Graciousness is real

“Be soft. Do not let the world make you hard. Do not let pain make you hate. Do not let the bitterness steal your sweetness. Take pride that even though the rest of the world may disagree, you still believe it to be a beautiful place.” (Thank you Kurt Vonnegut)
Did you see the movie, “A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood”?
The movie stars Tom Hanks, and is based on the relationship between Fred Rogers and Tom Junod which began in 1998 when Junod wrote an article for Esquire, “Can you say, Hero?”
Wondering how Fred was genuinely available and present to the people around him, Jundo recounts calling Fred to tell him the story about five people stopping their cars to help an ancient and enormous snapping turtle across a highway exit ramp near Atlanta. Mr. Rogers said that would make a good story. Tom asked him why. Fred Rogers responds, “Because whenever people come together to help either another person or another creature, something has happened, and everyone wants to know about it—because we all want to know that there’s a graciousness at the heart of creation.”
I love that phrase—graciousness at the heart of creation.
I know what he means. The beauty of humanity, of doing good when we can, of loving our neighbors, of treating one another openhearted, with dignity and respect, welcoming and reconciling.
But here’s the deal: In the world we live in, we too easily forget that this graciousness is alive and well in each one of us.
I wonder, why do we forget?
Why we give way to our lesser selves, to small-mindedness and intolerance?
I do know this: whenever our words demean, humiliate or shame, we cut off the oxygen of hope.
You can read all of Junod’s reflections, in the Atlantic magazine (Dec 2019) article. And as a rule, I want you to know that I don’t cry when I read The Atlantic. But when I read this story, I did. Gratefully.
I get to the part where Junod talks about watching the movie. “I had counted on the plot’s many departures from my life to insulate me from the emotional effect of seeing some version of myself up there, but in the screening room I had no such protection, because the director, Marielle Heller, had been so faithful to the essence of the story; A long time ago, a man had seen something in me I hadn’t seen in myself, and now I was watching him see something in me and couldn’t help but ask all over again. Who was he? Who was I? And what did he see?”
“You love people like me,” Mathew Rhys (who plays Junod) tells Tom Hanks. And when Hanks asks, “What are people like you?” Rhys answers, “Broken people.”
“And that broke me, though I had never uttered those words to Fred in my life. He saw something in me, yes.”
In being seen, we invite self-compassion. In that soil, mercy, hope, redemption and healing blossom.
So. Let us circle back to the graciousness at the heart of creation. It spills.
“Human history is a history not only of cruelty,” Howard Zinn reminds us, “but also of compassion, sacrifice, courage, kindness. If we see only the worst, it destroys our capacity to do something. If we remember those times and places–and there are so many–where people have behaved magnificently, this gives us the energy to act, and at least the possibility of sending this spinning top of a world in a different direction. And if we do act, in however small a way, we don’t have to wait for some grand utopian future. The future is an infinite succession of presents, and to live now, in defiance of all that is bad around us, is itself a marvelous victory.”

This reminder of graciousness keeps us in touch with another life-giving truth: We are, literally, repairers of the world. It is from Jewish tradition that we learn our job title; “Tikkun olam”.
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.
And I know this more than ever: In the world we live in, I believe in the necessity, and healing power, of sanctuary.

When I forget, I live from scarcity. And when I live from scarcity, I lose my mooring. I clutch, and I blame. However, when I live from the sufficiency of my DNA, the world does not make me hate. I trust my heart, and any assumed scarcity (of kindness and compassion) does not get to say how the story ends.
And when people live from that DNA (the power of ordinary and gentle acts of kindness, even in the face of disagreement), the stories give our heart (and world) hope.
There will be days when we forget. When we lose hope. On those days… “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.” Albert Schweitzer
Mr. Rogers lived Tikkun olam. Watch the clip of his acceptance speech for a Lifetime achievement Emmy award. This is what he said, to an audience that lives in a cynical and skeptical world, “So many people have helped me to come here to this night. Some of you are here, some are far away and some are even in Heaven. All of us have special ones who loved us into being. Would you just take, along with me, 10 seconds to think of the people who have helped you become who you are, those who cared about you and wanted what was best for you in life.”
Who are your people? Who remind you that today is a good day to work to heal?  A good day to be vulnerable to being transformed. To right a wrong. To forgive (beginning with myself). To embrace. To offer a hand, or a kind word. Or both.

Speaking of special people, I was very sorry to learn that my friend Philip Roderick, Founder of Contemplative Fire, died. For some years, Philip and I sponsored a conference entitled Gardens and Grace. And I am so grateful for that friendship. In the Daily Sabbath Moments this week I’ll share more of Philip’s gifts to our broken world.

Savor your Labor Day my friends.

Quote for our week… I am reminded of a comment overheard after 9-11, in St. Paul’s (where first responders ate and slept on cots and in pews). A firefighter said, “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.”

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Today’s Photo Credit: “Good morning, Terry! I was out watering my dahlias this morning and saw this sweet bee just waking up from its night’s sleep. Enjoy!” Madeleine Gallagher (Paso Robles, CA)… Thank you Madeleine… Thank you to all, I love your photos… please, keep sending them… send to terryhershey.com 

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Letters that do my heart good…
–A delightful story. A focus on the little subtleties in life, is to live in the sabbath moment. Time to start a day anew. Lots to look forward to that have not yet been revealed. Good morning! Julie
–Wrapping up a month-long respite from the heat of Austin, Texas and appreciative of our walks with this beautiful, peaceful guy. He has led us for several years of walks to the boat launch off Point Fosdick at the southern end of Puget Sound. A wonderful spot to sit and enjoy all of the beauty nature has to offer, and on some mornings, the opportunity to sit and read Sabbath Moment. Thank you, Terry. Your references to this beautiful part of the world have resonated deeper having explored this area over last several years. Barbara and Kevin
–Thank you, Terry!  I too needed to read Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s I Have a Dream speech.  It gives me hope in a world that seems devoid of such hope.  I appreciate you and your daily reminders of the beauty that surrounds us!  Shalom friend!  Patti, Atlanta GA, Grateful subscriber to Daily Sabbath Moment
–I love the thought of ‘Absorbedness’ when it comes out of thoughts of absorbing God’s grace and mercy and our call to respond in passing it forward knowing there will always be more. Thanks as always for being a shining ray of God’s light Terry!
From the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia, Cathy+
–Terry, I just heard this song and immediately thought of you. Release, by Ben Rector. Thank you for so many blessings through pause and presence reminders in Sabbath Moment, This is the Life, Stand Still, and the Power of Pause. Blessings, Eric