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All for the Love
A Sermon Given
by The Reverend Douglas Taylor
on June 20, 1999
at Cedar Lane Unitarian Universalist Church
Bethesda, Maryland
I went through a phase about two or two-and-a-half years ago in which I felt
that I would really like to be a monk. It was just a phase. But, I would
fantasize about joining a cloistered monastery, and wearing that brown robe,
and singing psalms every day, and praising God constantly, and eating in
complete silence. In fact, in this fantasy, I would take a vow of silence,
except that we could all sing still, but you know, . . . other than that, we
would have total silence. And, we would walk around the monastery meditating,
or sit in the library reading and discussing books. There would have to be, I
guess, certain times that we could talk in the library about books and stuff,
and we could sing psalms and sometimes other stuff like "Sweet Honey in the
Rock." But, all other times there would be total silence. Except for the kids.
I mean, I love my kids and my wife, I couldn't leave my family behind! So, as
monks we would talk about books, sing psalms and some gospel tunes, and play
with the children. But other than that, complete and utter silence, not a
sound!
It was usually around this point that the fantasy would just break down
completely. Reality would kick back in, and I would get back to the joys and
struggles of daily life. What I have kept from my "monk-wannabe" phase is a
deeper appreciation for silence and music.
Hymn #34 Though I May Speak with Bravest Fire
(first two verses)
Though I may speak with bravest fire,
and have the gift to all inspire,
and have not love, my words are vain,
as sounding brass, and hopeless gain.
Though I may give all I possess,
and striving so, my love profess,
but be not given by love within,
the profit soon turns strangely thin.
This hymn is an adaptation of the words the apostle Paul had written about love in his first letter to the church in Corinth,
Chapter 13. For all the gifts I may find within myself, he writes, the only one of lasting value is Love. Of all that I may be
given to, the only thing of worth is Love.
This concept is not a fantastical concept among us. Love has been seen as a guiding principle for many in our way of faith,
and I am sure for many of us here today. "Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude,
. . . It does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all
things, endures all things." Many formative figures in our religious tradition, indeed, in many of the world's religions, have
had an intense focus on Love: love for God and love for neighbor. However, as Dag Hammerskjold mentions from our reading this
morning, Love is a "much misused and misunderstood word." We need to bring in a clear definition of our terms here.
The word "Love" has many definitions and multiple applications. I am interested in, particularly, a religious definition of
love. Spirituality is often considered to be about the "Love of God." But then, "God" is a term in need of definition as well.
It is spirituality that I wish to speak of in this context of Love, and it is here that I will dig in for a more workable
definition. One such definition I have heard which I like is to say that Spirituality is our way of relating to and responding
to . . . Life, Love, God. This last term is, as I indicated earlier, malleable as far as I am concerned. It is the relating to
and responding to I am interested in. So my definition this morning of Love in a religious context, of spirituality, is our
way of relating and responding to . . . that which is holy.
Someone once said, "All human nature vigorously resists grace, because grace changes us and change is painful." (Sally
Fitzgerald.) I'll share with you half of a story, an unfinished story about someone who changed me, who recognized something
within me and enlarged me. I was taking a reading course back at the Methodist seminary on great religious figures during the
reformation and enlightenment periods. The assignment that week was to read the autobiography of St. Theresa of the Little
Flower, a seventeenth century nun who, as it happens, inspired the life and calling of the woman of this century known as
Mother Theresa. Theresa of the Little Flower joined a monastery at an unusually young age and was granted sainthood quite
quickly after her death.
I read her autobiography, and I took some notes, and I was ready to go in and discuss the relative merits of that book, the
key turning points in her life, and the conflicts and contradictions I saw in her life and thought. I was ready to really sink
my intellectual teeth into this text. But when I sat down with my teacher, she looked at me intently before we started in on
anything else and said, "What I want to know, Douglas, is how are you, with that great voice of yours for compassion and
social action in your very socially conscious denomination, going to answer that need inside yourself for sanctity?" And I
said. "Oh!"
This story took place about three years ago, which puts it before my "monk-wannabe" phase. So I was a little surprised when my
professor brought my deep yearning for sanctity into my own awareness for me. I have been trying to respond to that question,
"How are you going to answer that need?," for nearly three years now, and I imagine I will be for the rest of my life. This
search for sanctity, for holiness, is not mine alone. There are undercurrents in our denomination now, people have talked to
me, I have put myself into conversations, about spirituality. There is, I think, a myth among many Unitarian Universalists
that we don't have and in fact can't do spirituality. We have, it seems, a particular definition of spirituality, and a clear
notion that we don't have it, (and perhaps that we don't even want it.) We are all in the head, we say of ourselves. We are
the rational religion, the skeptics choice, we say; which is true, . . . but that need not preclude an authentic spirituality.
What, then, is this "particular definition of Spirituality" we seem to have as Unitarian Universalists? I grew up in this
denomination, and I have experienced this. We have this emphasis on the rational and intellectual features of our way of
faith, spirituality must be something other than an intellectual activity. I suspect that those who accept this myth, as I did
when I was younger, follow this line of thinking. Spirituality is an emotion-based experience which involves a suspension of
the intellect. Spirituality means jumping up and down, and clapping, and shouting "hallelujah" a lot. I developed, I'm afraid,
a little intellectual snobbishness toward spirituality, or at least this style of spirituality, when I was younger.
One thing that really helped me move beyond that was to learn about different paths of spirituality. Remembering that my
original definition of spirituality for this morning was about relating to and responding to the mystery, I have found that
there are at least four distinct styles of relating and responding. With varying degrees, these four styles range between
reflection and action, praise and contemplation. The emotional response is only one of the four.
I have actually seen this concept of four spiritualities diagramed as a circle divided into four quadrants. The first quadrant
being a spirituality of the head. The second being a spirituality of the heart. Most Unitarian Universalists have a strong
leaning in this first quadrant. I was actually rather surprised to hear someone telling me that this was spirituality. "You
mean, reading books and thinking about God and existence and the Meaning of Life, is spirituality?" Yes. When done openly and
searchingly. When done with the intent to become a fuller human being through understanding and authenticity, Yes.
So this is one style and the emotional experience is another. The next one I will suggest is likely to be quite obvious. It is
the way which I lean toward a good deal, and is called "Quietism." It is spirituality through silence. One of my favorite
bible passages is "Be still and know that I am God." Just slow down and breath.
Silence is a sometimes scary thing. It is hard because so much comes up when we slow down and let it.
There is a one panel comic I saw recently, where there is a large throne occupied by an old man with a long beard and a
flowing robe; you know, the standard cartoon version of God. And there are hundreds of smaller people filing past the foot of
the throne. The title of the comic is "Judgement Day;" and in the foreground there is one person leaning over to another
saying, "The trick is to not catch his eye." Indeed the trick is to not catch his eye. Being silent is like inviting that
judgement. When you enter into silence intentionally you enter into sacred ground. You catch God's eye.
Try being quiet for twenty minutes. If you can already do that regularly, imagine back to what it was like when you first
started. Try to quiet not only your outer noises, but your inner noises as well. I suspect you will find that every little
thing becomes a big deal. I have been meditating with silence for a number of years now, ever since that "monk-wannabe" phase.
And I still struggle with it at times.
But there is still one other style of spirituality; "Kingdom spirituality," it is sometimes called. This style is shone
through the reading this morning by Dag Hammerskjold when he spoke of service. The greatest image I have ever found to show
this position is also on of the most disturbing images. In her book, the Holy the Firm, Annie Dillard describes the death of a
moth that basically came too close to the flame. She talks about how she was reading by candlelight at night, when an
uncommonly large moth was caught by the flame, some how entrapped, and stuck on the end of the candle. The moth, of course,
died instantly. Dillard goes on to describe how the body of the moth began to act as a second wick, stuck there on the end of
her candle. Its body remained aflame. This event, this story, becomes for Dillard an example of the harsh and painful
realities of life in general, but also a metaphor for life in the spirit. The moth became as a wick for the flame. There are,
in history, people who have served as a wick, blazoning the sky for all to see. Certainly Martin Luther King, Jr. is an
example of this. He lived a life in the spirit and was as a wick that I and others might see the flame. Gandhi, Mother
Theresa, and Dag Hammerskjold are also examples of this, all from within the past few generations.
All these people have had extraordinary lives of service to humanity. This is the fourth quadrant. Their love for God was
nothing if not an impetus to action. And the extraordinary work they did was nothing if not an expression of that love for
God. Perpetually aflame!
I see our spirituality as a many faceted thing. It is about life itself. It is about an outpouring of love, as Dag
Hammerskjold has said. It is a "strength to say Yes to every demand which the needs of [our] neighbors [make us] face." It is
saying Yes! Appreciation in one style of spirituality fosters appreciation in all styles. I know within myself, in my personal
life, I find all four styles, though predominantly the style of spirituality through silence. Seek a balance. Seek a balance
both in yourself and in your faith community. Especially in your community. For only together can it be accomplished.
Hymn #34 Though I May Speak with Bravest Fire
(third verse)
Come, Spirit, Come, our hearts control,
our spirits long to be made whole.
Let inward love guide every deed;
by this we worship, and are freed.
In a world without end,
May it be so.
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