27. LINKED

Back on the asphalt playground of my childhood, between the brick wall of the school building and the field that once grew grass before it was so steadily beat by little recess-feet. we played a game. Two teams, one against the other. A kid was sent to break through the line of their opponent's team. They ran with full force at us as we lined up, arms linked, holding the battle line like regimented soldiers. We drew our elbows in, clutching our hands together, denying breakage. Inevitably the opposing team analyzed the rank, determining where they thought the weakest link was. But we held firm. We chanted encouraging words and sent our good energy toward the skinny arms of the weakest links. The kids at the end of the line could feel the jolt, but we all cheered when no-one broke. By the time the bell rang and recess was over we were bruised and battered, but giddy with triumph.

There have been many times in my decades-long life when I have recognized the increased sense of power I felt when my arms or hands were linked with someone else. Skipping along the sidewalk with my sisters. Dancing in the Shade Sisters Dance School recital, our arms linked and legs kicking. Marching in parades along shadeless streets to the rhythm of the local high school marching band. At nineteen-years-old I locked my hand with the man I chose to marry, our fingers intertwined atop a velvet covered altar, our eyes locking as well, tears running down my cheeks, pink with innocence. That grip was a remarkable token of trust.

In London, a few years back, my sisters Ann Marie, Libby and I walked down the street behind the Mews on the way to a fireside. Ann Marie was serving a mission there with her husband Michael. Something about that ancient street compelled us to lock arms, like we did when we were little. I hold that image in a most cherished spot, tucked safely below my heart. Our family walked the same way behind our Mother's casket. It sat regally in a carriage, pulled by a well groomed horse. We walked through the heat of that August day, one mile between the church house and the cemetery, our arms locked in sacred solidarity behind the remains of our beloved mother.

It's pretty easy to think of locking arms with the people who understand us, who agree with us and fight for what we would fight for.

It's harder to feel safe locking arms with someone who doesn't like us.

That's why creating a sense of division is so effective. Why, when we are told we are enemies, we find the people we think would fit on our team and link our arms, daring the enemy to send over their biggest guy.

It's a really effective tool to make people think we are enemies. Put us in camps where we focus on our differences so the bigger more damaging bullies slip into the schoolyard and take over the school.

Don't buy into it.

I say this to myself after a painful, tearful day where someone I recently met hit me out of left field with stunning unexpected force that took the emotional breath out of me.

The Adversary, with a capital A, wants me to feel weakened. I know that logically. But my heart is slow to learn. These words from a man I love and trust, who has joined the ranks of the angels now, have brought me comfort and hope today:

“May we as sons and daughters of God—as eternal brothers and sisters—do all within our power to build up each other, learn from each other and demonstrate respect for all of God’s children. May we link arms in love and brotherhood.”

Russell M. Nelson, the leader of the Church of Jesus Christ LDS for the last seven years, gave us these words when he accepted the Morehouse College Peace Prize. He also said this:

“We do not have to act alike or look alike to love each other. We can disagree on a matter without being disagreeable. If we have any hope of creating the goodwill and sense of humanity for which we all yearn, it must begin with each of us, one person and one interaction at a time."

Throughout history people linking arms have created powerful visual symbols, such as the Baltic Way, or Baltic Chain, back in the 1980's. Roughly 2 million citizens of three Baltic states - Latvia, Estonia and Lithuania locked arms along highways and byways, forming a human chain that covered hundreds of miles, representing their opposition to the unlawful control of the USSR. This unification led to their eventual freedom from that political oppression.

Besides being powerful symbols of solidarity, human chains have also been used in rescue. There was the car that slid off the side of the road in the Sierra Nevada's last year, dangling over a treacherous cliff. Caring strangers linked arms together, the bulk of them on solid even ground, holding firm while the brave and willing stretched themselves into the teetering car and pulled the frightened passengers to safety.

There was the long human chain that fed into the powerful ocean where a riptide had trapped three swimmers under water. All three were rescued.

Chains of miners, of climbers, of divers. What we cannot do alone we find we can do united.

We are so painfully divided by politics these days, given permission from the highest levels of our national leadership to say terrible, insulting things about the people with whom we might not agree. We are brought into the ring when we didn't even want to attend the fight. Pacifists pulled through the ropes. We haven't thought this through, because we are not by nature fighters. So there in the strange square where someone's fists are hurled at us, we raise our own fists. It feels terrible, and I for one do not like who I become in the ring. I've never liked boxing matches, and I've never wanted to watch one, let alone participate. Yet here I am, unwilling to remain silent and still while the wild one flails. I am so weary. We, who engage in current events, are all so weary.

So when I saw this speech from Russell Nelson today I found much needed peace. I am renewed in quiet resolve by the words of this gentle prophetic leader. I am reminded by his joyful expressions of encouragement to pray for those I do not understand.

Two gentle leaders of two Christian churches.

Tonight I whisper in silent prayer the names of folks who have hurt my heart. I challenge myself to be humble enough to pray with sincerity for their well being, just as I pray for my own children. I have whispered the name of our president, asking the God who loves him as he loves me to help him be the best of himself. I speak his name beside the names of immigrant citizens he has detained, and mothers and fathers of girls killed in war. I pray for a long time friend and neighbor who just two nights ago telling me I do not belong to the party to which I have belonged my whole adult life, asking my God to soften my wounded heart toward him and to soften his heart toward me. This is someone with whom I have linked arms in sacred circles. "Lord, keep my heart pure and untainted by offense." I whisper into my pillow until sleep finally brings blessed rest.

While there is so much which divides us, there is also plenty that unites us. When I turn my thoughts to Jesus, to his enfolding words and compassionate regard, I am more able to feel part of the brotherhood of mankind. So that's where I lay my hat; on the Jesus rack, hoping the folks in the souped up truck with the giant wheels and the tattered flags flapping from the truck bed are willing to hang their hats there as well.

More words from Russell Nelson's
Peace Prize Speech.