When the world is hard to love
love it anyway
Scott Russell Sanders, in the autumn 2018 issue of Orion Magazine, wrote about grappling with his son's cancer diagnosis and how his faith has evolved over the years, and how science doesn't offer much solace in the face of deep human emotions, among other things. The article is titled "At the gates of deep darkness: examining faith in the face of tragedy"and it's worth reading, perhaps twice, if you haven't already.
He closes the article with:
"Whether there is a Creator in the world, I cannot pretend to know. But we are the ones, we humans with our insatiable appetites and disruptive technology, who need to love our bit of the world, this magnificent planet. Think of how you love your child, or how you love the children of others. Think of how you love whatever you passionately love: music, flowers, painting, poetry, baseball, language, dance, the first frog calls of spring, the return of the sandhill cranes, the sound of rain on a metal roof, the full moon in a clear night sky, the splash of the Milky Way, ever atom and whisper of the one with whom you share your bed. That is how we must love the world."
There is a lot about the world that is hard to love: it often seems like the hate, the mocking of _____, the walls that threaten to separate us both physically and otherwise, the systems that are set up to make money for a few instead of helping the collective, the destruction of the earth to create the sort of wealth that can only been seen on a screen, diseases such as cancer, the pain and suffering and disillusionment of so many…. The list of what not to love could be very long. But, as Sanders suggests, at the gates of deep darkness, love stands, patiently inviting us to love the world in whatever passionate ways we can. Love opens the gate to whatever healing looks like on the other side. We need to accept the invitation, over and over again. We need to remember Martin Luther King Jr's words, "Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that."
This little snippet, that I’d posted to Facebook back in 2018, evolved into a chapter in Collisions of Earth and Sky, and on a day that somehow includes both celebrating Martin Luther King Jr’s legacy and a very divisive US presidential inauguration, I’ll leave you with it:
In [wellness] coaching, we often discourage folks from focusing on what they don’t like, but sometimes I wonder if it can be cathartic to just say it. Just get it out rather than stewing. Set it on the table, not to feed on but to clear it away for something else. To douse anything inflammatory with a pitcher of cold water. Then you can turn your focus to what makes you glad to be alive and breathing. To that which makes you ache with love for the world.
Right now, my “what I love about the world” list goes something like this: owls, rainbows, thunder, moonlight, togetherness, music, gentle sounds, wood, aspen leaves, clear water, pebbles, tomato plants, apple trees, rocky trails, canoes, movement, breath, stillness, snow, faith, room for doubt, bread ovens, birds, foxes, skin on skin, snails, books, healthy soil, gardens, solitude, the scent of pine on a hot day, farmers’ markets, pottery, wool, goats, chickens, trust, mountains, jack-in-the-pulpit, fairy houses in old logs, courage, noticing the details, wild swans, deer walking up the hillside as dusk falls on the lake as long as they don’t eat the garden, blueberry-stained fingers, belonging, children who see God in unexpected places, fiddlehead ferns uncurling in spring, holding hands, being seen, seeing others, a gasp of delight no matter the reason, red-winged blackbird trills, sandhill cranes, wildflowers in highway ditches, healers, peacemakers, truth tellers, tallgrass prairie, listening, days with no pings, forest creatures rustling leaves, ordinary rituals, wind in white pines, people who really listen, homemade ice cream and cookies, soreness from a day of chopping wood or planting seeds, wood heat, skiing across a frozen lake into the sunrise, baby animals of all sorts, filtered sunlight, feeling all feelings.
I don’t like to dwell too long on the list of what I don’t like about the world, but I could go on for a long, long time about what makes me ache with love for that very same world. In a culture that spends a lot of time on what’s wrong, I want to spend more time on what’s beautiful and right. There is much work to be done, yet I’m inclined to think keeping our gaze firmly on the sort of energy that helps a wildflower grow in a ditch between six lanes of pavement is what’s going to keep us from despair and inaction. The capacity to notice and respect the gaze of an owl might just be some of the world’s best medicine.
I appreciate how writer
put it in the March 19, 2021, installment of his newsletter:“It sounds overly sentimental but love can heal the world. Or at least our human place in it. It is the only thing that can! But we have to move beyond the definitions of what love is as just this airy thing and create an active love in the world. [It] takes work. Sometimes toil. Sometimes setting aside what is easier, or what we think we want, to show love as courtesy. Love as simple kindness. Love that can be inconvenient. Love that challenges us. If we all did a little more of that, how much better would we get along?”
There will be times when you can’t see further than a few feet in front of you, but what if those few feet are enough? […] Let love guide the way. Carve out that path with a (lovingly wielded) machete if you must. Douse the flames, the ones that are consuming you in ways that don’t feel good, and lay a new spark in the hearth of your heart. Allow active love to transform your life for good.
So, folks, on this day that feels a bit like standing on a precipice of uncertainty, make your lists, douse what needs dousing, and focus on all that is there for you to love.
I loved this so much that I read it three times. Thank you. ❤️
Thank you for writing this! ❤️