Show Up for Me, I'll Show up for You
We Have to Show Up. For All of It.
This is an excerpt from a sermon I am offering today at small, ecumenical church in Vermont. I share it here because I believe that the teaching of showing up is important for all of us today…and in the challenging days ahead.
In her recent book, The Amen Effect, Rabbi Sharon Brous describes an ancient ritual from the time of the first temple in Jerusalem. As people gathered before the holy days, they would enter the courtyard and begin to walk clockwise around the big complex, in a kind of moving meditation.
Those who were going through something – grief, illness, confusion, fear, loneliness, some anguish or heartbreak or worry – would also enter the courtyard, but walk against the crowd, in a counter-clockwise direction, heads hung low. As they passed each person coming towards them, they would be recognized and greeted with a smile, a hug, a compassionate gaze, and asked, “What happened to you? Why does your heart ache? Tell me the story.”
“I got a bad diagnosis.”
“My spouse died.”
“My child is sick.”
“I lost my home.”
The sufferer would then be blessed by the listener:
“May God comfort you. May you be held in the embrace of this community.” In other words, “I see you. I’m here. You are not alone.”
The beauty of this ritual is that it reminds us of what is important in life and in spirituality: knowing that you are seen, supported, and cared for, and that you have the capacity to do the same for others. One day, it might be you walking against the current of others, feeling scared, isolated and alone, and that warm glance from a stranger, that safe embrace from a friend, that blessing of comfort, and those words of care, might be the only thing that helps you get through. This ritual is an embodiment of the healing power of showing up, and how necessary it is.
The measure of any spiritual path – or any individual on that path – is how we show up for others. That is the point of everything every tradition teaches and the ultimate goal of living a spiritual life. We think spirituality is about God, but it’s really about being in relationship with God/Spirit/Source of Life, which means we are in relationship with everyone and everything. Being in relationship requires that we pay attention to how we show up for ourselves, others, the world around us, and for whatever we call the Sacred. But mostly, it requires showing up. Period.
To show up means we go to the funeral to comfort the grieving. We go to the kid’s sports games to cheer on the children. We visit the sick and bring food to the hungry. We throw a party for a colleague to celebrate a success. We listen to a friend talk about a bad day. We help our neighbor pull his truck out of the snowbank. We fight for justice for those who cannot speak for themselves and we are mindful of our use of natural resources, so there is plenty for all. We can pray to God for help and comfort (and God may show up), but we’re the ones who have to show up on the ground first.
We don’t do it because we are told to, or to signal our virtues (it’s not just a “show” of care), or from fear of judgment from a pissed-off God, but because indifference is the antithesis of relationship. The opposite of love is not hate, it’s apathy. We cannot be indifferent to pain and suffering. We cannot be indifferent to the needs and dreams of others. We cannot be indifferent to Life. We are all walking this circle of life together, none of us in isolation. We can’t do it alone.
Indifference is the antithesis of relationship. The opposite of love is not hate, it’s apathy. We cannot be indifferent to pain and suffering. We cannot be indifferent to the needs and dreams of others. We cannot be indifferent to Life.
But it’s not always easy or convenient. It can be hard for us to truly witness the pain of another. It hurts. Especially if there was some way in which we were complicit. But even if we have nothing directly to do with their pain, the suffering of others stirs something uncomfortable in us: another’s suffering reminds us of the fragility and vulnerability of being alive in this world. Things happen to all of us. Sometimes, truly unimaginable, horrible things. And, as we all know, tomorrow, it could happen to us.
These days, that proximity to suffering is both close to home and far away. I’m thinking about what is happening in Israel, Gaza, Lebanon. Ukraine. In North Carolina and Florida, in our schools and houses of worship, and on our streets and college campuses.
Many of us acutely feel the senseless deaths of thousands overseas, the loss of life and livelihoods due to storms and flooding, the shame and fear felt by those who are vilified for what they believe, who they are, who they love or what they need to do to survive. We feel the unimaginable confusion and pain of those who suffer addiction or mental illness. I’m also thinking about the upcoming election in this country, the fear and worry many have over our future as a country, how divisive we have become, and how painfully difficult is to relate to others with different views.
In the face of all this suffering and pain, we often feel such immense grief and powerlessness, that we want to distance ourselves from those uncomfortable feelings. It becomes all too easy to wall ourselves us from the suffering of others.
We say:
“It’s over there.”
“It’s not my family.”
“It’s not my community.”
“It’s THEM, not US.”
And sometimes, we get worn out from it all. There’s only so much we can hold, so much we can witness, so much we can take. We want to help, but compassion fatigue is a real thing. Sometimes, we just want to change the channel, put on a silly movie, tune out or distract ourselves. There’s nothing wrong with that, it’s natural; we are human, after all, and sometimes, we just don’t have the bandwidth. We need to show up for ourselves, too, with self-compassion and self-care.
But we can’t stay holed up in our cozy, pain-free world. Our spiritual life necessitates stretching ourselves beyond what is safe and comfortable. It requires us to face things we would rather not face, to reach out to those in pain or with whom we might disagree and find the strength and courage to be present to all of what life gives us – the good and the bad, the pleasant and the unpleasant, the easy and the hard - with generosity, benevolence and courage.
And when we do, we find something we didn’t expect: joy. When we truly open ourselves to witness and hold each other, in all of life’s twists and turns, in all our differences, we discover our deepest humanity and divinity. We see beauty, not only brokenness; we see love, not hate; strength, not weakness; hope, not fear; connection, not indifference. We see ourselves and each other fully, with our dreams and hopes and fears, and we see everyone as reflections of the divine grace that is offered to all, regardless. We understand that we are are truly related to one another, and that we are not alone.
That’s what a spiritual community offers us. Beyond gathering on Friday nights, Sunday mornings, or Zoom, a spiritual community is the place where each and every one of us can see and be seen, truly, deeply, with respect and love. To know safety and acceptance, even in our imperfection. To know that what we experience and who we are matters to others, and that we can hold and be held amongst others, and together we get through it.
But to build that kind of community, we have to allow ourselves to be vulnerable and open to one another, and we have to stretch beyond what is easy or comfortable. We have to really show up for each other in our sorrows and our joys. In the big ways and the little ones. We have to be willing to engage the hard stuff and remember that we need each other. None of us are alone. We are in relationship with all of it, whether we like it or not, and we are who we are together.
How can you show up for someone today?