|
By Dr. Bruce T. Marshall
February 27, 2011
Readings:
From The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint Exupery
“All people have the stars,” he answered, “but they are not the same
for different people. For some, who are travelers, the stars are
guides. For others, they are no more than little lights in the sky.
For others, who are scholars, they are problems. For my businessman
they were wealth...You—you alone—have the stars as no one else has
them...”
“And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with
the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible
to the eye....What gives (the stars) their beauty is something that
is invisible!”
The Stream of Life by 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
death, in ebb and 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.
Lololomai's Prayer, Hopi Indian
To whom do the Hopis pray?
It is that which makes the rain—that makes all things. It is Power,
and it lives behind the sun.
Does the Power that lives behind the sun look like a man, or like
anything that the Hopis have ever seen?
No, it is not like a man; we don't know how it looks. We only know
that it is.
When Lololomai, the chief, prays, how does he pray?
He goes to the edge of the cliff and turns his face to the rising
sun, and scatters the sacred corn meal. Then he prays for all the
people. He asks that we may have rain and corn, and that our fields
may bring us plenty. He prays that all the people may have health
and long life and be happy and good in their hearts.
And Hopis are not the only people he prays for. He prays for
everybody. And not people alone; Lololomai prays for all the
animals. And not for animals alone; he prays for the plants. He
prays for everything that has life.
That is how Lololomai prays.
Sermon:
The sermon this morning is part of the series I’m currently doing to
identify varieties of belief among Unitarian Universalists. Thus
far, we have considered Unitarian Universalist Christianity,
Unitarian Universalist theism and Unitarian Universalist humanism.
Next week we take a break in this series as we kick off the annual
pledge campaign. Then two weeks from today, I’ll conclude it by
looking at relationships between Unitarian Universalism and Judaism.
As we make our way through these options for belief, some of you
might be able to place yourself securely in one of them. Others
might find yourselves a little here, a little there. My intent is to
help you clarify where you stand—and also to help us understand and
appreciate what others believe. Our congregations are unique in the
diversity of belief that we allow and indeed promote. But it works
only if there is understanding and respect for those whose views
differ from our own.
Today I’m considering two options: mysticism and paganism. The two
are different, though they can blend into each other. One thing they
share is that both have negative connotations in popular usage.
“Mysticism” sounds spooky or, at best, obscure. While “paganism” is
named throughout the Bible as a false belief, a pathway to error and
sin. For us to treat mysticism and paganism fairly, we’ll have to
uncover what they actually mean.
● ● ●
Let’s start with paganism. The New Testament—also known as the
Christian Bible—is sprinkled throughout with negative references to
the pagans.
In the Book of Matthew, “If you love those who love you, what reward
will you get?... And if you greet only your own people, what are you
doing more than others? Do not even pagans do that?”
In 1 Corinthians, “...the sacrifices of pagans are offered to
demons, not to God, and I do not want you to be participants with
demons.”
Also from 1 Corinthians, “You know that when you were pagans,
somehow or other you were influenced and led astray to mute idols.”
And from the first book of Peter, “For you have spent enough time in
the past doing what pagans choose to do—living in debauchery, lust,
drunkenness, orgies, carousing and detestable idolatry. They are
surprised that you do not join them in their reckless, wild living,
and they heap abuse on you.”
So what about these pagans? They do not sound like nice people. Who
were they, and why were they targeted for such disdain?
To get at this, we have to keep in mind why the New Testament was
written. It was partially a spiritual document, partially a
historical document, partially a theological document, partially a
literary document. But the New Testament was also a political
document. Among its purposes was to create a movement: to rally
supporters and convince those who might have doubts.
There were at the time many religious groups competing for attention
and seeking converts. Some had been recently formed; others had been
around for ages. Since the early Christians were trying to get
people to join their side, there’s a “them against us” quality in
the New Testament, with the “them” identified as pagans. When we
encounter the term “pagan” in Biblical texts, it generally means
“everybody who isn’t us.”
But paganism names an approach to spirituality that links people
from many different times and places: the ancient Greeks, the Celtic
peoples of Ireland, Eastern religious traditions such as Hinduism,
folk religions from around the world and Native Americans among
them. By and large, pagan religions have been polytheistic, that is,
recognizing many gods. They have been pantheistic, meaning they view
everything in the world as charged with the spirit. Pantheists see
God in nature, nature as part of God, the whole earth is an
expression of God. And pagans have been animistic, meaning that they
believed each thing—alive or inanimate—possesses its own spirit.
Where Christianity and Judaism generally restrict spirituality to
human beings, animistic traditions view animals, plants, even
inanimate objects—like stones, mountains, rivers—as also possessing
spirit.
Pagan religious traditions tend to be very old, pre-dating the
establishment of Judaism, Christianity or Islam. They represent an
experience of life in which everything is charged with meaning.
Pagans viewed the entire world of nature as alive and in
communication with them, offering wisdom and guidance.
That perspective is represented in the reading called Lololomai’s
Prayer from the Hopi Indians that I included in the readings. It
reads, “(Lololomai) prays for everybody. And not people alone;
Lololomai prays for all the animals. And not for animals alone; he
prays for the plants. He prays for everything that has life.”
The pagan traditions represent a way of being that is closer to the
earth, closer to nature, closer to our bodies than is customary
today when we are more likely to feel separate from the natural
roots of our existence.
● ● ●
Let’s try to bring this to the level of our own experience. While
paganism was in most places supplanted by other forms of
spirituality long ago, there is still something of the pagan
worldview that remains with us.
For example, maybe you find yourself drawn to bodies of water: the
ocean, the lakes, rivers and streams. I pause by a river, by a
stream, and I am calmed by the water's flow. I stand on the ocean’s
shore and feel its power. It's not hard to imagine that this river,
this stream or the ocean have spirits of their own. These are
spirits that are, by turns, calming, inspiring, and threatening,
when the waters turn dangerous. Sort of like how people describe
God.
Or trees. From ancient times, people have regarded trees as sacred
and holy, which does make sense to me—trees are such marvelous
creations. We are now at the end of February, and soon as days grow
longer and temperatures turn warmer, the buds on trees and other
plants will visibly swell. Already, our neighbor’s forsythia bushes
are showing yellow. Then blossoms and leaves will burst from the
seemingly dead limbs in the spectacular show that spring puts on
each year. I absorb some of that power that pulses through the
plants and the flowers and the trees, and it brings new life to me
also.
The experience that there is a relationship between what goes on in
the world of nature and what goes on inside each of us is at the
heart of paganism. Sometimes it seems that we’ve lost that: we’ve
lost contact with the sense that the earth gives us life and
sustains us through the days we have been given. Maybe that’s why we
pollute the land and dump chemicals into the rivers and the seas and
expel poisons into the air: because we’ve forgotten that our own
lives come from the land and the waters and the air. We’ve lost
touch with the experience that when we pollute nature, we also
poison ourselves.
And so a neo-pagan movement has arisen as people try to recover the
holiness of the earth and the land and the beings who share earth
with us. Western religions have often regarded the earth as the
source of sin so redemption could only come from above. But now it
seems important to regain that sense of a divine energy that is
shared by all beings.
Neo-paganism has been particularly meaningful to women, seeking to
find more positive images of the feminine. Ancient pagan religions
were often goddess-centered. The earth was viewed as a woman, a
mother, because she gives life. And so the role of women in society
was protected, honored. But the western religions of Judaism,
Christianity, and Islam have been male-dominated and so when they
supplanted the pagans, the role of women in society was diminished.
Today, many women find strength and renewal by returning to ancient
rituals that celebrate their role in creating and sustaining life.
Among Unitarian Universalists, there is an organization called CUUPS:
the Covenant of Unitarian Universalist Pagans. It’s an organization
that gives a home in Unitarian Universalism to those whose
spirituality is earth-based, as it also aims to educate us about a
spirituality that helps us live “in harmony with the rhythms of
nature.” The seventh of our seven UU principles is earth-centered.
It calls for “Respect for the interdependent web of all existence of
which we are a part.”
This is an outlook also expressed in the opening reading by the
Bengali poet, Rabindranath Tagore, “The same stream of life that
runs through my veins night and day runs through the world and
dances in rhythmic measures.”
● ● ●
Let’s turn to the other option we’ll consider today, mysticism.
Mysticism and paganism are not mutually exclusive; they can blend
into each other. But then again, there is also Christian mysticism,
non-Christian theistic mysticism, and humanistic mysticism, also
known as naturalistic mysticism.
The definition of mysticism is fairly simple. It is that of the
direct experience of God or the direct experience of whatever we
hold to be ultimate or sacred. In the sermon on this series I did on
theism, I quoted the psychologist C. G. Jung. When he was asked, “Do
you believe in God?” he responded, “I could not say I believe. I
know! I have had the experience of being gripped by something
greater than myself, something that people call God.” That’s
mysticism. Jung was expressing what he considered to be the direct
experience of God.
But mysticism does not have to be theistic; it does not have to
involve God or any higher power. What’s key is the experience of
whatever you hold to be ultimate or sacred or holy. So there is also
naturalistic mysticism. If you consider nature to be ultimate, then
your experience of nature is mystic. If you consider love to be the
ultimate, then your experience of love is mystic. If you consider
beauty to be the ultimate, then your experience of beauty is mystic.
Artistic experience and creation can be similar to mysticism because
it also involves direct experience of the ultimate. Talk with an
artist about his or her process of creating and it sounds a lot like
a mystic who is striving for God.
Religious orthodoxy has tended to reject mysticism, which might seem
odd because mystics can be the most devout among us. But orthodoxy
is organized around doctrines that define the proper experience of
the holy, and it is organized around rituals and practices that
express a community’s shared interpretation of how to approach God.
Orthodoxy also creates a power structure whose authority derives
from all these beliefs and practices as defined by this particular
tradition. Think, for example, the Pope, who sits atop a structure
that has been created throughout the generations by countless
councils and committees painstakingly creating a structure defining
right and proper belief.
But then along comes this mystic who says, “No no no no no. You’ve
got it all wrong. Unlike you, I have actually experienced God—like
C. G. Jung, I don’t believe, I know—and your laws and doctrines and
rituals: they miss the point!” We can perhaps understand why this
mystic would not be all that welcome by those who have invested
themselves in the power structure of the church.
This is why mystics find their way into Unitarian Universalism,
which can seem odd because rationalism is also central to what we
do. Rationalists who try to reason their way to determining what is
right and true, mystics who trust their own experience to guide them
to what is right and true: they often speak different languages but
here we are together because of this issue of authority.
Rationalists trust their reason more than they trust established
authority. Mystics trust their experience more than they trust
established authority. They both end up in our congregations because
of the freedom to follow where their reason or experience takes
them, without having to submit to a creed.
Unitarian Universalism has created its own mystic movements, such
as, the New England transcendentalists of the mid-19th century:
Emerson, Thoreau, Margaret Fuller. Emerson wrote, "Let us learn that
revelation of all nature and thought; that the Highest dwells within
us, that the sources of nature are in our own minds." Spoken like a
true mystic.
● ● ●
I came across a survey of another Unitarian Universalist
congregation in which one question had to do with beliefs. Members
were asked the question, which of these categories best represents
what you believe? The following options were offered: theism, deism,
atheism, non-theism, naturalistic theism, open agnosticism, strict
agnosticism, humanism, UU Christian, mysticism, earth-centered
spirituality, neo-paganism, feminist spirituality, and pantheism.
I don’t even know what some of those are: like what’s the difference
between “open” agnosticism and “strict” agnosticism? It doesn’t
exactly sound like the kind of distinction that would get you into a
fight in a bar. But just in case none of those categories worked,
there was also a final choice marked “other,” which several people
selected. That’s 14 categories of belief plus “other” for that
congregation of 80 people.
For some, this variety of beliefs represented in one congregation
becomes all too bewildering—while others thrive precisely because of
it. When Amy and I moved to Silver Spring, we were both struck by
the cultural diversity in that community. When first meeting
someone, we didn’t know what accent would come out of that
individual’s mouth, what part of the world this person would be
from. We really like that, but not everybody does.
There’s a similar phenomenon here at Davies and within Unitarian
Universalism as a whole. We often don’t know what the beliefs are of
the person sitting next to us until we engage in conversation. And
then we begin to encounter the variety of religious accents
contained among us.
For myself, I said in the sermon I did on humanism that I am by
history, by family background and by habit a humanist. That is, my
religious impulses always bring me back to the level of the human,
the everyday, with what this means to real people living real lives.
I’m not a high church ritual kind of guy. I like to keep things
grounded in life as I know it.
But in my spirituality, I am a mystic. What matters to me are those
moments when I seem connected to something greater than myself—and
it can happen anytime, anywhere. It can happen outside, in the
natural world, when surrounded by the miracle of life expressed in
such variety and beauty. It can happen between people or among
people, when we connect at a deep level. It can happen when an idea
occurs to me, and I start making connections, and I see the world in
new ways. It can happen in the midst of sorrow when we share a
common loss; and it can occur in joy when we celebrate life’s
goodness together. It can happen when a new piece of music or a song
takes up residence in my consciousness, and for a time lifts up
everything I encounter. It can happen at a play or a movie or an art
exhibit that speaks to something residing deep within. And sometimes
it can be like a whisper that draws me toward what is right and
true.
I don’t know if these transcendent moments express something of God
or whether they are completely naturalistic. I don’t know and at
this point in my life, I’m not sure it matters. What does matter are
the experiences themselves—of something ultimate, something true,
something beautiful that brings us life and that is accessible to
us—not by hearsay and not by doctrinal formula but through our own
experience.
Albert Einstein whose scientific work was guided by a mystical
consciousness, expressed it this way. “The most beautiful thing we
can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art
and science. He to whom this emotion is a stranger, who can no
longer pause to wonder and stand rapt in awe, is as good as dead:
his eyes are closed.
“...to know that what is impenetrable to us really exists,
manifesting itself as the highest wisdom and the most radiant beauty
which our dull faculties can comprehend only in their most primitive
forms—this knowledge, this feeling, is at the center of true
religiousness.”
● ● ●
|
