The first candle of Advent calls us to hope. The word Advent in Latin means “coming.” We wait for the coming of hope. Hope. How do we hope in today’s society? What does it mean to await hope? How do we believe hope will arrive? How do we hope when hundreds of children are murdered daily with missiles funded by our tax dollars – and made in our own backyard at Boeing in St. Charles? What does hope look like when the money making of war is valued more than human life? How do we believe in hope when the city of Atlanta is actively cutting down a forest so the police can learn to take up arms against civilians? How can we hope while everyday folks wait for over 11 hours in the emergency room for basic healthcare? What does hope look like when people make $1100 a month and rent is more than half of that? How can we await hope when we get weekly calls of human beings cold, sleeping in abandoned buildings and seeking shelter? What does it mean to hope when our own mayor has displaced camp aft

People often feel guilty about their ancestors killing all those Indians years ago. But they shouldn't feel guilty about the distant past.  Recent years have seen a more devious but hardly less successful war waged against the Indian communities. - Vine Deloria Jr. “If I can but have trips to whip away the Apaches…you will, without the shadow of a doubt, find that our country has mines of the precious metals, unsurpassed in richness, number, and extent by any in the world.“ These words from Brigadier General James Carleton to his superiors in Washington may have been written in 1863 but they continue to play out today at a place called Chi'chil Biłdagoteel, or Oak Flat for us English speakers, in what is today Arizona. For the Apache and other Native American people Oak Flat has been a sacred place since time immemorial; a place to pray, a place to collect medicinal plants, food and water, a place to perform religious ceremony, a place where their ancestors rest. Today this pla

What a fruitful few months we’ve been having! Between building community and resisting the filthy rotten system here, there and everywhere we've been staying busy. Our St. Louis Catholic Worker debut party was a ton of fun! On the eve of the Catholic Worker movement’s 90th birthday, roughly 60 folks showed up to get to know us and each other through breaking bread together. A big thanks to our friends of the Sophia House community for hosting us and especially Annie who’s wonderful work hosting earned her the moniker of “first volunteer.” Soon after Chrissy sped off to Indiana to help host a conference as part of her work with the National War Tax Resistance Coordinating Committee. Theo soon followed, heading out on his 3 month adventure visiting the Catholic Worker communities of Europe (with a stop at the New York City CWs on the way). Starting with the annual European Catholic Worker gathering, he then traveled all over the northwest corner of the continent finding himself in Th

 “We convert, if we do at all, by being something irresistible, not by demanding the impossible.”  Those words by May Sarton were posted in a Catholic Worker farm’s office. The sign originated at the homestead of Wally and Quanita Nelson who were early pioneers of the modern war tax resistance movement.  After the nuclear bombings of Hiroshima and Nagaski, people including Ammon Hennacy, an early member of the Catholic Worker, organized actions around tax day in 1946 with their refusal to pay for war and to raise awareness of the enormous amounts of taxpayer money going to war annually.    What drew me into the Catholic Worker and war tax resistance was the irrepressible joy of the people in these movements. They were able to look at the heaviness of militarism while also addressing the needs within their communities. My introduction to the Catholic Worker coincided with becoming a war tax resister. I was blessed by a community of support who instructed me in the Catholic Worker tradit

As we celebrate the Catholic Worker movement’s 90th birthday it's sometimes asked what the secret to our longevity is. When Dorothy Day passed in 1980 some wondered if this ragtag group of spiritual misfits would be able to survive the loss of such an illustrious founder. Many amongst the movement will say one key to our lastingness is actually baked into the philosophy that Dorothy and her co-founder Peter Maurin handed down to us; a belief in decentralization. Practically, there is no CW headquarters deciding who is or isn’t a Catholic Worker. Instead it's more of a philosophy or way of living our lives. If we find ourselves sufficiently aligned with the Catholic Worker movement we can call ourselves CWs and just begin the work, no credential or experience necessary. In day to day life this value of decentralization means that the work and life of each Catholic Worker community looks different everywhere you go. There is no cookie cutter way of doing it, no pre planned schema

“There is nothing new about mutual aid—people have worked together to survive for all of human history. But capitalism and colonialism created structures that have disrupted how people have historically connected with each other and shared everything they needed to survive. As people were forced into systems of wage labor and private property, and wealth became increasingly concentrated, our ways of caring for each other have become more and more tenuous.”  “What we build now, and whether we can sustain it, will determine how prepared we are for the next pandemic, the climate-induced disasters to come, the ongoing disasters of white supremacy and capitalism, and the beautifully disruptive rebellions that will transform them.”    - Dean Spade Mutual Aid 

They said to be there at 6am. The cops were going to be there at the brink of dawn to remove people from their home and community. I was on donut and snack duty to ensure that people had something comforting to ease the trauma of another spring, another displacement. We rose early to hand out snacks and basic needs. We were there to stop state repression and its tools: dump trucks, patrol cars, bulldozers, and government officials who pretend to house humans displaced by the violence of eviction. Saint Louis city tries to evict the Riverfront Community every spring. When it was zero degrees this Christmas, the city left the camp alone. Mutual aid workers brought propane and warm layers around the clock. Yet, it never fails that when the leaves bud and the sun returns, so do camp evictions and the closure of shelters. This year when April arrived, three city funded shelters closed (Hope House, St. James, and Asbury). Because homelessness is only a winter problem. But homelessness wasn’t