Someone I have labeled as “enemy” may reveal a part of me that I have denied. Can I stay in the discomfort long enough to receive the message with humility?  Sometimes those we have labeled as “enemies” bring chaos into the established order and invite us to question what we have taken for granted. Rather than reject the message and label the messengers as “enemies”, can we remain in the chaos with compassion until its message is revealed?

Whenever I spend time with those who are poor, those who have been oppressed by our competitive society, I discover a richness.  It is a richness of trust, a richness of hope, a richness of shared vulnerability. Out of necessity, they share what little they have. They welcome whatever comes to them as pure gift. They remind me that I have not earned whatever I consider to be “mine”. In the silence of my own heart, I thank them.

Fifty years ago I arrived in Florida to work with the American Friends Service Committee’s Farmworker Housing Program. It was quite a circuitous route to get there, through the Central Valley of California, Wilmington North Carolina, Muleshoe Texas, and finally Apopka Florida. The eight years I spent in Florida taught me about accompaniment, a lesson that has carried me ever since. Regardless of job title, I have always found the way to the “underside” of society, to offer my gifts and to recognize the gifts I found there. Times in silence, especially in community, have provided  the essential detachment and resilience. Like the Magi, I have needed guidance and route corrections along the way.

Looking at the image, I see people hunkered down, fearing the worst. It takes one brave soul to look up and then see the star. This is a prophet. May I notice present day prophets and, like them, be brave enough to notice the sometimes faint sign of the new on the horizon.  And then live into that newness.

Perhaps the widow was smiling when she placed her two coins in the basket. She was free in many ways. When I lived in Albany New York, one  of my friends was Betsy. I met her at the Interfaith Shelter. A social worker helped her get her benefits and rent a small studio apartment. Whenever she had more than five outfits in her closet, she would give one away. Whenever she received a gift, she would enjoy it for a bit, but then would give it to someone who needed it more than she.  She took delight in every experience, no matter how routine it seemed to others. Her trust in the goodness of life and of each person she met taught me and others how rich apparent poverty can be.

As Election Day approaches, our fears of one another are front page news. But they are also every day realities as we look the other way, turn our backs – unwilling to see the “other” as a member of the human family to be acknowledged and respected. Our fears sap our energy and the communal energy. Let us change our own narrative, our own language – in what we say aloud and in what we say to ourselves.

“When love holds the scale, it stops working.”  When homeless encampments are cleared, it is so easy for me to take sides, to portray some as victims and others as persecutors.   The invitation is to hold the situation in love, to find that deeper place where compassion resides.

When a large encampment in Sacramento was about to close, staff from the Front Street Animal Shelter met with the people and offered short term respite for their pets. While they couldn’t solve the long term problem of homelessness, they could recognize the worth of the people by recognizing the worth of their pets. For people whose lives are continually being disrupted, pets are the one constant and are essential to their well being. A small act perhaps but one that introduced love into a volatile and hate filled situation.

I have a photo of myself as a three year old: a big bow in my curly hair, holding a toy accordion and smiling. This was before the accordion became burdened by lessons, practices and recitals.  I am reminded of how easy it is for me to make a thing of simple joy into something heavy with obligations and expectations.

About a year ago, St Francis church was graced with a statue of St Clare, honoring the woman who lived for years in deep.silence and understood the depth of Francis more clearly than his brothers.   I had asked Clare to tell me what I needed to know. A few weeks ago, on her feast day, she seemed to say, “You don’t need to come here every week, you know.”  In that moment, any sense of duty or obligation simply disappeared.

“Holiness hidden in the most trivial and mundane of events.” Every Tuesday, a small group gathers to share a meditative movement practice. It is not unusual that someone will wander in to the room and join the group. The guest is always given a silent welcome. Two weeks ago a woman joined the practice and then shared her story of living in an abusive relationship and feeling alone and hungry. One person gave her the phone numbers of helpful organizations. Someone else gave her two bus passes. And the seven year old in the room gave the woman her package of Graham  crackers.  No one  assumed that the woman’s life would be changed in some dramatic way, but everyone (especially the youngster) in the room was changed in some small way.

At first, the  Israelites didn’t recognize the manna as food. They had to wait and look again. When I have my own idea of what will nourish me, I risk walking away hungry when the “manna” is right in front of me.

“The love of God is manifested in sheer vulnerability”. Yesterday the Jesuit community in Sacramento gathered to celebrate the life of Father Art who took his own life on July 4. All were reminded of human fragility, even in – especially in – those we look to for strength. It was a time of shared humility before the great mystery of life and death and life after death. None of us can do this thing we call “life” alone.

They were to take nothing for the journey. They were sent out two by two. Even though they had nothing, they had each other. They had no credentials but they had the shared  experience of the Christ. When we spend time in the darkness of silence, we need companions to be there when we emerge, willing to offer human presence and reassurance. At times, humor might be good. Otherwise, we may sink into a darkness that we cannot overcome.

When I acknowledge a weakness , especially one that I often hide, I discover solidarity where I hadn’t noticed it before.

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