Now in Joppa there was a disciple named Tabitha (which translated in Greek is called Dorcas); this woman was abounding with deeds of kindness and charity which she continually did. And it happened at that time that she fell sick and died; and when they had washed her body, they laid it in an upper room. Since Lydda was near Joppa, the disciples, having heard that Peter was there, sent two men to him, imploring him, “Do not delay in coming to us.” So Peter arose and went with them. When he arrived, they brought him into the upper room; and all the widows stood beside him, weeping and showing all the tunics and garments that Dorcas used to make while she was with them. - Acts 9:36-39
Nine old men. Nine old men. Nine old men.
(chant of striking unionists in reaction to a 1935 Supreme Court decision declaring the National Industrial Recovery Act unconstitutional)
My wife, Mrs. Hale (she’s cheerfully taken my pseudonym), recently sent me a link to an article in The Guardian on the travails of women professionals, especially lawyers. She said I just had to read it, suggesting a blog post might be in order.
The article quotes Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg’s declaration that she won’t be satisfied until there are nine women on the U.S. Supreme Court. (Three currently serve.) The author of The Guardian piece, who used to work for a law firm, heartily agrees. She says, “It's not unreasonable to think that, at some point, nine of the finest legal minds in the country would belong to women.”
To which my not-so-fine legal mind responds, “Well, duh.” Buried in this non-newsflash is the assumption that the crème de la crème of legal minds would even want to go to law school, or slog their way to a partnership in a swanky law firm, or maneuver their way into a position to be nominated for a seat on the SCOTUS bench.
Speaking for myself, I could come up with nine of the finest legal minds in America faster than you can say the words “It Takes a Village.”
This hymn by Charles Wesley was running through my mind as Mary Lee and I cleaned up the kitchen before going to bed early this morning. It's a good hymn for the new year. This is a pic of the hymnwriter preaching to American Indians.
You're holding a sign that says "Pray for an end to abortion" and standing on the curb facing all the drivers waiting for the stoplight at one of the main intersections of your city. In the building behind you babies are being ripped apart and flushed down the disposal by Planned Parenthood. Up the sidewalk a little way are Roman Catholics praying to Mary. Also one solitary shy woman standing in the parking lot trying to talk to mothers intent on murdering their unborn child as they walk over to the abortuary.
Because of my adiposity and gray hair, I'm hopeful no one will be quick to accuse me of vanity if I post this pic taken during Easter worship yesterday morning. What joy—Christ risen and being surrounded by little ones! The pic was taken by Jenna (Mrs. Jody) Killingsworth.
