This past Monday evening Paul Holzer, Susan Deisroth, and I had the privilege of joining others in singing Mendelssohn's oratorio ELIJAH under the baton of one of New York's finest conductors, Mark Shapiro, at one of the Summer Sings at St. Luke in the Field. It seemed timely that the passage from I Kings was also the Ancient Testimony I had chosen for today. The rise and fall of Mendelssohn's tumultuous music parallels the intrigue and struggle of Elijah. On the one hand, it is a story about the struggle between King Ahab and Queen Jezebel, while on the other hand, it is about the struggle between God and God's prophet Elijah. Elijah had the power to tell the truth, but like so many of us, he was initially afraid to stand up to Ahab.
As Moses before him, Elijah retreated to Mt. Horeb to commune with God. Rather than use familiar signs like thunder, lightening, or fire, God employed the tremendously dramatic effect of self-revelation through a quiet whisper. God was not in the storm, the earthquake, or the fire, but in the gentle breeze after the storm. The place of encounter with God was not in some awesome event of nature, but in a quiet whisper. The quiet stillness was stronger than the crashing thunder, and the once-fearful Elijah was empowered to go back to Damascus and anoint a rival king.
People of faith often speak of how God meets them in their lives, empowers them to speak words that are not their own, and enables them to reach out with a healing touch they didn't know they possessed, to persevere in the midst of tragic and violent circumstances. The story of Elijah experiencing God's presence in the silence reminds us to ponder where we hear God's voice.
Today is the celebration of First Nations' Day for many Native Americans. Many Native churches will observe the summer solstice with a 24-hour fast ending in a feast with special readings from scripture, and story telling. Our Native sisters and brothers have always spoken of God in unexpected places, in times of quiet, as well as in the natural world. So much can be gained, as we have discovered, when we open ourselves to hear God's voice speaking through different cultures, different languages, different customs, through the natural world, and through our own feelings.
There was an article in yesterday's New York Times about "The Gateway to the Nations Pow Wow" being held at Floyd Bennett Field in Brooklyn, as it has been for eleven consecutive years. An older man by the name of Jack Goldwasser, from Staten Island, attending the Pow Wow for the second time, spoke of how he was drawn by the education he got last year, and "the quietness;" he said, "it's not a carnival." (The New York Times, Saturday, June 18, 2005, P. B3) God's soft whisper was felt in this continuing tradition.
How sad for those who choose to limit themselves to only certain forms of faith expression, or feel (as did Elijah) that we are all alone in our righteousness. It seems interesting to me that the time period of 40 days and 40 nights, associated not only with Elijah, but with Moses as well, is also an important time period for Native Americans, associated with spiritual preparation, self-knowledge, and transformation. Similarly, although the exact time period is not followed, the Quakers, and others, stress long periods of silence, allowing the worshipper to be in-spirited and inspired.
We don't need crashing thunder or tongues of flame to be transformed. The change in Elijah, as a result of the quieting of the storm, and the soft words of God, was a radical change indeed. Do you ever feel overwhelmed with life's tasks? Are you glad for the summer months, a time to draw back, to re-group, to become refreshed, to be transformed? Are you sometimes aware of having difficulty centering and finding that which you need to regain your strength and power? Does it often take awhile to really wind down?
I'm not going to tell you to take Geritol, or Dr. Watkin's cure-all, nor am I going to tell you to get over it! I am going to suggest that we can learn much from our Native American forebears. While we will soon celebrate our independence day, when we look to our fore-"fathers," let us remember that there were those who walked these lands long before our fore-bears.
As I preach what may well be my last sermon at Judson, and contemplate my retirement, looking back over nearly 40 years of ministry, I am reminded that it took a good many years, and a lot of looking back to begin to appreciate the need for re-grouping and refreshing, to find ways to take care of myself in the midst of the rhythm and cacophany of life. It took a great deal of maturing to realize how often God spoke to me through the silent and the quieter times. I expect in the next few years I will be finding myself wondering what it has all meant.
Let me share another brief story. It comes from Song of the Bird by Anthony de Mello. It is called "River Water for Sale." As the story goes, the master's sermon that day consisted of only one enigmatic sentence. He just gave a wry smile and began. "All I do here is sit by the bank of the river, selling river water." And with that he ended his sermon.
He had set up his stall on the river bank, the water-seller, and thousands came to buy water from him. The whole success of his trade depended on their not seeing the river. When they finally saw it, he ran out of business.
The preacher was a great success. Thousands came to learn wisdom from him. When they got wisdom, they stopped coming to his sermons. And the preacher smiled contentedly, for he had attained his purpose, which was to bow out as quickly as possible, for he knew in his heart that he was only offering the people what they already had, if they would only open their eyes and see.
Some said, "If you stopped selling water so vigorously people might have a better chance of seeing the river."
This is the purpose of some preachers, some business people, and some fathers, fathers (and mothers) whose purpose it is to raise a child to the time where the child sees the river, learns wisdom, and then they walk together in strength, trust, and compassion. Sometimes we even have to step out of the way to allow others to experience God's presence and hear God's voice, or just be open to life's transformations, however they may come.
On this First Nation Day, I can look back at our missionary policy and practice in my own lifetime. So often earlier Christian missionaries sought to "exorcise" the spirituality of Native peoples (and others). Out of fear and arrogance, European Christians too often rejected powerful and important practices and rituals as being demonic. Even today there are many within Christian circles who readily reject all references to Native spirituality and symbolism, writing it off without attempting to understand or learn from it. Yet many of those same Christians have no difficulty with the blending of pagan European symbolism and spirituality with Christianity, such as the use of Christmas trees or the celebration of the Nativity at a date chosen to coincide with the winter solstice.
On this Father's Day, 2005, I can look back over my years as a father, particularly to that time of becoming a new father, some 35 years ago. I just saw that daughter who came into my life two days before Christmas in December of 1970, only now she was with her husband who lives with a debilitating syndrome that will control much of their energy over the years. I just spent my 64th birthday with this daughter and son-in-law, and I recalled the philosophy of parenting I believe I followed over the years. I believe I taught her and her sister to be open and including, and to listen for God's soft whisper when and where we might least suspect it. I longed for the day that I could walk beside them, rather than lead them, control them, nag them, or always be the parent. That day has come, if I didn't know it before. I believe I can see in Jennifer, my older daughter, a young woman who still holds onto the best of what it is to be open and including, and has become a beautiful person in her own right, a young woman who now has her own identity and ways.
Likewise, my younger daughter, Johanna, who has already been to the City five or six times since I moved here, much like the people in the New Testimony, continues to find balance in her life, as a wife and mother, as well as a daughter. In both of these young women I see two who "cherish and share wisdom, respect all of life, live courageously, live moderately, live peacefully, keep their promises, remain honest, and share their gifts." (excerpt from the New Testimony)
For you and for me there will come a time when the immediacy and pressure to make something happen now has been removed, and when we can spend more and more time enjoying quiet sharing and constant growing. We may all come to realize how precious those quiet times have become. There was something special about sharing as adults with Jennifer and Ed this past week, without the grandchildren, as much as I love them.
This was a very special time for the three of us to connect, and to let God's soft whisper permeate our togetherness, and continue to move in and through us when I departed and headed back to the city.
When this happens, you and I can begin to see what a radical change will have taken place in our lives, not because of anything cataclysmic, but as a result of God's soft whisper, the quietness of contemplation or meditation, or however you may speak of it in your own life.
Happy First Nations' Day, and a very Happy Father's Day to fathers, and mothers who have also been like fathers, to all father-figures, to daughters and sons, and to all who, as the New Testimony said: share "the wisdom that the Great Spirit sent: (to) cherish wisdom; respect all life; be courageous; live moderately; life peacefully; keep your promises; be honest; share your gifts."
Ancient Testimony: I Kings 19:1-4, (5-7), 8-15a
New Testimony: A Story from the Ojibway Tradition
