The weather in South Carolina has done something truly bizarre these first few days of autumn: it actually feels like fall. Right now, the temperature is in the 50s and a gray Portlandesque rain has settled over us since late afternoon. This is highly unusual. None of us will bat an eye if (when) the temperature shoots back up to 95. But right now, this is wonderful. It's like the sky has dumped a bucket of water on the raging campfire that was summer. It stills my soul.
That calmness is something that I need right now. I have an ever-looming writing deadline and all of my writing doors seem barricaded right now. There has been a draining situation this week with a student at work. Our boys have either been sick or waking up in the middle of the night or being superhumanly stubborn at bedtime or something else. I'm not sleeping well. I'm spiritually dry. And I feel like I'm spending my energy putting out fires with a drugstore SuperSoaker knock-off.
But right now, I'm calm. And it's wonderful. I'm eating dinner by myself before I spend a late night working on this curriculum project. I'm sitting at a window watching circles appear and disappear in parking lot puddles. Past my faded reflection, I see the ghosts of people in the restaurant sharing meals, talking, and laughing. I feel better about the world right now. I even feel okay about the lady who sat next to me and was a little bit too excited about last night's Big Brother. Yeah, I'm good right now. It's the rain and the fall and the stillness. It's a run that I had earlier this afternoon. It's the empty chip bag and burrito bowl in front of me. And it's also the Pope.
Earlier today Pope Francis spoke before Congress. While I munched on chips, I scrolled through the transcript of his speech on my phone. Politics is a land known for its political fireballs; lots of heat, but not very much light. Francis' words were like a rain that had settled over that scorched terrain. Sure he still tackled difficult issues, but he tackled them with grace. It was also refreshing to hear a Christian leader on a public platform actually sound like Jesus.
The Pope spoke of four great Americans: Abraham Lincoln, Martin Luther King, Jr., Dorothy Day, and Thomas Merton. He spoke of the gospel-fueled ideals that they embodied and how Americans have and should aspire to their examples. He spoke of caring for one another, for the stranger, for the prisoner, and for the vulnerable. Though I am not Catholic, I deeply appreciated his words. I needed to hear them. One thing that particularly struck me was his reflection on the Golden Rule:
The Rule points us in a clear direction. Let us treat others with the same passion and compassion with which we want to be treated. Let us seek for others the same possibilities which we seek for ourselves. Let us help others to grow, as we would like to be helped ourselves. In a word, if we want security, let us give security; if we want life, let us give life; if we want opportunities, let us provide opportunities. The yardstick we use for others will be the yardstick which time will use for us.
It was simple yet beautiful. And to read those words spoken in the halls of power stirred something in me. I was grateful for the gospel that calls us to love others as God has loved us. It was a much needed reminder and, like the arrival of fall, it helped still my ever-churning soul.