Entry into the world of Blog

As I have contempated what I might include in a blog, I've decided that this is not the venue for a window onto my private life, or that of others in my life. Rather, this seems a good venue for sharing of worldviews, mine in particular, but not exclusively. So, what will follow will be a series of sermonettes, lists, poems, art, and whatever else occurs to me.

So, today we start with a sermon I gave some time ago when an elder at the John Calvin Presbyterian Church in Annandale, VA, when my minister and dear friend, Robert Close, left town for a retreat and turned the pulpit over to me.

So, here it is, from almost 10 years ago.

Swim Out to the Deep End

Sermon: Sunday, July 30, 1995

Rev. Robert Close, my dear friend and then-pastor of John Calvin Presbyterian, asked if I would substitute for him in the pulpit while he attended a retreat at Shalom Mountain, New York. I said “yes”.

Standing before you is a New Man. I am now officially in the midst of the Third Wave, ready to surf. I’m crankin’ up my personal page, and I’m ready to chat. Don’t cross me, though, or I’ll flame you. Watch out. Net Man is here.

Now, I know some of you may be thinking -- “I knew this would happen if we let him have the pulpit for a few minutes. He’s flipped his lid.”

Not really. I only meant to say that I have joined the information revolution by signing onto the Internet -- burgeoning, mysterious, information superhighway that has Al Gore so excited and Bob Dole so worried.

What started as a way for the Pentagon and university scientists to collaborate on defense projects is now the hip place to hang out, to market new movies, to share your ideas anonymously with whomever will listen, to roam through the Library of Congress, and countless other ways to communicate with one’s fellow humans.

Some of the more optimistic among us see all this interconnectedness as the path to world transformation. Somehow, if we simply link up with each other, this line of reasoning goes, our sense of interconnectedness will expand our sense of community until, being transformed into global citizens, finally we will decide to live in peace.

To this, writer Ken Wilber says, not so fast:

The fact that you have a global information exchange doesn’t guarantee the quality or depth of the information you get. What good is it if the Nazis have the Net?

Good question. I’m with Wilber. The Net is neutral. One day I might hook up with someone who is committed to feeding the starving children of sub-Saharan Africa. The next day I might stumble upon the obscene photographs of exploited and abused children.

No, the Net is not the answer, but why not? Why isn’t the Internet the way people finally will overcome our differences and make peace with each other, simply become electronic neighbors, to chat across the back fence? I don’t think it is because dark and fearsome forces lurk there. Again, let’s listen to Ken Wilber:

It is often said that in today’s modern and postmodern world, the forces of darkness are upon us. But I think not; in the Dark and the Deep there are truths that can always heal. It is not the forces of darkness but of shallowness that everywhere threaten the true, and the good, and the beautiful, and that ironically announce themselves as deep and profound. It is an exuberant and fearless shallowness that everywhere nonetheless calls to us as savior.

It’s this inexorable tendency toward shallowness that scares me. We seem to spend so much time at the shallow end of the pool. We kill each other over surface distinctions of race and religion and yammer away about Kato Kaelin’s hair. We gossip about so-and-so saying thus-and-so to what’s-his-name.

When I was a child living in Ankara, Turkey, a woman named Gül (“Rose”) cleaned our apartment and helped raise me. She practiced -- no, lived -- unconditional love. She devoutly worshipped the Almighty and was cheerful amid her poverty. She was, to my young eye, all that a human could aspire to in terms of love.

Once, in Sunday School, my teacher explained to me that the only people who went to heaven were those who declared that Jesus Christ was their Lord and Savior. He was quite comfortable excluding from the Kingdom of Heaven infants, Jews, Buddhists, and, to my amazement, Moslems like Gül. This was a blow, because I loved Gül. When as a tearful 11-year-old, I asked my mother why God would send Gül to Hell, she explained that He wouldn’t. “God doesn’t care about those little differences,” she explained to this grateful child.

I want to tell you about a man who wandered around the Middle East calling for the overthrow of the legalists who sat atop the religious hierarchy of the day. Through prayer and service, he directly experienced his unity with God such that he once cried out “I am the Truth.” He also said:

I am he whom I love, and He whom I love is I:

We are two spirits dwelling in one body.

If thou seest me, thou seest Him.

And if thou seest Him, thou seest us both.

The authorities captured, imprisoned, and crucified him. At his crucifixion he said:

and these thy servants who are gathered to slay me, in zeal for Thy religion and in desire to win Thy favors, forgive them, O Lord, and have mercy upon them; for verily if Thou had revealed to them that which Thou has revealed to me, they would not have done what they have done; and if Thou hadst hidden from me that which thou has hidden from them, I should not have suffered this tribulation. Glory unto Thee in whatsoever thou doest, and glory unto Thee inwhatsoever Thou willest.

Sound familiar? Is this man’s message so radically different from the One who calls us to this place? Apparently so, because the carriers of Christ’s torch and the carriers of his faith’s banner have warred for centuries. He is an Islamic mystic named al-Hallaj who lived a thousand years after Christ, in Baghdad.

At the shallow end of the pool, there seem many differences between Sufis and Christians. At the deep end, we cannot tell Christ from al-Hallaj, Gotama from Mohammed, Presbyterian from Hindu, John Calvin from Lao Tze.

How do we get to the deep end of the pool? There is a simply way to swim to the deep end. It’s called prayer. It is also called meditation.

Listen to the words of Christ:

And when you pray, you must not be like the hypocrites; for they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and at the street corners, that they may be seen by men. Truly, I say to you, they have their reward. But when you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.

In this church, we often talk about the mystery of God. This is not just an admission that God surpasses our feeble understanding. The word “mystery” derives from the Greek verb musteion: to close the eyes or mouth. There is an implication here of silence and darkness. To me, there is an implication of prayer and meditation.

In our tradition, we often think of prayer as a discussion with God -- giving thanks, asking for guidance, seeking forgiveness. But the philosopher Soren Kierkegaard talks of another type of prayer. Listen --

As my prayer became more attentive and inward I had less and less to say.

I finally became completely silent.

I started to listen . . . which is even further removed from speaking. I first though that praying entailed speaking. I then learnt that praying is hearing, not merely being silent.

This is how it is.

To pray does not mean to listen to oneself speaking. Prayer involves becoming silent, and being silent, and waiting until God is heard.

In each faith in which one looks -- Judaism, Christianity, Islam, Buddhism, Hinduism -- one can find aspects of the faith that stress the mystery of the One Divine Creator. Naturally, each faith calls the Almighty by a different name -- Yahweh, Christ-nature, Allah, Dharma-Mind, Atman -- hundreds of names for hundreds of peoples. But I believe that, when we still our minds and souls and listen -- just listen -- the voice we all will hear will be the same.

In the quiet depths of prayer and meditation -- where we allow God to touch our hearts -- there is a place we can meet. At the deep end of the pool.