"A community is the mental and spiritual condition of knowing that the place is shared, and that the people who share the place define and limit the possibilities of each other's lives. It is the knowledge that people have of each other, their concern for each other, their trust in each other, the freedom with which they come and go among themselves." - Wendell Berry
This is the view out my front door as I write this morning. Watching the sun rise over the horizon as the steam comes off the pond. It is the very picture of peace.
And yet, over the past few weeks, I've found myself filled with turmoil, anxiety, stress, fear, and even despair. I've often heard people say, "Never read the comments!" Well, I'm the person who reads the comments. I'm just curious. What do other people think? How does this article/YouTube video/Facebook post/blog speak to other people?
It's easy to say, "Never read the comments," but behind every comment is a person. Jesus said, "Out of the overflow of the heart the mouth speaks." These aren't just comments; they are the overflow of people's hearts.
People's hearts are angry. They are fearful. Bitter. Wounded. Anxious. Raging. Antagonistic. Mean.
I find myself absorbing those emotions. I am a great lover of literature, but I am cautious in what I read because I get so caught up in it. I feel the pain of the characters. I laugh when they laugh and cry when they cry. I despair when they despair. And I rage when they rage.
This happens to me no matter what I'm reading, whether it's an article written by an angry liberal or an angry conservative, a string of warring Facebook comments, or a despairing blog.
For the season of Lent, I am going to fast this up-and-down, alternately apathetic and raging world that exists "out there" and instead live right here. On winding country roads, watching the sun rise and set over cornfields, listening to the old men in the coffee shop talk about sports and gardening. I will also do the not quite so easy work of listening to my kids fight over who's hitting whom, praying with the members of my church who are sick or worried or sad, and even fighting with my husband.
I fully recognize that most people in our world don't look out their front door and see the picture of peace that I do. I also hope to spend more time praying for the persecuted church, for victims of war and violence who have been displaced from their homes, for those daily facing hunger and starvation.
My emotions tell me that I need to be informed! I need to know what's happening!
But my faith tells me that I need to turn towards my heavenly Father. I need to intercede on behalf of those who are suffering. And that is enough. I don't need to know all the details. I don't need to hear every story.
I don't need to read every comment.
My prayer for these forty days is that as I turn again and again to God instead of to these sources of constant information, updates, tweets, instas, and emotion that my heart will more fully reflect the peace of God visible in His world, and that out of that place of peace I will be able to know this place--its people and its rhythms.
I pray that anyone who reads this will sense the powerful presence of God over the next forty days as we prepare our hearts for the celebration of the resurrection on Easter Sunday.
