Daily Dose (December 16 – 19)
TUESDAY DECEMBER 16 — What does mercy look like?
How can I choose to heal, instead of choosing to hurt?
How can I spill grace to those around me, instead of disregard or neglect?
How can I make room for transformation and growth, instead of numbing and detachment?
Mercy is the fruit of compassion in a world where inhumanity and heartlessness is real. Mercy is any compassionate gift given to someone who is suffering.
And raised in a church where verbal affirmation was the key to “passing the test”, I need to take to heart that compassion is more than just a verbal nod, and more than just feeling concerned about someone in distress (or caring about a person’s misfortune); compassion involves action.
And that action, is mercy.
Sister Marilyn Lacey is the founder Mercy Beyond Borders, and today I read stories, what she calls “tiny moments of mercy”.
She writes, “In South Sudan we support the only all-girl primary school in the country of 12 million people. Because girls don’t usually go to school, but we’re working hard on getting them into school and most of them board because they come from far away. One day, I was talking to the school nurse that we paid to be on the campus. As I was talking with her, a young girl, probably six or seven years old, came up and stood outside the nurse’s door and the nurse noticed her and said, ‘Ah, Deborah, come in. Come in.’
So Deborah did, but she wouldn’t look up. She was still looking at the ground. And then the nurse said, ‘Are you feeling sick today?’
And Deborah just shook her head slowly. So, then the nurse said, ‘Well, do you want to ask me any questions?’
And, again, Deborah didn’t respond, but tears began welling up in her eyes. So, the nurse took Deborah into her lap and embraced her very warmly, kind of rocking back and forth. And I watched this happen after a moment or so, it wasn’t very long.
Debra kind of released herself from the embrace, stood up as tall as she could, thanked the nurse and walked outside. And I was standing outside and watching this through the door and she, I kind of looked at her wondering what had just transpired. And she said to me, ‘I miss my mother. Some days, nurse helps me cry.’
Deborah’s mother had died the previous year and she was a borderer at the school. Imagine the presence of that nurse. I mean, we put that nurse there to help with kids who were sick. But this beautiful moment of healing happened. I will never forget it.”
Mercy is a compassionate gift to someone who is suffering. And here’s the deal: Every one of us knows what it is like to be broken. Or marginalized. Or shunned. Or wrestled with feeling powerless.
And every one of us needs the rebuilding and sustaining balm that mercy provides.
And I wonder, “What can I do about this?”
And then (ironically), “I should be able to handle this.” As if I have to bring to this moment, something other than myself.
No, in a crazy world, mercy often does not feel possible. Attainable. Doable.
But here’s the good news. Mercy is not an acquirable, attainable trait. Mercy is what flows from an open and vulnerable heart. In our vulnerability and humility, mercy matures, and is spilled.
The healing balm of God’s mercy. Yes. Let us sit, and allow that to percolate. A balm that is healing and replenishing and sustaining for both hope and courage.
And my friends… We can be voices of mercy. “We”, the applicable pronoun, as more than ever the saying is true, “In the shelter of each other the people live.”
Our hearts are still with the people in the aftermath of the shootings in Australia and Rhode Island.
And to our friends here in Western Washington affected by the serious flooding and high winds, stay safe.
WEDNESDAY DECEMBER 17 — On a busy Saturday morning, Dad and his five-year-old son Martin made a bargain: If Martin behaved himself while Dad ran some errands at the home improvement store, Dad would take Martin to a movie.
Deal!
But the deal quickly fell apart. Martin began to pout and whine as soon as he and Dad walked into the store, making it impossible for Dad to get anything done.
“I don’t think you’re holding up your end of the bargain, buddy,” Dad said. “We had a deal. Remember?”
The little boy nodded tearfully.
Dad noticed that Martin’s shoelaces had come undone, and knelt down to tie them. Martin sniffled and grasped the sleeve of his father’s sweatshirt, holding on. While Dad was still on his knees, he noticed the chaos around them: Shoppers nudged and pushed one another in an effort to get through the aisles; a hysterical mother called out for a lost child; a display of boxed items tumbled to the floor because a distracted customer wheeled a cart into it. And poor Martin kept getting hit in the shoulders and head with purses and bags as people brushed passed him.
From this vantage point, Dad realized how overwhelming and terrifying all of this chaos was to a five-year-old. He felt badly for not having been more sympathetic to his son’s plight and realized that Martin had been a champ in trying to brave his way through it all.
Shoes tied, Dad lifted up Martin and placed him on his shoulders. “Hey, buddy, what do you say we get out of here and do this shopping some other time?”
“Are you sure, Daddy?” Martin asked, trying to gauge why the plan was changing.
“Yup. Positive. Let’s go to that movie.”
(Adapted from Seeds of Greatness, by Denis Waitley)
And yes. Life can be overwhelming and alarming. And we do are darndest to not show it. These are just the times and places, where we could use—and show—a little mercy.
“A little bit of mercy makes the world less cold and more just.” Pope Francis reminded us. And as I write this, I am remembering with gratitude the words spoken at his funeral in April of this year. In his homily, Cardinal Giovanni Re said, “Pope Francis always placed the Gospel of mercy at the center.”
Francis’ papal motto says it all; “Miserando atque eligendo” (meaning, “He looked with mercy and chose”—the words referring to the Gospel story about the calling of Matthew, the tax collector.)
“He (Francis) often used the image of the Church as a ‘field hospital’ after a battle in which many were wounded; a Church determined to take care of the problems of people and the great anxieties that tear the contemporary world apart; a Church capable of bending down to every person, regardless of their beliefs or condition, and healing their wounds.” Cardinal Re said.
Yes, and Amen. Francis, a voice of mercy, for the wounded and the marginalized—inviting the compassionate treatment of those in need (even and especially when it’s within one’s power to harm or “punish” them).
And this I know my friends: We live in an emotionally and spiritually de-hydrated world, thirsty for the sustaining balm of mercy—and may we spill gifts of mercy today, including a bit of mercy to our own hearts.
THRUSDAY DECEMBER 18 — It’s been quite a day. In our neck of the woods—the PNW—we’ve had driving rain, torrential wind, downed trees, landslides, rising rivers, profound flooding, roads closed, and power outages. All the kinds of things that can rattle the mental cage.
We are grateful that here in Port Ludlow, flooding is at a minimum, and roads are drivable. Power is out, which at the very least may change your plans for the day. I’ve always said that a part of me feels Amish to the core, so days without technology or electricity are just the ticket. In front of a propane fireplace with a good book. So many people are just trying to find a dry place to call home. And let’s just say that I am so very grateful, the opportunity—to sit and savor a breather in the moment—is available to me.
Where was I?
Oh yes. In Monday’s Sabbath Moment I wrote about a bully, and have had questions from readers about bullying, and woundedness. And about how both can show up in ways for all of us, and how that more often than not we are unaware of it.
Which brings us back to our theme for the week: Mercy.
Let us remember: Mercy is any compassionate gift given to someone, who is suffering, struggling, disheartened.
And in writing about mercy, today’s weather reminded me about the “storms” and “power outages” that happen to us emotionally and spiritually. About the times we have all experienced “outages” to our own emotional wellbeing.
And when that happens, how easy it is, to neglect self-mercy.
To neglect self-care replenishment.
Self-mercy—the gentle awareness that precedes self-compassion—means offering yourself the same understanding you extend to others. It’s choosing to embrace rather than punish, to understand rather than criticize.
Let us take to heart Saint Francis de Sales’ reminder, “Be patient with all things, but most of all with yourself.”
Which invites a paradigm shift, with our “first questions”. Instead of asking, “What did you do today?” (Still giving ourselves grief for a list not achieved), we can ask, “Can you tell me about the moments in your day when you chose self-care and self-mercy?”
My oh my. We don’t hear that question much do we?
Over the years, I’ve written that care of any kind—compassion, generosity, forgiveness, reconciliation, peacemaking, service, ministry, teaching, giving, healing—begins with and is nourished by self-care.
This is a good week to be gentle with ourselves. To find renewal.
And my confession: self-care isn’t always my strong suit.
Psychologist Kristin Neff was the first person to measure and operationally define the term “self-compassion.” She describes self-compassion as kindness toward the self, which entails being gentle, supportive, and understanding: “Rather than harshly judging oneself for personal shortcomings, the self is offered warmth and unconditional acceptance.” In other words, being kind to ourselves in good times and bad, in sickness and in health—and yes, even when we mess up.
“Having self-compassion means being able to recognize the difference between making a bad decision and being a bad person. When you have self-compassion, you understand that your worth is unconditional.”
Yes. The gift of mercy: seeing—and embracing—the dignity and value at our core.
To help remember, I keep this Parker Palmer quote close by. “It is a strange gift, this birthright gift of self. Discovering vocation does not mean scrambling toward some prize just beyond my reach but accepting the treasure of true self I already possess. Vocation does not come from a voice ‘out there’ calling me to become something I am not. It comes from a voice ‘in here’ calling me to be the person I was born to be, fulfill the original selfhood given me at birth by God.”
And in my heart I know that “vocation” is not my job, and not my calling, but the mark I leave, and the place I take, in this world.
Self-care and self-mercy—the permission to be at home in our own skin.
I read this once, “she was reclaiming herself, alive in her own skin.” Yes, that’s it. At home in our own skin… Unabashed in a skin (a self) that feels, values, honors, esteems, loves, fears, desires, hopes for, believes in and commits to. With nothing to earn or prove, because life isn’t a race or contest or beauty pageant.
And here’s the deal: At home, I have a self to give.
To be an anchor, a listening ear.
To be a hand to hold, a hug to keep the heart alive.
And to spill mercy. And to spill light.
Our hearts are with the many families whose houses may not be habitable because of the flooding or landslides, and the severe damage they have caused. And for all those picking up the pieces after a storm.
FRIDAY DECEMBER 19 — Never underestimate the power of mercy. And the grounding from affirmation.
Every single one of us needs to hear these words, “I value you. You are worthy.”
There are some weeks when I need it more than others.
And here’s the gift: There is power when someone sees in us, what we do not see in ourselves. Namaste (the light in me honors the light in you).
Vigor Hugo’s reminder, “To love another person is to see the face of God.”
It was the gift Jesus gave time and again, “I see you. And I value you. You are worthy.”
However, labels so easily get in the way.
In part because the label (or script or box), will always influence or persuade us to play small.
Which is another way of saying, we begin to hide our own beauty.
And when we hide our own beauty, we bury (literally, entomb) our courage.
And when we bury our courage, we disconnect from faith and hope and love.
The gift of mercy allows us to see the beauty inside, and to reclaim a self that is easily buried.
And speaking of labels, I’ve written before about our tendency to add, “just a” (to our job or title or vocation), as if who we are is not enough.
Over the years I have heard, “I’m just a volunteer (or just a member, or catechist, or aid, or worker, or helper, or employee, or friend or mother or fill in the blank).”
To each I say, “No”.
You see, “just a” creates a label, and tells us what we are not. And when we label—someone or ourselves—we dismiss. (Regardless of the label. Dorothy Day once scoffed, “Don’t call me a saint. I don’t want to be dismissed so easily.”)
Now, I never use the phrase “just a” anymore. About anyone.
In his book Falling into Grace, Adyashanti writes, “We end up putting so much attention onto our image that we remain in a continuous state of protecting or improving our image in order to control how others see us. So, in effect, we are all walking around presenting an image to each other, and we’re relating to each other as images… And we wonder why we don’t relate so well, why we get into arguments, and why we misunderstand each other so deeply.”
One more time: Every single one of us needs to hear these words, “I value you. You are worthy.”
And here’s the unsettling part. We can’t really hear it, unless we can say it to ourselves.
This I know for true; when we try to hear it, all of our well-honed defenses rise to the surface. “We’ve let others down. We’ve let ourselves down. We are not enough.”
Oh my, the things we do from scarcity. We live defended. We treat everyone as a combatant. We pretend. We dismiss. We live like victims.
“I value you. You are worthy.” Let us honor this gift of living from sufficiency, and not scarcity. And of course, it is easier said than done. But I didn’t say it is easy. Just that it is worth it.
And here’s the deal: Whatever the label or narrative of smallness we may carry, it is never the whole truth. Never. Never. Never.
Mercy lets us see what really matters. Not the labels. Not the playing small. Not the putdowns. Not the belittling or bullying.
Because no matter where we live or labor or toil, our “calling” is to spill the light.
And the good news? For this we don’t have to pass a test, or qualify, we have only to be willing.
Jesus made it simple, “Let your light shine.”
Not, when you get your act together.
Not, when you feel noble.
Not, when you find a specific vocation.
Not, after you’ve chased all the gloom away.
Just let it shine. Because the light is already there. Inside of you. Now.
“Mercy is radical kindness… Mercy, grace, forgiveness and compassion are synonyms, and the approaches we might consider taking when facing a great big mess, especially the great big mess of ourselves — our arrogance, greed, poverty, disease, prejudice. It includes everything out there that just makes us sick and makes us want to turn away, the idea of accepting life as it presents itself and doing goodness anyway, the belief that love and caring are marbled even into the worst life has to offer.” Thank you, Anne Lamott.
Prayer for our week…
Light One Candle
Light one candle for the Maccabee children
With thanks that their light didn’t die
Light one candle for the pain they endured
When their right to exist was denied
Light one candle for the terrible sacrifice
Justice and freedom demand
But light one candle for the wisdom to know
When the peacemaker’s time is at hand
Don’t let the light go out
It’s lasted for so many years
Don’t let the light go out
Let it shine through our love and our tears
Light one candle for the strength that we need
To never become our own foe
And light one candle for those who are suffering
Pain we learned so long ago
Light one candle for all we believe in
Let anger not tear us apart
And light one candle to bind us together
With peace as the song in our heart
What is the memory that’s valued so highly
That we keep it alive in that flame?
What’s the commitment to those who have died
When we cry out they’ve not died in vain?
We have come this far, always believing
That justice will somehow prevail
Oh, this is the burden, this is the promise
This why we will not fail!
Peter Paul and Mary
Photo… “Hi Terry, Another photo from Richmond, VA. A recent snowfall (and we don’t get many) turned our local park into a Winter Wonderland. What perfect timing – an opportunity to escape from all the holiday craziness. A quiet place of sanctuary where we can truly ‘let our souls catch up’. A perfect setting for this Advent season – to step away and silently reflect on the hope, peace and joy that is coming! And for all of us of various faiths, a time we can connect in the awesome beauty of God’s creation. A gift of Love for everyone! Peace be with you, Terry, and all our family of readers.” Lori Plumley… Thank you Lori… And thank you for your photos, please send them to tdh@terryhershey.com
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