-- Sitting Bull
Opening Words
Let us gather for worship mindful of the timeless words of
the 3rd century Hindu poet Kalidasa, who wrote:
Look to this day, for it is life, the very life of life…
Yesterday is but a dream, and tomorrow only a vision
But today, well lived, makes every yesterday a dream of
happiness,
And every tomorrow a vision of hope.
Look well, therefore, to this day.
Meditation: a
poem by Lynn Ungar entitled “Breaking Ground”
Living in the violence of Spring
Living in a time
where shells are cracking
and shapes alter
Who can afford to risk
forgetting the danger
forgetting the moment
the crocus bulb breaks the ground
Never knowing whether
snow or sun or ice
awaits in warm or jagged welcome
There is no safety in
this restless season
Even the sheltering ground
rejects its own,
thrusting the life it held
into the untrustworthy
and insufficient care
of air and weather
There are no choices here
No careful path or
reasoned way
No holding in reserve for
some more settled,
more propitious time
But only the unconsidered
faith of the crocus
whose saffron petals echo
or demand the sun
Reading: by the
Buddhist teacher Pema Chodron from The
Places That Scare You (p. 3)
… Bodhichitta is [an open attitude, and enlightened mind] capable
of transforming the hardest hearts and the most prejudiced and fearful of
minds… Sometimes the completely open heart and mind… is called the soft spot, a
place vulnerable and tender as an open wound. It is equated, in part, with our
ability to love. Even the cruelest people have this soft spot…
Boddhichitta
is also equated, in part, with compassion – our ability to feel the pain we
share with others. Without realizing it we continually shield ourselves from
this pain because it scares us. We put up protective walls made of opinions,
prejudices, and strategies, barriers that are built on a deep fear of being
hurt. These walls are further fortified by emotions of all kinds: anger,
craving, indifference, jealousy and envy, arrogance and pride. But fortunately
for us, the soft spot – our innate ability to love and to care about things –
is like a crack in these walls we erect. It’s a natural opening in the barriers
we create when we’re afraid. With practice we can learn to find this opening.
We can learn to seize that vulnerable moment – love, gratitude, loneliness,
embarrassment, inadequacy – to awaken [compassion].
Reading: from the
Jewish Hasidic tradition, words attributed to the maggid of Mezritch, an 18th
century rabbi who lived in what today is the Ukraine (from Tales of the Hasidim by Martin Buber, p. 104)
The Between-Stage
The maggid of Mezritch said:
Nothing in the world can change from one reality into
another, unless it first turns into nothing, that is, into the reality of the
between-stage. In that stage… no one can grasp it, for it has reached the rung
of nothingness, just as before creation. And then it is made into a new
creature, from the egg to the chick. The moment when the egg is no more and the
chick is not yet, is nothingness… It is the same with the sprouting seed. It
does not begin to sprout until the seed disintegrates in the earth and the
quality of seed-dom is destroyed in order that it may attain to nothingness
which is the rung before creation. And this rung is called wisdom, that is to
say, a thought which cannot be made manifest. Then this thought gives rise to
creation, as it is written: “In wisdom hast Thou made them all.”
Reading: by
Clarence Day a poem entitled “The Egg” (from
Scenes From the Mesozoic, 1935)
Oh who that ever lived and loved
Can look upon an egg unmoved?
The egg it is the source of all,
‘Tis everyone’s ancestral hall.
The bravest chief that ever fought,
The lowest thief that e’er was caught,
The harlot’s lip, the maiden’s leg,
They each and all come from an egg.
The rocks that once by ocean’s surge
Beheld the first of eggs emerge —
Obscure, defenseless, small and cold —
They little knew what egg could hold.
The gifts the reverent Magi gave,
Pandora’s box, Aladdin’s cave,
Wars, loves, and kingdoms, heaven and hell
All lay within that tiny shell.
Oh, join me gentlemen, I beg,
In honoring our friend, the egg.
Rediscovered Truth
A Sermon Delivered on
April 5, 2015
By
The Reverend Axel H.
Gehrmann
Yesterday morning, with the moral support of my wife,
Elaine, I engaged in a simple, timeless Easter ritual. I took a few eggs out of
the fridge, boiled them for ten minutes, solid. And then – after carefully
reading and rereading the instructions on several small boxes of food coloring
– measured a few drops of yellow, green and red, into three cups, added two teaspoons
of vinegar, and a bit of hot water to each. Then I carefully took an egg and
dipped it into one color, and then the next. Creating my very own Easter Egg.
It’s been a long time since I spent my Easter Sunday
searching for eggs and candy my mother or grandmother had hidden. And it has
been several years since Elaine and I orchestrated Easter egg hunts for our
children, who are now college-age.
But fond memories of childhood and parenthood come to mind,
as I clumsily decorate my egg, and as I look out the kitchen window, at the
bare trees and bushes behind our house, and also the green stalks of daffodils
poking out of flower beds. I can’t see them grow. Nothing is happening. But I
do see that every one of them is just a bit taller than yesterday.
* * *
The egg is a fitting symbol of spring; a symbol of new life
and growth, of fecundity and abundance. And spring in the natural world is a
striking symbol of how we humans since time immemorial have made sense of our
inner spiritual world.
The hard shell of the egg, the husk of the seed, on the one
hand meant to protect the potential for new life hidden within, on the other
hand is also a kind of confinement. Life isn’t free to unfold, as long as it is
trapped within this tiny enclosure, entombed, confined, imprisoned. Breaking
free isn’t easy.
* * *
One of the great Easter stories is the one told in the Book
of Exodus. Observant Jews celebrate a Passover Seder this week, with a special
selection of foods reminding them of how the people of Israel long ago escaped
slavery.
You remember the story: God told Moses to lead his people
out of Egypt, into the wilderness, and finally to the Promised Land. But first
of all Moses needed to convince Pharaoh to let his people go. Moses performed
several miracles, and unleashed a series of plagues – frogs, gnats, locusts and
more. Ten in all. But after each one, Pharaoh remained unconvinced. Again and
again, Pharaoh’s heart was hardened.
When Pharaoh did finally relent, and after the people of
Israel had fled, he soon changed his mind and sent his army to pursue them. And
then Moses performed probably the most memorable of miracles. Just as the
Egyptian army was about to catch them at the bank of the Red Sea, the waters
parted, allowing the slaves to run to the far shore, with the Egyptian army in
hot pursuit. Once Israel arrived safely at the far shore, the waters closed,
drowning the entire army.
It’s quite a story. It’s been retold again and again. It was
memorably portrayed by Cecil B. DeMille in his 1954 production of “The Ten
Commandments,” starring Yul Brynner as Pharaoh, and Charlton Heston as Moses.
At the time, with a cast of thousands, filmed on location in Egypt, it was the
most expensive movie ever made.
And more recently, with a lot of computer generated special
effects - and much less memorably - it was retold in the movie “Exodus,”
starring Christian Bale in the lead role. The critic consensus on
Rottentomtatoes.com is that “while sporadically stirring, and suitably epic in
its ambitions, [it] can’t quite live up to its classic source material.” (The
DVD was released just last month. Check it out, and decide for yourself whether
it’s any good.)
* * *
It is easy to dismiss the Passover story as fodder for mass
entertainment, or an outdated tale of unbelievable miracles and superstition.
But if we did so, we would miss its more significant message.
The Easter story of Exodus is one of liberation. This theme
is repeated in Judaism, Christianity and Islam, and is found in other religious
traditions as well. The key insight of all spring holidays, Rabbi Michael
Lerner says, is “that rebirth, renewal, and transformation are possible, and
that we are not stuck in the dark, cold, and deadly energies of winter.”
Judaism, he says, “builds on that universal experience of
nature and adds another dimension: it suggests that the class structure
(slavery, feudalism, capitalism, or neoliberal imperialism) can be overcome,
and that we human beings… can create a world based on love, generosity,
justice, and peace.”
The transformations taking place all around us in nature
serve as reminder of a transformative force at work in the universe. Lerner
calls it God: a force at the heart of justice and love. Or as he puts is, a
force which “makes possible the transformation from that which is to that which
should be.”
When we celebrate Easter or Passover, Lerner says, we
shouldn’t just be thinking about ancient religious stories. We should each be
asking ourselves: “What part of our society’s much-needed transformation can I
participate in? – both in terms of personal and psychological transformation
and in terms of social, political, and spiritual transformation.” (“The Tikkun Passover Seder Supplement,” April
1, 2015)
Whether in Israel or America today, there is much we could
do to foster greater justice and peace.
* * *
The most powerful of religious stories don’t provide pat
answers and simple solutions to the questions of life. The most valuable of
religious teachings convey timeless truths that inspire and challenge us. We
are challenged to rediscover how these truths can be applied in ever-new ways
to the changing realities of our lives and the world. The best religious
stories have manifold meanings and diverse dimensions that can inspire ever-new
instances of compassionate and courageous action.
So, for instance, the Jewish psychiatrist Robert Rosenthal
sees Pharaoh and Moses, not as historical figures engaged in an epic struggle,
but rather as archetypes that represent “opposing aspects of the human mind.”
He says,
“Pharaoh represents the part of
the mind that sees itself as separate from God and Spirit: the limited ego-mind
[- short-sighted, small-minded and selfish]. Moses represents the part of the
mind that is and has always been in full, direct connection with God and
Spirit—what I call the Moses-mind. Both are present within us. The plagues
brought on by Pharaoh’s stubborn resistance to freeing the Hebrews are our
plagues. They afflict us whenever we bow to the Pharaoh-like ego… Likewise, the
miracles performed by Moses are our miracles. They arrive the moment we
make the decision, consciously or unconsciously, to be free from ego and follow
instead the guidance of Spirit that comes to us through the Moses-mind.” (Tikkun, “Exodus: An Allegorical Portrait
of the Human Mind in its Relationship to God,” July 25, 2012)
* * *
There is something within us that wants our hearts to be
hardened. There is something within us that wants to build up walls between us.
We build walls because we are afraid, because we are
vulnerable and we don’t want to get hurt. We build walls to protect the most
sensitive aspects of who we are, especially our natural instinct to empathize
with others, and to share their pain.
We harden our hearts, Pema Chodron writes, to shield
ourselves from this pain, because it scares us. Our opinions and prejudices,
our anger and arrogance, our envy and indifference are all barriers built up on
a deep fear of being hurt.
And yet every person has a soft spot, a living spark, a seed
of compassion that exists within even the hardest heart. And every one us can
crack the hard heart’s shell, with our own innate capacity to love and care for
others. Any vulnerable moment – whether a moment of gratitude or embarrassment,
whether a moment of loneliness or love – can help us break free from the
confinement of a hardened heart.
* * *
The arrival of spring in the outer natural world is
inevitable. The arrival of spring in our inner spiritual world may require some
effort. Breaking the protective shell in which we have learned to live requires
courage.
As Rabbi Shraga Simmons points out:
“For the Jews in Egypt, life was
comfortable. In slavery, the rations may be meager and the bed made of straw,
but there's an up-side as well: all one's needs are provided, and there are no
challenging decisions to be made. No laundry, no shopping, no deals, no
deadlines. The Hebrew word for Egypt, "Mitzrayim," means a
"place of confinement." Sometimes it's the smallest box which makes
us feel the most secure.” (http://www.aish.com/tp/b/sw/Jump_Into_the_Sea.html)
The hard heart may be confining. It may imprison the free
spirit. It may inhibit our innate compassion. But it feels familiar and safe. Allowing
our shells to crack means daring to open our hearts and minds to the unknown.
Yielding to the spirit of spring means stepping out of our
confinement, and into the between-stage. It means stepping into the nothingness
before creation. The moment when the egg is no more and the chick is not yet.
The moment when the seed disintegrates, disappears into nothingness, before new
life is created. This experience of nothingness, the maggid of Mezritch says,
this nothingness before creation is called wisdom.
The spirit of spring requires of us wisdom and courage, to
leave behind the confines of the winter life we have known, and step into
nothingness, so we might discover new and unimagined life. The spirit of spring
asks us to leave the bondage of old habits behind, and journey into the
wilderness, so we might reach the Promised Land.
This is the real spirit of spring, Bishop John Shelby Spong
says, from a Christian perspective. In his book Resurrection: Myth or Reality, he writes, “What is real…, is that
behind our religious systems, our holy words,… and even behind our fears lies
an experience that transforms, deepens, and calls us into … “new being.” It is that experience which demands of us an
openness, a probing questioning mind, and most significant of all, a yearning
to [find] what the Jesus of the Fourth Gospel called “the abundant life.”
…and what Kalidasa called, “today, well lived”: the very
life of life.
* * *
Allowing the spirit of spring to take shape in our lives is
not easy. As Lynn Unger says, living in a time where shells are cracking and
shapes alter, we need to be mindful of risks and dangers involved. There is no
safety in this restless season. If we dare to break free from the confines of
our wintery self, like the crocus bulb breaking the ground – we don’t know what
awaits us.
We need courage, we need wisdom, and we need the faith of
the crocus, who – regardless of risk - opens her saffron petals echoing or
demanding the sun.
* * *
The egg is a fitting symbol of spring. A symbol of new life
and growth. Within its hard shell lies all of creation. “The egg it is the
source of all / ‘Tis everyone’s ancestral hall… Wars, loves, kingdoms, heaven
and hell / All lay within that tiny shell.”
May we have the courage, the wisdom, and the faith,
To break out of our shell
To crack open our hard heart
That we might discover a new life
With more love, more hope, more peace, and more joy.
In this spirit may we welcome
The eternal truth of spring.
Amen.
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