The Gift of Interdependance
Welcome to the Gift of Interdependence
Talk of interdependence immediately calls up the work of saving the planet, rightly so. But what if the first step toward saving the planet is learning to speak to it? And hear it? Could our collective failure to confront the climate crisis be rooted in our lost ability to listen? What if the quickly-going-extinct creatures don’t want our sympathy, but our ear? What if the fraying of the web isn’t just about us failing to act, but also us having forgotten who we are. And what if nature itself is the only one who can help us remember?
It’s a month of tricky questions, friends. As we begin, may these words by Rev. Kaaren Anderson send us on our way.
We Are One
Perhaps if I could pull my senses back
to the scraping squeak of the window opening
that welcomes in the pasture’s chorus of peepers,
whose resonate tones glide over my bed sheet and mental haze,
I’d be able to hear my amphibian friends’ primordial call:
We are one, we are one, we are one
Perhaps if I could recall the rapid thrum
of the nine hummingbirds beating wings,
whipping in and out around the feeder,
with a thrummmm, thrummmm, thrummmm
on that cold Montana morning in May,
I’d remember that my heart beat synched with metronomic ease
to their tiny thrumming selves and rhythmic reminder:
We are one, we are one, we are one
Perhaps if I could be real still
and lay my body on the syrupy mud
along the creek behind the wood
and hear the ferns unfurling in unison
and the roots of the poplar stretching toward the spring,
I’d remember that the universe sings a song to us,
each minute, of every hour, of every day, of every year:
We are one, we are one, we are one
Perhaps if I made it a priority to listen to that siren song,
I’d ask the right questions, and make the right statements;
and return to the communion of creatures of which I am a part.
The truth is we make this planet about us, and only us
and when we do, the earth calls our separate selves back, singing:
“Ask yourself, you beautiful, thoughtful, gorgeous species,
How much of the planet are you really entitled to?
How much of the planet are you really entitled to?“
And with the peepers, and the hummingbirds and the ferns and the roots,
I would respond:
We are one, we are one, we are one.
Welcome to the Gift of Transformation
Let mystery have its place in you; do not be always turning up your whole soil with the plowshare of self-examination, but leave a little fallow corner in your heart ready for any seed the winds may bring, and reserve a nook of shadow for the passing bird; keep a place in your heart for the unexpected guests, an altar for an unknown God.
-Henri-Frederic Ariel
Make a bit of room. Leave a little space. That may not sound like anything radical or revolutionary. But it turns out that it is one of Life’s favorite ways to make us into something new.
Be cautious with those cultural messages about aggressively tilling and turning up your whole soil. Watch out for all the heroic talk about striving and perfecting, struggle and control. Much of the time, transformation is a much subtler art. It’s about stillness, listening and waiting to be led, not fighting with yourself and others to make sure you are in the lead.
In short, when it comes to transformation, the message of spirituality is “Be careful with what you’ve been taught and told about transformation because much of it takes us in exactly the wrong direction.” Our challenge as communities of transformation is to remind each other to take those different tacks. Such as:
- It’s about breathing rather than becoming better.
- It’s about patience not perfection
- It’s about depth not dominance.
- It’s about attention not improvement.
That part about attention instead of improvement is especially important. It’s so easy to get transformation mixed up with fixing. And fixing is transformation’s biggest foe. Trying to purify or perfect ourselves is the surest way to stay stuck. The pursuit of purity and perfection focuses us on our inadequacy and inferiority, causing us to overlook those unexpected guests that Henri-Frederic speaks of.
And, friends, we don’t want to miss those unexpected guests! Those seeds brought by the wind and those passing birds are the partners that make transformation possible. They help us notice new paths. They invite us to walk with a new step. They awaken in us new songs. They remind us that transformation is not something we do alone. They assure us that transformation doesn’t have to be a long and lonely struggle, but instead can be more like learning a new dance with a new friend. All we have to do is trust, take the hand of that “unknown God” and follow its lead.
So, friends, this month, leave some room on that dance floor of yours. Keep your eyes peeled. See attention and attending as your greatest assets and tools. And when that unexpected guest reaches out its hand, don’t be afraid.
The Gift of Justice & Equity
Here we go again.
Another injustice.
Even more inequity exposed.
So much pain.
So many issues.
So little equality.
And so, so many people with certainty.
I wish I had it. Don’t you?
The crystal-clear clarity
of who’s right and who’s wrong.
Every aspect of their argument
neatly lined up.
Nothing at all left to doubt.
But when I wake,
so much ambivalence shares my bed.
So weary am I of having to announce my position right away.
So worried about my limited view.
So concerned that my people
will no longer consider me one of their own
if I express my doubts.
But answer I must.
Isn’t that true?
What does justice look like in this case?
What is the next right step?
What is the correct point of view?
Just put my mind to it.
Reason will guide me
and show me the way.
But what if we’ve got the starting point all wrong?
What if my mind – and yours – is not enough?
What if the place to begin is not
“How do I answer these questions?”
But “Who do I need
to help me think them through?”
This is the plea of that lawyer
serving those on death row.
“Get proximate!” he pleads.
To change the world,
we must get close to those on the margins.
We must hear what they have to say.
We must see the world with their weary eyes.
Amen, cry those Latin American priests
who placed the word liberation
in front of their theology.
Blessed are the poor, they teach,
not just because they will inherit the earth,
but because they view our earthly woes
most clearly.
Their gift to me, to you, to us
is to remember that the answers to injustice
arise from relationship,
as much as, if not more than,
from reason.
Who, not how.
Who, not how.
What if that is the place to begin?
What if this is the way
we change the world?
The Gift of Liberating Love
Love, it sits in the chest,
at least at the start.
|It’s what makes our heart beat again after being broken,
and our lungs breathe again after being closed off in the dark for far too long.
For some, it came in the form of our grandfather’s eyes
which saw us as carriers of something bigger and more precious
and older
than our little bodies disclosed.
For others, it arrived as we pressed hard
against our mothers’ warm skin
and heard a speechless whisper say
we can always come home.
We recognize love as the thing that allowed us to finally remove our masks,
or that which said I don’t want you to take it off, until you are ready.
We were taught love by those who arrived in the midst of our fear
and shook as we shook, instead of simply trying to make our trembling stop.
But here is the secret. The inevitable awakening.
The wonder that each of our lives is meant to reveal.
Love doesn’t just love us;
It asks us to become it.
That’s why those metaphors of comforting quilts
which wrap us in their warmth will never do.
True love is always a thunderstorm
that cracks us clean open
so the echoes of other breaking hearts
can make their way in.
Yes, it wants us to be whole and strong.
But love’s deepest longing is that we will use that strength
to tear down the structures that leave others bloodied and bruised.
We must always remember what Selma’s prophet of peace regularly preached:
Love and power are always rightly wed.
And maybe this is where the second secret comes loose.
As I shake the walls to let others free,
I learn that the ones I’ve liberated include me.
The Gift of Mystery
The Gift of Mystery
Welcome to the Gift of Mystery
We live in a culture that loves to conquer mysteries. For us modern folks, the unexplainable is simply a lock to be picked, a code to be cracked, a puzzle to be figured out. But what if mystery isn’t just something to solve? What if it’s also something to be listened to?
This is the lesser recognized call of our faith. “Yes,” it says, “Stay skeptical, continue to question and seek answers. But at the same time, leave space for life to speak!” One of the most elegant articulations of this comes from the poet Mary Oliver. In her beloved poem, Wild Geese, she writes,
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting—
over and over announcing your place in the family of things.
Oliver’s call to listen for life’s mysterious announcements implies a letting go. Mystery is funny this way. You can’t make it speak. Indeed, often the more you pursue the meaning of life’s mysteries; the more distant it becomes. If we want mystery to speak, it seems we have to be willing to put down the pursuit and open ourselves to being caught off guard. UU humanist minister and poet, David Breeden, captures this beautifully when he writes,
I dug and dug
Deeper into the earth
Looking for blue heaven
Choking always
On piles of dust rising
Then once
At midnight
I slipped
And fell into the sky
Slipping, and then falling into the sky. Is there a better way to describe our dance with mystery? Isn’t this what all the great mystics have been trying to tell us from the start? That sitting at the heart of mystery is not the unknown, but unity. We fall into the mysterious oneness of life and then it falls into us. Its voice whispers, “I am you and you are me.” Simply put, mystery doesn’t put up barriers; it dissolves them. Haven’t all of us faced the wonder and mystery of a sunset, the stars, a baby’s first cry or a lover’s wet kiss and thought to ourselves, “My God, who I am does not end at the barrier of my skin!”
And it’s not just words of connectedness, but comfort too. We find ourselves crushed by the weight of the world, so we take a walk in the woods, watch the waves kindly caress the shore, stare into the night sky or stumble on the smile of a stranger. And often, but not always, we hear the world gently sing, “It will be ok. In fact, it is all already ok!” UU minister, Angela Herrera, puts it this way,
You bring yourself before the sacred, before the holy,
before what is ultimate and bigger than your lone life…
You stand at the edge of mystery…
Meanwhile, the armful of worries you brought to the edge of mystery
have fluttered to your feet.
So friends, this month, let’s let mystery work its magic. Let’s allow ourselves to fall in and be opened up. Let’s slip into the sky and let it slip into us. Let’s set the sleuthing down, for just a moment, and simply listen.
We can’t wait to hear what the world whispers back.
The Gift of Generosity
Welcome to the Gift of Generosity
It would be easy to see this as a month of niceness. After all, for many, the call of generosity is equated with the call to be kind.
But that’s not the spiritual understanding, and certainly not the sort of gift our faith sees in generosity.
First of all, it’s transformative. Generosity doesn’t just brighten our days; it changes how we relate to life. Let’s be honest, life can harden us. And before it does that, it often hurts us. So we can’t be blamed for viewing it as a threat. Like some kind of dangerous obstacle course. Or a giant game of King of the Hill, where the winners take all and the rest of us are thrown to the bottom, bruised and empty-handed. No matter which metaphor fits, it’s almost impossible to think our way out of it on our own. But then these seemingly small or sentimental gestures come our way. A person notices we forgot to bring our bus pass and pays for us before we have to ask. The neighbor shovels our part of the driveway while she does hers. The nurse takes a half hour to sit with us while we wait for the results. It wasn’t her job, and she doesn’t have the time, but she did it anyway. In those simple moments, the world suddenly feels less cold. A crack sets in. Our obstacle course, winner-take-all view of life gives way to something softer. We may still hurt, but it also feels as though life itself is trying to help. That’s what generosity does. It transforms.
It also connects. Deep down we know the difference between giving and giving generously. The former is taken from our “extra.” The latter is taken from what is essential. It’s the difference between giving our loose change and giving of ourselves. And when you hand over a part of you to someone else, you’re tethered. Your vulnerability meets their vulnerability. You haven’t just helped; you’ve shown you care. Both of you feel seen. And less alone.
But make no mistake, generosity doesn’t stop there, at care and connection. It also challenges. True generosity doesn’t just ask us to care for people, it also asks us to call them out. When you look at life through the lens of generosity, charity loses its sheen and many of those who have much are exposed as hoarding what others need. It’s sneaky that way. Generosity undermines our comfortable views and invites justice in. It doesn’t just ask us to be kind to others, it also asks us to question why some have so much more than others.
Transform. Connect. Challenge. Not the usual words we pair with generosity. And maybe that’s the point. Maybe the invitation this month is not just to be more generous, but to notice how generosity is bigger than we think.
