your mouth wide and be filled.

I will fill you with words of prophesy,

I will fill you with dreams and wisdom

You will be filled with justice and passion

Open your mouth wide and speak

speak love and compassion to the brokenness

speak loudly to the troubles you see

speak to the hearts of those blinded by greed and selfishness.

Open your mouth wide and be filled.

Sing aloud to God our hope;

shout for joy to the God of deliverance and love.

My children did not listen to my voice

they have been overcome by their fears and wants

they mock the poor and the hungry

they incarcerate and blame the homeless

they deport and fear the immigrant, the stranger.

They follow their own counsel

yet claim my presence and my word

while walking in their own ways

despising truth, they refute justice.

Sing aloud to God our healer;

shout for joy to the God of resistance and power.

Your mouth is filled with my words,

your belly is full with mercy and peace.

I am the Lord your God who called you,

the one who prepared you for this time of trouble.

MINDFUL

Every day 

   I see or I hear 

      something 

         that more or less 

kills me 

   with delight, 

      that leaves me 

         like a needle 

in the haystack 

   of light. 

      It is what I was born for— 

         to look, to listen, 

to lose myself 

   inside this soft world— 

      to instruct myself 

         over and over 

in joy, 

the fearful, the dreadful, 

   the very extravagant— 

      but of the ordinary, 

         the common, the very drab, 

the daily presentations. 

   Oh, good scholar, 

      I say to myself, 

         how can you help 

but grow wise 

   with such teachings 

      as these— 

         the untrimmable light 

of the world, 

   the ocean’s shine, 

      the prayers that are made 

         out of grass? 

         ~ Mary Oliver 

         from “Why I Wake Early” 

   and acclamation.

      Nor am I talking 

         about the exceptional, 

Ernest Hemingway said “Write hard and clear about what hurts” so here goes nothing.

In my work as the WIC Director for two of Maine’s most poor and rural counties, I often interact with young families who are struggling for all sorts of reasons. The “why” doesn’t matter to me, just the fact that they are experiencing hardships and my team and I are able to help ease their burden. We provide counseling, nutrition education, breastfeeding support, health checks, referrals to other support services based on their needs, customized food packages, medical formulas for fragile babies…the list is long. While there are situations and circumstances that break my heart, I have always felt honored and fulfilled serving these resilient and deserving families.

Since this administration took control of our country in January of this year, that has changed. The executive orders and radical changes in policies have wreaked havoc on those who are already living in fear, tossing the “least of these” into even more chaos. Maine Family Planning has had our MaineCare reimbursements frozen because we provide abortion and gender-affirming care (only 6% of the services we provide). This decision has effectively disenfranchised 23,000 Mainers who depend on MaineCare and receive their health care from MFP, one of the only health clinics in rural communities. Every day, the parents I speak with share their hopelessness and I help them hold onto hope.

One of my most important responsibilities is to work with Mano en Mano (“Hand in Hand”). This incredible organization serves new Mainers who are here seeking a better life for themselves and their children and the migrant community who come to harvest Maine’s “blue-gold”. Over the last few weeks, I have seen first-hand the impact ICE raids are having on those who come here to work our barrens.

When I was a child, for reasons I have long made peace with and healed from, my bedroom closet was a safe place. I would play with my Light Brite, read by flashlight, and eat all the good snacks. I also suffered from panic and anxiety attacks. My Grandfather would help me navigate these by asking “What do you see? What do you hear? What can you touch?” and by reminding me to breathe.

At my last migrant clinic, I found myself setting up my computer in a literal storage closet. Space was tight but I made it as welcoming and cozy as I could. My last appointment was with a 27 yr old Mi'kmaq woman who had come from Canada to rake blueberries. She brought her 2 yr old daughter with her but left her 7 month old baby with her parents. We were in the middle of the appointment when we heard the commotion.  

There is something that happens to the air when peace is shattered – it’s charged and crackling with the kind of energy that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up and your heart beat faster. I could see the fear on her face, watched as her body started to tremble. I got up, peeked out the small window -  We had been trained for this – I knew staff would be handling things outside. I gently shut the door to the little office / closet and sat down in front of “Mary” (not her real name).

“What can you see?” I asked her, just as my grandfather had asked me so many years ago. I held her hands in mine. When she asked “What’s going to happen?” I told her I didn’t know but for now, we were going to stay in this cozy closet and have a snack. Hiding in closets was familiar territory for me and we would make the best of it. I asked her to show me photos of her children and we talked quietly until someone came and knocked on the door – all clear. Considering there were more than 50 migrant workers there that day, it was a miracle there had not been a tragedy.

I recently read a little book called “Small Things Like These”. It takes place in Ireland when the light was just starting to shine on the abuse young girls were subjected to in convents run by Catholic nuns. The man finds himself in a position to rescue one of these young girls – and so he does. These are the words he speaks to himself as he walks home with the child’s hand in his.  

“As they carried on along and met more people Furlong did and did not know, he found himself asking was there any point in being alive without helping one another? Was it possible to carry on along through all the years, the decades, through an entire life, without once being brave enough to go against what was there and yet call yourself a Christian, and face yourself in the mirror?

How light and tall he almost felt walking along with this girl at his side and some fresh, new, unrecognizable joy in his heart. Was it possible that the best bit of him was shining forth, and surfacing? Some part of him… was going wild, he knew. The fact was that he would pay for it but never once in his whole and unremarkable life had he known a happiness akin to this…

…The worst was yet to come, he knew. Already he could feel a world of trouble waiting for him. But the worst that could have happened was already behind him: the thing not done, which could have been; which he would have had to live with for the rest of his life.  Whatever suffering he was now to meet was a long way from what that girl at his side had already endured, and might yet surpass… his fear more than outweighed every other feeling but in his foolish heart he not only hoped but legitimately believed that they would manage.”

End Quote.

When I read “The Diary of Anne Frank” in grammar school, I remember wondering what I would have done if I had lived then.  Not long ago, I saw a meme on social media that read “What you are doing now is what you would have done then.”  

I am often guided by the question “What would Jesus do?”  Jesus would be flipping tables but I’m not Jesus. I’m not an activist. I’m uncomfortable in crowds and I don’t like loudness. I thrive behind the scenes, not in the spotlight. But I believe in what is right – I believe in the teachings of Jesus – I believe we are put here to walk beside our neighbors who are hurting, living in fear and uncertainty. I believe we are called to love them, to make a difference where and when we can.

And so tomorrow morning, I will wake up and get ready for the day. And I will go to work. May that work be good and well in the eyes of the Lord.

Amen.

Tamara Wilson Crowley – September 14, 2025

Union Congregational Church of Hancock, Maine