“While you are proclaiming peace with your lips, be careful to have it even more fully
in your heart.”

St. Francis of Assisi

Kneading Faith
By Fran Lavelle
We are amid a very divisive and heated political election cycle. The flames of division are stoked daily by news outlets, social media, family dinner tables, and yes, even the church. We seek validation of our political agendas by quoting people we respect, often political and religious leaders. I have threatened for years that I am going to write a book entitled, “If we are all right, who’s left?” That is to say that we cannot all be right, all the time. I believe that having deeply held beliefs is a good thing. What we cannot afford to do is judge and dismiss those who think differently than we do. Or worse yet alienate people because we do not see the issues through the same lens, especially those who are members of our family.

We just celebrated the Feast Day of St. Francis of Assisi a few days ago. Imagery of St. Francis evokes a sense of serenity and peace. He is often featured with deer and forest creatures in painted works and in carvings and statutes there is often a bird on his shoulder or in his hand. He is the patron of animals, merchants and the environment. But he is also well known for a prayer he wrote simply known as the St. Francis prayer. In 1967 the prayer was adapted by Third Order Franciscan and South African songwriter Sebastian Temple. The song is literally part of the soundtrack of my Catholic upbringing. I am certain some of you are humming the familiar tune now. Perhaps the familiarity of the prayer and song has overtime cheapened the message. It begins, “Make me an instrument of your peace … where there is hatred let me sow love.” Notice, St. Francis used the word “instrument.” Miriam Webster defines instrument as a means whereby something is achieved, performed, or furthered. When we pray this prayer, we are asking God to use us to fight the agency of hatred, injury, doubt, despair, darkness and sadness. Further we are asking God to replace them with acts of love, forgiveness, faith, hope, light and joy. If I offer myself as an instrument of His peace, I need to mean it.

In thinking about St. Francis and his feast day, I asked myself how I am doing with the challenge of this prayer. I joke that I am Jesuit trained but hold a deep Franciscan spirituality much like another Francis (wink). There is a great gift in the blending of these two powerful spiritualities.

St. Francis offers a reminder that we are to be instruments, that is we are to be used to make peace. St. Ignatius offers a tool to help us assess how we are doing. In Ignatian spirituality one is asked to perform a daily examen, a review of one’s day if you will. The examen utilizes time set aside for reflection on where God is in your everyday life. There are five steps: offer thanks to God, ask the Holy Spirit for light to see what God is revealing to us, review the day, face your shortcomings, and look toward the day to come. For sure, I fall short. Sometimes my ego gets in the way. Sometimes it is my pride. But as in all growth, awareness is the first step to change.

The spirituality of St. Francis and St. Ignatius both offer great resources to help us navigate an increasingly divisive culture. Following Jesus is not merely an intellectual pursuit. Following Jesus requires action.

While none of us are perfect in this pursuit we are called to live out our faith in word and deed. That brings me back to the contentious political environment we are living in. How do we communicate that we are a Christians? Do our conversations and posts on social media reflect Jesus and his teachings? Our words matter. Are we instruments of love, forgiveness, faith, hope, light and joy? If not, are we adding to the hatred, injury, doubt, despair, darkness and sadness that the world already possesses too much of? I am reminded of a story and quote that I first heard in a homily. It is a fitting reminder that our words matter.

In 1977, Frank Outlaw the president of the Bi-Lo stores is attributed in a Texas newspaper to having said, “Watch your thoughts, they become words. Watch your words, they become actions. Watch your actions, they become habits. Watch your habits, they become character. Watch your character, for it becomes your destiny.”

Let your words and your light shine that you may illuminate a path for others to follow that they too may reflect Christ. Be kind to one another, after all we belong to the same Father.

(Fran Lavelle is the Director of Faith Formation for the Diocese of Jackson)

ON ORDINARY TIMES
By Lucia A. Silecchia

Respect Life Month is an annual October opportunity to recommit to respecting the unique dignity of each human being, made in the likeness of God and created with an irreplaceable part in the human family that no other will ever fill. This year’s theme, “Living the Gospel of Life,” invites a thank you note to all those who live this “Gospel of Life” in their ordinary times by welcoming the most vulnerable. So …

Thank you to the elderly couple with full hearts and an overflowing basement bursting with the cribs, strollers, clothes, diapers, formula and toys they collect for expectant mothers in need. They know what may seem small never is.

Thank you to the man who sits in a quiet bar while his friend confides that his wife is pregnant with their fifth child and he just lost his job. Hearing this despair and knowing the desperate thoughts that fill the fearful father’s mind, this loyal friend pledges his support. He means it. This friendship means the world and can save a life – or two.

Thank you to the high school teacher with the picture-perfect family life who consoles a student facing an unexpected pregnancy and fearing her bright future is lost. After the standard words of encouragement fail, this teacher takes a deep breath and confides in her student what she has always kept private: “I was once there too.”

Thank you to the woman who carries her child for months, knowing she will place her greatest treasure into the heart and home of another family. She also knows this great act of love will exhaust her body and break her heart in ways few will understand.

Thank you to the parents with full hearts and empty arms who adopt children and raise them with a love that, in turn, inspires others to see the beautiful gift of adoption and continue this circle of selfless, aching love.

Thank you to friends who console a mother who miscarries her child. They understand this grief is deep and raw because a life has ended. So, they do not blithely say “it’s better this way” or “you’ll have another” because they know far more than a dream or a hope died within.

Thank you to those who speak kindly and with respect for women who give birth to and raise children in less than perfect circumstances. The children in their lives will overhear them – and remember their words more than anyone will ever know.

Thank you to all who dedicate their lives to caring for, teaching, employing and advocating for those who live with disabilities. In the opportunities you provide, families facing an unexpected pre-natal diagnosis might just see a glimpse of a promising future for their child. They may desperately need your witness to resist the pressures they are so likely to face as they wait to welcome their child.

Thank you to the parents of boys who teach their sons to respect the dignity of women, the sacredness of sex, and the obligation to support the children they father in every way they can. Thank you to those same parents who care for the mother of their son’s children – regardless of whether she is a beloved daughter-in-law whose pregnancy answers years of family prayer or a frightened teenage girlfriend whose name they do not even know.

Thank you to the religious sisters who, in so many ways, live the radical hospitality that welcomes women in need and their children by offering the love and material support that our busy world pays lip service to say but too often neglects to do. Thank you to the priests who hear the pain-filled confessions of those who carry heavy burdens and lifetimes of regrets. Through the ministry of the church they grant the pardon and peace that frees so many who are so broken to become some of the best protectors of life I have ever met.

Thank you to the friends of a frightened young woman, abandoned by her boyfriend, who accompany her home when she fears telling her family she is pregnant. Thank you to the friends of an overwhelmed father-to-be when they have the courage to tell him that fathers support both their children and the women carrying those children – and then help him to do this. Extra thanks if those friends also have the courage to tell him that, popular opinion notwithstanding, saying “I will support you in whatever you decide” is not support at all.

Thank you to the friendly Mass-goer who gives a wink and a smile to a crying infant rather than a cold stare and a judgmental glare. The harried parents trying to keep their children corralled in their pew will appreciate this and be grateful that those who celebrate the sanctity of life are not curmudgeons when they see the beauty of that life in the house of God.

Thank you to the knitters and quilters in retirement homes who make baby blankets for infants they will never know and donate them to pregnancy centers. They hold the loving hope that an exhausted mother may derive the strength to carry on just knowing a handmade gift was specially prepared for her unborn child.

Thank you, most of all, to parents who welcome children into the world in so many situations that are unexpected, unsupported, and unappreciated. What you do is sacred – not only on day one, but each and every day.

To all of you, and so many others, my “thank you” seems so small. May God bless you all for all the ways you live the Gospel of Life in all the days of your ordinary times.

(Lucia A. Silecchia is a Professor of Law at the Catholic University of America. “On Ordinary Times” is a biweekly column reflecting on the ways to find the sacred in the simple. Email her at silecchia@cua.edu.)

IN EXILE
By Father Ron Rolheiser, OMI
What kinds of things help induce mysticism in our lives? I was asked that question recently and this was my immediate, non-reflected, answer: whatever brings tears to your eyes in either genuine sorrow or genuine joy; but that response was predicated on a lot of things.

What is mysticism? What makes for mystical experience?

In the popular mind mysticism is misunderstood badly. We tend to identify mysticism with what’s extraordinary and paranormal, and see it as something for the spiritual elite. For most people, mysticism means spiritual visions and ecstatic experiences which take you outside of normal consciousness.

Mysticism can be that sometimes, though normally it has nothing to do with visions, altered states of consciousness, or states of ecstasy. Rather it has to do with a searing clarity of mind and heart. Mystical experiences are experiences that cut through all the things that normally block us from touching our deepest selves, and they are rare because normally our consciousness is cut off from our deep, true, virginal self by the influence of ego, wound, history, social pressure, ideology, false fear and all the various affectations we don and shed like clothing. Rarely are we ever in touch with our deepest center, without filters, purely; but when we are, that’s what makes for a mystical experience.

Mysticism, as Ruth Burrows defines it, is being touched by God in a way that’s beyond words, imagination and feeling. God, as we know, is Oneness, Truth, Goodness and Beauty. So any time we are genuinely touched by oneness, truth, goodness or beauty, without anything distorting that, we’re having a mystical experience. What might that look like?

Ruth Burrows describes a mystical experience which radically changed her life when she was eighteen years old, a senior at a private high school for young women operated by an order of nuns, on a retreat preparing for graduation, and not very mature. She and one of her friends were not taking this retreat very seriously, passing notes to each other and pulling pranks during the conferences. At a point, their antics were disturbing enough that the nuns pulled them out of the group and had them sit in silence in a chapel, chaperoned by a teacher, whenever the rest of the class was at a conference. At first, Burrows confesses, they continued their joking around, but the hours were long and the silence eventually wore her down. Sitting alone, bored and irritated, a mystical experience graced her, uninvited and unexpected. And it came upon her not as a vision or an ecstasy, but as a moment of searing clarity. At a certain moment, sitting alone, she saw herself with absolute clarity for who she really was, in all her immaturity and in all her goodness. It changed her life. From then on she knew who she was – beyond ego, wound, immaturity, peer pressure, ideology and all affectation. In that moment she knew her deepest self purely (and the only thing that was extraordinary was its extraordinary clarity).

So, what kinds of things might induce mystical experiences in our lives? The short answer: anything that takes you beyond your ego, your wounds, your affectations, and the powerful social pressures within which you breathe, that is, anything that helps put you in touch with who you really are and makes you want to be a better person. And this can be many things. It might be a book you read; it might be the beauty of nature; it might be the sight of a newborn baby, a crying child, a wounded animal, or the face of someone suffering; or it might be what you feel deep down when you receive an expression of love, bless someone, express genuine contrition, or share helplessness. It can be many things.

Several years ago while teaching a course, I assigned the students a number of books to read, among them Christopher de Vinck’s, Only the Heart Knows How to Find Them – Precious Memories for Faithless Time. This is a series of autobiographical essays within which de Vinck simply shares very warmly about his marriage, his children, and his home life. At the end of the semester a young woman, with de Vinck’s book in her hand, said to me: “Father, this is the best book I’ve ever read. I’ve always fancied myself a very free, liberated person and I’ve slept my way through several cities, but now I realize that what I want is what this man has. I want sex to take me home. I want a home. I want the marriage bed. I know now what I need!”

Reading Christopher de Vinck’s book had triggered a mystical experience inside her, not unlike the one described by Ruth Burrows. Reading the Story of a Soul by Therese of Lisieux generally does that for me.
So, here’s my counsel: seek out what does that for you. It doesn’t have to bring tears to your eyes, it just has to point you with searing clarity towards home!

(Oblate Father Ron Rolheiser, theologian, teacher and award-winning author, is President of the Oblate School of Theology in San Antonio, Texas. He can be contacted through his website www.ronrolheiser.com.)

From the hermitage
By sister alies therese
Perhaps you’ve read a couple of the wonderful books by L. Van derPost of South Africa? Besides drawing you into a tender story and then challenging you with a hard truth, he writes and shares with us an exploration of his life. Often writers (both fiction and non-fiction) take us on a trip of some sort that either ‘tells the truth’ or ‘implies a truth within a fictionalized setting.’ In either case one might discover much of the richness of the writer’s testing of his/her own life as well as the readers. The writer may offer several different threads that might, or might not, come together at some point showing some continuity and often great patience, especially when things ‘go wrong.’

I wonder if we’re in a time of rummaging around in our own lives, the church’s (especially) and our cultures to find those threads that may, or may not, come together? At what level is there no anguish? Huge fires/climate change, pandemic, hurricanes, interpersonal strife, loneliness, international disregard, where indeed is the thread that draws us together? These are a part of deficit culture … what brings us to see a culture of beneficence?
Back in 1984 Michael Ignatieff, in The Needs of Strangers, reflected this: “If we deceive ourselves about what we need, we are likely to be deceived about what strangers need. There are few presumptions in human relations more dangerous than the idea that one knows what another human being needs better than they do themselves … if we need love, it is for reasons that go beyond the happiness it brings; it is for the connection, the rootedness, it gives us with others.”
Notice our strange mixtures. Consider a blood family of three children and parents, for example, and wonder sometimes if they are connected! Maybe it will be facial, or the sound of voice, or a certain talent, or hair color. Some things will indicate that they are ‘related.’ What are the things in God’s family that show, though in very different ways, ‘we’re all related?’ What are those ‘six-degrees’ of separation that bond us? How do we put together those many strands and threads and celebrate?
Within the human community, and indeed within the community of believers, there are as many differences as similarities. Bottom line stretches to ‘human’ (all bleeding red blood), ‘we all have certain needs’ and we are on a path that calls us forward from ‘birth to death.’ Beyond that almost everything else, social status, color, attitudes, beliefs, fears, competences and the lot are as individual as we can imagine. We are strangers as often to ourselves as to others.
One stereotypical image of a beggar is perhaps a homeless person blinded by disconnection from self, family, housing, medical care and food. We have a persistent beggar within, the unwillingness to be born/change things by refusing to allow the Spirit to prompt growth. We can spend inordinate amounts of time telling others what they need, what they should do/not do, what they ought to understand. Rather we might remain silent and allow them to discover their own threads. Or we might ask questions that will help reveal the beggars within us.
We might agree that racism, not telling the truth, or the –ism you pick are evil, sinful, horrid. We might agree but what to do about it needs input from the sufferers outlining some change. Opinions and political implications and others have dictated what to do for many years and have been relatively unsuccessful. Where is my heart stuck? What does my heart have to contribute?
Ignatieff reminds us: “the theory of human needs is a particular kind of language of the human good. To define human nature in terms of needs is to define what we are in terms of what we lack, to insist on the distinctive emptiness and incompleteness of humans as a species.” To know our ‘beggars’ is to discover not only what we need, but what we have to share. To define others (the poor, the wayward, the unborn, the prisoner, the weary, the old) by what they lack is a deficit culture and we never see beyond as Jesus sees.
Van derPost in his 1973 The Seed & Sower, points this out: “… I did not understand the sabotage in the invisible dimension of my being… There is a strange, persistent beggar at a narrow door asking to be born; asking again and again, for admission at the gateway of our lives.”
If we want to be born, or allow those threads to come together within, we might encourage ourselves to act, to build the Beloved Community. Perhaps that’s the kind of love that makes a difference, that ‘good trouble’, the kind that ‘relates’ us? Might even be the beginning of real change?
BLESSINGS.

(Sister alies therese is a vowed Catholic solitary who lives an eremitical life. Her days are formed around prayer, art and writing. She is author of six books of spiritual fiction and is a weekly columnist. She lives and writes in Mississippi.)

THEOLOGY AT THE MOVIES
By James Tomek, Ph.D.
How do we read “Unorthodox,” a recent four-part series on Netflix of a woman, Esty, who flees from a Hasidic community in New York in search of a new community in Berlin? Is the film about the problems of Jews to maintain their culture in the “diaspora” – the land outside of Palestine/Israel? Esty rebelling against the Hasidic culture? About how women are imprisoned in their religious cultures? Do we have the right to “educate” women and men who live “happily” in a culture that could be repressive? Ultimately, do we really learn anything specific about Hasidic culture other than seeing the stark clothing and witnessing devotions without understanding the words? Can we, in turn, question our Catholicism about some of its customs? We are all in the diaspora – “scattered” from our origins seeking security.

In “Unorthodox,” Esty, escapes an unhappy marriage and flies to Berlin where she tries to fit in with a group of student-musicians. Flashbacks reveal how she was raised by her grandmother in a Hasidic community in Williamsburg, Brooklyn; entered into a prearranged marriage with Yanky Shapiro; was naive in the sexual facts of life; became pregnant, and at present, decides to flee the closed community to go to Berlin. Why? Her mother, excommunicated earlier from the community, had gone to Berlin where she now lives with her partner and works as a nurse.
The Hasidic (meaning pious/piety) form of worship started in the 18th Century in Poland. In the face of persecutions, the Hasidic Jews devoted themselves to preserve their form of worship. The black suits and head wear were ways of reminding themselves who they were, especially in the diaspora. The Williamsburg community people are more recent descendants of the Satmar community in Hungary, preserving their religion from the horrors of the World War II Holocaust.
Is Esty a descendant of the biblical Esther? Esty, like Esther, is a heroine in a foreign land. The book of Esther is about Jews living in Persia after the Exile in 486 BCE. The King chooses Esther, a Jew, to replace his first wife as Queen. Esther’s cousin, Mordecai, enrages the current Prime Minister, Hamon, who wants to annihilate all the Jews. Mordecai convinces the King of Hamon’s evil plot. The Jews are accepted and Hamon is executed. The Jews celebrate their victory over death in a foreign land with the Feast of Purim. The Talmud, ethical commentaries on the Hebrew Scriptures (in a way, a Jewish New Testament), is ambiguous about Esther. It is a difficult book to love since it is about vengeance and with little or no mention of God’s providence.
Is our Esty a new Esther in a foreign land? She meets with musicians studying in a Berlin conservatory. In an early outing, she enters a lake, and joyfully, baptismally takes off her sheitel, a wig used to hide her hair when out in public. She has an intimate relation with one of the group and finally is admitted to take a test to enter the conservatory. She finally chooses to sing a Yiddish folk song for her audition. She is pursued in Berlin by her equally naive husband Yanky, and a relative, Moishe, who is equally at home in Hasidic ceremonies as well as in capitalistic casinos and bars. Esty refuses Yanky. Moishe, at first aggressive in wanting to bring Esty back, undergoes his own baptism as he seems torn between the two cultures, seen in his symbolic undressing and wading in the Spree.
Do we have a right to educate people who are happy in a culture or religion that may imprison them? The Jewish community in Williamsburg seems to be getting along very well. Is Esty being deprived of the freedom to grow? Do we have a right to “free” this woman from her religious community? Do we know enough about our own religion?
The Hindu religion has four ways to the divine – four ways of being religious: knowledge (jnana) [study], devotion (bhakti) [ceremonies], duty (karma) [good deeds], and meditation (raja) [prayer]. The Hasidic Jews emphasize devotion. The film succeeds in showing the appearances of this Hasidic community and how its marriages are arranged and the Sabbath celebrated. However, it is short on the “knowledge” part. Why the elaborate headdresses or stremeil for the men? The growth of side locks of hair? What is the meaning of the Yiddish folk song through which Esty wins over her audience?
I prefer the way of “knowledge,” so by that I mean studying why we do certain things in our devotions. Some enjoy the karma or duty – doing good deeds. Others find pleasure worshiping without questioning the whys.
The film “Unorthodox” succeeds in showing appearances of a Hasidic community. But, how do these showings reflect their memories? We are all in the diaspora – away from our origins. Our Catholic way of remembering is in the Mass – not necessarily in the priest’s vestments or shape of the church and altar – but in the scriptures read and the shared meal where we remember Jesus’s sacrifice.

(James Tomek is a retired language and literature professor at Delta State University who is currently a Lay Ecclesial Minister at Sacred Heart in Rosedale and also active in RCIA at Our Lady of Victories in Cleveland.)

IN EXILE
By Father Ron Rolheiser, OMI
Courage isn’t one of my strong points, at least not one particular kind of courage.
Scripture tells us that as John the Baptist grew up he became strong in spirit. My growing up was somewhat different. Unlike John the Baptist, as I grew up I became accommodating in spirit. This had its reasons. I was born with what Ruth Burrows would describe as a “tortured sensitivity,” an over-sensitive personality, and have never been able to develop a tough skin.

That’s not the stuff of which prophets are made. When you’re a child on the playground you better have the raw physical strength to challenge a situation that’s unfair or you better let things alone so as not to get hurt. You also better develop razor-sharp skills at avoiding confrontation and in the art of peacemaking. As well, when you aren’t gifted with superior physical strength and challenging situations arise on the playground, you quickly learn to walk away from confrontation. On the playground the lamb knows better than to lie down with the lion or to confront the lion, irrespective of the prophet Isaiah’s eschatological visions.
And that’s not all bad. Growing up as I did didn’t make for the tough skin and raw courage it takes to be a prophet, but it did give me an acute radar screen, namely, a sensitivity which at its best is a genuine empathy (though at its worst has me avoiding situations of conflict). Either way, it’s hasn’t particularly gifted me with the qualities that make for prophetic courage. I want, habitually, not to upset people. I dislike confrontation and want peacefulness at almost any cost, though I do draw some lines in the sand. But I’m no John the Baptist and it’s taken me many years to learn that, admit it, and understand why – and also to understand that my temperament and history are only an explanation and not an excuse for my cowardice at times.
In the end, the virtue of courage is not contingent upon birth, temperament, or mental toughness, though these can be helpful. Courage is a gift from the Holy Spirit and that’s why one’s temperament and background may only serve as an explanation and not as an excuse for a lack of courage.
I highlight this because our situation today demands courage from us, the courage for prophecy. We desperately need prophets today, but they are in short supply and too many of us are not particularly eager to volunteer for the task. Why not?
A recent issue of Commonweal magazine featured an article by Bryan Massingale, a strong prophetic voice on the issue of racism. Massingale submits that the reason we see so little real progress in dealing with racial injustice is the absence of prophetic voices where they are most needed, in this case, among the many good white people who see racial injustice, sympathize with those suffering from it, but don’t do anything about it. Massingale, who lectures widely across the country, shares how again and again in his lectures and in his classes people ask him: But how do I address this without upsetting people? This question aptly expresses our reticence and, I believe, names both the issue and the challenge.
As Shakespeare would say, “Ah, there’s the rub!” For me, this question touches a sensitive moral nerve. Had I been in one of his classes I would no doubt have been one of those to ask that question: but how do I challenge racism without upsetting people? Here’s my problem: I want to speak out prophetically, but I don’t want to upset others; I want to challenge the white privilege which we’re so congenitally blind to, but I don’t want to alienate the generous, good-hearted people who support our school; I want to speak out more strongly against injustice in my writing, but I don’t want multiple newspapers drop my column as a result; I want to be courageous and confront others, but don’t want to live with the hatred that ensues; and I want to publicly name injustices and name names, but don’t want to alienate myself from those very people. So this leaves me still praying for the courage needed for prophecy.
Several years ago, a visiting professor at our school, an Afro-American man, was sharing with our faculty some of the near daily injustices he experiences simply because of the color of his skin. At one point I asked him: “If I, as a white man, came to you like Nicodemus came to Jesus at night and asked you what I should do, what would you tell me?” His answer: Jesus didn’t let Nicodemus off easily just because he confessed his fears. Nicodemus had to do a public act to bring his faith into the light, he had to claim Jesus’ dead body. Hence, his challenge to me: you need to do a public act.
He’s right; but I’m still praying for the prophetic courage to do that. And aren’t we all?

(Oblate Father Ron Rolheiser, theologian, teacher and award-winning author, is President of the Oblate School of Theology in San Antonio, Texas. He can be contacted through his website www.ronrolheiser.com.)

Reflections on Life
By Melvin Arrington
Have you noticed that kindness seems to be absent from our world today? It hasn’t always been like this. When I was growing up the world moved at a slower pace. We didn’t have computers or smartphones but we knew all the neighbors on our street. TVs were small, black and white models with no remote control, no cable, no dish. We wrote letters instead of texts. Most out-of-town trips were made by car.

But in our modern, fast-paced society speed is considered essential in practically every aspect of life. We demand instant communication, whether it’s with someone across town or on the other side of the world. And if you’re going somewhere, chances are you’re looking to get there in a hurry. All these technological advancements that we take for granted have made our lives easier. But in privileging speed and comfort we have sacrificed some of the basic elements of human interaction, one of which is kindness (goodness, in some translations of Scripture), the fifth Fruit of the Spirit.
When I think of this virtue, I’m reminded of one of my cousins, a multi-talented artist who passed away a couple of months ago after struggling for many years with a debilitating disease. He was a wise and compassionate soul who inspired family and friends with his art and the way he lived his life. The phrase “be kind” was sort of a motto of his.
We ought to be kind to everyone, including those unable to do anything for us and especially to those we view as unworthy of our benevolence. Why? Because that’s the way God treats us. He looks on us and sees our unworthiness and showers us with all sorts of blessings and favors anyway. That’s the pattern we’re supposed to follow. It’s easy to say, “Yes, that’s right. I believe that.” The difficulty comes in putting it into practice.
Harold S. Kushner, best known for his book When Bad Things Happen to Good People, speaks succinctly to this point: “Do things for people not because of who they are or what they do in return, but because of who you are.” This means I should treat others with kindness for the sake of kindness, not in order to call attention to my good deed. We’ve all been beneficiaries of someone’s charity, and even if we’re unable to pay it back we can always pay it forward. If those we help pass it on, then goodness will never go away. As Sirach 40:17 tells us, “Kindness is like a garden of blessings and charity endures forever.”
The word “kindness” comes from a Middle English word meaning “noble deeds” or “courtesy.” My wife once told me one reason she married me was because she thought I was courteous and a gentleman. If I am those things, it’s because of my mother, who taught me good manners when I was young.
One particular lesson stands out in my mind. I was about five. I was playing outside with one of the neighborhood kids, a little girl. When we got thirsty, she and I dashed up the steps to my house to get some water. I remember forging ahead, but when I got to the door my mother blocked the entrance, telling me I should let the girl go first. That made no sense to me because I got there first. So, I plowed ahead, but my mother pushed back, and when she did, my friend slipped inside ahead of me. That little incident may have been my initial exposure to the commandment “love thy neighbor as thyself.” As a side note, I think I actually crossed the threshold first by “breaking the plane” of the doorway, to use the football term, but what I learned that day was much more important than football.
In our culture of expediency, fueled by self-interest, love of neighbor often gets shoved out of the way, like when I tried to push past my friend to get inside the house. According to the prevailing philosophy of our time, we should simply “let everyone fend for himself.” But what we need instead is a culture in which we prioritize the needs of others rather than just taking care of ourselves. In that ideal society everybody looks out for his neighbor, especially the poor, the sick, and the lonely. That’s what good neighbors do. That’s what Christians do.
Do I exhibit kindness in the way I conduct my life? I hope so. I hope goodness and common courtesy have been instilled in me to the extent that they’ve become second nature, like saying “hello” or some other simple greeting in passing another person on the street.
Several years ago, I was in the Newark, New Jersey airport waiting to catch another flight. As I was walking along the sidewalk headed toward the next terminal, I passed a police officer and, without thinking, nodded my head and said “Hello.” I’ll never forget his reaction. His facial expression darkened, and he gave me a look that said, “What do you want?” He obviously was not used to having kind words spoken to him. In Learning the Virtues that Lead You to God Romano Guardini wrote that kindness requires patience and a sense of humor. That’s something I discovered on my own that day in Newark.
Do we really want to recapture the mutual understanding, cooperation, love, and goodwill that have all but disappeared from modern society? If so, we’re going to have to slow down, be considerate and attend to the needs of the other person, and perform “noble deeds,” all in a spirit of self-sacrifice. We’ve all got a role to play in building the Kingdom of Heaven, and it really doesn’t matter who goes first.

(Melvin Arrington is a Professor Emeritus of Modern Languages for the University of Mississippi and a member of Oxford St. John Parish.)