First Parish Unitarian UniversalistIs the Way Out In?
A sermon preached by the Reverend Diane Teichert
First Parish Unitarian Universalist - Canton, MA
September 24, 2006
Mozart’s hauntingly beautiful lamentation (Lacrymosa, just sung by the choir) is from his last composition, the Requiem, commissioned in 1791 by a nobleman in memory of his young wife. Mozart took ill before it was finished, and just who completed it after his death is not fully known.
It is known, however, that the weather in Vienna in November and December of 1791 was particularly bad, and that Mozart succumbed to fever around November 20 th. By the fourth of December Mozart felt death was near. He lamented that his life’s work would be so drastically cut short, and that he had not provided better for his wife and children. In the afternoon, several singers from the opera sang through the Requiem with him, and at the point where they reached the still incomplete Lacrymosa, Mozart was moved to tears.
A biographer notes that it is possible Mozart would have recognized the irony that the first performance of his Requiem might be in his own memory, his life being cut short like the Requiem itself. Mozart died just after midnight on 5 December 1791. Recently, records have been found showing that, indeed, on December 10 th much of the Requiem was publicly performed for the first time at a memorial concert. (Philip Legge at http://www.carringbush.net/~pml/music/mozart/requiem/mozart.html)
The English translation of the first few lines is “Day of sadness, day of mourning, from the dust of earth returning, man from judgment must prepare him.” Is there any one among us who would not lament, as Mozart did, that our impending death would curtail our life’s work, especially our imperfect relationships with those we most love?
Although it’s a requiem from the Christian tradition, the Lacrymosa’s universal evocation of the lamentation any of us might feel looking back on our life is fitting for this time in the Jewish calendar, the Ten Days of Awe that begin with Rosh Hashanah and end with Yom Kippur, during which Jews review the past year, atone for--and then put behind them-- their failings, both individual and collective. It’s a time for looking within, but not individualistically so, because it is done in the context of their religious community.
This practice in Judaism reminds me of a line from a song, Baptism of Fire, by the lesbian singer-songwriter and peace activist Pat Humphries. “The only way out is through."
It’s one of those lines with a tune and words that I can’t get out of my head. I don’t know it well enough to sing it for you, but the words are,
"Baptism of fire, all happening within/Illusions burn like tall grass/In the wild and reckless wind/And now they're coming down around me/And I am rising up/Like a great bell resurrected/Ringing loud and true/The only way out is through."
Yes, the best way out of our problems is usually right through the middle, not avoidance by going around. But, today I want to ask a slightly different question: Is the Way Out sometimes In?
Rosh Hashanah and Ramadan both begin this weekend, each one an invitation for its practitioners to look within, to engage in deeper reflection. The first day of Rosh Hashanah—the Jewish New Year— was yesterday, on the first day of the month of Tishri in the Jewish calendar. Yom Kippur follows, ten days later, and is a day of fasting. And Ramadan—the month of fasting for Muslims— began yesterday or begins today, depending on what calculations are used to predict the appearance of the New Moon.
This convergence of the first day of both Tishri and Ramadan only happens once every 32 years. To mark that unique occurrence, the Interfaith Youth Group in Sharon, of which our own Tom’s middle son (Andy) is a member, is sponsoring an evening of interfaith learning and a traditional dinner after sunset with the Muslims in attendance, as they break their fast on that day. I thought it sounded so cool, I put a notice of this event in the announcements in your order of worship, and also in this past week’s Midweek Announcements (which, allow me to add, will be sent to your email address each week if you give it to us). The interfaith youth group notes in their publicity for the event, somewhat wryly I thought, that “This is a rare, if not unique, observance of Ramadan in a Jewish temple.”
In these times when some adult Jews, Muslims, Christians and other peoples of faith are hell-bent on each other’s death and destruction, the mere existence of this Interfaith Youth Group and, even more so, its creative plan to bring their communities together, reminds me of the words of the Jewish prophet Isaiah, “and a little child will lead them.” (Is 11:6), which was echoed by Jesus who, when asked “Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?” answered “Truly, I tell you, unless you change and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.”
Early last summer, when I was looking ahead to what my preaching schedule and sermon topics might be come fall, I noted that Rosh Hashanah and Ramadan both would begin this weekend and I wondered, when will the opportunities for deeper reflection provided by these traditions lead the people who observe them toward a peaceful resolution of their conflicts in the Middle East? How might I, being neither Muslim nor Jew, contribute to the making of peace during their season of reflection?
In subsequent weeks, the usual hostilities at the Israel/Lebanon border intensified with the taking hostage of two Israeli soldiers by Hezbollah. Israel reacted, as it had said it sometime would to one of Hezbollah’s periodic cross-border attacks. All-out warfare erupted, with many deaths and much destruction in its wake. Later in July, when President Bush announced he would rush a shipment of precision-guided American bombs to help Israel many of us moaned, “Not in our name!” But, neither could we condone the reported “hiding” of Hezbollah fighters among the civilian population in Lebanon.
Whatever our allegiances and however we each understand the complexities in the Middle East, the news reports were horrifying. Thankfully, the ceasefire between Hezbollah and Israel still holds.
During that war, during which time President Bush began referring to our “enemies” as “Islamic Fascists,” I decided to fast during Ramadan. It is a way to remind myself of the many peaceful Muslims here and around the world who abhor the violence. It is a way for me to resist the fear that some of our leaders promulgate. So, it’s a fast for peace, too—public and personal peace.
Fasting in Ramadan will also be a means for me to learn more about Islam (about which I know much less than Judaism). I invite you to learn with me or even to fast, to whatever, if any, degree you may choose. On display in the Parish Hall, you will find ideas for alternative forms of fasting such as refraining from other kinds of consumption. There you may also sign up to come to one or more of my “Islam in Ramadan” classes. I’ll share my dates and water (the traditional way to break the fast) with whoever attends, and we’ll discuss what we’ve read of the suggested books and some video clips in a collaborative way, learning together since I am no expert. If you plan to come to some of these learning occasions but cannot attend the first one this Tuesday, please let me know.
During Ramadan, Muslims forego food and all drink from sunrise to sunset. I plan to forego all food and most drink. I realize I am privileged to be generally well-fed and healthy enough to do this, as far as I know. During Ramadan, many Muslims make special contributions to charity. I will divide mine between helping families in need through our Minister’s Discretionary Fund and electing to Congress people who I believe will work for peace in the Middle East.
Today is the first day of Ramadan. I got up early so I could eat breakfast before sunrise and I’ll forego the food and drinks at Coffee Hour, and not eat lunch. I’m getting kind of hungry already, but I’m pretty sure I can do at least one day! I sincerely wonder, though, about the whole month?? Without the benefit of mutual support and the company of family and friends to break fast with each day, will I give up? Fortunately, at this time of year, the days are getting shorter, not longer! Ramadan is even more challenging when it occurs in the summer, when the days are long. Maybe that’s why you don’t find too many Muslims in Alaska or Norway! Wish me well, please.
Besides not being at all sure that I will stick to my resolve, I also wonder whether I will open myself to the spiritual dimensions of fasting. Will I heed Ramadan’s invitation to look within, to engage in deeper reflection? Will I set aside more time for meditation and reading because I’m rising earlier, or will I do email??? Will I be more in tune with the comings and goings of the sun, or will I be watching my watch to see when I can’t-- or can--eat??? Will it turn out to be all about food, or something more metaphorical? I suspect it will be all of the above, being only human.
And, what if I do go deeper during Ramadan? Suppose I get stuck in the depths? In these troubling times, can we trust that going inward will bring us out in hope?
Doing so is certainly a theme in many of the world’s religions, for founders as well as followers. What comes to mind is the proverbial “forty days and forty nights”—which is not to be taken literally, but rather to mean, simply, a long time.
Moses was in the mountains with God for forty days and forty nights, neither eating nor drinking, twice, before receiving the ten commandments on Mount Sinai (Exodus 34:28). And Elijah, too, forty days and forty nights traveling in the desert to get to Mount Sinai where he, also, met God, or more accurately, God’s voice, in “the sound of sheer silence” (I Kings 19:8-14). That’s a wonderful image—the sound of sheer silence.
And, Jesus… immediately after his baptism, at the start of his ministry, Jesus went into the wilderness where he fasted forty days and forty nights (Matthew 4: 1-3) during which time he wrestled with the devil, and “afterwards he was famished,” the scriptures say.
And Muhammad…well, his story is similar. He was an Arab businessman who every year during the month of Ramadan would “retire to a cave near Mecca where he prayed, fasted and gave alms to the poor.” One year, 610 in the Common Era to be exact, he was overcome by a powerful divine presence that began to speak through him words he felt were not his. These words, and those he received in dialogue with the divine during Ramadan in subsequent years, were the beginning of what was later assembled as the Quran. And, so, Muslims fast for the month of Ramadan to honor the Prophet Muhammad’s receiving of the Quran in that month, breaking the fast after sunset each day with dates and water and worship, in the tradition of the Prophet Muhammad. (Islam by Karen Armstrong, p.3-4).
Fasting is not just a practice in the mono-theistic religions, though. From Thomas Ryan’s book The Sacred Art of Fasting, we learn that Hindus and Buddhists fast also, in diverse ways for a variety of reasons in both traditions.
Most Hindus, he says, fast regularly or on special festivals honoring certain gods and goddesses. On religious holidays, most either do not eat at all or limit their appetites in some way. In Hinduism, people may fast to move toward physical and mental purity, to show respect for a god or goddess, and/or to do penance. The Sanskrit word for fasting is upavasa which means “to stay near” the Divine.
The various traditions within Buddhism fast in different ways but all are influenced by the fact that the story of the Buddha is that he achieved enlightenment only after he stopped fasting. So, there may be more of an emphasis on moderation in fasting in Buddhism as compared to other religions. Many Buddhists fast on full moon days and other holidays. They fast for purity of body and for freeing the mind of distractions.
But, fasting is not just in the province of religious people. Apparently, and I had not been aware of this, many secular folks practice fasting, most often for what Ryan calls “body-ecology” or to “give their physical selves a rest” from the hard labor of digestion. In so doing, they are motivated by everything from weight loss to fiscal savings to better food digestion. Maybe many more of you than I would guess have tried fasting. I’d be curious to know of your experience.
So, if so many people over centuries in various parts of the world have found fasting to be meritorious, why not us? Well, why not?
The author of The Sacred Art of Fasting makes an impassioned plea for it. “Fasting as a religious act increases our sensitivity to that mystery always and everywhere present to us. It is a passageway into the world of spirit to explore its territory and bring back a wisdom necessary for living a fulfilled life. It is an invitation to awareness, a call to compassion for the needy, a cry of distress and a song of joy. It is a discipline of self-restraint, a ritual of purification, and a sanctuary for offerings of atonement. It is a wellspring for the spiritually dry, a compass for the spiritually lost, and inner nourishment for the spiritually hungry.” (pp. 163-4)
Why not? I can’t recommend it from my own experience. At least not yet. Ask me in a month. Or join me and experience something of it for yourself.
But let’s not think it’s only about food, or even primarily about food. It must be about more than that. It’s a means to develop interiority, or an inner sense of ourselves.
I don’t usually like to close my sermons with a quotation. Why give someone else my last word? But, today I will, with this paragraph from Desert Window by Neil Douglass-Klotz who has studied sacred texts of the Middle East in the original Aramaic, Hebrew, Persian, and Arabic languages. His English translations of those texts convey a wisdom about this movement inward that leads us outward which we have been exploring this morning.
“Our modern world does not encourage depth. It encourages being driven, led, or swept away by our perceived needs, which are often compulsively programmed into us based on someone else’s priorities. Without apportioning blame to education, religion, business, government, or unhealthy family dynamics, one can simply say that, in the modern era, we are not encouraged to be in touch with our own inner, unrehearsed nature any more than we are encouraged to contact the wildness of nature outside us. As that outside nature rapidly deteriorates to the same degree that human institutions do, there is a certain urgency for us to contact the depth of our self.” (p. 101).
May we find within a soft kindness toward ourselves, one that may inspire us outward in the ways of kindness toward others. Amen.
May you go now in peace and may peace guide and attend you in the days ahead until we meet again. The worship has ended, may the service begin.