Daily Dose (February 3 – 6)

TUESDAY FEBRUARY 3 — “Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter.” Martin Luther King Jr.
And when that happens, I forgot, or didn’t remember (or didn’t see and embrace the light inside of me) to tell the story of sanctuary, and empathy, and mercy.
The story of inclusion and compassion, in the face of cruelty.
The story of kindness and renewal, in the face of malice.
The story of grace.
There is no doubt; mercy and sanctuary and grace are not always convenient. Go figure.
And there is no perfect time to stand up. Or to do soul searching. Or to say this is who we are. Or to call on our better angels.
Easy? Heavens, no.
And yet. When John Lewis’ invitation is given, “Do not get lost in a sea of despair. Be hopeful, be optimistic. Our struggle is not the struggle of a day, a week, a month, or a year, it is the struggle of a lifetime. Never, ever be afraid to make some noise and get in good trouble, necessary trouble”, look at what rises to the surface.

It did my heart good to read this from Krista Tippett. “At the very same time, this is one of those moments when the strange and beautiful reality of the human condition rises in the face of what would deny it. In Minnesota, where I raised my children and grew this On Being Project a world of care and dignity one human being towards another has flourished within and around all the images coming to us of violence and protest and despair. There are churches converted to food banks. There are families accompanying other families and neighbors delivering meals and other essentials to individuals who feel vulnerable for multitudes of reasons. There are strangers bearing witness, non-violently, as homes are approached and doors beaten down. There are teachers and librarians and healers stepping up to care for children and teenagers who are traumatized by all of this. I am hearing a thousand stories that are not making the ‘news’ as I’m trying to follow it, but they too are the story of our time, and they are stories of what makes us human and humane.
We want to meet what is hard and hurting.
We want to rise to what is beautiful and life-giving.
We want to do that where we live, and we want to do it walking alongside others.
We’re asking, where to begin?” (Thank you Krista)

There is a light in every one of us. Let us, let it shine.
After Monday’s Sabbath Moment, there were a few who said, “Please don’t ruffle any feathers.” And gratefully, a majority who said, “Please, ruffle some feathers.” Ruffling is a good thing, allowing us to say No to cruelty and injustice and closing our eyes.
And allowing us to say Yes to stepping up, and “getting in the game”, for generosity and healing and compassion.

People often like to ask me what I “believe”. I’ll go with what Walter Brueggemann (in Theology of the Old Testament) calls a “credo of five adjectives” that continually recurs in the Hebrew Scriptures: This God that Israel—and Jesus—discovered is consistently seen to be “merciful, gracious, faithful, forgiving, and steadfast in love.”

Our Prayer for our week…
“O wise and peaceful God,
all across the globe people are fearful.
Unrest and violence, division and angst, sadden our hearts.
Yet, somewhere in the depths of our hearts lives your wisdom.
Unite us. Lead us to the truth that love is more powerful than fear.”
Benedictine Macrina Wiederkehr

And a song for your heart and spirit. Lift Us Up: A Song For America, Peter Yarrow

WEDNESDAY FEBRUARY 4 — ​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​Your voice matters. My voice matters.
So. “Ask yourself what you can do to make a difference, then take that action, no matter how large or small.”  (Graça Machel)
And always remember: No one of us is on this journey alone.
And we need one another not only for care and comfort, but to pick up the pieces, allowing us to find ways to create spaces in our world, that do not (or will not) belittle, or diminish, or demean. Spaces where mercy and compassion and kindness are alive and well.
I will admit that it all—the whirlwind of events and social upheaval—feels part distressing, and part deadening. Making me wonder, where do we begin in our broken world?
The answer: We begin in the small world, the one right in front of us.
Rear Admiral Thornton Miller Chief was the Chaplain at Normandy in WWII. Someone asked him, “Up and down the beach, with the shells going everywhere, why did you do that?”
“Because I’m a minister.”
“But didn’t you ask if they were Catholic or Protestant or Jew?”
“If you’re a minister, the only question you ask is, ‘Can I help you?'”
So. Adapting this story to today. I don’t ask your race, or creed, or immigration status. I ask, “Can I help you?”
Immigrants matter to Jesus, and they matter to me.
The poor and marginalized matter to Jesus, and they matter to me.
The beauty of diversity matters to Jesus, and it matters to me.
Grateful for Mia Carella’s reminder, “Inclusion isn’t just inviting someone to sit at your table. It’s believing they belong there.”

“Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter.” Martin Luther King Jr.
And when that happens, I forgot, or didn’t remember (or didn’t see and embrace the light inside of me) to tell the story of sanctuary, and empathy, and mercy.
I can tell you that I am grateful, and in awe, reading stories of people standing up. Meals in churches that are now food banks. Families accompanying other families and neighbors delivering meals and other essentials to individuals who feel vulnerable for multitudes of reasons. Strangers bearing witness, non-violently, as homes are approached, and doors beaten down. Teachers and librarians and healers stepping up to care for children and teenagers who are traumatized.
Yes. “Can I help you?”

And here’s another part of the story. Staying grounded (emotionally and spiritually hydrated) goes hand in hand with fueling our wherewithal to stand up and speak for justice and mercy.
I take Etty Hillesum, to heart. “Ultimately, we have just one moral duty: to reclaim large areas of peace in ourselves, more and more peace, and to reflect it toward others. And the more peace there is in us, the more peace there will also be in our troubled world.”
And the good news?
Peace in ourselves, and ruffling feathers are not adversaries.
Peace in ourselves, and being a giver of care and compassion and mercy are not adversaries.
Not that many years ago, I spoke to a group of hospice care workers here in the Pacific Northwest, about emotional and spiritual hydration. I started this way, “What I’m about to tell you is very selfish. I want self-care to matter to you. Yes, I want you to be replenished. Because one day, I will need one of you.”

THURSDAY FEBRUARY 5 — In a serene village, nestled by a flowing river, a group of monks resided in a monastery. One day, as they meditated sitting by the riverside, they noticed a disturbing sight. Bodies of people were floating down the river, and it was evident that they had drowned. Distressed by the tragic scene, the monks felt compelled to act.
Without hesitation, most of the monks jumped into the river, working to pull the lifeless bodies out of the water, hoping to give them a proper burial and alleviate the suffering of their families. They worked tirelessly, exerting all their energy to rescue as many bodies as they could.
However, amidst the flurry of activity, one of the monks remained still on the riverbank, observing the situation intently. Seeing this, the others called out to him, urging him to join their efforts and help with the drowned victims. But the still monk calmly shook his head and said, “I must go upstream, in order to find out why these bodies are ending up in the river.”
While the majority of the monks focused on dealing with the immediate consequences, the wise monk recognized the necessity of finding out (seeing, naming and addressing) the root cause of the tragedy. He realized that no matter how many bodies they rescued downstream, more would keep coming if the source of the problem remained unattended.
The insightful monk traveled upstream, following the course of the river to its origin. There, he discovered a treacherous and dilapidated bridge that had collapsed, causing the tragic accidents, now obvious downstream. The monk immediately set to work, repairing the bridge, so that no more lives would need to be lost in the future.
(The Chinese Parable of the River. And thank you to Ahiah Center for Spiritual Living.)

Two things stand out for me in this story.
One, there is a moment when we—every one of us—have a choice, to respond to what we see. We can’t close our eyes to the bodies in the river. Well, in truth, we can close our eyes, but it would be to our detriment, and to those affected.
This in know with all my heart: When we see, and choose to respond, compassion and mercy speak and act loudly.
They make a difference.
And two, I see the wisdom of the monk who chose to address the underlying contributing issues, doing what he could to prevent future suffering.
Here’s the bottom line: this tale encourages us to be both compassionate helpers, and wise problem solvers. Deep gratitude to both. In the story, and in our world today.
By addressing the root causes in parts and places in our world where people are threatened (or endangered or an “easy target for”), we can make a lasting impact, and create a better world, ensuring that the river of life flows smoothly and peacefully for all.
“Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter.” Martin Luther King Jr.
And when that happens, I forgot, or didn’t remember (or didn’t see and embrace the light inside of me) to tell the story of sanctuary, and empathy, compassion, and mercy. 

FRIDAY FEBRUARY 6 — I have been smiling real big each day, following and watching the videos of the Buddhist monks on their Walk for Peace. They are now in Fredericksburg, VA on Day 103 of their walk to DC. It does my heart good.
“This little light of mine. I’m gonna let it shine.”
And it’s heartening and hopeful to see that light spilling on the thousands of people who gather along the roadways in all the towns the monks pass, handing out flowers and beads for peace. And now carrying a light to shine.
Today’s message from the monks: “May our journey scatter seeds of peace in grown hearts and young hearts alike. May the children who witness our walk receive something precious—a seed that takes root quietly, blooms as they grow, and becomes part of who they are. And when they’re grown, may they naturally spread peaceful seeds in their own lives, their communities, their world, carrying this journey of peace forward in ways beyond what we can imagine.
May you and all beings be well, happy and at peace.”

Yesterday we told the story of the monks by the river. Removing dead bodies that floated by. And then the one monk goes upriver to see why they were falling in. And he found a decrepit and dilapidated bridge.
So. What time is it? It’s bridge building time.
Bridges that connect places, and more importantly, bridges that connect people.
Bridges to build community. We are no longer “segregated”.
Bridges that carry all people—even the least of these—to safety.

“Here’s to the bridge-builders, the hand-holders, the light-bringers, those extraordinary souls wrapped in ordinary lives who quietly weave threads of humanity into an inhumane world. They are the unsung heroes in a world at war with itself. They are the whisperers of hope that peace is possible. Look for them in this present darkness. Light your candle with their flame. And then go. Build bridges. Hold hands. Bring light to a dark and desperate world. Be the hero you are looking for. Peace is possible. It begins with us.” (Thank you, L.R. Knost)

It is no surprise that I am frequently drawn to the story of the good Samaritan. I like Thomas Merton’s take, “Our job is to love others without stopping to inquire whether or not they are worthy. That is not our business and, in fact, it is nobody’s business. What we are asked to do is to love.”
So. Let us carry with us Viktor Frankl’s helpful reframing, “The question can no longer be ‘What can I expect from life?’ but can now only be ‘What does life expect of me?’ What task in life is waiting for me?” (Yes to Life: In Spite of Everything)
Here’s the deal: “The plain fact is that the planet does not need more successful people. But it does desperately need more peacemakers, healers, restorers, storytellers, and lovers of every kind.” David Orr
I can choose to be a peacemaker. And a bridge-builder.

And I just received this. Today, United Methodists from across western North Carolina are offering a public witness on behalf of people in our nation harmed by current immigration enforcement policies.
“We are United Methodist Christians who see and grieve the aggressive, undisciplined, illegal, and inhumane treatment of people in our country in ICE raids.
We are horrified and heartbroken that our country has become a battleground riddled with fear and rage. We believe in the God-given dignity of all people, including immigrants.
We refuse to remain silent or complicit.
We stand with all our neighbors as we pray for and demand an end to the use of brute and deadly force with no accountability. It is time for courage, love, and change.
The violence must stop.
Our faith compels us to show up and seek justice, defend the oppressed, welcome the stranger, and share the relentless love of God, who calls us to a more perfect union of love, peace, and goodness.”

“We walk for peace together. Carrying hearts of mercy on our journey.
We walk on snow covered roads. Carrying love and kindness on the road…
As we walk forward every step is a vow to practice.”
Music on the Walk for Peace

Prayer (poem) for our week…
Not Exactly Refuge
When storms of evil assault our boat
we flee for refuge to Jesus,
asleep beneath a thwart
on a peaceful cushion,
and wake him: “Don’t you care
that we’re in danger?”
He wakes, and wakes us with him,
takes us with him,
gathers us in his arms,
his whole soaking church,
and climbs up into the storm
with us, faces the waves with us,
and breathes a different kind of wind
into us—us, for this storm is ours—
a breath by which we ourselves can cry out
in a voice that creates what it names,
“Peace! Be still.”
Steve Garnaas-Holmes

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