St. Andrew's-Wesley United Church

Rev. Gary Paterson

October 4, 2009

Today is a preacher’s delight -- so many possible directions for a sermon: worldwide communion; the feast day of St. Francis; a Gospel Lectionary text for today which is all about divorce… well maybe not. But of course, last week Tim Stevenson announced that I would be preaching on the environment, to be in sermon partnership with our lunch speaker, Rex Weyler, a man with a passion for the environment that dates back to his being a co-founder of Greenpeace. Which sort of limited the options, or at least gave them a particular slant. So all week I have been wondering what kind of environmental sermon would be most helpful – maybe invite Frank, otherwise knows as St. Francis, to make a guest appearance. There was a real temptation to go for a disaster script, with a passing mention of the soon-to-be-released film “2012”, one of those apocalyptic end-of the-world films that we like to scare ourselves with – you ever noticed how many movies there are about doomsday? I knew I could get real worked up by global warming, melting ice caps, deforestation, species extinction, population explosion, exhaustion of natural resources… I’d be scared anyhow, don’t know about the rest of you. And maybe with fear as a goad, well, I might convince myself, and maybe some of you, about the urgent need for change.

But that’s not where I ended up going; instead I found myself moving into poetry – quelle surprise, eh? – but seriously, if we can discover new ways of talking about the world and God, of understanding and experiencing the relationship between Holiness and Creation, then such thinking might be a more effective way to bring about change. If we begin to live with new metaphors and symbols, well, such transformed vision might slowly begin to transform our lives. I almost want to call this sermon “A Basketful of Metaphors.”

Yesterday I spent time with the folk from our congregation who went to Guatemala last summer. They were debriefing the experience, sharing memories and learnings, beginning to articulate how that journey had changed them. I found myself remembering my own trip to Guatemala, and I was reminded of a wonderful metaphor for God that came from the indigenous Mayan people of that country. I forget how to say it in the language of Quiche, but in English it translates easily and beautifully…. Heart of Heaven, Heart of Earth. Imagine starting off a morning prayer, not with “O God….” but rather, “Heart of Heaven, Heart of Earth” -- something different might happen. The Holy at the heart of the universe; no, the Holy is the heart of the universe. Pulsing, pumping energy throughout creation, shaping, enlivening, keeping it all going, sustaining, the heart of the matter. Heart of Heaven, Heart of Earth. Vulnerable, tender, full of love; open to heartbreak, to suffering and grief. Beating a rhythm that we can feel in our own core, our own heart; a rhythm that we can sense throughout the world.

I was reminded of a long ago favourite poem, by e.e. cummings, which I enjoyed in my romantic adolescence, ready to proclaim to whomever was the focus of my infatuation for that month. Now that I am older, the direction of the poem has changed, or expanded, and I find myself wondering if e.e. cummings was actually talking about God all along. See what you think:

i carry your heart with me ( i carry it in

my heart) i am never without it (anywhere

i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done

by only me is your doing, my darling)

i fear

no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want

no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)

and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows

higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
>

and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart)

Heart of heaven, heart of earth … the wonder that keeps the stars apart. I carry your heart with me, God, higher than soul can hope or mind can hide; I carry you in my heart.

A story… from the first book of the Bible… first chapter, first verse: “In the beginning, when God created the heavens and the earth….” In the beginning – before the universe was called into being, before time and space, before silence and song; unthinkable, and yet alluring, for we are creatures of curiosity and questions and imagination. Before the Big Bang… what? Or even more daringly, who? Scientists name it a singularity… an infinitesimal moment, the tiniest of particles, an explosion… and before that – nothing. There is no before because the question is by definition unanswerable. Nevertheless, in the beginning, before the beginning…. Mystery, Possibility; maybe -- Heart of Heaven, Heart of Earth.

In the beginning when God created…. God, a catch-all word for this unanswerable question, this Mystery; God… the very word itself an act of faith. But these first verses offer no definition but rather describe an action… when God created. That’s the first statement about Holiness… it created, and… continues to create. God in motion; process; movement and change. Not God perfect in stillness, enthroned in the distance. God the Potter; Bakerwoman God; the Heart begins to beat. The story continues… “The ruach of God moved across the waters….” The wind of God, the breath, the Spirit… same word in Hebrew; same energy. And God said, “Let there be….” – the act of enabling being. Repeated over and over in this story… let there be light, let there be darkness, let there be earth, water, green, blue, life…. And God said, “Let there be light.” And there was light. Surely this could be understood as a symbolic way of saying Big Bang… a river of energy pouring out of nothingness, out of the unimaginable before; pulsing, not just entering space, but actually creating it.

You know this story … how in that first billionth fraction of a second, energy exploded and zoomed out, too hot for anything but subatomic particles -- cosmic foam; and as the temperature dropped, the bonding into atoms, the dance of helium and hydrogen, cosmic dust, swirling, with gravity slowly shaping the stars, which grew so huge, and then exploded; then more stars and galaxies… scientists think there might be 100 billion galaxies, each containing something like 100 trillion stars. Like our sun, in the Milky Way; and then 5 billion years ago, our solar system.

It is a story of wonder and awe, complexity and strange inter-related harmonies; much beauty; much power. This is our first revelation, perhaps the primary revelation … the universe, the handiwork of God; in the world around us we see in action and in flesh the Heart of Heaven and the Heart of Earth. We touch, smell, taste, hear and see it; everyday, rain or shine – this world, the handiwork of Holiness.

The fourteenth century mystic Meister Eckhart once said:

Apprehend God in all things,

for God is in all things.

Every single creature is full of God

and is a book about God.

Every creature is a word of God.

If I spent enough time with the tiniest creature – even a caterpillar –

I would never have to prepare a sermon.

So full of God is every creature.

I was tempted to have a handful of caterpillars at this point in the sermon; lots of them, hand them out even, invite all of us to spend time with them. Better than any sermon, says Eckhart. Think of that when you next hear a mosquito; when your dog licks your face; when the crows and gulls announce the dawn.

The poet Anne Sexton pushes our awareness even further; not just God in Brother Wolf, and sister Bird, but in all matter, in everything. Listen….

There is joy in all.

In the hair I brush each morning;

In the Cannon Towel, newly washed

that I rub my body with each morning;

In the chapel of eggs I cook each morning;

In the outcry from the kettle

that heats my coffee each morning;

In the spoon and the chair

that cry “Hello there, Anne” each morning;

In the godhead of the table

that I set my silver, plate, cup upon

each morning.

All this is God

right here in my pea-green house

each morning.

All this is God…the ordinary objects in your morning, the stuff of everyday life; all this is sustained by holy energy; each atom, each electron, humming with energy, with something of divinity. Do I believe it? Do you? Do I sense such reverence in myself for the wonders of this world, each particular in this world. Some theologians suggest that the earth is the body of God – and wouldn’t that change the way you throw your weight around; talk about wanting to walk lightly, and leave no garbage behind… this is God’s body that you’re messing up.

Another story…. Exodus 3 – Moses, enjoying life after Egypt, with wife, father-in-law, children and a whole lot of sheep. And then one day… the bush that burned without being consumed. You know this story. And so Moses turned aside to see this marvel, and his life was changed utterly. As approached this strange sight, he heard himself being addressed, “Moses, Moses….” And then came the command, “Take off your shoes, for you are standing on holy ground.” Holy Ground… the sun, the desert, the heat, his held breath, the bush, the fire…. touching the body of God.

We hunger for burning bushes, the extraordinary moment, but as Bob Hunter, a friend of our lunch-time speaker Rex Weyler, once said, “You don’t have to go around looking for a burning bush; the bush itself is miracle enough.” Last Friday, I decided to spend the afternoon walking on Acadia Beach… past Spanish Banks, and therefore a bit ungroomed and wild; but well short of Wreck Beach you’ll be relieved to know. The sun was pouring down, still full of warmth despite its being October; the maples were starting to yellow and the blackberry bushes sported only the occasional berry; the wind was coming from the west, and the waves had a small crest, slapping against the sand and rocks, at the edge of high tide.. Such a fine day…hard not to feel the holiness;no voice calling out my name, but I took off my socks and shoes anway; the water was cold, but oh, did it feel good.

But later, I found myself wondering… why barefoot only at the beach? Isn’t every space holy? Even here… here in this church. Could I feel this more clearly if I took off my shoes and socks now; here …. cold… this floor is cold, like Friday’s ocean, but let me tell you, it feels good. Why not try it? Yes, I know… it’s Sunday morning; it’s church… but nobody can really see your feet, hidden away in those pews. Just for a few minutes, why not take off your shoes? You’re standing on holy ground… under the tiles, the foundations, the soil, the rock, the water… the voices of the land; here, right here, our feet are touching the body of God.

Let me switch gears, and throw out a twenty dollar theological word – panentheism. You can pick it up and carry it in your pocket if you want; take it out on occasion, share it with a friend. “How was church today?” And you might answer, “Panentheism… maybe I’m a panentheist.” Now that would be a conversation starter, no? Or maybe a conversation stopper… but it would sound interesting; and your friend would be intrigued… maybe. Theo/ism …meaning God; en… meaning “in”; pan… “all”. God in all. Holy energy, the spark of divinity in every quark, electron, atom, cell, and leaf; God in the arbutus tree, the black lab, the newborn grandson; every speck of the universe a manifestation of God. Though not a God who is summed up by creation, but something, someone who is greater than the universe, who encompasses and goes beyond all created being – the energy in which we live and move and have our being. Being-itself, you might say. Or more graphically, if you were like the theologian Sally McFague, you might suggest that the universe is the womb of God…. a place, a process, where enormous creativity occurs, deeply influenced and dependent on the Holy One, but in some strange way, independent as well. Makes it difficult to go walking around the world and not pay attention to the miracle of it all, with holiness exploding all over the place.

Let me tell you another story, a Jesus story… who surely is connected to and part of this primary revelation. Incarnation we call it… God in the flesh. Holiness found in the human; Jesus containing as much of God as it is possible for a person to hold. Filled with God and living out of that awareness and that energy. Jesus, who takes bread and wine, the stuff of this world, and breaks it open to show us the indwelling holiness of it all. Bread…. the seed planted in dark earth, nurtured by sun and rain, green sprout, long stalk, full kernels; human sweat at harvest; the grinding, the baking… the life. Likewise the grape, the juice, the yeast, the wine. “This is my body and my blood,” says Jesus. I am to be found in the absolutely ordinary; which is holy. Taste, he says; eat; incorporate these gifts… take them fully into yourself, and be filled with life, with holiness. Here, in the meal… Heart of Heaven, Heart of Earth.

And as you eat; as you remember; as you give thanks; as you feel deep within you the presence of God; as you recognize in everything and everyone you meet, the energy of Divinity; as you come forward on this worldwide communion Sunday to receive the bread and the wine, say softly to yourself and to your God,

i carry your heart with me ( i carry it in

my heart) i am never without it (anywhere

i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done

by only me is your doing, my darling)

i fear

no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want

no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)

and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows

higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart)