"Meditation XVII", by John Donne. It's an essay I read in English literature as a teenager. It was a little hard for me to grasp; Donne wrote in the 1600's. They talked funny back then. It's still hard for me to read because my comprehension of that kind of material is much slower than my ability to read. Therefore I have to read slowly, and I dislike that. I like reading material that goes down quick like applesauce. Especially if it has a juicy morsel of brain food. One paragraph in Donne's meditation pops out like he wrote it yesterday. Apparently I'm not the only one to think that, because I see it quoted and written out in poem form. You'll probably recognize it.
"No man is an island entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend's or of thine own were. Any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind , and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee."
When I hear the ambulance siren go, I think, "I hope it's nobody I know." I may even make a phone call to be reassured. When I heard that Ebola patients were brought home to an Atlanta hospital, I did not think, "oh good! They'll get better care here!" I thought, "please keep Africa's uncontrollable diseases in Africa."
It took me a couple of days to catch on to what is going on in Iraq. I saw the headlines and cruised on by. There's always something bad going on over there.
Tragedy is part of life. I don't have the strength to absorb all that pain. I find myself picking and choosing. I find myself passing judgment on the afflicted. I find myself feeling hopeless and indifferent. And then, I read apostle Paul's reminder to remember those in bonds as if I myself were in bonds. I read, "weep with those that weep." I read John Donne's essay, "No man is an island." I don't have the perfect answer for dealing with the tragedy of others. But if we truly are connected (and of course we are. It's a biblical concept and in keeping with God's character.), then I cannot afford to be indifferent. The spiritual laws set in place by God bind us together. There is no safety in isolation or self preservation. By God's Law, Jesus made a meal for thousands out of one person giving up his own little lunch. Jesus pretty much defined "neighbor" as anyone within your reach. And, Jesus wept. He didn't smile a bemused smile to himself at the poor mortals weeping over dead Lazurus; even though He knew He was going to bring Lazurus back to life in a few minutes, He wept tears of compassion and mutual sorrow.
Maybe those little prayers I breathe when I recognize suffering can be a small lunch to feed thousands. Maybe I can't practically fast and spend hours in prayer, but I can enter into the grief at least a little, think about if it were me, and care and pray. Maybe I can't tend to Ebola patients or rescue Iraqi refugees, but I can notice and help those in need who are within my reach. Somehow, I believe that by adding to the amount of good that exists in this world, I can help to make a difference. Maybe it won't directly touch that big scary problem on the other side of the world, but it still matters in the big picture.
And I can practice gratefulness. Grateful for every little thing. Grateful for the baby keeping me up at night because I still have the baby! Grateful for the girls' petty fights because they're still with me. Grateful, because if and when my tragedy hits, I'll have fewer regrets.
Nothing can truly prepare us for tragedy. But a heart that has practice at crying, praying, caring, and being grateful, will be more resilient. And while I cannot bear the sorrows of all, I can "pick up my edge of the blanket" to bear the weight of the hurting ones closest to me.
