Category: The Sanctuary Blog

One of civilization’s most beautiful ideas – the Sanctuary – is fading. I want to bring it to this blog.

“The unexamined life is not worth living” is a famous dictum  Socrates taught his students, and I was taught it in the fifth grade in my public school.

Plato taught us to be kind, for everyone we meet is fighting a harder battle. Every heart sings a song, incomplete until another heart whispers back. The same grumpy teacher taught me this in the same inferior school.

This morning, Big Butt on Tik Tok showed his million followers how to fart louder. BigB Suzy taught a class in dancing naked in the shower. She had only half a million followers. This is where students go to learn.

We are what we fear. We fear immigrants, illegal or not. They are the other.

Today, what our kids and adults are learning is different: everybody is stealing from you, plotting to take your jobs, eager to rape or murder you and your family, and soak up all the money you ought to have for hourself. The other is the enemy.

I have nothing against new technology; I use it to post this essay, but it’s interesting to point out that I was taught about honesty and honor and the need to help people experiencing poverty in a run-down public school in Providence Rhole Island, where the students were immigrants and the children of laborers.

In school, I learned that a liar is the worst kind of human being and that it is a sin to ignore the poor. I also learned to help people who are less fortunate than me. I want to honor those lessons by focusing this blog on the idea of Sanctuary, which is now being banned or threatened in America.

The idea of the Sanctuary Blog is not to run or hide from what is happening; it’s just the opposite – we all see what is happening –  but to acknowledge the fear and confusion and offer a small escape – a sanctuary blog, if you will.

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I’m moving to make my blog a sanctuary blog (the Cambridge Food Pantry is a sanctuary in my mind). This morning, I decided to discuss the idea of the Sanctuary Blog and how blogs have affected human history.

Today, the term, like so many other terms, has been politicized and is being used to hunt down people, threaten cities and mayors,  frighten people, steal our jobs, rape women,  and teach us that it is an evil term that will cause us harm and our society.

Any teacher will tell you that schools are no longer places to learn about Plato or Socrates’s best ideas for humanity. They have become benign holding areas seeking to control technology that is running amok and is now and in its present form uncontrollable.

The idea of Sanctuary—first recorded in the Old Testament—is one of human development’s oldest and most beautiful ideas. How sad that politicians in our time are falsely and unnecessarily debasing it. To me, sanctuary is a sacred term, and exploiting it is blasphemy in my faith. People have always used the Sanctuary as a safe and blessed refuge in a roiling world. Now, it’s being used differently.

The sanctuary was born as a religious idea and evolved into a spiritual one. Anyone is always welcome.

Thousands of years ago, the term referred to a safe place for someone or something being chased or hunted. It was initially used to mean a place where illegal immigrants found refuge and safety in a local church. Many immigrants were looking to hide in the world as they are now.

The chapel became a sanctuary for refugees before and after the death of Christ.

Two weeks ago, the U.S. Government said sanctuary cities or churches or temples could no longer offer sanctuary to illegal immigrants. The government says it will refuse federal aid to cities that provide “sanctuaries” to unlawful immigrants and even temporary escape from the federal police. The word is now synonymous with lawlessness.

That means there are no places left in America where immigrants, criminals or not, can take refuge from government police or anyone else.

I’ve always loved this idea; it is one of the best human creations, representing the best human ideals.

I was born Jewish and lived among immigrants who were subjected to severe persecution, and when they spoke English, they often spoke of “mikdash,” the Hebrew word for sanctuary. I frequently heard them say it was time for the “sanctuary” when they went to pray.

The Hebrew word for “sanctuary” is mikdash, which comes from the root word kaddish, meaning “to be set apart as sacred.” A mikdash is a “set apart space” or a “holy place” that represents something treasured—a place of beauty and worship, a refuge, a place of rest, or a holy place where God is present. Jews, like Christians, also still refer to their temples as “sanctuaries.”

Other societies – all of the most enlighted ones- embraced the Sanctuary idea, and sanctuaries were cherished.

When illegal immigrants overran the border, it became one of the most critical issues in the Presidential Election last year and four years earlier. That makes sense to me – borders are essential – but they chose to take the Sanctuary idea with it.

The idea of banning or banishing sanctuaries is popular among voters. Billions of federal dollars are now being spent to eliminate them and force them out of the country. Most Americans approve

Sanctuaries have long been seen as refuges from the abuse of power. For Jews, they were places to find God and pray. For other cultures, they are places of peace and beauty.

The Greeks embraced the idea of sanctuaries as places to praise the gods. Sanctuaries featured key elements like altars for sacrifices and temples housing deity statues. These spaces also included treasuries, sacred groves, and oracles. They served religious, social, and political functions in Greek society.

Ancient sanctuaries were sacred spaces, often natural locations, such as groves or hills, set apart from the ordinary. They were vital to religious life and served religious, social, and political functions. 

The Bible names six cities as refuge: Golan, Ramoth, and Bosor on the east side of the Jordan River and Kedesh, Shechem, and Hebron on the west side. After a failed coup, Adonijah sought refuge from the newly anointed Solomon by grasping the horns of a sacrificial altar.

The idea of the sanctuary – a sanctuary blog – appeals to me, and to my idea of the blog, a way of being useful at a challenging time..

I see it as a refuge for people tired of anger, hatred, and vengeful policies – and I would appreciate a place to go on the Internet that was not boiling with politics and the arguments and anxiety it causes.

Instead, the blog is becoming and can continue to become a place where people can peacefully express themselves, avoid insults and name calling and threats, and find some footing in a place sure to be controversial, distracting, and often fearful.

This blog will be a sanctuary from that form. It will include pictures of flowers, cats, dogs, sheep, landscapes, and reports of a meaningful life by my wife Maria and me (she has her blog, and I have mine). We have similar ideas about sanctuaries.

(We see museums as sanctuaries and our farm as well.)

I will continue my essays on the blog. Civilly and thoughtfully written people are welcome. I won’t respond to their writing nor allow others to answer. I don’t need to agree with everything posted, and I don’t need to agree with everything I write.

People of all kinds and political ideas are free to come here, but they must be respectful and civil. I tend to treat people as they treat me, so the rude and cruel people of the internet will not be welcome.

As the idea of the sanctuary sadly vanishes in America—it feels like a cruel ending—I’d love to keep the idea alive in my small way. Flowers are a sanctuary, as are farms, animals, and the wonder of the natural world.

If you feel drawn to this and can withstand a small world with no political agenda and no arguing and judgment, you are welcome to keep the blog idea alive in our spirits, hearts, and souls. This idea deserves to live.

The mythologist Joseph Campbell wrote that most people who seek a meaning for life are not taught the meaning of spirit and the best values of the human. “I don’t think,” he said, ” I think we’re seeking an experience of being alive,” he wrote,” so that our life experiences will have resonances within our innermost being and reality so that we feel the rapture of being alive.”

This is especially relevant now, when so many of us are torn between worrying and fighting about our values, which seem to be under attack everywhere. Campbell believed that one of our problems is that we have stopped believing in the literature and power of the spirit.

I’m no old fart clucking about young people these days, but something is really wrong with what people and their children are learning about honesty and empathy. It used to be taught.

Watching the news has become a disease of the spirit, as is having our spirits challenged with contempt and political corruption. If we care about the poor or people who are not rich or white, then we are “woke,” contemptuous and evil for being weak and elitist and judgemental. In other words, Plato would be fired in a blink today.

I can’t imagine him understanding the billionaires from hell wanting all the money that there is and running our country.

For the safety of our lives, we need to change. If we can’t change them, we can change us. There is a better way.

Talking is no longer about learning; it’s about arguing that goes nowhere and does nothing. \

We are frightened to death about losing our values and beliefs, such precious things. I don’t want to do that anymore. My teacher in a very average public school taught values through the writings of Plato, Confuscious, the Buddha, King, Christ, Gothe, and others who spoke of the eternal values that have to do with the centering of our lives. If you haven’t learned these by old age,  you will be sorry.

Where are the kids  and politicians learning their values? TikTok? Instagram? Podcasts? One Chicago kid begged the school system to ban cellphones in schools: Save us, please, he wrote? Many adults get their values from the new value prophets, red and blue kids and angry grown-ups.

We miss the literature of the spirit. I’m working to get mine back.

When listening to the news, I often wondered what Christ might think of us if he ever did come back, all the confused, battered (and dangerous),  naive people, not people he said must care for those with nowhere else to go.

Our faith is rationalizing and excusing what we used to accept as wrong. We are unnerved by empty spirits. Wrong and wright have been turned upside down. We want to keep everything and give nothing.

No wonder we are confused and anxious. Christ is no longer a myth we revere; he is just another “woke” and worthless fool. His beliefs are too costly for the tough guys riding their horses right through our peace of mind.

As Campbell writes, Greek, Latin, and biblical literature were once key parts of all education—be honest, kind, generous, live with honor, better the world, learn the best of being human.

The new education is very different: be wealthy, be arrogant, be cruel to the poor, and blame them for their plight. Be online, all the time.  Every time I ask for help getting baby diapers, I immediately get messages from strange websires from people asking why these mothers had babies, as if diapers were the cause of poverty.

The old mythical education  that changed a brutal world and that I was required to I read has been lost and forgotten. The goal now is to be wealthy and ruthless. Lying is okay, even admirable. Honor is never mentioned or considered, as in the literature we were all taught to read, including  Church. We must be right, always.

Media of all kinds – red and white, online or off – teach violence, power, lawsuits, and hatred for people with low incomes who are the other. People needing health care are stealing our money, it’s okay for our children to be gunned down in school or distracted by TikTok, immigrants are no longer ever seeking a better life for their families, they are only, we are taught, here to rape and murder us. Be afraid. Be angry. I don’t want that kind of life.

These are no longer arguments worth having but dogma and absolute truths. Plato would hang himself.

To me, this is what one philosopher called “erotic irony: the love for that which you are killing with your cruel, analytical world.” Campbell says the perfect human being is no longer nice.  Jesus would be run out of town and made to stay away. The honorable or ideal human being is no longer lovable. The cruel and dishonest ones are the ones we teach our children and one another to be.

My life and Maria’s lives have changed since we stopped watching the so-called education that we call “media” or the news. We are replacing our horror stories with quiet, calm, and the books we are reading, the love we have for one another, and the gratitude we have for our lives, for the gift of living. It feels very, very good.

In our heads, we are pushing out the stories of violence, cruelty, power, and lies. Instead. I remember when stories of good, heroism and kindness were in people’s minds, in their dreams and ambitions and fantasies.”

Even in the past few days, the stories in my heads and minds have changed. We are sliding back to what Bill Moyers once called “hometown love. “I cherish that image,” he wrote, “the feeling you get for the place, no matter how long you’ve been away or even if you never return. That was where you first discovered people.”

He wondered why we are taught to admire people’s imperfections and cold, greedy aspirations.

I’m on a spiritual path. I bought a spiritual album to keep track of my work and what I am learning (see above). I want the block to feel like Hometown love.

(Still life. Barn.)

At our dinner tables, we no longer discuss lawsuits, firings, threats, the ridicule of good, confrontations, fear, or brutality at dinner. Instead, we speak of our idea of hometown love—for the farm, the animals, neighbors, and the town. For ourselves and the life we love.

We no longer see love through the eyes of TikTok, CNN, or Fox News, but through our prism, our own news: We talk of the goodness of people, the beauty of community, the astonishing wisdom of nature, the wondrous ideas of animals, the beauty of pictures, the power of art, the joy of creativity and friendship, and the beauty of charity. There is room for it now.

It’s a choice: Fill our heads with the lousy stuff our “news” gets rich pouring into our heads, or acquaintance our souls with the news of the soul and spirit, not just the cruelty and sorrows of the hour.

We are responsible for paying attention, and when the time comes, we will do that. But we also have the right to be happy; no one should be free to take this from us under the false name of keeping us informed and angry.

First things first: White Hen is fine. (See video below)

But yesterday, I learned an important lesson. There are some things I can’t do anymore, and I need to accept that. A seventy-seven-year-old man with heart disease should not shovel snow for two hours and then write steadily for another nine without rest in severe cold. First, I wrote that we had ten feet of snow. The Social Media Correction Unit went into meltdown.

I know better, but I just haven’t come to grips with the shrinking of parts of my life while others expand. I’ve worked hard all my life, and the idea of not working while others are is anathema.

By the end of the day, I was repeating some words and sentences without noticing. I have been told a hundred times that this is dangerous and inappropriate, especially when cold. I’m also having issues with my quite fascinating AI proofreading software. It’s done an excellent job for me—typos have been radically reduced—but it is also arrogant, presumptuous, and changes words now and then for reasons that mystify. Aside from being exhausted, I don’t have the time or energy to proofread my proofreaders.

I knew I had a foggy head yesterday when the first message came in from a poor fellow named Peter Rao who went into meltdown: “Jon, you did NOT get 10 feet of snow. Are you crazy? Do you know what 10 feet of snow is? You possibly have 10 inches. Don’t you realize that people in the comments are laughing at you?” I was worried that Peter would be the first man to have a stroke over my writing. I hope and pray he will recover. As it turned out, it looks like 12 inches. There’s a lot of snow.

Peter was the only one laughing at me in the open but he doesn’t know me. I got another message from the Social Media unit was also a bit unhinged by my type. They move fast,  but the typo was soon fixed.

People have been laughing at me for decades, Peter; I never got that attention when I was young. And I don’t care.  Peter  was correct but also late; the typo was long and quickly fixed. I’m never sure when I get messages like this whether I have dementia or just a 77-year-old man with heart disease who should know better to shovel snow for two hours and then write and work for many hours more (I did also spend a lot of time outside taking pictures as the storm petered out.

I think Peter will get over it. I would hate to kill somebody over my typos, and Peter was on the edge (and yes, I am crazy; no news there). My doctor says I have much more energy and clarity than most of the younger people she sees. I explained that one of my big problems is that I can’t stand to be inside a warm and dry house while Maria is outside shoveling paths and caring for the animals.

There are worse things in life than typos, Peter. If you don’t get some manners, you might encounter them.

I know what it’s like to clean up a farm after a storm; I did it for six years while living alone on the first Bedlam Farm. But I can’t do it anymore and shouldn’t.

Peter, I work hard, and the blog is free. However, people like you comment only on mistakes, not the content. Hmph. That stings. I also accept that social media has killed off graciousness, gratitude, and manners. It’s a high price for this much freedom, but ultimately worth it. The earth remains intact this morning.

Please take a deep breath, Peter; you’ll overcome this trauma, and your life will continue.

I always have work to do, not just writing and taking pictures. I’m unsure when we will return from today’s wool trip; the mill is a few hours away. I’ll see you later today or first thing tomorrow. Maybe I’ll rest when we get home. There’s an idea.

I hope you have a (more) meaningful day. You too, Peter.

Several people have messaged me asking for more details about what might disturb me from the outside world so much that I want to change my life and its expectations. I don’t have many answers, and I am not eager to share more information about my life than I already have.

When I think about it, I turn off my cell phone and find something satisfying and meaningful. It’s really that simple.

Then you can do it, rather than think and talk about the disturbing things that keep you up at night. I cheated a bit yesterday when I saw a news alert that caught my eye while trying to buy an electric water bowl online.

I saw a report that President Trump had decided to fire the entire board of the Kennedy Center in D.C. and make himself its President.

At first, I was confused. Was this a scam or a joke? Did he not have enough to do? Then I wondered about Hulk Hogan, a longtime friend of the President,  wrestling on the center stage as he collects the President’s Award. No more Aretha Franklins up there.

Then I stopped laughing. It was a poke in the belly, a wake-up call. Do I need to listen to this or get angry or upset about it? Thanks for the reminder, I thought. I hope you can get back on track.  I turned off the phone. By staying away from the news, I had missed nothing, lost nothing, and slept well.

This is just what I do not need or want in my life. I had nothing to say about it and no practical reason to pay attention. I’m on the right track.

At dinner, we never mentioned this news or the dozens of strange and often troubling stories pouring out of the White House. A shrink once told me there is not enough room in one’s head for evil or irrelevant lousy news. There will be no room for the good stuff.

Instead, she said, include the good aspects of your life—the people you love, the things you love to do, and the good things you do for others.

She said that if you have enough of these things in your head, you will be amazed at how lighter your head and soul will be. You have to make room for good.

I’m filling my head with the good things in my heart and life.

I am amazed by the first three days of my new experience of living calmly and purposefully in the new America. Life was instantly lighter and better for Maria and me when we undertook this experiment. Three days into

I learned as a journalist that there is no reason to listen to the same story 50 times a day when there is nothing new to say or hear about but more endless argument and accusation.

When I heard about the President’s plan to “make music in America great again”- honest, he said that (watch out, Bob Dylan), I immediately went online and bought three boxes of diapers for the Cambridge Food Pantry.

For people thinking of this plan, it means getting off the news and onto life. I can’t emphasize enough the importance of having something meaningful to do.

Instead of being angry, fearful, or too anxious to sleep, I had a great afternoon. I wrote, blogged, took photos, went to the barn, had lunch with Maria, read a mystery, and napped.

Today was the third day of my experiment with Maria: to get through the years without being sad, anxious, or afraid.  I have heart disease, and I am 77 years old. I have good reasons to focus on what is suitable for me, on what feels good to me, on finding people who are not hateful, greedy, ambitious, or dominant men or women.

Worrying or arguing about politics is not a good thing for me to do.

We are going to keep it going.

Linda captured the dilemma well in her message to me Sunday morning: “Thank you so much for this! I’m also going to start practicing it. I’m letting the news ‘get into my head’, and I feel tired physically & emotionally. I read the news on my phone right away in the morning & check it through the day using the excuse that I need to stay informed. So, this will take some deliberate behavior change! In the evening, I ‘visit’ your farm. Your blog posts & photos are meaningful, relaxing & enjoyable.”

Linda’s message struck a chord with me because it echoes the feelings of many others, including me. Yes, Linda, it will be hard, and I suspect you, like me, will need some help.

We tend to think of addiction as mostly about drugs or alcohol, but the truth is much more complicated. I needed to understand that this endless news trolling was an addiction. I was afraid not to do it and obsessed with hearing what was neither reasonable for me nor necessary or informative. Fear is addictive as well.

Linda, who seems both good-hearted and intelligent, may understand that this is not a simple thing to try and do; it goes against the very flow of American life now; the need to check bad and disturbing news day and night is like a person with an addiction might describe an addiction. I’m not diagnosing her; I don’t know her, but fear is an addictive feeling, as are the things that cause it.

She sees the value of my sanctuary idea.

No wonder many struggle to get their heads and feet on the ground. Years ago, the so-called media discovered that most people ignore good news, but they quickly become addicted to bad news because it creates fear, which creates need.

Then, Bob’s message was on the same page: “Jon, it will be constructive to understand your fears and your readers if you give specifics on what is bothering you and your readers. Just stating ‘noise’ makes it sound like a ‘boogeyman’ is lurking in the dreams. To date, democracy has not ended as predicted by some pundits. The majority of the public favors the actions being taken by the current government branches. Not sure why your readers are getting upset. You asked for a cordial dialogue with your readers. Let’s begin a conversation.”

I feel no obligation or desire to argue my beliefs with Bob or take his unwanted writing advice; he can express himself all he wants. But I don’t see it as a healthy approach to persuade strangers worldwide that I am writing the right thing or that I am obliged to share the details of my life and thoughts with every person on the globe.

I could be arguing all day for the rest of my life.

I’m not even sure of what I believe. I just wanted to let you know that I’m not at this point.

The whole point of the new Sanctury Blog is to avoid arguing and expanding on it. This will not happen here. That will take some discipline; a lot of anger is still locked inside of me.

This is the tragedy of modern media; everyone gets half the truth and lives unconscious of the other half. Somebody has to be wrong about something sometimes—no one is taking responsibility for anything,

I am happy for Bob; he is happy. I want the same thing, and Linda does, too. She is not obliged to explain it or argue it with anybody. That is not even close to the conversation we need as a nation.

Ideas have a right to live without being swarmed by people who disagree.

I consider myself empathetic and seek the gift of empathy. To talk to people openly, I’d like to see evidence that they are willing to put themselves in my shoes, and I would need to do the same for them.  That would be nice to see on my blog, but it’s not ready to happen.

That is what I see breaking out all over the country – smugness and contempt, no real conversation or dialogue of any kind.  I’ve been there before, and we all have. Sadly, I’m not going back.

There is nothing there for me.

And yes, both sides do that all the time. That will not be solved on my blog and is outside the range of my skills or intentions. Your feelings are welcome here, Bob, but it won’t happen here until the response does not become an argument.

I hope he stays and speaks his mind. I don’t wish for more argument here, but a zone of safety and free expression, not arrogance or contempt.

So, for all the complications,  the experiment is going well. It won’t be easy.

It fits my need for a spiritual approach. It fits my gift and skills. It fits my need to go good and spiritual work and keep my life devoted not to arguing but to doing good and having meaning. I hope it fits some of yours.

After writing this, I’ll return to the new program, post flowers, and send cat food to the Cambridge Food Pantry. This will work for me, and I can feel it in my bones for Maria. It’s a way of moving on.

Welcome to the Sanctuary Blog.

When I roll and toss my way through sleep most nights, I am not worrying about today as much as I sometimes fear tomorrow, how to prepare for the next storm before I understand the new one.

Our civic life in America has changed but barely changed its official structure in nearly 300 years, and that is called peace and holy tradition. “At the same time, writes Spiritual Philosopher Joan Chittister, “we never forget – if we ever knew it – that peace is not a state of lifelessness and life is not a lily pond, it is a bay inside an ocean.”

Our President is riding a wave of change, and I don’t want to drown in anger and hatred.

Every new storm brings a new set of circumstances and fears to consider. As a former political journalist, I failed to prepare myself or anyone else for the coming storm, and neither did my embarrassed former colleagues. I wasn’t ready, but I am busy getting ready now with my Sanctuary Blog and some first-class reading and meditation. I want space and time to sort it out quietly. I’d love it if people of good faith wish to join me here on this blog I created years ago.

People keep asking me, “What were they thinking?”   Perhaps we all must find the answer rather than ask the question.

A Sanctuary Blog is not about significant change. It’s about standing still in a torrent of change, looking at the dogs and flowers, and figuring out what comes next. It’s like a private club for people who need to escape the noise and remember what it means to be peaceful and sleep.

There will always be change, and while this turmoil is unnerving and keeping us up at night. I won’t insist on missing yesterday when today has swept it away like leaves in Autumn. Yesterday no longer exists.

In my often agitated sleep, I know I do not have the luxury of running away. I cannot, and won’t, ignore what’s going on as if it were someone else’s problem. My Uncle Harry used to look me right in the eye when he told me that one Jew’s problem was every Jew’s problem.

I didn’t know what he was talking about. I’m getting there.

Much of the fear and angst sweeping the country is about this. We know it will take its toll on us. Clinging to the past is not a matter now; there is only a present in the sense of an Angry Revolution or civic breakdown. I call it a Spiritual Tsunami.

In her writing about change, Chittister reminds me that furious winds and giant storms freshen life and threaten to swamp it. Humans are not creatures who embrace significant change. They often demand it without quite knowing what it can mean.

Everything is changing too fast to keep up with. People seem to want a change, and they are getting one. I often remember this when I watch the familiar be pushed away. It’s not my problem; it’s everyone’s problem.

I know that the future has not made itself apparent. I don’t intend to unthinkingly resist change until the world no longer notices that I’m still here. I was too arrogant to notice the significant change, but I see it now.

I can’t see where this ends up, and that has kept me up once or twice. However, I am settling down and in a good place.

For me, it’s a choice whether or not to run the risk in my old age of becoming part of a new, stunned, but mushrooming culture forming that is also losing sleep over how to deal with a society sweeping past me and wondering how to regain its balance in a Tsunami of significant proportions. I hope the blog is a peaceful and safe place to begin the difficult challenge of sorting out our great mess.

But then I remembered what was essential: Everything new is not the end of the world. Quite often, it signals the beginning.