Spring is in the air. It’s chilly outside this morning, yet it is a different kind of chilly than the chilly of a month ago. The promise of warmer weather and the emergence of spring flowers and blooming trees brings hope to our winter-weary souls. I finally got NPR on my car radio this morning, and after listening to their discussion about the ways government contracts are being awarded to Elon Musk’s various companies, it made me consider turning back to my favorite classical music station. How much space do I want to give to things over which I have no control?
My eyes were cooperating this morning so I read a few pages in Richard Rohr. The print is so small and light that it is a challenge on the best of days, but as usual, he gave me plenty to ponder. One of the things he observed was that up until the last one hundred years, change came about very slowly. People had time to adjust and accommodate to the changes, not that there wasn’t a lot of human suffering and anxiety at those times as well. But the last one hundred years have been a constant process of dramatic changes that defy our human ability to adapt. No wonder there is unrest. My mother, who died a mere 27 years ago, lived through the advent of motorized vehicles, electricity, telephones, radio, television, computers, space shots, airplanes, landing on the moon, cell phones, and social media, to name just some of the radical changes we humans have had to adapt to in recent years. That’s a lot of change to assimilate. No wonder there is so much fear and unrest.
When I get discouraged, I look to Mother Nature to give me perspective. She’s been around much longer than we humans and has lived through many major transitions and transformations, all seemingly catastrophic for whatever life forms existed at the time. Our beautiful planet, a small part of the vast cosmos that is so vast we humans cannot comprehend it, speaks of some mysterious force that some of us chose to call God. In spite of human suffering and seeming evil, the overall trajectory is one of benevolence and love. Look at the advances in medical science, for instance. It is easy for us mere humans to place ourselves at the center of the universe, but like the amaryllis that is joyfully blooming on my desk, we are like grass, here today and gone tomorrow, as the Psalmist writes. Yet that does not negate our value. Like that glorious flower as big as a dinner plate, we also play our small part in this amazing mystery we call life.
Yes, I am concerned about the seeming disintegration of life as we know it. Yes, I fear for the poor and advantaged, some within my family and circle of friends. Yes, I am afraid that as the very foundations upon which we have built our economy and life crumble about our feet, we all will be exposed to increased violence and suffering. And yet, I look at my amazing amaryllis and feel comforted. We may not like the destruction of life as we know it, but life will go on. We all have the opportunity to live the best lives we are capable of, given the circumstances we find ourselves in. Besides, we often tap into our best selves in times of crisis and need. And, we can all die confident that life in some form will go on. In the meantime, we have the prophet Micah’s instructions to do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with our God and Jesus’ commands to love both neighbor and enemy, to feed his sheep, and to follow in his way of life. And for me, that is more than enough.