Awakening
As we warm up to the new year, we have another opportunity to renew the search for truth and meaning. Mystery and wonder might wake us up at any moment. Changes around us, cultivated awareness, and moments of surprise are some of the ways that we might be awakened to the splendor of this world.
More often than I would like as I am going about my day, I realize that I have been in a kind of waking sleep. I will complete tasks automatically. I will drive on autopilot. Hours will go by before I look up past my immediate concern. This is unfortunate, because the world is an amazing place. Luckily, there are a few things that can wake me up to the mystery and wonder of being alive.
Glimpses of water will often call me back to myself. When I lived in San Francisco, we had a third-floor apartment in the middle of the city. Some days, the fog from the west would frame the view from our window in soft focus. On clear days, though, we could see a flashing line on the horizon to the east, the San Francisco Bay. Then I would remember where I was and the blessings that had brought me to that moment.
I commuted to Sacramento the first year I served the UU Society there, and after I moved I still did a fair amount of driving to and from the city. Sacramento is in a river valley, toward the center of the state rather than the coast. Coming in from the west on I-80, there is a causeway over a flood plain. Some parts of the year, it’s like skimming over a pond, just a few feet above the water. Other parts of the year, rice fields surround the highway, a lake in the distance promising irrigation during the hot, dry Sacramento summer. I grew to anticipate the seasonal changes in my glimpses of water, counting on them to remind me where and when I was, along with the blessings that had brought me to that moment.
In the neighborhood where I live in Baltimore, land is interlaced with creeks and streams in the Jones Falls Watershed. When the weather is warmer, one of my motivations for walking to the grocery store or the light rail station is so that I can stop and look at the water. I notice how the level rises and falls with rain and snow, the waters rushing on some days and dawdling on others. Stones are worn smooth. A kaleidoscope of light moves across the water throughout the year as leaves on the trees above sprout, broaden in the summer, and disappear. I feel connected to my home, and to the bay where these streams are headed. Glimpses of water in my neighborhood remind me where and when and who I am, along with the blessings that have brought me to this moment.
Awareness of the present moment is one way to awaken to transcending mystery and wonder. In those moments of focus, we understand that this time and this place and our relationships are all connected in a web of life. One of our gifts as Unitarian Universalists is encouragement to explore that mystery with free minds and hearts. We might find ourselves called to begin or renew that search in a variety of ways. Changes in environment or circumstance or time, like the seasons of flooding and growing, can prompt a new perspective. Cultivating awareness with a practice like walking or meditating or gratitude can open us up to a sense of wonder. Sometimes, we are awakened by random beauty, glitter on the horizon or patterns of light on water.
As we warm up to the new year, we have another opportunity to renew the search for truth and meaning. Mystery and wonder might wake us up at any moment. Changes around us, cultivated awareness, and moments of surprise are some of the ways that we might be awakened to the splendor of this world.
Awakened by Changes Around Us
Change in the environment can nudge us from autopilot into amazement. Shifts in perspective come with the changes in the seasons of the year and the seasons of our lives. These differences accumulate slowly over time, but holidays and rites of passage invite us to celebrate the wonder of each turn around the spiral. When someone close to us is born, comes of age, or marries, we have a chance to marvel at the gift of their presence in our lives. Challenging changes can also bring a sense of awe at the mysteries of life, perhaps more often in retrospect than during the struggle.
This morning’s story has two perspectives, one of the sun, who rests in the arms of Mother Night and is reborn at the winter solstice, the other of the humans marking the turn of the year. (The story is “The Rebirth of the Sun” by Starhawk, found in Circle Round: Raising Children in Goddess Traditions.) For the children in the story, the growing darkness launched them on their quest. The elders had seen this before, and had some ideas about how to respond. Perhaps their guidance was enough to turn something scary into an awakening. At the end, the sun and the world seemed new and strong to the humans.
The story reminds me of the famous E. E. Cummings poem, especially the parenthetical second stanza, where he writes:
(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun’s birthday; this is the birth
day of life and love and wings; and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)
(More of this poem can be found in reading #504 in Singing the Living Tradition.)
In the poem, the speaker has been through something he identifies as death. As a reader, I can imagine that it was a significant loss, or a struggle with his soul. Like the children in the story, facing the frightening time gives way to renewal and awareness. The poet writes:
(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)
There is some alchemy of challenges that are difficult but surmountable, support from trusted people, and openness to mystery that makes it possible for change in our environment to lead to awakening. It seems that all three ingredients are needed.
I was in such a situation during my last year in seminary, my internship year. As I was looking ahead to completing my studies, I faced a daunting gateway: the Ministerial Fellowship Committee or MFC. This is a UUA Board-appointed committee that handles credentialing and fellowshipping of UU ministers. Congregations retain the sole right to do the actual ordaining of ministers and to call the ministers they choose.
In the interview, members of the committee ask content questions about sacred texts, the nuts and bolts of congregational life, world religions, UUA bylaws, religious education, and UU history. They also ask “what-if” questions about situations that may come up in the profession, and they ask personal questions to make sure the candidate is balanced and resilient enough to handle the demands of ministry.
That’s a long explanation to say that facing the MFC interview is scary for every candidate. A lot can happen. I was concerned that the MFC might ask me about my exercise and self-care practices. We’re supposed to take care of so that we can have long ministries with minimal burnout. I was feeling some pressure to be able to demonstrate that I could do that.
Another pressure I was feeling at the time came from worrying about the health of someone I cared about. This person, who was a little younger than I was, under 30, had developed a blood clot, been in the hospital, and was on coumadin. There wasn’t much I could do for them, so the next best thing was to channel my energy into my own health. The situation knocked me out of my sense of complacency about my well-being.
So it was that I found myself in tennis shoes, firing up my Discman CD player. (This was kind of a long time ago.) There was a walking trail along the shoreline in Pacific Grove, a few blocks away from the hubbub of the Monterey Bay Aquarium. In this quieter part of the neighborhood, week after week, I became familiar with the sight of walkers and runners and strollers, unnamed neighbors in my temporary hometown. If I turned down the volume, I could hear sea lions bark. The Monterey Bay ebbed and flowed, modeling constancy in the midst of change. I was grateful for the feeling of my feet on the fine gravel, for my ability to breathe the air, and for the gift of another day. Because of the changes in my environment, the “ears of my ears” were awake to mystery and wonder. Seasons, life cycles, personal losses and gains are some of the sparks that ignite a spiritual journey.
Cultivated Awareness
As we heard in this morning’s chalice lighting, the poet May Sarton wrote, “If one looks long enough at almost anything, looks with absolute attention at a flower, a stone, the bark of a tree, grass, snow, a cloud, something like revelation takes place.” (Excerpted from Journal of a Solitude, 1973, also quoted in May Sarton’s short biography on the UU Historical Society website.) I take this to mean that awareness of transcending mystery and wonder is something we can cultivate, starting with the stones and trees and snow right where we are.
In this morning’s story, the humans practiced for their awakening by giving thanks for everything that the sun does for the earth. They set aside sacred time for singing songs and lighting candles. At breakfast, the people could view the sun as reborn, casting a whole new light on the way they approached the world.
Music, meditation, and gratitude are some of the techniques we can use to pave the way for awakening. We can invite a sense of wonder into our lives. It helps if we can make a leap of trust that our efforts will matter. In her book, Amethyst Beach, UU minister Barbara Merritt writes about taking that leap.
On our first day of winter hiking, we came across large, fresh bear tracks in the snow. The next day the temperature had dropped to ten degrees, with a bitter windchill. When we stepped out of the car and were hit by the force of blowing snow, I wondered whether or not winter hiking was such a great idea. Then we reached the waterfall at the top of the trail. Thousands of icicles glistened in the sun. It had snowed several inches the night before, and creation looked as beautiful as anyone could imagine.
She concludes:
I suspect we often see the world more narrowly than it actually is. We say, ‘There’s no way,’ when in actuality we have several ways to meet the challenge. If we go exploring past barriers we believe are impenetrable, we may discover new worlds … in the hardest of seasons, we may come across a grace and a splendor that will transform our lives.
(“New Worlds” by Barbara Merritt, in Amethyst Beach: Meditations, 2007)
So ends the reading. I strongly suspect that each person here already has some kind of practice that could serve as a gateway for an encounter with transcendent mystery and wonder. Cooking, running, meditation, martial arts, singing … there are so many ways to “go exploring past barriers we believe are impenetrable.” What I’m less sure about is how often any one human being can be capable of that leap of trust, belief in the possibility and the desirability of transformation.
Do we want to be awakened to grace and splendor? That sort of thing might change your life. We might be tempted to put more time into spiritual practices. Being astonished at the world and our place in it might lead us to exclaim with intemperate joy at random moments. People will suspect us of writing poetry.
Do we think we can be awakened? That leap of trust is the hard part. It comes and goes. Perhaps this a definition of faith we can agree on; living as if our direct experience matters, practicing for the moments when we are blessed with amazement.
At the moment, I do think it’s good and possible to expand our capacity for wonder. Cultivating awareness might bring joy or insight. A new spiritual path may open up as a result. Or perhaps an intentional practice simply gets us ready for random moments of revelation.
Random, Unpredictable Awakening
Sometimes transcendent mystery catches a person unaware. Flashes of beauty, or suddenly being struck with the depth of love we hold for someone, or glimpsing the vastness of space and time as we gaze at the night sky, we might be unexpectedly awakened to the “gay great happening illimitably earth.” A person could just be sitting there, minding her own business, and suddenly overcome with the oneness of life.
I had such a moment in high school orchestra. I played the cello, not especially well, but I did OK. I went to orchestra class every day at school, never missed a performance, and took lessons every other Saturday. I liked being part of the orchestra, belonging to something larger, but I didn’t live and breathe to play music the way some of my friends did. I kept at it.
One ordinary day in class, in a regular run-through of a typical piece, I was transported by a sense of being part of a single, living orchestral being. I kept playing my notes, while another part of my brain was consumed with music that was more than the sum of its parts. It was like the Rumi poem we heard a few weeks ago, “We have fallen into the place where everything is music.”
“So that’s what all the fuss is about,” I thought to myself.
The moment passed. I still didn’t live and breathe to play the cello, but I could better understand people who do. My personal practice of instrumental music comes and goes like a short-range comet, appearing every few years for awhile, receding to a point of light, and returning. I do have faith that music can help a group find a shared sense of wonder, and that harmony works as well as anything else for stirring hearts to transformation. That’s one reason why I’m a big fan of congregational singing. Music is the best way I know to get ready for unpredictable mystery and wonder.
By noticing these experiences of amazement as they happen, we can catch them like the wind in a kite. Perhaps we can keep the kite aloft for a time, with support from each other. A steady spiritual practice teaches us how to unwind the string, lifting our eyes toward far horizons.
Conclusion
Direct experience with transcending mystery and wonder can find us in a variety of ways. Changes in the seasons of the year or the seasons of life lead us to new perspectives, new approaches to the marvels of the universe. Cultivating awareness through an intentional practice like gratitude, along with a leap of trust in the possibility of transformation, opens us up to yet more amazement. Every once in awhile, the first two theories go out the window, and the experience of awe grabs us at random, unpredictable moments. There are many ways to be awakened.
Once we’ve realized we have had one of those moments, the question becomes, “now what”? What shall we do with all this beauty? How are we inspired to worship, to love, to serve? When we wake up to transcending mystery and wonder, let us endeavor to spend the day well.
So be it. Blessed be. Amen.
