Love Well

There's a half-joke, half-proverb in the journalism world that reporters are typically encouraged to live by: Don't read the comments on your stories.

It's not worth the aggravation or the blood pressure spike. Most of the time, the people responding negatively aren't in the mood to listen to a response even if you offered one.

But comment threads are everywhere online. And lately I've made the mistake of reading through discussions in places I would normally expect some peace.

I don't think anyone will be surprised when I say that what I've found instead is a lot of toxic waste.

It comes from everyone, too: Conservatives, liberals, all races and creeds and sexual orientations. I'm not talking about heated disagreement, either — this is mud-slinging, vitriolic chaos.

The worst part is that, as the crude saying goes, shit flows downhill. The more brokenness I see around me, the more broken I feel.

Lately, I've picked up on a sneaky temptation slithering into the dark, dusty parts of my heart. It's anger, in all of its unpleasant forms. My temper and patience are short-lived. My tolerance for the difficult is next to nothing. Now that I recognize that, I'm taking active steps to change what I'm reading, watching and listening to. I'm feeling a lot better now, but the reality hasn't changed.

We are a fallen world that is rapidly forgetting how to live in peace.

It's been a brutal year. Ukraine is on fire. Ferguson, MO is consumed by riots. Minorities of every kind are being systematically and horrifically eliminated in the Middle East. One of the world's most beloved sources of laughter succumbed under the weight of crushing despair. And there's no end in sight to any of it.

My heart is weary. What's a Christian to do with this? Pray? People who don't understand our faith would say that God obviously stopped caring for us and our sad little pleas a long time ago, if He lives at all.

But in the midst of so much pain in the world, I've seen something else start to blossom: Deep compassion.

It's subtle and often silent, but it's there — So many of us, myself included, are awakening to a desire to do something. To help. To stop the bloodshed, both literal and figurative.

To them, I say we might not be able to end these conflicts, but we can plant a seed in our own corners of the world. We can love. We can give of ourselves to those in our reach that are aching inside. We can speak hope and life into our friends who are discouraged or our relationships that are broken. We can start over.

It's a little microcosm of the Gospel: To forgive when it's not deserved. To step up when we'd rather stick our heads in the sand. To see another's wounds and embrace them in spite of it simply because they're human, just like the rest of us.

Saint Therese of Lisieux said that picking up a pin for love's sake (God is love, remember) can convert a soul.

I believe her. That little way of hers can change the whole world. Don't feel helpless — do something, and do it now.

Love. And love well.