What Is On My Heart

      

I started out thinking this sermon would be about Spiritual Practices, and I guess in a sense it will be.  I was going to talk about how my running helps me to remain grounded, helps me find a stillness and peace, reminds me that even in times of great chaos and turbulence, there is always peace within me, and I guess I will touch on these themes, but not in the way that I thought I was going to.  You see, last week I officiated a Memorial Service for a 23-year-old man who had committed suicide. 

This young man was very giving—helping others without being asked, even when he was a child. Giving things to his sister that she wanted that he had been playing with—he gave his things to her without hesitation and with love in his heart.  He helped not only family and friends, but also strangers—he was a Big Brother to a boy through the Big Brothers/Big Sisters organization.  He was smart and talented, curious about everything.  He was a spiritual seeker, starting his life as a Catholic, then studying Islam, Buddhism, and other religions and philosophies.  His family wished he had found this church; they wondered aloud if he would still be with them.  He eventually settled on Taosim as his faith.  Here is a quote by a prominent Taoist, Miyamoto Musashi , about how to live Taoism:

1. Accept everything just the way it is.
2. Do not seek pleasure for its own sake.
3. Do not, under any circumstances, depend on a partial feeling.
4. Think lightly of yourself and deeply of the world.
5. Be detached from desire your whole life long.
6. Do not regret what you have done.
7. Never be jealous.
8. Never let yourself be saddened by a separation.
9. Resentment and complaint are appropriate neither for oneself nor others.
10. Do not let yourself be guided by the feeling of lust.
11. In all things have no preferences.
12. Be indifferent to where you live.
14. Do not hold on to possessions you no longer need.
15. Do not act following customary beliefs.
16. Do not collect weapons or practice with weapons beyond what is useful.
17. Do not fear death.
18. Do not seek to possess either goods or fiefs for your old age.
19. Respect Buddha and the gods without counting on their help.
20. You may abandon your own body but you must preserve your honor.
21. Never stray from the Way.

This really is how this young man lived his life.

On the last day of his life, he visited the Omaha’s Henry Doorley Zoo.  He had spent many happy days as a child at this Zoo with his mother and sister.  His mother said that they went there almost every day while his father was stationed in Omaha.  So his family speculated he must have been happy spending time at the Zoo.  He wrote these final words on the back of his Henry Doorley Zoo ticket: “Life is good, I am at peace.”  Then he chose to leave this life.

            What was I to tell his family and friends to help them during this difficult time?  What could I suggest to them that would help them cope with this devastating loss?  Certainly we talked about the rational reasons that might have caused him to commit suicide, but the rational, logical, scientific are not what give people peace.  In an interview in Parabola Magazine, ex-nun and religious writer Karen Armstrong says, “Plato describes the two different ways of approaching truth as mythos and logos.  Mythos is more a more silent, intuitive way of looking at reality and logos is more of a scientific, discursive, logical way, and we need both.  We’ve always needed logistic thought, if only to sharpen an arrow correctly…when a child dies, we want a scientific explanation, but that’s not all we need.  We need some kind of different thinking that helps us deal with the turbulence of our inner world at such a time…we all have to learn how to negotiate our unconscious worlds…it is a realm of silence rather than wordy thought.” 

            I needed to be with them as they, each member of his family, tried to embrace their mythos, to struggle with their own emotions and spiritual beliefs, to try to make meaning of this full and beautiful and wonderful life being cut short.  I can offer someone who is suffering my hand, to let them know that I have walked this path of suffering as well, and I will be with them as they walk this path, as they find their way back to some sense of peace, some realization that silence and sunlight still exist, and that they still have some connection with the presence of the Lover within all lovers who lives within us all.  I do not offer them a religious explanation for their suffering and loss, for my spiritual explanation is for me and in my own heart; my explanation gives me peace.  And I do not give them religious rituals to perform, because although my spiritual practices give me peace, and they will have to find their own practices and rituals that will help them find peace.  I offered to officiate the Celebration of a life well lived and to struggle with my own understanding of the meaning of this young man's life. 

            Karen Armstrong goes on in her article to say: “To expect certainty from a religion is immature and unrealistic.  It is the sign of an undeveloped spirituality, a childish point of view.  There is no certainty.  The Taoists found a great freedom in not being certain about things.  They didn’t have to pompously declaim facts and doctrines and truths…It’s quite a trick of the mind to allow yourself to be in that fertile state in the darkness.”

            In this Service, I was called to hold myself and those present in that “fertile state of darkness,” that state of uncertainty, as we immersed ourselves in the deceased person’s life.   I have often found myself on the verge of tears, of facing my own times of deep sadness as I officiate such a Service.  And this Celebration of Life was no exception.  I could not be true to myself and say anything about an afterlife, so I did not.  I could not deny or ignore the fact that he committed suicide, so I did not.  What I did do and had to do was to hold onto my own inner peace, feeling that stillness that I can carry with me always.  I didn’t try to construct some other moment, to anticipate what might happen or how the family/friends might react to what I or others were doing in the service.  I just let myself be in each moment as it came.  And, and in so doing, I could be a calm presence, a presence which allowed those gathered to follow their own path through grief, suffering, confusion, questioning, fear. 

             Life is often confusing; we all have times of suffering and pain; fear can dominate our hearts, especially in times of extreme stress or loss.  And somehow we still have hope that we will move through this time; somehow we realize that fear, grief, loss, pain, stress will pass, and greater than all those is love, compassion, and peace; somehow we realize that we will not lose the memories of the people we have lost; and somehow we come to realize that we do not walk this path of suffering alone. 

            How we do this will vary for each one of us.  For many of us, just having someone with us as we travel this path gives us the strength and hope that we cannot give ourselves.  Some of us have spiritual practices that help us stay grounded as we go through the ebbs and flows of suffering.  For some of us, rituals like a Memorial Service or a Celebration of Life, or even simple rituals like lighting a chalice or reading from a book that we consider to be meaningful or holy can help us take steps toward healing and wholeness.  For me all of these are needed. 

            When my father passed away, I needed the Memorial Service to sort out many of the often conflicted feelings I had for my father.  I needed my spiritual practices of running, praying, meditating to keep me from falling apart—I needed them to help me cope with and to be open to the pain inside me.  I needed simple rituals like my daily Buddhist reading to keep myself in touch with my heart of hearts; and I needed my simple morning rituals to keep me grounded in normalcy even when the world seemed far from normal.  And I needed you all as well as my family and friends to walk with me during that time.  This congregation even raised money to buy a tree that was planted in my mother’s backyard for my family to ground ourselves in the memory of, and feel some concrete connection to, my father.  And through this I was able to find peace and healing.

            Whether we face the loss of a loved one or are feeling overwhelmed by the daily grind of work or other obligations, we all need to care for ourselves, to reach out to others to share their strength and hope, to not be afraid of the inner uncertainty and pain, and to find meaning to move forward again. 

            The day that the young man who committed suicide was born, he almost died.  His mother was in labor with him from Friday to Monday.  And when he eventually emerged, the umbilical cord was wrapped around his neck, and he was blown up like a balloon—purple for lack of oxygen.  The doctors and nurses left his mother to quickly care for this big purple child.  After removing the cord from around his neck, they began working on him to get him breathing and, after what seemed several minutes, his parents heard his cry for the first time.  Having started life so near death, his father said to me that he feels lucky to have been able to have had his son in his life this long.  This young man’s father had begun his journey; he had embraced his grief, that “fertile state of darkness,” and found a light to move himself forward.  Namaste.