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Healing the Spirit August 14, 2005 The Reverend Leslie Westbrook Cedar Lane Unitarian Universalist Church Bethesda, Maryland Reading In the recent book Mind Wide Open, author Steven Johnson tells a personal religious story. He describes an event which causes his understanding of the world and his place in it to disintegrate. Instantly he realizes his life and that of everyone he loves is precious, fragile, and exceedingly vulnerable in the vast world of natural forces. He says: A few years ago, my wife and I moved into an apartment in a renovated old warehouse on the far west edge of downtown Manhattan. The apartment was nice enough by New York standards, but it had one irresistible attraction: a massive eight-foot-high window looking out over the Hudson River. For the first few months in the space, any time interesting weather happened—a snowstorm, a particularly nice sunset—we’d gather together at the window and enjoy the view. When summer arrived that year, we discovered a new feature of our view: thunderstorm watching. Most weather patterns blow in from the west where we live, and so as the temperature would start to climb, we’d see the thunderheads collect out over New Jersey, and we’d settle in for a good show. One mid-June afternoon, an especially severe storm started brewing—severe enough, we later found out, to cause the local news stations to run emergency bulletins forecasting heavy winds. As the skies darkened, and the whitecaps appeared on the river, we stood together at the window, faces practically pressed against the glass. And then we heard a sound. It was a subtle noise, like a twig snapping, and under the wind’s whistling and the rumble of thunder it was hard to locate spatially. My wife shouted out: “What the hell was that? She immediately jumped back from the glass, while I remained just to the side of the window. In a typical display of composure and perceptiveness, I said I thought it might have been the door closing in the study, and my wife walked toward the back of the apartment to see if I was right. But that snapping sound wasn’t, in fact, the study door; it was the bolt that anchored the bottom steel frame of the window. As I turned back to inspect the window, a sudden blast of air blew the frame right out of the wall, shattering a pane of glass the size of a kitchen table and sending shards through the entire length of the apartment. Because I was standing to the side of the window, the glass and frame blew right past me. If my wife had not ventured off to inspect the study door, she would have taken the full force of a steel frame and glass panel being blown in by sixty-mile-an-hour winds. It’s entirely possible that the impact would have killed her.” (Mind Wide Open, Scribner, New York, 2004, pp.47-48) Sermon I want to be clear and direct this morning about my personal experience of Cedar Lane Unitarian Universalist Church. Being a part of this church helps me get through each week with a sense of meaning, purpose, adequacy, satisfaction, personal integrity. I need to say this at the beginning of my sermon. This church, the people, the building, the principles it represents...all of Cedar Lane is especially important to me. I have thought long and hard about what the elements of my experience here are. This morning I want to focus on what I have learned, in the hope it will stimulate you to also think about what Cedar Lane means to you. In the reading this morning author, Steven Johnson, begins his story with an expression of what Unitarian Universalists might describe as a religious sense of awe at the immense beauty and power of nature. Within the safety of their apartment, he and his wife are able to observe and appreciate the enormous fluctuating forces of weather—nature’s colors of gray and white and red and gold; her gossamer, billowing, or threatening shapes; her undulating majesty, and then her swift and mighty movements. Looking out the window is a time they share together. It is an experience laced with awe and appreciation and intimacy. They both sense that they are part of something far bigger than themselves. But suddenly all changes and what was safe and beautiful becomes deadly. In a few brief moments, which he experiences in slow motion, Johnson watches the window blow out and he finds himself immediately relieved that he is unharmed, and then terrified that his wife may be dead. Gladly he reports she, too, is safe and unharmed. Johnson goes on to explain that after this traumatic experience, though the replacement window is constructed to withstand winds of a category three hurricane, he finds himself fearful whenever he hears the wind whistle outside the apartment window. The traumatic experience has left its mark and he is a fearful man, unable to relax and enjoy what he used to associate with beauty and pleasure. Because he cannot shake the terror associated with the experience, he begins to study neuroscience in order to learn more about how the human brain processes traumatic experiences. He also seeks professional help to deal with what mental health professionals call post traumatic stress disorder. The window breaking in on him and his wife has propelled Johnson on a journey to find new meaning and understanding of his life and his place in the universe. All of us encounter life experiences in which our trust or faith that the world will treat us well is shaken. We lose a job, someone we love becomes ill or dies, an important relationship falters, a dream we had for ourselves is crushed. Such experiences are part of our lives. Our Unitarian Universalist churches are especially designed to provide what we need when we encounter such blows. Johnson sought professional psychological help...and there are times when our spiritual or emotional pain can be so intense that professional help is in order. But I think our churches provide a community of support that enables us to keep steady in the more expected ups and downs of life. I think there are three elements of our life at Cedar Lane that buffer us from the inevitable disappointments and tragedies of life. They help us maintain our hope and our faith. First of all, this church represents a set of values and principles that we have each decided are important in our effort to live with integrity. We choose to become part of a Unitarian Universalist church because we cherish its liberal religious values...respect for all human beings, a desire to keep learning and understanding our world, belief in the democratic process in human affairs. At church we are reminded that these values are part of what gives our life meaning and purpose. On Sunday mornings we are reminded in the opening words, the sermon, the closing words, our church mission. The spoken and written words of our principles are tools or guides to use as we go about our day. For instance, one of our principles speaks of the continuing search for truth, meaning, knowledge. Like Steven Johnson, when life deals us a blow, we often find ourselves seeking out all the information we can about the subject at hand. Information, scientific knowledge is one of the best antidotes to a Unitarian’s anxiety. We understand full well the impetus with which Johnson threw himself into learning what neuroscience had to tell him about how the human spirit heals from trauma. Reason, knowledge and the scientific method....these are resources that Unitarian Universalists bring to their experiences that distinguish us from most other religious groups. But of equal importance are the people of Cedar Lane. You serve as a source of inspiration and guidance for one another. You are a tremendous resource. You are living examples of people who have devoted your whole lives to the furtherance of liberal religious values and principles. You work in government to support the democratic process. You are scientists seeking to advance scientific knowledge. You provide service to others in the fields of law, medicine, mental health, education. You create in art new avenues of expression for the human spirit. You foster the development of human beings by creating loving and nurturing families. I like to think that many of us come to church because we think we might hear something in the sermon that will stimulate us to think seriously about the purpose of our lives. I have spent my entire adult life studying about religion and the human personality, and yet I continue to come to church on Sunday mornings to learn more and to be inspired to live a more ethically responsible and faithful life. I hope the speaker will have some information or experience to share that I will find stimulating, encouraging, or reassuring. But just as important, I come because I anticipate seeing a friend. That person may be further along in life and I listen intently to how they dealt with similar experiences. Or they may be younger, new in their marriage or the creation of a family. When I talk to them, I am given the chance to remember the excitement of those early beginnings. Perhaps this happens for you. Cedar Lane provides us people and ideas and principles and values that we can use as guides in our own lives. Second, I think we are drawn to Cedar Lane because we know that the people here believe we are special and deserve good in the world. I am not talking about a sense of entitlement that reflects a belief that we are better and more deserving than others. I am talking about that sense that in the very core of our being we are special and there is no one else on this earth quite like us. Others are special in their own way...we are special because we are ourselves. I think most people come to our churches in the hope that others want to see us, want to hear what we think and feel about things, care about how our life is going, respect and care about us as a religious person. That experience is something to treasure in this impersonal world of the twenty-first century.
Our Unitarian Universalist Association Principles and Purposes state that simply because we are human beings we possess dignity and worth, we deserve justice, equity and compassion, we need acceptance and encouragement toward spiritual growth, and we are on a journey toward personal truth and meaning. We say in many different ways that the human soul or spirit or personality is special. Some of us say it is sacred. Some of us feel comfortable talking about a God with whom human beings are in relationship. Others simply talk of the spark of divinity in every human being. Historically, we can trace our optimistic view of human possibility to the left wing of the Reformation when men and women were burned at the stake rather than recant their view that human beings were special, not sinners, in the eyes of God.
Finally, I think we come to church because we are aware that in our friendships, in our experiences in our adult education programs, in the social justice causes we have worked on shoulder to shoulder with other church members, we are not alone. Others at this church have the same range of feelings and values and aspirations and goals that we have. Perhaps you experience this when you banter about the latest triumph or defeat of the Nationals baseball team, or when you remember the horror you felt as you watched the World Trade Center disintegrate, or when you have come together to celebrate the life of a much loved church leader or the birth of a much desired child to a couple who you know has struggled to begin their family. I think it is these deeply meaningful and passionate experiences of similarity that also keep us coming back to our church.
I hold fast to my belief in the sanctity of the human spirit. I believe that there is something special in every person—a spirit or a soul—something which is divine and which seeks to grow and develop when unimpeded by outside circumstances. I believe there is a Creative Energy or Process available to us which aids us in our growth and supports us as we seek to heal our wounded spirits. I have witnessed the creative process of a wounded soul or spirit seeking healing as I have worked in the parish and as a pastoral psychotherapist. I believe that ultimately there is a mystery at work in that process. It is the resilience and tenacity of the human spirit coupled with that Creative Process which brings healing to our spirits. I also think that same Creative Process in my consulting room is at work in every positive satisfying exchange between two people which occurs on Sunday mornings.
I know the power of professional therapeutic help when life deals us a devastating blow. I work with couples and individuals who feel they are stumbling and want some help regaining their balance. Quite frankly, I am in awe of the resilience of the human beings who have come to see me.
I remember the young woman deeply wounded because she was part of a denomination that would not ordain lesbian clergy. She wanted to be a minister like her father. While seeing me, she immersed herself in research about homosexuality, and she found a peer group of young women who desired to be ministers. Over time she found a church whose religious beliefs were that she WAS a child of God. They were delighted to recognize her as the minister she was.
I remember also the middle aged woman whose husband died suddenly, years before their planned retirement, who found she no longer knew what her purpose in life was. She became part of a bereavement group, became more active in her church, and over time, she was able to find the strength to reconstruct her life with new relationships and new meaning and purpose.
I remember the many young adults deeply affected by their parents’ alcoholism, who feared becoming alcoholic themselves, or feared making themselves vulnerable to disappointment in intimate relationships. Often they learned all they could about alcoholism, they attended Adult Child of Alcoholics meetings, and they sought therapy. Eventually many of them were able to move past their deep shame of their parents and sense of responsibility for their parents’ addiction and establish a trusting relationship with a partner who was reliable and caring.
Finally, I remember the many couples who I have worked with. Invariably they all begin by expressing some disappointment in their partners, perhaps because of affairs, lost jobs, emotional unavailability. Over time many of them learned how to listen to one another, and be listened to in a way that became emotionally satisfying. And they were able to tolerate and work their way through the new disappointments that would inevitably come along. For all these people, the disappointment or blows of life had become overwhelming. Only over time, as they told their stories in a safe supportive environment, did their sense of helplessness, sadness, and anger slowly shift. They began to feel a more tempered hope about what life could offer them. In such instances, I witnessed a restoration and healing of their spirits.
Let’s return to Steven Johnson. After the window blew out in his apartment, Johnson was traumatized. He found himself fearful of the whistle of the wind. He could not move past the experience. He began to search for information about how his brain was processing the trauma. Knowledge helped him deal with his wild anxiety. Johnson also sought professional psychological help to recover from the trauma. Part of his healing involved simply telling his story to someone especially trained to listen to the feelings he had when he went through the experience. Scientists and therapists alike know that healing occurs when the story is told to someone in a safe, emotionally supportive environment. In such a context, the story itself begins to change. For Johnson, the fear drained out of the experience. Johnson will tell you that once again he is filled with awe when there is a snowstorm, or a child is born into his family, or he has a deeply satisfying intimate conversation with a friend or his wife. He feels tempered safety and hope in the face of the enormity of the universe. He is able to appreciate the beauty, even the complexity of the experiences that life offers.
Johnson tells a story near the end of his book which to me is religious. Johnson’s search for a scientific understanding of how our brains process traumatic experiences is over. He no longer feels the need for professional psychological help. It is several years since the window incident and he and his wife have had a child. He says: “When I watch my son sleeping, and feel the contented shiver of opioid release as I gaze into his crib, part of the wonder of that experience is its connection with the history of mammals and their evolved child-rearing systems, the miracle of the tending instinct. But another part of the wonder lies in the details, in the knowledge that this precise pattern of neurons firing in my visual cortex—the pattern that corresponds to the soft edges of his face, half illuminated by the night-light— belongs to me and me alone...If there is not grandeur in this vision...then grandeur has become meaningless. It doesn’t make me love my son any less, standing there in the dark at the side of the crib, knowing something more about where love comes from.” (P. 211)
Johnson once again is able to feel a sense of awe and pride; he knows in his soul that he and his child are special; he feels himself to be a small part of an enormous flow of life; he knows something of the chemistry behind the love he feels for his child, and how that chemistry is shared by all other parents who love their children, and he fervently knows that one of the purposes of his life is to protect and cherish his young son. True, he is less naive about the mighty forces that can wreak havoc on his life and the lives of those he loves. But he is no longer afraid, he is filled with hope and love. His spirit is healed. |
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