Sermon

Here is the sermon that I gave in church today.

Daniel 2 20-23

How do we know what we believe? Where do our beliefs come from? What is God like? Does God look like one of us? Does God take an active role with our lives? Where did we come from? Where did God come from? Why did God make us? Why are we here? Are we God’s ant farm, that God made so God could watch us grow and now we are relegated to the forgotten attic, because how could God sit idly by as the Holocaust happened? As we systematically destroy the planet, GOD’s Planet?

These are questions that I’ve found myself pondering for as long as I can remember. I’ve searched through various faith paradigms and been dissatisfied with their explanations for one reason or another.

When I spent my year and a half at Camp Myrtlewood I got involved with the local native american community. They followed, and I was fortunate enough to share in, traditional Lakota ceremonies. The Lakota refer to the divine as Wakan Tanka, The Great Mystery. The Great Mystery. I like that a lot. To me referring to God that way really resonates. We can’t possibly begin to fathom God. So instead of trying to make God fit inside our feeble heads, we stand in awe.

Actually thats what God is to me: Standing in awe. Feeling completely and utterly incapable of describing; completely away from rationality, logic, and thinking and being entirely present. Listening with my heart, instead of thinking about God. Feeling that ever present Great Mystery. This is what the divine is for me.

I also like the Quaker belief that we all have that still small voice of God deep within us. The Lakota take that belief one step further: They believe that everything has that divine spark in it. Everything has that essence of the divine in it; the soul and essence that is in me is no different from that which is in you, that’s in the trees, the birds, the streams, and the rocks. Therefore everything is my brother, my sister. Mitakuye oyasin: All of my relations. Our hope is to recognize that and to walk in balance with everything.

The Lakota beliefs that I’ve learned of resonate profoundly with me. But that’s me, we’re all different. There’s an analogy that describes different religions trying to make sense of God. Imagine each religion as a blind person feeling a different part of an elephant. One grabs a tusk and says, “God is strong, firm, beautiful, yet potentially dangerous.” Another holds on to the tail and says, “I know God. God is like a rope: practical, yet pliable.” A third has the a leg, “Ahh God is strong and steadfast,” she says. Maybe this is not just applicable to religions but to each of us. We all cling steadfastly to the God that we’ve come to know; with whom we’ve cultivated a relationship; and that relationship is based on Truth. And all of our experiences are equally as valid, though potentially extremely different.

One of the biggest gifts that being at Peace church has offered me is a church that welcomes difficult questions. Furthermore, it’s accepting of answers that differ from the norm. Answers that may be uncomfortable for some. Peace Church not only encourages questions but gives you the permission to find that answer that resonates most with you.

I haven’t had a close relationship with a church for a long time. For me faith is an extremely intimate and personal interaction. I have found and cultivated a relationship with my God that works for me and nurtures my soul. I’ve found other churches pretty stifling. My relationship with God comes from within. Not from someone telling me what I SHOULD believe. Yet I really have found value in having this faith community. Faith communities help to keep us accountable. They give us feedback as to how we’re living our lives. They help us to continue to grow in our relationships with God, because we all are always growing, learning and changing and so should our relationship with God.

Our opening words came from Thich Nhat Hanh, a vietnamese Buddist monk who has worked to bridge ecumenical understandings between east and west. I’m going to read them again: “To have a good [spiritual community], the members must live in a way that helps them generate more understanding and more love. If a [spiritual community] is having difficulties, the way to transform it is to begin by transforming yourself, to go back to your island of self and become more refreshed and more understanding. You will be like the first candle that lights the second that lights the third, fourth, and fifth.”

I hope that we all can continue to give ourselves permission to seek and find God on our own terms. I hope that we can trust the answers that we find. I hope that we all can have the courage to transform ourselves, to return to our island of self and become more refreshed and more understanding. I hope that we can be willing to share that light and understanding with people we encounter daily.

I’m going to close with a story about an encounter I had in the woods with the divine that inspired awe. Our frequent blog followers might remember this story. Last month, I took Heather to a half marathon trail run at Timothy Lake near Mt. Hood. While she was running I went for a solo hike in the woods. For me, time in the woods usually turns into a sacred time.

This has been an extremely long winter, as y’all know. As recently as two weeks before I hiked this trail it got 2 feet of snow. Within 10 minutes of hiking I had to ford a snow melt stream that was 3 feet deep. I was extremely grateful for this, because it would hopefully deter other would be hikers and I relish my alone time in the woods. As I crossed the stream I ran into 2-3 day old elk sign. Then I noticed some cougar sign with about the same age. I imagined a cougar quietly stalking the noisy elk herd as it forged along it's way. The cougar watching for the right moment to strike a calf elk. I continued to walk along the trail trying to be observant and present to the great outdoors.

I came to a part of the forest that closed in. Instead of the open woods with tall older trees and a few rhododendron bushes with a good view, it became younger denser forest with a hallway cut out through it. With my visibility reduced, I focused on my other senses. I got the feeling of being watched. No sooner did I feel this, I walked around a corner and in the middle of the trail was fresh cougar scat, not just kinda fresh, but still glistening in a sunbeam fresh. The hairs raised on the back of my neck and I had a strong surge of adrenaline. My instinct was to get out of there, fast yet calm like.

Instead I took it as a lesson the forest was trying to show me: It was a good reminder that this not my forest. I was a merely a visitor in the cougar's woods -- and not just their woods, but the trees', the elk's, the rhody bush's. I said an audible prayer -- "Brother cougar, I mean you no harm. I humbly ask for safe passage as a visitor through your forest. I come in good will. I respect and honor you."

As soon as I said this I felt deeply at ease with the rest of my hike. It hit me that this is how I should always view the world. This is not my world, or humanities'. We share this small blue sphere with every creature, tree, stream, rock, and spring. This is a shared planet. This is not mine. I wish humanity could collectively say a similar prayer: "Dear grandfather fish, brother bird, sister forest, and mother creek, We ask humbly for your blessing as we tread softly through your land. We mean you no harm. We will leave only footprints and take only what we need." I hope that we can find this humility as a race, and quickly. I hope that we can see God in every creature, every tree, and every stream, and sit in wondrous respectful awe.