Heading out the door for classes and a busy day this morning, I found myself completely unable to locate my right flip-flop. Mysteriously enough, however, I did manage to find two left flip-flops, and while I have no idea where my right shoe has gone, how I came to own two left shoes, or what right-wing conspiracy might be behind this, I've spent the entire day with the somewhat uncomfortable but utterly hilarious dilemma of maneuvering around grounds wearing two left shoes. I mean, I'm no expert dancer or anything, but this is ridiculous.

In other news, my Wahoo pride (along, I sense, with that of most of Charlottesville) is swelling greatly. Between classes this afternoon, I spent a few minutes in the UVA Bookstore, beginning the obligatory (and occasionally loathsome) process of Christmas shopping. As I was leaving the store, an elderly gentleman stopped me and asked if I was a student. When I responded that I was, he introduced himself as Mr. Dan Wheeler and then showed me his ring, indicating that he was a 1944 graduate of the University. We then had a great conversation about what it means to be a student here and about all that has changed at UVA and around Virginia over the last 60 years. It's amazing that we could have such different life experiences and expectations and yet be so unmovably connected through this University. In light of the recent athletic triumphs over Georgia Tech and Arizona, the announcement that two more Hoos have been awarded Rhodes Scholarships, the visit my English class received today from two distinguished professors who made Renaissance poetry reading a religious experience, and unexpected moments like this one at the Bookstore, this is indeed a great day to be a Wahoo!

And now it's off to my HIV/AIDS class in the School of Nursing and racing to somehow work my way through this list of 112 things-to-do before the holidays!

'I am and will be forever a Wahoo.' --Coach Welsh

Well, we busted out of class, had to get away from those fools
We learned more from a three-minute record, baby, than we ever learned in school
Tonight I hear the neighborhood drummer sound
I can feel my heart begin to pound
You say you're tired and you just want to close your eyes
And follow your dreams down

Well, we made a promise we swore we'd always remember
No retreat, baby, no surrender
Like soldiers in the winter's night with a vow to defend
No retreat, baby, no surrender

Now young faces grow sad and old
And hearts of fire grow cold
We swore blood brothers against the wind
Now I'm ready to grow young again
And hear your sister's voice calling us home
Across the open yards
Well maybe we could cut some place of our own
With these drums and these guitars

'Cause we made a promise we swore we'd always remember
No retreat, baby, no surrender
Blood brothers in the stormy night with a vow to defend
No retreat, baby, no surrender

Now on the street tonight the lights grow dim
The walls of my room are closing in
There's a war outside still raging
You say it ain't ours anymore to win
I want to sleep beneath peaceful skies in my lover's bed
With a wide open country in my eyes and these romantic dreams in my head

'Cause we made a promise we swore we'd always remember
No retreat, baby, no surrender
Blood brothers in the stormy night with a vow to defend
No retreat, baby, no surrender

No retreat, baby, no surrender
--Bruce Springsteen

We have several Narcotics Anonymous, Alcoholics Anonymous, Al-Anon and other support groups who meet regularly in our church. In fact, our brother Steve, who organizes many of these groups, has become a steady and inspiring presence around the office over the past couple years, bringing humor and hope and compassion to the life and work of the faith community. Many of my most poignant moments in ministry have come while listening to the joys and failures of people whose life experiences have taken them to places I don't always understand but whose journeys connect with mine on one Thursday afternoon or Friday night at Hinton Avenue. From their stories and passions I often learn more about God and about myself than from any Sunday morning sermon series or mid-week Bible study. The Word is made flesh in these encounters in ways too deep and meaningful for words.

A couple weeks ago, our youth group's local restaurants small group returned to the church around the same time that an AA group was finishing up its meeting. There was much grace in this, as the group's leader had accidentally locked his keys to the church inside one of the storage rooms and was quite worried about what he would do. While I was talking to him, trying to assure him that I would lock up after everyone had left and that we would be able to get into that closet and return his keys to him before their next meeting, a remarkable thing happened. He was beating himself up something terrible over this, exclaiming repeatedly how stupid it was to lock your only set of keys inside the closet, how he couldn't believe he had failed again and was by no means capable of leading a group like this. And right in the middle of his laments and my reassurances, as the situation was growing dangerously tense, another member of the group simply put her arms around him and told him, much more forcefully than would have been possible or appropriate for me, that this would be no big deal and that he was going to forget about it immediately. After some deep breaths and a few tears, we were all laughing about it and wishing one another a pleasant evening.

It hit me in that moment just how critical these groups are in people's fights to survive and overcome in the shadow of substance abuse and addiction. This woman, whose struggles mirrored his far more closely than mine, was able to communicate in a language I did not understand--perhaps we could say she was blessed with the gift of tongues--and a moment of tragedy was instantly and eternally transformed into one of triumph.

On many nights, around countless churches in this country, you're likely to see large groups of people, people who are rich and poor, people who are young and old, people who are black and white and brown, people who made some bad decisions and people who never had a chance, standing in parking lots and stairwells front lawns for hours after their meeting times have passed. Some of them will joking loudly, some whispering feverishly, others just sharing a cigarette and a respite, but each one seeking and finding in one another the courage to choose life over death, hope over despair. And in their relationships, the work of tikkun olam, repairing Creation, will surely be happening.

It follows here, in my head if in no other logical way, to let you know that November is HIV/AIDS Awareness Month. In Charlottesville, we will have a month of events planned to raise awareness and funding, including an acappella concert in McLeod Hall on November 9 (you can purchase discounted advance tickets from me if you're interested in seeing AVP, the VGs, Hoos in Treble, the Virginia Belles, the Sil'hooettes, and the Hullabahoos in concert that night), a Dinner & a Movie benefit on November 10 and 11 where St. Maarten's, the Biltmore Grill, Jaberwoke, and other Charlottesville restaurants will donate a portion of their proceeds to the AIDS Services Group, and a Fraternity and Sorority Banner Contest on November 17 and 18---all leading up to the annual Vigil on December 1.

Your community is likely to have similar events going on over the next several weeks that would allow you to stand in solidarity with the persons and individuals affected by this global pandemic. March with a vigil, volunteer some hours with a support group, write a letter to your Congressman, and know that all of us are in the fights against HIV and against substance abuse and against ignorance, intolerance, and injustice together.