The Hands and Feet of Love
Happy New Year, dear friends!
I’m not sure how the tradition of making New Year’s resolutions evolved, but it’s never sat well with me. I’ve tried to do the “resolution” thing, but my disappointment in not being able to sustain my grand efforts almost always resulted in disillusionment and frustration. Better not to make them, I resolved. It’s one resolution I’ve kept.
I’ve learned that beyond resolving to lose 10 pounds, or get more exercise, or spend less and save more are things far more important to my overall mental and spiritual health. I’ve learned that it is those internal heart-resolutions that affect others (and not just me) that I’ve come to see as far more valuable - and far harder to achieve. They are harder to achieve because they require more effort than just joining a gym, or eating more fruits and vegetables; it requires a deeper change, a heart change - a transformation if you will. It demands an effort to not always think of me first, or meet my own needs or desires first, but to put another person, a family member or stranger first. And that, my friends, is hard work indeed.
If I am committed to following the Gospel - that good news that says everyone should know about the transforming love of God they already have, then I need to have more than good intentions in mind. I have to go beyond the “to do” list; beyond the fresh page on the new journal, and do something - anything that shares that good news of God’s love with another.
I’ve been reading a lot about St. Francis and his “alternative orthodoxy”[1]. His beloved status in Christian history is no accident. His preaching was done with his feet as he traveled thousands of miles around his known world, doing for his friends and fellow man. His preaching went beyond religious words to hard-scrabble actions. He begged so he could feed the poor; he ministered to sick of body and heart. He demanded action when many of his world were satisfied with pretty words. He became beloved not because he preached a fine sermon but because he wore his love on his tattered sleeve and in his calloused hands, showing people what Jesus’ love was like - not just preaching it. His influence and popularity across the centuries has not waned, even nearly 800 years after his death.
It’s a fairly well-know precept among educational scholars and psychologists that we cannot think ourselves into new ways of living; a heart-attitude doesn’t change because we think it should happen. We act and live our way into new ways of being - read any article or book on how to establish “good habits”. It’s more than resolution; it’s evolution, the changing of our actions over time such that our heart begins to feel the new rhythm, perceives the stretch in our hands and feet as we physically move into who we want to be. Lasting changes in how we want to be come when we start to walk a different path, extend our arms into unfamiliar territory, wrap our hands around the wrinkled hand, or dirty feet, or fevered brow of another human being. Much as a newborn infant bonds with her mother not merely from her voice, but in the touch of the mother’s hands upon her bare skin, the feel of her breath upon her cheek, the reflection of her smile in her unfocused newborn eyes - those physical manifestations of love are what bring about the love and bonding that is so necessary between mother and child.
And so it is with us. Think back to when you felt most loved. For most of us, it was when someone brought us a casserole after we got home from surgery; or when someone plowed our driveway, or cut our lawn, or came over to watch the kids for free so we’d have some time off alone or with a beloved spouse. Love in action is what changes lives; hands and feet are the sacred instruments of love.
I’ve learned more about love through my hands and feet than ever through the many books I read each year. The books are helpful, and my mind loves to explore new ways of thinking, digging into sacred and ordinary with the same lust for knowledge I’ve had since I first learned to read. I’m forever grateful for that gift of the wonder of learning. But my true lessons in love have come about when I pushed myself out of my comfort zone; when I stepped into the uncomfortable mess of another’s life, when I reached into the chaos of a hurting soul, or a broken heart. None of that comes naturally to me, but I’ve learned that if I’m to transform my heart into a representation of gospel-love, then I need to continue to put blisters on my feet and callouses on my hands. I need to stop worrying about my own issues, my own agenda, my own wants - and continue to evolve into a person that seeks to meet the needs of others. It’s not a fast process, nor is it perfect by any means. But I believe each action carried out with love - by my hands and feet in doing something for another - transforms my life into one that means something, little by little. It’s a process. It’s a journey, and it won’t be finished until it is finished. But that’s ok, because it’s the journey that matters.
So in the coming year of 2022, when the pandemic continues to rage, and all manner of crises continue to erupt and simmer around us, take a few moments of quiet, and consider the love in your hands and feet - and show it to another. Walk into the love; reach out and stretch to grab onto it. It will not only bless them, but the transformation for you will be priceless.
It could be the most transformative year for us yet.
[1] I first learned of this phrase from Fr. Richard Rohr, a Franciscan priest, mystic and author whose writings expound upon Francis’ revolutionary ways, as well as on modern contemplative practice. He founded the Center for Action and Contemplation in 1987 to bring about a better integration of Christian prayer and contemplation with action. You can find more about his ministry and writings at CAC.org.