Call to Worship [the words of Stephen C. Jett]:
“The thoughts of the earth are our thoughts.
The voice of the earth is our voice.
The bodily strength of the earth is our bodily strength.
We are the sacred words of the earth.
It is lovely indeed.”
The Morning Reading, from Norman Maclean’s, A River Runs Through It:
“Of course now I am too old to be much of a fisherman. And now, of course I usually fish the big waters alone, although some friends think I shouldn’t. Like many fly fisherman in western Montana, where the summer days are almost Arctic in length, I often do not start fishing until the cool of the evening. Then, in the Arctic half-light of the canyon, all existence fades to a being with my soul and memories, and the sounds of the Big Blackfoot River, and a four-count rhythm, and the hope that a fish will rise. Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world’s great floods, and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs. I am haunted by waters.”
The Morning Sermon:
Because I was an undergrad in danger of flunking geology; and because I was young and open to the experience of going on an adventure with a bus full of people I barely knew; and because I had grown up running around out-of-doors, chasing leaves and sticks down rolling streams, and gazing up at the stars; and because the hymn we sang this morning taught me, as a little girl, that the natural world is alive with God’s glad voice; I signed up for a geology fieldtrip to the Black Hills of West Virginia, in the spring of 1980, and then I actually got on the bus. I began the trip so the extra credit and seeing the rocks in their natural environment would save my grade. I ended up meeting Mother Earth.
I got on the bus to find the group was only two other women (best friends with each other and not interested in talking to me) plus all the Petroleum Engineering majors, who, I think, were also the college’s baseball team. Baseballs come to mind, in any event, because the guys were all chewing tobacco which made one side of their faces bulge out like there was a baseball in their cheek. Where were they spitting the tobacco juice? I didn’t know nor care to find out. But when we arrived at the campsite, my spirits improved, as the hills were so much more beautiful than I’d imagined they would be. The air seemed to sparkle with light and color, and the sound of rushing water surrounded us. We were there to notice the variations in the rocks-- types, formations, textures, and ages. Our teacher’s delight in all these things made the learning fun for us. The trip was one of the highlights of his year. He was on homeground; among old friends… A woman he knew from the area had a little blond girl, perhaps about six years old, I think her name was Cathy. I think I saw myself in that little girl. On the bank of the river, I told the little girl, “If you find a stone that’s smooth and flat and oval, and throw it sideways just like this, it will skip across the water.” I threw the stone, and it skipped just like I’d said it would. She was impressed, and tried it a few times herself. Then I said to her, “If we turn over this big rock here, there will be worms and bugs under it.” We turned it over and, just like I’d said, worms and bugs! She was starting to think I was pretty smart. Our teacher was able to show us rock formations with gradations in them from eruptions and climate changes from more years than I could ever count. They dwarfed us, those rocks towering above our heads. They made me feel like the struggles in my little life were like sand in someone’s palm blown away with one breath…
The earliest forms of religions in the world were based on the belief that the natural world is alive with souls or spirits. This way of being religious is called, “animism,” whereas religions based on the written text of a sacred book are called, ‘historical religions.” In their book, Religions of the World, Lewis M. Hopfe and Mark R. Woodward write:
“The belief that nature is alive with spirits that have feelings and can be communicated with is one of the most common to human religious experience. In many basic religions (also called primal religions), people believe that they are not the only spirit—that animals, trees, stones, rivers, mountains, the heavenly bodies, the seas, and the earth itself have anima (spirit). It is also believed that these spirits communicate, can be flattered or offended, and can either help or hurt humans. These spirits are therefore believed to be personal. The development of technology and the spread of historical religions have not eliminated these beliefs. Many Christians, Muslims, and Buddhists believe that spirits have the ability to bless or alternatively curse human beings. On the basis of an animistic understanding of life, basic religions and many advanced religions have revered or openly worshiped nearly everything in nature. Almost any animal one can think of has at some time or another been worshiped; stones have been worshiped or have been the sites where gods have spoken to people or received the blood of their sacrifices; mountains have frequently been the objects of worship or the places of revelation; the seas and the creatures in them have been objects of veneration…; the heavenly bodies –the sun, moon, and stars-- play a part in nearly every religion; and fire, water, and the earth itself have become objects of worship or important elements in worship. The list of animistic expressions is almost endless. Modern people place historic stones at the corners of their new buildings; they build expensive, elaborate, useless fireplaces. Christians bring evergreen trees into their homes to celebrate Christmas, even though there is no connection between an evergreen tree and the birth of Jesus; Muslims walk around the sacred black stone and kiss it during their pilgrimage to Mecca; Hindus bathe in the sacred river Ganges… Christians and even secular Americans go on pilgrimages to the graves of presidents and rock stars; and on and on. The animistic understanding of life is one of the most pervasive and influential of all of the impulses of mankind—religious and non-religious.” [pp. 21,22]
Back when I was on that geology fieldtrip, twenty-seven years ago, our Unitarian Universalist principles and sources had not yet been formalized in writing. But our UU predecessors looked to the natural world for spiritual inspiration, predecessors including Emerson, Thoreau, Margaret Fuller, and other Transcendentalists. When our principles were formally adopted by the UUA in the mid 1980s, the seventh one completed them with, “We covenant to affirm and promote respect for the interdependent web of all existence of which we are a part.” Many UUs interpret this principle as a religious call to be good stewards of the earth and care for our natural resources. Our sixth source from which we draw wisdom and inspiration, adopted in 1995, is, “Spiritual teachings of Earth-centered traditions which celebrate the sacred circle of life and instruct us to live in harmony with the rhythms of nature.” That source affirms the spiritual beliefs and practices of Native Americans and Pagans. Our sixth source is also at the heart of Taoism, an ancient Eastern spiritual and philosophical tradition. Taoism
is the belief that there is a life-force which flows through nature, called the Tao-- a force which is constantly trying to create harmony, balance, and unity. It is that which is in nature and causes healing. The ultimate goal of Taoism is to achieve oneness with the Tao and with nature. Taoists believe that there is a pre-existing natural beauty, order, and purpose to the world, and that we alienate ourselves from that order by trying to impose our will upon it, hence we live in chaos and dissonance. How does one achieve harmony with the Tao? One way is to go somewhere where human beings have no influence, observe that place, and let it teach you. Taoists believe that just by living there, attuned to the weather and the seasons, you will be patterned in a much healthier way. Both Emerson and Thoreau practiced this method of achieving spiritual harmony and bliss.
All of these authoritative sources say that animism is a pervasive and deep human impulse. If despite all that, some of you are sitting there thinking, “Not in me it isn’t! A rock is just an unthinking rock; a river is just an unfeeling river; and thunder and lightning don’t think or care either--” then I understand that. There are definitely times when that’s exactly how I feel-- And then there are other times when I imagine otherwise. A perplexing example of this in my life was when, a year ago, I had to give up my old Ford, because it had rusted beyond repair. I was extremely emotional about having to give up that car. –so much so in fact, that I talked to my mentor about how emotional I was. “Jennie-- It’s just a hunk of metal,” she said. A perfectly reasonable answer, I thought, so I tried to think of my car as just a hunk of metal. I found that I couldn’t. That car had gotten me through my internship, it had moved me to Winchendon, it had gotten me through my first six years of ministry (which involved a lot driving). I had come to view my old Ford as a companion who provided me with emotional support, who helped me feel brave and strong in challenging situations. So, since trying to think of my car as just a hunk of metal didn’t work, I decided I would accept that it held potent emotions for me. And, since I had to let go of it, I began to think instead about what in my first six years of ministry I should let go of-- The short answer to that question is that I realized I wasn’t a rookie minister anymore; I was a veteran minister. And a new stage of professional ministry could equal in my mind a new car. So even when we are very set against inanimate objects possessing spirits or emotions, we can still stretch our imaginations in that direction toward helpful and healing ends. One way to evaluate whether a religious belief system is worthy or not is to see if applying it is helpful and healing in your life and for the wider community. As I said a minute ago, I’ve never had a strong, consistent tendency to think of rocks and rivers having souls. Yet in many of my favorite poems and lyrics, the writer is imagining that they do. And those poems and lyrics have provided me with the comforting sense that there is a spirit of life in nature that empathizes with my lot in life, and wants me to become my best self. As Maya Angelou wrote in her poem for the 1993 Presidential Inaugural called, “On the Pulse of Morning:”
There is a true yearning
to respond to
the singing River and the wise Rock.
So say the Asian, the
Hispanic, the Jew
The African and Native American, the Sioux,
The
Catholic, the Muslim, the French, the Greek
The Irish, the Rabbi,
the Priest, the Sheikh,
The Gay, the Straight, the Preacher,
The
privileged, the homeless, the Teacher.
They hear. They all hear
They all hear
the speaking of the Tree.
They hear the first and
last of every Tree
speak to humankind today, saying.
Come to me, here beside the River. Plant yourself beside the River.
Each of you, descendant of some passed on traveler, has been paid for…
Here, root yourselves beside me.
I am the Tree planted by the River, which will not be moved.
I, the Rock, I the River, I the Tree I am yours--your Passages have been paid.
Lift up your faces, you
have a piercing need
for this bright morning dawning for you.
History, despite its
wrenching pain, cannot be unlived, but if faced
with courage, need
not be lived again.
Lift up your eyes upon this day breaking for you.
Give birth again to the dream.
Women, children, men-- Take it into the palms of your hands.
Mold it into the shape
of your most private need. Sculpt it into
The image of your most
public self.
Lift up your hearts
Each new hour holds new
chances for a new beginning...
The horizon leans
forward,
Offering you space to place new steps of change.
Here,
on the pulse of this fine day
You may have the courage
To look
up and out upon me, the
Rock, the River, the Tree, your country.
No less to Midas than the mendicant.
No less to you now than the mastodon then.
Here on the pulse
of this new day
You may have the grace to look up and out
And
into your sister's eyes, and into
your brother's face, your
country
And say simply Very simply With hope
Good morning.
When darkness fell, on that geology fieldtrip, we heard the sound of authentic bluegrass music from a pub nearby. We walked over, and into the midst of it-- I knew I was in the presence of the genuine article-- People who lived in the hills playing the music of the hills. The fiddler’s name was Johnny-- I think in bluegrass bands in West Virginia the fiddler has to be named Johnny-- It’s the law. I remember they played, “Will the circle / be unbroken / by and by Lord by and by? There’s a better home a-waitin’ / in the sky, Lord, in the sky.” And
“Daddy won't
you take me back to Mulenberg county
Down by the Green River,
where Paradise lay
Well I'm sorry my son, but you're too late in
askin'
Mr. Peabody's coal train has hauled it away.” And
“I wish
that I was on old Rocky Top / Down in the Tennessee hills
Ain't no smoggy smoke on Rocky Top / Ain't no telephone bills /
Rocky Top you'll always be / Home sweet home to me
Good old Rocky Top / Rocky Top Tennessee
I've had years of cramped up city life / Trapped like a duck in a pen
All I know is it's a pity life / Can't be simple again
All I know is I’d love to live that weekend all over again-- That night we all slept in one big room-- The guys told jokes in the dark-- I’ll save re-telling the jokes until coffee hour. Then we fell asleep with no hum of electricity around us; and there was much snoring. The next morning, on our way back to the bus, we followed a waterfall made by an energetic stream-- Its playfulness was contagious-- We splashed as we ran down, not caring that our sneakers got soaked and squishy with the cool water. At the base of it, where the water collected in a gurgling pool, I looked down, through the splashing water, and there were rainbows shining all around me. I was clothed in crescents of colors.
Because I was in danger of flunking geology; and because I was young and open to going on an adventure; and because I had grown up running down rolling streams; and because the hymn we sang this morning taught me that nature is alive with God’s glad voice; I went on a geology fieldtrip. In the end, I met Mother Earth, and she blessed my heart.
Benediction:
“What is life? It is a flash of a firefly in the night. It is the breath of a buffalo in the wintertime. It is the little shadow which runs across the grass and loses itself in the sunset.” [Crowfoot, last words, 1890]