Twenty-two years ago a major
network telecast a program entitled "The Search for Something Else." It
surveyed many of the discontents people were experiencing in their lives, and
as a result, their various quests for fulfillment. Achievements, busyness,
leisure activities, work, doing good, possessions, and family life - no matter
how successfully undertaken - left an unclear, interior void. Of course, that
sense of needing "something else" did not originate in the 1970s; it has been a
perennial symptom indicated throughout human history. Most, if not all, of us
present this morning have experienced a hunger or an ache for a resolution to
an empty spot in our innermost selves.
In recent years so many forms
of "spirituality" have been proposed as resolutions that the word
"spirituality" no longer has any specific meaning. One reflective columnist has
written, "I started with Buddhism. I've noticed that many influential people
are gravitating to it these days. ... I'd like to be with those people. So I
tried to catch the Buddhism wave for a couple of days. It really didn't work.
You have to sit for hours and hours and think about nothing. I normally get
paid for that. And there are no guarantees such contemplation will pay off in
anything more than a certain quiet satisfaction. Me, I'm looking for ecstasy.
So I moved on.... Next I tried to worship myself. I've always been a pretty
fair hand at this, but I've never gone at it rigorously, the way you do with a
genuine creed, with rituals and stuff. I began by eating all the right things,
which I hated immediately. Then I started to exercise on a daily basis, because
I have heard that it is possible, in the high concentration achieved in the
middle of a strenuous workout, to achieve moments of spiritual release, as
opposed to a shooting pain in the side. I realized that given my busy schedule,
the only time I would have to reach for the inner peace that comes with intense
physical activity was at lunch. I thought about that. I went to lunch instead.
... I had duck, but a numinous experience it wasn't. ... I tried immersing
myself in the company. ... I hated that." After other explorations, the
columnist decided to devote himself religiously to making sure that his
computer doesn't crash in the year 2000.(1)
Even the great 16th century
reformer Martin Luther, who is commemorated on our calendar this Wednesday,
embarked on an intense spiritual quest as a young man. While out walking, a
bolt of lightning knocked him down, and in terror of death and God's harsh
judgment he vowed to become a monk, thereby avoiding hell. As noted by an
eminent historian, "The monastery did not at once bring to Luther the assurance
for which he longed. Indeed, for several years he was a disappointed, tortured
soul. ... [His] initial mass brought him terror. ... He mortified his body. He
fasted, sometimes for days on end and without a morsel of food. He gave himself
to prayers and vigils beyond those required by the rule of his order. He went
to confession, often daily and for hours at a time. ... the periods of
depression were acute."(2) Eventually Luther discovered the solution he needed:
faith alone, "the grateful whole-hearted response of one's entire
being to the love of God in Christ; ... [a] full confidence in God."(3) Church
history is filled with luminaries who at some point in their lives were
desperate for something beyond the ordinary, something reassuring, something
aglow; some yearned without resolution; others were eventually fulfilled by a
more centered, confident faith.
On the lighter side: in a
California setting, one earnest seeker of spiritual fulfillment asked another,
"Have you ever delved into the mysteries of eastern religion?" "Oh,
yes," was the reply, "When I lived in Boston, I was an Episcopalian." And so,
there we are - with people past, present, and, I dare say, future, looking for
fulfillment, yearning to fill a heartfelt void - individuals looking for the
extraordinary, the spectacular, the miraculous.
Do you recall a popular song of
several years ago with the theme - "looking for love in all the wrong places?"
I suspect that the majority of women and men have seasons of their lives when
they're looking for that "something else" in all the wrong places. They yearn
for wondrous experiences that will connect us with the Divine and whatever else
will mollify our discontent. Like the philosopher Plato and devout Hindus, they
assume that whatever will satisfy them must be ethereal - some kind of hazy
transcendence. Some seekers have even proposed an ongoing exile from fellow
human beings, altered states of consciousness, even self-annihilation.
But when it comes to
experiencing God, I'm willing to risk being simplistic. I prefer to take to
heart words from one of our Rite II Eucharistic prayers: "God of all power,
Ruler of the Universe, you are worthy of glory and praise. ... At your command
all things came to be: the vast expanse of interstellar space, galaxies, suns,
the planets in their courses, and this fragile earth, our island home. ... Lord
God of our Fathers; God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob; God and Father of our
Lord Jesus Christ: Open our eyes to see your hand at work in the world about
us." How can anyone not be moved by the awesome complexity of the Universe
- a complexity too elaborate for an accidental origin! Amidst its intricacies
we discover sufficient order for the miraculous emergence of life and of human
consciousness and intelligence - developments too complex for their source in a
mindless "natural selection."
I have experienced - and
continue to observe - many miracles, inexplicable and sensational happenings. I
once witnessed the birth of a baby, a remarkable occasion. Before a daybreak, I
held the hand of a dying parishioner, whose chirping canary announced the very
moment of his quiet passage. I see today's flowers on the altar, more of
nature's uncommon beauty arranged by a talented altar guild to the glory of
God. I am so aware of our organist manipulating a venerable contraption that
still produces amazing sounds at his command. I hear human beings producing
phenomenal hymns and anthems that no other creatures can intone. I am daily
nourished by foods with exceptional and distinctive tastes. I feel the
magnificent warmth of the sun and of another's hand. I view dazzling colors and
stunning figures in glass, stone and wood that tell many a unique story and
which celebrate outstanding lives, divine and human. Day after day I benefit
from the fruits of fantastic human inventiveness. Here and elsewhere I feel
wonderful bonds of covenant, commitment, and friendship. More than once daily,
gazing at a small sparkling, blue lake, I pause for a while in a recliner with
my astounding dogs snuggled by me; I often recall Lord Byron's thankful
commentary about his Newfoundland which (and I quote) "possessed beauty without
vanity, strength without insolence, courage without ferocity, and all the
virtues of man without his vices" - a testimony to the company of this planet's
other incredible creatures. In many people's lives I am aware of astonishing
love and compassion, remorse and forgiveness, and, reconciliation and healing;
I know of disillusionment and tragedy transfigured into spectacular
resurrection. I know of God's marvelous grace enabling individuals to cope with
persistent adversity, even death itself.
As Christians, you and I
acknowledge and experience other miracles. We celebrate the purposes of God
manifest in Jesus Christ. We rejoice in his Resurrection that fully
authenticates all that he continues to do. We affirm our most fundamental,
shared baptismal identity as children of God. We are sustained by grace-filled
Word and Sacraments. We have occasions for special reflection, such as the
coming Lenten offering of "The Pilgrim Path: Walking The Lenten Labyrinth" led
by Pastor Cox or meditating on wisdom from Lord Runcie and Madeleine L'Engle.
And, of course, we can make
time, if we will, for private prayer - if only a daily, thoughtful, heartfelt
"Lord's Prayer" with a one-page reading from Forward: Day By Day -
which, by the way, is available in the tract rack in the north area of the
church entrance. It is easy to overlook the reality that our individual
relationships with God, like our relations with others, depend on some personal
time intentionally set aside. Yet, our bonds with God involve not only Divine
solace, but also godly challenges. For example, today's Gospel reading lends
itself to a confrontational mode. Perhaps later you would be good enough to
read the "Worship Notes" in today's leaflet for an introduction to that
significant message.
However, this sermon is raising
a different issue: Just what is the "something else" that so many women
and men long for? To see more colors and farther distances? To hear additional
sounds? To feel other temperatures and textures? To taste added flavors? To
smell more fragrances? To receive a different Word of God? To acquire one's
very own Burning Bush? Indeed, do some of us unknowingly yearn to be
God?
My fellow worshippers, may I
leave these sentiments with you? When asked, God will provide the power for us
to cope with whatever trials we face; life can be hard. Nonetheless, you and I
are invited to embrace a positive focus on the glass that is more than half
full, on the good at hand rather than the bad, and on the awe-inspiring wonders
experienced in the ordinary. I trust that, like Martin Luther, you will reflect
prayerfully on the need for nothing else but "the grateful whole-hearted
response of [your] entire being to the love of God in Christ," the need for
nothing else but a confident faith in the gracious and loving God whose
Spirit and handiwork are so discernible here and now in our miraculous habitat.
1. Stanley Bing, "The Spirit
Is Willing" in Fortune (11/10/97) available on the Internet at
http://www.pathfinder.com/ fortune/1997/971110/out.html .
2. Latourette, A History
of Christianity (Harper, 1953), p. 705.
3. Ibid., p.
706.