Listening

Ron Phares

July 5, 2009

Sermon

Listen.

There are depths here. There are depths to listening. And as a metaphor, it is a posture of being, rather than merely the function of one of five senses. In other words, you hear with your ear. You listen with your entire being. I’m here to tell you that our culture does not listen well, and the cost of not listening is usually catastrophic and, at the very least, tragic.

Incidentally, I am fully aware of the irony of talking about listening. It automatically makes me a hypocrite. And where is the integrity in that? The preacher’s supposed to have integrity, right? Well, not today. Not ever, most likely. And I want to talk about that for just a moment because it is related to this notion of listening. Integrity and listening. I hope that relationship becomes clear as I move along. But for now, maybe by way of example, maybe by way of confession, I want to hold up the issue of integrity from my point of view as a future minister. You might think that is just a hazard of the preaching profession. You’d be right. My classmates, my mentors, and I myself wrestle with that particular angel through many, many nights, always begging the question, who am I so low to speak to these people about such high things? Personal and social expectations set a standard that is, frankly, impossible to achieve. And so I, and all my colleagues are doomed from the moment we hear the call. So yes, it is a hazard of the profession.

But then, it’s also a hazard of the species. I take both comfort and caution in the notion that integrity and humanity seem to be metaphysically incongruous. At least I have company.

But, hold on now, preacher. Did I just say you people lack integrity? Yes. Yes, I believe I did. Who says UU’s can’t do fire and brimstone? So you may be thinking, “But, the sermon’s on listening and we’re listening! That’s integrity. Not like the preacher.”

Okay. I’ll let you off the hook. For now. But don’t get comfortable. You see I’ve been doing a lot of thinking recently. And my thinking has coincided, happilyÉ or perhaps problematically, with many of the educational experiences I’ve been pursuing of late. In fact, the subtitle of this sermon could well be, “What I’ve learned so far, and what’s missing.” And I’ve learned a lot. And I’m missing still more. For instance, I’ve learned that Christ didn’t so often forgive people of their sins as recognize and pronounce that their sins had already been released through their faith. That’s from reading in Greek. I’ve learned what its like to feel helpless in the face of a hospital patient who has no hope. I’ve learned that any notion of the divine must compromise on either goodness or ultimacy. That is, there can be no god that is both all-powerful and an unconditional lover of humans and creation. I have learned all these things and more. But it should come as no surprise that of all I have learned, what stands out, is that the more I know the more I know how much I don’t know. And that is exciting. And frustrating. And frightening.

And one of the exciting, frustrating and frightening things that I know I don’t know is how to live with integrity. I have not learned how to do this. Okay, practice what you preach. That’s integrity of a kind. But how do I practice? What do I practice? Is there any practice that make me whole, that allows me, compels me, empowers me to live with integrity? This I have not learned. In fact, I have learned, rather, how much I am by birthright compromised, and worse, how much I compromise myself. I have learned that it is impossible to live with integrity. Keep in mind this sermon is about listening.

So let’s talk about integrity and listen to the familiar Hebrew myth of the garden and the fall. It’s resonant here. Listen and know that we are perfected in ideal only. In life, we are bound to make mistakes. But are we bound to our mistakes? That, in the end, is the question. But we aren’t to the end yet and I want to pick at this scab a bit more.

We are, it is said, fallen. And it makes sense mythically. As I’ve already mentioned, humanity’s understanding of the highest and best and most compassionate and powerful, namely God, demonstrates a lack of integrity that is devastating to its conception. And so no surprise, that we, who the ancient poets described as being created in the image of this God, inherit what we attribute. That is, like God, it is impossible for us to be all good and be who we are.

So what do we do with that? Usually we ignore it. We ignore the planet. We ignore each other. We ignore ourselves. We live half lives.

Maybe ignore is not the right word. It’s close but doesn’t necessarily capture the dynamic at play because there is a willfulness to the ignorance that is at work here. Where does this willfulness come from? Where are its roots? That’s actually a fairly easy answer. Basically we are trying to protect ourselves. Deep down we know there is pain in the world, pain in the hearts of our neighbor, pain in our own hearts and, even worse, that we are responsible for it. That we turn from this so instinctively, so resolutely is ignorance, yes, but it is more. It is denial.

What do we deny? I can lay out some statistics. They won’t mean anything, not really, not effectively. Which kind of proves the point, but I can give them to you. One out of every six American women have been the victim of an attempted of completed rape. That’s over 17 million people. Nearly a million children are abused every year. 14.4 percent of men in prison were abused as children. The U.S. is the biggest global warming polluter. Over 350,000 pigs are slaughtered everyday in this country. 1 billion of the 6 billion people on the planet are going hungry.

I could go on and on, mining the internet and my library for figures that demonstrate the damage we’ve done to our planet, our fellow creatures, our families and ourselves. These statistics in turn may lend my argument some credence. But in reality, that would be a smoke screen. The problem with statistics is that they function on a merely intellectual level. It’s as if we think that by digesting the number, digesting the fact, that we have digested the problem.

But in terms of functioning as a healthy creature, capable of the cosmically rare processes of knowledge and emotion and thereby capable, to some extent, of determining the healthfulness of our evolution, we need another order of interface to fully live. We can’t face our demons just by counting them. In other words, because we are spiritual beings as well as intellectual beings, the use of statistics to prove the point of our culpability in the production of pain and in the degradation of our ecological and social communities and indeed of our very selves, just doesn’t cut it.

At any rate, my argument doesn’t need proof. In this case, proof is the lie because proof is somewhere else. Proof is about someone else or something else. It is a vicarious projection of our guilt onto categories and numbers and words. Statistics are scapegoats. In that there is only the veneer of satisfaction. My argument is self-evident to those brave enough to listen. And here, I do not mean by listening to me. But by listening to yourself.

You see, we already know that the planet is dying to us and because of us. We know that children get hurt, that evil persists, that women have been abused, that animals die to feed our appetites, and that people die because they have no food. We know that we have been hurt and have hurt others. We know it. But we don’t face it. We don’t know how to live in it.

In part this sermon was inspired by a book by Derrik Jensen called, “A Language Older than Words.” Jensen is particularly concerned with the disconnect he sees between our culture and the devastation it has wrecked on the land and on the people that proceeded our occupation of the land. But Jensen’s perspective is unique. Or maybe not so unique. What follows is not for the faint of heart of any age. It is in fact, quite brutal. So I want to warn you. You see, Jensen’s perspective has been influenced by the fact that as a child, he was raped by his father. Jensen, his brother and his mother were all repeatedly beaten and raped by his father. It was an episodic assualt. So while it was repeated, it was not necessarily constant. After each episode, life would return somehow to some kind of normal and the family would persist. Until the father’s rage boiled over and trauma ensued once again.

So Jensen looks out at the land, at the loss of land, at the loss of species, beings, animals and character and the loss of clean water and clean air, Jensen looks out at the devastation of the ecosystem and sees himself. Devastated. Abused. Raped. And denied.

Jensen’s father never left the family. And the family, unbelievably, stayed together. And so it is that Jensen has been able to confront the man who visited such unthinkable pain upon him. And here’s the thing; Jensen’s father, now subdued by age, claims to have no memory of his villainy. In the face of testimony from his entire family, he refuses to accept that he played any part in any thing like what they describe him as doing.

Jensen sees himself in the land. In our culture, that is, in us, he sees his father. And if you think that too strong a claim, you essentially prove his point. Denial. Our crimes. Our trespasses. The food on our table. The comfort of our lives. How do we hold these things together? No statistic can make that go away. No proof will alter the mind of Jensen’s father. He is, by his denial, protecting himself from something he knows will convict him. Our history books do the same. We are left living half lives of unresolved consequences and stunted spirits, too afraid to unfurl, to afraid to listen to the universe speaking through our being.

So let me ease off the doom pedal for just a second to present you with a picture of how the universe speaks through us. David Deutsch is an Oxford physicist who has written a book called the Fabric of Reality. I have not read the book. I have heard him speak, however. Deutsch, talks about the relationship between humans and a Quasar, which is an unfathomably explosive stellar phenomenon. He marvels that, “É some bit of chemical scum (by that he means us humans) could accurately describe and model and predict and explain, above all, explain a QuasarÉ The one physical system, the brain, contains an accurate working model of the other, the quasar. Not just a superficial image of it, though it contains that as well, but an explanatory model, embodying the same mathematical relationships and the same causal structure.” So a Quasar, and in theory, the entire cosmos, is mirrored (at least potentially) in us. Deutsch goes on to conclude that, “Éwe are a chemical scum that is different. This chemical scum has universality. Its structure contains, with ever-increasing precision, the structure of everything.”

And so we contain what we observe. But it’s more than just information and mathematical models. After all, hearing and listening are different, right? Hearing is about information. Listening is about being.

Because as lovely as Deutsch’s idea is, his insight, while articulated with new metaphors, is not itself new at all. And you don’t need the tools of science to come to it.

For instance, there is a story told in Islam about a Mullah who traveled to the grand mosque of Mecca, the Kabah. After hours of meditation the Mullah fell asleep with his feet pointing to the Kabah, which enraged some Meccans. They woke him and berated him for his sacrilege. “Very well,” said the Mullah, “Please take my feet and put them in a direction where Allah is not.” The Meccans left him alone. “Everywhere you turn is the Face of Allah,” says the Qur’an.

I see resonances between Deutsch and this story. The mathematical models of all the cosmos is within us, the face of the cosmos is all around us and in fact, these are the same things. Listening brings these things to our living.

Another verse from the Qur’an says, “And in the earth are signs for those whose faith is certain.” Jamal Rahman, a Muslim mystic who penned our reading today, expands on this, writing that, “The mystics, with their heightened consciousness are eloquent in their expressions: the song of birds and the voice of insects are all means of conveying truth to the mind. In flowers and grasses are woven messages; in the rustling of leaves there are specific instructions; at dawn the breeze has secrets to tell.”

I want to own this as speculation on my part, but I see a path to connectivity by learning to see the world as metaphor. Can I identify with the mathematical model of the cosmos, or find story in the flight of dragonflies, watch God? Would listening to the world metaphorically make the heavens and the planet and the soul and the body line up? Because, ultimately listening, be it to quasars or cousins is listening to yourself or you are the cosmos.

But listening and denial are mutually exclusive. That’s the connection here. And denial is pervasive. So it seems there is some work to do before I can listen to the music of the spheres.

This requires four moves. Find your beauty, the moments wherein your soul is singing in tune. Find your blind spots, those personal and cultural places we have covered over and denied. That, by the way, is very difficult and it helps to have help. Next, reconcile your beauty with that experience of sin. For this, the only tool available is forgiveness. It is the key. Lastly, adjust your life accordingly. This is a never ending process, because we are caught, we are human, flawed and beautiful, capable of knowledge and capable of forgiveness.

And how does one forgive? I don’t know. One example already mentioned was Jesus, who, actually, did not forgive. He merely acknowledged forgiveness. So maybe there is a lesson there. Maybe the lesson, if we listen, is the presence he brought to bare. His presence, we are told, was one of grace, peace, mercy and healing. So I might suggest that listening to the world (because you are the world you listen to) with a presence of peace, grace, mercy and healing might be a first step.

I’ll refer again to Jamal Rahman, who writes, “In the East, the lotus flower is a symbol of beauty and spirituality. Notice, teachers tell us, that the flower has a stem that roots it in the mud. The spiritual flower owes its existence to the mud; it is the mud of daily existence that feeds the root of the spiritual flower.”

This gives me courage to face what I deny, what my culture, my family and my experience have buried out of shame. So, I stand here, feeling as though I am on the edge of a precipice. For I have not done what I see needs to be done. I have not been listening. Not as well as I need to. So again, I am in a posture of hypocrisy and speaking out of my depth. But I see where I need to go. And I have some ideas about how to go about it. In this endeavor, I invite you to come with me.

Beginning July 12 and lasting to July 17, I will be organizing an experiment in connective spirituality. It will be the first annual No Kill Week, a week wherein all those who elect to will vow not to kill any living thing, plant or animal, nor eat what has been killed, plant or animal. This is based on the first of the two creation stories in the ancient Hebrew texts wherein we can read, “Then God said, “I give you every seed-bearing plant on the face of the whole earth and every tree that has fruit with seed in it. They will be yours for food.” This was the ideal, before the fall, before we mytho-psychologically had anything to be ashamed of or guilty for. So we will live into that impossible ideal for a week.

Ultimately, No Kill Week is not about food. And in the end we will realize we are still caught, because we are still human. But the week and dietary restrictions form a frame of extra-ordinary compassion which will be focused through spiritual practices, fellowship and discipline. And we will be a graceful and merciful presence. I’ll leave a sign up sheet for those of you courageous, interested or crazy enough to dive in.

In short, we are going to listen. We are going to listen to the parts of our lives and our culture that we are in denial about. We are going to listen to our joy and our wonder too, no doubt. But we will listen to ourselves, look our world and out lack of integrity square in the face and begin the practice of making peace with it. That practice may require of us a change in lifestyle or not. I don’t know. It may enable us to reconnect with God or The Force, or the Tao or ourselves. Or not. I don’t know. But it seems a worthy pursuit and an exciting first step.

Thank you for listening.