A Sermon by the Rev. Susan Manker-Seale
January 11, 2004
Last weekend a member of our congregation, Sharon B------, died, and we had her memorial service yesterday. Sharon struggled with the weakness and fatigue, the aches and pains of Lupus, and had good days and bad ones, about four bad ones to every good one. She knew her days were limited, as she had expressed to me when she invited me to visit her in her apartment soon after I returned from sabbatical last year. She had learned to live day by day.
In the memorial service, Sharon's son had me read one of her emails, and it really struck me. On January 2, Sharon had written to one of her friends that she was having a very good day. She wrote that she was happy, and even though she didn't know what the future held for her, she could count her blessings, and did. Sharon didn't know death was two days away, but she had learned to live with Death hovering close by every day, which taught her that life is lived in this moment, right now, right now.
Looking out into our congregation, I see the many people who struggle with physical and emotional ailments and disabilities, and I know that you, too, keep going, day after day, with hope and appreciation for the life that is lived in the moments. These are the examples that give everyone hope when difficulty comes knocking. These are the heroes we all aspire to be, when it is our turn. And it will be our turn, someday, if not already.
Death is the end of the great circle that is life, but life consists in itself of circles. The seasons are Nature's expression of the great circle, as well as the reminder that our lives circle through seasons of death and rebirth not just year by year, but decade by decade, or even month by month, and in some cases, day by day. We come into the New Year with hope for renewal in the face of the little deaths that make up our lives, the endings that presage the beginnings, the transformations that twist us out of old molds into new shapes we can hardly foresee.
Illness and disability are part of the changes that make up our lives. Sometimes illnesses and disabilities are temporary, and sometimes they become part of who we are in our daily living. It is the great challenge of life to learn to live in appreciation of life in spite of the many problems that face us, problems which, in a sense, are life. What is life, after all, without problems? I know of no life that is not made up of problems and the constant struggles to overcome those we can overcome, accept those we cannot, somehow learn the difference, and still appreciate the beauty and wonders that surround us and also make up life. For, what is life, without beauty and wonder?
The New Year comes with an invitation to make resolutions about changing our lives. In spite of the things we cannot change, we still have the power to direct our lives, or at least, we believe we have the power to direct our lives. I think life is a balancing act with destiny or chance, and we direct it as best we can with what is thrown our way. Others of you believe in providence or divine intervention, or cycles of reincarnation and karma that direct what befalls us. In any case, at the New Year, we are tempted to try to remake ourselves in some little ways, to better ourselves in our own eyes, and try again to be happier and healthier and smarter and luckier, etc. etc. There is always room for improvement!
One of the things I do with my sister and my sister-in-law on a yearly cycle is to go on a retreat together to talk and to indulge in massage and holistic and esoteric conversation. Such is great for my usually practical mind. We went to Sedona last weekend, to the Hilton, and while I was sitting in the waiting room at the spa, I picked up one of the coffee table books on Zen. It was entitled Nirvana in a Nutshell: 157 Zen Reflections, by Scott Shaw. I wrote that down so I could try to find it at Barnes and Noble, since they didn't sell it at the spa.
What I loved about the book (I only read it for about fifteen minutes) was that Shaw was pointing out over and over that Nirvana isn't something we can find out there somewhere, or up ahead in the future. He debunked every so-called master of this and that who says you have to do this or that to find Nirvana. Nirvana, he wrote, is now, is you, being here now. As I interpret it, Nirvana is recognizing that you are complete right now, that your life is valid as it is. What you see as an improvement on yourself is a value judgment, for how is one life not valid in its very existence? We are who we are now, and when we learn to accept and appreciate that, we realize that Nirvana Is in the way that We Are.
I am reminded of the story of Moses on the mountain, confronting the burning bush. It's from Exodus, chapter 3, verses 13 and 14, when Moses first meets the god of his fathers. After Moses listens to what God wants him to do, Moses asks:
"If I come to the people of Israel and say to them, 'The God of your fathers has sent me to you,' and they ask me, 'What is his name?' what shall I say to them?" God said to Moses, "I AM WHO I AM." And he said, "Say this to the people of Israel, 'I AM has sent me to you.'"
The word for god is "I AM." I am, the divine presence, Nirvana, I am.
Jelaluddin Rumi, the thirteenth century mystic and poet, and my favorite, lived in a city in Turkey where Christians, Muslims, Hindus and Buddhists traveled through or took up residence. He was familiar with all those faiths, and knew the story of Moses. He wrote a poem about "I AM:"
I am dust particles in sunlight.
I am the round sun.
To the bits of dust I say, Stay.
To the sun, Keep moving.
I am morning mist,
and the breathing of evening.
I am wind in the top of a grove,
and surf on the cliff.
Mast, rudder, helmsman, and keel,
I am also the coral reef they founder on.
I am a tree with a trained parrot in its branches.
Silence, thought, and voice.
The musical air coming through a flute,
a spark off a stone, a flickering in metal.
Both candle and the moth
crazy around it.
Rose and the nightingale
lost in the fragrance.I am all orders of being,
the circling galaxy,
the evolutionary intelligence,
the lift and the falling away.
What is and what isn't. You
who know Jelaluddin, you
the One in all, say
who I am.
Say I am you.
(--The Illuminated Rumi, Coleman Barks, p. 108)
The ancient wisdom says we are who we are, that the divine is us, that I AM is. In this sense, we must learn to accept ourselves as we are, manifestations of the One in all. When we realize this, we realize Nirvana, not as another place or time, but as ourselves now as we are in this moment, despite death, despite illness and disability, despite problems. Rumi gives us this advice (p. 77):
This being human is a guest house. Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness, some momentary awareness comes as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and attend them all! Even if they're a crowd of sorrows, who violently sweep your house empty of its furniture, still, treat each guest honorably. He may be clearing you out for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice, meet them at the door laughing, and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes, because each has been sent as a guide from beyond.
Welcome difficulty. Learn the alchemy True Human Beings know: the moment you accept what troubles you've been given, the door opens.
Welcome difficulty as a familiar comrade. Joke with torment brought by the Friend.
Sorrows are the rags of old clothes and jackets that serve to cover, and then are taken off. That undressing, and the beautiful naked body underneath, is the sweetness that comes after grief.
Being who we are involves accepting who we are. That does not mean, of course, that we do not change. We are always changing, as Heraklietos said: "Change alone is unchanging." God/Goddess, the Divine Presence, the I AM, Nirvana, is change, is cycles and circles of life, and we are dancing those circles, forever changing, embracing and letting go, embracing and letting go, knowing, being, trusting, struggling.
The New Year comes with the invitation to make resolutions about changing our lives, even as our lives are change anyway, and are valid as we are. We do not need to force a path, but at the same time, we have a sense of direction and attraction to what beckons We can be happy as we are, in each moment, knowing I AM, and loving the divine in each of us, and we can reach for visions and dreams, for that, too is life. The ancient wisdom speaks of turning and a time for every purpose. We live in the fullness of being which is also the reality of constant change: being and becoming, appreciating and struggling. For what is life, if not the fullness of being and becoming?
Rite of Turning
Invitation
As Heraklietos said, "Change alone is unchanging." In this time of the new year, I invite you to think about where you are in the circle of your life. What are you leaving and what are you taking up? What are you turning from and what are you turning toward? Even as you do this, appreciate that you are WHO YOU ARE, in the fullness of your being and becoming.
Ponder this during the silent meditation that follows, and then I'll tell you what to do with the piece of paper you've been holding.
*** Silent Meditation ***
Ritual
First, write on one side of the square of paper the thing you are leaving, what you are turning from. Another way to approach this can be to write on it Who You Are, your being.
Then write on the other side the thing you want to take up, what you are turning toward. Again, you can also write about Who You Are, your becoming. As you enter the new year, this will be a reminder to you from yourself of the ancient wisdom of turning, of changing, of responding to the seasons of your life and of appreciating who you are right now in your being and becoming.
You can punch a hole in the paper and string it and hang it on your desk lamp, or attach it to your refrigerator with a magnet, or tape it to your bathroom mirror, or put it in your wallet--whatever will help you to remember to appreciate the turnings in your life and the divine being that is you.
Unitarian Universalist Congregation of Northwest Tucson