What the World Needs Now

April 2017 on my 8-month cross-country pilgrimage right after having my aura read by a chain-smoking psychic in Sedona, Arizona.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about my interaction with that guy in the Cybertruck a couple of weeks ago, a bit startled by the image of myself as a contributor to division — not a pretty sight, me with my righteous anger and speed-of-light rush to judgment. I saw how hard I’ve fallen for the current trope of laziness, wherein I just make an assumption about someone and categorize them, and, secure in the view my moral high ground affords me, move along while mentally casting them aside.

I’ve started to realize how much time I spend in outrage. Y’all. It’s becoming exhausting. And not very fruitful. Now, don’t get me wrong, I absolutely feel it’s crucial to stay informed as the world burns down around us. These are stunningly outrageous times. But also, I simply cannot go down every rabbit hole (and I’m guessing you can’t, either). And, incandescent fury that erupts and takes scattershot aim only serves to add to the chaos and keeps the universal vibrational hum low, lower, lowest.

Over this past weekend I got a major shot in the arm, an inoculation against the hopelessness that’s tempted me of late. I attended (online) the Center for Action and Contemplation’s ReVision, a gathering of people in person in Albuquerque as well as virtually from around the world (Denver, New Zealand, L.A., Korea, etc.), 2,600 of us altogether, mulling over the question, “What do we do with Christianity?”

Initially, my response was, “Blow the fecking lid off.” Okay, maybe too hasty. But also, maybe not. The lid may already be coming off anyway. ReVision was a gathering of the spiritually hungry, and maybe a bit of a conglomerate of happy misfits. People fully awakened to the seriousness of the political, ecological, moral, and spiritual crises we face locally, nationally and globally. People who are deeply dismayed and profoundly heartbroken at all the ways American Christianity in particular not only keeps capitulating to the power of Empire but eagerly hops on board its unholy mission.

This is not to say amazing, miraculous things aren’t happening in hundreds of faith communities all over the place, a lot of those communities led and populated by people I care a great deal for. They are, and they will keep happening, extraordinary acts of kindness and compassion with no strings attached. Love, just because.

But to see more and more this twisted version of Jesus touted as one who is a symbol of raw power and intentional cruelty rather than infinite love and wide-open welcome, well, that should be shaking the foundations of Christianity. And I believe it is.

Against that backdrop, there was this enlivening three-day conversation with all kinds of amazing presenters and brilliant minds. A lot of ground was covered by speakers from lots of different backgrounds, but a main theme was pretty handily summed up by the Rev. Dr. Jacqui Lewis, who said we could think of our work as basically “to be more love in the world.”

It sounds so simple, yet seems like such an impossibly tall order. Love more. “But how?” I ask, “What can I really do? I’m just one person.”

I don’t need to feel helpless, though (and you don’t, either), guiltily wondering what big sweeping feats I should be out there accomplishing. After all, I remind myself, big sweeping feats are made up of a whole lot of smaller actions. And maybe this is how the world gets healed, one wounded bird at a time.

It actually should not feel daunting to love. I mean, we already know how, don’t we? We bring casseroles. We sit at someone’s bedside, hold a hand. We rake leaves. We rebuild barns, literally and figuratively. We weep with those who weep, rejoice with those who rejoice. We form human barriers to protect our neighbors. We take to the streets in protest. We grocery shop for strangers we’ll never meet, and then bring over-filled bags to our local food bank. We speak for the animals. We advocate for peace. We run for office. We stand up for those in the margins. We give money for those in prison so they can have books. We donate diapers and infant formula to shelters. We listen to stories. We spread kindness. We remember to offer ourselves some grace.

And, sometimes we turn toward rather than away from those we think of as enemies, who we’d rather dismiss altogether, and try to see them through different, more compassionate eyes.

Yeah, right. What a load of horse pucky. (Insert eye-roll emoji here: _____)

Okay, so clearly, I’m not there yet. According to my dentist, I still grind my teeth in my sleep, anger a constant companion smoldering just below the surface. But I’m trying to work on my limiting attitude, because I think it matters. I think peacemaking, wherever and however we can wage it, matters.

At one point toward the end of Jacqui Lewis’s time, she lowered her voice and said to us, “The world has caused us to not see each other as Beloved,” and a hush fell over the crowd as her words landed. That one hit home.

Over the course of the weekend, the inspiring 20th century preacher and mystic, philosopher and activist Howard Thurman was frequently referred to. I’ll close with one of my favorite quotes of his that was shared. During my 2017 solo cross-country pilgrimage, I kept a copy of that quote on the big mirror in my van Roadcinante as encouragement.

Thurman wrote: “Don’t ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive and go do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.”