I keep scrolling through the news feeds on my computer hoping that there will be some tiny ray of hope that this nightmare of insanity and unspeakable violence will end. To merely look away is indeed a form of resistance.
Thank you Carrie, for this beautiful offering. Your words are always so grounding and healing, as is your music and your poetry. This piece on graitude and joy as an act of resistance is one of the most beautiful pieces I have read in any season. Our focus this Sunday in our morning service is on gratitude, and I wanted to share two paragraphs of your writing wtih our beloved community, if that is okay. They are paragraphs 3 and 4. Thank you for being a light in the shadows for so many, including me.
Carrie, please pray for our young American tween and teen kids who spend so much time on their “feeds”, aka social media informational formats, post-online schooling during the pandemic. I am a mother raised on an intentional community with arces of natural land that I credit with giving me a foundation of sanity by being in nature with kind adults around me while growing up but our kids are assaulted by such things as you describe, and even just the ads they see pop up for microseconds are extremely inappropriate in many cases. I am not a psychologist studying the psyche either, but our young children are fed a diet of these things as you describe while their sweet innocence is defiled. Even in the schools, my 7th grade daughter’s Family Life class feels they have to teach ALL the 100,000+ kids about pornography because “they might have come across it on social medial” and so there “should be an open and frank conversation about it”. No. This is trauma. Our children are being exposed to trauma. And then re-traumatized by having to learn about it (and worse stuff too), for a GRADE.
How beautiful said, dear Carrie. We almost feel guilty, some sort of "survivors guilt," to lean into beauty and joy in the face of the never ending cruel news. But indeed we must. It is the resistance of the heart. And your words speak right into the heart. Thank you!
So many wonderful comments. All started by your gifted gentle nudging. Some people in my life nudge in a way that’s not kind. You however are a gentle and kind nudger.
I had a spirit visit once in my mind, after too much taking in of disastrous news cycles. I saw myself flat on the floor. She came and lifted me head and bade me drink from an ancient cup. It was soothing and warm. I asked if I could get more of this drink somewhere and she smiled and said simply it was a family recipe. She said after I drank that I was spiritually dehydrated from all the violence I had brought in. It sapped my very soul energy down. Now I turn away or turn it off to nourish my own well.
Thank you Carrie for your sweet refreshment, every time.
I ask this with an honest desire to understand more deeply how to be human during this time: I am very drawn to this sentiment. We are not made for this kind of exposure to suffering. And even as I am inspired to lean into the beautiful with "gratitude for every soft and tender thing," I do wonder how this sounds to the Palestinian mom holding her fearful or lifeless child. Does it not feel like those who care have turned away, leaving her to suffer, to grieve, to weep alone? I fully agree that we do no one any good, least of all ourselves, by normalizing cruelty. But what happens when I turn away? I am reminded of a poem by the Persian poet, Sa'adi, that states: "Humanity are members of one body created out of the same essence. When one member of the body feels pain others remain distraught. You, unfeeling to the suffering of others are unworthy of the name human." So I wonder: where is the place to stand that sees and feels and bears witness to the suffering but allows one to not be totally undone by the pain of it all?
Hi Gwen, I have such a deep appreciation for what you are saying. I hope you can sense in the writing of this post there was no encouragement to become distant, detached or uncaring. In a way, the post is exactly the opposite. But what I am sharing with the community is my own wrestle with how to be (and continue to be) a person who cares deeply, who is profoundly moved by the suffering of the world when our current media landscape floods us all daily with a tsunami of suffering —often presented in brutally sensational and not necessarily compassionate ways. What I'm exploring in this particular post is what are the practices (personal and community) that help us to stay sensitive and ultimately more engaged in the work of creating a better kinder world. What helps us remember what is good and still true about being human, even in the face of what is hard as stone? What makes our work to make love visible in the world sustainable for the long haul? I have found (this is for me personally) living in constant worry, anxiety, righteous rage and unending grief is not my most effective form of activism, and for me personally, is not sustainable. If I am fully human and aware I will feel these hard things, but to be fully human I must allow in what makes life beautiful and be wildly and humbly grateful for it. Thank you for posting the words of Sa'adi. Yes we are all members of the same body and parts of the body are groaning and suffering. I cannot personally stop all the cruelty happening in all the many places cruelty exists. That grieves me. If I could, by the ferocity of my love alone, comfort and cure what ails the world I would. That was the point of my prayer for every small tender thing, for every bird that flies or falls. That we are all members of that same body...that we are (each one of us) numbered with the small and tender things of the world. It is an open question and one that will continue to unfold - how do we love the world, care deeply for the world, have compassion for every suffering part of the body, how do love ourselves in a way that helps us continue to stay engaged for the long haul? You make such an important point. I REALLY appreciate you bringing this point into the conversation.
Thank you, Carrie, for your very thoughtful response. And yes, I do sense in your writing a deep desire to nurture compassion while not being overwhelmed by the suffering that enters our lives via the technology that makes our interconnectedness visible, harsh, pain-filled, and weirdly part of a capitalist enterprise (media money-making). I think, in reality, I am struggling with myself and trying to figure out how I speak to a congregation during this time of world-wide trauma and grief. I have been facilitating a sermon series (planned before the Israel/Hamas war began) titled "Wisdom Gifts for the Journey," mining Wisdom Literature for gifts to sustain us through hard times and offering contemplative practices to accompany these gifts. These gifts have been things like: Beauty, Awe/Creation, Home, Rest/Refreshment, Mercy, and Celebration. But each week I have been confronted with the images, the trauma, the grief. So even while I KNOW in my bones that these "wisdom gifts" are real and true, grounded in the holy, I am also haunted by the faces of children, grandparents, mothers and fathers for whom the suffering is so great. That being said, I know that to nurture attention to the "small and tender things of this world" helps us to tend even to that which is small and tender and wounded and suffering in ourselves and most certainly in Gaza. Thanks for helping me think this through. May the small and tender things sustain us all - and move us to sustained compassion.
Thank you Carrie and Gwen for taking me on a long journey from my head to resting in my heart. I have had to sleep the news off at times. Byron Katie and The Work has also helped. I am learning to step back before I get too overwhelmed and question my thoughts. This was so helpful.
For 36 years of ministry, 21 of them in the military, I absorbed the collective trauma of so many as I walked with people through their own personal and collective experiences. Your reflection is spot on! Thank you for sharing your thoughts and your hope. Your music is a balm for a weary soul.
Thank you Carrie for this discussion. I have stopped watching the news. I hear bits at a time. I try to focus on what I can do, which is caring for Gods creation through many ways. My soul is not fed through the news and deep opinions can stir up my soul. Living my days walking with gratitude and awareness of the natural world, centering myself on where I am in the moment.
Like gradually becoming vegetarian over a decade, my media diet first limited violent news, then powerful emotions of TV and video, then radio, then selective reading. Now, likely need to set web browser to limit photo images as well. Particularly enjoy a Sunday sabbatical from news, starting with fasting in the morning while listening to multiple sermons, some modern Christian music, then quietly listening to birds. My interfaith journey will soon be auditing an online course at Earlham, inspired by Carrie. First enjoyed her concert in Bloomington, IL in late 90's, as committing to music career. While recently searching for seminary, pleasantly rediscovered her active role at Earlham. Thank you for your gracious and peaceful music and writing.
I cherish the fact that there are still souls out there who are uncalloused, if that's phrasing it well: souls who look at disturbing things and are disturbed enough to turn away. Tears are exactly the right response to much of what is going on. And I concur wholesouledly: we can't, or shouldn't, be consuming these images all the time.
So I break away from screens. I recite poems, either from memory or from the page. Roethke, Oliver, Fehrenbacher, George Herbert. I go out back of my building where there is an atrium, usually people-less in brisk autumn weather. I take up my beads and try to open myself to what the Episcopal prayerbook calls "gracious Light." Or I go down into Cooke's Hollow, our narrow strip of treelife and flowing water. Or to the graveyard, reservoir of nature and comparative quiet. I thank whoever needs thanking that I live here. That I live. Here.
I was walking yesterday around my suburb, in a windbreaker and my friend Donna's cashmere gloves, in 30-degree temperatures, and sun was yellowing even more the yellow leaves, and I said to my soul: Cherish this.
Certainly in my life gratitude is a source of healing and love for those closest to me. Still, I am concerned that we do not leave an idealized legacy to our children and successors. I am reading some of the facts of the first Thanksgiving and have been horrified by how idealized the story of the encounter with the Wampanoag tribe, how they were nearly extinguished by European diseases, etc. I hope the next generation of children will not succumb to the myths of European supremacy that I was raised on. So, I want to keep my eyes open for the sake of being a faithful reporter of this time.
I'm really glad to know that more people are tuning into the fact that activism requires pause, reflection, rest, etc. We are so much more effective at creating change when we are responding rather than reacting, and we're the only ones who can identify the difference and regulate accordingly. Personal gatekeeping is a part of that. Yes to filters!
Carrie, what a beautiful post! First of all, I am most grateful that your post includes an audio recording! Cerebral Palsy makes it tough for my eyes to track where I am reading. So I listen to things when I am able and the BEST part is when I listen hear, it's not a computerized voice, it's YOU 💖That makes my heart smile! Thank you!
As for my daily acts of resistance by gratitude, I post daily gratitude to Facebook each day since 2020, it ends my day with an intentional focus on gratitude. I also don't own a TV or subscription to any streaming service.
Here's a piece I wrote about some adaptive equipment that I use often.
My stander is a lovely, much appreciated invention.. But as I stand 5 feet above the ground, my feet velcroed in troughs like superglue, my knees blocked by a monstrous pad, and my trunk held in place by a device that threatens to depossess me of my well-endowed chest every time I dare to enter it, I can't help but think about the oddities of using this contraption. It grants me a freedom, not achievable by any other means, the ability to stand without the assistance of another being and to do so in good form for prolonged periods. And yet I am frozen, held by more gadgets than you can imagine. It's one of my most productive times, mentally and physically as I take on the world from vertical. Some people wish for a pause button on life, I get one every time I stand. Frozen in my freedom, what a blessing!
May each of you who read this find gratitude in your heart 💞
Thank you for your thoughtful words. Generally speaking, I am a positive, hopeful person. I believe the bit in John's Gospel that says that Darkness loses, that it never overcomes the Light. And some days, it is just too much. Some days, I count it an accomplishment that I fed the dog and got her her meds in a timely fashion.
I know it will be better tomorrow morning when a new day offers a new start. I expect that I will awaken refreshed and ready to tackle it all again.
I am reassured and comforted that there are others who recognize the debilitating nature of all the hate and violence and killing and general ugliness. In reading the comments to this post, I remember that there are others who are in this struggle with me; I remember that I can take a day off to do some extra resting and healing before I join back in. I am so grateful for that.
Thank you, one and all, for being a part of the effort to endure, and to restore some sort of grace and kindness to humanity.
I keep scrolling through the news feeds on my computer hoping that there will be some tiny ray of hope that this nightmare of insanity and unspeakable violence will end. To merely look away is indeed a form of resistance.
Wonderful!!
Thank you Carrie, for this beautiful offering. Your words are always so grounding and healing, as is your music and your poetry. This piece on graitude and joy as an act of resistance is one of the most beautiful pieces I have read in any season. Our focus this Sunday in our morning service is on gratitude, and I wanted to share two paragraphs of your writing wtih our beloved community, if that is okay. They are paragraphs 3 and 4. Thank you for being a light in the shadows for so many, including me.
Carrie, please pray for our young American tween and teen kids who spend so much time on their “feeds”, aka social media informational formats, post-online schooling during the pandemic. I am a mother raised on an intentional community with arces of natural land that I credit with giving me a foundation of sanity by being in nature with kind adults around me while growing up but our kids are assaulted by such things as you describe, and even just the ads they see pop up for microseconds are extremely inappropriate in many cases. I am not a psychologist studying the psyche either, but our young children are fed a diet of these things as you describe while their sweet innocence is defiled. Even in the schools, my 7th grade daughter’s Family Life class feels they have to teach ALL the 100,000+ kids about pornography because “they might have come across it on social medial” and so there “should be an open and frank conversation about it”. No. This is trauma. Our children are being exposed to trauma. And then re-traumatized by having to learn about it (and worse stuff too), for a GRADE.
How beautiful said, dear Carrie. We almost feel guilty, some sort of "survivors guilt," to lean into beauty and joy in the face of the never ending cruel news. But indeed we must. It is the resistance of the heart. And your words speak right into the heart. Thank you!
I love the audio! Something about your voice, Carrie, that just resonates. 😊💕
So many wonderful comments. All started by your gifted gentle nudging. Some people in my life nudge in a way that’s not kind. You however are a gentle and kind nudger.
I had a spirit visit once in my mind, after too much taking in of disastrous news cycles. I saw myself flat on the floor. She came and lifted me head and bade me drink from an ancient cup. It was soothing and warm. I asked if I could get more of this drink somewhere and she smiled and said simply it was a family recipe. She said after I drank that I was spiritually dehydrated from all the violence I had brought in. It sapped my very soul energy down. Now I turn away or turn it off to nourish my own well.
Thank you Carrie for your sweet refreshment, every time.
I ask this with an honest desire to understand more deeply how to be human during this time: I am very drawn to this sentiment. We are not made for this kind of exposure to suffering. And even as I am inspired to lean into the beautiful with "gratitude for every soft and tender thing," I do wonder how this sounds to the Palestinian mom holding her fearful or lifeless child. Does it not feel like those who care have turned away, leaving her to suffer, to grieve, to weep alone? I fully agree that we do no one any good, least of all ourselves, by normalizing cruelty. But what happens when I turn away? I am reminded of a poem by the Persian poet, Sa'adi, that states: "Humanity are members of one body created out of the same essence. When one member of the body feels pain others remain distraught. You, unfeeling to the suffering of others are unworthy of the name human." So I wonder: where is the place to stand that sees and feels and bears witness to the suffering but allows one to not be totally undone by the pain of it all?
Hi Gwen, I have such a deep appreciation for what you are saying. I hope you can sense in the writing of this post there was no encouragement to become distant, detached or uncaring. In a way, the post is exactly the opposite. But what I am sharing with the community is my own wrestle with how to be (and continue to be) a person who cares deeply, who is profoundly moved by the suffering of the world when our current media landscape floods us all daily with a tsunami of suffering —often presented in brutally sensational and not necessarily compassionate ways. What I'm exploring in this particular post is what are the practices (personal and community) that help us to stay sensitive and ultimately more engaged in the work of creating a better kinder world. What helps us remember what is good and still true about being human, even in the face of what is hard as stone? What makes our work to make love visible in the world sustainable for the long haul? I have found (this is for me personally) living in constant worry, anxiety, righteous rage and unending grief is not my most effective form of activism, and for me personally, is not sustainable. If I am fully human and aware I will feel these hard things, but to be fully human I must allow in what makes life beautiful and be wildly and humbly grateful for it. Thank you for posting the words of Sa'adi. Yes we are all members of the same body and parts of the body are groaning and suffering. I cannot personally stop all the cruelty happening in all the many places cruelty exists. That grieves me. If I could, by the ferocity of my love alone, comfort and cure what ails the world I would. That was the point of my prayer for every small tender thing, for every bird that flies or falls. That we are all members of that same body...that we are (each one of us) numbered with the small and tender things of the world. It is an open question and one that will continue to unfold - how do we love the world, care deeply for the world, have compassion for every suffering part of the body, how do love ourselves in a way that helps us continue to stay engaged for the long haul? You make such an important point. I REALLY appreciate you bringing this point into the conversation.
Thank you, Carrie, for your very thoughtful response. And yes, I do sense in your writing a deep desire to nurture compassion while not being overwhelmed by the suffering that enters our lives via the technology that makes our interconnectedness visible, harsh, pain-filled, and weirdly part of a capitalist enterprise (media money-making). I think, in reality, I am struggling with myself and trying to figure out how I speak to a congregation during this time of world-wide trauma and grief. I have been facilitating a sermon series (planned before the Israel/Hamas war began) titled "Wisdom Gifts for the Journey," mining Wisdom Literature for gifts to sustain us through hard times and offering contemplative practices to accompany these gifts. These gifts have been things like: Beauty, Awe/Creation, Home, Rest/Refreshment, Mercy, and Celebration. But each week I have been confronted with the images, the trauma, the grief. So even while I KNOW in my bones that these "wisdom gifts" are real and true, grounded in the holy, I am also haunted by the faces of children, grandparents, mothers and fathers for whom the suffering is so great. That being said, I know that to nurture attention to the "small and tender things of this world" helps us to tend even to that which is small and tender and wounded and suffering in ourselves and most certainly in Gaza. Thanks for helping me think this through. May the small and tender things sustain us all - and move us to sustained compassion.
Thank you Carrie and Gwen for taking me on a long journey from my head to resting in my heart. I have had to sleep the news off at times. Byron Katie and The Work has also helped. I am learning to step back before I get too overwhelmed and question my thoughts. This was so helpful.
For 36 years of ministry, 21 of them in the military, I absorbed the collective trauma of so many as I walked with people through their own personal and collective experiences. Your reflection is spot on! Thank you for sharing your thoughts and your hope. Your music is a balm for a weary soul.
Thank you Carrie for this discussion. I have stopped watching the news. I hear bits at a time. I try to focus on what I can do, which is caring for Gods creation through many ways. My soul is not fed through the news and deep opinions can stir up my soul. Living my days walking with gratitude and awareness of the natural world, centering myself on where I am in the moment.
Thankful for all comments
Like gradually becoming vegetarian over a decade, my media diet first limited violent news, then powerful emotions of TV and video, then radio, then selective reading. Now, likely need to set web browser to limit photo images as well. Particularly enjoy a Sunday sabbatical from news, starting with fasting in the morning while listening to multiple sermons, some modern Christian music, then quietly listening to birds. My interfaith journey will soon be auditing an online course at Earlham, inspired by Carrie. First enjoyed her concert in Bloomington, IL in late 90's, as committing to music career. While recently searching for seminary, pleasantly rediscovered her active role at Earlham. Thank you for your gracious and peaceful music and writing.
I cherish the fact that there are still souls out there who are uncalloused, if that's phrasing it well: souls who look at disturbing things and are disturbed enough to turn away. Tears are exactly the right response to much of what is going on. And I concur wholesouledly: we can't, or shouldn't, be consuming these images all the time.
So I break away from screens. I recite poems, either from memory or from the page. Roethke, Oliver, Fehrenbacher, George Herbert. I go out back of my building where there is an atrium, usually people-less in brisk autumn weather. I take up my beads and try to open myself to what the Episcopal prayerbook calls "gracious Light." Or I go down into Cooke's Hollow, our narrow strip of treelife and flowing water. Or to the graveyard, reservoir of nature and comparative quiet. I thank whoever needs thanking that I live here. That I live. Here.
I was walking yesterday around my suburb, in a windbreaker and my friend Donna's cashmere gloves, in 30-degree temperatures, and sun was yellowing even more the yellow leaves, and I said to my soul: Cherish this.
Certainly in my life gratitude is a source of healing and love for those closest to me. Still, I am concerned that we do not leave an idealized legacy to our children and successors. I am reading some of the facts of the first Thanksgiving and have been horrified by how idealized the story of the encounter with the Wampanoag tribe, how they were nearly extinguished by European diseases, etc. I hope the next generation of children will not succumb to the myths of European supremacy that I was raised on. So, I want to keep my eyes open for the sake of being a faithful reporter of this time.
I'm really glad to know that more people are tuning into the fact that activism requires pause, reflection, rest, etc. We are so much more effective at creating change when we are responding rather than reacting, and we're the only ones who can identify the difference and regulate accordingly. Personal gatekeeping is a part of that. Yes to filters!
Carrie, what a beautiful post! First of all, I am most grateful that your post includes an audio recording! Cerebral Palsy makes it tough for my eyes to track where I am reading. So I listen to things when I am able and the BEST part is when I listen hear, it's not a computerized voice, it's YOU 💖That makes my heart smile! Thank you!
As for my daily acts of resistance by gratitude, I post daily gratitude to Facebook each day since 2020, it ends my day with an intentional focus on gratitude. I also don't own a TV or subscription to any streaming service.
Here's a piece I wrote about some adaptive equipment that I use often.
My stander is a lovely, much appreciated invention.. But as I stand 5 feet above the ground, my feet velcroed in troughs like superglue, my knees blocked by a monstrous pad, and my trunk held in place by a device that threatens to depossess me of my well-endowed chest every time I dare to enter it, I can't help but think about the oddities of using this contraption. It grants me a freedom, not achievable by any other means, the ability to stand without the assistance of another being and to do so in good form for prolonged periods. And yet I am frozen, held by more gadgets than you can imagine. It's one of my most productive times, mentally and physically as I take on the world from vertical. Some people wish for a pause button on life, I get one every time I stand. Frozen in my freedom, what a blessing!
May each of you who read this find gratitude in your heart 💞
Thank you Emily for such insightful and positive comments to help more fully understand the world we share.
Thank you for your thoughtful words. Generally speaking, I am a positive, hopeful person. I believe the bit in John's Gospel that says that Darkness loses, that it never overcomes the Light. And some days, it is just too much. Some days, I count it an accomplishment that I fed the dog and got her her meds in a timely fashion.
I know it will be better tomorrow morning when a new day offers a new start. I expect that I will awaken refreshed and ready to tackle it all again.
I am reassured and comforted that there are others who recognize the debilitating nature of all the hate and violence and killing and general ugliness. In reading the comments to this post, I remember that there are others who are in this struggle with me; I remember that I can take a day off to do some extra resting and healing before I join back in. I am so grateful for that.
Thank you, one and all, for being a part of the effort to endure, and to restore some sort of grace and kindness to humanity.