Sermons

We admire the beauty and splendor of a glorious sunset, rainbow or vast view of the coastline, but can we as easily discover the spirit of the universe on a cloudy day or in the rocks we stumble on during a daily walk? What causes some moments to be special for you and other moments to be common and routine?

OPENING WORDS: from Annie Dillard

“The point of the dragonfly's terrible lip, the giant water bug, birdsong, or the beautiful dazzle and flash of sunlighted minnows, is not that it all fits together like clockwork--for it doesn't but that it all flows so freely wild, like the creek, that it all surges in such a free, finged tangle. Freedom is the world's water and weather, the world's nourishment freely given, its soil and sap: and the creator loves pizzazz.”
“We are here on the planet only once, and might as well get a feel for the place.”

STORY: “Too Much of a Good Thing” in Aaron McEmrys’ book After Aesop
READING: from “The Writing Life” by Annie Dillard

“One of the things I know about writing is this: spend it all, shoot it, play it, lose it, all, right away, every time. Do not hoard what seems good for a later place in the book or for another book; give it, give it all, give it now. The impulse to save something good for a better place later is the signal to spend it now. Something more will arise for later, something better. These things fill from behind, from beneath, like well water. Similarly, the impulse to keep to yourself what you have learned is not only shameful, it is destructive. Anything you do not give freely and abundantly becomes lost to you. You open your safe and find ashes.”

SPOKEN REFLECTION: John Ruskin.
There is religion in everything around us—a calm and holy religion in the unbreathing things of nature, which man would do well to imitate. It is a meek and blessed influence, stealing in, as it were, unawares upon the heart; it comes quietly, and without excitement; it has no terror, no gloom, in its approaches; it does not rouse up the passions; it is untrammelled by the creeds, and unshadowed by the superstitions, of man; it is fresh from the hands of its Author, glowing from the immediate presence of the Great Spirit, which pervades and quickens it; it is written on the arched sky; it looks out from every star; it is on the sailing cloud and in the invisible wind; it is among the hills and valleys of the earth, where the shrubless mountain-top pierces the thin atmosphere of eternal winter, or where the mighty forest fluctuates before the strong wind with its dark waves of green foliage; it is spread out, like a legible language, upon the broad face of the unsleeping ocean; it is the poetry of nature; it is this which uplifts the spirit within us until it is strong enough to overlook the shadows of our place of probation; which breaks, link after link, the chain that binds us to materiality; and which opens to our imagination a world of spiritual beauty and holiness.

READING: from “The Creation” by E. O. Wilson p. p. 10

SERMON

I have noticed that many of us as we get older become a bit more reflective about life in general and about our life in particular. We look back and think about our parents, siblings and children if we have them. We ponder what is important to us and what we want to spend our remaining time doing. Our thoughts may turn toward times when we have experienced powerful moments in our life. Love, hate, hope, fear, wonder, awe and even terror.

The Mahabharata (Mahābhārata is one of the two major Sanskrit epics of ancient India,   not much older than around 400 BCE) asks the question “Of all the world’s wonders, which is the most wonderful? (and then gives an answer) “That no man, (or person) though he sees others dying all around him, believes that he himself will die.”

Denial is apparently not something new to our time. We know intellectually that we as living breathing human beings are here for the time being. But, we find it hard to comprehend that there will be a time when we are no longer here, after all we are the center of our universe.

One of my favorite books is “For The Time Being,” by Annie Dillard. In it she weaves together the tragic, the joyful, the mundane and the eternal in a beautiful and moving personal narrative.

She tells the story of Teihard de Chardin whose writings were influential on my early theological development eventually leading me to UUism. He was Roman Catholic, a Jesuit Paleontologist who remained largely obedient to his church even while it prevented him from publishing his writings.

During the early half of the last century, evolution was anathema to most Christians including the RC Church. It is hard to comprehend, but it still is for many people today. Teilhard died in the 1950’s, having only one of his eighteen books allowed to be published.

In1967, that book helped prepare me for UUism. I am indebted to my Lutheran Minister for giving me a copy of that book. Much of the book dealt with traditional Christion doctrinal issues, but I was intrigued with a theologian who posited that “the world is God’s body.” Wow, that corresponded to my experience, but was contrary to everything I heard in the church.

Teihard advised people to: “Plunge into matter and at the same time ‘plunge into God’” (FTTB p.171) He stressed that: “By means of all created things, without exception, the divine assails us, penetrates us, and molds us.” He wrote that “We imagined it (the divine) as distant and inaccessible, whereas in fact we live steeped in its burning layers.”

This mystical language has increasingly become meaningful to me over the years of my ministry until at this point; I embrace the sacred as part of the natural universe. I tend to refer to the sacred as the spirit of the universe or that which has evolved and emanates naturally from our earthly home and the universe beyond.

I have grown to experience the Spirit of the Universe in all that is, you and me, the animals, trees and plants that surround us and is present even within the earth, the soil and the rocks which literally and metaphorically sustain us. In theological terminology, this is called panentheism. Not pantheism, where there are many spirits in the earth, but a belief that, that which is divine or sacred is at one with the earth, all its inhabitants and the entire universe.

For instance, the sacred is present in this rock, the elm trees that beautify Castine, the beautiful Penobscot Bay, the materials that went into the construction of this building, the person sitting next to you and you yourself.

In the words of Ralph Helverson, which we read earlier, in our RR: “Deep in ourselves resides the religious impulse. Out of the passions of our clay it rises. We have religion when we stop deluding ourselves that we are self-sufficient, self-sustaining, or self-derived.”

Everything is sacred, we and everything in the universe is sacred. The entire universe, including this rock is sacred. It is not just inert matter, but rather it holds a bit of holiness if you will.

Just think for a moment about the reality that the more nearly spherical a grain of sand is, the older it is. “The average river requires a million years to move a grain of sand one hundred miles.” (James Trefil in FTTB, p. 98) A grain of sand tumbles along the riverbed- it is said to saltate (the poet may say it leaps and dances, throbbing or palpitating) then it lies still, then saltates for a million years or maybe more. In doing all that its smooths some of its rough edges.

This rock was rounded and smoothed naturally by the force of the waves and tides of the ocean. The poet might say it leapt and danced amongst the waves and other rocks, throbbing and palpitating. I can remember sleeping in the cabin near the rocky shore on Vinalhaven Island where I found this rock, on stormy nights, listening to the boulders larger than this one, leaping and dancing together. I wonder how long it took the waves and the tides of the ocean, the Spirit of the Universe to round of and smooth its edges.

Like the rock and the grain of sand, we too are bounced and tossed over our years - against others and the elements of the earth we call home and if we are fortunate, in the process, some of our rough edges are smoothed out.

In her spiritual autobiography, The Spiral Staircase, Karen Armstrong writes, ‘In the course of my studies, I have discovered that the religious quest is not about discovering “the truth” or “the meaning of life,” but about living as intensely as possible here and now. The idea is not to latch onto some superhuman personality or to “get to heaven” but to discover how to be fully human.’

So it has been down through the ages for thousands and thousands of years and so it is today in distant lands, be they Pagan, Christian, Hindu, Muslim or Jew. It is important to reflect on the people who lived before our time in many different places, be they our grandparents or great grandparents or from a culture drastically different than our own. They lived in homes, had hopes and dreams, played games, loved the members of their families and wrote using symbols we often cannot understand.

What does it mean that you are alive today and someone else no longer lives? What does it mean that there are thigs you will enjoy today that others never dreamt of. What does it mean that we cannot possibly grab and hold onto this moment, it is gone?

I remember preaching from this pulpit over 30 years ago, many who sat out there are no longer here. What does it all mean? Being alive, being drawn together – here- this morning? Is all life sacred? Is our life sacred? Or, is it all absurd and of no account? What about the few butterflies already out flying around and the beautiful daffodils and tulips that are blooming, none of which will be around for long? Intellectually, we know that like a beautiful flower, we too will fade and die. We really don’t want to think about it, but we know.

Annie Dillard wrote that “We live on mined land (as in land mines). Nature itself is a laid trap. No one makes it through; no one gets out.

The unrelenting theme of life is change and transience: Our present life here on earth – is for the time being. I was your Interim or Transitional minister. I came knowing I was here for the time being, before you called your new minister. I was excited about you calling your new minister and moving ahead. I have been far less than your Transitional Minister this past year, but when I first saw it in print, it caught me by surprise.

Counting civilized generations from 10,000 years ago, we are the 500^th. But our species probably goes back 7,500 generations. Going back to the earliest Homo species, we are more like the 125,000^th generation.

We really are short term characters in a very long parade of life and living, of joys and sorrows.

And yet, this life that we enjoy, in the here and now, is a unbelievable and special gift. I am a firm adherent to science and reason, but they cannot explain what it all means. What does our being here, our being alive mean? What do our ecstatic joys and our tragic sorrows mean in the larger scheme of things?

In 1982 when this congregation teetered on the edge of dissolving I remember discussing with a small group of Castine UUs about the hopes and dreams they had for the future of this congregation. Though most are no longer here, they had hopes and dreams that this congregation would grow as a loving vibrant community that would make a difference.

It was their dream that this UU congregation would be here for future children and adults the way it had been for them and generations of others. You are helping bring those dreams to life.

We have personal and private hopes for children to grow up healthy and interested in doing good and productive things. You helped us celebrate the birth of our children Bronson and Charlotte – they are now 32 & 27, Heather was only 7 at the time and she is 40.

We have personal hopes for our friends and family for going into our senior years with some modicum of peace of mind and dignity. We dream and hope for more peace and justice in our world and greater civility and wisdom among our national elected public servants. We have many hopes and dreams.

Thinking about past and present hopes and dreams kindles my belief and agreement with Dillard, that there really has never been a more holy age than ours but at the same time, there has never been a less holy age than ours.

“Purity,” wrote Teilhard, (& I would add sacredness) “does not lie in separation from the Universe, but in a deeper penetration of it.” The original meaning of the word universe is a oneness and completeness of all that is, with the reality of it’s ever changing nature: new life in the spring, maturity during the summer, harvest and impending death in the autumn and lying deathly still in the winter.

Life lies in a unity, an altogether oneness, yet a oneness that is forever moving and flowing like the Penobscot river flowing to the ocean.

If, as Teilhard posits, the Universe is God’s body, then let us plunge into it and into the ever evolving, changing divine spirit of the universe. We too carry the spirit of the universe within us. As Teilhard wrote, “…the divine assails us, penetrates us, and molds us.”

All the time, you and I and everything is being molded, like the grain of sand saltating. Like the rock being smoothed by the flow of water and other rocks. Life is too short, for us, to become so preoccupied with our individual needs and desires that we fail to realize that we are all children of the universe and participants in a sacred web of life.

As part of the sacred universe, we are being called to help co-create the next stage of the universe, along with one another and the spirit of the universe. Everything is in and within the sacred. The entire universe, this grain of sand, this rock, these flowers and each one of you is in and within the sacred. We and all that we see is part of the sacred and the holy.

Each one of us is given the option to take or to give, to hurt or to heal, to speak harsh or healing words, to hold grudges or to offer forgiveness and reconciliation, to weaken your community or to strengthen your community.

Every possibility of every day has an evolved or positive side and, every possibility of every day has an un-evolved or negative side. We can step out into our dreams and swim in the universe of changing tides or we can panic and become rigid because of the swirling around us.

Let us rejoice with gratitude for the new possibilities and new places, new things and new people. May you as individuals and you as a congregation live out in the words of Rumi, the Suffi poet: “Come, Come, whoever you are, wanderer, worshiper.

Lover of leaving, ours is no caravan of despair.

Come yet again come.”

CLOSING WORD:  By Wendell Berry

When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.