NAVE

 

                                             From Whistling in the Dark  by Frederick Buechner

 

The nave is the central part of the church from the main front to the chancel. It’s the part where the laity sit and in great Gothic churches is sometimes separated from the choir and clergy by a screen It takes its name from the Latin navis, meaning ship, one reason being that the vaulted roof looks rather like an inverted keel. A more interesting reason is that the Church itself is thought of as a ship or Noah’s Ark. It’s a resemblance worth thinking about.

In one as in the other, just about everything imaginable is aboard, the clean and the unclean both. They are all piled in together helter-skelter, the predators and the prey, the wild and the tame, the sleek and beautiful ones and the ones that are ugly as sin. There are sly young foxes and impossible old cows There are the catty and the piggish and the peacock-proud. There are hawks and there are doves. Some are wise as owls, some silly as geese; some meek as lambs and others fire-breathing dragons. There are times when they all cackle and grunt and roar and sing together, and there are times when you could hear a pin drop. Most of them have no clear idea just where they’re supposed to be heading or how they’re supposed to get there or what they’ll find if and when they finally do, but they figure the people in charge must know and in the meanwhile sit back on their haunches and try to enjoy the ride.

It’s not all enjoyable. There’s backbiting just like everywhere else. There’s a pecking order. There’s jostling at the trough. There’s growling and grousing, bitching and whining. There are dogs in the manger and old goats and black widows. It’s a regular menagerie in there, and sometimes it smells to high I-leaven like one.

But even at its worst, there’s at least one thing that makes it bearable within, and that is the storm without—the wild winds and terrible waves and in all the watery waste no help in sight.

And at its best there is, if never clear sailing, shelter from the blast, a sense of somehow heading in the right direction in spite of everything, a ship to keep afloat, and, like a beacon in the dark, the hope of finding safe harbor at last.

 

 

"Strengthening Life"

 

 I loved the story of Jumping Mouse* that was told to our children this morning.  It is a Native American tale that captures many messages that are important for our children.

 Dream. Face the world with compassion. Be not afraid. Help and accept help from others. Our openheartedness to others around us can be both a source of pain and of growth. It's okay to rest under a berry bush, but it's not good for us to stay there for the rest of our lives feeling safe, growing fat, facing no challenges, letting our spirit wither.  Beware, the berry bush is not as safe as it may appear. Strength comes to us in unexpected ways as  it did for Jumping Mouse.  Yes, life is a struggle and we may feel small but that does not release us from a need to follow our dreams or our potential for growing. Jump! What transforms us is the actual act of jumping as we pursue our dreams. 

 Of course, the many messages of Jumping Mouse are important not only for our children but for all of us. Spiritual lessons are rarely learned just once, but need to be relearned again and again.

 In Jumping Mouse we are told the importance of acting upon our dream. I have been reminded in teaching the World religions class Thursday nights that an epic struggle toward a dream of some sort is a main theme in all religious traditions.  Siddhartha Gautama, known as the Buddha, for example,  dedicated his life to discovery of a path that would end the suffering he saw as caused by the impermanence of all things. Subsequently he taught others for 45 years, a way to attain freedom from an endless cycle of reincarnations by achieving a state which he called nirvana. 

 Moses led a different kind of struggle, leading his people across a desert toward a land of milk and honey, a good land where those who follow God' law will prosper. 

 Jesus  preached to the Jews and Gentiles around him that some day rich and poor, Jews and Gentiles would be served by the same rule, the rule of love for neighbor and for self.  This was his dream.

 The story of Jumping Mouse invites us to consider ourselves and our lives in terms of the individual dream that lives within us, which, if followed, may cause us to struggle and suffer, but also if we are faithful, has within it the potential to allow one's spirit to soar like an eagle.  That said, most of us have no clear idea of where we're headed or how we're supposed to get there.

 As we saw in Jumping Mouse, none of us journeys alone. Our true environment is more like  Buechner's packed ark than a lonely desert. As we pursue our unique dreams, many of us who have not chosen each other, encounter each other and move together throughout life at least for a time.  It is in our interactions with one another along the way that we find both challenge and the potential for drawing strength. It is in our encounters with each other that we find  struggle and hope.

 Marilyn Thayer  and I have been enjoying working together in choosing the children's stories.  We talk about what each story says and how it will contribute to  the theme of the sermon.  With Jumping Mouse both of us felt somewhat uncomfortable that the little mouse encountered and trusted a wolf and later turned into an eagle, both its natural enemies. We decided, though, to let it go.  If the story is not necessarily about befriending one's enemies, it certainly is about the importance being open and compassionate towards those we encounter in the world.   It is true that Jumping Mouse gave important parts of himself away to others to relieve their suffering . But it is equally true that the companionship of those who needed him, in turn, provided spiritual strength, presence and direction to his journey.  Their knowledge added to his allowed them to move closer to the Far Away Land  together than they would have achieved alone. The story is a metaphor for life.  

Strength for our journey is discovered in surprising places and found  in surprising ways.  We each carry, in ways we never imagine,  spiritual strength for others.  It is simply true and we will have to take it on faith, that if we are open to the dream within us as well as the world around us, we will draw strength from and rekindle life in others in ways that will be uniquely our own.  Let me use myself in a simple example.  Perhaps you are like me in this.

 The value of maintaining openness toward others is a lesson that I need to learn over and over again.  I do like to nest in my house under the berry bush where it is safe and familiar.   Earlier this week I attended a three day retreat for the ministers of the Ballou Channing District.  Because I am somewhat  shy and am very content at home, I almost always go to such events with trepidation.  Once there, the ministers of the district were moved through a program on skills for building shared ministry. Bringing our own lives to the table,  we were asked to engage in exercises in skilled listening and in affirming the sacred, in both small and large groups.  For two days we were asked to trust one another,  to talk openly about our personal lives and to listen deeply for the sacred. We worshiped daily and ate our meals together. We traveled together for a time.  I found myself leaving the retreat, as I always do,  full of admiration and gratitude for these fine colleagues and the wonderful work that we do together.  They are a wonderful resource, a source of borrowed strength when I may need it.  As always, I went in feeling small and overworked and came out feeling strengthened, realizing these fine ministers are people I can lean on.  When I departed, I had grown some and my energy level was higher. 

Psychologist Harry Overstreet says emotionally healthy people have what he calls a "good will reflex," the sense of there being in the world not just a few people who are worth while, but of there being an abundance of people worth knowing and liking.  Emotionally healthy people who feel in their bones that decent, likable, trustworthy human beings are abundant in the world, he says, are less likely to feel isolated or lonely.  People with a "good will reflex" are more likely to believe that where their own strength leaves off borrowed strength will be available in the form of parent, brother, sister, friend, colleague or inspiring predecessor. For them, moments of weakness are less to be feared. Is there any lesson more important than that? In moments when life requires more than we have.. borrowed strength is available.

 We can receive spiritual strength in unexpected moments. . Author Rachel Naomi Remen tells a wonderful story about  being invited by a friend to a luncheon for the Dalai Lama and not being particularly interested to go.  (Now there's a man with a good will reflex!) Remen had been in the presence of theoretically enlightened people before and hadn't got much out of it.  But she decided to go just for the fun of it.  The reception, however, turned out to be so overcrowded and noisy they wanted to leave;, but just then the Dalai Lama entered the room.  The crowd surged towards him into an informal reception line found she and her friend surprisingly near His Holiness. Remen's colleague had brought a series of three mounted photographs which detailed her work with people who have cancer.  As the line advanced she could hardly pull them out of a string bag to share them with him, the crowd was so tight.

 Remen had a good view of her friend and the Dalai Lama as they looked at her pictures together. The interaction was unhurried as though there was no one else in the room.  When the conversation drew to its natural close, Remen says, His Holiness smiled, and stooped to pick up the string bag which her friend had dropped in the confusion and held it open while she put the pictures back in. For  Remen,  something about the image of the Dalai Lama picking up the string bag had tremendous power,  and she struggled afterwards to understand what about it had affected her so strongly.  Others, she thought, might have lifted up her bag in a similar circumstance but it wouldn't have been the same. Something purely joyful in the Dalai Lama had caused him to pick up her friend's bag and extend it. Picking up the bag hadn't been a practical gesture, as it would have been for most of us.  It was, for him, she decided, another opportunity to meet, and in spite of all the pressure in the room, he decided to take it. The power of witnessing that simple act has remained with Remen ever since.  Remen says:  "For some inexplicable reason a place in me that has felt alone and abandoned for all of my life felt deeply comforted, and I had a wildly irrational thought: "This is my friend."  In that moment it seemed absolutely true.  It still does."

 The Dalai Lama strengthens the life around him through a power comes essentially from the extraordinary attentiveness which he has spent a lifetime developing.  This power it is available to us all, both to give and receive. This is the same gift of listening that strengthened me as a participant at our minister's retreat.

 I'm fairly sure I have shared my favorite story about the power of listening with you before, but it is worth repeating. It's about the little boy who went with his parents to a restaurant. The waitress taking orders came to the little boy and asked,

"And what will you be having?"

The little boy said, "I'll have a hotdog with the works!"

His mother interrupted and said, "He'll have a grilled cheese sandwich."

The waitress ignored his mother and continued,  "And what would you like to go with your hotdog?"

"French fries!" came the reply.

"Okay, and what would you like to drink, sir?" the waitress asked.

"A Coke!" came the answer. . His mother interrupted again, and said,

"He'll have milk." The waitress ignored her again and said,

"All right, that's one hotdog with the works, a side order of fries, and a Coke coming right up!"

As the waitress walked away and the parents stared in disbelief, the boy exclaimed,

"Mom! She thinks I'm real!"

 The listening of the waitress in this story had the power to convince this little boy that he was real. The attentiveness of the Dalai Lama which he has practiced and refined over a lifetime, takes listening to another level altogether. With the Dalai Lama we understand that listening can bring us not only to understand that that we are real, we can be brought to an understanding that is beyond words, that we are sacred.

 Some of you may come to church feeling like I did on the way to my retreat, unsure you want to be in the company of others, preferring to settle into your armchair with the Sunday paper. But you've come out from under your berry bush. Whether it be the music, the words spoken, the presence of others - all of these have the potential of opening us up - all can be sources of strength.  Each of us has the capacity to open up another through our listening, our presence or through a caring gesture.

 Let us remember that we most often receive strength in unexpected moments.  Let us be grateful for those who turn toward us when we don't anticipate it, for those who enlighten us or care for us, or remember us, or do the kindness of struggling with us for a time.  Let us feel our gratitude for the many people who have given us spiritual strength in the daily round.

Let us remember, too our own spiritual strength, that emanates from our compassion, trustworthiness and kindness. Let us exercise this power to strengthen others we meet on the journey through our thoughtful listening, caring and attention.  Together we head in the direction of a better world.

*Jumping Mouse by John Steptoe