"Compassionate Connection"
A Sermon by Rev. Charles Blustein Ortman
September 18, 2011
READINGS: ANCIENT & MODERN
Our first reading is from the piece, "Gitanjali,"
by the 20th Century, mystic, poet and author, Rabindranath Tagore:
The same stream of life that runs through my veins night and day
runs through the world and dances in rhythmic measures. It is the
same life that shoots in joy through the dust of the earth in numberless
blades of grass and breaks into tumultuous waves of leaves and flowers.
It is the same life that is rocked in the ocean-cradle of birth
and of death, in ebb and in flow. I feel my limbs are made glorious
by the touch of this world of life. And my pride is from the life-throb
of ages dancing in my blood this moment.
Our second reading is from the book "The Outermost House:
a Year of Life on the Great Beach of Cape Cod," written in
1927 by naturalist Henry Beston:
I stand on my dune top watching a great wave coursing in from sea,
and know that I am watching an illusion, that the distant water
has not left its place in ocean to advance upon me, but only a force
shaped in water, a bodiless pulse beat, a vibration . . . Somewhere
in ocean, perhaps a thousand miles and more from this beach, the
pulse beat of earth liberates a vibration, an ocean wave.
SERMON
Sometimes things seem unrelated, but I'm pretty sure that is hardly
ever, if ever, the case…
"The Outermost House," by Henry Beston, was an unexpected
treasure that I came upon this summer. My friend Norm Miller of
the Summit UU congregation offered it to me when my vacation plans
to spend a week visiting and bicycling on Cape Cod fell through.
Why would I want to read about that part of the country, that I've
already come to love in previous visits, when I was feeling frustrated
about not being able to spend time there this summer?
Norm knew of course that the book was a rich and beautifully written
journal of someone who went to spend two weeks living in a makeshift
cabin on the Cape, and who ended up staying for an entire year.
Norm knew that the account was masterfully penned in a prose that
was ultimately poetic. He knew he was offering me quite a gift.
I didn't realize it until I picked the book up, amidst the boredom
of recovery from a number of ailments dealt me by a summer that
had been less than… generous.
The reading we just heard was one of the many passages that made
me stop to reread it, mostly out of appreciation, just to re-experience
the thoughts held in it. I'm going to reread it for you here, and
take it even a little further. Henry Beston wrote:
I stand on my dune top watching a great wave coursing in from [the]
sea, and know that I am watching an illusion, that the distant water
has not left its place in [the] ocean to advance upon me, but only
a force shaped in water, a bodiless pulse beat, a vibration…
Somewhere in [the] ocean, perhaps a thousand miles and more from
this beach, the pulse beat of earth liberates a vibration, an ocean
wave. Is the original force circular, I wonder? and do ocean waves
ring out from the creative beat as they do on a quiet surface broken
by a stone?
Are there, perhaps, ocean circles so great and so intricate that
they are unperceived? Once created, the wave or the arc of a wave
begins its journey through the sea. Countless vibrations precede
it, countless vibrations follow after. It approaches the continent,
swings into the coast line, courses ashore, breaks, dissolves, is
gone. The innermost waters it last inhabited flow back in marbly
foam to become a body to another beat, and to be again flung down.
So it goes night and day, and will go till the secret heart of earth
strikes out its last slow beat… and the last wave dissolves
upon the last forsaken shore.
I'm taken by the image of raw power. I'm taken by the thought that
from time immemorial, one after another, wave after wave has been
coursing its way through the physical world, almost without attachment.
The power is embodied by the water in such a way that it moves through
the water, until it is unleashed on the shore. The actual water
in the center of the ocean remains in the center of the ocean, while
the energy of that pulse beat of the earth makes its way from the
deepest, most mysterious depths of the center, all the way to the
waves that break upon the sands and the rocks of the shoreline.
I wonder if the Buddha might have been looking out over a seascape
when the idea of detachment came to him. I wonder if it was that
raw power moving through the water, unencumbered by it, that caught
his eye and his imagination?
Sometimes things seem unrelated, but I'm pretty sure that is hardly
ever, if ever, the case…
I've been wanting to tell something about my experience at our
UU General Assembly, which was held down in Charlotte, NC this year.
You have to realize that this year marked the 23rd consecutive GA
that I have attended. I haven't missed a single one, since my first,
which was held in New Haven, CT back in 1989. That's a lot of years
and a lot of GA's. I think it's an important event for our religious
association though, and so I think it's important for me, and maybe
for you, to be there. That doesn't mean however, that I get really
excited about going every year.
GA is packed full of excellent programming with lots of opportunities
to learn so many things about Unitarian Universalism. Still, after
23 years, it's a little hard for me to get keyed up about much of
what goes on there. There are certainly things I eagerly look forward
to - spending time with seminary classmates and other colleagues.
I love attending the ministers' annual worship service where an
alum selected from each of the 25th and 50th years' ordination classes,
delivers a sermon. It's most always stirring to hear the perspective
of these seasoned mentors. Beyond that, I attend a few workshops
and I go to all of the Plenary Sessions.
Each year I go to GA hoping to be surprised by attending something
that I'll find to be particularly moving and rewarding. This year
was no disappointment in that regard; there were two. First the
historic, annual Ware Lecture, which was given by theologian Karen
Armstrong. Her presentation provided profound and insightful inklings
into the religious dilemmas of the 21st Century. I found it to be
very hopeful in its call upon all religions to do their part in
embracing and sustaining our earth and all of humanity. "There
are no chosen ones, no chosen few who have all the answers or sole
access to the truth," she reassured us.
The experience I found to be the most meaningful in Charlotte this
year though, was the sermon delivered at the enormous Sunday morning
worship service by Kaaren Anderson, co-pastor of our UU congregation
in Rochester, NY. Kaaren spoke about connection and compassion being
THE core values of Unitarian Universalism. She raised many of the
points that I often try to lift up here for you, about our interdependent
world and the significance of our being in right relationship within
it. The heart of her message was that this is really it; this is
our theological, historical, spiritual and humanistic center, as
Unitarian Universalists - connection and compassion.
Kaaren began by telling two stories. The first was a biblical account
of Abraham inviting three strangers into his home to eat with him.
It was not a common practice to bring strangers into ones home in
those days in the Middle East but, it turns out it was a good thing
because one of the three was his very own god (Yahweh), who was
in disguise. Abraham ends up having this very religious experience
that, "…in reaching out to others with needs perhaps greater
than his own, he experienced a sense of the divine [being] descended
[upon him]."
The second story was about a friend of hers named Marcy, whom Kaaren
identified as someone deeply atheistic. The friend goes out to dinner
at a Chinese restaurant. In the middle of the meal, a homeless woman
enters the restaurant, walks over to Marcy's table, picks up the
platter of lo mein that Marcy is eating and takes off with it, running
out the door. The proprietor of the restaurant immediately chases
after the woman and quickly catches up to her in full view of the
restaurant window. In the ensuing struggle to recapture the stolen
lo mein, the contents of the platter are spilled all over the sidewalk.
And the woman takes off.
In the meantime, Marcy has been served a complimentary fresh plate
of lo mein, which she cannot finish. She takes the leftovers in
a "to go" carton and leaves the restaurant, heads up the
street, where - sure enough - she comes upon the lo mein bandit.
After a short conversation, Kaaren's friend gives the homeless woman
her leftovers. Then she walks away feeling that, as Kaaren described
it from Marcy's account, "…Something had happened in the
exchange. [Marcy] did not use traditional theological language.
Yet like Abraham, she was clear that her act of practical compassion
had led to a…holy encounter."
The contrasting elements of these stories, as Kaaren drew them
out, were the theological perspectives of the two protagonists.
Abraham, patriarch that he was, was a theist. Marcy, pragmatist
as she was, was a atheist. The common elements of the two stories
though, theological perspectives not withstanding, was that the
experiences of connection and practical compassion [in both of them]
had been, "…virtually the same." The experience was
the same; how they felt about it was the same; what they thought
about it was different.
Kaaren's point was that, as Unitarian Universalists, we have outgrown
the contention and disagreement that once existed between those
of us with theistic and non-theistic points of view. I have to agree.
What we think about the universe is of far less importance than
how we experience the universe, and even that pales in comparison
to how we respond to our experience of the universe in the promotion
of connection and compassion.
What do I ask you to take away from these stories? The idea that
the human experience of connection and our compassionate response
to it is the higher authority, the higher power by which Unitarian
Universalism - by which all religion - are held accountable. Anything
less than that, anything less than a religious message that somehow
binds each to all, is less than that what this earth can afford
for religion to aspire to, if religion is going to play any kind
of role in supporting humanity's efforts to sustain the world.
Before moving on, I want to leave you with a thought that Kaaren
expressed that rang true for me and I wonder if it resonates for
you. She said, "…from where I stand, the majority of people
newly in our pews are no longer asking, "Do I have to leave
my brain outside your doors?" but "Do I have to leave
my pain outside your doors?" And I honestly don't even hear
them emphasizing their primary hunger as helping them [to] explore
spiritual depth or [to] build their own theology. No, what we hear
them saying: "Hey there is a world out there, ripping my life
apart and I'm wondering if this place can offer me any help? Seriously,
I can't deal with a materialist, consumerist, shallow, selfish,
status obsessed, indifferent, violent, economically unstable culture,
a world that threatens to disconnect me from everything I hold dear,
everything that truly feeds me, everything that makes me feel whole
- on my own. I can't do it in isolation; I want to know… will
this place help me stay connected."
I hope that these are questions we answer well here.
Sometimes things do seem unrelated, but I'm pretty sure that is
hardly ever, if ever, the case…
"I stand on my dune top watching a great wave coursing in from
sea, and know that I am watching an illusion, that the distant water
has not left its place in [the] ocean to advance upon me, but only
a force shaped in water, a bodiless pulse beat, a vibration…"
(Henry Beston)
"The same stream of life that runs through my veins night
and day runs through the world and dances in rhythmic measures.
It is the same life that shoots in joy through the dust of the earth
in numberless blades of grass and breaks into tumultuous waves of
leaves and flowers. It is the same life that is rocked in the ocean-cradle
of birth and of death, in ebb and in flow. I feel my limbs are made
glorious by the touch of this world of life. And my pride is from
the life-throb of ages dancing in my blood this moment." (Tagore)
Here's the thing: the pulse beat of the earth has been coursing
out its rhythms since the beginning of time and it will continue
to the end of time. What we have… is our time, while the earth's
heart beat passes through our own. It is only each of ours for a
very short time in the scheme of things. Life will course through
our veins until the crest we are riding reaches our own, heaven-dealt,
distant shore. We can try to latch on to it, hold it tight to ourselves,
but the truth of it is that it's only passing through.
And while it is true that the water that delivers the tide to the
shore is not the same water as that which is deep in ocean bed where
it began, that is also not true. That is because the water is one.
Water in nature is always connected, always attached to all other
water in nature. Even the perception of detachment is an illusion.
If water is scooped out of nature, it will just lie idle and still
until once again it is reconnected to the larger energy that will
keep it in flow.
What moved me about the characters in the sermon by Kaaren Armstrong
at GA was the evidence her stories gave of these same kinds of connections
within humanity. From the time of Abraham, which is used figuratively
to mean "before time," to this post modern era that we
call home, life has coursed through waves of humanity. These waves
have been empowered by the rhythms born deep in the mystery of being.
They have carried that life forward through wave upon wave, generation
upon generation.
Though we many sometimes imagine it otherwise, I think we humans
are not only of the same stuff, we are THE very same stuff. Humanity
is one! And that which allows us to experience our oneness - since
we are all running around with our self-consciousness, often making
that oneness hidden from our view - that which allows us to experience
our oneness is compassion. Because our world tells us in so many
ways that we are one, we know that we are connected. Because our
hearts tell us in so many ways that we cannot survive alone, we
need our compassion.
I don't know how you might tell yourself the story of how we came
to be here, but in my version it is through the pain of separation
that gave us our self-consciousness in the first place. We are born
out of pain. Yet compassion is our lifeline that leads us to the
soulful experience of one another, to whatever might be divine,
to whatever might be that mysterious source that emits the pulse
beat of life.
Detachment has its place in all of this. We needn't be attached
to the idea that we can ride the crest of this wave forever. We
needn't be attached to the idea that we are separate, that we are
ultimate, or that we are responsible for our own being here. Being
here is; and we have the luxury of being here…but only for
this while.
Compassion is a kind of attachment that not only has its place,
but that is a saving grace. Divine experience awaits us at every
turn when we reach out to, or when we allow ourselves to be reached
by others. Our souls are healed when we are reconnected to our source…
through our connections with our planet and our connections with
others.
We are fortunate, I think, (I know I am) to have found our way
to this faith tradition. We don't have to be bound to a single story
or to a certain orthodoxy. We draw from many stories; the reason
for that is because the rich value in so many religious stories
can help to lead us to one another, to compassionate connection.
There in, each of us is saved; there in all of us are saved. Compassionate
connection is what heals our lives, and as each of us finds healing,
the world is healed in turn.
As the waves of the universe's energy course through our veins,
may we be about reaching and being reached, may we be about connecting…
and passionately so.
Sometimes things do seem to be unrelated, but I think we can be
pretty sure that is hardly ever, if ever, the case…
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