Beloved
Sermon given at the Brookfield Unitarian Universalist Church
February 4, 2018
by The Rev. Craig M. Nowak
It’s Super Bowl Sunday…a day that is arguably the closest thing we have in the United States to a national holy day of obligation. And observers of this annual ritual are not limited to fans of the game. Indeed, they seem to fall into one or more of at least three groups. Fans of the game. Fans of the advertisements. And fans of the half-time show. Speaking of the half-time show, this past week I heard a radio interview with a man who got a lot of attention for his part as one of two dancers dressed in shark costumes during the half-time show with pop star Katy Perry a couple of years ago.
Known as “left shark”, he created a buzz on social media because, in contrast to Perry and “right shark”, who were well choreographed, he was seen to be haphazardly flailing about. During the interview, he noted the artistic freedom Katy Perry encouraged and that, despite its appearance, his unusual performance was intentional. As the interview wrapped up he was asked to respond to viewers and critics who insist he messed up a dance routine at the Super Bowl and he said, “Don’t take life so seriously.”
While this could be taken as a dismissive or flippant reaction to criticism, I hear wisdom in the spirit of his words. Indeed, rather than the promotion of carelessness or indifference I hear a call to change the focus of our attention in life. From form to substance. And to remember the former serves the latter.
This morning, as throughout this church year the choir here at BUUC has been singings selections from Neely Bruce’s musical setting of the Bill of Rights, a document which itself if a form or structure intended to serve or support the ideals and execution of liberty and justice, the substance, if you will, of our nation.
Religion has its forms too. In speaking about form in religion, the eminent 19th C. Unitarian minister Theodore Parker said of religious forms, “They are the robe, not the angel, who may take another robe, quite as becoming and useful.” Parker dubbed religious forms, “transient.” That is, they can and do change over time. These include rituals, worship and spiritual practice and habits, doctrines, the teachings and directives of institutional leaders and councils, and as our own history and present remind us here at BUUC, the space in which we worship.
Though transient, forms, it is important to remember, are not useless or merely ornamental. As Parker wrote, they can be, “Useful and beautiful.” Indeed, one of the reasons houses of worship have the appearance they do… be it lavish or plain, massive or modest, comfortable or intimidating… is to serve or promote core ideals of the faith community that meets there.
Changes or interruptions, dependency or resistance to forms like the appearance or location of a faith community’s gathering place can be disruptive, but can also help a religious community see more clearly the true focus of its attention. That is, is it more concerns with the forms or the substance of their faith?
The same holds true for spiritual practices like prayer which, again, like most religious forms, are intended to serve substance or what Parker called, “the permanent” in religion, which transcends time and, when deeply engaged, transforms us. A a transient form, prayer is a doorway to the permanent. The problem is we human beings become more interested or focused on the doorway than where it leads.
We see this perfectly illustrated in our second reading, “Moses and the Shepherd.” Recall Moses gets all worked up about the form of the shepherd’s prayer. “Don’t talk to God about shoes and socks…like you’re chatting with your uncles”, he says to the shepherd. Moses take deep offense to the familiar form of the shepherd’s prayer, calling it, “Foolish and irreverent.” Moses admonishes the shepherd, demanding he, “Use appropriate terms when talking to God!”
Embarrassed and ashamed, the shepherd sighs and departs into the desert. A scene familiar well before and repeated countless times since this story was written in the 13th C. People exiled from meaningful religious experience by guardians of form.
Of course, its not always someone else who blocks us at the door or send us into exile. Sometimes we do it to ourselves.
If, as some suggest, too little deference to reason is the persistent trap of biblical literalism, then too much deference to reason may very well be the persistent trap of religious liberalism.
The 20th C. Jewish theologian Abraham Heschel observed, “The Search for reason ends at the known; on the immense expanse beyond it only the sense of the ineffable can glide. Reason cannot go beyond the shore….”
I recall now a man from a congregation I served some time ago. He and his wife had me over for dinner one night. In the midst of what had been pretty standard dinner conservation, he blurted, “Why should we love God?” I can almost remember stopping mid-chew. And, if not with words, then by the expression on my face, responding, “What?” He continued, “Your prayers. You always address them to Beloved.” He was certain I was using Beloved as a substitute term for God and seemed to want me to explain and presumably defend God. It wasn’t clear to me if he was seeking reassurance or to start a debate.
Nonetheless, I responded by asking him, “Who or what in our life calls you to awaken to and embrace your wholeness?” He remained silent. I continued, Beloved isn’t necessarily synonymous with God. Beloved is a what calls your attention, the most basic form of love, toward the substance, or what is most true in life. Which is the whole point of prayer. Addressing the prayer to beloved is simply calling, inviting that forward, allowing it to emerge. As the author of our responsive reading wrote, “….I prayed and the spirit of wisdom came to me.”
Now, for some, beloved may very well be God for which there are countless names and expressions and understandings. For others beloved may be that part of themselves that needs care, that needs recognition, that needs inclusion in your life. Still, for others, beloved might be the people seated next to you or the members, friends and visitors of the congregation…our faith community.
Beloved is simply a greeting offered at the threshold… beyond the shore of reason where we might hear the wisdom of our hearts. As Heschel notes, “We do not leave the shore of the known in search of adventure or suspense or because of the failure of reason to answer our questions. We sail because our mind is like a fantastic seashell, and when applying our ear to its lips we hear a perpetual murmur from the waves beyond the shore.”
To overthink forms like prayer or stop at words like beloved when it reaches our ear is to deny ourselves entry in that moment to the experience of that to which it points and which is in fact, beyond words. And to send ourselves into a self-imposed spiritual exile.
Thus Rumi, in the story of Moses and the Shepherd, cautions us against focusing too much on forms and taking them more seriously than the substance to which they’re intended to lead us. When God calls out Moses for scolding the shepherd over his style of prayer, God says, “You have separated me from one of my own. Did you come as a Prophet to unite, or to separate.”
In what is perhaps my favorite part of the story, God tells Moses, “I have given each being a separate and unique way of seeing and knowing and saying that knowledge. What seems wrong to you is right for him/her. What is poison to one is honey to someone else. Purity and impurity, sloth and diligence in worship, these mean nothing to Me. I am apart from all that.”
Moving past form toward substance is essential for sustained spiritual practice and growth. In his book, Simply Pray, Erik Walker Wikstrom, observes, “Experience precedes theology. Rather than trying to fit experience into a predefined concept, we can define the concepts only in light of what we have learned in our lives.” Thus with regard to religious forms like prayer, he suggests, “Stop listening for something and start simply listening.”
Which is an especially good practice, particularly if we’re not sure what to say or to whom or what we’re directing our words or attention. For in the story of Moses and The Shepherd, God even says, “I don’t hear the words they say…I look inside at the humility. That broken-open lowliness is the reality, NOT the language!” A sentiment echoed in our opening hymn this morning, “Though I may speak with bravest fire, And have the gift to all inspire, And have not love, my words are vain, As sounding brass, and hopeless gain.” And what is love?
“Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth.” (1 Cor. 14:4-6) Sounds an awful lot like humility and broken-open lowliness… or what we might call today, our human vulnerability.
Thus are we reminded the spiritual life is lived, nurtured and sustained in the realm of our deepest human experience. That our minds are able to conceptualize and create forms to aide our awakening to this reality is a wonderful and amazing thing.
But, let us not make of our ability a burden or barrier. Let us not take it so seriously that we mistake or substitute the forms we create for the substance of life which we did not and cannot create…The permanent, which in the brief time between our common entrance and way out of this world (Wisdom of Solomon 7), we are invited to experience, fully. May it be so.
Amen and Blessed Be
Sermon given at the Brookfield Unitarian Universalist Church
February 4, 2018
by The Rev. Craig M. Nowak
It’s Super Bowl Sunday…a day that is arguably the closest thing we have in the United States to a national holy day of obligation. And observers of this annual ritual are not limited to fans of the game. Indeed, they seem to fall into one or more of at least three groups. Fans of the game. Fans of the advertisements. And fans of the half-time show. Speaking of the half-time show, this past week I heard a radio interview with a man who got a lot of attention for his part as one of two dancers dressed in shark costumes during the half-time show with pop star Katy Perry a couple of years ago.
Known as “left shark”, he created a buzz on social media because, in contrast to Perry and “right shark”, who were well choreographed, he was seen to be haphazardly flailing about. During the interview, he noted the artistic freedom Katy Perry encouraged and that, despite its appearance, his unusual performance was intentional. As the interview wrapped up he was asked to respond to viewers and critics who insist he messed up a dance routine at the Super Bowl and he said, “Don’t take life so seriously.”
While this could be taken as a dismissive or flippant reaction to criticism, I hear wisdom in the spirit of his words. Indeed, rather than the promotion of carelessness or indifference I hear a call to change the focus of our attention in life. From form to substance. And to remember the former serves the latter.
This morning, as throughout this church year the choir here at BUUC has been singings selections from Neely Bruce’s musical setting of the Bill of Rights, a document which itself if a form or structure intended to serve or support the ideals and execution of liberty and justice, the substance, if you will, of our nation.
Religion has its forms too. In speaking about form in religion, the eminent 19th C. Unitarian minister Theodore Parker said of religious forms, “They are the robe, not the angel, who may take another robe, quite as becoming and useful.” Parker dubbed religious forms, “transient.” That is, they can and do change over time. These include rituals, worship and spiritual practice and habits, doctrines, the teachings and directives of institutional leaders and councils, and as our own history and present remind us here at BUUC, the space in which we worship.
Though transient, forms, it is important to remember, are not useless or merely ornamental. As Parker wrote, they can be, “Useful and beautiful.” Indeed, one of the reasons houses of worship have the appearance they do… be it lavish or plain, massive or modest, comfortable or intimidating… is to serve or promote core ideals of the faith community that meets there.
Changes or interruptions, dependency or resistance to forms like the appearance or location of a faith community’s gathering place can be disruptive, but can also help a religious community see more clearly the true focus of its attention. That is, is it more concerns with the forms or the substance of their faith?
The same holds true for spiritual practices like prayer which, again, like most religious forms, are intended to serve substance or what Parker called, “the permanent” in religion, which transcends time and, when deeply engaged, transforms us. A a transient form, prayer is a doorway to the permanent. The problem is we human beings become more interested or focused on the doorway than where it leads.
We see this perfectly illustrated in our second reading, “Moses and the Shepherd.” Recall Moses gets all worked up about the form of the shepherd’s prayer. “Don’t talk to God about shoes and socks…like you’re chatting with your uncles”, he says to the shepherd. Moses take deep offense to the familiar form of the shepherd’s prayer, calling it, “Foolish and irreverent.” Moses admonishes the shepherd, demanding he, “Use appropriate terms when talking to God!”
Embarrassed and ashamed, the shepherd sighs and departs into the desert. A scene familiar well before and repeated countless times since this story was written in the 13th C. People exiled from meaningful religious experience by guardians of form.
Of course, its not always someone else who blocks us at the door or send us into exile. Sometimes we do it to ourselves.
If, as some suggest, too little deference to reason is the persistent trap of biblical literalism, then too much deference to reason may very well be the persistent trap of religious liberalism.
The 20th C. Jewish theologian Abraham Heschel observed, “The Search for reason ends at the known; on the immense expanse beyond it only the sense of the ineffable can glide. Reason cannot go beyond the shore….”
I recall now a man from a congregation I served some time ago. He and his wife had me over for dinner one night. In the midst of what had been pretty standard dinner conservation, he blurted, “Why should we love God?” I can almost remember stopping mid-chew. And, if not with words, then by the expression on my face, responding, “What?” He continued, “Your prayers. You always address them to Beloved.” He was certain I was using Beloved as a substitute term for God and seemed to want me to explain and presumably defend God. It wasn’t clear to me if he was seeking reassurance or to start a debate.
Nonetheless, I responded by asking him, “Who or what in our life calls you to awaken to and embrace your wholeness?” He remained silent. I continued, Beloved isn’t necessarily synonymous with God. Beloved is a what calls your attention, the most basic form of love, toward the substance, or what is most true in life. Which is the whole point of prayer. Addressing the prayer to beloved is simply calling, inviting that forward, allowing it to emerge. As the author of our responsive reading wrote, “….I prayed and the spirit of wisdom came to me.”
Now, for some, beloved may very well be God for which there are countless names and expressions and understandings. For others beloved may be that part of themselves that needs care, that needs recognition, that needs inclusion in your life. Still, for others, beloved might be the people seated next to you or the members, friends and visitors of the congregation…our faith community.
Beloved is simply a greeting offered at the threshold… beyond the shore of reason where we might hear the wisdom of our hearts. As Heschel notes, “We do not leave the shore of the known in search of adventure or suspense or because of the failure of reason to answer our questions. We sail because our mind is like a fantastic seashell, and when applying our ear to its lips we hear a perpetual murmur from the waves beyond the shore.”
To overthink forms like prayer or stop at words like beloved when it reaches our ear is to deny ourselves entry in that moment to the experience of that to which it points and which is in fact, beyond words. And to send ourselves into a self-imposed spiritual exile.
Thus Rumi, in the story of Moses and the Shepherd, cautions us against focusing too much on forms and taking them more seriously than the substance to which they’re intended to lead us. When God calls out Moses for scolding the shepherd over his style of prayer, God says, “You have separated me from one of my own. Did you come as a Prophet to unite, or to separate.”
In what is perhaps my favorite part of the story, God tells Moses, “I have given each being a separate and unique way of seeing and knowing and saying that knowledge. What seems wrong to you is right for him/her. What is poison to one is honey to someone else. Purity and impurity, sloth and diligence in worship, these mean nothing to Me. I am apart from all that.”
Moving past form toward substance is essential for sustained spiritual practice and growth. In his book, Simply Pray, Erik Walker Wikstrom, observes, “Experience precedes theology. Rather than trying to fit experience into a predefined concept, we can define the concepts only in light of what we have learned in our lives.” Thus with regard to religious forms like prayer, he suggests, “Stop listening for something and start simply listening.”
Which is an especially good practice, particularly if we’re not sure what to say or to whom or what we’re directing our words or attention. For in the story of Moses and The Shepherd, God even says, “I don’t hear the words they say…I look inside at the humility. That broken-open lowliness is the reality, NOT the language!” A sentiment echoed in our opening hymn this morning, “Though I may speak with bravest fire, And have the gift to all inspire, And have not love, my words are vain, As sounding brass, and hopeless gain.” And what is love?
“Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth.” (1 Cor. 14:4-6) Sounds an awful lot like humility and broken-open lowliness… or what we might call today, our human vulnerability.
Thus are we reminded the spiritual life is lived, nurtured and sustained in the realm of our deepest human experience. That our minds are able to conceptualize and create forms to aide our awakening to this reality is a wonderful and amazing thing.
But, let us not make of our ability a burden or barrier. Let us not take it so seriously that we mistake or substitute the forms we create for the substance of life which we did not and cannot create…The permanent, which in the brief time between our common entrance and way out of this world (Wisdom of Solomon 7), we are invited to experience, fully. May it be so.
Amen and Blessed Be
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