A Community of Lovingkindness...

When our house was wallopped by a hurricane THE SECOND TIME, it really got us good. It nailed all our vehicles, flattened our garage (leaving two walls and windows perfectly intact on the ground), and punched through our master bathroom leaving an easy exit from the second floor if you were Spider Man. Tons of people in our state faced similar situations.

But we had something that not everyone has: community. Our insurance agent Bugsy took Pete’s call and gave him great advice - which was to call our friend Steve. Our friend Steve called his friend the tree guy and we were the third person on his list. Word spread and soon the Norton family brought us a car to use, Myra brought us a cooler of water, someone grabbed our dead cellphones and recharged them. Pete’s mom offered Michael and his friend Ryan shelter from no technology so they would not miss whatever sporting event they were currently obsessing over. My brother offered to drive up from Atlanta with his chainsaw, which was sweet and just goes to show you had to be here to really grasp the magnitude of the size of that tree and the scope of the damage. Meals arrived and more help was provided; within a couple of days we were out of shock and on the road to restoration.

I am pretty sure every single human that helped us out had (and has) wildly different political perspectives and even religious convictions. But they showed up, each and every one of them, with their version of a tuna casserole. I am also quite sure I never got around to writing thank you notes. For that, I am sorry.

When I think back over the decades to the people who just keep showing up when I am in need, I find they have one thing in common. They are familiar with suffering. They have known grief.

Maybe, just maybe, if we sit and breathe and ask God to show us the way...maybe the losses and griefs and sufferings and setbacks that we are each experiencing during this unprecedented time in history can be used as fuel to inspire lovingkindness in us.

The Return of the Tuna Casserole

I’ve always enjoyed deep dives into words that try hard to teach something profound. But if that’s not your cup of tea, here is my take on the subject of lovingkindness.

Lovingkindness is the perfect description of a person who brings you a tuna casserole when they hear that you are suffering. Granted, tuna casseroles are not in vogue, but I miss them. I miss them because of what they represented. They stand in homage to a world where we lived in small communities with no access to Tik Tok, Tinder, Facebook or Google Maps. I long for a return to a world where people did not talk religion or politics BECAUSE THEY CARED ABOUT THE FEELINGS OF OTHERS.

My grandparents lived through the great wars and the great depression. My Mama used to say, “Teresa, we do not talk politics or religion. You never know whose heart you might step on accidentally.”

I read a fabulous article recently decrying this sentiment. The author suggested that it was just this kind of attitude that has gotten us into so much trouble. The theory went like this: we need to learn how to have spirited, respectful debates on important matters. Yeah, Yeah, Yeah. I agree. In principle.

Practically speaking, I am advocating for the return of the tuna casserole. Although spirited and lively debates filled with mutual respect sounds awesome, I’m not sure we have the strength for it just now.

It would be like asking my friend who just got out of the ICU after a near-death encounter with a pandemic to stop off at the local crossfit establishment and do a few thousand push ups.

My grandparents and their generation knew something that we have forgotten. When your refrigerator is bare to the bones and you have 15 cents in your checking account, you will know who loves you not by shared ideology but by who shows up with a tuna casserole. People, we need more tuna casseroles. We need those piping hot, high carb, cheese laden, gooey love offerings. (You can pick out the tuna.) Who’s with me on this one?

Loving Well

Lately loud has gotten a lot of attention. Being truth tellers is cool - although, can we admit that finding it is a bit like hunting for that one missing sock in a load of static-laden laundry?

If we REALLY want to be counter-cultural, think paleo for the heart. Loving-kindness is not only a lost art, it is an ancient one. This term and related ideas can be found across all religious expressions. Lovingkindness was coined by Myles Coverdale in 1535. This was his interpretation of the biblical word: hesed. Although my auto-correct feature does not like lovingkindness as a single word real rebels know to not be led astray by the tyranny of a computer. Myles thought of it as a single phrase, a merger of an intention (love) and action (kindness). While we are stuck on languages, kharis was a Greek word that inspired the English word “charity” and is also translated as “grace.” Eugene Peterson, in his translation of the bible called “The Message” took a swipe at talking about it when he wrote...

“Here is a simple rule of thumb for behavior: Ask yourself what you want people to do for you; then grab the initiative and do it for them! If you only love the lovable, do you expect a pat on the back? Run-of-the-mill sinners do that. If you only help those who help you, do you expect a medal? Garden-variety sinners do that. If you only give for what you hope to get out of it, do you think that’s charity? The stingiest of pawnbrokers does that.”

Luke 6:31-34 MSG

I long for a return to a world where even the run-of-the-mill sinner knew how to love SOMEBODY WELL!! Where are the stingy pawnbrokers who AT LEAST practice acts of kindness for their quid pro quos.

When Your Hope Has Been Misplaced...

If ever there was a time when I wanted to give up on humanity and throw in the towel - this would be the day. I am very, very disheartened by the abandonment of self-restraint, civility and service to others.

This is not my first, nor will it be my last experience with losing hope. The temptation when I have misplaced my own sense of self (for me hope is a core value that has sustained me since I was a child) is to find someone to blame for my discomfort. Usually this involves picking on my husband or ruminating over almost anything I can think of that is unpleasant. This path always leads nowhere. However, because I am old and experienced in my own waywardness, I am able to recognize (eventually, usually with guidance) that all hope is not so much lost as it is misplaced. When I get lost, I ask for directions; I am careful who I ask.

Lately, I have been studying the words of Karen Armstrong, a British author and former Roman Catholic religious sister who moved from her conservative faith tradition to a more liberal and mystical Christian faith. She’s written more than 20 books and I particularly love her stance on compassion. In “Charter for Compassion”, Armstrong writes: “...the principle of compassion lies at the heart of all religious, ethical and spiritual traditions, calling us always to treat all others as we wish to be treated ourselves. Compassion implores us to work tirelessly to alleviate the suffering of our fellow creatures, to dethrone ourselves from the center of our world and put another there, and to honor the inviolable sanctity of every single human being, treating everybody, without exception, with absolute justice, equity and respect.”

It is so easy to glide over these words without pausing to prepare. Listen. Repent. Change! Resist the urge to assume that we are the compassionate ones and “others” are not. Resist the natural but not necessarily true belief that we are working tirelessly to alleviate the suffering OF OTHERS. Resist the temptation to assume that we have the capacity to dethorne ourselves from our egocentric ways. This kind of resistance is not as obvious as tearing down statues; it is harder work. Much harder. And, I suspect, if we did more of this kind of work, there would be less to protest in our world.

Sticking Together

Blessed is the servant who loves his brother as much when he is sick and useless as when he is well and can be of service to him. And blessed is he who loves his brother as well when he is afar off as when he is by his side, and who would say nothing behind his back he might not, in love, say before his face.

Francis of Assisi

Families are complicated. I’ve never known one that didn’t have at least a hint of sibling rivalry with a sprinkling of uneasy and often shifting sibling alliances. When my own family of origin broke apart almost four years ago, one of the things that my dad reportedly complained about was how close my brother and I were. “Those two. They always stick together.” He said, I assume, with disgust.

Sticking together is not something that can be assumed with siblings. I remember as a child how shocked I was that my own parents did not see their siblings as often and regularly as I thought would be normal. Our siblings are our first playmates and allies, competition, partners in crimes and misdemeanors and fellow witnesses to the same life experiences (if not the same opinions about them).

Yesterday I talked about sharing a tennis court with two brothers who spent their entire match affirming, complimenting, and praising one another. They were decent players but they were outstanding brothers. If I see them again, I swear to you, I am going to ask them the secret to their familial success because, I suspect, that if all of us had that kind of support hope would be an abundant resource.

Imagine a world populated by people with a stubborn commitment to stick together. I know there would be exceptions that were necessary and even required for health reasons. But I still wonder, as I did as a child, why we all aren’t taking better care of one another.

Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.

Ecclesiastes 4:12 NIV