Meditation on Love and Death by Rev. Linda Olson Peebles

Meditation on Love and Death by Rev. Linda Olson Peebles, May 24, 2009

        The Rev. Dr. Forrest Church has been a leading UU theologian, preacher, writer, and lecturer for three decades. He serves as Minister of Public Theology at All Souls Unitarian Universalist Church in New York City. A little more than a year ago, he received a terminal diagnosis – his cancer would end his life sooner than later. The author of more than a dozen books, he decided to write one last book, entitled Love and Death.

        Near the beginning of it he tells the story of a legendary minister colleague who used to disappear from contact periodically – especially when the office staff was busy preparing the weekly newsletter which would include the sermon title and a brief description of the theme. Whenever he did this, the very wise church administrator had a creative recourse – She listed his forthcoming sermon as follows:

        “The Great Mystery” What Dr. Barr is preaching is a mystery, but we’re certain it will be great.

        Whether sermons about the Great Mystery of Life, of Love and Death are great or not, and I am certain this one is not - what I am certain of is that pausing to reflect on Life, Love and Death is a great thing to do. Great religions, philosophers and artists, people throughout time have done it. Each of us does it from time to time. The Rolling Thunder procession of motorcyclists today remind us to consider the mystery of people who have given their lives in war. Young people, as they awaken to new perspectives on life, do it. It is a great thing – to remember the mystery of it all.

        Last month, I took sixteen of our high school youth on a great road trip to wander around Boston and the environs, to soak up a little bit of our Unitarian Universalist history and heritage. I’ve done trips like this for twenty years; but this is the first time the entire trip was twittered! Does everyone know what twittering is? It is a pretty new concept to me.

        Apparently lots of folks do it, and it is becoming quite an art form. Kind of like haiku – you have to be able to communicate using only 140 letters – not words - letters per message. Well, one of our high schoolers on the trip decided to twitter to her mom in brief, descriptive detail, her reflections of all that was going on during the journey.

        One line caught my attention – “We are seeing lots of graveyards. They are everywhere.” Yes they are, in ol d New England. We walked the Freedom Trail – in downtown Boston, among tall buildings and next to 17th century churches – and historic graveyards are everywhere – with the names of Paul Revere, Sam Adams, Mother Goose - and many more. Authors Ridge in Concord with the Alcotts, Thoreau, Hawthorn, Emerson; burial hill at Plymouth overlooking the harbor where Pilgrim travelers arrived to find religious freedom – the gravestones of men and women, children, from long ago. Tweets were sent from Massachusetts to Virginia listing the names.

        As we walked in the graveyards, We talked about the signs on so many of the very old stones – weeping willows, skulls, angel wings. Some stones had just names engraved, barely visible after years of weather. And some had pithy sayings, little epithets, the tweets of another era. As we wandered in the graveyards, our conversations were not morbid or spooky. Our conversations were thoughtful, reflecting on lives lived, suffering endured and loving dramas unfolded, and messages left.

        It is a great thing to remember- the mystery of life, love, and death.

        Throughout his career Dr. Church has said that his constant theme in his work has been the notion that “Religion is our human response to the dual reality of being alive and having to die.” It is a bit of an irony that we appreciate life most fully when we come face to face with death. Which is why I take young people to graveyards. Which is why I walk our 7th graders in the Coming of Age program, through our Memorial Garden walk here at the church, pausing to read the names, to talk about life and death and love and memory.

        We drive past our Memorial Garden here at our church, walk by it, everytime we come here. The Children play in the playground right next to it. Our lives going on around the memorial is not a contradiction. It is important. And it is important that we live our lives mindful of the fact that this is our time – right now- to BE alive. And to give what love we can of ourselves to one another. A memorial is to remind us of who has lived before, AND to remind us that we are Alive NOW.

        A great thing to remember.

        I look at your faces now, and I know you know. Life is fragile. And the pain of losing one another, of death, is so intense. Whether it is expected after long illness, or when it comes suddenly and unexpectedly – each time, we are reminded of the Great Mystery, shocked into seeing things differently for a time. After someone too young dies; after someone close to us who we may have just been with, is taken from us; after a violent storm like 9-11, like Columbine or VA Tech, or a tsunami – when the reality of death suddenly reminds us that this earthly life does end.

        Forrest Church describes it as the Trap Door – when it suddenly opens, and we drop through. It has happened to me – it has happened to you. He tells of the day he and his kids were busily trying to get to school – lunch bags, books, backpacks, out the door, dad’s late for a meeting, thinking about his cell phone, getting the kids dropped off, and the n having his act together for a meeting, when – SWOOSH! – the trap door opens! A car comes out of nowhere, driven by an angry-looking woman, distracted and !! And zooms right by the little ones and Dad, as they cross with the walk light, holding hands, in the crosswalk. Missed by a hairbreadth, alive by a nanosecond of pure luck. As Dr. Church is shaking, with the adrenaline of panic, first horrified, then really angry at his kids for not being careful, then angry that even though they WERE being careful they still might have been killed – as he goes through all that horror – he sees his kids. They’ve gone on ahead of him, skipping off happily, jumping to grab leaves off the trees. He writes, “Our lives are beset with trapdoors. …I tried to teach my children about life’s dangers. We all do. … We answer their questions and dearly wish they’d ask us more. But put a mad driver behind the wheel and our answers mean nothing. Trapdoors have one saving grace. They add to our appreciation of life, even as they threaten to extinguish it. Later that very day, walking my children home from school, they looked different to me, more vulnerable and precious. As we talked about school and plans, I loved them desperately.”

        And even though it is always there before us, it sometimes takes a reminder – a tragedy or a near-miss or a memorial – to awaken us once again to the wonder of life and the blessings of love. Church says that that morning on the way to school, while he got angry, his kids “had the right idea. We had just escaped from a brush from death. Why didn’t I think to jump and touch the leaves?”

        Why don’t we all sing and dance and jump and touch the leaves? Especially in the face of the incredible fragility and transience of this precious life.

        It is a great thing to remember the mystery of it all.

        This may sound like a Hallmark truism, but it is so deeply important – “Life is a gift, not a given. Every day is a miracle.” Trapdoors and graveyards remind us; moments of deep sorrow and shock wake us up like a rude alarm clock. Can we also, hopefully, remember that beautiful truth, in our every day, looking at one another with the gratitude that here is life, here is love, right now. This moment passes quickly; this life as it is can not last forever; but there is an eternity in the now when it is filled with awareness and love.

        Besides taking kids to see graveyards, another experience I offer young people – specifically our 7th grade Coming of Agers - is to watch the classic move “The Wizard of Oz”. It is a story with many themes about life’s journey, about good and evil, discovery of self and other, of heart and home. Lots of good lessons for growing up. And there is also a lot about loss and saying good-by. Towards the end of the movie, there is the scene when the Wizard comes out of hiding to take Dorothy home to Kansas. The poor Wizard; he was actually a humbug showman with a balloon, who has been hiding behind the image of a great and powerful “Oz” persona; keeping himself from knowing and being known by the people who have welcomed him into their Emerald City. When he tries to help Dorothy out, and give her a ride out of Oz and back to Kansas in his hot air balloon, he cannot control the departure. He begins to speechify to create a great dramatic ending, and it gets totally bollixed. Toto jumps out of the balloon’s gondola basket, Dorothy goes to retrieve him, and at the same time the ropes get loosened and the balloon starts to lift. The Wizard can only helplessly wave and drift aloft, leaving everyone on the ground, and Dorothy too. No one really ever got to know him, and before he could say his meaningful last words, he was suddenly going away, with only frantic good-byes as his elegy.

        Dorothy, who learns from the good witch Glenda that she has the power to get home all by herself, Dorothy does not lose control and just fly off. She pauses, and looks at her friends. She has been involved with their lives, and shared a journey with them. And she realizes how much that has meant to her. She takes the time to say good-by to each one especially – do you remember this scene in the movie? There are tears, it is sad, but everyone can feel the love. And the friends each acknowledge that it was Dorothy’s caring about them that had given them what they were longing for – the brains, the courage and the heart to live their lives fully.

        It is a great mystery.

        We fly into this life and we fly out of it. Birth and death – not exactly caused by a tornado dropping us into a strange and magical world – but just as miraculous and amazing. However it happens, and whatever the truth is about OZ or Kansas, or where we have come from and where we return – it is SO important how we spend our days where we find ourselves – on THIS part of our journey, in THIS life, with THESE fellow travelers- you and me, and all the others around us. It is important.

        We each have our own style. Some are emotive and huggy kissy; some show they love in quieter ways. Some of us write meaningful notes of love and appreciation, or sing songs; others of us show our hearts by doing acts of kindness that speak wordlessly. It doesn’t matter what your way of being in the world is. As long as you can be aware of the power of this life, and of the common experience that we all share. As long as you can cut through the pretense, the illusions and really see ALL that is our life, the joy and sorrow, the risk and the comfort, the fears and the courage, the growing and the slowing, and the love of the mystery.

I love you for sharing this all – for living as we all do – in the great mystery of life, of love, of death. I love you for awakening to the miracle of this day and this life, even as we acknowledge that this will end. I love you for coming to church to share your life, to sit in the middle of this great mystery, and open our hearts to be born in love, broken in love, and healed in love. It’s a mystery, but I am convinced it is all GREAT!

May we do this in remembrance Of those who have lived and loved before us; Of those who will live and love after us; This communion of saints to share the Great Mystery.

Whenever we remember the Great Mystery, in the words of Maya Angelou:

The sun has come out

the mists have gone.

We see in the distance

our long way home.

I was yours to lovep>

and you were always mine

We have belonged together In and out of time. Amen