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Where We Find God First
Unitarian Church of Des Moines “God
is the one who cries, ‘Know Me!’ through the
mouths of those Introducing ThemeOur service this morning will not have a single sermon, as is most traditionally the case, but a series of short reflections from church members in response to the question “Where do you find God?” I invited the speakers to share with us this morning as a companion piece to a sermon I shared a few weeks ago called “What Happened to God in UUism”. As I believe that in our religious tradition a sermon should be a reflection of and continued inspiration for an ongoing dialogue, it seemed important to have some members our community share where they find God in their lives…if at all.
In the letter where I laid out the specific assignment for the speakers, I wrote:
“I am asking that you each prepare a 3-5 minute reflection on where you find God.
“While I would expect some semantic wrangling (you are all UUs after all!), may I encourage you to not spend too much time critiquing the word...and more time defining where you find the divine, the holy, that sustaining/creative/redemptive force...or whatever.
“Obviously if you don't find anything like this, then by all means share that. However, even if you are an atheist, I hope you will challenge yourself to consider what it is that buoys you as you make your way through life (other people, nature, yourself, etc.) and that you will share that instead.”
I’m delighted that our four speakers this morning accepted the challenge.
As most of you know, one place where I find God is in creative interchange…the interchange where people interact with the expectation that they will be somehow transformed by the interaction. Obviously this kind of interchange does not happen on a regular basis for many of us. However, our church is one place where I think we should create space for it and devote ourselves to seeing that it will be more likely than not. While there will not be time within the service for us to question and elicit further reflections from our speakers and from each other about the whole notion of God, I suggest that we use this service as a springboard for further reflection ourselves…and even better yet, some creative interchange with those around us.
Incidentally if you like the kind of sharing that you will experience this morning and you’d like to participate in a program that promotes a similar kind of reflection and sharing, you will want to enroll in the next six-month session of Small Group Ministry. Enrollment begins next week and will continue each Sunday through Easter, with the new groups meeting two times a month from April to September. Each Small Group Ministry meeting is focused on a particular topic, one of which could easily be “Where do you find God?” Your March newsletter has more info and there will be people to answer your questions about the program after services over the next three weeks.
MeditationIn light of our topic this morning, I begin our meditation time with two readings.
The first is a Sufi parable as adapted by Jacob Trapp entitled “Fish that Know Not Water”
Once upon a time the fish of a certain river congregated and said, “They tell us that our life and being is from One who is called Water, but we have never seen him, and we know not who he is.” Then one who had traveled farther than the others said, “I have heard that there dwells in the sea a very wise and learned fish who knows all things. Let us go to him and ask him to show us Water, and explain to us who He is.” So they set out to find the deep-sea sage, and came at last to the place where he lived. On hearing their request he answered them thus: “In him you live and move and have your being; and yet you know him not.”
The second reading is by UU minister Ronald Mazur and it is entitled “Meditation for Conversation”
I do not believe. I believe only in men and women. And even God was surprised When He/She realized That I believe so much.
Answering the QuestionLaura Elliot I haven’t used the word “God” to describe my concept of spirituality or a higher power since I left Catholicism. To me, the term just doesn’t quite seem to invoke what I imagine the likely incarnation of this power to be. I consider myself agnostic, in terms of this “God,” meaning that I’m not really sure that it exists, or, if it does exist, what it is. I do see a need to explain the creation of the Universe somehow, and the presence of some sort of “God” (be it a force or a being) seems like a good answer. And, I see a connection between everything in the Universe. I think that “God” would likely be a force that might serve to connect all of the parts that make up the Universe like the glue that holds together the interconnected web. I find some comfort in the thought that we are all connected to one another and to creation as a whole. I think that this is the place where the spiritual realm affects my everyday life.
When Mark asked me to give an example of how I might feel this connection, I got really overwhelmed thinking about it. I mean, I studied environmental science in college because I felt like I needed to work closely with this connection between everything, and I’ve certainly spent a lot of time hanging out in nature. But I couldn’t really put my finger on a time when I felt that connection specifically, perhaps because I feel like the connection is or should be a part of everything we do. But, I did some thinking, and I remembered one particular incident that happened when I was a real little kid, maybe 6 or 7, that explains a lot about how I feel about the interconnected web.
I used to like collecting bugs in my bug jar and building them little habitats. I usually just collected things that crawled like caterpillars, but I once got a hold of a little moth. I build it a habitat of leaves and grass and sticks, and I brought it inside to show my mom. I was pretty proud of how well I had taken care of the moth by making it a little house. At first, when I put it in the bug jar, it had flapped around a lot, but now, it was sitting quietly on a little stick. Once my mom saw what I had done and how quietly the moth was sitting, she told me that I needed to let the moth go. She said that the moth couldn’t live trapped in the cage, because it needed to fly. She said that I would hurt its wings if I kept it in there. So, I let the moth go free on our porch, but it didn’t fly away. It just lay there. And I felt terrible, because I just knew that I had hurt that poor moth’s wings so badly that it couldn’t fly anymore. But I hadn’t meant to hurt it. I just hadn’t understood what it needed. I felt so responsible for that moth. I think this was the first creature I was ever responsible for accidentally killing. This may seem like a pretty sad story to be the sort that leads someone to an experience of the divine in nature, but I think I took away with me the idea that we affect the interconnected web, and that we are responsible for learning enough to make sure that we don’t destroy it. I felt so powerful and so responsible for that power. I take comfort in knowing that we all have a connection and are part of the same whole, but the other part of that connection is a great responsibility for treating everything else well. If we do that, I think we can be in touch with that divine force that connects us.
Growing up in this church I have learned that God is not a concept to be summed up in few words. Nor are all the ways in which I find God here. This church continues to serve as a point of reference, a mirror which shows me where I have been and where I am headed. Having recently really come to appreciate the unpredictability of memory and of interactions with others, a tangled web continues to be weaved before my very eyes here. God is being able to talk to Carol Evans, who as my 7th grade English teacher I treated so badly, and the sound of the church’s bells calling us to our commitment to community… and Harvey Harrison as the first adult to honestly ask me about my sexual experience, and the wine cellar of former minister John Isom and his wife Elien leading to dinner with cornbread and John’s necklace hanging between his titties. Mornings in the choir loft turning pages for former organist Margo Heilman—looking down over the proceeding…This church reminds me of my high school friend Laura Peterson with whom I have grown apart from and yet whose father, Pete, I have seen more recently, holding the possibility of reconciliation…and I find God in the judgment of the altos and the humility of the baritones…and Brad Leu and his god-given height which is manna from heaven in a volleyball match at 4 mile community center to which I had never ventured before the flaming chalice. And I find god in Mark and Judy’s joy, which I have developed a tolerance for… and God is found in those AME windows which have shown me those two trees placing my hometown skyline in perspective all throughout my life…and the sound of cars ripping by coloring a moment of silence. This is where I find God, in the stones of the floor, the same stones found in my childhood home, the patterns of which I will always keep in my mind’s…and the creek which Claire, my childhood dog, slinked back from so guiltily, and which became another world to my brother and I. And this church continues to show me who God has lead me to be now. God, Amy Knudsen and I laughing together about the state of affairs at the Capitol, and sitting here a few times with my ex Sara making me put into words why I would come to such a place. I find God in the choir, OK, an imperfect choir, but one that can laugh at itself and yet exceed its participants wildest expectations in performance…this church is a constant by which God allows me to reflect on the changes within myself. Who am I, God, within this church? I’m playing Art Pepper for the offertory…and just this week, talking up a swarm with Mary Hays, and feeling proud of being a UU demanding change from our legislators at an AMOS rally. Mike Smith still remembers when I played with a ponytail…and of course I find God in being able to be with my parents within a larger community.
I am glad to have stopped trying to answer what God is, and instead be able to start taking comfort in knowing I can at least be mindful of this space here, my memories of childhood and meaningful and challenging interaction which allow me to show who I am at this point in my life.
Mark Lambert The short answer is: I don’t.
Yes, I am an atheist. I have been as far back as I can remember. I can recall as a child first learning about the concept of God, and I thought to myself, “Oh, come on.” The thought of some giant, invisible being controlling all human affairs like a mystical chess game that only He understands was just too outrageous a concept for my skeptical mind to accept. I realize that there are different definitions of God, but in my entire life, I’ve not seen a single shred of evidence that would lead me to even consider the possibility that there is some sort of God, some sort of intelligent force out there.
I’ve had friends say that the only intellectually honest belief is to be an agnostic – after all, the argument goes, there’s no way to be sure there that there is or is not a God. In reply to this argument, I usually ask if they are agnostic about the Tooth Fairy as well.
To well-meaning friends who have told me that I won’t get into heaven if I don’t believe in God, I’ve said something like: “Look, if I were to believe in God, the God I’d believe in wouldn’t discriminate against people who don’t believe in Him.”
Frankly, I find rabid atheists – and Madeline Murray O’Hair is the classic example – just as obnoxious as rabid Christians like Jerry Falwell. I’m not one of those who typically goes around wearing my atheism like a badge of honor. It’s simply part of who I am, but I generally don’t feel the need to broadcast it. Except when I’m asked to, like today.
I think this is important for people to understand – when a speaker starts into the God talk, it really, truly does exclude me from the listening audience. It’s an experience, I think, similar to what I’ve heard women friends talk about, when they hear a speaker that uses only male pronouns, they say they feel excluded. And I will say that the God talk from this pulpit got so frequent a few years ago (and this was before Mark Stringer) that I felt there was a pretty clear message being sent that non-believers were no longer welcome in this church. And that obviously bothered me a lot, and I’m very glad that’s changed.
Mark had suggested that if we couldn’t talk about where we find God in some fashion – and I certainly can’t – that we talk about what lifts us up. For me, there are lots of answers to that: the wonders of nature, playing the guitar, listening to good music, close friendships – that fact my favorite fictional character from my childhood, Spider-Man, has finally made it to the big screen – twice! – good books, the opportunity to be creative, the abilities of the human mind, my wife and especially my two daughters – the amazing, wonderful, delightful beings that they are – these are things that lift me up. But none of those are “God” – they simply are what they are.
I am lifted up by a sense of helping others – in small or big ways. I am lifted up by feeling like I’m making the world a better place. Most of the jobs I’ve had in my adult life – the ACLU, Planned Parenthood, the Iowa Environmental Council, my most recent job as a state utilities regulator – have been jobs where I’ve tried to make the world a better place, especially for those without money, power and influence.
I am also lifted up by a sense of community, and that’s what I’ve found in this church. The fact that there’s a church in Des Moines where it’s okay to be a believer, an agnostic, or a person who believes like I do, and that I’ve found a community of open-minded folk and free thinkers – now that lifts me up. That’s a great and wonderful thing – but, that’s not God either.
Diana MaidenNine years ago, on a warm August afternoon in the Rocky Mountains, I sat in massive white canvass tent, propped on a bright red cushion on the fabric floor. More then 50 of us, teenagers to elders, were seated there, facing an elaborate shrine that included a tanka painting of the Buddha in one of his many emanations. Flowers decorated the shrine and incense wafted through the warm, dry air; candles flickered. I was there for a refuge ceremony conducted by a saffron robed monk, to acknowledge in a public setting that I was committing to an understanding of life based on Buddhist dharma (teaching). I would follow a path of understanding based on a commitment to the Buddha, dharma, and sanga (community). I vowed to take refuge in the Buddha, and to delay my own enlightenment until the suffering of all sentient beings was ended. As I sat waiting for the ceremony to begin, I marveled. What was a good Unitarian girl doing in a place like this? I was brought up in the solid humanist traditions of liberal, intellectual Mid-western Unitarian churches and societies! What would my mother say! More to the point, what would my daughters say?
But there I was. I have always identified my self as a Unitarian, even as I argued religion as an eight year old with my girlfriends Sally and Roberta, one Catholic and the other from a Lutheran/Jewish family. They both agreed I was going to Hell, but for different reasons. I didn’t much care. I was more impressed by the hell on earth that we all seemed able to create.
There was never a text to go to, no Bible to quote, no holy book to rely upon. For years I described my theology as refrigerator based: all the sayings, aphorisms, quotes, cartoons that succinctly captured my views on life and death, on love and compassion were held to the frig with magnets.
From Philo, a Greek Philosopher: “Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle”
From Henry Ward Beecher: “Compassion will cure more sins than condemnation”
Joan Baez contributed: “You don’t get to choose how you’re going to die or when. You can only decide how you are going to live. Now.”
And from Joseph Campbell: “Our task is not to live the life we have planned but rather the life we are given”
And finally, “You can’t always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you just might find, you get what you need.” …………….The Rolling Stones
My experience as a child growing up in our liberal tradition was that it held and fed my intellectual growth, but we did not seem to be able to recognize the ineffable, the wonder, the unexpected, unsolicited beauty of experience if it could not be parsed into a rational response to events. I struggled with the realization that there was no inherent fairness to events and life. There was little in my experience to help me sort out thoughts or emotions that seemed to be contradictory and limiting. I needed to grapple with the both the great beauty and significant tragedy of human life.
In my forties a series of wrenching personal changes propelled me to try to understand what I really believed. I came to feel that I needed to give up a perception of life that I continually found to be false. Just through effort and intention, I could not guarantee my happiness, nor the happiness of my children; I could not be certain that my actions would not hurt or harm others. My efforts regularly seemed to come up short.
In this process of self-examination, I knew that life, at its core, was a mix of sadness and happiness, in no particular fair ratio. The goals most of us seek, such as love, success, or freedom are also the progenitor of intense suffering, for ourselves and others, because by their very nature we seek to hang on and resist the process of inevitable change.
At the same time, the only useful perspective I could bring to any situation was an intelligent combination of love and compassion. If I could drop a fixed or ridged notion of how things must be, I was surprised to find that I could be more honest about my own needs, and hear the real needs of the other in the process.
This personal search coincided with reading I was doing on Buddhism, particularly Thich Nhat Hanh and Chogram Trungpa. I found that my ad hoc, experience based understanding of the world was well described and articulated in Buddhist philosophy. Meditation, in its many forms, was described as a tool to learn how to remain in the moment, to understand ones own mind and thus enter into the world with a clearer perspective, better able to incorporate the inevitability of change in life. Meditation helps me to see events clearly and to see my role and influence on those events.
None of this means that I have solved all my personal issues, ironically they have recently become much more complex. But I am able bring to events a stability and focus that helps. Anger arises, but I am better able to let it go. I look for opportunities for positive change in situations that feel disastrous. Sometimes that works, sometimes it doesn’t. Best of all, I can see happiness or pleasure in the small, quiet moments of my life. Beauty exists in the rustle of the dry oak leaves in the trees surrounding this church, in the watercolor light of an Iowa morning, in the soft way my black cat curls her paws to her nose. What sustains me, gives me moments of clarity even in sadness, are the ineffable, mysterious connections with life:
Lifting one of my young daughters to the sky on a clear Colorado morning; smelling the moist soil of Spring in my garden and stretching out in the dirt, face down, to feel it better; hiking trails with a friend; participating in honest talk; passing my lover a cup of coffee in the morning. It is all love, all about seeing the compassion possible in each moment.
So back to my refrigerator based religion: From Christina Rosetti……………. “This place we stand in, had we but seeing eyes, may be Paradise”
And the Buddha:
“We are what we think. All that we are arises with our thoughts. With our thoughts, we make the world.” Buddha
And one last thought, because this is all so serious:
“There was an old maid in Duluth Who wept when she thought of her youth Remembering the chances She missed at school dances And once in a telephone booth”
Closing Words (Robert Mabry Doss) For all who see God, may God go with you. For all who embrace life, May life return your affection. For all who seek a right path, may a way be found… And the courage to take it, step by step.
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