When King Herod Comes for the Refugee Children

Michele Naar-Obed on preparing to stand with refugees; also, Julie Brown on the healing power of community, Frank Cordaro on losing three friends of the DMCW, and Mack Swenson on his CW experience.

Happy 2025, everyone…this is CW Reads, our long-form newsletter. Here’s what you’ll find in today’s newsletter:

• Our War at Home: Michele Naar-Obed (Hildegard House, Duluth, Minnesota) reflects on the new administration’s plans to deport millions of immigrants, and the need for Catholic Worker communities to “walk arm in arm with our targeted sisters and brothers.”

Next, we have three pieces taken from the December 2024 issue of Via Pacis, the newsletter of the Des Moines Catholic Worker (Des Moines, Iowa):

• Healing Through Community: The Radical Call of Jesus: Julie Brown offers an Advent reflection on the power of community to heal, even amid all the sorrow and chaos besetting the world now.

• Death Comes in Threes: Baby Amy, the daughter of long-time guests, profoundly affected the entire community at the Des Moines Catholic Worker. Frank Cordaro remembers her along with two long-time Catholic Workers who also passed away in recent months, Richard Cleaver and Michael Sprong.

• Reflection on 6 Months at the Catholic Worker: Finally, Mack Swenson offers a fresh view of the Catholic Worker Movement based on his first six months at the Des Moines Catholic Worker.

Enjoy!

Our War at Home

by Michele Naar-Obed, Hildegard House Catholic Worker, Duluth, Minnesota

When I first entered the Catholic Worker Movement, I was most drawn to the work of nonviolent resistance to war and violence. I participated in nonviolent direct action, breaking unjust laws that violated international law and God’s laws. I stood by my convictions in court and while in jail and prison. Then I asked myself: if we are resisting war and the manufacturing, sale, and use of weapons, what are we saying "yes" to when conflicts arise?

This question led me to Christian Peacemaker Teams, now known as Community Peacemaker Teams. This organization trains and sends unarmed peacekeepers into areas of lethal conflict at the invitation of local human rights activists. While the formal training was valuable, the real lessons came on the ground, observing local people operate within their cultural settings. Our primary role was to accompany them to the front lines—or as close as we could get—observe, bear witness, and amplify their voices when asked.

The team I joined was first stationed in Baghdad and later in the Kurdish north of Iraq.

I spent over six years on that CPT team, three of which were in-country. When I left the team in 2011, I wondered: what was the point of all that training and learning how to resist war and violence nonviolently?

Now, I recall the wars we have faced at home in my lifetime: the war on poverty, the war on hunger, the war on drugs. In essence, these were wars against poor people, hungry people, homeless people, and those struggling with addiction. These wars were never aimed at the perpetrators of societal ills; instead, they targeted the victims.

Now, we face the war on immigrants. Unless you are Indigenous to Turtle Island, who among us is not an immigrant? Today, there are threats of martial law, raids, massive sweeps, and deportations. Martial law, with its suspension of civil and human rights, will likely mean arrest and detention first, with questions asked later. Even without martial law, mass sweeps and detentions will result in large-scale human rights violations and immense suffering.

Many cities and states across the country have welcomed immigrants. Much of our economy depends on migrant labor, and our civil society is enriched by cultural diversity. In keeping with the Catholic Worker practice of living out the works of mercy, many communities have opened their homes to welcome the stranger. Hildegard House in Duluth, Minnesota, is one such community. We have also encouraged others in our city to open up a “Christ Room” for migrants.

With this looming war on migrants, we are preparing and implementing safety practices for the migrants in our community and for those providing hospitality. We are keenly aware that King Herod has sent his Wise Men searching for the refugee children and their holy families. We anticipate that the innkeepers will be interrogated.

Suddenly, all those years of training in nonviolent intervention make sense. Accompaniment, witnessing, reporting, shining a light on injustice, and walking arm in arm with our targeted sisters and brothers—right up to and through the front lines—are how we will stay safe. We will pray for courage and wisdom to be the nonviolent warriors that our brother Jesus taught us to be. And we will live in mutual aid networks, just as the early Christians did before the days of the Vatican Empire, Christian nationalism, and domination.

As this tidal wave of injustice washes over us, we will do everything we can to keep as many as possible from being swept out to sea.

---

Three Items from the December 2024 Via Pacis, newsletter of the Des Moines Catholic Worker

---

Healing Through Community: The Radical Call of Jesus

by Julie Brown

For many, 2024 has been a year of heartbreak and turmoil. Political violence continues to fracture communities across the United States while individuals have their rights ignored or stripped away, leaving many feeling vulnerable and unwelcome in their own communities. The genocide in Gaza has inflicted unimaginable suffering, and the ongoing war in Ukraine has displaced countless families. Globally and locally, pain seems to echo in every corner.

At the Des Moines Catholic Worker, our own community has also endured profound sorrow. The loss of little Amy earlier this year was a wound felt deeply by everyone. Her bright spirit and unyielding joy remain with us, but her absence is a reminder of the fragility of life. Additionally, our beloved Jessica Reznicek is still locked up for her convictions to slow the climate catastrophe, while several other community members are dealing with persistent health issues. These struggles, combined with the weight of the world’s pain, could easily lead to despair.

Yet, as Advent begins, we are reminded of the promise of hope. This season is an invitation to reflect, to rekindle the light that flickers even in the darkest nights, and to remember the radical call of Jesus—a call to love, to resist, and to build community.

Jesus was not a figure of quiet compliance but a revolutionary force for change. His love was active, boundary-breaking, and bold. In a world plagued by division, oppression, and exploitation, Jesus reached out to the marginalized, challenged unjust systems, and offered care to those society attempted to cast aside.

We often think of Jesus’ miracles and go right to the grand gestures and spectacles. But what made these acts truly transformative was the way they built community. Jesus didn’t just heal bodies; he mended hearts and brought people out of isolation, creating spaces where everyone was seen, valued, and loved.

At the Des Moines Catholic Worker, we strive to embody that radical example. When we open our doors, it’s not about charity—it’s about creating a community where dignity is upheld, voices are heard, and no one is left behind.

This year has been heavy, yet it has also been filled with moments of grace. Within the cracks of sorrow and the chaos of the headlines, hope has quietly emerged, often in unexpected ways.

Today, as I entered the soup kitchen searching for inspiration to write this article, I intended to do what I always do: sit with our guests, listen to their stories, and weave those conversations into a “Christmas message.” But as I spoke with people, my attention kept drifting to Doña Luz as she moved through the dining room, clearing dishes and chatting in Spanish with a guest. Her voice carried warmth and laughter that seemed to settle into the walls of our house.

Something about the house felt different today—not the faces or the conversations, but the collective sound of it. I was reminded of something a therapist once shared with me years ago, when I was working overseas: deep grief and immense joy can only be fully expressed in a person’s mother tongue. That thought has stayed with me, and today, as I listened to Doña Luz and our guest, and thought about the numerous languages spoken among our current live-in Catholic Workers, I wondered how many stories of joy and grief, once stifled by the limits of English, were finally being spoken aloud in their truest form.

Moments like these remind me that healing through community is possible. Healing doesn’t erase the hurt, but it creates spaces where life and love persist.

At its core, the Catholic Worker movement is about the power of community. Dorothy Day, one of our founders, believed that we are all deeply interconnected and that the solution to the world’s greatest problems begins with small acts of love and solidarity.

This belief guides our work every day. When someone comes to our house for a meal or a pair of warm boots, they become part of our messy family. Together, we share meals, stories, laughter, and even tears. In this shared life, we find strength and hope. Community doesn’t just heal those who are suffering; it heals us all. It reminds us that we’re not alone in our struggles and that even the smallest acts can ripple outward in profound ways.

As 2025 approaches, it’s easy to feel discouraged by the enormity of the challenges we face. But the radical life of Jesus calls us to a different path—a path of hope, action, and unwavering love. The miracles of Jesus were made possible through acts of faith—through the belief that even the smallest offering could be transformed into abundance. When the boy in the crowd offered his loaves and fish, it wasn’t just his generosity that fed the multitudes; it was the collective spirit of a community willing to share.

We humbly ask you to be part of that miracle here at the Catholic Worker. Your contribution, no matter the size, is a vital piece of the work we do. Whether it’s through your time, donations, prayers, or your financial support, we can’t keep the doors open and this beautiful experiment in love going without you.

As we reflect on the year behind us and prepare for the year ahead, let us hold fast to the promise of Advent—the promise that light will always find a way to shine in the darkness.

Thank you for standing with us in this work. May the coming year bring peace, renewal, and the joy of knowing that together, we can build radical and loving community—and in doing so, change the world.

---

Death Comes in Threes

by Frank Cordaro

Richard Cleaver; Michael Sprong (left); Amy with Frank.

A terrible thing happened at Manning House on October 16th. The Angel of Death visited us.

Death did not come for Manning House’s obvious candidates. Death passed over Rev. Bob Cook, 81, who is plagued with knee and back pain. Nor did Death take Eddie Bloomer, 77, plagued with poor health, low blood count, heart and kidney failure. Heavily medicated, Eddie lives day to day in a ‘can’t sleep’ and ‘can’t wake up’ reality. Annie Patton, 67, the youngest elder, just survived colon cancer surgery and chemotherapy. And I’m a mere 73 years, a survivor of a killer heart attack that left me with 3 stents and a 20% damaged heart 23 years ago. I live on the good meds I take and luck.

Little Amy’s death could not have happened at a worse time in her family’s two-year tenure in our community. Nic and Alex were already of one mind to return home to Honduras when baby Amy died in her sleep the night of October 16th, for no apparent reason. The medical personnel call it SIDS, or Sudden Infant Death Syndrome.

For the first few days, there was constant wailing and tears in Manning House from Nichole. Alexander, at her side the whole time, with kids in tow.

We helped Jaciel, the oldest son, with childcare for Killian and Angela as much as we could. Once Amy’s body was released from the coroner’s office it was taken to a local funeral home for cremation. The family wanted to vigil with Amy’s body on October 18th at Manning House the day before the cremation for an overnight vigil from 7 p.m. to 7 a.m. the next morning.

The whole community was overwhelmed with grief and sorrow. Friends and neighbors came to pay their respects throughout the night. Poor Nichole could be heard wailing through the night. Alexander always close by, holding and comforting Nichole. Jaciel, Killian, and Angela taking in what they can. Poor Jaciel, the oldest at 11, was first to discover Amy not breathing in bed. Little Amy’s body was taken back to the funeral home for cremation and ashes returned to us the next day.

It was decided the family would go back home to Honduras, to be with their families. Bus tickets were bought, and they made it home.

A big thank you goes out to the whole community. Everybody was affected and did what they could for the family. A huge thank you goes out to Dahlia. She lined up the bus tickets, stayed in communication with Nic and Alexander throughout the trip, until they made it home to Honduras.

This was one of the hardest times I have ever had at the Des Moines Catholic Worker. I broke the rules between host and guest. They came to us when I was feeling more and more hopeless about the future of humanity. Not an uncommon ill-informed emotion, given the times we live.

Something happened to me when I first picked up Angela in my arms in the Dingman House. I was hooked, I was in love, I felt hopeful. Despite all the obstacles Rev. Amy Bruner and I uncovered and took on over the months, now two years later—the “layers of the onion” as Rev. Amy and I called them—I have fallen in love with the whole family, especially the kids. I confess, at times I did not want them to leave. I loved being around these kids. Walking Jaciel and Killian to school and back. Holding Angela in my arms and chasing her all around the house. Gaining Killian’s trust and turning his negative energy into hugs and smiles. Taking Jaciel out for tacos at a local restaurant or buying pizza for the family.

When little Amy was born, it was “icing on the cake,” a good deal made better.

When little Amy died, they remained my family. Now that they are back in Honduras I want to remain their great uncle in the USA. I plan to stay connected by sending them $200 a month for the kids and go visit them within the year. And raise needed money in the future for the kids’ education and health if necessary.

Stay tuned. This story is not over.

The old saying “Death Comes in Threes” rang true for me. Two former foundational members of the Des Moines Catholic Worker community died less than a month before baby Amy’s death. Richard Cleaver died September 23rd and Michael Sprong died October 16th. Both Richard and Michael were part of our early DMCW years, the best from the previous century. Richard’s name first appears in the DMCW community list in the January 1979 edition of Via Pacis and Michael’s name first appears in the September 1981 VP.

What got my attention were the community members mentioned besides Michael in the September 1981 issue. Duane Grady, Mauro Heck, John Hutchens, Nancy LaMusga, Kristin Layng, Jerry Mehalovic, Norman Searah, and Richard Cleaver. Just reading those names from the past fills me with many memories. Both Richard and Michael were very close friends to each other and to me in those years. Both have left their own CW legacy behind.

Richard came to us directly from the New York City Catholic Worker. He spent several years at the NYCCW after graduating from Grinnell College in Grinnell, Iowa, his hometown. Richard was a very smart guy both in book learning and in reading people. He was an expert on the Catholic Church and everything Catholic Worker. To listen to Richard explain stuff was always informative and formative. Richard helped mentor me and so many others on the how and why of being a Catholic Worker. He wrote up a four-part series on the Catholic Worker Aims and Means in the VP. And as my first gay friend, Richard helped me overcome my default 1950s homophobic worldview—much like our mutual friend and fellow DMCW Jacquee Dickey did for me with my sexism and heterosexism.

Michael came to us in the summer of 1981, an 18-year-old runaway from Indiana. By then the DMCW was five years old, one of a growing number of established CW communities started in the 1970s. In his early years in Des Moines, during winters Michael was the main force in running an overnight shelter at Trinity United Methodist Church, the first church in the city to welcome in anyone needing to keep warm. I can’t tell you how many times I got arrested with him over the years. True to the CW tradition, Michael was an intrepid and relentless activist.

Michael came to us in the summer of 1981, an 18-year-old runaway from Indiana. By then, the DMCW was five years old, one of a growing number of established CW communities started in the 1970s. In his early years in Des Moines, during winters, Michael was the main force in running an overnight shelter at Trinity United Methodist Church, the first church in the city to welcome in anyone needing to keep warm. I can’t tell you how many times I got arrested with him over the years. True to the CW tradition, Michael was an intrepid and relentless activist.

He used this early DMCW formation to venture out into the world and share what he had learned. In total, he spent more than four decades as part of the CW movement. He was instrumental in starting several CW projects. He also gave a boost to struggling CW houses by adding his experience and work ethic in both short-term and long-term stays. The DMCW benefited from this commitment when Michael and Beth Preheim moved in for two years from 1998 to 2000 to help revitalize the community.

In 1985, while living in the Community for Nonviolence in Washington, D.C., with Mitch Snyder and Carol Fennelly, Michael met Beth. They fell in love and married in 1987. They moved to South Dakota to start a CW farm and used that as a base of action for nearly two decades. They were also instrumental in establishing a CW community in Yankton, South Dakota. For 15 years, this CW operated Emmaus House, which provided hospitality for women and children visiting loved ones in prison.

Michael was 61 years old when he died. Too soon. In his last years, he struggled with alcoholism and the long-haul effect it had on his body. It complicated some physical conditions he had that resulted in an unexpected death. It was hard to hear of his death, even if it was not a total surprise.

Mauro Heck and I drove up to Yankton for Michael’s celebration of life. I’m glad I did. It was an extraordinary celebration of life. Beth put together a theater performance with readings woven into acts and scenes based on the facts of Michael’s life. They laid out the hard truths of Michael’s early life and connected it to his compassion to do the works of mercy and his drive to make a better world. She had different friends and family doing the readings for each scene.

Beth’s celebration of life service told the whole story not only of Michael’s accomplishments but also of his last years, months, and days. It was a love story between the both of them. Michael was there in the years that Beth went through breast cancer treatment. And when Michael struggled with the effects of chronic alcoholism, with Beth’s support, he never stopped trying to escape from its grip. When, unexpectedly, he took a turn and died within just a week, Beth was there for him through it all. Beth said his body was giving out, but his mind was excellent and lucid.

The funeral home has a great Michael Sprong page including photos, an obituary, and a recording of the service. These items can be accessed at either www.michaelsprong.com or at www.okfhc.com. More tributes and reflections on Michael’s life are still coming in. Beth continues to collect these and post them. If you have something to share or would like info, she welcomes contact:

Beth Preheim
605 Maple St, Yankton SD 57078
bethpreheim@yahoo.com
605-660-0084

That the DMCW community was central to Richard and Michael’s life journeys is all grace to me! It will take me more time than getting this article done, to measure my personal loss. And it will take me my lifetime to measure the life and death of little Amy.

---

Reflection on 6 Months at the Catholic Worker

by Mack Swenson

I’ve always been the type of person who constantly questions their direction in life, and sometimes that’s led me to odd places. The Des Moines Catholic Worker (DMCW) is the oddest—and most impactful—yet. As a result of my experience at DMCW, I’ve come to view my relationships with others—family, friends, and strangers—differently. The movement’s tenets are set out in all of their glory in the Aims and Means of the Catholic Worker (CW), but, for the sake of brevity, I’ll focus on the bits that have impacted me the most, starting with voluntary poverty.

Voluntary poverty’s basis is this: to give to others so generously that we “cast our lot freely with those whose impoverishment is not a choice.” Living by the philosophy of voluntary poverty stands in sharp contrast to the materialistic way of life so prevalent in this age, especially in America. Older members of our community continuously impress me with their multi-decade commitment to living simply. Being a young person at DMCW is odd. Young people, including my closest friends, expend a lot of breath talking about change and how to achieve it. Many are disenfranchised with ‘the system’—single-family living, the ol’ 9 to 5 till you die, war upon war upon war. But most of them consider it inescapable. Thanks to living at DMCW, I see an escape.

Seeing this escape, however, has made it more difficult to stay sane. It’s like the old mantra: Once you know, you can’t return to ignorance. I find myself increasingly frustrated with Americans who accept wealth inequality and endless war as inescapable facts of life, including many of my closest friends and family members. I’ve often divulged my frustration to Frank, who has advised me to accept my lack of power over others’ hearts and minds and focus on my own; I am blessed—and cursed—to struggle with implementing this advice every day, especially when it comes to my own finances. At the moment, I certainly don’t follow voluntary poverty—or many of CW’s other tenets—to a T, but I strive to come closer with each passing day.

DMCW has shown me the significance of living a life of voluntary poverty in a world obsessed with money. Perhaps more importantly, though, it taught me the value of devoting one’s life to serving others in a world preoccupied with serving oneself. These past six months, I’ve witnessed more radical compassion (my words, not the movement’s) than my previous conscious years. Our community’s compassion is particularly apparent during DMCW’s hospitality hours, when we offer hot meals, showers, and basic necessities like clothing. “Houses of hospitality are centers for learning to do the acts of love,” reads CW’s Aims and Means, “so that the poor can receive what is, in justice, theirs: the second coat in our closet, the spare room in our home, a place at our table.” Now that I’ve seen radical compassion in action, I could never ignore my moral duty to contribute to a house—and, if I can, a home—of hospitality.

Despite Frank’s worries, I haven’t been scared off by “old people problems” at DMCW. In fact, being a witness to the joys and struggles of old age has encouraged me to think more holistically about life and what it truly means to support someone through thick and thin. Nor have I found myself annoyed (yet) by Frank’s ability to work a condemnation of wealth, war, and empire into nearly any conversation. No, I am very happy here, and I’m proud to work with these people. In a world where dedicating one’s life to non-monetary service to others is often seen as a burden, I am extraordinarily lucky to have found family, purpose, and peace at the Des Moines Catholic Worker. Thank you for showing me the first way of life that feels right.