I choose compassion

In our world today—the news, the distractions, and the disasters—can feel like “bombs” that overwhelm our spirit, and our energy. For many, a sadness permeates. It is no surprise many feel exhausted, or smothered, or speechless, or disorientated. Or lost.
And it is no surprise that many choose to keep their eyes down, telling themselves, “Don’t look.”
Here’s the deal: Life is precarious. And bombs are real.
So. How do we navigate? And what choices can we make?
In April 2015, a car packed with explosives detonated in the busy Mansour district of Baghdad, killing at least 10 people and injuring 27. After this incident, something very unusual happened. Karim Wasif went to the bombsite, took out his cello, sat down on a chair amid ash and rubble in a black suit, his long hair combed back, and started to play.
Why go to the site of a car bomb to play your cello?
Wasfi, the renowned conductor of the Iraqi National Symphony Orchestra, said simply, “The other side chose to turn every element, every aspect of life into a battle and into a war zone. I chose to turn every corner of Iraq into a spot for civility, beauty and compassion. I wanted to show what beauty can be in the ugly face of car bombs, and to respect the souls of the fallen ones.”
We do know that when he played, soldiers cried. People kissed. They clapped, they felt alive, they felt human, and they felt appreciated and respected. This does not surprise me. When I watch the videos, I cry too. Tears of solidarity and sadness and joy. Because gratefully, it touches something deep inside of me.

Here’s the deal: More than ever, I’m drawn to stories of everyday heroes, ambassadors for our collective soul. These stories are indispensable for wellbeing and an antidote to despair.
The bombs that go off around us take different forms… violence, natural disasters, loss of faith, cruelty, misinformation and deception, personal and emotional breakdown, fragile health. When it happens, it seems out of the blue. But it all adds up to wreckage. In our spirit. In our hearts. In our relationships. And when heaviness shifts the narrative, we feel at the mercy of, as if our power of choice is gone.
The good news? Jesus invites all who are weary and heavy laden. “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” (Matthew 11:28-30)
A pause, and a place, where our soul can catch up to our body.

More than ever, I want us to live more consciously and compassionately.
Let me rephrase; more than ever, I want to live more consciously and compassionately.
And I have been remiss. So, I need to return to those places where I am grounded.
Words are easy, and frames are pretty. But choices. Well, that takes chutzpah. When we are not grounded (depleted or lose our way) we need awareness and replenishment. And let’s remember that living compassionately goes both ways, for others and for our self. Care of every kind begins with self-care.
The Hebrew word for rested, vyenafesh, can mean rest; or ensouled, breath, as in to catch one’s breath, sweet fragrance, passion, and inner being of man. A nefesh can also mean a living being—to live consciously. In the context of Sabbath replenishment, God ensouled this day when He rested. Rest is what it means to be grounded.
In a recent conference on the “Spirit of Place,” a Native American noted that, “The salmon do not only return to the stream to spawn. They also return to respond to the prayers and hopes of the people who love them.” (And yes, more than a few conferees snickered and scoffed.)

But here’s how it plays out for me. When I’m weary, I don’t feed my soul. And lethargy gives way to bleakness (loss of hope) and the desire to quit. I sense myself shutting down. Like living with a restrictor plate on my heart. (I still wrestle with shame from my childhood about ‘fessing up to the dark and broken parts in my spirit. Which only exacerbates the spiral.)
So. Tell me Terry, “Why play our cello?”
It’s straightforward really. “Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that.” (Dr. Martin Luther King)
Something in Wasfi, chose light. And wholeheartedness.
To show compassion, love and redemption.
I don’t know where that capacity comes from, but here’s the deal: I know that it is alive and well in every single one of us.
The light of hope, perseverance and connection.
The light of civility, beauty and compassion.
When I am reminded of this truth my heart expands. And the good news? A full heart always spills. This week, instead of fighting weariness by shutting down, or instead of launching another “bomb”—out of anger or resentment or spite—I will play my cello.
Sabbath Moment is my way of playing “my cello”. And Amen to the power of music, tears, prayer, dance, laughter and solidarity.

Of course, we derail when we wonder, “Are people like Wasi imbued with courage or faith not found in mere mortals?” Someone to be admired, rather than imitated.
And we don’t see the sufficiency at our core, and we aim too low and walk in shoes too small for us. My friends, today, would you accept this invitation to “play your cello”—creating music (places) where people feel alive, human, appreciated and respected? Let us continue to spill our light. And please, pass the Sabbath Moment on, and invite others to join us.

This week I enjoyed some great invitations to pause, and found connections with our world—well, more specifically, the world of grandeur in our back yard. A Bald Eagle (gliding no more than four feet above the water, slow enough to let me savor every bit), a cougar doing his late-night amble, a doe and her fawn, and two big bucks (one in the photo above) stopping for their mid-morning snack.

Quotes for your week…
“Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of human freedoms—to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way.” Viktor Frankl

BULLETIN BOARD

Today’s Photo Credit: A new member the congregation, standing near our backyard. And yes, I asked him if he was the one that ate all our raspberries. He didn’t deny it. Even so, I thanked him for the visit, and told him he made me smile real big… And 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…
–Hi, The daily prayer you are using this week—the one from the New Zealand Prayer Book—means so much more to me than the traditional prayers we repeat in weekly church services. I’m sure my church or denomination won’t change, but I will use this personally. Thanks, Del
–Hi, Terry, i could respond to all your wonderful SMs with this: you do create places for sanctuary, empathy, inclusion, compassion, kindness, and healing… spaces where we are refueled to make a difference. Thanks God for you and SM. Often make me “smile real big”. God bless, Sue
–Terry, thank you so much for your faithfulness to writing. It encourages me every day, and I’m sure it does for many others as well. And I know that, as I tell my clients and patients, some of the same things that you write about are the things that I say. Come back to me to strengthen and remind me. I know that your writing strengthens and reminds you. So, all of this to say thank you for your wings. Thank you. Stephen
–Oh, Terry!  Today’s SM and the prayer just hit me in the solar plexus– in a good way. I will use some of your words in Trinity’s Silent Meditation Wednesday as I often do. I wonder how you keep this pace in constantly writing and inspiring us. I am mightily glad that you do. Patty
–Terry, Once again you hit the nail on its head for me! I really needed to hear your Sabbath Moment today. Thank you, thank you, thank you! Barbara
–Terry, I have always harbored hope. In times of uncertainty and fear I have always remained hopeful. I am 72 years old. Today, in my morning prayer I literally cried tears of anguish and admitted to the Lord that for the first time in my life I was feeling hopeless. I then turned to your Sabbath Moment. Today’s devotion speaks about HOPE. Thank you for always being there for us. I will never give be up trying to make things better. And somehow hope will prevail. Roger