February came to a close with disruption at home and violence abroad. I was afraid we were headed into March Madness. The church in town warded off winter with a bonfire and s’mores. Ah. I am rooting for March Mellow. (I have always been better at word play than basketball.)
My doctor listened patiently to my list of physical complaints and prescribed a daily dose of two hours of joy. There are supply chain problems with joy. It’s not on the news. It’s not at the pharmacy. It’s seldom in the mail. Misery loves company at home.
March 2 marked the beginning of Lent this year in the Christian tradition, a time of reflection, repentance, and wandering in the wilderness. The wilderness is a lonely and crowded place these days. It’s personal. It’s global.
I hold a hand over my heart to keep it from breaking, an invitation for Grace to show me Her light. Breathing in deeply, I search through the rubble of my mind. There is no shortage of Grace Tracks in my days: the long-unread book that I just happen to need now, the out-of-the-blue phone call that comes with good news, the card I receive in the mail.
Tears fill my eyes watching the evening news—tears of sadness and joy. I wonder at what we do to each other and do for each other. I wonder what it is to be human. It’s our choice.
A friend sent me an email this morning, a call to prayer for our local and global neighbors. She quoted Mahatma Gandhi: “Detachment is not indifference. It is the prerequisite for effective involvement.” For me, the deep essence of prayer and meditation is an engaged detachment, a peacefulness that opens my heart to love and Grace.
From the safety of my home in Northeastern Vermont, I can open my heart to families seeking shelter in subways in Ukraine, to women and children fleeing into Poland, to young people protesting in the streets of Russia, even to the Russian soldier, hungry and baffled by the command to attack his neighbors.
Vladimir Putin had a difficult childhood and learned to fight in the streets. That doesn’t excuse his behavior, but it may help explain it. Putin’s aggression is uniting unlikely allies. Love is making the news.
Years ago, I attended a sacred pipe ceremony with Oglala Sioux elders at the Big Hole Battlefield near Wisdom, Montana. We sat under a tent in scorching heat. Chief Horse, the grandson of Crazy Horse, began the ceremony by lighting the peace pipe. As the pipe was passed around the circle of men, each told of his weariness of war. I learned that the United States used American Indians as minesweepers in World War II. They were not considered to be fully human and were therefore expendable. I was aghast.
When the pipe returned to Chief Horse, he put his hand over his heart and said, “We will never forget, and we have no need for revenge.” A Bald Eagle flew in a circle overhead, as we all went outside the tent and danced.
May we mellow in March with peace in our hearts.