Yesterday my day began with a paddle in the rain. Being a fan of water, it was a very pleasant experience. I had on a waterproof jacket and the rain was gentle. There was almost no wind to blow the drops of water into my face. The lake is quiet when it is raining. Folks staying in the campgrounds hear the rain on the tent or camper and roll over and sleep in a bit. Those who had planned to go fishing at first light talk themselves out of it, preferring a warm dry location to sitting in a boat in the rain. A kayak is a very good vehicle for traveling in the rain. With a good rain skirt everything below your waist is in a warm, dry boat. When it is cold, I wear gloves and a jacket with a hood and only my face is sticking out in the weather.

The evening ended with a beautiful moonlight drive home after a delightful dinner and evening of conversation with friends. Filled with good food and good stories it was a pleasant drive through the hills to an inviting home.

Of course, between those two events, there were problems to be solved, work to be done, errands to run, plans to be made, and a list of chores that is perpetually longer than the amount of time it takes to do them. Being immersed in beauty and surrounded by a loving and caring community does not make us exempt from the realities of everyday life.

As I was preparing to slip my kayak into the water, employees of Virginia television WDBJ7 were observing a moment of silence in memory of two of their colleagues who died in an on-air attack the previous day. They and their viewers struggled to make sense of how seemingly senseless violence could so completely shatter their world.

As I was driving home in the evening, students, faculty and staff of Savannah State University in Georgia were just coming out of a campus lockdown after a junior from Atlanta died following a shooting during an altercation at the Student Union Building. People worked into the night to line up grief counselors and make a plan for the morning at the oldest public historically black college in Georgia.

There are plenty of people in this world whose days were so filled with trauma and grief and events beyond their control that they could not imagine the luxury of the day that I enjoyed. I suppose it might have been possible for me to have immersed myself in their loss and grief and trauma. I might have spent my morning and evening watching television reports of the events about which I know only the surface facts from reading headlines. I’m sure that there are others who were at work reporting their opinions and reactions to the tragedies on social media and through political action.

I am not insensitive to the need for change in our world. I am not unaware of the pain and grief that daily mark the journeys of our communities. And I know that the politically-active hard-working souls who form committees, launch demonstrations, lobby legislators, and circulate petitions do accomplish positive change. I know that words have deep power and that carefully worded statements can inspire people to head in new directions. But I also know that I have not been called to that particular mode of working in the world.

My life is, in part, a life of simple witness. I don’t put my head in the sand. I don’t avoid the news. I don’t live unaffected by the tragedies that make the headlines. I do, however, keep vigil to make sure that my reactions aren’t fueled by anger or fear.

Most weeks I receive one or more emails telling about various workshops or other opportunities to develop church security plans. With recent incidents of violence invading public spaces such as theaters and churches, I suppose that it is prudent to think of the awful possibilities and be prepared to provide for the safety of those who gather. Still, I resist the option of having our church become a fortress with guards trained to keep people out. Living as a community of welcome has its risks, but it seems a better choice than living as a community of fear, shrinking away from the community until it becomes so disconnected that it forgets its calling to serve.

I live in a world that is sometimes violent, but that doesn’t mean that I have to succumb and become violent myself.

So I rise to new adventures this morning. I’m sure that the day will have me wandering in and out of public places, meeting strangers, and likely going into places that make some of my colleagues nervous. I never know in advance all of the nuances my day will bring. I’m “on call” for our local suicide response team and as a Sheriff’s chaplain. One vibration of my cell phone might lead me to adventures that I can’t presently imagine. I frequently go into neighborhoods and visit homes and situations that some of my colleagues have never experienced. My job is to bring a sense of calm and a presence of caring into places of grief and fear and anger. I am not able to fix the problems of this world. I am not gifted to heal the brokenness. I simply provide a presence that demonstrates that others do not have to face grief and anger and loneliness and emptiness alone. There are others who care. We are a community and we are all in this together.

I’ll leave the opinion giving and policy making to others. I won’t be fixing the world. I’ll just be sharing it with the members of my community.

But along the way, I vow to keep my eyes and ears wide open to the beauty and possibility of this place and these people.

Today, like yesterday, will be filled with grace and beauty if I take time to experience it.

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