Sabbath Devotional :: 'Incalculably Diffusive'

Not too far from my home there is a beautiful garden cemetery. It was designed from the outset to be a place of beauty and inspiration, offering solace to those who mourned, while inviting the living to reach higher. For well over 100 years all of Boston’s “good and great” were buried here under imposing monuments or in its hills and dales.

This place is special to me, and I have been going there regularly for decades. It has been a place of Sunday rambles with my family and friends, and quiet walks of personal reflection and solace. It has worked on my psyche as the founders had hoped — when I was younger it inspired fires of ambition, and as time has passed and people have left me, it has given me a great deal of peace as I mourned. Most importantly it has been a place where I could go to pray and receive inspiration.

Very early on in my visits I stumbled across an impressive monument erected in the memory of Edward Everett and his wife Charlotte (though let’s be perfectly honest and say it is really all about Ed). If there were a political/civic version of the EGOT, Edward was probably the first and the last to claim it. His accomplishments are listed on the monument and they are as follows: tutor in Harvard College, pastor of the church in Brattle Square (fancy), Professor at Harvard College, Representative to the U.S. Congress, Governor of Massachusetts, Minister (Ambassador) to England, President of Harvard College, Secretary of State and (drumroll please) Senator of the United States.

All of this is impressive, but I have always been struck by the fact that absolutely nobody anywhere has ever heard of Edward Everett. And if nobody remembers Edward, what is it exactly that makes a memorable or worthy life?

The last few years have been somewhat challenging, and so I have often gone to the cemetery to walk, write, regroup and put things into perspective. It is oddly comforting to me to spend time among the dead, mostly because I believe in the promises of grace, redemption and the resurrection. This belief means that I am very hopeful that most of the people gone from this earth have been welcomed home to a place of continued growth and progression. They are freed from their trials and labors, and it is well with them. It reminds me that ultimately there is a place where all will be well with me and mine.

But this reflection and perspective of hope is also important to me because lately it does not often feel that things are well here. And while I do believe that good things will come after this life, and that we will all ultimately be offered both justice and mercy, my discipleship calls me to work tirelessly for that justice and mercy in the here and now. And this can be discouraging. Sometimes it feels like we are always sailing into forceful headwinds and that the only reasonable hope is a hope in the hereafter. Is it possible that the lesson of Edward Everett that nothing we do here in this life really matters?

I don’t think so. I think the smallest of things do matter, as do the smallest of people. For example, among the great there are countless graves of the small. For the first decades of its existence, the majority of new graves were of children under the age of one. In each consecutive year that number diminished until it was exceedingly rare to find children buried here. Why? Because countless people contributed to the effort of decreasing childhood mortality: doctors, midwives, scientists, politicians, and champions of clean water and good housing. Their collective work ultimately saved millions of lives, and changed the world. Their investments in human flourishing paid countless dividends. The testament to their work is actually the absence of monuments. The cemetery reminds me of how much children and their welfare are a “heritage of the Lord” (Psalms 127:3).

There are other monuments dedicated to a particularly bitter period in our history when it seemed like we might crumble under the collective weight of the national sin of slavery. One beautiful example is the grave of the young man who left a life of wealth and privilege to fund and lead the first military unit consisting of Black soldiers to be raised in the North during the Civil War. Nearby there are whole sections where you cannot walk far without being reminded that over the course of our nation’s history, there are countless people who have given their lives in an attempt to bring the promises of liberty and equality to fruition. “Hereby perceive we the love of God, because he laid down his life for us: and we ought to lay down our lives for the brethren.” (1 John 3:16)

Because of this, one of the most centering and rejuvenating messages that I take from my walks is the reminder that there is deep and lasting value in quiet and cumulative sacrifice, that sacrifice pays expansive dividends in ways that power and privilege do not. (Sorry Edward.) When we commit to working for something beyond ourselves, something that broadly benefits God’s children, we act in defiance of the corruption of the world. We express our love for Christ, and we align ourselves with Him. In that alignment we exercise a different kind of power. One which blesses the world expansively. “Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.” (Matt 25:40)

The novel Middlemarch by George Eliot comes to its conclusion with a beautiful valedictory statement about a woman: “But the effect of her being on those around her was incalculably diffusive: for the growing good of the world is partly dependent on unhistoric acts; and that things are not so ill with you and me as they might have been is half owing to the number who lived faithfully a hidden life, and rest in unvisited tombs” I often think of this quote as I walk, and am reminded that, as it was with so many who went before me, it is within my reach to be a source of diffusive good.

To diffuse is to pour out and spread, to scatter widely. That power lies within all of us, even in times like these. I am convinced that there are many who will come after us who will be able to say that things are not so ill with them simply because we did our part. I am also convinced that in the hereafter, to our everlasting delight, we will understand the full weight and measure of our contributions. So, let’s confidently get to work and grow the good.