Daily Dose (June 10 – 13)

TUESDAY JUNE 10 — Once upon a time there was a wise abbot of a monastery who was the friend of an equally wise rabbi. This was in the old country, long ago, when times were always hard, but just then they were even worse. The abbot’s community was dwindling, and the faith life of his monks was fearful, weak and anxious. He went to his friend and wept. His friend, the Rabbi, comforted him, and said “there is something you need to know, my brother. We have long known in the Jewish community that the Messiah is one of you.”
“What,” exclaimed the abbot, “the Messiah is one of us? How can this be?”
But the Rabbi insisted that it was so, and the abbot went back to his monastery wondering and praying, comforted and excited. Once back in the monastery, he would pass by a monk and wonder if he was the one. Sitting in chapel, praying, he would hear a voice and look intently at a face and wonder, is he the one. The abbot had always been kind, but now began to treat all of his brothers with profound kindness and awe, ever deeper respect, even reverence.
Soon everyone noticed.
One of the other brothers came to him and asked him what had happened to him.
After some coaxing, the abbot told him what the rabbi had said. Soon the other monk was looking at his brothers differently, with deeper respect and wondering. Word spread quickly: the Messiah is one of us. The monastery was suddenly full of life, worship, love and grace. The prayer life was rich and passionate, devoted, […] and services were alive and vibrant. Soon the surrounding villagers came to the services, listening and watching intently, and many joined the community of monks. After their novitiate, when they took their vows, they were told the mystery, the truth that their life was based upon, the source of their strength, the richness of their life together: The Messiah is one of us.
The monastery grew and expanded into house after house, and the monks grew in wisdom and grace before each other and in the eyes of God. And they say still, that if you stumble across this place where there is life and hope and kindness and graciousness, that the secret is the same: The Messiah is one of us.
(Excerpted from Mary: Shadow of Grace, by Megan McKenna)
When the fire goes out, we are unable to see the DNA inside—we are (every single one of us), created in the image of God.
My confession, there are times when I don’t see it. Or don’t believe it.
Maybe you can relate. So. It is not surprising that when that happens, we therefore do not see the image of God in those around us.

“If worship isn’t leading to the fire,” Anthony De Mello reminds us, “if adoration isn’t leading to love, if the liturgy isn’t leading to a clearer perception of reality, if God isn’t leading to life, of what use is religion except to create more division, more fanaticism, more antagonism? It is not from lack of religion in the ordinary sense of the word that the world is suffering; it is from lack of love, lack of awareness.”

This week, let us embrace the gift of fire. To embrace the reminder that while I am here on earth, I am, in fact, a servant. I am a vessel for hope and redemption.
In India (and Nepal) “Namaste” is a traditional greeting, which acknowledges the belief that there is a divine spark (yes, fire) within each individual. Recognizing the soul in one person by the soul in another, meaning “the divine in me, bows to the divine in you”.
Or to paraphrase, bows to the fire in you. 

WEDNESDAY JUNE 11 — It’s satisfying to plan a day, and look forward to it unfolding according to design. Until there are unexpected moments. Today my little finger had an unanticipated (and yes, preventable) encounter with my garden secateurs. Let’s just say that the secateurs won. And not good if blood makes you queasy. So, after the gracious assist from two neighbors, and a necessary urgent care visit, with Steri-Strips and a Tetanus shot later, I’m ready to heal.
After a good nap.
All of this, in a week writing about the fire within.
So, yes, even in everyday, small ways, Albert Schweitzer’s reminder fits, “In everyone’s life, at some time our inner fire goes out. It is then burst into flame by an encounter with another human being. We should all be thankful for those people who rekindle the inner spirit.”
Yes indeed, “We’re all just walking each other home.” (Thank you Ram Dass)
This grounds me.
There’s a beautiful Irish phrase from West Kerry, “Mo sheasamh ort lá na choise tinne.” It means, “You are the place where I stand on the day when my feet are sore.”
That makes my heart smile real big.
But here’s the deal: Trust has never been easy for me. And this is a conundrum, I know, because we are not on this journey alone. And being human means being in relationship. Bad or good, it’s still a relationship. (And these past years have been a wee bit dicey in terms of our sense of community.)
But this is undeniable: We all need (and yearn for) places of safety, sanctuary, and restoration when our “feet are sore”.
So. How do we find such places, in a world splintered, wounded and cynical?
In a world inundated, where we lose track and our fuel for conversation is reactive, even combative?
When our equilibrium is catawampus, how do we hit the reset?
When asked about my ministry years as a young pastor, I have answered with a smile, “It was quite pleasurable, you know, except for the people.” And I get nods of agreement.
So yes, maybe it’s a good time to rethink how we see relationships, as it seems that we have lost confidence in love.
Meet poet and theologian Pádraig Ó Tuama. He reminds us that we don’t always have to agree with each other to love (or trust) each other. Disagreement and belonging can be embraced at once.
Ó Tuama has seen firsthand the transformative power of living through disagreement in community. He’s about to finish a five-year term as the leader of Corrymeela, a community in Northern Ireland working to heal the culture of division and history of conflict between Irish Catholics and Protestants.
Here’s his invitation; What might it look like to enter into disagreement from a place of trust rather than fear?
And if we know that we are vulnerable to being transformed by one another, can we change in ways we might not yet understand?
How scary and strange and meaningful can that be?
“We’re constantly making each other,” John Powell writes. “And if we do it right, we’re going to create a bigger ‘we,’ a different ‘we.’”
Let us begin here: Disagreement is not a disqualifier.
And I love the phrase, “working to heal”. It would be a great book title. An even better life mission.
“What do you do?”
“I work to heal.”
From Jewish tradition we learn our job title; Tikkun olam. Literally, repair of the world.
The word olam also means hidden . We need to repair the world so that its Creator is no longer hidden within, but shines through each thing in magnificent, harmonious beauty.
As a gardener this makes perfect sense. It’s all about the dirt. Nutritious or nutritive soil creates and generates life. Toxic soil does not. Fertility is stifled, because the nutrients have been leached.
Tikkun, to repair the soil of the world with nutrients: kindness, a balm of generosity, a capacity to accommodate fragility, and a softness of spirit. What Eve Ensler called, “The daily subtle simple gathering of kindness.”
Working to heal (Tikkun olam) isn’t only for the spiritually or intellectually inclined.
Working to heal is in our DNA. As children of our creator, we are healers.
In kindness, we affirm dignity.
In empathy, we see value and build connections.
With compassion and justice, we right wrongs and create sanctuaries.

THURSDAY JUNE 12 — Today, I take heart in Robert Alden’s reminder, “There is not enough darkness in all the world to put out the light of even one small candle.”
And in my mind, I can hear Bruce Springsteen singing, “This little light of mine… I’m gonna let it shine…”
Jesus tells the disciples, “You are the light of the world.” (Matthew’s Gospel)
And then adds, “Let your light shine.”
Let. As is, allow. As in, the light is already there.
Jesus never said, “Create the light.” He never said, “Make the light.” He never even said, “Be good at light shining.”
He simply told us to get out of the way, and let the light that is already there, spill.
So. Instead of light shining classes, let us give ourselves the gift of embracing the light that is alive and well inside… the light of compassion, kindness, empathy, inclusion and hope.
Granted, much of that light may be “under a bushel”, but it is still there, nonetheless. And this is the power: when we know that the light is here, now, we embrace (and are fueled by) the permission to be present. Yes.
Because when we don’t see (or miss seeing) because our light is “under a bushel”, we shut down or find ways to compensate. And we project strength through clout or cynicism or callousness.

Golf is my addiction, so it is no surprise that I took heart in the movie, The Legend of Bagger Vance. It is a story about a once-promising local golfer Rannulph Junuh (Matt Damon), whose career and life were derailed by World War I. Down-and-out, he attempts to recover his life and his game with help from a mystical caddie. It isn’t easy as the “down-and-out script” is winning the battle in his mind, and his spirit. In one great scene, his caddie Bagger Vance (Will Smith), pulls him aside, to remind him, “Yep… Inside each and every one of us is one true authentic swing… Somethin’ we was born with… Somethin’ that’s ours and ours alone… Somethin’ that can’t be taught to ya or learned… Somethin’ that got to be remembered… Over time the world can, rob us of that swing… It gets buried inside us under all our wouldas and couldas and shouldas… Some folk even forget what their swing was like…”
Yes. And Amen.
So. Let us embrace the gift of the light within—yes, the fire, within. And to embrace the reminder that while I am here on earth, I am, in fact, a servant. I am a vessel for hope and redemption.

And thank you for the kind words many sent re: my injured finger. I am grateful. Let the healing begin. And no, I won’t be playing golf for a while. And I promise to be a bit more attentive if I’m using my garden secateurs.

FRIDAY JUNE 13 — “Like the ancient prophets, we are dispatched back to the good work entrusted to us. It is the work of peace-making. It is the work of truth-telling. It is the work of justice-doing. It is good work, but it requires our resolve to stay it, even in the face of the forces to the contrary that are sure to prevail for a season.” Thank you, Walter Brueggemann.
This past week (on June 5th), one of my theological heroes—I was introduced to his writing back in my seminary days—joined the great cloud of witnesses alongside other departed heroes who made our world a place where grace and justice and healing are real. Walter Brueggemann was 92, continuing to write and teach until the end of his life.

And speaking of heroes, Brueggemann’s life and work reminds me of Andrew Young’s take on another of my heroes, John Lewis. It fits both men. “He didn’t convince you by his arguments. He convinced you by his life… He believed what we talk about, and he lived it every day of his life. And he didn’t have a violent streak in his body. And he was always forgiving, always loving, always understanding. And he never made you feel guilty. But he made you feel responsible.”
Yes. And here’s the bottom line: This isn’t about a seminary class. Or correct answers on a theological test questionnaire. It’s about the fuel—yes, the fire—that burns inside, and motivates behavior and choices that change our world for the better.
It is about people willing to stand up for other people, no matter what it costs them.

I’ve recently been reading from another hero, Dietrich Bonhoeffer (Letters and Papers from Prison). (Gratefully, it has been ‘savoring-affirmations-from-heroes’ month for me). He wrote, “Experience has rendered us suspicious of human beings, and often we have failed to speak to them a true and open word. Unbearable conflicts have worn us down or even made us cynical. Are we still of any use? We will not need geniuses, cynics, people who have contempt for others, or cunning tacticians, but simple uncomplicated, and honest human beings. Will our inner strength to resist what has been forced on us have remained strong enough, and our honesty with ourselves blunt enough, to find our way back to simplicity and honesty?”

Which bring us back to Brueggemann: Let us never forget, every single one of us can make a difference.
Today, I was rereading pieces from Brueggemann’s, The Prophetic Imagination, “In both his teaching and his very presence, Jesus of Nazareth presented the ultimate criticism of the royal consciousness. He has, in fact, dismantled the dominant culture and nullified its claims. The way of his ultimate criticism is his decisive solidarity with marginal people and the accompanying vulnerability required by that solidarity. The only solidarity worth affirming is solidarity characterized by the same helplessness they know and experience… We need to ask not whether it is realistic or practical or viable but whether it is imaginable. We need to ask if our consciousness and imagination have been so assaulted and co-opted by the royal consciousness that we have been robbed of the courage or power to think an alternative thought… the imagination must come before the implementation.”
Rest in Peace Walter.

And my friends. Let us embrace the gift of the light within—yes, the fire, within. And to embrace the reminder that while I am here on earth, I am, in fact, a servant. I am a vessel for hope and redemption.

“I had a choice: I could either let the darkness of the world swallow me, or I could do what I could to help make the world a little bit brighter.” Haruki Murakami

Prayer for our week…
May I be a guard for those who need protection
A guide for those on the path
A boat, a raft, a bridge for those who wish to cross the flood
May I be a lamp in the darkness
A resting place for the weary
A healing medicine for all who are sick
A vase of plenty, a tree of miracles
And for the boundless multitudes of living beings
May I bring sustenance and awakening
Enduring like the earth and sky
until all beings are freed from sorrow
And all are awakened.
Bodhisattva Prayer for Humanity

Photo… “Terry, Who would guess that a geranium could provide a mornings worth of Awe and Wonder.  Thanks for all you do. Blessings,” Dave Jennings and Monica Armanino… Thank you Monica and Dave… and thank you for your photos, please send them to tdh@terryhershey.com