In 2005, my brother and I traveled chaotically through Europe. We had no plan and very little money.
We were not sure what to expect out of Taize. Taize is a religious community in France. We were advised to stop there, but we didn't really know what it was. It was amazing. People from all over the world came to be together and to pray together. To work together and to sing together.
Generally, people come for a week. Upon arrival, you are assigned a job. The jobs are just the jobs which need to be done. My job was washing dishes.
Meals are together. There are multiple prayer times through the day. There is time to socialize.
Everyone sings. Hundreds of people from all over the world. It's hard to explain the emotional impact. The songs are simple. Generally, just one line repeated. Each song was printed in the shared songbooks in a dozen languages. The first time you sing the line through, you're likely to stumble through the words. Even if you know a few languages, chances are good you won't know the language. The translation is in front of you, but pronunciation first. By the fourth or fifth repetition, everyone is getting the words. Everyone knows the melody. Everyone knows what the words mean. Spontaneous harmonies are happening all over the room. The music is big and growing. As it grows, it grows more beautiful. The music reaches up into the air and deep into your soul. Rich and personal meditations twisting into the world to tangle and knot and transform this shared prayer. Ineffably beautiful.
When Paul and I were there, we were the only Americans. We met a lot of people who just wanted to meet Americans. It was humbling and fascinating and often funny. Where do we keep our helicopters?
One person introduced himself with a smile and asked for a hug. I don't know what we expected, but not what actually happened. He worked to communicate in English. Sober. Kind. Smiling. One word at a time. He said,
"I am Kosovo. Your country bombed my country but I love you."
And he meant it. He saw people. Not representatives of a wealthy country which he had every reason to hate. Just two people. We had worked and prayed and sang together. It didn't undo the harm he'd suffered. Still, he chose love.
Hate is hungry. The more you feed it, the more it demands. Hate is an insidious blob monster which respects no boundaries. Hate is destructive.
It isn't powerful in itself. The power of hate is entirely a numbers game. Hate smashes bridges and builds walls, but only with a lot of people hating.
Unfortunately, right now, there is a lot of hate.
Charlie Kirk. I didn't know him, but what I knew I didn't like. That thing he said about gun violence? Yeah, he really said that. And he said it during a an event which was ostensibly about faith. As a Christian, I'm mortified. Horrified. Livid.
I'm not homicidal.
It isn't actually very complicated. I don't think I understand the balancing act. Why do I feel like I have to preface an anti-murder position with an explanation? If being liberal or left wing or Democrat or in the resistance or anti-MAGA or whatever means I can't be anti-murder then I'll turn in all my cards.
