Spirituality
Sermon (slightly edited) given at the Brookfield Unitarian-Universalist Church
October 9, 2016
By John Kennison
One year ago, I gave a sermon on the four basic pathways to spiritual growth. Later, I'll remind all of us what the pathways are. Now, I will describe a possible way to think about spirituality and how it works and why it is important.
Spirituality involves our need to connect to nature, to others and to things bigger than ourselves. However, our yearning for connection is opposed by a force that pulls us in the opposite direction. This opposing force might be called our tendency to be self-centered, or our egotism or even our instinct for self-preservation. If we give in to this opposing force and fail to connect to things outside of ourselves, we find that life loses its meaning and we become depressed.
Rev. Craig's sermon, Life Incarnate, talks about this. Much of the energy in Craig's sermon flows from a poem by William Stafford that starts with the words:
Some time when the river is ice ask me mistakes I have made.
Dissecting a poem is risky --it can reduce a spiritual adventure to an academic exercise. But sometimes it can help. So, I am going to suggest that the river represents our need to make connections. When we neglect this need, we feel a kind of emptiness--a sense that we are left with a network of obligations that no longer satisfy. These are the times when the river is ice. The times when we need to revitalize our spiritual dimension, which is described as a consciousness far deeper than ordinary thought.
A UU course in spirituality, given here by Rev Sara and me, vividly demonstrates that we humans are deeply and fundamentally spiritual. The evidence of our tendency to connect is everywhere. When we take a walk in the woods –we are alert to the signs of nature --we relate to its beauty and possible dangers and opportunities. And when we are with other people –we yearn to fit in and build community. And we respond deeply to stories. We don't just hear the story, we connect to the story. We identify with the heroes, feeling both their pain and their triumphs.
There seems to be a paradox here. Human beings have apparently evolved as animals with a spiritual side that transcends survival, yet evolution is supposed to increase our ability to survive. I want to briefly resolve this apparent contradiction and, in so doing, to describe the kind of connections that can enrich us.
Long ago, leopards, baboons, and other creatures lived on the savannas or grasslands of Africa. A baboon has powerful jaws with long, lethal teeth, but, alone, is no match for a leopard, who is fast and has sharp claws in addition to sharp teeth. But baboons lived in groups of 50 to 100. And when a baboon is being stalked by a leopard, the members of the group will usually come to the rescue. It is risky to charge the leopard, who might take down several baboons before being mortally wounded. But it works; the leopard can't avoid a whole bunch of powerful jaws. However, evolution asks the question whether taking part in these heroic charges make it more likely for a baboon to survive. Wouldn't the selfish baboon who is deathly afraid of leopards be better off? But selfish baboons may find the group reluctant to rescue them when they need it. And if no one in the group is willing to help a baboon in danger, the leopards will figure this out and visit the group more often --making it difficult for the whole group to survive. Evolution favors baboons who are both deathly afraid of leopards, yet who also have inner resources to overcome this fear when it's for the good of the group. The same dynamic applies to early humans, who also lived on the savannas in groups of 50 to 100. Early humans did not have long powerful teeth, but they knew how to make primitive weapons and how to swing a club. And for both baboons and early humans, a meaningful connection that lets us tap into our inner resources is one for which we are willing to risk our lives. For modern humans, the test is not so severe --we do not always have to put our lives on the line. The change in human life happened when we invented agriculture. Instead of walking great distances to hunt and gather, we kept the edible plants and animals on the farm. Places with fertile soil and access to fresh water developed into cities. Suddenly there was no longer a small group to watch our every move --there were too many humans in the city to make this feasible. We began to experience a wonderful freedom, but the price of that freedom was a deep sense of loneliness. We still miss the closely-knit groups with whom we roamed the savannas and for whom we would give our lives. We no longer have to show such loyalty, but if we get too self-centered, we run the risk of finding that life without some kind of heroic action is empty --of finding that the river is ice. And that's when we need to repair our spirits and to find meaning in life.
Our spiritual development often feels like a journey. Maybe this is because prehistoric humans had to walk great distances to keep pace with the herds. Maybe it was on these great treks that we learned how to bond. I remember the recent summer service when David Peterkin described what it was like to hike for more than 5 months on the Appalachian Trail. Hikers who hadn't known each other before, discovered it was part of their nature to bond together on the trail. That hike was a journey back to the roots of human spirituality.
Sometimes spirituality is seen as a journey to heaven --not as a place we might go to after we die, but as a place where humans are always full of love. Because of practical considerations, it's hard to create a heaven on Earth. But we can easily create hell on Earth just by being completely self-centered. Carol Mays wrote the following poem which illustrates the dilemma we face:
Touches of Heaven
A lilac branch with intoxicating blooms,
a dainty, intricate, fragrant rose--
to write about them seems frivolous,
irrelevant in a troubled, fast-paced world.
No, there are too many battles to fight
to focus at all on delicate things.
But shall we dismiss a little girl’s bouquet,
when such sweet touches are our salvation--
nudges that lead away from hell.
The paths they point to are essential,
hardly negligible at all.
I'm not going to tell you to abandon all practical concerns in order to make a spiritual journey. And I'm not going to tell you that your journey will be risk-free. And I'm not even going to say that you are obliged to make a spiritual journey--you will automatically form some kind of spirituality by the way you live. It's in your interest to make that spirituality deep and rewarding. I will close by briefly describing the four kinds of successful spiritual journeys:
In the Journey of Devotion, you devote yourself to God. How you feel about the God concept might determine whether this journey is right for you. But intellectual belief or disbelief is not what's involved. Devotion to God, or maybe even a sense of a God-like presence that watches your every move, will give you the courage to act heroically. And that's much of what spirituality is all about --the courage to act heroically --the courage to live life to the full.
In the Journey of Unity, you act on a belief that all human beings are deeply interconnected. Mere intellectual belief is not enough, you need to act. Albert Schweitzer traced much of our morality to the principle of Reverence for Life. Despite having outstanding musical and academic careers, he studied to become a physician then founded, equipped and served in a free hospital in Lambarene, Africa.
In the Journey of Works, you care for others --in the workplace, in your social life or within your family, because caring for others is the essence of spirituality. I remember Robyn Vincent's summer service on this topic. Care not only involves a lot of work, it also involves a lot of love, which gives you the necessary energy.
In the Mystical Journey, you accept that there are many things beyond your understanding, and sometimes logic and careful planning must give way to wonder and a spirit of adventure so you can directly experience the mysteries of life. I remember Ruth Bolton's summer service about the deeply spiritual life of the artist Vincent Van Gogh.
Perhaps one of these journeys will feel just right for you.
Sermon (slightly edited) given at the Brookfield Unitarian-Universalist Church
October 9, 2016
By John Kennison
One year ago, I gave a sermon on the four basic pathways to spiritual growth. Later, I'll remind all of us what the pathways are. Now, I will describe a possible way to think about spirituality and how it works and why it is important.
Spirituality involves our need to connect to nature, to others and to things bigger than ourselves. However, our yearning for connection is opposed by a force that pulls us in the opposite direction. This opposing force might be called our tendency to be self-centered, or our egotism or even our instinct for self-preservation. If we give in to this opposing force and fail to connect to things outside of ourselves, we find that life loses its meaning and we become depressed.
Rev. Craig's sermon, Life Incarnate, talks about this. Much of the energy in Craig's sermon flows from a poem by William Stafford that starts with the words:
Some time when the river is ice ask me mistakes I have made.
Dissecting a poem is risky --it can reduce a spiritual adventure to an academic exercise. But sometimes it can help. So, I am going to suggest that the river represents our need to make connections. When we neglect this need, we feel a kind of emptiness--a sense that we are left with a network of obligations that no longer satisfy. These are the times when the river is ice. The times when we need to revitalize our spiritual dimension, which is described as a consciousness far deeper than ordinary thought.
A UU course in spirituality, given here by Rev Sara and me, vividly demonstrates that we humans are deeply and fundamentally spiritual. The evidence of our tendency to connect is everywhere. When we take a walk in the woods –we are alert to the signs of nature --we relate to its beauty and possible dangers and opportunities. And when we are with other people –we yearn to fit in and build community. And we respond deeply to stories. We don't just hear the story, we connect to the story. We identify with the heroes, feeling both their pain and their triumphs.
There seems to be a paradox here. Human beings have apparently evolved as animals with a spiritual side that transcends survival, yet evolution is supposed to increase our ability to survive. I want to briefly resolve this apparent contradiction and, in so doing, to describe the kind of connections that can enrich us.
Long ago, leopards, baboons, and other creatures lived on the savannas or grasslands of Africa. A baboon has powerful jaws with long, lethal teeth, but, alone, is no match for a leopard, who is fast and has sharp claws in addition to sharp teeth. But baboons lived in groups of 50 to 100. And when a baboon is being stalked by a leopard, the members of the group will usually come to the rescue. It is risky to charge the leopard, who might take down several baboons before being mortally wounded. But it works; the leopard can't avoid a whole bunch of powerful jaws. However, evolution asks the question whether taking part in these heroic charges make it more likely for a baboon to survive. Wouldn't the selfish baboon who is deathly afraid of leopards be better off? But selfish baboons may find the group reluctant to rescue them when they need it. And if no one in the group is willing to help a baboon in danger, the leopards will figure this out and visit the group more often --making it difficult for the whole group to survive. Evolution favors baboons who are both deathly afraid of leopards, yet who also have inner resources to overcome this fear when it's for the good of the group. The same dynamic applies to early humans, who also lived on the savannas in groups of 50 to 100. Early humans did not have long powerful teeth, but they knew how to make primitive weapons and how to swing a club. And for both baboons and early humans, a meaningful connection that lets us tap into our inner resources is one for which we are willing to risk our lives. For modern humans, the test is not so severe --we do not always have to put our lives on the line. The change in human life happened when we invented agriculture. Instead of walking great distances to hunt and gather, we kept the edible plants and animals on the farm. Places with fertile soil and access to fresh water developed into cities. Suddenly there was no longer a small group to watch our every move --there were too many humans in the city to make this feasible. We began to experience a wonderful freedom, but the price of that freedom was a deep sense of loneliness. We still miss the closely-knit groups with whom we roamed the savannas and for whom we would give our lives. We no longer have to show such loyalty, but if we get too self-centered, we run the risk of finding that life without some kind of heroic action is empty --of finding that the river is ice. And that's when we need to repair our spirits and to find meaning in life.
Our spiritual development often feels like a journey. Maybe this is because prehistoric humans had to walk great distances to keep pace with the herds. Maybe it was on these great treks that we learned how to bond. I remember the recent summer service when David Peterkin described what it was like to hike for more than 5 months on the Appalachian Trail. Hikers who hadn't known each other before, discovered it was part of their nature to bond together on the trail. That hike was a journey back to the roots of human spirituality.
Sometimes spirituality is seen as a journey to heaven --not as a place we might go to after we die, but as a place where humans are always full of love. Because of practical considerations, it's hard to create a heaven on Earth. But we can easily create hell on Earth just by being completely self-centered. Carol Mays wrote the following poem which illustrates the dilemma we face:
Touches of Heaven
A lilac branch with intoxicating blooms,
a dainty, intricate, fragrant rose--
to write about them seems frivolous,
irrelevant in a troubled, fast-paced world.
No, there are too many battles to fight
to focus at all on delicate things.
But shall we dismiss a little girl’s bouquet,
when such sweet touches are our salvation--
nudges that lead away from hell.
The paths they point to are essential,
hardly negligible at all.
I'm not going to tell you to abandon all practical concerns in order to make a spiritual journey. And I'm not going to tell you that your journey will be risk-free. And I'm not even going to say that you are obliged to make a spiritual journey--you will automatically form some kind of spirituality by the way you live. It's in your interest to make that spirituality deep and rewarding. I will close by briefly describing the four kinds of successful spiritual journeys:
In the Journey of Devotion, you devote yourself to God. How you feel about the God concept might determine whether this journey is right for you. But intellectual belief or disbelief is not what's involved. Devotion to God, or maybe even a sense of a God-like presence that watches your every move, will give you the courage to act heroically. And that's much of what spirituality is all about --the courage to act heroically --the courage to live life to the full.
In the Journey of Unity, you act on a belief that all human beings are deeply interconnected. Mere intellectual belief is not enough, you need to act. Albert Schweitzer traced much of our morality to the principle of Reverence for Life. Despite having outstanding musical and academic careers, he studied to become a physician then founded, equipped and served in a free hospital in Lambarene, Africa.
In the Journey of Works, you care for others --in the workplace, in your social life or within your family, because caring for others is the essence of spirituality. I remember Robyn Vincent's summer service on this topic. Care not only involves a lot of work, it also involves a lot of love, which gives you the necessary energy.
In the Mystical Journey, you accept that there are many things beyond your understanding, and sometimes logic and careful planning must give way to wonder and a spirit of adventure so you can directly experience the mysteries of life. I remember Ruth Bolton's summer service about the deeply spiritual life of the artist Vincent Van Gogh.
Perhaps one of these journeys will feel just right for you.
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