Sacred Moments and Holy Places ©
Reverend Janet Parsons
Gloucester Unitarian Universalist Church
January 23, 2022
The other day Thich Nhat Hanh, the venerable Vietnamese Zen Buddhist monk, transitioned from this life to the next one at the age of 95. His life was one of impact, and the world is a better place for his presence for so long. Over the course of his long life he worked with the Dalai Lama and Dr. Martin Luther King, and was a leading activist in opposing the Vietnam War.
As the founder of multiple monasteries around the world dedicated to his theology of ‘engaged Buddhism’, the Venerable Nhat Hahn was a dedicated proponent of the importance of community in human life.
“A good community is needed to help us resist the unwholesome ways of our time,” he wrote back in 2008. “Mindful living protects us and helps us go in the direction of peace. With the support of friends in the practice, peace has a chance.” (Thich Nhat Hahn, “The Fertile Soil of Sangha,” in Tricycle Magazine, Summer, 2008.)
Nhat Hahn went on to tell us that we contain seeds of enlightenment. And without community, or sangha, in his words, our seeds will not grow well. The community, the sangha, is the soil which is required in order for the seeds to flourish. “Your sangha – family, friends, and co-practitioners – is the soil, and you are the seed. No matter how vigorous the seed is, if the soil does not provide nourishment, your seed will die.” (Ibid.)
Do you ever think of yourself as a seed, or containing seeds? Can you take a moment to think about your inmost self, think about your essence, your soul, and imagine a small seedling growing? What does it need to grow, to bear fruit, to set more seed?
We know instinctively that the seeds of our souls need nourishment, as a plant needs sun and water and soil in order to grow. And while we are often encouraged to spend time alone with ourselves, to listen deeply to what our inmost selves are trying to tell us, we also need soil, or community, in order to keep from withering. We can only grow so much by ourselves.
Back in the late 1990’s, in the last century, my husband and I were raising two young sons. The youngest was in kindergarten, and we were becoming increasingly involved in all kinds of activities – sports, and parents associations, the local music school. We were busy and reasonably happy. But there was something nagging in me – a sense that something was missing from our lives. We had both been raised in church-going families, and I felt the lack. This was surprising to me, as I had rejected traditional religious belief years before. But I wanted something more – for the children, of course – and named it as wanting them to have experience of something that was larger than us, something outside of us. Something larger than local politics, or neighborhood concerns, or baseball and hockey. Something that would include us, but not be all about us.
We had friends at the Unitarian Universalist church in town, and decided to give it a try. It took a few years, going gradually from attending once in awhile to meeting more and more people, and being drawn in. Somewhere along the way, it began to feel very important, very consequential. And what began as an attempt to expose the children to the culture of religion became over time the center of my life.
We lived in an affluent, highly competitive Type A town. And we fit in, up to a point. But even though I made friends and have kept them to this day, I knew that I was really outside of the mainstream. I longed for better connections with people who were engaged in more important issues and the larger questions of life. I found that belonging to a church community offered engagement in a wide variety of ways, and provided deep and fertile soil for me to plant my seeds in. I was nourished by thought-provoking sermons and sophisticated music. I got to sing! Where else, besides the shower, do most of us ever get to sing? I was mentored in teaching children. I felt the support of the community in raising our sons, and when they became adolescents, there was an active youth group that helped keep everyone inside the rails. Well, except for the strip poker incident. But in the general scheme of things, that was pretty mild. The boys learned how to serve, and ultimately the whole family was drawn into service work.
I grew, and I grew. And over time I recognized that church, done well, serves as a support for everyone as they grow – that in the beginning church offers the soil in which to sprout, but then serves as a trellis for the growing souls as we reach outward and upward, trying new things, finding our voices, holding within us the confidence that if we come crashing back to earth, it is to the soft earth of our community. I could dare to join in on service trips. I could dare to try my hand at preaching. Me, with my fear of public speaking. I learned to name what I was yearning for – a life of spirit.
Over time, being part of a church made me feel more alive. Not necessarily happier, all the time, but church doesn’t exist to make us happy. Church is the place where we come seeking growth, and meaning, to ask ourselves the big questions about why we are here, and what we are called to do. When grief comes, as it will, church offers somewhere to bring it, to sit with it, maybe with someone’s arm around your shoulders as you weep. Church offers someone who will notice when the grief has broken you open, and that your heart and soul are exposed and ready to seek meaning among the mystery.
As A. Powell Davies, the author of our reading put it, “life is just a chance to grow a soul.” Religious community is the soil, the foundation, and the support for that work of our lifetimes. Here, we are less alone in the world, we are more attuned to the movement of life and of spirit, and over time we become more open to exploring the meaning and mystery of our lives. And yet, paradoxically, church is also a challenge to us. Over time, we navigate the balancing act – sometimes prodding us, calling us to go deeper, to try harder, and sometimes holding us when we fail, when our hearts break.
So often, church attendance and participation can become just one more thing on the to-do list. And if that’s the case, the soil available to us for planting our seeds is very thin, much like the scant layer of topsoil over the rocks of Cape Ann. Our growth will be limited, spindly. But sought with intention, and purpose, church will provide all the soil needed for a rich and lush and meaningful life.
So far, I have only spoken about what church can do for its members. But of course, church has a much larger role to play as well, in the wider community, in society. We are looked to regularly, here on Cape Ann, for our involvement in issues from the climate crisis to domestic violence, to anti-racism work. We are needed to share our progressive message of a society that casts no one out, and that cares for our creation. Our voices are needed. In the face of growing white nationalism, a lack of commitment to our fundamental democratic principles, and a planet at risk, the church must be intentional and purposeful about countering the forces of evil around us. We must be guided by our principles and intentional in following them. The world needs us.
Our UUA president, the Reverend Susan Frederick-Gray, said this after the marches in Charlottesville a few years ago: “As a people of faith who say we are committed to justice, compassion, and equity in human relations; as a faith that says we are committed to the inherent worth and dignity of all people; as a faith that says we are committed to respect for the interdependent web of all life: we have a role to play. Our faith is calling more from us in this time.”
She continued, “And two things are absolutely clear to me right now. Number one, this is no time for a casual faith or a casual commitment to your values, your community, your congregation, your soul, and your faith. No time for casual faith. And number two, this is no time to go it alone or to think that we are in this alone.” (UU World, Fall 2018. https://www.uuworld.org/articles/no-time-casual-faith)
Our faith is calling for more from us now.
This month, our theme is Living with Intention. And beginning today, at our annual meeting that follows this service, I am asking you to be absolutely intentional about your church involvement. Of course, it is hard in these times to show up – we literally cannot gather in person right now, and like much of life, we feel that we are on hold, just waiting. But like the seeds that are waiting in the frozen January soil, we can be preparing to sprout. We can grow in intention, even while temporarily apart, while waiting, so that when we gather again, we will be ready to meet the times we live in with resolve and purpose.
At this time every year, we meet as a congregation to take stock of where we are, and where we are going. And it is time for us to consider all this with intention and vision – to think about our role in each other’s lives, and our role in the community, and to say ‘yes’ in response to the call.
Across religious traditions we hear the same message: we are stronger, better together than we are apart. “Life must have its sacred places, its holy moments,” said Rev. Davies. “There must be those who bear witness against unnecessary destruction, and who, with faith, rise and lead in freedom, with grace and power,” wrote Rebecca Parker. And Thich Nhat Hahn told us, “A good teacher is important, but sisters and brothers in the practice are the main ingredient for success. You cannot achieve enlightenment by locking yourself in your room.” (Tricycle, op. cit.)
And so, my friends, I invite you to attend the annual meeting, and to begin to dream big. How do you want us to be in the world? What do you see as our role? How can we help you all plant your seeds and have them reach for the sun? The world is waiting. Our faith is calling for more from us right now. Let your choices and your decisions be made with intention, and with love.
Blessed Be.
Amen.
