Then we will see face to face
Then we will see face to face
The counterintuitive practice of loving-kindness amidst conflict
I practice yoga facing a wall full of icons. Mostly they feature Mary and Jesus. My favorite has the toddler Christ reaching his arms — “Up!” — as if to embrace the whole world, while his mother supports his standing on her lap. I feel their loving gaze as I breathe and move with quiet intention.
Later, my thoughts turn to my own toddler daughters, whom I dropped off at school with hair in pigtails and in outfits of their choosing. Their teacher commented on how nice they looked. Uncharacteristically, they didn’t cry when I left. Through an app, I see photos of them joyfully playing outside and painting.
Later still, I see a video of a father in Gaza crying out as he caresses the still, bloodied back of his baby. I weep. I read the story of an Israeli father whose wife and 5- and 3-year-old daughters were abducted. My whole body aches.
I hold all of these faces in my mind’s eye: the Christ Child, my own daughters, these precious Palestinian and Israeli babies and their grieving parents. All of them bearing the Divine Image. All of them beloved children of God. I whisper,
“You are loved, you are loved, you are so loved. May you be safe, may you be free, here and in eternity.”
As humans, the distance between us, whether physical or spiritual, can exacerbate our tendency to see the other as strange. The face that is not seen on the other side of the dinner table, or the Internet, or the missile, can become in our minds an ugly caricature; a distortion of the true self. It is far too easy to make monsters of those we don’t know — and sometimes even easier of those whom we think we do.
One of the simplest, most transformational practices I have engaged over the last few years is to meditate on the face of the other. To see them as the beloved child of God they are, a person of inherent dignity and worth.
The Kingian Nonviolence trainer and Buddhist practitioner Kazu Haga (author of the wonderful book Healing Resistance), facilitated a wonderful Metta (meaning “loving-kindness”) Meditation to which I often return, especially in moments of interpersonal or global conflict.
The practice invites us to imagine someone beloved gazing at us with love, while affirming the deepest truths of who we are. Then, it calls us to extend that same loving-kindness outward — first to someone toward whom we do not feel strongly one way or another, and then toward someone with whom we are experiencing a (small, for beginners like me), conflict. Ultimately the gaze is turned inward, to see oneself with loving-kindness.
Haga uses these mantras:
“May you be safe and protected from all harm. May you always remember your strength, your beauty, and your resilience. May you find true peace and true happiness, healing, and belonging. And may you be liberated from all forms of suffering.”
With this practice, I have experienced a shift in my perception of those whom I hold in my mind’s eye. I sometimes feel greater compassion, concern, or curiosity. Often I realize what an awfully long way I have to go toward truly inhabiting the ethic of love I seek to embody. I may feel my grip on self-righteousness or anxiety loosen as I seek the other person’s well-being and reroot in my own inherent spiritual safety and belonging.
This practice crucially helps me to remember the humanity of the person before me, while holding onto my own. The third of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King’s Six Principles of Nonviolence aligns with this purpose:
“Nonviolence seeks to defeat injustice, or evil, not people. Nonviolence recognizes that evildoers are also victims and are not evil people. The nonviolent resister seeks to defeat evil not persons victimized by evil.”
We are all caught in the thick of interwoven systems of oppression, each of us impacted and implicated to different degrees. The only way we get free is together. Whereas our brains would prefer to default to lazily sorting people into binary categories of good/bad, in/out, us/them, there is enormous power in situating the dignity of the other squarely at the center of our actions for justice in the world.
Yoga, iconography, Metta, journaling, prayer, reading scripture or poetry or other sacred or inspiring texts… these and other spiritual practices can help make space in our imaginations for a love that transgresses the boundaries our brains tend to create between whom we like and is like us, and whom we dislike and is unlike us. As we make a habit of clearing the spiritual cobwebs to behold the face of the other with greater clarity, we may be surprised to find common cause with some, a strategic means forward with others, perhaps even love.
Even love.
And in the process, we might discover how very loved we are too.
The Sufi poet Hafiz writes:
Come in, my dear From that harsh world That has rained elements of stone Upon your tender face.
Amidst the relentless, violent assaults of the world, spiritual practice is a means of coming home to ourselves. Here, we gather the strength, the perspective and the courage to stay human. From this place of homecoming, we can respond, rather than react, to the chaos of the world. We become empowered to prioritize social healing alongside strategic disruption of oppressive systems. We become more capable of holding paradox, more skilled at living with the seemingly unbearable tensions of the human condition, while distilling what work of justice is ours to do today and with whom we will do it.
Violence proliferates on binary thinking. Nonviolence demands we be our most exquisite, creative, human selves. Right now, the world needs people deeply committed to resisting the status quo of dehumanization by rigorously practicing staying human.
So, Beloved Soulful Revolutionary: May you behold your own tender, beautiful humanity with curiosity, compassion, and care today, as you so courageously seek to do the same with others.
For reflection: What practices keep you rooted in your humanity? Do you find it difficult to behold yourself with love? Does it help to imagine seeing yourself through a loved one’s eyes? What keeps you mindful of the humanity of others, especially in situations of conflict?