Sermon given by Rev. Frank Clarkson, February 25, 2024.
We just heard the choir sing words from Rev. Gretchen Haley:
You are loved in this moment: safe, whole, and loved.
You belong here, upon this earth.
However tired or broken, angry or afraid,
You are loved, and you are not alone.
This is one of the necessities of life, isn’t it? To feel loved enough, and whole enough, that you can be present here, to this life; can be open to what comes, trusting that you have what you need for the living of these days.
This can be a lifelong project. How many of us come to adulthood wishing we had grown up with more love? How many of us were taught that the world was a safe and welcoming place? How many of us were encouraged to believe, as one song puts it, “The power of the universe knows my name.”
One of the most important things we do here is hold open a space where you can sense that love—both human care and connection, and that spirit of Love which will not let you go. When my wife Tracey and I were married, one of the prayers in our wedding said: “Give them such fulfillment of their mutual affection that they may reach out in love and concern for others.”
This movement, from feeling loved within, to then sharing that love and care with others, this is the journey I’m thinking about today. It’s the call to compassion; caring for and suffering with those who are hurting and need you love. And it begins with having the sense that you are loved enough. Of course it can also be fueled by your own lack of being loved—your own sense of what’s lacking can drive you to give to others what you are also longing for yourself. I expect that most, if not all, of us carry some of both—that presence and that absence.
The spiritual journey, which is a heroic journey, is to work with what you have been given; in particular, to sit with and work with your pain and brokenness, so that it can be transformed. So that what at first seemed like a wound or a hindrance can become the fuel, the inspiration, for your good and purposeful life. The Catholic priest and writer Henri Nouwen, whose “spirituality of the heart” touched millions of readers, experienced this in his own life, and in those he ministered to, and he wrote a book about it, called The Wounded Healer. About the transformation that comes when one stops running away from the pain and struggle, and starts working to do something positive with it. Of course, this is not a solo journey—it brings you into connection and companionship with others.
I guess I should say something about the fact that this journey is available to everyone. Try as they might, there are those whose pain leads them deeper into isolation, and there are those who seek protection by building a wall around their pain. But I have to hold on to hope that healing is possible. As Hellen Keller said, “The world is full of suffering, and also with the overcoming of it.”
I’m not saying that the real struggles of depression, anxiety, and other afflictions can be magically solved by love. There are treatments available, and if you are suffering, please ask for help.
Love wants and needs to be shared; it’s meant to be given away. When we feel loved, and cared for, our hearts are open, and more tender. We can look beyond ourselves, and see the need all around us. Love leads us toward compassion. Mother Terasa lived this, of course. Her life of compassion is articulated in this prayer of hers: “May God break my heart so completely that the whole world falls in.”
Compassion is sitting with those who are suffering, and suffering with them. It’s not trying to cheer them up or to talk them out of their sorrow. When we draw near to those who are hurting, we invite pain and sorrow to come close, into our hearts too. Not because we want to suffer, but because we are meeting people where they are. This is love in action, quietly being present, not trying to fix the pain, just being present to it. In moments like this you can sense the gift and blessing of simply being with another person where they are. And this is something we know how to do here, isn’t it?
Unfortunately we live in a country and a culture where there isn’t much support for this kind of openhearted brokenness. We live in a culture that makes us think, if we are sad, then something’s wrong with us. But this is part of our human condition. As the song goes, “I beg your pardon, I never promised you a rose garden, along with the sunshine, there’s gotta be a little rain sometime.”
Cultivating spiritual depth and a stronger soul means accepting the shadows, as well as the light. Trusting that they are related, and belong to one another. That part of the journey is going to include sorrow and grief. Hear again Rumi’s poem:
One night a man was crying,
“Allah, Allah!”
His lips grew sweet with the praising,
until a cynic said,
“So! I have heard you
calling out, but have you ever
gotten any response?”
The man had no answer for that.
He quit praying and fell into a confused sleep.
He dreamed he saw Khidr, the guide of souls,
in a thick, green foliage,
“Why did you stop praising?”
“Because I’ve never heard anything back.”
“This longing you express
is the return message.”
The grief you cry out from
draws you toward union.
Your pure sadness that wants help
is the secret cup.
Listen to the moan of a dog for its master.
That whining is the connection.
There are love dogs no one knows the names of.
Give your life to be one of them.
What if we understood our longing, our sense of incompleteness, as a beautiful, heartfelt response to the call of the Holy and to its absence?
“Why did you stop praising?”
“Because I’ve never heard anything back.”
“This longing you express
is the return message.”
Earlier this week, I read an opinion piece in The New York Times, about the death of Russian political prisoner Alekesi Navalny that really moved me. It was written by Nadya Tolokonnikova, an artist and activist and a founder of the performance art group Pussy Riot. Her piece is titled, “Putin Didn’t Hate Navalny. He Envied Him.”
Tolokonnikova was friends with Navalny. She says, “He helped me and millions of Russians realize that our country doesn’t have to belong to K.G.B. agents and the Kremlin’s henchmen. He gave us something else, too: a vision he called the ‘beautiful Russia of the future.’ This vision is immortal, unlike us humans. President Vladimir Putin may have silenced Aleksei, who died last week. But no matter how hard he tries, Mr. Putin won’t be able to kill Aleksei’s beautiful dream.”
Further in her essay, which I encourage you to read, Nadya Tolokonnikova says she learned from Navalny that the way to a free Russia was possible, and they could get there, “through joy, laughter and camaraderie.” Her words and spirit are feel powerful to me because too often I approach what’s difficult and challenging with too much seriousness and not enough joy. Do you know what I mean?
Hear one more paragraph from Nadya Tolokonnikova. She writes,
“People say Mr. Putin feared Aleksei. But I think the reason he wanted to get rid of Aleksei was another emotion — a darker, more sinister one. It was envy. People loved Aleksei. With his jokes, irony, superhero-like fearlessness and love for life, he led with charisma. People followed Aleksei because he was the kind of person you wanted to be friends with. People follow Mr. Putin because they fear him, but people followed Aleksei because they loved him. Mr. Putin clearly envied this appeal. No amount of money in the world can buy love; no amount of missiles and tanks can conquer people’s hearts.”
It’s widely understood that there are basically two emotions: love and fear. We get to choose. But the better choice is pretty obvious, isn’t it?
Practicing love will lead us into compassion, which will stretch and grow our souls, and we will understand that love is always stronger than fear. And this stretching can open us up to a fearless kind of joy. Which our world needs as much of as it can get.
Can we be people with this kind of faith? Opening our hearts to love, and to one another, courageously passing through our fears of what lies in the shadows, coming into that place of soul strength and soul vulnerability where we find ourselves companioned by joy. That place of connection here we find ourselves together, in the same boat, at home here on this, our beautiful blue green planet earth.
Amen.