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Seeing
the Stars ReadingMorning by Clinton Lee Scott
From the east comes the sun, bringing a new and unspoiled day. It has already circled the earth and looked upon distant lands and far-away peoples. It has passed over mountain ranges and the waters of the seven seas. It has shone upon laborers in the fields, into the windows of homes, and shops and factories. It has beheld proud cities with gleaming towers, And also the hovels of the poor. It has been witness to both good and evil, the works of honest men and women and the conspiracy of knaves. It has seen marching armies, bomb-blasted villages and “the destruction that wasteth at noon-day.” Now, unsullied from its tireless journey, it comes to us, messenger of the morning.” Harbinger of a new day.
Meditation“The Galaxy” by Ken Patton Night is the nebula’s revelation, walking on our eyes when we do not sleep. We see the stars of but one galaxy, yet they fill the sky. Escaping the city’s froth of glare into the dark country, we lie and look up into the great village, and know our parochial grandeur, where the sun, our mother, is a modest resident. Within the suburbs of these spiral arms we are at home. Assured by familiar voices, we are consoled in walking these streets. Beyond this horizon stretches wilderness, alien lands. But among uncounted hordes of stars, this is more than we imagined the universe to be in the presumptions of early creeds. We know her less than her sisters in Andromeda, for she veils herself. We have stars for dancing masters, the universe for choreographer. The world is a nest of circling dances, the people jouncing the center, earth and her sister planets sashaying around the sun, stars in their spirals ringing the nebula’s white core. The galaxy’s eye sees not as much in a billion years as our eyes see between two blinks. The galaxy is the dance in time, coursing out to the huge edge of space, then to fall back, even as we spring from dividing seeds to stature and strength, and fall back upon our roots and soil. The galaxy is a white rose we wear upon the shoulder of our minds.
Reading Choose Something Like a Star by Robert Frost O Star(the fairest one in sight), We grant your loftiness the right To some obscurity of cloud- It will not do to say of night, Since dark is what brings out your light. Some mystery becomes the proud. But to be wholly taciturn In your reserve is not allowed. Say something to us we can learn By heart and when alone repeat. Say something! And it says, 'I burn.' But say with what degree of heat. Talk Fahrenheit, talk Centigrade. Use Language we can comprehend. Tell us what elements you blend. It gives us strangely little aid, But does tell something in the end And steadfast as Keats' Eremite, Not even stooping from its sphere, It asks a little of us here. It asks of us a certain height, So when at times the mob is swayed To carry praise or blame too far, We may choose something like a star To stay our minds on and be staid.
Sermon This week, students from area high schools and universities are on Spring Break, a time for many to make the pilgrimage to warmer climates and big bodies of water. Maybe it’s just the balmy weather we’ve been having, or maybe it’s my desire to take a vacation, but I’ve been thinking a lot the past few days about my first and only Spring Break travel experience. I’ve also been thinking that the world would probably be a lot better off if we could all take a little Spring Break right about now. Those who don’t think they need one should be the first to go.
A few years ago, I escaped my seminary studies to spend a week with friends on Florida’s Sanibel Island. Most of the trip down there I chuckled to myself, wondering what I was doing. It just didn’t seem right that I would spend my time off traveling to a place where tanning is the primary pastime. You see, long ago, after I had earned one of my many well-deserved sunburns, I gave up on the idea of sunbathing, believing it to be some master plot to increase the sale of skin-care products and the clientele of dermatologists. That I would spend a few hours each day intentionally exposing my fair skin to the sun’s powerful rays seemed unlikely, at best. And yet, that’s what I ended up doing. Lathered in sunscreen, with the earth as my mattress and a towel as my sheet, I gave myself to the sun for a few hours each day, accepting the warming glow of that mysterious ball I had not been so intimate with since my youth. Despite my earlier chagrin, I discovered that slowing down and seeing what the sun had to teach me turned out to be time well spent. Lying on the white sand, I was hypnotized by the sun’s power and thoughtful about the ways in which it has been a constant force in the lives of all women and men throughout time. My mind raced through history, challenging my imagination with scenarios of those who had come before me, and how they must have viewed the sun, that ever-present provider of energy and warmth. I was struck with the sun’s persistence…its responsibility…the constancy of its fire…the way it seemed to stand watch over all of us. I remember feeling foolish for having avoided its glow, for there, shining above that Florida beach, it seemed to be telling me something…something I needed to know…something all of us might do well to remember today.
The evenings that week were equally memorable. A few hours after watching the sun’s dramatic dip into the Gulf, I would observe another show of nature…the emerging pinpricks of light with which I had also lost contact…the stars. At that time I had spent most of the previous decade in Chicago and New York City, not exactly a stargazer’s paradise, so I had forgotten just how starry a sky could be. I’ve read that under the right conditions, the naked eye can view close to six thousand stars in the night sky. Six thousand stars twinkling above our towns, our backyards, our highways, our lives. Six thousand tiny suns, each casting its own glow, each committed to its own flame, each clinging to its own place in the galaxy and, like candle-holding participants in a midnight vigil, bearing witness to the very existence of the earth below. As a resident of Des Moines, I now can view more stars than I could in Chicago, but not like those nights in Florida, and maybe not like the star show one can access here in Iowa simply by driving out into countryside after sunset.
Beneath the canopy of this fantastical star scene, it’s easy to feel very small…insignificant…and yet somehow connected to something much bigger than we could ever comprehend. Reminds me of a short poem that was shared with me by a member of the church where I served my internship. It read, “When people talk about the stars, why do they always talk of feeling insignificant? Why don’t they marvel that we should be a part of so grand an enterprise?”
Why don’t they marvel that we should be a part of so grand an enterprise?
This shared life of ours is a grand enterprise…a surprising, unpredictable, roller-coaster ride of mystery, joy and pain…and one way or another our individual lives play themselves out into the much greater story of the universe. How they fit in is at least in part up to us: how we choose to live in the world…the commitments that we make to ourselves, to each other and to this planet. I think that the most important commitment we could make is a commitment of gratitude…a commitment to acknowledge the extraordinary circumstance that we are alive and able to effect change in our own lives and the lives of others. And meanwhile, the stars look down upon us, consistently burning, “asking…little of us here” but bearing witness all the same. In a world where we have little control, the stars may be one of the closest things we have to certainty, and therefore they are worthy of our gratitude and our reverence.
UU minister Clarke Wells explains this in a story from his book The Strangeness of This Business. Wells writes:
“Several years ago and shortly after twilight our 3-1/2 year old tried to gain his parent’s attention to a shining star.
The parents were busy with time and schedules, the irritabilities of the day and other worthy preoccupations. ‘Yes, yes, we see the star—now I’m busy, don’t bother me.’ On hearing this the young one launched through the porch door, fixed us with a fiery gaze and said ‘You be glad at that star!’”
Wells says, “I will not forget the incident or his perfect words. It was one of those rare moments when you get everything you need for the good of your soul—reprimand, disclosure, blessing. It was especially good for me, that surprising moment, because I am one who responds automatically and negatively to the usual exhortations to ‘pause-and-be-more-appreciative-of-life’. Fortunately, I was caught grandly off guard.”
I wonder how many of us might need to hear the directives of that toddler philosopher right about now.
“You be glad at that star.”
Even if we did hear it, would we listen? There’s just so much going on in our lives and in the world that can distract us from the “ancient ministry of stars.” Some of us are dealing with unexpected illness or loss or big decisions, or loved ones who are far away. Some of us are trying to find meaningful employment, or at least a job that will keep us financially afloat. And some of us are struggling with difficult relationships with our families or friends. Meanwhile, the economy is floundering, social services are being cut, and our state and national representatives are spending their time focusing on things like prohibiting loving couples from adopting children and changing the names of foods in the Congressional cafeteria. It’s enough to make some of us want to bury our head in a plate of freedom fries.
And, perhaps the biggest distraction of all: we gather together today with our country on the brink of a probable war…a war that could begin later this week…a war that many of our leaders in Washington have described as necessary to insure our national security, but that others see as nothing more than a bold (if not foolhardy) choice in a dangerous time. There has been such an air of urgency—dare I say desperation—blowing out of Washington for months, that it has been nearly impossible for anyone to escape the mounting anxiety. The whole world has been subjected to constant reminders that the U.S. “doesn’t need anybody’s permission” to do anything, and about a quarter of a million troops have been deployed around the Iraqi borders to prove it—men and women waiting in the desert to begin the mission that most of us would probably agree was a foregone conclusion. The all-news channels have been alternating stories of our administration’s battle plans with reports of its clumsy attempts at diplomacy, reminding us all of how difficult it is to be arrogant and humble at the same time. And our president has all but declared himself a messenger of God—a combination Moses, David, and Goliath for the masses—confidently pronouncing his commitment to bomb Iraq into some kind of promised land where evil is just a memory and where democracy will one day be as abundant as oil. No wonder people around the world are scared of him.
To be “glad at that star” seems like a tall order right about now. I know it has been for me. Here’s one example of my own struggle.
A few weeks ago my wife and I bought a new car. Well, new to us at least. Many of you have probably noticed that my old rusty 89 Celica has now been replaced with a much newer looking 89 Corolla. We bought the car, sight unseen, from a mechanic friend in Chicago who assured me we would love it. When I arrived at his shop to pick it up on my way back from a conference in Madison, I did love it. There was one thing I immediately noticed about the car that I did not like, though. One thing that I figured I would be changing as soon as I got home to Des Moines.
Now I share this one thing with you with some embarrassment…some shame even. But perhaps you will understand.
On the back windshield, just above the extra red taillight that rests on the back ledge, there is an index-card-sized decal of our country’s flag…the stars and stripes. Maybe some of you have seen it, or have a similar decal on your own car. They must have been mass-produced after 9/11 because I see them around town. Now each time I look in my rearview mirror, I see the flag. Each time I walk into our garage to get in the car, I see the flag. What’s wrong with seeing the flag?
Well, seeing the flag these days makes me uneasy in ways it hasn’t before. It’s not that I don’t love my country…quite the contrary. The U.S. is my home, the country where my heart is, the land where I can proudly stand before you and admit that I have been uncomfortable with that flag on my car.
I had an immediate urge to remove the flag decal because I’m not pleased with the direction in which this country is headed and I don’t want people to assume that I agree with the policies of our current president and his administration. I’m unhappy about the growing deficit, the tax cuts that have saved average Americans a few hundred dollars while requiring that funding for social service programs must be butchered, and the flippant way we have been dealing with our allies, discarding treaties and arrogantly pursuing policies that put our own nation’s needs above everyone else’s, so I have felt less than enthused about displaying a flag on my car.
Here’s the thing, though. As much as I want to remove that flag decal from my back windshield, I simply haven’t been able to bring myself to do it. As much as I want to separate myself from the stance that our president and his administration has been taking in world politics, I have not been able to justify removing the reminder that I am in fact a citizen of this country, a democracy, where I have the right, the obligation, even, to become educated about the issues and to speak my mind as I see fit. The flag on my back windshield reminds me that in a democracy, the people must be present and accounted for…and I’m afraid that doesn’t just mean you…it means me, as well. I tell you I’m afraid because…well, I am. I don’t really want to have to get involved in these kinds of things. In fact, I’d rather speak this morning about other subjects. I’d rather tell you about how we should love each other…how we should forgive, and laugh, and enjoy each precious moment of our time together… how we should believe in this wretched and magnificent life even when it lets us down the most…even when it drags our hearts through the black mud of a mid-March thaw.
I am no expert in world affairs. I could not begin to teach a course in world history and I have not been much of a student of war and its consequences. But I do know that something is out of whack in our country right now and that something can only be changed when we share how we feel…when we stop taking for granted that our leadership has our best interests in mind…when we turn off the non-stop drone of the corporate-owned media outlets and start listening to each other.
Now more than ever, it seems, we all might need to be reminded to “be glad at that star,” to take a step back from our confusion, or our concern or our always misguided assurances of moral certainty and simply reflect for a while…to reflect on the extraordinary mystery of this life and on the glory and incomprehensible mystery of this universe we inhabit. This universe that has existed long before humans emerged…and that will no doubt exist long after we have vanished. We need to see the stars and talk about what we see.
If you are one of the people who believe that invading Iraq is the only way to finally remove a brutal dictator who has tortured his people and who, if left unchecked, could bring pain and suffering to thousands more, I encourage you to make your feelings known. Have some respectful conversations with those who disagree with you. Take some time to reflect on the ramifications for the world if the U.S. decides to engage in a pre-emptive strike against another country…a strike that would be unprecedented in the history of civilized nations…a strike that would set the curve for all future warfare…a strike that would reportedly begin with an approach described as “shock and awe” where we would drop 3000 missiles and bombs on the Iraqi population within the first few hours of an invasion, aiming to so damage and demoralize the people that they will revolt against their leader (who will, of course, be safe in a bunker somewhere, no doubt surrounded by heavily armed guards who see their own security tied up with his). Consider the innocent lives that will be sacrificed. Consider the potential environmental impact that kind of attack would have. And if you still believe it is essential that we act now, consider how important it would be to have allies with us who would help us not only win the war, but win the future peace as well.
If you count yourself among those who believe that this probable war is a mistake…that it will only make our country less secure, more vulnerable to terrorism and financially over-burdened…I encourage you to make your feelings known. There are many around the world who share your concerns, and their efforts have already held off this war much longer than many thought possible. Believe in peace and lead the way by living a peaceful life yourselves. Have respectful conversations with those who disagree with you. The world needs your voice and your example. Do not give up hope. Support our soldiers even if you disagree with their mission, because, as a wise man once said “war is always about betrayal. It's about betrayal of soldiers by politicians. And it's about betrayal of the young by the old.”[1]Don’t be convinced when people tell you that if the U.S. backs down now, it will lose its credibility…as though our nation is only relevant if it is stubborn. The U.S. will gain credibility when it forgoes its bull-in-the-china-shop approach to diplomacy…an approach that would be really interesting to sit back and watch if it weren’t for the fact that we all have to live on this planet.
And if you are undecided, unsure of where you fall in this complicated situation, I encourage you to make your feelings known. Have respectful conversations with people on both sides of the issue. Don’t rely on the media to give you the answers. Embrace your uncertainty…give yourself the space to allow the ancient ministry of stars to help guide your way.
And to each of us, no matter where we stand, I offer again the words of Robert Frost:
…When at times the mob is swayed To carry praise or blame too far, [May we]… choose something like a star To stay our minds on and be staid.
Let’s pause now for meditation, reflection or prayer:
Creative Spirit, Spirit of Life That which is greater than all, but present in each We gather this day uncertain of the shape this conflict will take in the days ahead. We keep our President and his administration in our thoughts, trusting that they will not overlook the desires of the people they have been entrusted to serve, and hoping that they will not be afraid to change tactics and compromise if a more peaceful solution is possible. We remember this day the innocent people of Iraq The women, men and
children who have already suffered and who stand to lose the most in any armed conflict. We
honor the women and men May
the sacrifices they will make for their country And
we look forward to the day Amen.
©Copyright Rev.
Mark Stringer |