The story in Exodus 34 narrates Moses on the mountain again, getting a second set of stone tablets from God, having busted the first set in sheer frustration of his people’s preoccupation with the idols of Egypt. This portrait offers the starkest possible contrast to the spectacle we witnessed last week. We’re speaking of course of Donald Trump clearing the streets with teargas so he could walk to an Episcopal Church that didn’t want him there, in order to brandish a Bible he didn’t open. These two images of a man carrying Holy Writ could not be more different. On Sinai we see Moses, a prophet of liberation, ascending yet again to the Source, trying again to bring instruction to a hard hearted people, on whose behalf he begs mercy. Moses is reminded that this Creator is indeed “merciful and gracious, slow to anger and rich in kindness.” This is a story of loving solidarity between God, prophet and community.
In DC, on the other hand, we see Trump descending from the White House, posing for a gratuitous photo opportunity in yet another attempt to weaponize the scriptures—of which he is ignorant, and from which he has never taken instruction—in order to legitimate his war on the citizenry. This is a story of unbridled cynicism. Friends, this is why we persist in our countercultural habit of turning to these ancient texts: because they offer a different narrative with which to counter the fabulations and manipulations of empire. This wisdom born from mountain peaks is how we do battle with the deadly hubris born from ziggurats and Trump Towers. “Our sacred stories,” as the great Indigenous writer Leslie Marmon Silko put it in her acclaimed novel Ceremony, “are all we have to fight illness and death.”
—Ched Myers, “For God So Loved The World … A Tribute to Liz McAlister” (delivered on June 7, 2020)
[55 minute documentary from Seneca Media, 1999] The story of the man who led the Piscataway Indian Nation and their revitalization in the 20th century. The Piscataway are the traditional people of what is now called Washington DC. From Turkey Tayac’s childhood and service in WWI to his work as an herbalist and traditionalist who embraced the advent of the American Indian Movement, to his last days and the campaign to have him buried in a national park that was once the ancient Piscataway village and burial site Moyaone, his fascinating life is shared in memories of friends and family. With gratitude to the Tayac family, Gabrielle, Sebi, Jansikwe, June, Chief Billy, Mark and the whole Piscataway people.