Finding Warmth in a Cold World

You sit down and you've got a thousand ideas in your head: Poems and quotes, headlines and daily tasks, ten thousand things that you feel like you have to get off your chest before you can even breathe.

You wake up in the morning and you're just... there. You don't have your coffee yet, you maybe haven't even moved. You're just waiting. Waiting for that moment when your soul re-enters your body, waiting for that moment your mind and your physicality align.

That's part of the human experience.

It's that chill of the exterior pushing its way in, as inside you're trying to let your warmth expand and fill you. Maybe even leave you, radiate out, and bring a little light into the world. I grew up with a little song called "This Little Light of Mine," and I've always tried to remember that on the bad days. When my students are just not clicking with a lesson, when the art just is not flowing from my mind, when my hand is shaking not from the cold, but from intemperate rage at the state of the world.

I try to take time to consider the lilies.

For me, that's not just a quote. It brings to mind this wonderful black-and-white movie starring Sidney Poitier, in which he, as a drifter, ends up at this little tiny town. Poitier's character is gloriously down to earth, even down to his name: Homer Smith. He is struggling both with his own direction in life and with how to help these German Catholic nuns who have given him a little bit of respite. They insist that he's going to be the one to build their chapel.

He even insists on doing it himself initially, until he learns the value of community.

Of course, part of that is that he has to find a community that will value him. In an oft-ignored sub-element of the film, Poitier's character must deal with the intrinsic racism of the region. The class divisions and color divisions that not only challenge him, but the people who have asked him for help.

Home Smith learns to not just control everything himself, but to let the faith community that has adopted him contribute, without just taking everything onto himself or... leaving. It's that kind of poetic balance that is so beautiful when you see it in film, and so comforting when we read in scripture and have the assurances that everything will work out, because one of the grand things about stories is that they have an ending. And they end differently and on moments of clear success or sorrow, instead of ending how human stories always do.

As I settle in for another week here on a Monday, towards the end of winter here in Maryland, I'm trying to focus in on what the family needs, what I need, and what my community needs. I'm keeping that at the center of my focus without feeling like I'm the one who has to do everything about it.

That alone is hard enough before I even look at the news and see wars, rumors of wars, scandals, and grift everywhere. We're told that this generation will not pass away before the kingdom of God is made manifest in its fullness here on this earth.

Do we believe that? Do we believe that promise of two thousand years ago, that that kingdom is here now, if we work for it. If we accept it. If we consider the lilies and the birds and our fellow man.

Finding that balance between planning for the future, grasping the kingdom that is already here, being at peace, and building our communities instead of fighting our enemies, that's what feels lacking to me in so much of the internet and the wider world. It's why I tend to focus so tightly on my family, lest I spiral into unending complaints about injustice.

This morning, I'm asking myself what I can do this week to build my community. How can I bring a little bit of that out of my household? How we can continue to care about art and creativity, joy, and mutual sustenance, all of those things which are the Kingdom of Heaven on earth.

I don't intend this series to be about challenging you, any more than it's about challenging myself. But taking that time each day, whether in the morning or evening, at your lunch break, or just in those seven-second increments of holding your tongue before responding to a dumb question, that is the thing which has sustained me for going on thirty years. The belief that by doing a small good thing myself, I can be of help to the future. Even if I'm intentionally, purposefully, cautiously only dipping my toe into the wider madness of the world.

I'll try to be here each day, folks. Just a few minutes in case you need a little motivation for yourself, because goodness knows I do some days. Thank you for being with me for this time. I'm Andrew Linke, and this is In Such Times.

If you'd like to have a conversation about any of this, feel free to reply in the comments below, over on my YouTube, or by sharing this to your preferred social media platform.

Keep it civil. We're here to build. We're here to find our own sense of community and talk about how we can create rather than destroy. How we can make love manifest and trust in God to sort things out, if that is an important thing to you.

Be well. Breathe. And find some space today to be kind to yourself, your family, and your creative mind.

I'll see you tomorrow.