Do No Harm
The other morning, I was listening to Carrie Newcomer’s song “Do No Harm.”
And I found myself in tears.
The words are so simple:
Do no harm, shed no blood.
The only law here is love.
We can call the kingdom down
Here on earth.
Beat your swords into plows.
Don’t be afraid I’ll show you how.
Lift your eyes to the skies.
All is holy here.
It sounds almost too simple. Almost naïve.
And yet perhaps it is we who have grown complicated.
On this First Sunday of Lent, we hear of Jesus in the desert. He is tempted with power, spectacle, control. He is invited to prove himself. To dominate. To take the quick path.
Jesus enters the desert to confront the logic of domination and choose the way of trust.
He does not grasp.
He does not coerce.
He does not wound in order to win.
He trusts.
I weep for what humankind is doing to itself. We have strayed so far from that original, simple truth: Do no harm. The only law is love.
Look at what we justify so easily.
The sharp word.
The dismissive judgment.
The small resentments we nurse.
The systems we benefit from but rarely question.
The violence we explain away because it serves our side.
The lies we spread to gain power.
The lives lost through fear, hatred, neglect, and indifference.
Somehow harm has become normal.
We rename it.
We defend it.
We baptize it.
But Lent begins here.
Not with dramatic penances.
Not with grand spiritual gestures.
With a quiet, searching question:
Where have I allowed harm to take root in me?
Jesus chooses trust over domination. Perhaps we enter Lent to unlearn the logic of harm and learn again the way of trust.
“Beat your swords into plows.”
It is an ancient promise.
And a daily decision.
Maybe the first grace of Lent is simply this:
to let ourselves feel the grief.
to allow the tears.
to ask for our sight to return.
The desert clears the eyes.
It reminds us that love is not weakness.
It reminds us that restraint is strength.
It reminds us that all is holy here.
And perhaps Lent begins when we dare to believe again that the only law is love.
Rev. Jim Caime, SJ
My email link is now correct.
I have lived and worked in thirteen states, as well as in Europe, Latin America, and East Asia, traveling around the world for work. I tend to approach life with a global perspective—yet always with a keen awareness of the local and the individual.
One of the most powerful meditations for me in the Spiritual Exercises is the meditation on the Incarnation, where the Trinity looks upon the world and sees the need to “be made flesh” in our lives. This deeply shapes my understanding of faith and presence.
Math, science, and hard data help us understand our lives and circumstances, but without the arts—poetry, music, and beauty—we would lack the language to express the inexpressible. I am drawn to Ignatian spirituality because it affirms that God is present in all things, always seeking to communicate with us, personally and profoundly.
I am a dreamer, deeply desiring to see the world as God does—with all its possibilities—while never turning away from its pain. And, thankfully, I also have a wicked sense of humor, which helps me (and hopefully others) navigate the world’s darkness with a bit more light.
At the same time, I hold close the wisdom of the prayer attributed to St. Oscar Romero, which reminds us that “we are merely laborers and not the Master Builder.” We are never the be-all and end-all—that is God’s place. This truth keeps me both humble and hopeful. Also, I am a sinner, always in need of God’s love, mercy and grace.
It is a privilege to contribute to this ministry. God’s Word is alive and active, and I hope my reflections offer you meaningful thoughts for your own prayer.
