Mercy matters
My heart hurts. And I know your heart hurts too.
And when I see what is happening right now and choose to write about it, adding names and faces of the people of Minneapolis, some readers say to me, “Terry, you’re getting too political.”
I can debate if you wish—or have a good long conversation over coffee or wine—but that’s not the primary reason why I’m writing. This Sabbath Moment is a confession. About times when I fell short, and did not trust my best self, and what I learned.
Here’s the bottom line: In my life and ministry, there are times when I hid behind the luxury of silence. My mantra, “Don’t rock the boat.”
In the early 1980s (still in my 20s) I had a radio program—Cross Talk— in Orange County, CA. I interviewed guests and pontificated about life. Yes, my guests had “agendas”—points of view to peddle or to persuade—which is all well and good. As host, I could serve up softballs, or I could question and push boundaries.
One show (and I don’t remember the original topic), the guest went off on a bluster about gay people. He used jokes (to soften his hate) but was still clear about his moral superiority and need to denigrate, telling the audience that gay people have no place in the church. That God did not love them. And they will spend eternity in hell.
Here’s my confession: I said nothing. I ignored his diatribe and veered back to the subject at hand.
I can say that I don’t know why. But I do know.
I can cut myself some slack. But there is no slack to cut here.
You see, I didn’t want to push the envelope. Or create a debate. Or jeopardize my job.
I wanted to outrun vulnerability and inconvenience.
I’m still smiling, remembering Charles Bukowski’s question, “Can you remember who you were, before the world told you who you should be?”
Indeed.
That same year, I stood before an audience of several hundred clergy, a training event. During Q&A I was asked the question about gay single adults in the church. I said, “We hate the sin, but we love the sinner.” Of course, that is a dodge. And not at all what I actually believe.
After, two pastors (both acquaintances and both gay), came to my office and said to me, “We know that’s not who you are. And it’s not what you believe. We want to remind you that you’re bigger than that. Now don’t be afraid to be a voice of grace, even when it’s inconvenient. Because that’s when we need it most.”
You see, I let a story (a narrative) own me. Because I choose, to give in to a craving to find meaning from the odometer of approval.
“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 and kindness and renewal.
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.
And yet… “Not all of us can do great things.” Mother Teresa reminds us. “But we can do small things with great love.” And today, is my hour. To stand. To speak. To love.
“Lord, make me an instrument of your peace: where there is hatred, let me sow love.” St. Francis
This week, we’ve seen stories about people, very ordinary people who have taken exception to hopelessness and to hate. And to violence. And to exclusion.
Small gestures. Of kindness. And compassion. And hope.
This is an invitation to every single one of us.
Very ordinary people have taken on “the impossible” time and time again.
The good news? This isn’t a ploy. It comes from who we are. It spills from the inside out. Because here’s the deal: This capacity—for love, compassion, kindness, truth, forgiveness, justice, restoration—is within. Every one of us. These are the weapons of the Spirit.
Nelson Mandela reminded us that “No one is born hating another person… People must learn to hate, and if they can learn to hate, they can be taught to love, for love comes more naturally to the human heart than its opposite.” Let’s digest that: We are hardwired to not hurt each other. Which means that if we hate, we have to dehumanize one another.
What I do know is that an act of gentle courage has my name on it.
Maybe even today.
Mercy matters.
Compassion matters.
And I can’t turn my eyes away when the diminishment of dignity through cruelty is at stake.
One reader wrote, “I prefer it when you choose to inspire rather than talk about politics.”
If by inspire you mean tell “stories that don’t ruffle our feathers”, I can find ways, but when stories about compassion and dignity touch our heart, we’ll feel the effect and the invitation to make choices that may, indeed, ruffle our feathers.
Mental framing (embracing a narrative) is a big deal. Where do we want to pocket the story? We do know this. The stories in our world—in our communities—call us to choose. We can choose to respond, or to look away. And so, our narrative tells us the choices we may make.
I am grateful for Sabbath Moment readers of all ages, faiths, backgrounds and political leanings. And the invitation to ask, “Where and how do we create spaces where mercy is alive and well?”
Sabbath moment has always been about honoring space for compassion, kindness, inclusion, sanctuary and mercy. And I know it is easy to say, “Amen.” But there are moments in every one of our lives, when we say “No,” to places where cruelty is real, where dignity is denied, where mercy is refused.
Just home now after a weekend on Vashon Island, and a night celebrating Robert Burns, with the annual Burns’ Supper. Music and readings and poetry and great Scottish food. My Oh My.
Quotes for our week…
“What do you want to be when you grow up?”
“Kind,” said the boy.
Charlie Mackesy (The Boy, the Mole, the Fox and the Horse)
“We feel compelled now in this environment to raise our voices in defense of God-given human dignity.” The U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops
Join me March 21 (9am – 1pm) – St. Therese of the Little Flower Catholic Church, Reno, Nevada. Our topic: The gift of emotional and spiritual hydration. For more information, call the church – (775) 322-2255
Thank you for your patience as technology issues still plague us. My email address tdh@terryhershey.com is up and running.
I am so very grateful that you are a part of Sabbath Moment. And grateful for the support that makes it possible. Please, pass Sabbath Moment on to friends. And invite them to join us.
BULLETIN BOARD
Today’s Photo Credit: Salt Creek Recreation area, northern coast of Washington State… Thank you to all, I love your photos… please, keep sending them… send to tdhersheyster@gmail.com
Yes, your gift makes a difference… Donation = Love…
Help make Sabbath Moment possible. I write SM because I want to live with a soft heart; to create a place for sanctuary, empathy, inclusion, compassion and kindness… a space where we are refueled to make a difference. SM remains free.
(Address by check: PO Box 65336, Port Ludlow, WA 98365)
POEMS AND PRAYERS
Hope
Hope is not just a word,
it’s not just a wish,
it’s not just a feeling.
Hope fuels actions,
positive actions that
can make a difference.
Keep your hopes up
but act on them as well.
Think about where
your hope lies
encouraging you
in all you do,
in all you can be.
Terry Waggle
“In These Dark Days”
From what darkness in its center
does the amaryllis call forth
the tall green stalk, the muscular bud,
the voluptuous petals pealing back
from the center like radiant red bells?
What impossible sun shines
inside the rough-skinned bulb
to generate such lushness,
such extravagant beauty?
I want to know it, to trust it,
this bright immensity that pulses through
what is darkest in me, this life force
that cannot fit inside, that thrusts
through the desiccated skins
of my exhausted hopes to reveal itself
vulnerable and soft, vital, astonishing,
belonging to no one, alive within us all.
Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer
Music for the Soul…
New–
We walk for Peace — Buddhist monks Walk for Peace
Last week —
Nelson — Larry Murante
This Little Light of Mine — Bruce Springtsteen
