Sermon:
I love to read the cartoons because I find they can be prophetic without
being too profound. There is a For Better or For Worse cartoon
that shows Elly looking after her sick husband in bed. He says to her,
I've been lying here for two whole days, El. Strange how you become
deeply philosophical when you're incapacitated. I've been thinking:
"What is life?, What's it like to die?, What's man's role in this
infinite cosmos?... What's for lunch?" She looks puzzled and asks,
"Lunch?" He replies, "...I like some of my questions
to have answers."
Our lives overflow with questions, many of them smaller, like "What's
for lunch?", while some are especially big and weighty, like Mary
Oliver asking about the nature of the soul.
"Is the soul solid, like iron?
Or is it tender and breakable, like
The wings of a moth in the beak of the owl?
Who has it? And who doesn't?"
I guess one of the first big questions we need to ask is if we really
wants to ask the Big Questions, and why do we want to know the answers?
Why don't we just stick with the little questions and the little answers?
Aren't they hard enough? Questions like, "Will I have enough to
retire on after the stock blowout?" or "Will my kids finally
grow up when they're in their 30s and 40s?" Can't we be satisfied
with those?
Apparently not. It seems that human beings are hardwired to ask the
big questions and seek out answers that give us meaning. It's not simply
that we want to know. We have to know!
And lately the Big Questions have gotten a lot bigger. There have been
many changes since September 11th, especially in how we view the purpose
of our lives. That day reminded me of the poem I read to you earlier
called "The End of the World." The poem describes a huge circus
tent filled with thousands of people. Laughter and light fill the air.
All eyes are upon the animals and performers. Then suddenly a great
wind comes up and in an instant blows the entire top of the tent off
into the darkness. In a brief moment all those shocked people look up
"into the black pall of nothing, nothing, nothing - nothing at
all."
What a powerful image. It's powerful because beneath the image is an
experience that we have all had at one time or another, of being totally
involved in what we think of as the normal world, captured by the moment,
obsessed with the circus of family, job, and friends, and then suddenly,
from nowhere, this tent of illusion is blown away -- perhaps by a tragic
loss or an unbearable rejection or a national disaster -- leaving us
alone and in the dark, gazing into the blackness of nothing.
It seems to me that during those weeks and perhaps even months after
the attacks the superficial parts of our lives -- the circus -- faded
to the background while that which is the most meaningful and purposeful
moved to the center of our lives. No longer did we care about what's
on television or what the weather will be or what's playing at the movies.
Even the huge drop in the stock market didn't seem as critical as it
would have been a few weeks earlier or now. September 11th showed us
that what is clearly vital to us now is our family and friends, the
fate of future generations, and the true meaning of life.
Isn't that the biggest of the big questions? What is the meaning of
our lives? What is our purpose? Why are we here?
In actuality, this process of looking at the meaning in our lives happens
whenever we go through a crisis, whether it's the loss of a loved one
or a life-threatening disease or injury or some other significant loss.
One of the ironies of life is that tragedy is an opportunity to examine
life's deeper meaning and to recommit ourselves to living life with
purpose. And the first step in seeking meaning is to ask the big questions.
This past year our church in Arlington, Virginia sponsored a series
of monthly sermons called "The Big Questions." They were delivered
by our team minister, Rev. Joan Gelbein, and myself, with our other
team minister, Rev. Linda Olson Peebles, leading the children in a monthly
service on the big questions as well.
We also organized 15 covenant groups with an average of about 8 people
per group, that met monthly to discuss each of these questions (we also
had 10 other covenant groups focused on other issues). Other groups
in the church also entered into the discussion, including the youth
group, the Buddhist group, and the humanist group.
I was thrilled that we involved the entire congregation, all ages and
philosophies, in conversing with each other about some of the most significant
questions in our lives. Those questions were:
What is the meaning of life?
Why do we need religion?
Why evil?
How do I know what I know?
How do we face death?
Why do we suffer?
What does it mean to be human/
How can we survive?
I must tell you that we had planned this program long before September
11th, but I can think of no better way for us to minister to each other
than to have these sermons and covenant groups available to our members
and friends. They gave people the chance not only to ask the big questions
that were so prominent in everyone's minds, but to have others to listen,
to respond, and to share feelings and ideas.
You might be interested to know that this year our theme will be "The
Challenge of Religious Pluralism: Searching for the Big Answers."
The monthly sermons by the team ministers will focus on the answers
proclaimed by the religions of the world. The participants of the covenant
groups will discuss those answers to see which are relevant and useful
and which are not.
The premise of this series was that we find deeper meaning in our lives
when we have the courage to ask the big questions of life and then to
faithfully seek to answer those questions.
There is a New Yorker cartoon in which a woman reassures her husband
by saying, "Don't worry, Howard. The big questions are multiple
choice." In a sense, the big questions are multiple choice in that
we must choose the answers that help us to become more whole and holy
human beings.
Daniel Boorstin, in his marvelous book called The Seekers, writes
"..we are all Seekers. We all want to know why. Man is the
asking animal. And while ... the belief that we have found the Answer
can separate us and make us forget our humanity, it is the seeking that
continues to bring us together, that makes us and keeps us human."
Boorstin is correct. We are seekers. When I look at the ongoing journey
of evolution, I'm inspired by the incredible urge, the indomitable power
within all life to grow, to evolve, to fulfill its purpose. From a seedling
to an amoeba to human beings, every living thing must become what it
is meant to be.
As human beings our evolutionary powers have helped us to survive on
this planet, but for some reason survival is not enough for us. We have
an intrepid need to stretch our minds and hearts and spirits like sails
on the sea in search of some greater purpose for our lives, a deeper
meaning to our being, and a sustaining truth that will guide us on life's
journey. And the wind that blows those sails is our curiosity, our urge
to know more about the world and about ourselves.
The German poet, Rainer Rilke, once advised a younger poet to cherish
his deepest questions. He suggested that he:
Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart...
Try to love the questions themselves
like locked rooms and like books that are written in a very foreign
tongue.
Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would
not be able to live them.
And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now.
Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some
distant day into the answer.
I agree that truth is found only when we love and live the questions,
only when the answers become less important than the quest itself. Too
many people treat truth as a commodity to be bought and sold but not
to be lived.
But we do need answers as well, answers that come from struggling honestly
with the Big Questions. Questions themselves are not enough to get us
through the long night of loss and mourning. We need to find the north
star of our spirit to guide us home. We need to know why it is we are
here.
Victor Frankl was forced to ask about the meaning of life when he was
thrown into a Nazi concentration camp during World War II. In his classic
book, Man's Search for Meaning, he describes the unimaginable,
most demeaning, torturous conditions a person can live under. As a Jew,
Frankl thought that he knew the meaning of life, and yet in those inhumane
circumstances he had to question his assumptions and seek a new answer.
Frankl finally discovered that:
"...everything can be taken from a [person] but one thing: the
last of the human freedoms to choose one's attitude in any given set
of circumstances, to choose one's own way. ...It is this spiritual freedom
which cannot be taken away that makes life meaningful and purposeful."
Frankl believed that "if there is a meaning in life at all, then
there must be a meaning in suffering. Suffering is an ineradicable part
of life, even as fate and death. Without suffering and death human life
cannot be complete."
Frankl reminds us that it is our suffering that engenders the most
important questions about life, and it is in our suffering that we will
also find the answers. In the words of Virginia Casey, "Tears are
like rain. They loosen up our soil so we can grow in different directions."
But what is it that we grow in that soil of the soul? How do we move
beyond the seeking and suffering?
A. Powell Davies, the prophetic Unitarian minister from All Souls Church
in Washington D.C. answers those questions by telling us that "Life
is just a chance to grow a soul."
When Davies used the term "soul," he certainly didn't mean
it in the traditional sense as a separate spiritual entity. As one Unitarian
Universalist said, "You always know you are in a Unitarian church
when people believe that animals have souls but people don't."
Davies uses the term soul in a metaphorical sense. So if you have a
term you're more comfortable with, please feel free to substitute.
Mary Oliver uses her questions about the soul - "does it have
shape, like an iceberg?" -- to urge us beyond a conceptual understanding
of that mysterious term. Thomas Moore in his book "Care of the
Soul" writes: "It is impossible to define precisely what the
soul is. Definition is an intellectual enterprise anyway; the soul prefers
to imagine. We know intuitively that soul has to do with genuineness
and depth, as when we say certain music has soul or a remarkable person
is soulful.... Soul is revealed in attachment, love, and community,
as well as in retreat on behalf of inner communing and intimacy."
For me soul is something we grow within and around us, like a tree
that spreads its roots deep within the ground and its branches far out
into the sky. Whenever we feel a sense of unity, of connectedness, with
another person or with nature or an idea, our soul grows. Whenever we
are seduced by hatred or bigotry or greed, our soul is diminished. As
William Blake wrote, "It is not that we have a soul, we are a soul."
The Jewish theologian Martin Buber, wrote of the I-Thou and I-It relationship.
Most of the time, we see the world around us as objects, as things,
with no sense of sacredness, of holiness. But at times we reach a new
level of awareness when we approach the other as a Thou -- as a relational
being. The other becomes Thou when I become aware of the sacredness
and holiness of the other, when I sense that the other is both a part
of me and a part of the eternal Thou.
It's certainly easier to sense an I-Thou relationship with those we
love. But our challenge is to extend that sense of sanctity beyond family
and friends to those we have never known and will never know.
The first statement of the Unitarian Universalist Purposes and Principles
is that we "affirm and promote the inherent worth and dignity of
every person." That affirmation has been tested by the terrorists
who killed so many innocent victims on September 11th. Many UUs have
questioned whether this principle is still viable.
My own belief is that no matter how evil the acts, there is always
some grain of inherent worth within each and every human being. That
goodness may be buried deep beneath the immovable rubble of fear and
hatred, but I believe it is still there.
The real danger of such evil acts is that it will cause us to lose
our sense of the Eternal Thou so that we begin to see the world as the
terrorists see it B as soulless, as devoid of meaning. Our response
in this vacuum of values must be to continue to grow our souls, to strengthen
our connections to those around us, to reach out with love and generosity,
to be as life-affirming as we possibly can, in spite of the hatred and
fear of the few.
Once we see life as being sacred, once we feel our deep-rooted connections
to the family of humanity and life, then it is only natural that we
reach out to protect the living, whether that life be that of a child
in Uganda, an old woman in China or a singing whale under the seas.
We give of ourselves not as an act of selflessness but as an act of
soulfulness, of humanness.
It's apparent to me that just as we have been nurtured and cared for
by others, we have a responsibility and a need and a deep desire to
nurture and care for others. As we grow our souls, we become more aware
that since all of us are connected in the interdependent web of existence,
to help another, is to grow not only our own soul but the eternal Soul
as well.
Isn't it obvious that to give is to love just as to love is to give?
And the giving and receiving of love is at the core of what life itself
strives to realize?
What was the reaction of Americans and many other people around the
world to the terrorist attacks? Certainly horror, grief, fear and anger.
But what stands out for me more than anything was the generosity. We
wanted to do something to help those who have suffered so greatly and
keep this from ever happening again. We wanted to heal the painful wounds.
Let me finish by giving you an image of healing and hope that sharply
contrasts with that of terrorism. Rachel Naomi Remen is an inspiring
writer who tells stories about patients she has worked with in her role
as doctor and therapist. In one story she tells about a man who had
his leg removed at the hip to save his life. He was 24 years old and
a very angry man with a lot of bitterness, a profound sense of injustice
and an intense hatred for all the well people.
After working with this man for a couple of years, Remen began to see
a profound shift. He began "coming out of himself." He visited
other people in the hospital who had suffered severe physical losses.
Once he stopped by to see a young woman who was almost his age. It
was a hot day, and he was in running shorts so his artificial leg showed
when he came into her room. The woman was so depressed about the loss
of both her breasts that she wouldn't even look at him. The nurses had
left her radio playing, probably in order to cheer her up. So, desperate
to get her attention, he unstrapped his leg and began dancing around
the room on one leg, snapping his fingers to the music. She looked at
him in amazement, and then she burst out laughing and said, "Man,
if you can dance, I can sing."
This is a beautiful story because it shows how strong we can be in
spite of our pain -- or perhaps even because of it. But then Rachel
Naomi Remen goes on to tell how the man came back to see her at the
end of therapy to do a review. She writes:
"... I opened his file and there folded up were several drawings
he had made early on. I wanted to return these to him, so I unfolded
them and handed them to him. He looked through them and said, 'Oh, look
at this.' And he showed me one of the earliest drawings. I had suggested
to him that he draw a picture of his body. He had drawn a picture of
a vase, and running through his vase was a deep black crack. This was
his image of his body and he had taken a black crayon and had drawn
the crack over and over and over. He was grinding his teeth with rage
at the time. It was very, very painful because it seemed to me that
this vase could never function as a vase again. It could never hold
water.
"Now, two years later, he came to this picture and looked at it
and said, 'Oh, this one isn't finished.' And I said, extending the box
of crayons, 'Why don't you finish it?' He picked up a yellow crayon
and putting his finger on the crack he said, 'You see, here -- this
is where the light comes through.' And with the yellow crayon he drew
light streaming through the crack in his body.' "
This story gives us an inspiring message. It tells us that we can grow
strong at the broken places. We can find purpose in our pain. And in
the darkest of times, in the turmoil of grief, or the depression of
disability, we can let the light of the spirit shine through to heal
the heart and be in service to others.
Isn't this why we are here, in this sacred place of worship, at Chautauqua,
and most importantly, on this planet? Isn't this the meaning and purpose
of our lives?
- To seek out the deeper truths and revelations by daring to ask the
biggest of questions;
- To grow our souls by connecting our lives to others, opening our
eyes to the Thou of every life;
- And finally, to serve each other in love and compassion, making
peace, working for justice, accepting our role as the moral arm of
the universe.
What better reasons could there be, and what greater joy than to live
our lives with purpose and meaning.
Amen.
