What Is, Is
A service by the Reverend James Dace

October 22, 2006

The Reverend James Dace passed away on December 17, 2006.
The members and friends of CUUC will miss him very much.

Part I

Unless we choose to stay stuck with an early view of “what is,” our perspectives will change as we reflect upon new experiences…sometimes changing quite unexpectedly. This sermon relates two such changes for me, the first occurring 35 years ago when, as a minister called to a church in south-Texas, I drove there from California.

Despite men needing no directions, as I got to El Paso I decided I better get a roadmap of this foreign land. On the map (much to my surprise, due to ignorance about my new home-state), I saw some small, red triangles signifying mountains that were not far from my intended route: I’ll check them out! There was a rest stop at the base of one particular peak not far from Alpine, Texas—leave it to Texans to think their mountains were like the Alps—and I pulled in, climbed out of the car, and looked up: I was not impressed; it was no more than a hill…so, I thought: why not climb it? (what a tale to tell!)

I stretched and walked purposefully up a path, rarely glancing around: I was on a mission to conquer this “mountain” and the quicker I succeeded the better. At the top, unprotected in the strong wind, I felt cold in spite of the hot sun and found a place to sit, aware that I was forcing myself to "gather it all in" so I could take it with me when I left.

Soon rested, I stood to take one last look around: "Well, Mr. Mountain, it's been nice…" Instead, my consciousness was called to a spot a little farther away, out of the wind but still in the sun. I checked my watch, made a calculation to see how I stood on my important schedule, and decided to move there: I sat back down, looked around and thought: “Yes, Mr. Mountain, you're right; it is better here."

There was no need for the mountain to reply, so I turned my face into the full sunlight, glorying in the life-giving warmth. After awhile, I lowered my head, opened my eyes, and noticed a little yellow flower: my mood was one of amazement. The mountain must have sensed this, as I thought I heard it say: "Ah, you’ve met the little yellow flower; she and I, we are part of each other."

"Yes, she is pretty,” I replied; “very courageous, too, up here by herself. But don’t you really mean that she is a part of you?"

"Not at all,” he answered. “You see, we have given to each other: I have given her a place to grow, some nourishment and, after a storm, I hold moisture to slacken her thirst."

"And what has she given to you?" I asked the mountain, who answered: "She has given to me by being in that particular spot, pushing those exact rocks out of the way, so I am just as you see me this morning; we are as we are, and we are now part of each other."

"Okay,” I acknowledged, “But as far as that goes, I have come to your top and settled into your midst. We’ve met each other and I’ve kicked some rocks off your side; I have changed you. Now, does this mean that you and I are part of each other?"

There was a long pause… "Yes, you and I have met. On the surface, I have been changed by your being here.  But we really haven't given to each other, have we?”

What was he telling me? "Mr. Mountain, I don't understand: what is the difference between your relationship with that yellow flower, and your relationship with me?"

Almost eagerly, the mountain replied: "You see, the yellow flower is not an object I relate to: she and I have accepted each other as we are; we are now one with each other."

I smiled, and said, "Ah, yes. I see."

I was surprised to hear the mountain respond: "Yes, I sense that you do understand: you no longer need to hurriedly conquer me; you no longer relate to me as some object, trying to change me or possess me to prove something to yourself. You understand that I am what I am, and you are what you are.”

Calmly, I replied: "Yes, I am. I like that; I accept me. And I accept you, wise old mountain. You are what you are; the yellow flower is what she is. You don't relate to each other; you accept each other and do what you can to care for each other; you are part of each other.”

Almost tenderly, the mountain answered: "Now you have given me something this morning. Now we have shared, you and I; we have affirmed each other. Now we are a part of each other…forever." (Those were his last words to me.)

After awhile I stood and slowly descended the mountain. I had no need to say goodbye: I was aware of being a part of that mountain, a part of that yellow flower, a part of the vast space below and the wind and the warmth of the sun…a part of all life and all creation for all time. By accepting that, I had affirmed myself and, in the process, all creation had been affirmed. I smiled as I got into the car, no longer a stranger in a strange land.

Later, the thoughts of Rabindranath Tagore, Indian mystic, poet-philosopher, put my spiritual adventure with that mountain in just the right perspective: “(Others) have stood under the lavish sunlight of (this same) sky and greeted the world with the glad recognition of kindred. This (is) no mere play of the imagination; it (is) the liberation of consciousness: that appearance and disappearance are on the surface like waves (above the vast sea), and there is no break in unity. The same stream of life that runs through my veins night and day runs through the world and dances in rhythmic measures. I feel my limbs are made glorious by the touch of (all that is). To be united with all existence is the essence of goodness.”

Part II

ince that morning on a Texas mountain, I have not always honored that new perspective. Perhaps we humans need to attain a certain maturity, or have to endure particular life experiences, before we are able to re-awaken and respect past insights, before we finally slow down and choose to look elsewhere than at ourselves. It’s not that we’re thinking less of ourselves; it’s that we think of our self less often, and that is when may learn our most valuable insights, truths that have been there all along.

As the rubble of broken dreams rises beneath us and the wounds from fresh losses further mark us, we finally awaken to the awareness that life is not something to be fought or figured-out in order to be fixed; rather, we learn that its surprises and absurdities are to be laughed at. (for example: Much of my life I’ve been on one diet plan or another, trying to force myself to lose weight—and here I am losing weight without even trying…what else to do but laugh!)

Probably the greatest of life’s absurdities is believing that we are in charge; a close second would be the absurdity of trying to make sense of it all. So, naturally, I ask you to humor me as I make my latest attempt: is there something—some value, some experience—that best inspires us to be fully human; in other words, is there a universal impulse at the core of all religion, of morality and ethics?

Let’s begin with the Book of Job. There have been characters like Job in wisdom stories across time and cultures to guide people on their journeys. For us, Job’s story is usually seen as the trials of keeping faith when bad things happen to good people. But I think it goes deeper than that: I think it is about the whole of existence.

Many scholars believe that the Book of Job is the oldest in the Bible, written centuries before Genesis and, thus, could be seen as a “Buyers Beware:” before hearing about the miracle and glory of all Creation, the reader is first reminded that life is hard and there will be pain, and the answer is not to try to figure it out so it can be fixed, but to accept it, to learn to live with it and make the most of it you can. You are not in charge, says God, I AM.

And Job does get the message: Even as later writers unnecessarily restore Job’s health and wealth at the end of that book, we’re told that there was a time while sitting by a fire, picking at the scabs of his wounds and mourning his losses, that Job responds to God’s whirlwind by saying: “All this is too wonderful for me.” (Where did that come from?)

In recent years, I’ve been blessed to see out my front windows—head on, unobstructed—Pikes Peak (now that’s a mountain!). Having grown up on the ocean—rhythmic waves smashing against offshore rocks or kissing the beach—I thought I’d want that as a vista and background for any personal reflection. Now what I need is Pikes Peak—barren or snow-capped; purple, brown or pink in the early-morning sun; a single light burning each night in the structure at its top; and occasional midnight fireworks the jewels in its crown—there it is before me: awesome; grounded; timeless. I need no dialogue with this mountain; I finally hear its unequivocal message which is, simply: “Yes; what is, is”

This latest insight is confirmed as I recall my long-ago response on a Texas mountain: “I was aware of being a part of that mountain, a part of that yellow flower, a part of the vast space and the wind and the warmth of the sun…a part of all life and all creation for all time. By accepting myself, I affirmed myself and, in the process, all creation had been affirmed.”

Of course, being human, we do not accept everything all the time—nor should we. We should not serenely accept lies, betrayals and injustices perpetrated by others, nor should we look the other way when we, ourselves, act in ways we know we ought not. Even if unable to see changes right away, we must, at least, continue to challenge what is wrong …as well as to praise what is right: that is how we stay true to ourselves; that is how we continue the process of creation.

Further, as the secular overwhelms us, we must not dismiss the sacred; we dare not deny the power of the spirit to awaken us, at times, to the existential Truth that we are a part of all life and all creation for all time. And with this perspective, we have the opportunity—the obligation!—to live in a way that does affirm ourselves and the whole of existence. (Where does that come from?)

I recently learned of an academic discipline called “evolutionary psychology.” While, for biologists, the driving force in evolution is the survival and propagation of our genes, these psychologists think a similar force may, also, compel humans toward a common, inherent perception of morality: why, for example, is murder condemned in all cultures? Going back to our origins, they ask: “Could there be a universal foundation for all religion and for our understanding of good and evil?”

Our highest human impulses (compassion, charity, cooperation): could they have evolved by the same mechanism of natural selection that created the thumb, coming from time long past when almost-humans lived in small bands and where each came to recognize their responsibility for the good of the group? From such circumstances, could an urge to goodness have evolved that became the ingrained human first-response to any threats? Could this early need for protection and cooperation have been the origins of all religion and morality?

That same basic moral impulse is still with us: the inherent understanding that we must be good to each other if we are to survive. But it has evolved into something deeper: we, just as were our primitive ancestors, have been given an unimaginable gift: life. And with that gift arises the knowledge that, while what is, is…it does not have to be.

This inconceivable gift is not like some expected birthday present; it’s not even like winning the lottery —it’s all that expanded to an infinite power. For you and I and all existence over all time: we did nothing to expect or earn such a gift: We are not entitled to life. By the grace of God, the whims of chance or as the punch line of a grand cosmic joke, we are allowed to be here—a part of all that is but does not have to be —and the only response worthy of such a blessing is a gratitude that goes far beyond the perfunctory cards we feel obliged to send after Christmas: it demands that we express a heartfelt “Thank you!” to whom- or what-ever; that we finally acknowledge and fully appreciate that all this is too wonderful for me!

Gratitude, then, is the universal core of all appropriate religious response. Yet being glad and grateful to receive such a gift is not sufficient. Just as early humans saw their survival as a matter of cooperation and, thus, worked to prolong such interdependence, we, today, also recognize the desire to give back to those who have given to us. It is out of our gratitude that there arises a universal ethics, a way to best get along with others: as you would want done for you, do for others; just as when you receive any gift, give back…out of gratitude.

Still, the adage of “use it or lose it” seems to apply to psychological evolution as well as biological, and that is why we are in danger of losing that core of a universal religious response. Today—rather than responding out of gratitude—fear and greed are leading growing numbers to worship such values as peace of mind, happiness, prosperity, self-improvement…even revenge—all threatening our basic urge to goodness, our need to care for each other, by focusing on meeting individual desires.

And, for those whose religion is based not on wanting personal gratification but on serving others, the danger for them is preventing their loving response out of gratitude from being eroded by anger and despair, thereby replacing their religious core—that universal urge to goodness—with a single-minded emphasis on righting wrongs…often without considering many of the consequences of their efforts.

In the face of feeling dissatisfaction from pressures by the secular, the social and the political, can there be an ethics that arises from the universal impulse of our religious core? Remember the words of Rabindranath Tagore that ended Part I: “There is no break in unity (or continuity). To be united with all existence is the essence of goodness.” In other words, rather than being reactions to our anger, fear and despair, can our actions come from that urge to goodness for being part of the unity of all existence?

I offer two examples:

(1)  During the Vietnam War, one protester stood in front of the White House night after night holding a lighted candle. A reporter asked him: “Do you really think you are going to change the policies of this country by standing out here alone at night with a candle?” The man replied: “Oh, I don’t do it to change the country; I do it so the country won’t change me.” (It’s the difference between acting from one’s conscience and reacting from anger.)

(2)  It’s the same perspective shown by the Amish recently after the horrible massacre of their young girls in Pennsylvania: practicing what they believe—forgiveness (“With God’s help,” said one)—even reaching out to comfort the family of the murderer; forgiveness: the only way we can move forward. (Better human beings than I, the Amish—but they show us it can be done.)

Gratitude requires discipline to develop and praise to honor; and it requires time to acknowledge all we have been given so we may better be led to act from our heart (our religious core) as well as from our conscience (our discernment of what is right). And so, “To do unto others what we would want done for ourselves,” our religion must require two things from us:

(1) recognize that—since there is no break in unity—what we do to another we are doing to ourselves—so, do good; and
(2) before taking any action, reflect on that ultimate question: “Is what I am about to do worthy of all I’ve been given?” (such reflection even has a name: “Practical Theology.”)

As we affirm ourselves, we affirm the whole of being; as we degrade any part of life, we degrade ourselves. We are part of an immense ecology. Thus, we need our religion to make upon us its highest demands so we may be better stewards of all that is…including ourselves and each other. (Admittedly, this is easier preached than practiced. But religion is not meant to be easy…any more than is life: look at Job; look in the mirror.)

Religion “makes upon us its highest demands” by:

(1) reminding us that we are united with all existence…which is the very essence of goodness;
(2) continually awakening us to “what is”—life as blessing and as curse, as confusion and as challenge; (3) along with restating our responsibilities because we are allowed to take part in life’s further creation.

How can we be anything but grateful for such a blessing?

How can we do a better job of “being grateful?” By making a commitment to acknowledge and praise every day that we are allowed to be here with, perhaps:

(1) the beginning of that e. e. Cummings poem: “i thank you god most for this amazing day: for the leaping greenly spirits of trees and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything which is natural which is infinite which is yes…”
(2) or by affirming today’s Responsive Reading: “For all things which come to us as gifts of being from sources beyond ourselves… We lift up our hearts in thanks this day.”
(3) or by singing: “Praise with elation, praise every morning, God’s recreation of the new day!”
(4) or just by looking out the window and simply saying: “Life, I thank you! How may I give back to you this day?”

It’s a start. It’s the start we need to return gratitude to the religious center of our lives.

Why is that necessary? Because:

(1) gratitude is the only appropriate response arising from our understanding that we are united with all; and
(2) from that essence of goodness, gratitude moves us to enter into the “give and take” of needing to live together.

We are allowed to be part of “what is;” such a gift—to be received, and given back!

As with any gift, we must say “Thank You!”…and then ask of ourselves: “Is what I am about to do worthy of all I’ve been given?”

(Thank you!)

© 2006 Reverend James Dace