Our Place in this Sacred Universe: Bringing Christianity Up-To-Date

John Muir in Yosemite (1838-1914)

We are living in a time of immense challenge on every front—socially, politically, ecologically, and spiritually. In the midst of all this, the writings of Thomas Berry (a Catholic scholar of religion and cosmology) have kept me grounded.  In his books, often very influential among those engaged in the current ecological conversation, he says that we need a new story to reorient and ground ourselves to meet these challenges. Religions, and Christianity in particular, have been slow to catch up to modern understandings of science, and the origins and future of the universe.  Our theologies, liturgies, pastoral work, and ethics are still grounded in outdated understandings of the life of the universe as well as human social organizations. Science and religion must come together to foster a way of life on this planet so that all things may flourish.  If religions fail to reform themselves and remain instead connected to conservative and often fundamentalist views, the future of the planet is bleak.  Religion can be a potent force for change, but it can keep us stuck in the status quo.

In his book, The Sacred Universe, Berry writes that we must aim at “overcoming our human and religious alienation from the larger, more comprehensive sacred community of the natural world.”  “Our challenge is to move from a purely human-oriented or personal-salvation focus in our religious concerns to one that embraces the universe in all its forms.  This will require an immense shift in orientation.”  John Philip Newell also pointed us in this direction, and his talks among us this last winter were a compelling call, complementing our Lenten reading in Pope Francis’ recent book.  Together, they urged us to explore a distinctively Christian way to care for the earth, our common home.    

This fall, I will offer a fall sermon series that invites us further into the kind of dialog we need in order to care more robustly for the earth, as stewards of and participants in the evolving life of the universe.  I’ll do so by exploring these themes through the life of John Muir (1838-1914), the Scottish-born, American naturalist whose writings and advocacy led to the preservation of Yosemite and other national parks, and, through his founding of the Sierra Club, helped ignite the modern environmental movement.  

Muir was raised a Presbyterian, and while he rejected the cold and rigid doctrinal formulations of his inherited Calvinism, his Christian faith nourished all his encounters with nature and supported his advocacy on behalf of the earth.  

Here’s a look at the series I’m calling, “John Muir: What We Can Learn from California’s Neglected Saint”:

October 9, 2016: “The Home of God is Among Us”
October 16: “Consider the Lilies”
October 23: “When I Look at the Heavens”

These three sermons will include a meditation on biblical texts, stories from Muir’s life, excepts from his spiritual writings, and implications for Christian faith and practice.  Throughout the series we will explore how our religious vision—joined with the best of our tradition and current understandings of cosmology—can provide us with a more holistic view of life on this plant and how we can each participate in its healing and flourishing, and, therefore, in our own. 

I hope you’ll join in the important work before us, shaping a Christian view not only of that little bit of the cosmos we call the Earth, but also of the entire universe.  Here are some suggested resources that might help you in your reflection:

Thomas Berry: Selected Writings on the Earth Community, edited by Mary Evelyn Tucker and John Grim.  Berry, a Catholic theologian (or what he called a “geologian”) taught history of religions at Fordham University, and is in many ways a mentor for many religious leaders today who are working on the encounter between science and religion, and especially our ethic as humans in relation to the environment.

Journey of the Universe, by Brian Thomas Swimme and Mary Evelyn Tucker.  A remarkable, beautiful, and timely prose “poem” that explores, from a scientific point of view the origins and nature of this vast expanding universe.  Not written from a religious point of view, the book bears the inspiration of a classic spiritual text—it’s a hymn to the splendor of the cosmos.

Journey of the Universe: An Epic Story of Cosmic, Earth, and Human Transformation.  This Emmy award winning documentary, adapts the book by Swimme and Tucker (above and by the same title).  A 57 minute video.

John Muir: Spiritual Writings, edited by Tim Flinders.  Muir was a Scottish-born, Presbyterian naturalist whose writings and advocacy contributed to the preservation of Yosemite and other national parks.  He also founded the Sierra Club. This collection of journal entries, letters, and excerpts from other writings, reveal his deeply spiritual sentiments and how they inspired his activism on behalf of the natural world.

The Coming of the Cosmic Christ by Matthew Fox.  A thick yet helpful exploration of Christology from a creation-centered perspective. Fox re-digs the wells of historic Christianity to help us rediscover sources of theological reflection and spirituality that can help us at this point of the Earth’s great need.  

Christ of the Celts: The Healing of Creation, by John Philip Newell.  Newell, of course, is influential among us at DCC.  This handy little book offers us a vision for Christ who is not shackled by the doctrines of original sin and substitutionary atonement which are antagonistic to a faith perspective that honors the Earth as sacred. 

Worship and the New Cosmology, by Catherine Vincie.  Professor of sacramental and liturgical theology at Aquinas Institute of Theology in St. Louis, Dr. Vincie gives a short and concise summary of much of the current thinking in scientific circles about the nature of the universe and then applies those insights to the ways we express Christian faith through our worship.  You will notice a number of things we have been doing for awhile in our worship services, but this book may help us with further reforms that carry our worship life further beyond outdated understandings of the cosmos and our place in it so that we can more fully participative in the gifts of the natural world.

What does contemplative mean?

The other day someone said to me, "I hear this word, 'contemplative' often these days; it's associated with spiritual practices. And it seems like I'm supposed to know what it means. But I don't, and since everyone else seems to know, I'm often embarrassed to ask. So, I'm asking you, What does contemplative really mean anyway?"

Contemplation . . . not just for animals.

Contemplative spiritual practices have a rich history across religious traditions.  They are not something esoteric or woo-woo, but in the best sense of the word are immensely practical for daily life.

Here's my little definition:

"Contemplative" comes from two Latin words, con and tempore.  Con can mean "with".  And tempore is the word from which we get "temporary", "temporal", "temperature", and so on.  It means "time" or "moment".  So con-tempore means "with the moment".  Living contemplatively means learning how to live with ourselves right here, right now--fully present to who we are in this time and place, and to the world right around us.  Doing so is an art that transforms the way we live, love, and experience the gift of our "one, wild, and precious life" (Mary Oliver).

Honestly, most of us spend most of our time everywhere else but where we are.  What I mean is that, we live much of our lives north of the neck, that is, in our heads; 98% of the time we're thinking about the past, wondering about the future, or preoccupied in some other way. 

It's really unusual to be focused here and now.  But here and now is all we've got, really.  Being here, present now doesn't mean we forget the past or ignore the future.  But it means that we don't neglect the present.  And so, when we get to the future, we'll be there, not somewhere else. 

What this means, for example, is that we look the other person in the eye when we're talking with them.  And that changes the whole encounter.  We smell our coffee.  We taste our food.  And revel in these simple gifts.

Think about the last time you felt someone was really present to you and how you experienced their presence.  Think about the time you felt really focused--like your energy was fully concentrated on what you were doing.  Such moments are rare, but when we're there we feel really, really alive.

Contemplative practices (like meditation, Centering Prayer, or yoga for example), teach us how to be more fully present so that we live life more fully.  

Contemplative practices root us in daily life.  

Long ago, I read this telling saying in Thomas Merton's anthology called The Wisdom of the Desert (I don't have the little book here where I'm writing, so this comes from memory): 

If you see a monk trying to climb into heaven, grab him by the heel and pull him back to earth. 

Contemplative practices are proven ways to keep us connected to the earth and therefore to keep us more fully human and, therefore, more fully alive to the Divine.

Summer reading to help keep you anchored in these tumultuous times

Last Sunday, in full view of the unrelenting violence, the escalating polarization, and in light of the vision offered by the church's lectionary readings of the day (Amos 8.1-12 and Luke 10.38-43), I reflected publicly on our need to remain anchored, rather than agitated in a world awash with worry and fear.  

There is a "soul to politics" (Jim Wallis), an "inner life" to our civil involvement (Rebecca Solnit).  And when we are tossed about in the flotsam of a swiftly moving current of negativity, fear, and anger, we become part of the problem rather that part of the solution--the work of healing and wholeness that's so necessary (and which, I believe, is the primary vocation of religious people today--our ancient traditions all point to this, despite the pervasion of these traditions by fundamentalism).  

Anchored, we can help anchor others.  Agitated, we amplify the agitation around us that's fueling the expanding fire of chaos and crisis.

Many have asked me for a bibliography of the two books I mentioned in my sermon on Sunday.  And so I've put together a list, not only of those two books, but also of a few others that are a grounding force for me and, I hope, for others.  May they help us find ways to live hopefully and healingly in the midst of the daunting challenges before us all.

1. Rebecca Solnit.  Hope in the Dark: Untold Histories, Wild Possibilities.  A short and brilliant field guide for activists.  The introduction and afterward are new to this most recent edition of the book, first published in 2003.

2. Krista Tippett.  Becoming Wise: An Inquiry into the Mystery and Art of Living.  Krista hosts a weekly audio journal.  She interviews the most interesting persons on the planet and it probably the most curious and engaging interviewer around.  This book is her gleanings for a decade or more of interviews.  

3. Thomas Merton.  The Wisdom of the Desert, introductory essay.  This short essay is one of the most important visions for how religious people can find practices that sustain the kind of life needed in tumultuous times.  I've returned to the final paragraphs of this essay over and over since I read it years ago.  He says, "We must liberate ourselves, in our own way, from involvement in a world that is plunging to disaster." In case you think this is more of the kind of handwringing we hear in fundamentalist circles (both religious and political), it's not.  Nor is it another example of religious escapism.  Rather, it's a clarity around which he envisions and world-embracing ethic of redemptive involvement.

4. Thich Nhat Hanh.  True Love: A Practice for Awakening the Heart.  This trim little book from the Buddhist tradition can keep us grounded, merciful, compassion, and utterly present to what matters most in human relationships.  

5. The Cloud of Unknowing with the Book of Privy Counsel.  A new translation by Carmen Acevedo Butcher.  This is my go-to book for anchoring me in Christian contemplative practice and union with Christ.  A fourteenth century invitation to the spiritual life.  Butcher's new transitional is crisp, engaging, and conversational.  One of the few books I'd want with me if I were stranded on a desert island.  

 

The kind of new stories (of the universe) we need and why

So, I've been reading Thomas BerryBrian SwimmeJohn Muir.  They give shape to my deep sense that our story of our planet must be updated, as well as our theological reflection, to match what we now know about the universe.  We are terribly behind (especially in religious circles) and still read our sacred texts from inside an outdated cosmology--as if heaven is up, hell (whatever that is) is down, and this flat earth is merely a staging ground for what matters in the afterlife.  This means that earth is incidental and can be used and abused because, in the end, matter doesn't matter.  

Berry has said that "when religion lost contact with the presence of the divine throughout the natural world, the deepest sources of religious experience was lost.  Human control over the functioning of the life systems of the planet became the ideal to be sought.  Nothing was to escape human dominance."  He goes on to say about Matthew Fox that "Matt Fox is one of those persons in more recent times who seeks to bring back this sense of the Great Cosmic Liturgy that has been sustained over the centuries by the indigenous peoples, while the 'civilized' persons of the world have abstracted themselves into staid liturgies that have lost their primordial vitality."  

Matt Fox surely does this, but so did Muir a century ago.  Muir's break with the rigid Calvinism of his Scottish Presbyterian heritage, and his plunge into the natural world as alive with Spirit is a window into the kind of recovery we need.  Brian Swimme also points this way with his marvelous tale of the origins of the universe.  All this needs a more robust theological integration into more mainstream religious thought and practice.  (And this is exactly the kind of work that John Philip Newell is up to today)

Here's a story audio/visual story that invites us toward this newness.  

I wonder how religious people, particularly Christians (because they're my tribe) can find ways of creating new liturgies that involve people today in ways that orienting them to the universe so that we can be more present to the sacredness of the earth and our place in it.     

God and suicide: a personal encounter


Sunday, June 19th, at Davis Community Church, I offered a public meditation on discouragement, depression, and our journey into wholeness. It was based on the narrative of Elijah the prophet's deep dive into depression in 1 Kings 19.

In the sermon I mention my own encounter with deep depression and the suicide of my dear friend, the Rev. Jamie Evans in 2010.  I also mentioned the raw sermon I preached the Sunday after his death. A number of people have asked about that sermon, "God and Suicide: A Personal Encounter," based on Luke 13.31-35.

You can read more about it here on this blog with links to the audio sermon (preached at University Presbyterian Church, Fresno, California where I was pastor). Later, I edited the audio sermon (strictly oral sermons don't make for very good written ones, so it needed some work).

I post this again for all who seek some spiritual perspective on the trauma and tragedy of suicide, and strategies for helping others (and themselves) through an honest and open encounter with emotional trauma, dark emotion, and depression.  In this violent world, such awareness and advocacy is more important than ever.  

The comments attached to this post are from the original post in 2010.  

Download the written sermon here: God and Suicide: A Personal Encounter