Heaven and the Search for Rarest Things
Rev. Dr. Leon Dunkley
November 22, 2015
Call to Worship
Time has brought your heart to me
I have loved you for a thousand years
I will love you for a thousand more
—A Thousand Years, Christina Perri
Good morning. It is good to be with you today. My name
is Rev. Dr. Leon Dunkley. I minister at the humble
Unitarian Universalist Church is Silver Spring, on New
Hampshire Avenue, just north of the beltway.
I am beginning my fourth year there after as many
in St. Paul, Minnesota—Minnesota, where the people are
impossibly kind and where winter is a contact sport…
I have been here long enough now so the energy of new
beginnings has worn off a bit, long enough now so real
and growthful change is possible. Soul transformations
are beginning to begin. They are continuing to continue,
as Paul Simon once had mused. Fifty years ago now, he wrote,
Through the corridors of sleep
Past the shadows dark and deep
My mind dances and leaps in confusion.
I don't know what is real,
I can't touch what I feel
And I hide behind the shield of my illusion.
So I'll continue to continue to pretend
That my life will never end,
And that Flowers Never Bend With The Rainfall
—Paul Simon
Would that that were true! Wouldn’t it be nice if the flowers of life, the delicate blossoms of beauty, were tough enough to resist, to withstand the rain…bendlessly. But this is not the nature of the world. Flowers bend with life’s vicissitudes. They bend and so do we.
For to lay my head on your restless arm
I take my cue from the willow tree
For it won’t break from just one storm
But bends with the strength that keeps it free
—Ferron
We are in the Readings portion of the Order of Service. I have now quoted two poets—Paul Simon and a woman named Ferron—but neither of these passages prepare the sermon. I offer them as a means of introduction, as invitation. As Kelly Joe Phelps reminds us (and the Bluegrass Band may know this name), “May we find in our togetherness honest joy.”
I am beginning my fourth year at Silver Spring…and I have heard, for quite some time, that there was also another, Unitarian Universalist church in the area. I have always wanted to find out if that was true.
I’m kidding, of course. Your reputation precedes you and it is truly an honor to be here. Here, where John Quincy Adams and John Calhoun were both strong, founding members (spanning both sides of the slavery debate)… Here, where Joseph Revere—son of Paul, the famous silversmith from Boston—cast the Abolition Bell that resides in your steeple, the bell that had been the Washington’s town bell until it lost that title in 1859, after the events at Harpers Ferry, after it was used to honor the death by execution of the one they called John Brown. Here, where David Eaton, James Reeb and A. Powell Davies explored the meanings of God. Here, were Rev. Dr. Rob Hardies and Rev. Dr. Susan Newman Moore and others continue that brave legacy with power and with grace. What a sanctuary you have become—sanctuary with the small s…with the small, more meaningful s signifying the holy place of refuge and spiritual safety, the holy place of power in our hearts.
It is an honor to be with you today.
This morning’s reading comes to us from gifted artists—Tuck Andress and Patty Cathcart, a married couple—who with their music [guitar and voice] have travelled the whole world over…spreading beauty, singing, loving, laughing our hearts into their glory, keeping them strong and supple, wise and powerfully gentle in their rhythm. Singing, loving, laughing our hearts forward into life, reminding us (as music does) to breathe…for this is our moment to be living…“these days,” as Rev. Patrick O’Neal expressed in 2005, “these days that have our names written upon them.” Music reminds us to breathe, to sing boldly and right out loud. The notes don’t matter. What matters is that the soul finds ways to free itself—out from prison cage or chrysalis, out from fear and its tense withholdings…its shortnesses of breath… Breathe free. What matters when it comes to music is that the soul breathes deeply—re-membering us, reconnecting us all again with one another. Reconnecting us, gently, in the art of our survival, in gratitude and in joy. I am so glad… we are so deeply thankful…to be here.
Our morning’s reading is entitled Heaven Down Here. The words are these:
What are you waiting for, believe in me
Isn't it love in this life that you need
You can offer your soul to an altar of sacrifice
But give your heart to me
Let's bring Heaven down here
Let's bring Heaven on down
I don't want to wait for the angels
Let's bring Heaven down here
What's in the sky that you and I can't find
Simply in love? What could be more divine?
How can I make you believe forever and ever more
I'll give my heart to you
Let's bring Heaven down here
Let's bring Heaven on down
I don't want to wait for the angels
Let's bring Heaven down here
What are you waiting for, believe in me
—Tuck Andress and Patti Cathcart
The poetry cries out to its predecessors, to its spiritual lineage…to Time itself.
Good morning. A friend and a great teacher of mine once told me, “Seek not afar for beauty. Lo, it glows in dew wet grasses all about your feet.”
Over the course of life, I have found this to be true. Perhaps, you have as well. You will have to let me know. My hope is…and my prayer is that we see similar things, you and I, that our experience, in some small measure, is shared in common…that collectively, we recognize that it is not important in the slightest to search the whole world over for that which simply can never be found. …that we recognize that it is infinitely important to search without ceasing for that which seems that it can never be found, for that which is rarest, for that which is singular, for that which is most beautiful in all the world. In fact, such searches—be they successful searches or otherwise—are life-giving and life-sustaining and life-affirming journeys. Indeed, they are often the very things on which the meaning of life depends.
Would you allow me to offer two storied examples of what I mean? [yes. I wrote your answer in here. I’m not sure what would have happened if you had chosen otherwise] These two stories come to us this morning from psychologist and Buddhist practitioner Tara Brach.
It is not important to search for that which simply can never be found. Two students at a public high school in the Midwest thought it wise to play a prank. They set out early on a school day and kidnapped three young, goats from a local farm. Ironically and literally, they kid-napped the goats…as you may know, a young goat is actually called a kid. So, they kidnapped the goats—it was all good-natured fun, of course—and they marked to goats with food coloring with the following numbers—One, Two and Four. And sometime after homeroom, after attendance was taken and after the first period classes had begun, these pranksters released the goats into the high school. They set them free. They tested the world. They wanted to see what would happen.
Now, the goats were…planless. They had no agenda, no class schedule for their day. So, they wandered to halls for a while, staying relatively close together. You know how the first day of school can be. Soon enough, they grew more comfortable and they started spreading out. Goat Number One went off toward the library. Goat Number Two wandered over towards the gym. Goat Number Four entered into a Social Studies class and was the first discovered.
The students were the first to notice. Initially, they were…alarmed. It was not a common occurrence at that Midwestern high school for kidnapped and numbered goats to better themselves by education. Their alarm triggered that of the Social Studies teacher who immediately called the Principle in the Main Office on the class phone.
At the same time, Goat Number Two had found his way into the Boys Locker Room. Goat Two walked straight on through without event, passed the lockers and the showers and the toilets and the sinks and the overstocked, athletic equipment closet. No one was in the Locker Room to take notice. But when Goat Number Two wandered into the gymnasium… That didn’t go unnoticed. Twenty students were playing half-court basketball in sets of ten and teams of five. Second-stringers were lined on the bench, cheering on and anticipating their chance to play. Goat Number Two kinda stopped all of that. Everything ground to a halt. A great stillness came over the room. And one of the two teaching coaches called the Principle in the Main Office on the phone.
The Principle in the Main Office was stupefied. “What in the world is going on?” Never had there been goat in the public high school. So, the Principle decided to make an announcement on the loud speaker. She calmly informed the school of the presence of goats in the midst. She reminded everyone about the school code about show honesty and kindness to one another and she explained that this same courtesy ought to be extended to the goats as well. Finally, she asked for the sighting of future goats to be reported directly to the Main Office and thanked the Social Studies teacher and the basketball coach for having already done so.
Not long after the announcement, Goat Number One was discovered…in the Fiction and Mystery stacks on the far side of the Periodical Section. Goat One was discovered by an assistant librarian who was exceedingly proud of herself. She reported the sighting to the Principle in the Main Office and someone came for the goat immediately.
The goat was brought to the Music Room where the marching band practices. It would be empty until the afternoon. It was the perfect place. In fact, all of the goats had been rounded up and brought to the Music Room by then. But there was then a growing concern.
After several hours, this concern was announced over the loudspeaker. The bus company had been called and afternoon classes were to be cancelled. Students were to pack up their belongings and go to their buses. Everyone would be going home early today. The pranksters were absolutely delighted. Apparently, after many failed searches, Goat Number Three simply could not be found.
Unfortunately, Goat Number Three was not lost. It was neither remote nor was it elusive, save in the Principle’s imagination. In truth, Goat Number Three simply did not exist. It was a ghost. It was a prank. It was a myth. The kidnapped goats were marked One, Two and Four. Their mission accomplished (beyond their dreams, in fact), the pranksters went home and enjoyed the day—grand and sunny, newly free. They enjoyed an otherwise average and perfectly wonderful, Midwestern afternoon!
It is not important in the slightest to look for that which simply can never be found. It is important to search without ceasing for that which is rare, singular, unique, most beautiful in all the world.
Story Two. There was a semi-pro golf tournament that took place every autumn. It took place on beautiful grounds so it a attracted a high degree of talent, even though the $500 prize was considered modest by industry standards. On the day of the tournament, something rather magical happen. The dark horse won the day. The unlikely candidate ended up with all of the breaks falling in his favor. A player who was ranked 12th of fifteen walked away victorious. The media were astounded and the 12th seed player was instantaneously surrounded by area news station microphones and flashing cameras. There was a whirlwind of activity.
Very quickly, it was over and the frenzied media types delivered their interviewing energies on the higher ranked celebrities who had been favored for triumph. The actual winner was not upset but was actually tickled that they all moved on so soon. It freed him up, though, to head back home to his family.
On his way to his car, he was approached by a woman who was terribly distraught. “Forgive me for y intrusion. I don’t mean to bother you,” she said. “May I speak with you for a moment.”
“Of course. What’s bothering you,” he said. “I can see that you’re upset.”
“It’s my daughter,” the woman said. “She is in the hospital. I knew I couldn’t afford it but I had to find a way to stop the seizures. They’re not sure what’s wrong with her. They are running a second series to tests. My husband walked out. I have been on my own for a while. I have handled most things ok until this moment…until right now. I have run out of money. I was barely able to pay the doctors for even the first round of tests. I cannot afford the second even though I told them that I could. And treatment… I can’t even begin to think about paying for treatment.
The man laughed gently to himself and asked, “What is your name, my friend.”
“Evelyn,” she said, “Evelyn Mason-Henry.” She offered her hand in greeting. “It’s hyphenated. Still hyphenated, I guess. I really don’t know what’s going to happen. This is difficult for me.”
And the newly victorious golf semi-pro, dark horse that he was, wrote, ‘Pay to the order of Evelyn Mason–Henry’ of the back of his $500 prize and he gave it to her. He got into his car and he left, leaving her speechless in the parking lot, slack-jawed and amazed. He drove off unaware of the media-types that were trying to wave him down.
A few months later, the same golfer entered another semi-pro tournament. He loved to play. He was similarly ranked…in the bottom third of all of the competitors. He wondered if his luck would be the same. Before the competition began, however, he was approached by someone from the media, a sports journalist who covered all of the tournaments like this one. He said, “Hello,” to the dark horse golfer. “Might I have a minute of your time? You see, I have been covering events like this one for a few years now. This is my beat, if you know what I mean. The woman who approached you last time… Well, she’s a major swindler. I have seen here at similar events all year round. She looks for the winners. Then, she dumps one of her super sad tales of woe and asks for help. I’m sure she must have done the same to you. I should have seen it coming. I thought to warn you but it was too late. I tried to chase you down in the parking lot but I wasn’t fast enough. She descended on you and had her way before I could alert you about how things are with her.”
“Oh, my God,” the golfer said. “I can’t believe it. Do you mean to tell me that there is not baby in the hospital? …no child at risk from life-threatening seizures of some kind?:
“I’m afraid not,” the journalist said.
“That, my good friend,” the dark horse golfer said, “that is the best news that I have heard all day!”
It is not important to search for that which simply cannot be found. It is important to search—and to search without ever ceasing—for that which is rarest, for that which is singular and most precious in all the world…the beautiful, that quality of conscious attention that invites us nearer to God, that quality of wakefulness that appears as heaven here on earth.
What are you waiting for, believe in me
Isn't it love in this life that you need
You can offer your soul to an altar of sacrifice
But give your heart to me
Let's bring Heaven down here
Let's bring Heaven on down
I don't want to wait for the angels
Let's bring Heaven down here
—Tuck Andress and Patti Cathcart
So, when the boats had crossed the dangerous waters, out from Syria, they did not land in heaven. They landed on an island in Greece. And mothers passed their children to eager volunteers they did not know. And they fed and warmed with blankets. Their thirst was quenched there for a moment on that dry land. Members of a Christian Relief organization called Samaritan ‘s Purse. And I quote…
We are the first faces that they see when they land. Probably, a lot of them have never met a Christian. When they land on this beach, we’re happy that we can be here and be here as part of that first step and be here to show them that there are Christian people who love them… I’ve never done anything like this. This is extremely special, what we’re doing here.
And when the bombs exploded and the guns went off in France, we gently reached for heaven just the same. Antoine Leiris lost his wife, Helene, in the attack on Bataclan in Paris. He refused to give in to hatred. He would not be forced to exit heaven’s door. As if to Hell itself, he wrote,
On Friday night, you stole away the life of an exceptional being—the love of my life, the mother of my son—but you will not have my hatred.
I do not know who you are and I don’t want to know. You are dead souls. If the God for whom you kill so blindly made us in his image, each bullet in my wife’s body would have been a wound in His heart. Therefore, I will not give you the gift of hating you. You have obviously sought it, but responding to it with anger would be to give in to the same ignorance that has made you what you are. You want me to be afraid, to cast a mistrustful eye on my fellow citizens? …to sacrifice my freedom for security? You lost. Same player. Same game. I finally saw her this morning, after nights and days of waiting. She was just as beautiful as she was when she left on Friday evening…as beautiful as when I fell madly in love with her 12 years ago. Of course, I am devastated with grief. I will give you that tiny victory. But this will be a short-term grief. I know that she will join us everyday and that we will find each other again in the paradise of free souls, which you will never have access to. We are only two, my son and I, but we are more powerful than all the world’s armies. In any case, I have no more time to waste on you. I need to get back to Melvil who is waking up from his afternoon nap. He is just 17 months old. He will eat his snack like every day and then we are going to play like we do every day. And every day of his life, this little boy will insult you with his happiness and freedom. Because you don’t have his hatred either.
It is not important to search for that which simply can never be found. It it is infinitely important to search without ceasing for that which is rarest in all the world, for that which is singular, for that which is beautiful and unique.
“Seek not afar for beauty. Lo, it glows in dew wet grasses all about your feet.”
Even in the midst of great violence and injustice, in the wake of tragedy, in terrible times, seek not afar for beauty. Bring heaven right down here.
What are we waiting for?
Rev. Dr. Leon Dunkley, 11/22/15
All Soul's Church Unitarian
Washington, D.C.