Exploring the Mystery

EXPLORING THE MYSTERY

Rev. Kit Ketcham, PUUF, Nov. 26, 2017

            A couple of weeks ago, I spoke with you about what I’d discovered about spiritual experience and where such experiences come from, how we might welcome them, find their meaning, and as a result observe the outcome of that experience.

            I offered three questions to ask ourselves when we have an emotional reaction to some situation we may encounter.  I asked you to think about an emotional moment in your life and to ask yourselves those three questions: 

1.     Did it help you feel more connected to the world around you?

2.     Did it help you feel you were part of something larger than yourself?

3.     Did it help you feel a sense of larger meaning or purpose in life?

After the service, several people came to me and remarked that they had gotten a lot out of the sermon and found it helpful in figuring out what their own experiences had meant.

            Because this issue of spirituality is so foundational to Unitarian Universalism, it seemed reasonable to spend a little more time on it today.  It’s interesting to me that of our six sources, this one is Number One.  And I’m grateful to have Monica here to say more about her own spiritual life.

            Let me read to you the wording of this First Source, as it appears in our UU official documents.

            The Living Tradition we share draws from many sources:  Direct experience of that transcending mystery and wonder, affirmed in all cultures, which moves us to a renewal of the spirit and an openness to the forces that create and uphold life.

            Let’s unpack it a little bit with a visualization.  I invite you to close your eyes, let your mind drift for a moment, and then let it settle on an emotional experience you have had, a time when perhaps you received some insight, some awareness, some sense of connection or great love.  Just stay in that place for a moment, reliving it in your heart and mind.

            Think about the context.  What had been happening in your life up to that point?  Was it a joyful time?  A time of grief?  Of illness?  Of boredom?  Of new love?  Can you put a name on the emotion you were feeling?

            When you’re ready to do so, open your eyes and we’ll go on.

            A few years ago, I told you of an experience from my life that has profoundly affected me ever since.  In a moment I’d like to retell that story and use it as an illustration of how we often receive a direct experience of transcending mystery and wonder.  We may not recognize it immediately but it may stick in our minds until we have a chance to look at it more deeply.

            Our religious tradition, Unitarian Universalism, is unique among other religions because of our reliance on our own direct experience as a source of spiritual deepening.

            We do not require that those who join us have religious experiences that are tied to doctrines or to a deity or to a particular prophet.  We know that each person’s life offers meaning and insight into the human spirit and its relationship with other living beings and with the mystery of the universe.  And we feel that this experience is so important that we acknowledge it as a Source of our living faith.

            We are not woowoo about this, though some of us delve more deeply into spiritual matters than others.  But we rely on our own experiences in life to guide us spiritually.  This is radically different from most other religions.

            Here’s the story:

            It was June, 1994.  I’d been driving Interstate 80 since dawn, from Farewell Bend on the Snake River in eastern Oregon where I’d camped in my van the night before.  I was returning to Colorado after burying my mother, crossing the hot dry deserts of southern Idaho and over the border into Utah, pondering the lessons of her life and death and crying as I drove, my tears drying almost as soon as they appeared, in the hot blast coming through the open window.

            And now I was beyond tiredness, in that late afternoon state of mind where rational thought and fantasy merge, and reality has a fuzzy edge.

            I’d been seeing a lot of hawks poised on telephone poles or circling overhead, their broad wings barely flickering to stay afloat.  My mother had loved birds, and hawks and eagles were interesting to both of us.  Each bird felt like a message somehow, but in my emotional state, I couldn’t quite figure it out.

            But every redtail or northern harrier caused me a fresh pang, and by the time I reached the outskirts of Salt Lake City, I had exhausted my tear ducts and my brain.

            I wanted to be back in Colorado as soon as I could.   I wanted to drive US 40 through the mountains, but I had no idea how to find it the maze of interstates, beltways, and smaller roads that interlace the Salt Lake valley.

            I drove south into SLC, peering through my foggy contact lenses at unintelligible signs, looking for landmarks.  Nothing.  I realized I was in the far left lane of a 6 lane interstate and, in my weariness, nearly sideswiped another car as I tried to pull the huge van over so I could read my map.

            At last came a break in traffic, and I eased over to the shoulder, cringing for fear I had missed seeing some hapless little car in my mirror, half-expecting to feel a sickening crunch.  But I made it, stopped the van, and, once again, the tears came.  I was safe, I hadn’t hit anyone, but I was exhausted and bereft.

            Suddenly, in my rearview mirror, I saw the ominous blink:  blue and red, blue and red, blue and red.  “Oh no,” I thought, and hastily mopped my eyes as I fumbled for my car registration.

            There appeared at the driverside window a short stocky cop, his hat pushed back on his head, his face serious and concerned.  I braced myself for the worst, assuming he’d seen my near-accident, but in a voice of infinite kindness, he just asked “Lady, are you lost?”

            That man could not have known just how lost I was.  I couldn’t find myself on any map---not the map of Utah nor the map of my life.  I didn’t know where I was after my mother’s death; I only knew I needed to go home.

            I don’t know what I said to him, besides asking how to find route 40, but he neither remarked on my tears nor ticketed me, and within a few minutes I was on my way again.

            As I topped the last long hill up out of Salt Lake City, my eye fell upon the broad-winged silhouette of another redtail hawk, soaring just above the horizon. 

            And all the confused, jumbled thinking that I’d been doing all day---the memories of my mother, my grief at losing her, my anger at all the years I’d felt motherless because of my own rejection of her religious beliefs and because of her illness, the link to birds and mountains and all of nature---all these coalesced into one single thought:  I AM NOT ALONE.  I AM NOT ALONE.  I AM IN THE ARMS OF THE UNIVERSE, I AM IN THE ARMS OF GOD.

            That knowledge has reverberated for me down the 23 years since it happened.  Before that time, I had not experienced much spiritually.  It was before I began my seminary training, though I had felt a call to ministry.  But I had, over the years, insulated myself from profound emotional responses.

            I had not let myself feel much; I was always busy trying to help junior high kids deal with their emotions, or staying afloat after my divorce, or driving gloomy thoughts away with a deliberate discipline of cheerfulness.

            But when my mother died, it hit me like few other losses had hit me.  I had learned by then that “stiff upper lip” was not really the best response to loss, that I had many other feelings.  And I wanted to let myself experience them.

            This experience of transcending mystery and wonder, to use the language of our First Source, was a gateway for me and since then I have come to recognize spiritual experiences more often and more clearly.

            One of the things I’m most asked about, as a minister, is spirituality and spiritual experience.  How is it different from religion?  Is it important?  What is it, anyhow?

            I usually define religion as a public expression of my relationship with the Universe, or God, if that word is meaningful to you.  It happens in community, it is strengthened by my relationships with others, and it gives me an external outlet for my efforts to make the world a better place.

            Spirituality for me is a private expression of my relationship with the universe, or God.  It is my internal awareness of the beauty of each of life’s moments.  It is always available to me, if I am mindful.  Most of my spiritual experiences I don’t share; most of them I savor privately and ponder privately.

            A few summers ago, I was meeting with a young couple, preparing for their wedding, and the young man observed that he and his fiancée were different in how they approached spirituality.  He wondered about spiritual experience and how to increase it in his life.

            I looked at him and his fiancée sitting on my couch in the morning sunshine, he with his arm around her, my cat on her lap, and I had a revelation, which I tried to put into words.

            “Here we are, the three of us, talking about how to make the ceremony of your marriage meaningful and beautiful, not just for yourselves but also for your friends and family.  That in itself is a spiritual act.

            “You are sitting in the sunshine, basking in its warmth, savoring the relationship between you and her.  That is itself a spiritual moment.

            “She is next to you, enjoying your arm around her, petting the cat on her lap as it purrs and expresses its enjoyment of her attention.  That too is a spiritual experience.

            “Every moment of our lives has the potential to be a spiritual experience, whether it’s a joyous or sorrowful or ordinary moment.  It is our mindfulness, our awareness, that gives it meaning and importance.  We can call spiritual experience into our lives just by noticing it.”

            Remember last spring when many of us here attended the Darrell Grant concert, offered by that quartet of musicians who were offering us their gift of music?  It was a wonderful experience for many of us, I suspect, to see their intensity, their virtuosity, and to feel the waves of music which broke over us as they played.

            It could have been just a performance, an excellent one, but for me it was more, because I have known Darrell for many years.  I know how his life has gone, I know of his hopes, his sorrows.  And I saw how the music filled them and us, how their gift of the music was sacred and holy.  The music and the musicians filled us with joy that night and it was indeed a spiritual experience for many.

            Unitarian Universalism has at its heart the myriad spiritual experiences of all of us who gather together around the flaming chalice.  Our individual and collective spiritual lives are the bedrock, the origin, the foundation of our religious faith.  From our direct experience of mystery and wonder, we shape our deepest understandings and convictions.

            We need not use a doctrine or a deity or a prophet to build our spiritual lives around.  We are free to trust our own experience and understandings of the universe as the foundation on which to build our faith.  And that is what I find so compelling about UUism, that we are trustworthy as spiritual beings, that our humanity can show us the way to a fuller, deeper way of life.

            Guided by our values as expressed in our Seven Principles, we open our hearts to experience the mystery of life and give it back to others through our deeds of kindness and acceptance.

            Let’s pause for a time of silent reflection and prayer.

BENEDICTION:

Our worship service, our time of shaping worth together, is ended, but our service to the world begins again as we leave this place.  Let us go in peace, remembering that many moments of our lives have the potential to be spiritual experiences, leading us into deeper and deeper understanding of ourselves, each other, and the mystery of the universe.   May we savor those moments and bring them with us into our lives together here in this beloved community.  Amen, Shalom, Salaam, and Blessed Be.

CLOSING CIRCLE