by Kate Lore, Director of Social Justice

First Unitarian Church

Portland, Oregon

Reading:  “I Love You, Gentlest of Ways” by Rilke:

I love you, Gentlest of Ways

Who ripened us as we wrestled with you.

You, the great homesickness we could never shake off,

You, the forest that always surrounded us.

You, the song we sang in every silence,

You dark net threading through us,

On the day you made us you created yourself,

And we grew sturdy in your sunlight . . .

Let your hand rest on the rim of Heaven now

And mutely bear the darkness we bring over you.

Many of you are familiar with the Sufi poet and mystic named Rumi.  We begin here with one of his more provocative poems:

You are so weak.  Give up to grace.

The ocean takes care of each wave

‘Til it gets to shore.

You need more help than you know.

Now, you may find it curious that I would read a poem that refers to us as being weak and needing more help than we know.  We Unitarian-Universalists, after all, like to think of ourselves as self-reliant.  We place a high value on independence of mind and spirit. Yes, because we tend to be educated, capable people, we know that whatever adversity we may face, we can rest in the knowledge that we are ultimately masters of our own fates and captains of our own souls.  We can take care of ourselves, thank you very much—or can we?

Well, I’m here today to challenge that notion of rugged and empowered individualism so prevalent among us.  Not because I want to disempower you:  I’m the social justice director, after all, and I’m here to help you realize your power in the world.  No, today I want to talk to about something that may, in fact, sound a little odd and unreasonable at first but please stay with me.  For I believe that when we reach out beyond our own individual capacities, we can tap into something which can amplify our own individual power in the world and, in so doing, make us better change agents in a world that is in dire need of improvement.

It’s paradoxical the way we Unitarian Universalists simultaneously acknowledge our relationship to an intricate and sacred Web of Life while also clinging to this notion of total independence from one another.  I suppose this is to be expected, given our history of being non-traditionalists and free-thinkers.  And consider a moment some of the adages that are central to our culture right now: If you can imagine it, you can be it....  If you don’t know where you want to go, you’re never going to get there  . . .  and:  The road to success is paved with well-conceived goals.  Although there is truth in all of these thoughts—there is value in having vision and setting goals—such thinking can lull one into the false understanding that you, the doer, are always in the driver’s seat, and that you are ultimately in control.

Well, clearly we are not in control right now.  Stop and think about it. Not only are we completely helpless in the face of the natural disasters that are currently plaguing our planet, we are also not in control over the growth of terrorism, global warming, corporate greed, governmental corruption, rising rates of methamphetamine addiction, and countless other problems.  Yes, we are doing our part to reverse these trends and in so doing we are improving our world in countless and important ways—but we are not in control.  We never have been.

To illustrate this point, I want to share a story with you that I never, ever thought I would publicly share.  I do so now only because the hard times we’re facing require acts of courage.  So here goes!

One dark night shortly after getting my driver’s license, I hit a drunk pedestrian.  I was 24 at the time and hitting and maiming this man was by far the worst experience I’d ever endured.  I had always seen myself as a pacifist, you see, and striking this man with the weight of a 1½ ton pick-up truck seemed so very, very violent.  He had severe internal injuries and a number of compound fractures. I had to face those injuries, to look at them up close before running to go get help, and it was hard to see what I had done to another human being.

The accident was not technically my fault.  He was very drunk, it was dark and he stepped out in front of me and stood there, leaving me no time to veer away.  Yet the guilt I felt was so intense I could hardly eat or sleep for days.   And the tears just would not stop.  Why did I feel so guilty?  Because I believed at that time that I controlled my own destiny, that I created my own reality.  Thus, I could not forgive myself for having deliberately in some way ‘chosen’ to harm this man.  Sure, I tried to imagine some sort of reason why it might possibly be in the best interest of this man to be hit by a truck: “Maybe this would provide him a wake-up call to his drinking problem,” I thought, or “Maybe his family will now know the degree of his alcoholism and do an intervention.” But in the end I was still left with a tremendous sense of shame and self-loathing.  I had harmed this man in a major way and this was my wake-up call:  I must have some hidden violent urge or tendency that had thus far managed to escape my attention.

Nonsense.

Luckily I had an East Indian friend who helped me snap out of it.  After hearing me out and holding me as I sobbed with grief, she looked me straight in the eye and told me it was time for me to experience the Hindu practice of fire-walking.  “Fire-walking?!” I asked. Yes, fire-walking!  Although it sounded pretty far-fetched, I was desperate for some sort of spiritual healing so I went with her.  Yes, I am living proof that one can indeed walk across burning hot coals without incurring a single blister or burn.  And those coals really were hot.  In fact, I remember standing on the edge of them, trying to work up the gumption to walk across those 6 feet of coals while at the same time watching the hair or my feet and legs curling up and singing right before my eyes. 

But I did it—not just once but three times.  Before any of you go running out to try it yourself, I should tell you that the fire-walking was actually the culmination of a long process of spiritual work.  There was a leader who led us through a lot of exercises and guided meditations and we were all encouraged to cross the coals ONLY if our deep, inner voice was prompting us to do so.  Several of the people chose not to walk across the coals and they were praised for listening to their guts.  As for me, my inner prompting was loud and clear.  Somehow I knew I just had to do it.  And when I succeeded in bending the physical laws of reality, I was introduced—in a very real way—to the Mystery: the Spirit of Life.  And just like Job when he faced the whirlwind, I suddenly was reminded of my place in the world.  Thus, I was quickly reminded that my real problem was not some inner homicidal tendency, but rather my misguided sense of personal power and responsibility. I discovered I was not at the center of the universe, but merely one small part of a Mystery that is beyond my control and comprehension. 

Growing up in America has given most of us a skewed understanding of our relationship to everyone and everything on this planet.  And what concerns me is that these misunderstandings have led us down some pretty lonely paths.  Sure we have our beloved sense of independence and freedom (although I shudder to use that word these days), but as a people are we happy?  Do we love and care for each other well?  Do we live economically and environmentally sustainable lifestyles?  Do we know what justice, equity and compassion really look like?  No, I would argue, we don’t.

This is why I started with the poem by Rumi.  You see, I believe that there is actually strength in the kind of weakness his poem describes, a strength far greater than what is required to pull oneself up by one’s bootstraps.  And as ironic as it may sound, I believe it takes great courage to surrender to it.  Rumi uses the ocean metaphor, “the ocean makes sure that each wave gets to shore” but he also referred to it as something else: he used the word Grace—which is what this sermon is about today.

“Grace” is a word that means very different things to very different people so what exactly do I mean when I use the word?  Well, I don’t mean grace in the way it’s been historically defined by the Christian church.  I don’t believe grace is something that has to be earned.  Nor do I believe it is something bestowed by God upon certain ‘elect’ individuals.  Rather, I believe that Grace exists both inside and around us at all times.  It is, in part, that inner sacred beauty that radiates outward from us, touching everyone we meet—whether we’re aware of it or not. It is that unseen strand that connects all life and raises us up when we most need it.  If you’ve ever gone through a tragedy, you may know what I’m talking about because it is when you’re suffering that grace can sometimes be most strongly felt.

Lest you think I am describing not grace but God, let me clarify that one does not have to believe in a transcendent God to have experienced grace.  In fact, my own understanding of grace is not too dissimilar from the Chinese concept of the Tao—and for any of you who are familiar with Taoism, you know it is not based on belief in a transcendent God.  Listen, for example, to these lines from the Dao De Jing, a source text of Taoist philoshophy:

Imagine a nebulous thing

Here before Heaven and Earth:

Silent and elusive,

It stands alone not wavering;

It travels everywhere unharmed.

It could be the mother of us all.

            [Chapter 25]

And . . .

The Tao never does a thing,

Yet there is nothing it doesn’t do.

[Chapter 37]

So what I’m trying to describe here doesn’t fit neatly into any sort of box.  It is, in a sense, ungraspable. Yet these Taoist words I just shared point in its direction.

Like Grace, there is an eternal harmony associated with Tao that is always present, available to all people at every moment, and without religious or cultish boundaries. And this is the most important attribute: the more we move in harmony with it, the more peaceful and productive our journeys become.  And this, my friends, is my wish for all of us: A deeper peace and greater sense of ease.  For these are not easy times in our history and we have a long journey ahead.  That is why I’m asking that we allow ourselves to consider—if not forever than just for this morning—that we rest in the arms of love every moment that we are alive.

You see, I believe that Grace is the steady presence of the Divine that surrounds us in our most glorious days and our loneliest nights. Grace is the guiding light we still see when all is lost, the inspiration that comes in the nick of time, that feeling of not being alone that rescues us from despair. Grace is knowing that while we are not always as good as we can be, there is a gentle, unstoppable force that gives us the opportunity to be the good people that we potentially are.  It comes to us from nature, from other people, from the gift of life itself.  Grace is unearned.  We do not have to do anything to receive it except open ourselves to it.

Some of you may know that I believe that Grace brought me to work here at First Unitarian Church.  I had been working for the Methodists for six years when I suddenly got this “sense” that my time with the Methodists was coming to an end.  I wasn’t sure where I was heading but something deep inside me intuited  that I needed to begin making preparations for departure, such as writing down policies and procedures for the homeless family shelter I ran as part of that job.  Nine months later, when a member of this church came into my office to tell me that First Unitarian was aware of my work and was thinking about “hiring a Kate Lore of their own,” I  knew in an instant that this was the moment I had been preparing for.

The rest, as you know, is history.  I have been working here for seven years now and my spirit has never felt so alive.  Yes, I fully believe that Grace has led me to this place.  But I might also acknowledge that I, too, had to cultivate the ability to hear Grace’s promptings, to pay attention to that small, still voice within me.

I would argue that my experience was not necessarily a supernatural one.  Rather, it was what Unitarian minister Ralph Waldo Emerson might call a completely “natural” experience.  Emerson, who studied Hinduism and the works of Eastern mystics, concluded that grace not supernatural.  Like myself he believe it had nothing to do with whether or not you were going to get into heaven.  Rather, Grace was simply a state of Oneness with all life.  He felt we would all one day become one with the Oversoul or mind of God, as described in our responsive reading earlier in the service.

Emerson goes on to instruct us that by deeply centering ourselves in this Oneness, we can live in harmony with it, and things ultimately work out.   Things ultimately work out.  Does this mean that if we pay attention to grace our lives will be free of suffering?  No.  But by living deeply in the Oversoul, our suffering can be eased and we can be sustained during difficult times.

Now before I conclude this sermon I want to raise one more important point—Twentieth century theologian Paul Tillich defined sin as separation from your truest, deepest self, separation from others and community, and separation from God—or meaning, or mystery. Grace, he countered, is sin’s opposite. It is that which reconnects us, removing the separation and getting us back on target, back into the flow.

Our religious task, then, is to help each other overcome that separation, to be receptive to grace, to our Oneness.  It is to help restore the dynamic flow in us as individuals, as a people and as a planet.

Because, as Rumi goes on to tell us in that poem I opened with:

When we open up to grace,

something opens our wings, 

something makes boredom and hurt disappear,

something fills the cup in front of us:

we taste only sacredness.

Grace, I would offer in conclusion, is what usually comes to us unbidden, offering insight, calling us to change, granting us unexpected peace, recalling us to essentials.  It reminds us how cynical and jaded we’ve become, how much we take for granted, and how much we still have to learn.

So, my wish for you—as you prepare to enter into another week of existence—that you dive deep with connection, compassion, communion and care into your world.  For it is in these quiet, everyday, deep habitations with self, others, culture and creation that you shall (in the end) find dignity, purpose and joy.  May it be so!