Listen:
OPENING READING: "Summons"
Keep me from going to sleep too soon
Or if I go to sleep too soon
Come wake me up. Come any hour
Of night. Come whistling up the road.
Stomp on the porch. Bang on the door.
Make me get out of bed and come
And let you in and light a light.
Tell me the northern lights are on
And make me look. Or tell me clouds
Are doing something to the moon
They never did before, and show me.
See that I see. Talk to me till
I'm half as wide-awake as you
And start to dress wondering why
I ever went to bed at all.
Tell me the walking is superb.
Not only tell me but persuade me.
You know I'm not too hard persuaded.
-- Robert Francis
MEDITATION READING: "Yes, the year is gone - it has ended now..." (adapted by Beaudreault)
Yes, the year is gone - it has ended now.
There were other years,
And some began with a birthday
And some with a death;
Some began with a song and others with a lament.
But now we begin another year,
And it is what lies before us
Which should concern us now.
There will be decisions and tasks;
There will be drudgery, achievement and defeat;
There will be joy and grief,
All the raw stuff of experience
Waiting for us to shape, to fashion as we will,
And it will never be just what we planned.
However the time ahead of us may appear to others,
We can turn it to knowledge and wisdom
Or folly.
If the time be hard, we can make it strength.
Indeed, it may become bone, sinew and steel.
Or perhaps, if we are not careful, it may become ashes and waste.
Yes, someone might say, "It all depends on what the year may bring,"
But I think what we make of it - no matter what we are given -
Depends on us."
-- Robert Weston
SERMON: "362 Days Left in the Year, So What ARE We to Do?"
And so the poet Robert Francis in our opening reading echoes the age-old theme, indeed, the universal metaphor of HUMANITY ASLEEP; of our being in a soporific, benumbed state when all around us the majesty of the world begs for our wakefulness. This is not the kind of sleep that includes instructive, integrative dreaming, where we are able to gain some insight into who we are, but rather, it is the sleep of non-living, non-awareness, non-fulfillment of being. Sleeping thusly, we are put on hold, while the grandeur of a fascinating world awaits our attentiveness. Those asleep to such splendor are merely passing through this beautiful world, rather than being engaged with it.
Writers have echoed this theme again and again.
They are all telling us, in effect, to wake up and use the 362 days we have left in this year (supposing that each of us will have 362 days), and to use whatever other days we might have in years to come, for good and constructive purposes. But so many people have not used past days to such good effect, nor will they use the days to come thusly.
Nathaniel Hawthorne refers to such the latter type of individual when he notes in his journal:
Subject for a novel: a story in which the main character never appears.
Oliver Wendell Holmes speaks of such a person, too, when he says of the type:
They die with all their music in them.
John Ciardi posits a god who is most peeved by:
The calculations of the meek, who gambled nothing, gave nothing, and could never receive enough.
The cartoon character Pogo also observes such a character when, upon observing a duck migrating north by driving a kiddy-car comments:
Hump! He's afeard to fly, he might fall: he's afeared to swim, he might drown...when he decided to be a duck, he picked the wrong business!
And T. S. Eliot agrees with Pogo when he says:
We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together. ("The Hollow Men")
It is the therapist William Bridges who portrays that archetypal representative of this somnambulant state of humanity through the personage of one Rip Van Winkle:
Ah, Rip, you poor jerk...you're just left high and dry. The earth continues to turn and others go on with their lives, but you simply grow older while you "sleep away" your life...Holding on to what you have been, you drowse on until the day, years later, when you wake and cry pitifully, "Everything has changed! Where am I? Why, I'm an old man now. Where did my life go?" Yes, Rip, you missed the turn a long way back. Here, sit on the bench in the sun with these other old fellows and tell stories about how it was. (A Year in the Life)
Hardly a positive appraisal of "us" now, is it? But let us not think of it this way exactly, but rather as a cry in the wilderness for our betterment as a species. For the assumption that Eliot and these other writers make is that at least we have the capability to be more fully evolved! It's just that we must move beyond our insufficiencies to get to that higher plain of existence.
Indeed, this particular time of year, this annual ending-beginning saga, can serve as a catalyst, that stirs us from a groggy state of existence where we plod along within the humdrumness of it all, to a place of livelier step that moves us toward ever new and exciting adventures of mind and heart.
And as we ask Mr. Van Winkle, we must ask ourselves:
"How was the nap? Did you learn anything new while sleeping? Did you experience anything insightful? Did you push beyond the boundaries of your everyday routine? Did you create something unique? Did you make the world a better place? Did you help to form a more just society? Did you fashion a more loving planet? Or, did you just sleep? A sleep of quiet desperation - snoozing away life, just the way many of your neighbors do?
"If so, Mr. V.W., and the rest of us nappers, be aware that the celestial do-gooders are here to inform you and everyone else that it is time to get out of bed! To wake up, Rip! To wake up, world! To realize that there's still a life to live - to really live!"
The choice awaits. Just listen to this true story from Arthur Gordon about how two elderly gentlemen - both one-hundred-years old - spent their respective time on the planet:
On my car radio the other day I heard a program that featured an interview with two centenarians. They were being asked the traditional questions about what had enabled them to reach the century mark, how they had celebrated their hundredth anniversary, and so on. One revealed that he had spent each of his last eighty birthdays in a tavern, and intended to maintain this merry tradition as long as he could. The other attributed his longevity to careful eating habits, no drinking, no smoking, never a cross word, and so on. He added that he had spent his hundredth birthday in bed, convalescing. The first old warrior growled, "Convalescing from what?" (A Touch of Wonder)
But wait, there's more! Another story I shall never forget was one that I heard on the news one Christmas day. This, too, was about a centenarian, who, when asked what her secret was for living to such a venerable age, replied:
Devilishness!
So much for the image of angels at Christmas, or sanctity, or eating liver and Brussels sprouts!
Devilishness!
And may we all go and sin likewise!
For you see, no matter if the devil made her do it, she did live to be a hundred, and really had lived a life, just like that other centenarian who loved going to his favorite tavern. Both had discovered passion, rather than merely accepting a life of coping.
Indeed, waking up is the solution; in effect, the act is a spiritual remedy - what the great religious teachers refer to as "Enlightenment." Consider the question posed to the Buddha who was asked "Who are you?" and replied simply "I am awake."
To be awake in this sense, is to be aware of the world; to know that you are connected to it, both in grand and subtle ways; that you are not alone; that in effect, you are not as special as you might hold yourself up to be - and yet, you are! You are unique, but your uniqueness at the same time, is part of the whole scheme of things. You really can't have one without the other!
In being awake, then, you gain passion beyond merely coping. You become an activist in the world, rather than a mere observer. The parade of life doesn't simply pass you by, because you are leading the parade - or at least your little section of it in the universe.
It is what Mark Twain is talking about when he says of life:
Take life as it is - an earnest, vital and important affair; as though you were born to the task of performing an essential part of it.
Then, with the poet Walter de la Mare, you observe your life with reverence, as if each moment will be your last, instead of thinking that you have all the time in the world:
Look thy last on all things lovely,
Every hour. Let not night
Seal thy sense in deathly slumber
Till to delight
Thou have paid thy utmost blessing.
I believe that there are places to go to gain such positive regard about life; they are the opposite of so-called "Sleep Disorder Centers." The places I am referring to could be called "Wake Up Centers." Places of spiritual awareness, growth, and action - you know like this church. Indeed, is this church not a place where the intent is to rouse you from your slumber, your darkness if you will, and bring you into the light of awareness, one that dazzles you with its brightness?
Okay, it might have been a rough year for you this past year - one filled with very dark passages - but know that here you can exit to the bright light of love and awareness. If not here, in this place of spiritual sustenance, with a community of others who are seeking connection to the world around them, than hopefully somewhere.
But I do believe that the ideals of this liberating church call each of us to be awake - here and now. It is here that we may ask of each other, the same thing the persona in the poem by Robert Francis is asking of his friend:
Keep me from going to sleep too soon
Or if I go to sleep too soon
Come wake me up...
Bang on the door.
Make me get out of bed and come
And let you in and light a light.
So, as we make ready to welcome a new year, may we each turn to each other for a wake-up call on this very day, and in the days to come.
May we heed the words of Kathleen McTigue, a Unitarian Universalist minister when she asks us:
(to take) the time to look into one another's faces and see there communion: the reflection of our own eyes.
I think of that image when I remember one of the greatest joys I have had in life - the time I served as a hospital chaplain at the UCLA Medical Center. One of my duties was to co-lead a weekly cancer support group with a social worker. We had a dozen or so participants who were in various stages of their fight against cancer, but most had an incurable condition.
Week after week we came together to share stories of sorrow and loss, but also tales of joy and success - no matter how small. Stories about how good someone was feeling about herself because of the new wig she was wearing; or about how well treatment was going; or how wonderful a spouse or child was coping with the person's cancer.
How we enjoyed sharing even these little successes in the face of impending loss.
You see, these people were awake - trying the best they possibly could to live full and rich lives, despite their serious illnesses.
Yes, in that group we all knew that life was very tenuous.
And yes, many, many tears were shed.
And yet, do you know what happened? Despite the sadness, the pain, the fear, the anger, I believe that each person in that group grew to appreciate life more than any one of them might have before they were told they had cancer.
Together, in community, each became more enlightened, more loving.
And as the months went by, and one by one the participants would be too sick to come to the group, or in fact, would pass away, those of us who were left, became more and more thankful for each moment we had.
I have a little aside to this story - a little irony - because you see the person who, through her generous financial contributions to the oncology center at UCLA, made possible the support group was someone who, herself, had cancer and attended our group.
This woman was a noted actress - in fact someone who won an Academy Award for Best Actress. A little more irony - the movie that earned her this accomplishment told a tale about the power of faith to heal the body, mind and spirit.
It was the story of a young woman who traveled to Lourdes, France and there in a grotto Our Lady of Lourdes appeared to her in 1858. The miraculous cures worked at Lourdes since then have attracted up to a million pilgrims from around the world a year.
The movie was Song of Bernadette, starring Jennifer Jones.
Ms. Jones, a positive force for all those in our group - someone who had much success, but also much loss in life - and yet someone who continued to seek joy and meaning, and who remained ever thankful DESPITE IT ALL!
And even if the people in our cancer support group were not healed in body, I do believe they were healed in mind and spirit - simply by coming together and sharing their intimate stories. In doing this they discovered that they did not have to be alone.
And what a wonderful thing that is! How much more "awake" can you be!
Truly, we all have a choice about how we will approach our lives. Knowing that life is a composite of the good and bad, the wonder and the horror, we can either put our mark on the negative side of the ledger, or the positive.
We can, in effect, believe life is mere folly, a fool's dance without purpose or meaning, where even if some wonderful things occur, it is ultimately a void and meaningless thing that does not deserve our gratitude.
Or we can perceive life in the opposite way. We can trust life; merge with it, knowing that no matter how frightening some of life's experiences can be, they cannot hurt us. The negative things will pass through our consciousness; they will pass in time.
But then, we must also know that the good, too, will pass in time. Even the good which we have made from the bad. There is no need to be ultimately attracted to either the beautiful or frightening realities; no need to be attached to them at all.
But thankful, yes! Thankful for the fullness of life! Life with all its complexity!
And in this non-attached state, this state of letting go, of being thankful for this liberation and of being truly we can attain enlightenment.
A final note: Miss Jennifer Jones died peacefully at home this past December 17th. She was ninety years old. Truly she was one of the most "awake" people I have ever known.