"And let it begin with me..."

"Let there be peace on earth,
and let it begin with me.
Let there be peace on earth,
the peace that was meant to be.
With God as our Father,
brothers all are we.
Let me walk with my brother,
in perfect harmony."

Tonight, my heart is lighter than it has been in days.  I am finding my way as I pray for spiritual clarity about the protests, violence, and conflict in Egypt.  And this song, "Let There Be Peace on Earth," has provided an important spiritual key.  Peace on earth...in Egypt, Tunisia, Somalia, Palestine...begins with me. 

I was sitting in my office the other night, after watching angry horseman ride through Tahrir Square, whipping and beating protesters, and it was just too much to bear.  I couldn't bear the thought of those beautiful animals being used for such heinous, ugly acts of hatred and revenge.  I opened myself to the silent space of prayer, hoping that God would give me (not just Pharoah) "an answer of peace", and that was when the voice of an angel washed this song through my heart...like a cool balm...spilling and pooling over my anguished, fevered concerns. 

The voice was childlike.  So, I went to Youtube thinking that, perhaps, I could find a version of it, by a young singer, that would work for this post...but nothing was right.  Then I wrote Laurie, my niece Lily's mom, and asked her if she thought Lily would be willing to record it for tonight's post on peace.  And voila'!  Here we are tonight, with this beautiful gift.  "Let There Be Peace on Earth" as sung through the eyes, and heart, of a child.  So, so wonderful...

You know, it may look like a contentious revolution is going on in Cairo, that chaos is voicing itself throughout Palestine, or that discontent is percolating in Tunisia...and if this really is the case, doesn't it make sense that the frontlines of any peace initiative must begin to coalesce "over there."  But I really don't think it is.  

As my friend, Dick Davenport, once urged, "The frontlines of peace are always found within our own heart. If you are waiting for peace to take hold out there...in the middle of the dessert, or on an island in the Pacific...so that you can finally feel safe, your sense of secutity is vulnerable.  Real peace, the peace that is unassailable, can only, ever, be found within."  

If we think war, we will see, feel, and hear war.  If we think peace, we radiate the same pervasive, imperative, permeating peace in everything we do, in every word we speak.  It is like a small pebble dropped in a wide pond -- the rippling effects of that inner peace initiative, reaches further and further outward, until it touches the hearts and lives of men, women, and children in Somalia, Yemen, South Korea....Tucson.

I  realize, that the one question I need to ponder tonight, comes from Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures, where Mary Baker Eddy suggests:

"Ask yourself.
Am I living the life that approaches the supreme good?"

I'm the only person I can ask this question of.  Because the only "place," where I can find peace, is deep within the kingdom of heaven that is in me.   I am the only one who can know if it is peaceful there...or not.  I can never assess the situation in someone else's heart. I believe that it is never my job, or my place, to weigh in, uninvited, on another person's motives. It is mine to see them, as I hope they see me...governed by an omnipotent God, who is Love. To trust that this all-powerful inner Sovereign will always guide us...each and all...into peaceful coexistence for the holiest of purposes...to live love.

All the journalists in the world cannot answer that one question for me.  Countless hours spent watching CNN, taking the pulse of revolution halfway around the world, or waiting for reports from the "front" will never answer that most important question: "Am I living the life that approaches the supreme good?"  And I believe, that the answer to this question, is the only place that the prospect for real and lasting individual, and collective, peace lies.

Tonight, my inner Sovereign asks:  "What will you do today to promote peace in your own heart.  What suggestions will you combat?  What thoughts will you nurture?  Will those thoughts encourage peace, or incite unrest?  What kind of mental ambassadors are you inviting into your relationships, your family, your home, your workplace, your neighborhood, your community, your school, your church, your world?" I believe that how I answer these questions, will make a difference.  I believe that how I think...who I yield sovereignty to - the Mind that is God, omnipotent Love, or the ego-mind that is selfish and fearful...will change my world.   In this vein, Mary Baker Eddy also suggests that:

"In a world of sin and sensuality
hastening to a greater development of power,
it is wise earnestly to consider
whether it is the human mind or the divine Mind
which is influencing one."

Only God has access to the realm of consciousness...the kingdom of heaven...the only place where real and lasting peace is ratified. 

So, in my search for peace tonight, I am taking these questions within.  I am continuing to walk hand-in-hand with them, quietly and attentively listening for answers for how I can better promote peace in my heart. 

I will leave you with the rest of this lyric.  And hope that you, too, will find lasting peace...a demilitarized zone, a place free of conflict - conflicitng opinions, motives, emotions...within.

"Let peace begin with me,
let this be the moment now.
With every step I take,
let this be my solemn vow.
To take each moment,
and live each moment,
in peace eternally.
Let there be peace on earth,
and let it begin with me."

Thanks Lily for your gift...a song of peace that can sing in every heart...
Aunt Kate
Kate Robertson, CS

"There's a hole in the world tonight..."

"There's a hole in the world tonight.
There's a Cloud of fear and sorrow.
There's a hole in the world tonight.
Don't let there be a hole in the world tomorrow.

They say that anger is just love disappointed.
They say that love is just a state of mind,
but all this fighting over who will be anointed.
Oh how can people be so blind
.
Oh they tell me there's a place over yonder,
cool water running through the burning sand,
until we we learn to love one
another we never reach the promise land.

There's a hole in the world tonight.
There's a Cloud of fear and sorrow.
There's a hole in the world tonight.
Don't let there be a hole in the world tomorrow."
-     Don Henley

Watching news clips about renewed fighting in the Gaza, listening to stories on NPR about rioting in Oakland over the shooting of a young father by BART (Bay Area public transit)officers on New Years Day or heated exchanges between Indian and Pakistani leaders about the terrorist attacks in Mumbai this winter drove me to my knees in prayer.

But this song is what came as an angel...a message of hope...and a call to action.   Don Henley wrote it with his fellow Eagles bandmates in the wake of September 11, 2001, but its message, from the first time I heard it, was hauntingly familiar.

I couldn't help but recall inflamed moments of anger that have led to words that were ugly and harsh.  But in remembering my own past angers, I could easily see that in almost every case my anger was just "love disappointed."  I was disappointed that someone I loved didn't love me back in the way that I hope they would, didn't understand my point of view, didn't seem to care about the things that mattered to me...didn't think I had the right to think or act in the way that I felt was right at the moment.

And the anger that we feel by committee, or community, seems to follow this track towards a fiery collision as well.  A community is disappointed that an appointed, or elected, leader or social agency doesn't really understand its needs.  A culture is disappointed that its neighbors aren't more understanding of its unique contribution to society or doesn't comply with a values system it feels is essential to humanity's success.  A religion is disappointed that others don't love the way they love, ascribe to a philosophy they feel is critical to salvation...or don't love the words or works of a leader in whose footsteps they strive to follow.

I remember one heated exchange I had with my younger sister when we were in high school.  She had an event that she wanted to attend, and I had a few hours before I needed to be at work.  She asked if I would wash the dishes after dinner (her chore) and she would dry (my chore) since her event was early and my departure for work was later.  I agreed, telling her that she really really really needed to be home before I had to leave for work. We both knew dad's rule that our kitchen chores be done before our evening commitments so that mom could take care of other family needs, like feeding infant twins, without negotiating the piles of dirty dishes, pots and pans created each meal by a family of ten.  She agreed.

But her activity went late and by the time she returned home I had dried the dishes myself and left for work.  I stewed and steamed all through my shift until I was ready to explode.  How could she be my sister and not love me enough to be home on time?  How could she do that to me when I had scrubbed all those greasy pans and potato-caked pots...instead of just drying already clean dishes...so that she could do what she wanted?  And on and on it went.  By the time I reached our darkened bedroom after work I had A LOT to say to her.  Thankfully my mom, on her way from the warmth of her bed to the kitchen to get bottles for one of the twins, intercepted me and could read the fury on my face.

I remember her inviting me to join her in the kitchen for a cup of tea and her invitation didn't leave any room for an obedient daughter who loved her mother to dismiss.  As we sat at the kitchen table my tale of anger and frustration spilled out like dark, sticky molasses all over the place.  How could she....and on and on.  When my sharp words finally started to sputter, mom stepped in.  I will never forget her saying, "Honey, you're not angry with your sister, your just disappointed that she didn't love you enough to keep her promise to you." 

She was right.

The next day she facilitated a conversation between my sister and I.  She learned how much I counted on her love for me as the reason I thought she would want to keep her promises to me,  and that I loved and trusted her enough to want her to have a nice evening out at the expense of my job security.  I learned that she had tried to get a ride home from a friend before the event was over, but couldn't find anyone willing to leave and didn't have a dime to make a phone call.  Our conflict was over and neither of us felt disappointed by the others actions.

I know this seems like a small instance in light of the enormity of nuclear proliferation, rioting, torture, or terrorism, but I am convinced that anger is just love disappointed.   The disappointment may go WAY back...but it's there and sometimes the rest of us are just acting out from a handed down disappointment where we have lost sight of what was at its root.

So...what can we do today?  I am learning that I can be so alert to anger, whenever and wherever it flares, and be ready to pour in the love that God has appointed me to live right where I am.  I can seek to understand what someone -- or some culture or religion or community -- loves and why.  I can strive to judge no one, but when judgment rears its ugly head -- in me or in someone else -- I can try to bring information, compassion, understanding to bear on the situation or issues in question.

Mary Baker Eddy gives me a great place to start in Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures when she says:

"One infinite God, good, unifies men and nations; constitutes the brotherhood of man; ends wars; fulfils the Scripture, "Love thy neighbor as thyself;" annihilates pagan and Christian idolatry, - whatever is wrong in social, civil, criminal, political, and religious codes; equalizes the sexes; annuls the curse on man, and leaves nothing that can sin, suffer, be punished or destroyed."

Imagine where we'd be if we trusted that good was the name and nature of everyone's God,  and that this God of goodness was infinite.    What if we didn't question one another but trusted that each was appointed to his place and posture of spiritual fidelity, cultural worship, and social mores by one infinite God who was good? What if we loved them for their willingness to just be true to their God whose name is Love...or good...or Allah...or Jehovah?

Perhaps then we wouldn't be fighting over the promised land...because every land, nation, culture, tribe would have promise, and would keep its promises because it feels loved...even if its just by you and me.

So what do we do about this world that seems so full of holes?  I want to fill them all with love. Thank goodness God has another way of looking at it...they are just the spaces He has hollowed (or hallowed) out for receiving our seeds of kindness, compassion, patience, meekness, grace, and love.  Time for planting...the fields are prepared, the seeds are in your hand...

with Love,
Kate

"Let peace begin with me..."

"Let there be peace on earth,
and let it begin with me.
Let there be peace on Earth,
the peace that was meant to be.

With God as our Father,
brothers all are we,
Let me walk with my brother,
in perfect harmony.

Let peace begin with me,
let this be the moment now.
With every step I take,
let this be my solemn vow,

To take each moment
and live each moment
in peace, eternally.
Let there be Peace on Earth,
and let it begin with me."
-     Jackson/Miller

In 1972 our graduating class of high school seniors sang this song as we took our place on the bleachers beneath the same lights our boys had "beat Central" for the State championship earlier that fall. 

We were graduating from a small regional high school surrounded by dairy farms, large summer estates, and the small pastoral villages that fed our student population with its "best and brightest."  

We were Woodstock wannabes.  We wore the requisite pumps and hose, but went bra-less under our white sundresses, and had a pair of tattered jeans and a halter top in the backseat of our get-away car for wearing to graduation parties after dinner with our parents and "honored guests."

We wore hope for the future on our faces and tried to keep our fear of the unknown hid well beneath a deep layer of optimism and folk music.   We were a generation of activism and protest.  We had watched our brothers, cousins, and friends be drafted into fighting a war we didn't believe in and die for a cause we were confused about.  And soon, as we knew all too well, some of us would no longer be protected from this system (of drafting young men once they graduated from high school) by our childhood and youth. Soon, someone's boyfriend or best friend would volunteer, or be asked, to take an oath, don a uniform and travel to a place with jungles and monsoons to fight an enemy we weren't sure we hated.  It was our last moment of childhood…and we knew it.

I remember walking up the steps of the platform where we would sit…waiting for the principal to make his remarks, the valedictorian to give her speech, and our names to be called in alphabetical order…and wondering how we could stop the madness of a war that took fresh-scrubbed boys from farms and small towns and turned them into fighting machines…or worse yet, the unthinkable…fallen heroes sent home to weeping mothers and girlfriends, fathers and teammates.

It was one of those moments burned into my memory like the initials my sister and I carved into an old beech tree…not faded by time, but remarkable for it's clarity "after all those years."

For the first time that I can remember, I actually listened to myself think what I was thinking…and then I listened to the words that were coming out of my mouth while I was thinking those thoughts…and the "coincidence" was staggering.  I was terrorized by the thought that my friends and I were being launched into a world at war, a world where we felt hopeful, but somehow--in the deep recesses of our fears--powerless to make a difference, and yet the answer was falling from my lips with such clarity.

"Let it begin with me…"  

I was very angry with a family member that night.  I was hurt by what I felt was negligent disinterest.  I had vowed earlier in the day that if this person actually showed up at graduation, I wouldn't even acknowledge their presence beyond the polite, "hello, thank you for coming."  I had actually practiced being elegantly aloof.  I would be above it…on the surface…but I would continue to seethe deep inside.  I had the right…right? 

Walking up to my place on stage that evening I suddenly realized that I didn't have the right to harbor a war within my heart….even one that seemed so reasonable and justified.  I did have the right to let peace begin with me. 

Sitting down in my place and looking out at my family taking up two whole rows near the front, I felt all that anger and hurt wash away.  They were there.  They had come to celebrate a milestone in my life.  My parents were proud and my seven siblings were fresh-faced and dressed for a party. My grandmother, aunts, uncles, cousins and one great-aunt were smiling up, each with their own memory of me as a child skipping through their hearts as they waited for my name to be called.

I decided to actually think about what I was seeing.  They were in the one of the closest rows to the stage.  This meant that my family, who were customarily late for most appointments, events, etc., had arrived en masse early enough to get premier seating.  My parents had driven 60 miles, from where they had moved earlier in my senior year, with a car full of seven children from age one to sixteen, and had kept them neat and clean, on a very warm June afternoon with no air-conditioning.   My grandmother had driven with my great aunt almost as far, but very slowly, to be there.  And my aunts, uncles, and cousins had carved out this evening from very busy schedules to gather on a football field, sit on hard metal chairs, listen to a guy they didn't know talk about a bunch of kids they would never see again, only to watch me walk a dozen yards, shake the principal's hand, accept my diploma and return to my seat.

Where was the war I was so hell-bent on continuing to fight only hours before?  Where was the disinterest I was willing to sacrifice my own grace for?  Where was the hurt I felt so justified in wearing like a badge of honor?  It was not "out there" in the smiling faces of my family and friends.  It only had a life if I gave it one…in my own heart.  I suddenly realized that by perpetuating that war within, I would be the one missing out on my own "party."  I was the one who, although I might get to parade around in my practiced aloofness, would miss out on all the warmth, affection, and joy that had brought my family to my graduation in the first place. 

When the ceremony was over, and my friends and I had turned our tassels to the other side of our mortarboards before throwing them high into the air, my family crowded near the steps of the stage to congratulate me with tears (Mom's),  hugs, kisses and my uncle's bearlike grip around my shoulders.  

Instead of the cool "hello, thank you for coming" that I had practiced, they got the real me.  I cried in my mom's arms, I jumped up and down waving my diploma with my sister and cousins. I was the oldest, so the first to graduate from high school in our generation. I picked up my little sister and carried her around as I introduced my family to the teachers, administrators and friends who had made my years of high school so wonderful.

As we headed off for a surprise graduation party at my aunt and uncle's house--something I would have been mortified to discover had been planned all along if I had been aloof and distant as planned--all the warring in my heart had ceased and there was a great peace in me as I squeezed into my place in the way-backseat of our 9-passenger station wagon with my sisters.  It was a great night. I would join my friends at a graduation party later, but this was family time and I was ready to celebrate my first post-childhood lesson in being a real peace-activist in their warm embrace.

This would be one of the most important lessons I ever learned…one that I am still working for mastery in…but grateful for each "refresher course" along the way.  

As I watch a new generation of young men and women march off to a questionable war, I can vote, I can protest, and I can write my congresswoman and senator. But I am still convinced that the most effective way to make a difference is to go to battle with any wars that may be raging within my own heart…with peace…."peace that floweth as a river, from the eternal source alone…" (hymn 276 - C. Wesley)

With peace,
Kate