We live each day surrounded by images of the horrors of our world. Each week brings stories of a world weary with violence. How can we not feel powerless in this? How can we remain committed to a life of nonviolence when so many of the world's ways seem to point in the other direction?
My husband and I were asked to reflect on this dilemma at a recent Christian Peacemaker Teams workshop. Through preparing for this workshop, we realized that living nonviolently involves two separate yet interconnected practices: an outer, visible witness to a life of peace; and the more hidden, attentive work of being present to the small details of our lives. The outer practice is more noticeable, and is often more gratifying - who doesn't feel better after participating in a peace march? And yet, as I learn over and over again, the greatest impact I can have in my tiny world is the way I choose to be present to others and to the world around me. If, daily, I can speak to my children with absolute patience and listen to them as deeply as I would wish that listening from someone else; if, daily, I refrain from the easier tack of speaking ill of someone in order to appear stronger myself; if, daily, I make choices that cause less damage to this beautiful planet - then I know my journey of nonviolence continues, despite the invisibility of its workings.
In a world so broken, I need to believe that living peacefully, both in the grander picture and in the smallness of my own life, will make some difference to the work of "creating something new in the skin of the old."
Madeline Burghart, L'Arche, Toronto
I seem to be surrounded at the moment by this sense that truly living as God has called us to live does make a difference. We need not necessarily go out and interfere with people to change things. We don't necessarily have to rail against them, legislate against them, prosecute them, make war on them, to bring God into people's lives. In fact, it's probably all to the good if we don't do most of those things.
It's all one unbroken fabric with what I have come to realise about prayer: that - for me at any rate - the most effective prayer is not the one possessed of all the facts, zealous in enumerating them before the Throne of God, and diligent in formulating answers to our prayers, and in asking God to plonk the divine rubber stamp on them: "Approved. Let it be so. God." It's very often the prayer where "we do not know how to pray as we ought" (Romans 8.26) and just cry out to God, clinging closely to his mercy, trusting in his Spirit, that really makes the difference.
The cry of my heart for solitude, for a life "hidden with Christ in God" (Colossians 3.3), is not a solipsistic, self-centred withdrawal from the world after all, but an opening of all of myself to be "crucified with Christ" that I may no longer live as myself, "but it is Christ who lives in me." (Galatians 2.19-20) Then, perhaps, I might be able to be of some use!
2 comments:
Ooooh, yes :) You're in the day of praying dangerously
I was thinking about MOther Theresa before and about how she poured herself into her work, and poured herself and poured herself and kept pouring and then ended up pouring even her actual faith in there. Talk about giving your all. (I imagine her faith returned to her 100fold)
I've missed your insights and the quotes you share. I think I'm back now, hopefully more centered.
I really love your last paragraph. It seems to me that there are those who are called to the active life and those who are called to the contemplative life, and that you can come to be crucified with Christ either way, as long as you are following God's voice. You (and I) seem to be called to be very contemplative. I think God needs both kinds of people.
Thank you for being here, for sharing yourself, your journey.
Post a Comment