Worship

"The Story Behind the Story: Moving On..."

A sermon by Rev. Charles Blustein Ortman
May 16, 2010

READINGS ANCIENT AND MODERN:

Our ancient reading this morning is an adaptation of the first chapter of the Tao Te Ching, by Lau Tzu:

Existence is beyond the power of words to define
Terms may be used but are none of them absolute.
In the beginning of heaven and earth there were no words,
Words come out of the womb of matter;

And whether we dispassionately see
to the core of life or passionately see
the surface, the core and the surface
are essentially the same,

Words making them seem different
only to express appearance.

If name be needed, wonder names them both,
from wonder into wonder
existence opens.

Our modern reading is the poem, The Womb of Stars, by Denise Levertov:

The womb of stars embraces us;
remnants of their fiery furnaces
pulse through our veins.
We are of the stars,
the dust of the explosions
cast across space.

We are of the earth:
we breathe and live in the breath
of ancient plants and beasts.
Their cells nourish the soil;
we build our communities
on their harvest of gifts.

Our fingers trace the curves
carved in clay and stone
by forebears unknown to us.
We are a part
of the great circle of humanity
gathered around the fire, the
hearth, the altar.

An awe so quiet I don't know
when it began.
A gratitude had begun to sing
in me.
Was there some moment dividing
song from no song?
When does dewfall begin?
When does night fold its arms
Over our hearts to cherish them?
When is daybreak?

SERMON:

Ralph Waldo Emerson once wrote, "Every natural fact is a symbol of some spiritual fact." Seems true to me. I would add that increasingly I find that nearly every word or phrase we use, in nearly any realm of our lives, is a metaphor for some deeper word or thought or meaning. And I'm finding more and more that everything we see out in the world is a symbol touching on something we know or are discovering to be true internally.

It's been a while since I've talked about the cross-country bike trip I took a year ago. But hey, today's the day of Tour de Montclair. It's Bicycle Day! Like many of you, I even wrote my bike to the U this morning.

A year ago this week though, as my riding companions and I began nearing the final days of our trip, we were pedaling through the scenic, lush hills of West Virginia. One day Bill Slezak, Kriss Wells and I rode across this old single-lane bridge somewhere out in the middle of that almost heaven-like place. We'd spent much of that morning pedaling through some challenging hills, when we came upon this crude, sturdy, rustic and rusty old iron and plank overpass. It reached from the top of one side of a huge cavernous ravine, way out through space, across to a ledge on the opposite side.

"You know," I said to Kriss, my frequent riding partner as we jarringly bounced our way across the bridge holding onto our handlebars like they were the handles of a jackhammer. "Sometimes bridges, even really bumpy ones, are like an unsolicited gift from the gods. They save a heck of a lot of pedaling, a lot of time, and plenty of blood, sweat and tears. The bumps are worth it." Looking over the side rails, down at the ravine below, I couldn't help but to share out loud my profound gratitude for this rattling old bridge that held us up, above the morass that lie below.

A few minutes later when we were again rolling smoothly along on a West Virginia highway, Kriss asked me, "Were you really talking about that bridge back there, or were you speaking in metaphors again?"

"Well," I said. "It really was a bumpy, rough old bridge. Did you see how far down that ravine went!? It would've taken a half-day to ride to the bottom and then have to pedal all the way back out! I was talking about that bridge." But then you have a lot of time to think about some very small thoughts in minute detail while riding all the way across the continent. After contemplating the bridge a little while longer, I had to admit, "But maybe it is a metaphor, too," I said. "I suppose it could be that way - bridges and chasms and bumpy rides - with lots of other things, too."

Sometimes it seems like, even though it may not be so obvious to us at the time, there's a course we're following that's getting us where we want to go, for achieving what we hope to achieve. And then somewhere along the way, we might find ourselves facing a very different path than the one we had imagined we were on. It might or might not be hard to appreciate this new route as it first appears to us. It might look like a pretty rough span. Maybe, even though it could become a more direct path for getting to where we want to go, it might be quite a bit rougher in the transition. But with fortune, or grace, or however you might like to think of these things, it might in the end offer a better course for getting where you want or hope to be.

As we rode along, I thought about a time years earlier when I'd lost a job, only to have it replaced with a far better one. It was during one of my stints as a tireman. When the owner of the shop where I worked learned that I was a Conscientious Objector, he fired me. And then in order to fulfill my draft obligations with alternative service, I managed to get a job in a psychiatric treatment center. That proved to be one of the best jobs I've ever had. I learned more about people and about myself from that job than I could have ever hoped.

I thought of a marriage that I'd been in as a young man. It had been a marriage that had painfully ended, only to leave open the possibility of a far more fulfilling relationship and a healthier marriage down the road. "I guess it could go either way," I finally yelled up to Kriss. "I was talking about that bridge, but I guess it is a metaphor, too."

I suppose good metaphors always have their basis in real-time experience. And if we explore our metaphors carefully enough, they can help us to discover the spiritual terrain that we are passing through. When Kriss asked me if I was talking about the bridge or using it as a metaphor, something clicked for me; sometimes things do. Clouds will part and all of a sudden you can see things that are often obscured by the shadows that so often form the borders of our perceptions.

His question helped me to appreciate that nearly everything we had seen, done and experienced along our 3,000-mile trek had deeper meaning than what might have met the eye. It seemed that everything we had encountered had implications for other areas of our lives. So much of it merited our attention and consideration.

Robert C. Fuller, professor of religion at Bradley University and author of many books including, "Spiritual, But Not Religious," wrote:

"Spirituality exists wherever we struggle with the issue of how our lives fit into the greater cosmic scheme of things. This is true even when our questions never give way to specific answers or give rise to specific practices such as prayer or meditation. We encounter spiritual issues every time we wonder where the universe comes from, why we are here, or what happens when we die. We also become spiritual when we become moved by values such as beauty, love, or creativity that seem to reveal a meaning or power beyond our visible world. An idea or practice is "spiritual" when it reveals our personal desire to establish a felt-relationship with the deepest meanings or powers governing life."

I don't know about you, but I've gotta say that I'm grateful for such opportunities to connect my life with larger spheres in the world around me. I'm glad to be along for such a ride as this! When I was writing my book about the bike trip down in Mexico this past January - and no, if you are wondering, my agent still has not found a publisher for it, but he assures me that he's still very hopeful - I had a lot of opportunities to think back on the trip and to mine some of the incredibly rich metaphors and symbols that we had come across. The thing that surprised me most though, was that it almost didn't matter what I reflected on, there was plenty of value to be found in whatever it was. And since then, I've continued to find that true about almost everything, everyday. Reflection on the events of our lives almost always provides us with meaning from our past and guidance for our future.

There's a prayer by Wilferd A. Peterson that comes to mind. It ends with:

Slow me down, Lord,
And inspire me to send my roots deep
Into the soil of life's enduring values
That I may grow toward the stars
Of my greater destiny.

And that's primarily what I learned, not only from my bike trip, but from writing a book about my bike trip. If we slow down enough to notice the spiritual terrain we're passing through, I suspect we'll gain enough knowledge and insight in order to move on with our lives, individually and cooperatively.

In a few minutes we'll begin our Annual Congregational Meeting. I want to talk about that for just a minute within the context of metaphors. This morning we will not have to go through a wrenching experience in our meeting because of the evolution of some of the key metaphors by which we identify and define ourselves. A few weeks ago, about midway through our Pledge Drive, things were looking like we were going to have to plummet some pretty steep slopes, maybe even gorges, in the way that we would have to think about ourselves and about the way we do things. And then a bridge appeared, and though it may have been something of a rough crossing, we have made it safely across what could have been a very brutal, blistering ride.

What formed the bridge? I have to think that it was our cooperative efforts. I played a part by preaching a sermon that illustrated what was at stake. Our Canvass Co-chairs, Mike Shapiro and Ed Boyle, played a huge part with their theme linking a vision of our values to the practice of redeeming those values through support for them here. And then, along with other canvass volunteers, they were tenacious in making sure that every member of the congregation was given every opportunity to participate in that redemption. Our president Nick Lewis and the Board of Trustees played a huge part in that reflective process by providing exemplary leadership during the course of it.

And finally you, the members of this congregation, played the most major role by taking on this vision, this idea we have of ourselves, and contributing support for it at a level that could help us to continue to become what it is we aspire to be here. I don't know when I've experienced a greater sense of shared ministry, shared ownership and shared responsibility for this, our congregation.

Plank-by-plank the bridge was built, and bump-by-bump we've crossed it. That doesn't mean there won't be more chasms that we will have to cross sometime in the future. It does mean that we've paid attention to the signs and to the metaphors around us. It means we've paid attention to the terrain we've found ourselves in and we have responded in ways that have assured our vitality.

Our metaphor of being a liberal religious community in search of and in support of transformation of our hearts, our homes, our community and our world has not only come out of this experience intact; it has been strengthened by the journey.

So here's where I want to go with this, with you, this morning. Metaphors and symbols lie all around us. Maybe they are growing around us, much like the exquisite blossoms over in the Presby Iris Gardens. They're there for us to appreciate, to learn from, to be inspired and guided by. But they are there for us to grow from only if we turn to them, allowing ourselves to be availed of their beauty and their bounty. They speak to us individually and they speak to us in community.

And here's my final thought on it. We do not create metaphors or symbols anymore than we create the beautiful iris flowers. We tune in to them. We make room for them in our lives, but we do not create them. Lao Tzu wrote:

Existence is beyond the power of words to define
Terms may be used but are none of them absolute.
In the beginning of heaven and earth there were no words,
Words come out of the womb of matter;

Where do words come from? Out of the womb of matter? Where do our metaphors and symbols come from? Though we don't create them, I think they come from a source that is not separate from us. Otherwise how could we connect with them? I think they must come from a source that we are a part of, but that is larger than us. I have to think it is Life speaking to Life. It's something like the old party lines in the early days of telephone. If you were hooked in, you knew what was going on.

The point is to be hooked in. The point is to slow down, to pay attention, to learn how life - how our lives - are communicating with us. "We are a part of a greater circle of humanity, gathered around the fire, the hearth, the altar." (Denise Levertov) We are a part of a greater circle of Life, gathered around all manner of clues that lead us to meaning - through awe, and gratitude and service, clues that lead us to meaning through reflection on our experiences along the way.

The world-renowned entertainer for most of the 20th Century, Josephine Baker once noted, "It doesn't matter when we wake up, but that we do." Daybreak occurs when we wake up, when we stop doing the next thing in front of us automatically, when we notice the terrain we are passing through, and when we allow it to matter.

We are of the earth:
we breathe and live in the breath
of ancient plants and beasts.
Their cells nourish the soil;
we build our communities
on their harvest of gifts. (Levertov)

Sometimes it seems like, even though it may not be so obvious to us at the time, that there is a course we're forming and following that's getting us where we want to be, achieving what it is we might hope to achieve.

May the harvest of our gleanings, the harvest of our lives be long and rich.