I have the pleasure of working with a group of smart, dedicated, and passionate undergraduates at the Basic Needs Center at the University of California, Davis. Our Center provides food, housing, and financial resources to the over 40,000 students on the campus, and the students who come to us are facing extremely challenging situations as they seek to accomplish their (and their family’s) dream of new opportunities. Just under half of these students are the first in their families to go into higher education. The Federal Government considers over one-third of them to be very low income, deserving of financial support.

Our student staff is a microcosm of this broader student body, and they amaze us as they provide direct service to other students day to day. They deal with the most challenging cases and guide students to the resources they need. It is safe to say that I am, quite often, in awe of them.

We deal with the stress of this work by maintaining a high level of unbridled joking and general pranking. It keeps us sane, and no one is exempt.

So, when a colleague suggested we all go bowling at an on-campus bowling alley (the only one in town!), I got ready for a LOT of competition–with personal challenges and trash-talking. And in the lead-up to the event, I was not disappointed. Challenges got personal, and lines were drawn. I expected much of the same in the lanes.

But after we got our stylish shoes and selected the appropriate balls, everything changed. A silence settled over the lanes, broken only by the crash of pins. Competition turned to encouragement, and trash-talking gave way to grim resolve. I could see it in their faces–I could imagine it in my own.

We rolled.

And while we all had fun, I was struck by the utter seriousness with which every person took their turn. Amid the smiles, a focus and seriousness about the whole affair prevailed. We were having fun, but there was a studiousness that suggested we were sitting for a final exam.

I later learned that all but one of us was a “first gen”-the first of our family to attend university. And when I examined my own feelings throughout the evening (Did I mention it was fun? It was!), I identified what was going on.

The truth is, we did not leave the competition at the office. It was very much present. But we were not competing against the others. We were competing against ourselves. Our grimness was just concentration. Our stoicism was focus.

A focus on doing better.

On bettering ourselves.

And we were our own worst critics.

As I stood back and observed, I experienced a deep sense of pride in these students. I felt a tightening in my chest as I realized they approached this time of fun with the same determination and commitment they brought to their jobs and studies.

I will admit that I nearly wept.

There is a dark side to all of this. Imposter syndrome has followed me my entire life. Despite what has, arguably, been a successful career, I battle with that demon almost every day. Those who don’t live in that reality cannot understand how debilitating it can be: to always have to prove oneself, no matter one’s accomplishments, over and over and over again.

I suspect that my young colleagues face that demon all too often, too. And I mourn for them (as I mourn for myself).

But if one can overcome the challenges of the syndrome, one can marshal the strength to do extraordinary things. One can drive to be better–to serve more faithfully, to work more assiduously, to persevere more completely.

We went bowling.

And it was beautiful.

Maybe this is a lament…

It was just a short stint, providing leadership in the small city that has become home. It was never going to be earthshaking. It was, perhaps, pedestrian.

But it was a formal leadership role, and I would like to believe I helped lead–that I was, in fact, a leader. Some who live here may debate that, and I certainly left no “mark.” But I did my homework, collaborated on making tough decisions, listened to the community, told the truth, strove for accountability, and walked with those in the community who were hurting and needed a listening ear.

Most decisions, especially the consquential ones, were made within considerable constraints. At times I wondered if we were “deciding” or merely “stamping.”

We made sure that the water flowed, garbage was collected, roads were maintained, money was put aside for harder times, and safety was largely maintained. It was blue collar stuff, the stuff that makes a city what it is.

I guess the key in all of it, for me, was that we faced our citizens without guile, with transparency, with, I would say, a desire to make things better. Maybe we failed, but our goals were clear. We knew where the job would lead: to more hard decisions made under constraint (and sometimes duress). But we did it, and our expectations of personal gain were nil.

Nope, we were not heroes.

And we wielded the small amount of power we had with a kind of trepidation.

We

Me and some others.

I never took a bribe.

I never lied about a decision I made.

I never dissembled.

It was the basic commitments that were easy. The commitment to preparing well was without cost (okay, it took time, but that is part of the job). The commitment to listening never hurt. The commitment to explaining my votes actually made things much smoother. The commitment to telling the truth actually paid dividends in trust gained.

None of that is hard.

I did not have to overthink it or scheme with anyone to make that stuff work.

I am reflecting on this today, because I want leaders like us.

There is no hubris in that. We were unspectacular, unnoticed, unrecognized.

Maybe

Maybe leaders like us are not smart enough to lead at any level beyond the local. (I can own that, it may be true). Maybe we don’t have what it takes.

But still, I want leaders like us.

Leaders like us.

How hard is it, really, to have leaders like us?

We took the train from Davis, CA, to the California Capitol to volunteer at the university’s graduation ceremonies.  We crossed the causeway and the river on the Capitol Corridor (CC) train, landing in downtown.

I want to say many things about Davis, my hometown for the past quarter-century.  I want to tell you about the ingenuity of the causeway and the beauty it attracts.  I would love to tell you about the CC and how it connects us to the Bay and beyond.

But those stories are for another day.

On this day, we took the train that, by an apparent accident of time, was transporting people to graduation at the Golden One Center, the June Pride Festival a few blocks to the south, and the “No Kings” protest further south still on the Capitol Mall. 

At the station, the first thing I saw (in addition to the 100+ people waiting to board the train) was a small sign carried by a protester

COMPASSION

We boarded and immediately entered a rolling party.

How can I describe it?

Every visage felt “open,” inquiring, alive.

So many smiles, so much laughter.

Every face bore the imprint of a history—a story.  

Every voice a different accent, language, in-group vocabulary.

Every article of clothing a statement of loves and origins or hopes and futures. 

Everything spoke of diversity—that much reviled, but actually quite beautiful reality that is California. And I wondered why anyone would not want that.  I wondered why that word is so hated.  I wondered why they could not just leave us alone to enjoy that one thing that brings us energy and smiles, and a constant sense of discovery and wonder. 

Why?

The couple across from us heading to Sac for a pride weekend and fathers’ day celebration. Two scientists across the aisle discussing climate change and next steps in their dream to bring lasting change to the world. Beside them, two folks older than us with their water and hats, sporting signs of dissent.  Downstairs, a bit later, three college pals kitted out in their regalia, my wife helped one fix his tie and straighten his collar.  All smiles. 

We breathed together on that train.

We “conspired.”

And though we all approached the capitol with our own goals in mind, there was a solidarity in acknowledging the importance of what, each of us, was going there to do.  We all KNEW that everyone was attending a life-affirming and life-changing event. 

And we celebrated that.

Across America at the same hour, millions lived in hate of who we were, with a clear desire that we would all just disappear.  

But we exist.

And we will persist.

On that train that day, we celebrated our differences but also the things that bind us: love, solidarity, community, and hope.

I will acknowledge that ours has never been an easy marriage. I will further admit that I have stayed in it “for the kids.”

After all, we had a commitment to pass on our values to our kids. At least at the beginning.

Yeah, we have been through some hard times and we both know that when we split up, things got bad—really bad. But, somehow, we patched things up after all that craziness. You admitted I was right—at least you said you did. I was willing to give you the benefit of the doubt.

And, for a little while, you seemed to accept the terms of our agreement to get back together. But then you showed your true colors and, well, it’s been a while and I just don’t think you ever acted in good faith.

Still, the kids.

Others have stayed together through tough times because of that promise of tomorrow. So, I figured, why not. Things got better when we faced common challenges and, for a while after things seemed like they might change.

But they didn’t.

You and I never agreed on what was best for our kids—let’s not pretend. But we debated and tried to hash it out. Sometimes you prevailed, sometimes I did.

It wasn’t perfect.

But then the lying started. You lied about so many things, and our kids paid the price.

Sigh… I still feel it is worth trying to focus on the good we want for them. But now I feel you just don’t care about them at all. I don’t believe we share a common goal anymore.

And the lying…

Can I just say that it has gotten far worse. Every word out of your mouth is a falsehood. Every accusation, an admission of what you are doing. Every false outrage, just another way to manipulate me—and them.

I don’t trust you.

Maybe I subscribe to an old fashion view of things, but I just don’t see dissolution as a good idea. It won’t solve anything for them… for us.

But lately you have been telling people you hate me?

You have been telling people that “I am your enemy?”

You have been saying that I want to harm our kids—our future?

So, what’s the point?

Why don’t you divorce me? Send me on my way and we can both start over?

I think I know why. You need me.

You know that I have been paying the bills and doing the hard work of keeping our home safe. I know you don’t really value those things, but…

Why don’t you just let me go?

Take the plunge?

Give me what I know you want?

A divorce.

For many reasons, and for a long time, I have been reflecting on leadership. I am not an expert. I realize there are PhD programs in leadership and many journals devoted to its study. Still, over the course of a 40+ year career, I have learned some things.

I have had the privilege to serve under some amazing people, true leaders, who would perhaps not have been able to describe what made them so effective. Those times (thankfully) were the majority of my career.

I have also, unfortunately, labored under some people who had a title but were not leaders at all. Those times were painful and draining, and ultimately, no matter how important the work, I had to leave. That is always hard.

This brief piece is my attempt, however poorly, to start to enumerate what I think a leader is and should do. I hope to develop these points in more detail with examples later.

If you read this and have suggestions, I would love to hear them. These represent the kind of leader I aspire to be.

Lead with vision, tie it to the mission, and review the mission regularly to ensure it does not drift. Make sure that evolving strategies stay consistent with the mission and don’t allow other priorities to become the de facto mission.

Build accountability structures and processes in your work. Assessing progress toward your mission is not possible without a commitment to assessing your results. In my experience, you need to hire staff committed to this function.

Support staff. Your primary purpose should be clearing the way for staff to do the work that supports the mission.

Be present—both physically and emotionally. This is a specific way to support staff. Yes, leaders are busy and face many demands on their time, but staying engaged throughout the day and week to respond to concerns, gauge the atmosphere, and assist with course corrections in real time is essential.

Remember that this is not about you.  If you set out to make yourself the organizational “brand” or accept the framing that you are, bad things will happen.  Placing your interests as somehow inseparable from the organization’s will harm both.

Keep in mind that institutions—including the organization you lead—transcend the individuals who work there. An institution can become focused on its own survival, which may hinder its mission. Institutions can be abusive, even if individuals within them reject abuse.

Confess when you fail—do it often and, in apologizing, describe steps you will take to do better and avoid the errors you committed. 

Our work in most fields is complex and occurs in a complex world.  You cannot be the master of everything, nor should you try.  So… 1) You should hold up and praise the knowledge and experience of your staff and receive it as a gift. 2) You should make an ongoing commitment to learning.  In fact, if there is any single moniker you should welcome as a leader, it is that “they are a learner.”  

I look forward to your ideas.

We skirted the side of Mt. Tam on a New Year’s Day that now seems so long ago (it has only been five years). That day’s bright, shining beauty could not suppress the knowledge that everything was about to change, to change in ways that we could not quite imagine.

I had been following the unusual pneumonia cases that were springing up in China. If one was paying attention, it was clear that this thing was coming. But what would it look like? No one knew. 

So, on that day, I hid from my fears and merely accepted the possibility that everything would shift. 

I felt powerless. I felt weak.

And then it came, and… Change is so hard.  But in the moment, and moment by moment, we changed.  

But in a sense, we did not change at all.  We only became more of what we were.

I saw that for the first time just a few weeks later when I sat in our County Supervisor’s office. The county Health Officer looked at me and said, “This is our time. This is what we trained for. This is a time for who we are.”

And, we became more.

Though we were weak in the face of the onslaught of that novel coronavirus, though it often defeated us, and though, at times, we defeated ourselves, we became who we were. We did not turn our backs. We fought the defeat, and, sometimes, and in significant ways, we won. 

The sense of weakness in the face of a natural disaster never left us. Our strength came in the weakness of knowing that we had to move on. And we did.

I feel all those things today…

Farmer’s “long defeat” was and is very much about what we see around us today.  His long defeat was the realization that the wealthy and powerful would always end up on top and that the people he loved and to whose wellbeing he was committed would too often die terrible deaths or live diminished lives, while those same powerful folks would never, ever pay the consequences.  Indeed, they would thrive.

And Farmer was saying, “So be it. I know with whom I will throw in.”

St. Paul was making a more explicit theological point—though the same stuff inspired Farmer.  For Paul, weakness made space for the force of God to enter the fray (replace God with “the universe,” “good,” or “truth”—see also King’s “arc of the moral universe”).

But neither King, nor Farmer, nor Paul were pie-in-the-sky dreamers (nor were Dorothy Day, Fannie Lou Hamer, or Rosa Parks). All of these were people of action—not waiting for the arc, or truth, or God to intervene.  No, this great cloud of witness embraced their weakness and the long defeat and became who they were—who they had to be.

The point is that the changes did not change them.  

It made them more of who they were.

They simply lived into who they were, weathered the change—embraced the weakness, and fought the long defeat.  And it was enough to change the world. But the change did not change them.

I take heart.

The changes are coming—indeed they are here.  The powerful will crush the weak.  The least will suffer.  Hopes will be deferred.  And the powerful will walk away from the carnage with their stature and wealth in place. 

This is, after all, the long defeat.

But if we can move through the change and, yet, not change.  If we can simply become who we are—more of who we are: people of love, compassion, persistent in doing good, supporting the weak, standing with the oppressed… If we can do those things…

Then our weakness will be strength, the arc will bend to justice, and the long defeat will turn to victory.  

They have proven it.

It is our turn to live it. 

I am wondering if, today, somewhere in the Pentagon, at the Department of State, or in the Ministries of Defense in Canada and Mexico, they are doing those “tabletop” risk simulations.

I am wondering if they are gaming out the probability and the possible timeline of a shift from tariffs, to trade wars, to cold wars (think “ice curtain” to the north, “sand curtain” to the south), to hot wars. (Yes, the shooting and bombing kind–the current SecDef says all options are on the table for Mexico, is everything also on the table for Canada too–after all, “the fentanyl”)

I am wondering what the Quebecois will do to resist being part of the 51st state?

I am wondering what all the other Provinces and Mexican states will do too?

And, I am wondering if they will simply cut off federal funds flowing to blue states. (I mean, they are already messing with our water. Easterners simply do not understand that you cannot mess with California water.)

I am wondering what that will do to our “union.”

I am wondering, actually, if they will go more “surgical” than that and punish us by voting district, sparing the red, cutting off the blue. Or, might they even access the data on how I voted and cut me off–everything from tax refunds to future social security benefits?

I am wondering who will respond, and how, when we (inevitably) march by the hundreds of thousands in San Francisco like we did before the Iraq war.

I am wondering if they will order us to be shot.

I am wondering who will do the shooting.

I am wondering if I will stand up and be counted.

I am also wondering how long it will take for the red to find out they were just cannon fodder, too.

And, I am (honestly) wondering if there is a pact–maybe explicit, maybe tacit–to divide the planet into spheres of influence. China gets Asia and Australia, Russia gets Europe, the US gets the Western Hemisphere and (of course) Greenland, and the “tech bros” who bid the highest get limited access to all of it in one way or another. And will there be fiefdoms in the Middle East that get fought over later? And how long will the pact last?

I am wondering which current craven Senators or Reps will be appointed proconsuls to these vast new territories when they come online.

I am wondering how much more bowing to power it will take for them to secure those jewels.

And, I am wondering if this is all just the plot of a near-future dystopian sci-fi that I read sometime last year.

And, I am wondering if Bruce Cockburn had all this in mind when he sang

Used to have a country but they sold it down the river
Like a repossessed farm auctioned off to the highest bidder

Yeah, I am wondering about all these things on 2/2/25.

Even obliquely, blaming crises on DEI seems to be de rigueur among the current junta in DC. But let’s be clear: this is simply saying that some people are not worthy, that they do not belong, and that they are unnecessary. 

It is actually a relatively small step from there to saying they do not have a place in society, that they are parasites, and, with just another short step, that they do not deserve to live.

We’ve been there—and not just in Germany in the 30s.  Let’s not forget Rwanda.  Oh, and the former Yugoslavia.  And other corners of the world that we would rather not have to think about. I have visited some of them. 

You blame them today.

You kill them tomorrow—massively, efficiently, and without remorse.

It’s barely coded language. But the purveyors of this kind of thing are not playing games. They never do.

So, let me tell you about DEI from where I sit.

D

J. would never have gone to college when I was his age.  He has a serious mental illness (treatable) and several other disabilities.  He is smart—honest smart—so he may have figured out a way to get in, but soon enough, he would have flamed out, and there would not have been any supports to keep him on track to complete his studies.

Unless his parents were rich… 

Which J’s are not.  His dad died on the streets, and his mom—who knows?

And yet here he is, a mere six courses from graduating.  He has support.  He is on his meds. And he is going to succeed.  

I say “D” for this because J enriches me greatly.  I never knew any J’s who succeeded when I was in school because they were not there.  But J’s presence is a blessing to me.  He smiles.  He laughs. He shares his dreams.  And he adds enormously to every class he attends. 

He brings D, and we are far better for it.

E

J needs help.  He can only enroll in a limited number of classes.  A) Because he works a LOT to pay for it all. And B) Because he has these “disabilities” that inhibit his ability to focus on too much at one time. 

So, J gets what we call an “accommodation.” If J asks for it, he is allowed to make “minimum progress” by taking fewer courses than he would normally be required to take. 

J benefits from E considerations. And it’s a good thing.  E considerations are going to help J succeed.  

Key point: His accommodations do not harm students who do not get them.  They are not being “cheated.” Instead, they place J in a position to participate fully in his education.  And isn’t that what we want a student to have?  Isn’t that a good goal?

I would say, “Yes.”

I

J told me today, “I am afraid I will end up on the street.  My dad died there, and I am terrified all the time that I will, too.  I wish I could find housing with other disabled people.  My best friend here is autistic.  We get along great.”

J is saying, I want a place characterized by “I.”  

He wants I, and he is excited about the possibility of moving into housing where he experiences it every day.  I am going to try to help him with that.

DEI

Honestly, J illustrates what this all means.  Sure other people with other identities, needs, and lives could illustrate what it means.  J is just one case—one example—of what this apparently cursed word means. 

Which should only remind us of our first point: this is not about DEI. This is about creating a world in which some people are disposable, some people are overusing scarce resources, some people are “unpeople.” 

It is worthwhile fighting for J—and I mean fighting hard.  The path those screaming against DEI wish to take us down only leads to gas chambers, pogroms, ethnic cleansing, and state-sponsored eugenics.  It is time to acknowledge this and scream our opposition in every way we can. 

J deserves it.

Note: This is a slightly revised post from over a dozen years ago. At the time, I was much closer to the edge. A few notes:

1. This is a post about counting the cost of engaging in one of the biggest challenges of our time.
2. There is a risk that this will seem to disparage those on the edge. It is not meant that way, at all. It is, however, a stark look at what I have seen and the need to act–however hard that might be.
3. I did not make any formatting mistakes here. This is single paragraph. It is meant to be read aloud with a growing sense of desperation. Please read it as I wrote it–with hardly a breath taken in the midst of the doubt.

I talked to a psychologist who deals with prison suicides and he said that most of those who kill themselves “inside” have long sentences, get “Dear John” letters, or otherwise see no way out and so they… find a way out. Out. And he said that those out there, out on the edge are… well…OUT there on the edge and it is not really clear what we can do for/with them. When I say “out on the edge”, that is exactly what I mean. We were talking about those who live on the edge of town in ditches and draws and fields away from regular human contact (Like the guy who died under a freeway underpass some time ago in a nearby town—they can’t find his next of kin. That is the edge for sure). Edges, borderlands and frontiers are where things bend and creak and where the rules don’t apply and the whole apparatus may come tumbling down. And we have folks living out there. Various pathologies lead them down the path to the edge and then meth or drink and combinations of other bad things seal the deal and there they are. We don’t want them in our parks (in the center of things) and so we help the whole process along by pushing them out (Well it’s not “we” exactly is it? We get the cops to do the dirty work while we sip warm drinks at home with soft music playing in the background). Anyway, my point is, they are out there and meth or malt liquor or other things most of us don’t have direct experience with clinch it for them and… there is no salvation for this kind. There is no redemption (even though we tell ourselves that we believe in all that shit and that we are basically forgiving people) because this kind, well, they have disappointed us SO. MANY. TIMES. And not just disappointed us. Oh no. After we dropped a buck on them or fixed their bike tire or listened to their ramblings and we felt pretty good about ourselves, they came back the next day and asked for more cash or something and when we said “No” they said “Fuck you” and that was that. We were not disappointed. We were dumbfounded and angry and felt justified in walking away and saying “good luck” and thinking “Jesus, what do these guys want from us?” And so to the edge we gratefully send them and rarely do we wonder what they are really up to out there. I mean, who can blame us? This is not about guilt. If they don’t want “help” then who are we to insist? And the psychologist says that these cases are not easy. Actually, that is not what he said. What he said was “What can be done for these folks? Realistically?” Stack so many deficits on top of deficits and the calculation becomes pretty clear—the balance is negative all the way down. After all, personality disorders dominate out there and there is no “drug” for that. There is only the hard work of being abused even as you try the “directly observed therapy” of dispensing advice like “keep going to counseling” (except that there really isn’t any counseling, is there?), but they can’t commit to that because they have this thing called a personality disorder. And “vicious circle” does not begin to describe the kind of spirals that people find themselves in and they move further out to the border lands until we don’t see them anymore and we hear (but never confirm) that they believe that thorns are embedded in their flesh, or that they are invincible (just before they step in front of the train), or that there are lizard beings on the edge of the atmosphere waiting to take over the world (don’t laugh, please, try not to laugh). I mean… who is going to go in among the tombstones and find the “demoniac”—naked and prone to tear at his own flesh—and lay a hand on that body (imagine the pathogens on that skin) and make him human again. Who is going to do that? Who is going to willingly walk into the arms of that embrace? And so… what are we going to say? There is nothing we can do? Do we release them to the universe and return to our homes and await the inevitable notice in the paper of their demise? The psychologist says “take small actions” but we are all about big solutions, and ten year plans, and bold proclamations about ending it all. But it doesn’t work that way dammit. You don’t bring an aimless horde back from the precincts at the frontier by just saying so and making a plan. You have to go out there and walk and experience the tombs. Rub your hands up against the granite and allow your fingers to trace the names carved into its surface. You have to touch the chains. You have to feel the hot breath of an argument too close for comfort. You have to see the rotten teeth and the shattered skin. You have to listen to the lies and the dissimulation. Can I be honest? Brutally honest? I don’t want to go out there. Don’t make me go out there.

But, I, need to go out there. WE need to go out there.

The Jesus we need for our times.

A fully contextualized paraphrase of the Gospel of Mark, Chapter 5.

They went to the other side of the sea to the region of the Gadarenes. When California Jesus (hereafter, just “Jesus”) had come out of the boat, immediately a man suffering from a long-untreated mental illness, caused by untreated childhood trauma, who self-medicated with illicit substances, came out of the his camp and met Him. He lived by a drainage ditch on the edge of town. And he was a mess. And no one could handle him; not even periodic incarceration made a difference because he had often been chained in jail (and even prison). But he had inevitably been released and went right back to his camp. And no one could convince him to change his ways. Constantly, night and day, he was in his camp, shooting up, losing teeth, and generally declining in health day by day.

But when he saw Jesus afar off, he ran up and kneeled before Him and cried out with a loud voice, “Hey, man, do you have any change for a meal?”

And Jesus saw the track marks, the missing teeth, and the broken and oozing skin where the man picked at himself, convinced that he had thorns embedded in his flesh.

And Jesus felt compassion for the man.

But…

But not TOO much compassion because Jesus knew a guy like this could easily exploit people. Still, Jesus knew he had to do something (people were watching).

So Jesus gave him some coins, and the man wandered away, heading back to his tent, counting how much more he needed to score some peace-giving “medicine” that he really, really needed just then.

And Jesus turned to the crowd and said: “You have heard it said, love your friends and hate your enemies. But I say to you, love your enemies too—and even people like that man.”

“But…

“But you need to have a tough love. You don’t want to enable bad behavior, so you have to hold people accountable. Be kind, but be tough.”

And the crowd nodded, and one of their leaders said, “But Jesus, what can we do with this man? He defecates in the drainage ditch. He starts fires around town. He drops his needles in places where children play. This puts all of us at risk. Can’t you help us DO something? He is a threat to the public health.”

And Jesus said, “House the man.”

But the people hung their heads, for they knew they did not have a house for this man. And Jesus, seeing their response, said, “I say to you, put this man in a house. Then he can defecate indoors, will not need to set fires, and can do what he needs to do in private.”

And they said to him, “But Jesus, we don’t really have a house for this man. You see, we have pretty strict zoning laws here, and if we build too much, the values of our houses will go down, and… well, God’s work is costly, so we need to make sure that our primary source of wealth is not degraded.

And Jesus said to them, “I get it.”

“Indeed, as I have said before, if you are doing God’s work, you must count the cost. You do well to consider the impact of too much housing on your property values.”

“Therefore, I say to you, scatter to the surrounding villages in the region and find another village, preferably poor, whose housing values will not take a hit from increased housing construction. Then, take up a collection from among yourselves and build a house for this man and others like him there. It need not be a large house because even just a bed is enough for people like this man—they will prefer that to being in their tents.”

This seemed good to the people, but a woman, who was the man’s mother, said, “But Jesus, this man lives here. This is his home. He will not want to go away from here. I often take him food, and I really need to keep an eye on him. We shouldn’t send him away.”

And Jesus rebuked the woman, saying, “If the man does not want help and if he cannot accept a roof over his head, then what CAN you do for him?”

And the woman hung her head in shame, for she loved her son but knew he was a burden.

But the people pressed Jesus, saying, “Building housing in another village is a good plan, but what will we do in the meantime? This man is causing us so many problems and is a nuisance.”

And Jesus, seeing their frustration, said, “Truly, truly I say to you, you need an ordinance; one that forbids sleeping outside. Then, if the man continues to do that, you can slap him in chains. You can tell him that you will give him two days to change his ways and settle down, or you will chain him. Then, if he does not listen to you, you can take care of it and get him out of the way. That should solve your problem.”

And the people marveled at Jesus’ pragmatism and good sense. Some said it was a miraculous visitation, given the longstanding intractable problem.

And the news of Jesus’ practical solution spread across the region and many villages instituted new ordinances, though none built any houses. And the news of Jesus’ help for that region spread even farther and even the Pharisees in Jerusalem and the Roman Pontius Pilate himself heard of it and they were amazed at his teaching.

And everyone agreed that Jesus had a political career ahead of him.

And the laws pushed the man further from town, into dusty draws and rocky slopes far from people. And not too many years later, he died in a hole in the ground where he had pitched his tarp.

(NB: It is now a criminal offense to sleep outdoors in Davis, CA)