Sermon

INTRODUCTION: In 1926 in Paris, France, the writer William Shirer and the artist Grant Wood were commiserating about their singularly unimpressive lives. Of course, Shirer had not yet written his acclaimed The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich. And Grant Wood was stuck in Paris trying to paint like the French masters.

The two men had long been friends. They'd both grown up in small towns in Iowa and had known each other in school. In Shirer’s autobiography, 20th Century Journey, he relates the conversation in 1926 that went on between the two as they discussed their lives and careers.

Wood says, "Everything that I've done up to now is wrong, and I'm halfway through my life. All those landscapes of the French countryside and the familiar places in Paris. There's not a one that the French Impressionists didn't do a hundred times better! All these years wasted because I thought I couldn't get started as a painter unless I went to Paris, and studied and painted like a Frenchman.

“I used to go back to Iowa and think how ugly it all was…that there was nothing there to paint. All I could think of was getting back to Paris so I could paint like Renoir, Monet and all the others.”

Shirer attempted to encourage him at what he was doing, but Wood would have none of it. He said, "Listen, Bill. I think at last I've learned something about myself. I think I have to paint what I know. And despite the years in Europe – all I really know is home. Iowa. The farm at Anamosa. Milking cows. Cedar Rapids. The typical small town. Everything commonplace. Our neighbors, the quiet streets, the clapboard homes, the drab clothes, the dried-up lives, the hypocritical talk, the silly boosters, the poverty of culture.

“Bill, I'm going home for good. And I'm going to paint cows and barns and barnyards and cornfields and little red schoolhouses and all those pinched faces and the women in their aprons and the men in their overalls and the storefronts and the look of a field or a street in the heat of summer or when it's ten below and the snow is piled six feet high. I'm going to do it."

And “do it” he did. Back home in Iowa, he saw his past as one vista of opportunity. He asked his dentist and his sister to pose for a painting as a farmer and his unwed daughter, in front of a small cottage he had seen in Eldon, Iowa. There’s a weather vane on the house, and in the back, a red barn. And the window seems as if it came from a church.

Wood entered it in a contest at the Chicago Institute of Art, and won a $300 first place prize – this was in 1930, remember. It made such a bold statement that it became representative of something very special about America, and something unique in the art world. In fact, it was even given its own name: American Gothic.

What happened to Grant Wood was a spiritual transformation in relation to his past. He saw the richness and value of remembering it. He committed to bringing forward to the present, that which was good and lasting.

That’s also an option for each of us. We don’t have to be artists. We don’t have to become rich and famous. But we can tap into that rich reservoir of remembering past places…passed experiences…and passed people.

That’s especially true on this Memorial Day weekend – a time for remembering not only the military who died in battle, but also all those whom we have lost.

On this Memorial Day weekend, I remember my father, a veteran who fought in Europe. Were I in Oklahoma City tomorrow, I would go out to the cemetery where he and my mother are buried. There’s still a wheat field nearby that would be in full pasture at this time of year. I would probably get a few stalks of wheat and place it on his grave. I would remember with a smile when the three of us first chose their sites. Dad liked it because it had “good drainage.”

I would remember both mother and him. I would express appreciation to God, for the many gifts that they worked so hard to provide for me. I would vow again to pass on their love and kindness. And since it’s Memorial Day, I would note the medallion that is there on his headstone in recognition of his service to his country.

I think also this year I would want to remember the families of the 1,600 Americans who have died fighting in Iraq, as well as the 12,000 or more seriously injured, and the increasing numbers struggling with post traumatic stress syndrome, the psychic aftermath of combat. How difficult it must be to lose a family member for such a miserable cause as the one in which our nation is now engaged. How hard it must be for Cpl. Pat Tillman’s family and others like them tomorrow, as they listen to a government known for lying about our reasons for being in Iraq, and our abominable treatment of prisoners of war, and the utter devastation our presence is creating.

In such as time as this, Buddhism, one of the world’s great religions has some handholds for us to grasp:

First, the Buddha said recognize the impermanence of all things. Nothing lasts. Everything changes. He said:

To watch the birth and death of beings is like looking at the movements of a dance:

We act as though we want everything to continue as it is, to be permanent. We try to believe that things will always stay the same. But that is like believing in make-believe, because nothing stays the same. It’s like placing our feet in the river. Life rushes by. And when we place our feet in the river of life again, life has changed. It can never repeat itself. Everything is impermanent. That’s the first insight to spiritual truth, according to Buddhism.

And the second thing, which Buddhist scripture proclaims, is that when we really realize the impermanence of all things, namely, that nothing stays the same – even life itself – then, we are free to pursue enlightenment. That’s another way of saying that when we understand how transient all things are, how impermanent everything is, we then realize not only the importance of the moment – the now – but also the importance of living this moment to its fullest – of not postponing its possibilities.

This life is not a dress rehearsal. We’re not going to be called back for a remake. It’s the real thing. What we have now is what we have. That means living our lives according to those things we value most, especially in times of loss. Maybe our loss is the death of a loved one, a painful divorce, or the loss of a treasured job. It may be a humiliation we went through, a rejection by someone we depended upon, a disappointment by someone whose friendship we valued. It may be a soldier who died.

Regardless, every loss is unique. Because they are unique, there is a sense in which no one truly understands another’s loss. Even though we may have suffered ourselves, and even though we may be able to imagine some of the loss, the reality still is, every loss is unique. People are unique and loss is unique.

And yet there is a sense in which loss is the most common of human experiences. We all at some time or other will experience loss. Life is filled with many gifts, but they don’t last forever. Despite all we do…exercise, eat right, rest appropriately, see our physician regularly, and take all the miracle pills and prescriptions…the truth is that the miracle of life is still a wondrous mystery. It comes as a great gift. Like the wind blowing through the meadows, woof, it’s here and just as suddenly, woof, it’s gone.

Buddhism says, realizing that life is impermanent, frees us to seek enlightenment. So knowing that, how do go about approaching our losses?

1. Remembering others triggers a natural healing process, available to all of us.

Like the wounds or cuts on our bodies, our spirits too can heal. In fact, the Universe is tilted towards healing.

When we go to a physician with a bad cut, they don’t heal the cut…they work to enable the body to heal itself…to eliminate infection…to put things back together…so that what is the most natural thing in the Universe can happen: healing.

It’s the same with life’s losses. In the midst of pain, in the midst of remembering, there is a healing process that starts. It’s not instantaneous. It’s not perfect. But be sure of this one thing: life is tilted in favor of our healing and restoration.

That doesn’t mean we will ever forget the loss – and we shouldn’t. But it does mean that the resources of the Universe, and the possibilities of the future are structured in such a way as to proffer healing to our spirit and soul…when we remember others.

The Universe supports our effort at a new beginning. As we seek to find our way, God, through the Spirit of Life, helps us open the doors to starting over.

There is that within our world which is supportive of our struggle to exist, to survive, and to be. This is not a world tilted towards defeat and failure. It’s a world of inner victories of the spirit. It takes place on life’s most important battlefield – within.

Too many times we measure our lives by the external. But how many countless victories, won day by day, do we overlook that are purely spiritual, purely about the inner life? Today may be tough, and tomorrow may be tougher. There may be times when it’s two steps forward and one backwards. But don’t ever forget: the final score is always in our favor. Our ultimate success is also the aim of the Universe.

Albert Einstein asked the question, “Is the Universe a friendly place?” That’s a faith question… a personal question. In the light of all the human tragedies that occur, some would answer, No, to that question. Yet it seems to me that our planet has evolved much like we as one of the 30 million species have. The whole process of evolution is itself an affirmation of the innate forces on the planet that contribute to the ongoing struggle of life. The food we eat, the water we drink, the sun we share, the rain that falls, the wind that blows, the ground that gives such bounteous harvest, are all testimonies of the gifts of Universe to its support of our life in the here and now. Through the miracle of life and relationships, love and friends, we are enabled to survive heartbreaking losses.

But how does it happen? How does the Universe support us? How does the Spirit of Life extend healing to us? What do we do to experience the presence of God?

For many of us, to be spiritual requires reeducation. Our society does not value nor teach how to access the vertical dimensions of existence. Rather, we live out too much of our lives in the horizontal, always seeking to do more of what society tells us is appropriate. We judge ourselves by external matters, by quantities, by cultural norms.

So it’s a reach for us to understand life in a different way…in an intuitive way…quietly…in prayer and meditation…by listening to the Other that is present in our world.

As Scott Peck puts it in one of his books, popular culture has taught us that God sounds like Charlton Heston speaking in an echo chamber. But most times, when God speaks, it’s the intuition we recognize while lying on the couch trying to rest; it’s the telephone call we remember to make while listening to beautiful music; it’s the affirmation we extend while watching the sunset with another. Whatever, it’s a way of tapping in to the divine and Universal presence available to each of us.

3. In time, when we remember others, we will remember the good, the bliss, and not the pain and the hurt.

That seems so hard to believe when loss first occurs. Then there’s only the breathtaking loss, the emptiness, the void. But in time, there’s a marvelous transformation that takes place within us. For instead of remembering only the pain, we began to remember the good…all the caring things that once happened.

There’s this wonderful passage in the book, Cold Mountain, which states, “Our minds aren't made to hold on to the particulars of pain the way we do bliss. It's a gift God gives us…a sign of his care for us."

Sometimes the process of getting over loss is so hard. So many times, it’s a matter of starting over, again and again. I’ve always loved Portia Nelson’s poem, which articulates that very point. It’s entitled, Autobiography in five chapters. Imagine it as a pattern of life-learning.

I walk down the street. There is a deep hole in the sidewalk. I fall in. I am so lost…I am hopeless. It isn’t my fault. It takes forever to find a way out.

I walk down the same street. There is a deep hole in the sidewalk. This time I pretend I don’t see it. I fall in again. I can’t believe I’m in the same place. But it isn’t my fault. It still takes a long time to get out.

I walk down the same street. There is a deep hole in the sidewalk. I see it is there. I still fall in…it’s a habit. My eyes are open. I know where I am. It is my fault. I get out immediately.

I walk down the same street. There is a deep hole in the sidewalk. I walk around it.

[1] Given on May 29, 2005, Memorial Day Sunday, at All Faiths Unitarian Congregation, meeting in the Foulds Theater at the Alliance for the Arts, 10091 McGregor Boulevard, Ft. Myers, FL, by the Rev. Dr. Wayne Robinson, minister.