Journal of Sacred Work

What we are really afraid of is facing the ugly darkness in ourselves that limits our ability to love freely.   – Karen York

   In the December 8 "Comment" section of the Journal, Karen York, a Vice President with Alive Hospice of Nashville, wrote lines of such direct eloquence that I wanted to lift them up again for your consideration.
 
What kind of inner darkness blocks our love? My thirty-five month old grandson (every month counts when you’re that age) doesn’t know that darkness yet. Miles expresses his love freely to anyone he encounters. Their race, religion, country of origin or age are not things to which he attaches judgment (although their size may intrigue him.) He hugs strangers (if they get close enough) and will share his latest activities with anyone he meets….

   He also has complete faith in magic. This Christmas, he will accept the
idea that Santa will magically make his way into his house to deliver
the spirit of Christmas.
   The rest of us have been educated by the world – and knocked around by it as well. Our lives, as well as our holiday seasons are different now than they were when we were children. We measure our words and calculate our actions based on a sophisticated mix of thoughts, wants, biases, analyses and the cues we pick up from those around us.
   I don’t generally tell strangers that I love them (although, in a brotherly sense, I do). We’re not expected to tell strangers we love them because adults aren’t supposed to make such important declarations until they have more information. Right?
   Isn’t this odd? The whole process suggests that after I get to know you, I might not love you if I decide you don’t meet my personal standards! What about unconditional love? What about love of neighbor?
   Perhaps this was part of the darkness to which Karen York alludes. Earlier in her comment, she writes, "We are afraid to look into the eyes of an immigrant who crossed an
imaginary line between despair and hope. We are afraid to embrace a
brother who worships his God in a different rhythm."
   Why are her statements so painfully true? We fear the despair of an immigrant because we fear despair itself. It’s as if we imagine despair is contagious and, of course, it can be if we choose to let it control us.

   Franklin Roosevelt’s oft-quoted line that "the only thing we have to fear is fear itself," was not only true about the Depression era of which he spoke, but about our fears today. Too many Christians and too many Muslims now look at each other with distrust instead of love. The darkness inside us has become an unreasoning fear.
   This is the challenge caregivers face everyday. It’s a challenge solved at places like the Siloam Clinic , a faith-based charity where all staff are taught to "see the face of Christ" in every patient. How powerful this thinking can be and how central it is to loving care. We can best deliver loving care when we see the humanity in the other. Once we have stereotyped someone as an object belonging to a class we think of as distasteful then we have harmed our ability to love.
   This does not mean that we become blind to exercising discretion. It means that we learn to see beyond the surface to the spirit within.
   In order to do this, we must do as Ms. York suggests: first come to terms with the darkness within. We need to accept our biases and then overcome them by replacing them. We need to love that which we once feared.
   Soon, my grandson will accumulate his own array of biases. Soon enough, he will discover that the Santa Claus at Macy’s doesn’t come down chimneys. Hopefully, he will learn, at the same time, the power of the invisible – the love which does travel through walls and between people. It is this love which turns back the darkness and opens the door to life’s greatest gift.