Daily Dose (January 27 – 30)

TUESDAY JANUARY 27 — 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?'”
Four simple words. And, in our broken world, that’s a good place to begin.
Here’s the deal: the love of God transcends and transforms what the world imposes upon us in fear, and our own sense of helplessness. That love is carried by kindness.
It’s not my desire to convert anyone. Just to remind everyone that, “Transformed people transform people.” (Richard Rohr)

This week, we are reminded that we are invited to be peacemakers.
Peacemakers always find a place at the table for anyone left out. Find a place for anyone on the outside. Find a place for anyone excluded.
Peacemakers include.
Every gesture of kindness and compassion makes a difference.
In my heart I carry with me this quote from 9/11. During the days immediately following, first responders rested and were fed in St. Paul’s Chapel, next to where the twin towers fell.
In St. Paul’s one reporter overheard a firefighter say, “When I come in that door, I’m covered with blood sometimes, and they hug me. They love me, they take care of me, they treat me as a real human being. And then they feed me, and they massage me, and they give me adjustments. These are my people. This is my place. This is where I come to be with God.”

Enjoy this song inspired by the Buddhist monks Walk for Peace.
Where the World Learns To Walk Again.

WEDNESDAY JANUARY 28 — I wish I could have gone to church today. I needed to hear the choir sing, and make a joyful noise. And I needed to take heart in a homily that gave me hope.
In my mind, I was grateful to replay a Bishop Michael Curry homily (presiding bishop of the Episcopal Church) that did just that. He began by quoting Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., “We must discover the power of love, the redemptive power of love. And when we do that, we will be able to make of this old world a new world. Love is the only way.”
“I’m talking about some power. Real power,” Bishop Curry continued. “Power to change the world. If you don’t believe me, well, there were some old slaves in America’s antebellum South who explained the dynamic power of love and why it has the power to transform. They explained it this way: They sang a spiritual, even in the midst of their captivity. It’s one that says there is a balm in Gilead, a healing balm — something that can make things right. There is a balm in Gilead to make the wounded whole.”
Bishop Curry goes on…
“Imagine our homes and families when love is the way.
Imagine neighborhoods and communities when love is the way.
Imagine governments and nations when love is the way.
Imagine business and commerce when love is the way.
Imagine this tired, old world when love is the way.
When love is the way—unselfish, sacrificial, redemptive—then no child will go to bed hungry in this world ever again.
When love is the way, we will let justice roll down like a mighty stream and righteousness like an ever-flowing brook.
When love is the way, poverty will become history.
When love is the way, the Earth will be a sanctuary.
When love is the way, we will lay down our swords and shields down by the riverside to study war no more.
When love is the way, there is plenty of good room for all of God’s children. Because when love is the way, we actually treat each other like we are actually family.
When love is the way, we know that God is the source of us all. And we are brothers and sisters, children of God. My brothers and sisters, that’s a new heaven, a new Earth, a new world, a new human family.”
And I say, “Amen.”
Let the choir sing…
(Homily delivered for the Royal Wedding in St. George’s Chapel)

I am writing this on a flight from Sacramento, CA to Seattle. I’ll be home this evening.
For all those walloped by the winter storm through much of the country, stay safe and stay warm. And check in on those who may need help.
And my heart is still reeling and hurting from the photos from Minneapolis.
Let us remember that we are walking one another home, and let us stand in solidarity for peace and compassion, and against violence and hatred.
Let us stand for kindness, and against cruelty.
Let us stand for inclusion, and against bigotry and exclusion.
Let us stand for “we are in this together”, and against us versus them.
And I write this on Holocaust Remembrance Day, marking the date Auschwitz-Birkenau was liberated.

THURSDAY JANUARY 29 — “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. It needs people who live well in their places. It needs people of moral courage willing to join the fight to make the world habitable and humane. And these qualities have little to do with success as we have defined it.” (Thank you David W. Orr)

But here’s my confession. There are days when I want to give in to mental exhaustion. And I know from experience that if I do give in, I begin to believe (and internalize) that empathy can be overwhelmed, that compassion can seem helpless, that suffering can be too much to comprehend, and that the level of public quarrel is too much to absorb. Mercy.
And it doesn’t help that we look for comfort through orchestrating our world—wanting all ducks carefully and neatly in a row. And then… life happens.
“Life,” Lucy tells Charlie Brown, “Is like a deck chair.”
“Like a what?” asks Charlie Brown.
“Like a deck chair. Some people put their deck chair at the front of the ship so they can see where they are going. Some people put their deck chair at the rear of the ship so they can see where they’ve been. On the cruise ship of life, Charlie Brown, which way is your deck chair facing?”
“I haven’t figured out how to get mine unfolded yet.” says Charlie Brown.
Ahhhh. Wisdom. Bless you Charlie Brown.

Let’s step back. Here’s the deal: Tender and fragile is okay. It’s okay. There is nothing to fear.
While I may have no magic to heal the pain and loss of others, or power to erase suffering from the world, I can stay grounded, and do what I can to help one person at a time (even myself), with small acts of kindness—to show people that hope is real and that their heart still works.
And who knows, maybe small acts of kindness will make heroes of us all.
Part of the weight is this: when I’m exhausted, it’s tempting to want to “fix” everything, and then I am wired to live from “if only” and “when”. And I forget the power of pausing, breathing, embracing, savoring, finding joy and grace and well-being… in the sacred present.
When we acknowledge the broken places (where nerves have been cut) (or unfolded deck chairs), there is now an open space, a place for gestation and receptivity (what the Japanese call “hollowness to the divine”), where new things are hatching and being born, if only we do not panic. These are the times and places from which we can truly and wholeheartedly, give of ourselves.
These are the times (albeit “nonproductive”) when new things are hatching and being born in the darkness… if only we do not panic.
These are the times when we will learn compassion (what in Buddhism is called bodhicitta, the awakened heart).
These are the times when the unbearably wounded will themselves emerge as healers and leaders.
These are the times when we know that there is a place from which we can truly and wholeheartedly, give of ourselves, remembering that we are healers, restorers, and lovers of every kind.

Peacemakers always find a place at the table for anyone left out. Find a place for anyone on the outside. Find a place for anyone excluded.
Peacemakers know that every gesture of kindness and compassion makes a difference. 

FRIDAY JANUARY 30 — ​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​Every day, 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.”
From that place of “reclaiming”, peace spills to the world around us.

Physician Richard Selzer describes a scene in a hospital room after he had performed surgery on a young woman’s face: I stand by the bed where the young woman lies, her face, postoperative; her mouth twisted in palsy, clownish. A tiny twig of the facial nerve, one of the muscles of her mouth, has been severed. She will be that way from now on. I had followed with religious fervor the curve of her flesh, I promise you that. Nevertheless, to remove the tumor in her cheek, I had cut this little nerve. Her young husband is in the room. He stands on the opposite side of the bed, and together they seem to be in a world all their own in the evening lamplight; isolated from me, private.
Who are they? I ask myself… he and this wry mouth I have made, who gaze at and touch each other so generously.
The young woman speaks.
“Will my mouth always be like this?” she asks.
“Yes,” I say, “it will. It is because the nerve was cut.”
She nods and is silent.
But the young man smiles. “I like it,” he says, “it’s kind of cute.”
All at once I know who he is. I understand, and I lower my gaze. One is not bold in an encounter with the divine. Unmindful, he bends to kiss her crooked mouth, and I am so close I can see how he twists his own lips to accommodate to her; to show her that their kiss still works.
(From Mortal Lessons. Thank you, Richard, it is one of my favorite stories to tell.)
Selzer’s story shows us the power of being a “witness”. I see you. You matter.
I will do what I can to be present, and in being present, I am a peacemaker. And as a peacemaker, I make a difference.

Whenever I see violence in the news, it’s as if my heart, literally, stops. And I know that religious platitudes don’t work for me anymore.
And here’s my confession from earlier this week; If I give in to the mental exhaustion (of being overwhelmed), I begin to believe (and internalize) that empathy can be overwhelmed, compassion—and being a witness—can seem helpless, suffering can be too much to comprehend, and the level of public quarrel too much to absorb. Bottom line: I forget that the kiss still works. For every single one of us.

“Only on the surface do we experience differences. Beneath what seems to separate us as human beings are comparable hopes and numerous opportunities to enrich and encourage all. What a changed world it would be if the hum of humanity became loud enough to drown out the deafening roar of what separates and divides us.” Joyce Rupp, from her book on walking the Camino, “Walk in a Relaxed Manner”.

And shoutout to everyone who is still trying to be an openhearted, kind, compassionate person (yes, reclaiming areas of peace), even while having to process and carry a lot of heavy things.
As a wise person once said, “It’s not what you carry, it’s the way you carry them.”
Thank you for being a part of Sabbath Moment. Onward together.

Prayer for our week…
“Imagine if every day began with a simple choice—the choice to let peace flow through you like a gentle stream, carrying mindfulness, compassion, and loving-kindness in its current.
When we make this choice, something beautiful happens. We start to smile—not a forced smile, but one that rises naturally from a heart that’s found its center, its calm, its connection to what matters most.
That smile touches our own spirit first, softening the harsh way we sometimes speak to ourselves, reminding us that we deserve gentleness too. And then, almost without trying, it reaches outward—to the person we pass on the street, to our family across the breakfast table, to the stranger whose eyes meet ours for just a moment.
And in that smile, in that brief flash of warmth, good energy transfers. Peace moves from one heart to another like light passing between candles. Someone who was having a hard morning feels a little lighter. Someone who felt invisible feels seen. Someone who forgot that kindness still exists gets a small, precious reminder.
Peace doesn’t always require grand gestures or dramatic transformations. Sometimes it starts with something as small and simple as choosing to be mindful enough to bring a genuine smile to ourselves and others.
One smile. One moment of presence. One conscious breath that helps us remember we can choose peace even when everything around us feels chaotic.
And from that single choice, from that one mindful moment, ripples begin spreading outward—touching lives we’ll never know about, creating small shifts that accumulate into something much larger, helping peace grow in a world that desperately needs more of it.
This is how change happens. Not through force or demand, but through gentle, consistent choices made by ordinary people who decide that peace matters enough to practice it in the smallest moments of their days.
May we all remember: peace starts with a choice. It lives in mindfulness. It spreads through simple things like a sincere smile. And it ripples outward in ways we cannot measure but can absolutely trust.
May you and all beings be well, happy, and at peace.”
Buddhist Monks Walk for Peace

​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​Photo… “Dear Terry, Morning light above Lake Merritt in Oakland, CA,” Anne Carter Mahaffey… Thank you Anne… And thank you for your photos, please send them to tdh@terryhershey.com
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