That's where COMMUNITY, the third "C", comes in. Community is compassion in action, where compassion can best be lived out. (And if there is not much compassion, there's not much community.) Peacemaking is hard work, and no matter how strong and talented an individual is, it can't be done alone--although important acts of conscience may be. Justice-making, especially when addressing institutionalized injustice, requires concerted community action.

Community has always been important to me because of my search for more ethical ways to live. I've become a conscientious objector to military taxes, and living below the poverty level in the U.S. is a challenge that I can only consider addressing as a part of a community. War tax resistance is a sometimes frightening thing. As with my walk through the dark Salvadoran countryside, I am grateful not to feel myself alone.

With a group of people who understand and value interdependence, I borrow and lend tools, have potluck celebrations, receive and give babysitting, remodeling, car repair, health advice and yard care help without exchanging a cent. More importantly, these "favors" are not impositions, but an affirmation of our lives together.

Community thus strengthens my leading toward living more simply. After four very happy years of spartan living in El Salvador, owning, maintaining, responsibly buying, and trying to bring order to possessions seems more a burden than a joy. The challenge of using things well and fully releases a great deal of creativity, and I have as a model my Salvadoran friends who carefully use and re-use almost everything. It feels good to value re-using things more than buying new ones, and it makes me feel as if I am in solidarity with the two-thirds of the world's population who have to do so in order to survive.

I understand that there is a great deal of difference between voluntary and involuntary poverty, and don't believe it should be imposed on anyone, but I find my kind of simple living frees me. While it doesn't bring my consumption levels down to that of a poor resident of the two-thirds world, it allows me to live comfortably at a level closer to what would be sustainable for all of the earth's multitudes. Within Friends' organizations, I work on Right Sharing of World Resources, seeking ways to help improve the living conditions of the poor of the two-thirds world, while educating ourselves in the first world about the implications of our wealth. I am not particularly ecologically minded, but I am aware that, as the saying goes, "We did not inherit the earth, we borrow it from our children." Thus I can express my concern for future generations, too.

I draw on a number of communities for strength. I live in a neighborhood where people with similar interests have gathered. My Monthly Meeting is a community of worshipers. I have asked for and received help from various groups of people for support, clearness and involvement with some of my many projects. These are my human communities, and their support has been essential.

I also feel the presence of what has been called the Cloud of Witnesses (and what Catholics call the Communion of the Saints): Individuals and groups of people who, while not materially present, have given me something of their essence that inspires, guides or reinforces my path. One might say that the Holy Spirit is what does this, and I believe it is true, but I also believe that the Holy Spirit is composed in part of the "that of God" that has been active in the lives of my heroes and mentors.

Community provides us with a vital connection with others. But community, like some spiritual practices, can't stand alone as a goal for peacemakers. Jesus said that there is no outstanding virtue in loving our friends--and called us to love our enemies (Matt 5:43-47). Thus I seek to build communities that remain open and welcoming to all, extending our compassion and connection to others.

This openness is not easy. For many, survival of the individual or of the family unit is a task that takes most of our energy. During moments of difficulty, it is hard to avoid a sense of isolation. This is where the practice of centering and compassion can deepen and augment community life. A sense of perspective can also come from an understanding of the depth and breadth of the struggle for peace and justice and frm an unwavering commitment to be a part of it.

COMMITMENT (the fourth "C") paradoxically keeps me from doing both too much and too little. I am committed to a process of peacemaking that I know will take all my lifetime, and believe will continue indefinitely (if not eternally). So I know that any one victory or defeat does not release me from engaging in this process. At the same time, as it is a lifelong work, some preparation for a long run is needed. Such preparation is another side of simplifying my life, which for me has meant learning to live at a slower pace. I work at learning how to keep going in the face of disappointment and my own weaknesses, and how to keep up my strength even while taking necessary breaks for rest.

In this effort I've come to reexamine my reactions against poor people's festivals and celebrations I have seen which seemed to expend inordinate amounts of time and treasure. I have come to enjoy them, and to understand that they reinforce community, provide opportunities for sharing with others, and strengthen people for the long hard work of survival and growth.

The most exciting thing about an awareness of the universal need for peacemaking is an understanding that I can start anywhere (and need to start at home and in my own heart anyway). I can claim as my allies all those working on any aspect of peacemaking. While all peace and justice struggles are allied, no single issue is so fundamental that resolving it means the end to struggle.

Knowing this, I can devote myself to one issue, while recognizing that there are many other important issues and valuing the efforts that other peacemakers make in those struggles. I can address those issues which seem most vital to me (listening always to the guidance of my Center, my heart and my community) without needing to disparage the struggles that engage others.

My continued sense of commitment allows me to temper the immediate need for change with the human need for rest and refreshment of the soul and body. If I am aware of the wellspring within, I can find ways to recharge it, or to clear it when it becomes muddied. I can trust God to take care of the concerns I am not led to address. Thus the circle comes back to the Center. IV

In my own search for responses to war and injustice, I have come to some conclusions that are fundamental, but which I hope aren't complacently absolute. Indeed, this is one conclusion: Absolutist stands circumvent the wrestling with real world issues that keep faith alive and witness strong. While certainty brings a kind of peace of mind, if it slips into complacency, it is not, I believe, a peace born of faithful practice. For me, faith and spiritual development, are processes--verbs not nouns. If they are not active, then they are weak if not moribund. Can we develop ways to convincingly provide people with an active experience of resources and techniques to nourish their hope as well as their faith?

Another fundamental is that it is not necessary to distinguish between peace and justice in my practice. If Friends' peace testimony grows out of the belief in that of God in everyone, then it is necessary to be concerned with the injustice that can harm people as much as war does. As Pope John XXIII said, "If you want peace work for justice." Peace and justice--indissolubly mixed--are also verbs, like faith. They need to be actively pursued and enacted, and will probably never be absolutely achieved anywhere. I believe nonviolence is the best way to approximate peace and justice and at the least avoids the foreseeable (and unforeseeable) results of violent action.