Will Stancil is a lawyer and housing policy researcher. He lives in Lowry Hill.
Dear Neighbor,
It’s April, and I was planning to write a fun, breezy column on the dreaded, annual task of filing taxes, but after one paragraph the whole thing felt flat and off: We’re not living in a fun and breezy time.
Yes, we all have to pay taxes and it’s a drag (especially the preparation), but we also like smooth roads and safe bridges and good public schools. I have no problem with that. I hate that a portion of my income was (thank God, no longer) for funding Kristi Noem’s luxury jets or picking up the tab for Kash Patel’s date nights in Nashville, but I have no say in those matters beyond voting against such conspicuous and unnecessary consumption on my dime.
After I began that now-abandoned column I went to Mass. At last, I have found a church that feels right for me. I’d heard great things from friends about Ascension Church in North Minneapolis, but it was my daughter Daisy who got me there. She also goes to church more often than I. Here, the Mass is half in English, half in Spanish. Daisy, who also speaks Spanish, works in a law firm that specializes in immigration law; she keeps a box of Kleenex on her desk to help clients get through the sad and shocking stories they tell her each day.
The theologian Brian D. McLaren writes, “When we argue about religion and theology,
we’re actually arguing about the kind of world we want to live in.” Ascension embodies the
kind of world I want to live in. It’s humble, simple, and filled with people who actually want to be there — not for show, under duress, or getting an obligation over with. Being there is to
feel that peace and love. Ascension is the first time in my life I’ve actually liked and looked
forward to going to church.
Father Dale Korogi, who used to serve at the Basilica, now is pastor of Ascension, a gentle, modest parishioner-centered (many of them immigrants) world of loving kindness. He also
learned to speak Spanish well into middle age. And, he has a terrific sense of humor! In English or Spanish, it’s impossible to not feel his goodness.
In front of Daisy and me sat a young family — Mom, Dad, and two little kids — clearly of modest means. As the collection basket came around, the mother handed her contribution to the little girl (as my mother would hand me a dollar to toss into the basket). Hers was a twenty-dollar bill! I reached for my wallet and cleaned it out — take it all, I thought, and
wondered if anyone had ever thrown in a credit card. Thinking of my discarded column on taxes, it hit me that I’d just paid what I suddenly dubbed a “neighbor tax,” and paying it gave me a sense of joy.
Ascension is all about paying the neighbor tax. Somehow it raises and delivers $15,000 worth of goods and services each week to its parishioners, many of whom have been pounded by ICE. After Mass, curated bags of groceries are there for the taking; for those afraid to leave home, the food is brought to them. Ascension offers legal consultation and rent assistance.
My friend and fellow Ascension parishioner Lisa and I are hosting a fundraiser for Ascension on April 30 from 6:00 – 8:00 p.m. at my house. We’ll have food from an immigrant-owned restaurant and assorted treats. Let
me know if you’d like to join us (drichmo2@ comcast.net).
While ICE may have diminished its staff in Minneapolis, they leave lasting wounds and many more are sure to follow.
We’re hoping to raise $15,000, equating to a week’s worth of Ascension’s munificence. An anonymous donor has offered to match all donations.
Taxes were conceived so that we can all live together. That “we” — that collectivity — so precious to democracy, is under attack today. I believe that a neighbor tax (love thy neighbor as thyself) can bring us back to the original purpose of taxes.
Everyone gets to choose this tax, the amount, the form it takes. It might be financial, it might be generous acts of kindness, e.g., standing up for neighbors who’ve been treated unfairly. It might be prayer. Whatever it is, it’s our choice and our responsibility. And, really, we’re all neighbors.
— Dorothy
Dorothy Richmond is founder of the Dear Neighbor column and a longtime resident of Cedar-Isles-Dean.
