snow going

Hills and trees and houses are frosted with a thick marshmallow frosting of snow that dumped on us last night. The neighborhood is peaceful this morning, put into temporary time-out by Mother Nature. Everything is soft and quiet, no one is jumping up to do their Saturday chores and run out to Walmart. I think we mostly enjoy the forced opportunity to turn off the "go" switch.

So far the only activity of note has been at the several bird feeders hanging outside our window. Always a hot spot, today it's getting even more action, given the limited meal choices imposed by the snowy landscape. Yellow-bellied and downy woodpeckers feast on suet; the brilliant red cardinal stands out in relief against the black and white canvas of the yards below.

The harmonious buffet is suddenly disrupted by a few blackbirds that decide to start a brawl over the suet. Everyone flees the incursion and heads to a nearby copse to wait for the bullies to move on to other territory. There are no diplomats sent to broker a shared agreement; no avian Marshall Rosenberg is dispatched to build a bridge of empathy through communication. The language is clear and not negotiable: the weaker species yield to brute strength and aggressive force--it's just the way it is.

There are plenty of examples in the natural world--happily provided to us in real time via YouTube--of compassion and care among seemingly natural adversaries; the lamb does, on occasion, lie down with the lion--or at least the kitten. The anomaly fascinates and delights us, perhaps with the possibility that even the most primal programming can be overcome with instincts of empathy, nurture and play. Biologists, and social scientists of all stripes continue the debate over whether such models are tenable as examples for homo sapiens to emulate. Read more on one such theory in Frans de Waals book: The Age of Empathy: Nature's Lessons for a Kinder Society.

I am admittedly drawn to inquire and explore the issue of conflict among humans, the more "evolved" species. I want to believe that our human-ness gives us the capacity to act differently, despite the complexities, emotional power and biological legacy of survival that can become triggered when we engaged in even the most quotidian of disagreements.

The thought brings me back to the whole reason I started this blog, Listening for a Change: to ask questions, to venture into the territory of transformation. I am no intrepid explorer--a strange internal brew of something like anxiety mixed with hope prods me forward, usually when I want to run or look the other way.

For me the exploration starts with questions: How can conflict be constructive, rather than destructive? What are the tools we need to transform conflict into greater intimacy, trust, and fulfillment? How do we repair and reconcile relationships that have been severed through betrayal and abuse, even misunderstanding. What does it look like to forgive and to heal? Big stuff. I feel overwhelmed just writing it!

I don't know the answers, but often "I don't know" is a good map to use. I do know that my sweetheart and I are no longer a couple and that parting is painful. A friend and I are in a strained conversation about differing needs. A remark made by someone at lunch "pinched", and I retreated. There's no getting away from it or skipping over it. The way out is through. Hopefully we get to the other side without inflicting more wounds, without having amends to make, by forgiving and being forgiven.

Meanwhile, the hillside is filling with kids and dogs and sleds. Time takes time, healing can be slow going. And a good dose of fun can't hurt either.

Peace. It's not for sissies.

Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., in his 1957 speech Birth of a New Nation, shared a gritty and radical conclusion, based on the influences of his own spirituality and the example and teaching of Mahatma Gandhi:
“The aftermath of nonviolence is the creation of the beloved community. The aftermath of nonviolence is redemption. The aftermath of nonviolence is reconciliation. The aftermath of violence is emptiness and bitterness.”

Images of inconceivable devastation in Haiti have captivated our minds and hearts this week. Yet in the midst of tragedy, there have been countless examples of generosity, humanity, and selflessness.

Perhaps these moments are hopeful glimpses that Martin Luther King's ideal of the "Beloved Community" could be a reality. We have come far, it is true. In Dr. King's day, it was inconceivable that a black U.S. president would be directing intervention efforts in a major international disaster. Still, I want to resist the temptation to focus on a romanticized notion of the dream that Martin Luther King dared us to actualize. On this day of remembrance, I am also compelled to acknowledge how far we have to go--in healthcare, in economic justice, in domestic and international peace.

As one friend said recently, "It's true that what Dr. King did was monumental, but who he was--a man committed to a relationship with God--was what made that possible." Dr. King believed in and relied on the power of Love, a power greater than himself, working through him to transform hearts and minds and communities into containers of healing and justice and peace. For Dr. King the idea of the Beloved Community was not a camp circle singing kumbaya. He led a movement which led real people voluntarily into real encounters with real violence and hatred. Certainly not a volunteer job for the pusillanimous. I admit I would much sooner sign up to serve disaster victims than face clubs and fire hoses in the name of equality, and am humbled to know those that have chosen, and still choose, to do so.

On my way to Atlanta Sunday morning I stopped off at a gas station in a small South Carolina town. At the next pump were two African-American men in their twenties, in suits, presumably on their way to church. I was struck with the realization that the possibility of being harassed, assaulted, and worse still lives in the recent memory (and current experience) of my black neighbors, friends and co-workers. Grandparents may still pass groves of trees where family members where lynched, or neighborhoods that were terrorized by midnight hordes robed in white.

And beyond the ravages of racism are other forms of violence that surround us each day, some explicit, some covert. In the U.S. child abuse is rampant, a sexual assault is reported every two minutes, homicides are a leading cause of death. And all this before widening our vision to the unbearable reality in Darfur, the Congo, Iraq; the list goes on and on. Our compulsion for power and force spawns infinite injustices in economic, socio-political, and interpersonal realms. Our relationship with conflict and violence is older than our humanity, and is unlikely to leave us any time soon.

Yet tragedies like Haiti consistently reveal our capacity to extend beyond self-interest and to experience the heart-expanding joy and goodness and creativity that is unleashed when that occurs. What would the aftermath of an earthquake of Love look like? Cataclysmic indeed. Dr. King could see that world, and he held in his words and example a radical vision for us to inhabit. Today I give thanks for his life and for the challenge of the gift he left in our care.

It's a scary thing to pray that God would use me--I might not like the assignment. Perhaps it is delivering water to disaster victims, perhaps it is defending the defenseless, perhaps it is sitting with others offering the metta-prayer. Perhaps, as President Obama said in his acceptance speech, it is living the commitment to "listening especially when we disagree." Whatever it is, I pray that I do it and that I will cultivate the internal resources to stand, hands extended, in the circle of beloved community. It's not for sissies.

So in many instances, we have been able to stand before the most violent opponents and say in substance, we will meet your capacity to inflict suffering by our capacity to endure suffering. We will meet your physical force with soul force. Do to us what you will and we will still love you. Throw us in jail and we will still love you. Threaten our children and bomb our homes and our churches and as difficult as it is, we will still love you. Send your hooded perpetrators of violence into our communities at the midnight hours and drag us out on some wayside road and beat us and leave us half-dead, and as difficult as that is, we will still love you. But be assured that we will wear you down by our capacity to suffer and one day we will win our freedom. We will not only win freedom for ourselves, we will so appeal to your heart and your conscience that we will win you in the process and our victory will be a double victory.

(Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. delivered this message to the Dexter Avenue Baptist Church in Montgomery, Alabama, Christmas 1957.)