Remembering what matters at Christmas

Nothing else matters but love. The knowing came to me, seconds after I had learned of a tragedy. Nothing else matters but love. It came as a thought. A voice. A truth that saturated every cell of my being. Nothing else matters but love.

We can know something to be true, but not know what to do with it. How do we apply it? Matters of the heart and spirit are hard to pin down, we can’t always make sense of it. When we’re faced with survival or problem solving, love is often secondary. Or not even in the equation. Love is not an intellectual process. It’s the soft light of grace that calls us into our heart space. The doorway for connection.

I, like many, have been feeling the isolation of the times. The dark season always has difficult moments, but the past couple of years have been compounded by the illness that’s settled over the planet. Nearly everyone I know is “going through it,” in one form or another. Whether facing health challenges, death, relationship issues, job insecurities or a breakdown of the old order, it’s been rough. The only remedy is love.

I don’t mean that in the way that people say “just pray” when someone’s whole world is collapsing. You can’t put the spirit of love in a cup and give it to someone, or sprinkle on a little fairy dust. There are practical matters to attend to and no one has a one-size-fits-all solution, even when we want to. I have my ideas about things, my stinky opinions, and they are often at odds with what my neighbor thinks. So, along with the darkness, the threat of illness and the breakdown of longstanding systems, fear and hate have entered the equation. Like love, you can’t necessarily see it, but it changes everything.

I was walking down the village road the other day, and noticed the fence by the school property and how it is collapsing. I thought of what it would take to rally my neighbors to work together to fix it. It seemed a momentous task, when so many are depressed. It’s hard enough sometimes to just get out of bed and do the chores that need to be done. So many people are on their own, isolated, slogging through another day. It would take something extra to fuel a community improvement project. I looked within myself to see if I had it. In that moment, I didn’t.

I had fallen into the trap of fear. The trap of anger. The trap of irritation toward “the other.” It started slowly, with an allegiance to my own ideals and ideas about things. If only “those people” would think like me. Unless you’re a saint, I imagine you’ve fallen into that trap a time or two. “I can’t believe how many people are sheep,” we hear. Or, conversely, “If people would just do what they’re told this would all be over!” But neither statement is absolutely true. One thing is for sure: We are each facing a mountain of an issue, and want it to be moved.

I reached out to a friend the other day. A mentor. Someone whom I respect greatly. I had a sense that she stood on the opposite side of the mountain from me on a few different topics. We had never discussed those issues directly. I’m pretty careful to look for a middle ground when discussing things outside of my small circle, or when writing an article. But she questioned me and I didn’t have the energy to find a diplomatic way of sharing my perspective.

We discussed current issues. She stood on one side and I on another. We went back and forth, each of us sharing our view. We reached for each other from across the divide. I felt my ire come up here and there, and my convictions dig in. But through the fog of sanctimony I saw my friend. And that became more important than anything.

I don’t think either of us convinced the other. And I don’t know if we were really even trying to do that. It was more about seeing each other. At the end of our exchange, I was amazed that I loved her more than ever. Not because I totally agreed with her, or she with me, but because she is a human being. And I want what’s best for her. I knew, in that moment, what it means to be my sister’s keeper.

I heard a spiritual teacher say that the only way we will make it through this challenging time is to take in the opposite. The time for zero-sum solutions, where there is a winner and a loser, is over. We can’t look to our politicians to save us. They are as divided as ever. We have to look to each other.

When we spew hate at a figurehead that we see on TV, or at a distant entity, it doesn’t reach them. Instead, the verbal or mental vomit lands on those around us. It gets in the walls of our homes. We wear it on our clothes. We carry it around like a shroud. It divides and decays, sapping our energy and strength.

The holiday season is made merry and bright, not by cookies and Christmas lights. It’s the spirit of love that props it up. In the absence of that, it’s just a season of cold. We can go through the motions, and mechanically give each other things, but when love is missing it changes everything. Nothing else matters but love.

It’s a tall order to love “the other.” It can’t be faked. It requires some skill, I think, and a willingness to keep reaching. A willingness to see and be seen. The doorway is truth. Vulnerability. It’s the place where hearts meet.

This is challenging stuff. But we’re made for it. I truly believe that between a rock and a hard place there is a third way. We can’t do it alone, though. Many of us have been feeling the need for community. To come-into-unity with others. That’s scary, if we’ve been hurt (like most of us have) or disillusioned by each other’s messy humanness. But at the end of the day we are not our mistakes. Or our politics. We are not our social or medical status. We are neighbors. Nothing else matters but love.

Merry Christmas.

Chantelle Pence is the author of “Homestead Girl: The View from Here.” She lives in Chistochina.

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