The Abbey of Gethsemani has been my space for retreat into silence and solitude for over a decade. Some work situations forced me to push my typical visit in late April to the cool, final days of October.

After 24 hours, I understand how badly I needed this.

It is here that I can step back from the breakneck pace of the world to be reminded that there is something far beyond the headlines and the tasks and the schedules and the commitments.

Here I can truly go “off the grid”, barring the occasional check-in with Jocelyn.

So why am I writing to you now – in the middle of the retreat from the world that my soul needed so desperately?

All I can say is that it was one of those moments where it was clear that I needed to pause from what was good in order to do what (I think) God asked of me.

I will keep it brief:

The divisiveness of the current political climate in our nation has made me utterly heartsick.

I have seen headlines and campaigns, screaming at us all that this is the most important election in history. I have seen relationships fractured because we seem to be finding our identity in our politics, shedding the reality of our common humanity. 

Influencers and demagogues, fueled by the amplifier of social media, have captured our minds and hearts in ways that our souls are simply not built for. Fear has fueled our ignorance and blossomed into hatred. 

Kindness and respect in our disagreements has exited our national and often even our personal discourse.

But as I walked the Abbey grounds and interacted with the brothers, I felt some of that sadness lift. I couldn’t quite put words around it until an hour or so ago.

I was walking in the afternoon sun on this crisp Kentucky day, looked up at a cross carved into the stone of a monastery wall, and came to a realization:

This place cares not for who occupies the White House.

The brothers who live here come from legacy that found its start on the buckle of the Bourbon Belt in 1848. They came on a snowy December evening, woke up at 3 o’clock following morning and continued the rhythm that had sustained this Cistercian Order for nearly a thousand years.

They pray. Seven times a day.

They work. Because, as Brother van der Looy writes in his seminal work, Rule for a New Brother, “Prayer and work are not whole without each other.”

They practice hospitality and welcome the stranger.

And even with their personal foibles and flat spots, they share a deep, indiscriminate and otherworldly kindness.

Among the forty or so brothers, there are representatives of every continent. And they have found a way to live fruitfully and peacefully, despite their differences. Perhaps, because of their differences.

As Americans, they vote. I was speaking with my dear friend, Brother Conrad; and he went as far as to say, “Vote or shut up.”

My guess is that not all of their votes are for the same candidates. 

But even as they take that civic responsibility seriously, they commit to praying for whoever wins the election.

In the end, I was reminded that no matter what happens, we are perfectly safe in the care of a greater Love who offers relationship freely to everyone who draws breath on this planet. No matter how they understand that Love, there is always a place at the table and the invitation to come closer.

We need not fear the other – even when we don’t fully understand them.

We have the freedom to be kind.

I will leave you with a charge from Brother van der Looy to which I have made a personal commitment…

“Always and everywhere you are called to rise above oppositions and divisions in the universal love of God. Always look for what unites and fight everything that estranges and separates us from one another.”

Politics doesn’t do that; but there is a better way, friends.

A way of peace and kindness and generosity.

A way of honesty and mutual respect.

A way of self-sacrificing commitment to the flourishing of others.

A way far different from the binary choices we have been offered.

The sixth daily prayer movement called Vespers starts soon, then supper, and we will end the night in Compline, remembering what God’s love has done for us.

In this uncertain, contentious season, I bid you peace.