When There are Fires Everywhere

The images of California on fire were shocking; the devastation is almost too much to imagine. I have family in LA, my mother’s cousin Louella. She is named after my grandmother, who we called Ma’Dear. Louella’s father is one of the 13 children my great-grandmother and great-grandfather birthed in Ruleville Mississippi. The siblings were close, sharecropping as little people. Big Louella—Ma-Dear—was the only girl, caring for all those boys while her mom took to bed. Thirteen children will do that to you! Louella was glad to hear me when I called, and she is doing just fine.

A firefighter battles flames from the Palisades Fire in the Pacific Palisades neighborhood of Los Angeles on Jan. 7, 2025. Photo by Eric Thayer, Getty Images

I have other family in LA, my people from Middle Church and my friends and beloveds in the movements we build. It was important to check on Linda, Bill, Frances, Karen, Katherine, Phil, Sharon, Aunjanue, Michelle, Garrett and more. They’ve evacuated, or are safe in their spaces, opening their homes to others, staying with friends. My friend Kaliswa is watching over her people, who are therefore MY people, because we are all connected, woven together in a “…garment of mutuality,” Dr. King said.

Everybody is not fine. And we are each other’s people, which is why as we watch and pray, we can make donations to help those who are suffering and mourning their losses.

I see these flames and I remember the flames of the fire that stole Middle Church’s sacred property four years ago. I remember all the beautiful people who loved on us, prayed for us, made donations to us and carried us in their hearts. I’m grateful that only four fire-fighters suffered minor injuries; that no one died. That the properties burned down at costs of millions feels like such a small thing, though it is huge, in the context of the love that flows in our community, and the lives that still flourish anyway. My prayer is that our family in California feel carried by our love, and they, too, flourish.

I have family in the Middle East, people with whom I have studied and worked. My friend Linda has relatives in Gaza, and they are my people because they are hers. I see these flames and I can’t help but see the fires in Gaza, in tents where refugees huddle in so-called humanitarian zones; the fires in hospitals, where the sick were being cared for. Those lives lost to the horror of war haunt me. The bombs, the weapons, and the funds--$18 billion dollars—haunts me. The terror of displacement; the innocent children and women and men who are casualties of war on our watch funded by our budget haunts me. Yes, those 1,200 killed on that October 7 day are casualties of war, and the 250 taken hostage –those who have died and those still in captivity—are casualties of war. Our worry, horror and prayers must not be limited by ethnicity or religion.

Al-Aqsa Martyrs Hospital show rescuers scrambling to save people as they struggle to contain a major fire.

But I’m upset and I’m worried about the Gazan deaths. I’m worried about the children and families. Netanyahu and the IDF, which is facing accusations of genocide in a case brought by South Africa before the International Court of Justice, has maintained that it does not intentionally target civilians in its Gaza offensive.

Still, 74 children have been killed in the first seven days of 2025.

The death toll is staggering. According to Al Jazeera reporting, as of January 7, 2025--

Gaza

· Killed: at least 45,885 people, including 17,492 children

· Injured: more than 109,196 people

· Missing: more than 11,160

Occupied West Bank

· Killed: at least 841 people, including at least 172 children

· Injured: more than 6,700 people

In Israel, officials revised the death toll from the October 7 attacks down from 1,405 to 1,139.

Israel

· Killed: 1,139 people

· Injured: at least 8,730

How many more deaths shall we mourn? How many more broken little bodies, huddled on white cloth for burial, must pull the tears from our eyes? When might our electeds be brave enough to demand a permanent cease fire in the region, levered by an arms embargo?

As the wildfires rage across California, and the globe is engulfed in war in on many fronts; I’m reminded of how fragile and interconnected our world is and how little control we have over the forces around us.

But what we can control is ourselves—how we love, how we heal, and how we show up. In the face of chaos, let’s be the best versions of ourselves: grounded, generous, curious, and true. Let’s be people who lighten the load for others. Let’s root ourselves in stillness, hold space for vulnerability, and listen to those whose pain carries wisdom.

Each day, we have the power to bring a little more hope, love, and justice into this world. Together, especially in these hot mess times, we can choose to be the kind of medicine that heals.

And because the personal is political, we can also use our voices and our votes in an ongoing march to peace. Our work for justice is also medicine that heals. Don’t forget to make a call to POTUS every day for the next 10 days. 202-456-1414 (switchboard);202-456-1111 (comments). And THEN call the new president after that. You can also donate right now to the people in Gaza whose little ones are now freezing to death.

The world is on fire, friends. In a conversation with Harry Belafonte, Dr. King said he feared we (Black people) were being integrated into a burning house. America, he meant, was a house-afire because we had lost our moral compass. When asked what we should do, King suggested we become firefighters.

When there are fires everywhere, we must become firefighters, my loves. Middle Church and I are committed to fighting the fires of hatred, bigotry and violence as they erupt in our nation and around the globe. Come join us, because these fires need to be quenched with fierce, revolutionary love.

Jacqui