First Parish Unitarian Universalist
Canton, Massachusetts

Uniting Waters

A sermon preached by Doug Lowry
First Parish Unitarian Universalist - Canton, MA
March 16, 2008

Opening Words

It is with great pleasure and honor to be able to facilitate today’s service entitled “Uniting Waters”. Canton’s rain puddles, ponds, streams and rivers were the places I first nurtured my love for water and all things natural, this church, “First Parish” is where I learned the responsibility of stewardship of the things that become important to you. I believe, one of the most impressive things about the UU tradition is the expectation that it’s members participate in the health of their communities. Each member is a steward, activist, vehicle for change or witness to what is right or what is wrong, even as we proactively explore what we think is right and what is wrong. UU’s may not always agree with each other but one should never underestimate our collective dedication to social justice and earth stewardship and our ability to get things done as “gently” as we can. It is with that instilled responsibility that I have found myself serving in a very small capacity as a steward to the world’s oceans, working as a sea kayak instructor for The National Outdoor Leadership School who’s curriculum includes a large environmental sciences component and more locally as president of the North and South Rivers Watershed Association a non-profit advocacy group dedicated to the health of twelve South shore town’s watershed.

For my opening words I would like to cannibalize part of a letter I wrote for the association’s newsletter, some words to celebrate the coming of Spring and the associated rain that allows the Earth and her waters to bring forth so much joy to all of us.

Our Earth sheds its winter cloaks and awakens to fiddle-heads coiled with Spring’s promise. Silver-spotted skippers warmed by the lengthening days flutter between the first emerging wild flowers gathering nectar. Late afternoons fill with the re-affirming and much anticipated chorus of wood frogs and peepers singing out “look at me, I’m here”. The red-winged blackbird trills as he stakes his claim to his piece of the awakening community. The quiet of winter is replaced with the collective auditory celebration of Spring. Each year, season by season we are assured, comforted, invigorated by the blessings of Spring.

Spring rains fill the vernal pools in the pine barrens, streams swell with returning herring, skunk cabbage pokes through frosted leaf litter. The proverbial cup of life runneth over with Nature’s sweet rain water.

As adults we dash from car door to cover avoiding Spring rains as if they were toxic, while children are enthralled by puddles, mud and anything that oozes. They are perplexed, once again, by adults constant suppression of our senses as we cluck over our repulsion of mud and miracles.

Let us rejoice in the small miracles that Spring rains shower us with: forsythia, crocus, the distinctive yellow-green of the willow in April, the damp smell of life or whatever you love the most about the universal celebration of Spring.

Sermon

When we are thirsty we need only go to the kitchen sink for a glass of tap water or to the refrigerator for a bottle of “spring” water. Often our connection to water ends at our tap, whether we are showering, running the dishwasher or watering the lawn. Collectively as Americans, we go to that tap to the point where individually we use 100 to 176 gallons of water each day just in our homes. We are shocked over our water bills and yet think nothing of paying more for bottled water by measure than gasoline. The tap gives the illusion of infinite supply. Although our consumption of that supply is astronomical, we spend virtually no time having to retrieve, collect or transport this basic human need. An African family on average will use about 5 gallons of water each day. Collecting and transporting water is a daily, time consuming task. One could argue that this disparity over the usage and distribution of water is the least recognized social challenge the world faces today. While researching for this service, I was once again reminded how insulated and ignorant I was to such basic truths. One billion people lack access to a safe supply of drinking water. Quantity isn’t the only issue, the quality of water is as important, at any given time, one half of the worlds hospital beds are occupied by patients suffering from a water-related disease.

I would like to explore water resources as a key component in social justice and how the inequitable access to this universal basic need has divided us across geo-political lines. First however, let’s celebrate the historic and cultural connections that so many religions and societies have had with water. Human’s sacred connections to water are evident in ceremonies, song, poetry and the visual arts. It is through these traditions that perhaps we can collectively revisit the importance of waters in a larger context. Understanding the late Jacque Cousteau’s premise that “the water we have is the water we have” we must take steps towards a universal interdependence of this finite resource. Celebrating commonalities is an easy first step. Let’s visit ‘Uniting Waters”.

Scott Russell Sanders writes; “Water is the formless potential out of which creation emerged. It is the ocean of unconsciousness enveloping the islands of consciousness. Water bathes us at birth and again at death, and in between it washes away sin. It is by turns the elixir of life or the renewing rain or the devastating flood.” The theme of water as the birthplace of life is shared across many religions. In the Hindu tradition, the River Ganges is “the water of life”. It descends to the plains of India as if from Heaven, it indeed flows from the Himalayas, the mountains of the gods. Bathing in the river frees you of sin and provides inward purification. The lotus-stream of the Buddha percolates from the waters of the soul a wellspring of the spirit of illuminated knowledge. In Japan, water is considered a reflection of the soul, it’s pliant qualities foreshadow life’s various stages. Illustrated in the stillness of a reflective pool or the turbulence of a waterfall. In the Egyptian creation story, the sun-god Re arose from the primeval ocean. In Babylonian mythology, both gods and then all beings arose from the synthesis of salt water and sweet water. The Koran claims that we have created every living thing from water. Even in the Judeo-Christian tradition which tends to avoid any reverence for Nature, water is used as a symbol of Grace as evident in the tradition of Baptism.

David Suzuki shares this perspective in his book The Sacred Balance - Rediscovering Our Place In Nature “Human beings are landlubbers on this watery planet, island people marooned on dry land, surrounded by and dependent on an alien element, an old home we left long ages ago and yet carry still within us. Water is the raw material of creation, the source of life. When the waters break, the child is born from them, just as the gods of old parted the dark, primeval ocean and fashioned the Earth, just as the first land creatures struggled up out of the tide. Perhaps that is why water is at the heart of human ritual. The powerful symbolism of water - as transformation, purification, sharing - permeates our lives.”

What I love about being a UU, is the freedom to find the sacred in anything and everything. It’s like being in the Super Stop and Shop of ideology. Looking for Sun worship, check isle seven, half way down on the left next to the Maize Gods. Oh and try avoiding isle six, they called for a clean up around the Christian/Muslim display. For now, let’s head to the water isle. Join me as a pilgrim of protozoa, let’s visit some of the holy waters of the World.

Honoring water as sacred and as such a medium to lift one’s spirits is a blessing I am privy to, every time I work in the Wilderness. The protected shallows around the emerald green islands off the central coast of British Columbia are temples of some of Mother Nature’s best work. As you peer into the clear water, fronds of ribbon kelp, speckled with herring row undulate in the sun dappled surface waves. Slender kelp crabs scuttle across the fronds. As your eyes adjust, you’ll see juvenile painted greenling hover in the protection of the tentacles of white-spotted anemone. The ethereal opalescent nudibranch floats by the opal squid, vermilion star and peppered sea cucumber in this liquid heaven.

Near shore a mother gray whale and calf swim north to the nutrient rich waters of Alaska. Traveling up to eighty miles a day on their yearly thirteen thousand mile migration, these giants are one of the earth’s oldest mammals. Gray whales share this route with humpbacks as both species try to avoid encounters with their shared predator the transient strain of the orca which specializes in hunting their calves. The sound of the humpback’s song in the middle of the night as they pass by our camp is as evocative as you will ever hear.

The mist and rains of this temperate rain-forest create the cathedrals of lofty, ancient cedar and fir. Run off follows the rugged terrain to create streams, home to among other things, North America’s only aquatic passerine, the american dipper or water ouzel. This songbird’s unique habits include it’s ability to walk underwater and swim in the swift currents of streams, prodding for invertebrates, fish and fish eggs. Some of those eggs could be from salmon, sacred to the first nation peoples. The complicated life cycle of the salmon connects thousands of species of plant and animal, directly linking the domains of both salt and fresh water. Dead salmon provide up to eighty percent of the nitrogen for the trees that line salmon streams. Without this one precious component the system would collapse. If we travel several thousand miles to the south and east, we will arrive at another sacred place known as the “River of Grass”.

The Everglades embodies the clash between fragile life cycles and human’s callous disregard and short sighted approach to earth’s resources. Sandra Postel in her work Last Oasis warns us with these words: “We have been quick to assume rights to water but slow to recognize obligations to preserve and protect it. In short, we need a water ethic - a guide to right conduct in the face of complex decisions about natural systems we do not and cannot fully understand.”

As you first encounter the sanctuary of the glades it might resemble a more humble chapel than the grandiose cathedrals of say, the Rockies. It’s subtle beauty though, arrives as you settle in and listen. Limpkins search for snails in the blades of sawgrass, a barred owl might call from the branches of the gumbo limbo tree. It wont take long to observe and appreciate the interconnectedness of this gem. The components of the water cycle happen right before your eyes. Bringing that diagram from eighth grade Earth Sciences to life: water returns to the atmosphere by transpiration through plants and energy from the sun causes water to evaporate into clouds that condense, causing precipitation, which returns to the earth and seeps into the ground and runs into streams which feed the lakes and oceans. The increased humidity surrounding the plant rich hammocks that dot the landscape and daily thunderstorms are evidence of theory put into practice. A near perfect system fine tuned over millennia by the master of Art and Science, Mother Nature.

Humans are horrified when a crazed vandal attacks Michelangelo’s David with a hammer, outraged at the damage done to the masterpiece. We fill wetlands in southern Florida to make golf courses and strip malls, we consume products made from sugar cane grown in fields that have encroached into thousands of acres of the glades, the excessive nitrates and chemicals from over-fertilization of those fields and the lawns of sprawling sub divisions poison the very system that purifies Southern Florida’s municipal water. We hire the same Army Corps of Engineers that destroyed the natural flow of this ecosystem’s water cycle to help undo the damage that they were responsible for in the first place. We watch as they spend the tax money mandated to fix the problem on infrastructure improvements to attract more tourists to the area. We fail to see the disconnect between our actions and our future. We need to hold Mother Nature’s masterpiece, the Everglades as close to our hearts as we do Michelangelo’s sculptures. Rachel Carson in Silent Spring writes: “Of all our natural resources, water has become the most precious...In an age when man has forgotten his origins and is blind even to his most essential needs for survival, water along with other resources has become the victim of his indifference.” Words written forty-six years ago are still ringing out for universal acceptance.

Rabindranath Tagore speaks of being connected to the earth in this way: “The same stream of life that runs through the world runs through my veins night and day. It is the same life that emerges in joy through the dust of the earth into numberless waves of flowers.” Rabindranath’s words are true in the literal sense as well. The stream of life does run through our veins. On average sixty-five percent of our bodies by weight is water. Water runs through our bodies in surprising quantities, nearly forty liters flow in our cells as intracellular fluid, blood plasma, cerebral spinal fluid and so on. Our respiratory and circulatory systems are constantly regulating how, where and for what reasons that water is being used. Don’t look now, but you are sharing that water with your neighbors sitting right next to you. Ambient humidity and air temperature trigger the movement of water through your skin and lungs to the surrounding air. Yes there is a finite amount of water, that since the beginning of time has recycled through water vapor, sea water, trapped ice, precipitation and your sweat. Which makes it possible for one of the water molecules flowing through your body to be the very same molecule that flowed through a migrating gray whale thousands of years ago. Water is a shared resource, a commodity, a necessity, a binding, bonding, borrowed connection to each other and to the Earth.

Water’s ability to absorb huge amounts of energy and subsequently heat, both moderates and drives the engine of weather. Oceans and to a lesser extent, lakes absorb, the heat of summer and release that heat in the winter, thus modulating surface temperatures. Ocean currents cool the tropics and warm the polar regions. Ice, snow and clouds reflect sunlight back away from the earth. The interplay between this engine and the geographical land mass of the earth is partially why the distribution of fresh water is sporadic. This unequal distribution contributes to the great divide in the access to that fresh water. The social ramifications are complicated. I would like to examine some of these disparities which could create in the near future, more conflict than the distribution of oil.

First a look at the usable amount of water:

• Nearly 97% of the world’s water is salty or otherwise undrinkable.
• Another 2% is locked in the ice caps and glaciers. (for now)
• Only 1% can be used for all agricultural, residential, manufacturing, community and personal needs.
• If all the world’s water were to fit into a gallon jug the amount of water fit for use by us would be about one tablespoon.

Now a look at some ways that water is used:

In the agricultural context:

• It takes about six gallons of water to grow a single serving of lettuce.
• It takes more than 2,600 gallons of water to produce a single serving of steak.

According to the liberal think tank NASA, irrigation accounts for 80% of fresh water use both in the US and worldwide. The World Bank puts that percentage at 70.

The US irrigates over 50 million acres for agriculture and 32 million acres of recreational landscapes like lawns and golf course etc. NASA estimates, that translates into 50 trillion gallons a year used for irrigation

Water disregards any artificial boundaries established by humans. Humans claim “rights” to water but it is near impossible to “own” such a fluid commodity. In fact the fluid properties of water creates complications among the communities that compete for it as a resource. If your neighborhood relies on well water, your neighbor’s fanatical obsession with his lawn could negate your fanatical obsession with water conservation. The herbicide 2,4-D mixed in the fertilizer he uses defies those same boundaries and will leach into your shared groundwater. If your septic system fails, your neighbor will suffer the same consequences. This local model is the same on a much grander scale as countries draw water from the same rivers and often use those same rivers as dumping grounds for effluent or industrial waste.

I would like to finish with a few ways that we can make a difference. Obviously there are thousands of things we can do as citizens of this world community to reduce our consumption of this resource. Here are four simple things we can each do that are directed towards our diet that will have immediate results:

• Eat locally produced food. This will reduce the dependence on energy and in turn water.
• Eat less meat. A meat based diet (receiving 28% of calories from animal products) takes twice as much energy and several times as much water to produce than a vegetarian alternative.
• Eat organically. Chemical fertilizers and pesticides require large amounts of energy and water to produce.
• Eat less refrigerated foods. Home refrigeration accounts for 13% of all energy used in our food system.

What is so encouraging about the possibility of establishing the likes of Sandra Postel’s Water Ethic is the unmatched power for change in individual’s ethics and actions. Change rarely comes from top down and when it starts at the grass roots level there is integrity that cannot be dismissed. This is how the world has come to except the truth that is global warming. This is the path to a more equitable access and responsible usage of water. It starts with each of us, that ingrained sense of stewardship can once again be the vehicle for change. What hope and confidence that brings.

Closing Words

We receive so many gifts from water. I think of David Suzuki’s observations of water as symbolisms for transformation, purification and sharing.

We transform our relationships and love for one another like the flow of water; our friendships percolate like the springs from groundwater, our lives converge like tributaries as we gain momentum, combining energies towards a common goal. At times those waters part, no longer seeking out the same ground, moving to new paths, landscapes and terrain. Sometimes we encounter the turbulence of unpredictable cataracts or the tranquility of still water. No matter where our waters channel though, we remain connected.

We are purified by water by the cathartic release of tears. It is an amazing gift to feel so alive, both by the tears of absolute grief and despair or the tears of pure joy and contentment. We find purity and clarity in the simple acts of a long hot soak in the tub, a baptism or a shower, whether its running through a lawn sprinkler, singing in the rain or showering after hard work. We turn to water when our souls could use a good scrub.

And lastly, we share a thirst. A thirst for what is right in the world. A thirst for a connection. A thirst for each other. We are at our best when we quench that thirst from the same cup. The cup of compassion, tolerance, forgiveness, understanding, peace, love, fulfillment. A cup drawn from uniting waters.

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