Heals and Inspires
The world changes.
The ground shifts.
We still make plans.
We still find gifts.
(Thank you Lin-Manuel Miranda)
I’ve had many conversations over this past week. And for many people, the shift has been very daunting. And continues to provoke the pestering question, “So now, what difference can I possibly make?” And “Where do we go from here?”
The Chafetz Chaim (Rabbi Yisrael Meir Kagin, leader in the Jewish world, 1838-1933), was asked about his impact and how he made a difference.
He answered, “I set out to try to change the world, but I failed. So, I decided to scale back my efforts and only try to influence the Jewish community of Poland, but I failed there, too. So, I targeted the community in my hometown of Radin, but achieved no greater success. Then I gave all my effort to changing my own family, and failed at that as well. Finally, I decided to change myself, and that’s how I had such an impact on the Jewish world.”
My friend Phil Volker used to say that it takes one kind of hope to show up for life, and another kind to partake. Yes, and amen. And I don’t think we are supposed to be casual observers here with our precious time.
Phil spoke from good experience; with stage four cancer, and yet, gratefully on his way to walk a good portion of the Camino de Santiago. “Having a life-threatening obstacle,” he said, “it straightens your priorities out.”
Here’s the deal: Deciding to “change myself” is about showing up, and living from that place of being at home in my own skin. So, the first ingredient of our “pilgrimage” is the invitation to find grounding and sustenance. I often think of the question a friend asks me, “What holds you?”
I recently read this quote, and find it to be a perfect response to the question: There are two places you need to go often. A place that heals you. And a place that inspires you.
Okay, that’s not a bad motto for a pilgrimage as well.
I am writing this in a café in Porto, Portugal. It is misting rain, and I don’t have an umbrella, so maybe they can tell I’m from Seattle. We’re outside near the sidewalk, under canopies. The pace here exactly what I need, unhurried and intentional with an invitation to savor.
I’ll be in walking the Portuguese Camino this month. It’s me and my backpack. Good walking shoes. And a journal, with my nib pen.
To walk the Caminos has been on my wish-list for a few years now. But that’s just it. Somehow, our wish-lists overlook the summons, that “now” is a pretty good time to say “yes” to places and endeavors that heal and inspire us.
As one friend often quizzed me, “Why do you save up so many airline miles if you are never going to use them?”
On the flight over the Atlantic, I watched “Won’t you be my neighbor?” a heartwarming and inspirational look at Mr. Rogers, and the way his light spilled and made a difference in our world.
For me, it brought welcomed (and cleansing) tears, and the renewed invitation to befriend this me. This me, that can indeed make a difference in our world.
And it is the perfect way to begin any pilgrimage.
I loved the scene when Fred Rogers testifies before the Senate (in 1969) to defend funding for Public Broadcasting. The committee is chaired by Senator John Pastore (a man most reluctant to allocate any funding). And in just 6 minutes Fred changes the heart of Senator Pastore, as he recites the words to one of his songs,
“What do you do with the mad that you feel
When you feel so mad you could bite?
When the whole wide world seems oh, so wrong…
And nothing you do seems very right?
I can stop when I want to
Can stop when I wish
I can stop, stop, stop any time.
And what a good feeling to feel like this
And know that the feeling is really mine.
Know that there’s something deep inside
That helps us become what we can.”
Yes. To become what we can. These stories do my heart good. And sometimes stories are more important than food to stay alive. Because they are reminders of the sufficiency that lives inside of us, and of the sacrament of the present, and help us not give way to any restrictive narrative of fear.
I marvel at stories about people with fortitude or stamina. My friend Jinks tells me that it is our place of “bright shadow.” Those places of beauty, creativity, resilience, imagination, courage and humor. Those places of unrecognized beauty. Places of healing. And inspiration.
“There’s something deep inside, that helps us become what we can.” We are fueled by our inherent value. Remembering our endowment, by our Creator, with good.
Can we hear that today?
I hope so.
And pilgrimage is a great metaphor for what we are on, as a country. We are walking not only to disconnect from the rapid pace of life, but to make space for presence and healing and connectedness on many levels—with others, with our world, and with ourselves.
Sadly, when life feels catawampus, we forget where we tether our well-being.
So, I will carry these words with me into this week… What sustains you, and carries you gently through your days? What heals and inspires?
And carry these two invitations, good ones to repeat every day.
“Be soft. Do not let the world make you hard. Do not let pain make you hate. Do not let the bitterness steal your sweetness. Take pride that even though the rest of the world may disagree, you still believe it to be a beautiful place.” Iain Thomas
“When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, “Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.” Fred Rogers
Peace to you, my friends. Thank you for being a part of Sabbath Moment. Onward we go, together.
Quote for our week…
“May we navigate this journey, always being fully present to the joy that exists in the here in now. Follow your heart, it will not lead you astray. May we always find something to be grateful for, no matter what is going on in our lives right now.”
Mary Anne Byrne
BULLETIN BOARD
Today’s Photo Credit: “Hello Terry, Your quote today from John O’Donahue, ‘May your soul be as free as the ever new waves of the sea’ reminded me of this photo which I took on our visit to the Outer Banks last week. I am greatly blessed by Sabbath Moments and often share it with family and friends. Thank you.”
Jane Thompson (Picton, Ontario, Canada)… Thank you Jane… Thank you to all, I love your photos… please keep sending them… send to terryhershey.com
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Audio Sabbath Moment oldie but goodie– Love brings you home
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Letters that do my heart good…
–Terry, Just so you know, you make a difference in my life every time I read one of your posts. You give me something to hold onto. To inspire me. To comfort me. To challenge me. To cause me to ask questions of myself. To help me move forward when I am stuck or think I am. Thank you. Maryann
–Thank you, Terry. Teaching stories are integral to our learning, understanding, and caring of others and the world around us. I’ve learned that, as we are exposed to, and expand our interest and care for others, such stories need no commentary. They become richer without it. Bill
–Your words continue to open my heart to my Sabbath Moments. Thank you. Janne
–Hi Terry, Thanks for providing the balm this weary soul needed tonight. And I know you always link to Bruce Springsteen’s “This Little Light of Mine,” but as someone quite familiar with the lyrics to almost every Bruce song, I highly encourage you to consider linking to “Land of Hope and Dreams” instead (or also). Here’s a video of him performing it with the E Street. Wendi
–Whenever you have those dark moments, know that you make a difference in my life. Thank you, Toni
–Dear Terry, Today’s Sabbath Moment helped lift me up from a welter of rage, hopelessness, and despair into a new better day, The grieving continues but, along with it, a profound sense of trust and faith in the fundamental goodness of humankind and a renewed determination to carry on. After all, the Crucifixion was followed by the Resurrection. Hope never dies. Thank you so much! Sheila
POEMS AND PRAYERS
Inviting Spaciousness
Today when the heart is a small, tight knot,
I do not try to untangle it. I don’t tug on the strings
in a desperate attempt to unravel it.
I don’t even wonder at how it got so snarled.
Instead, I imagine cradling it, cupping it
with my hands like something precious,
something wounded, a bird with a broken wing.
I cradle my heart like the frightened thing it is.
I imagine all the other frightened hearts
and imagine them all being held in love.
And I breathe. I breathe and feel
how the breathing invites a spaciousness.
I breathe and let myself be moved by the breathing
as I open and soften. Open and soften.
And nothing changes. And everything changes.
The heart, still a knot, remembers
it knows how to love. It knows it is not alone.
Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer
