“THE MIRACLE SEASON”

“THE MIRACLE SEASON”

A Sermon by the Rev. Bruce Clear

Sunday, December 10, 2006

All Souls Unitarian Church

Indianapolis, Indiana

If I could capture just one single moment of life that I would wrap up and give to everyone I knew, a moment that would be the model of what all moments of living should strive to become, I know what moment that is. That moment happens in many different scenarios, but let me describe just one:

It is summertime, and I go to spend some time at street fair. A crowd is gathering around a street magician and enjoying the amazing feats magic done effortlessly. My focus will inevitably turn to a young child in the audience, whose eyes get bigger and bigger, whose mouth opens so wide it seems to cover his entire face, and whose delight in the show is expressed by giggles and maybe even jumping up and down.

It is the moment the child’s eyes widen in amazement that inspires me. I want to declare “That’s it! That’s the look! That’s the feeling about life that all of us need to discover as often as possible!” There is nothing quite like encountering the world with a feeling of amazement and wonder!

Even Einstein recognized the creative and sustaining importance of experiencing mystery and wonder in life. He said:

“The most beautiful experience we can have is the mysterious. It is the fundamental emotion that stands at the cradle of true art and true science. Whoever does not know it and can no longer wonder, no longer marvel, is as good as dead. . . . It was the experience of mystery – even if mixed with fear – that engendered religion. . . . Our perceptions of the profoundest reason and the most radiant beauty, which only in their most primitive forms are accessible to our minds: it is this knowledge and this emotion that constitute true religiosity. In this sense, and only in this sense, I am a deeply religious person.”

If I could have one wish come true, it would be able to live with a daily dose of astonishment and delight, the kind that can be seen so easily in the eyes of a child. How exciting it would be if we knew that at least once a day we could look forward to such a moment. But alas, it doesn’t seem like that magical sense of astonishment, which appears to be a natural quality of childhood, survives long for most of us beyond that young age.

Maybe it’s because the world seems like a continuous unfolding of miracles to very young eyes, and the only reasonable response is wonder and astonishment. My example of a child watching a street magician is, of course, just one random example out of a multitude of examples in any child’s life. The same wide-eyed look of wonder can be seen at the moment a child first rides a pony or goes down a playground slide or sees the monkeys playing in a zoo. That look appears every Christmas morning when the child discovers presents under the tree left precisely for them. The world is full of miraculous surprises that excite the sense of amazement and joy. With such an experience of the world, a young child can play with a toy car and in their imagination that car is real and running on its own, even though their hand is pushing it. Or the child can play with a doll and the doll is a real friend and responds like a real person, even though the doll feels nothing if it’s accidentally dropped to the floor.

What would it be like if moments like that wonder a child feels in watching a street magician were moments that could be re-lived at every age?

When I ask the question, I am immediately bound to answer: such moments are not reserved just for childhood. The experience of wonder is a life-long gift, only to the extent that we allow it to be.

What motivates a devoted scientist if it isn’t profound wonder about the way the world works and a sense of awe about the way nature works? What motivates a loving parent if it isn’t speechless wonder about the unfolding of the life of another person for whom they are guide? What motivates a dedicated musician if it isn’t enchantment toward sound that can achieve a beauty and that move us and touche our soul.

Some of our loss of wonder happens simply because of familiarity. When things that feel like miracles become commonplace, they somehow lose their sparkle. Emerson pointed this out in talking about the stars. What if, he wondered, the stars didn’t appear every night, but only once in a millennium? Our feeling about stars would be quite different if their presence weren’t so regular. He wrote:

“If the stars should appear one night in a thousand years, how would we believe and adore; and preserve for many generations the remembrance of the city of God which had been shown!”

And he is right. If seeing the stars in the night sky happened only once during our life, we would cherish and remember that moment forever, telling the story to our children and grandchildren that they might share, even vicariously, in the joy we experienced.

Then Emerson reminds us that we can experience this miracle regularly. He continues his observation, saying, “Every night come out these envoys of beauty, and light the universe with their admonishing smile.”

It is natural for us to take such experiences for granted simply because they are common. And yet I do know people who have nurtured the ability to look upon the stars with the same sense of awe they would have if the stars only appeared once. Elsewhere Emerson made this comment: “The invariable mark of wisdom is to see the miraculous in the common.” It is that kind of wisdom that is easily lost unless we make an effort to keep it.

When I was a young adult, I worked on Capitol Hill in Washington, D.C. For a while I rode the city bus across town to work, and the bus would pass by the Lincoln Memorial, the Washington Monument, the White House, and all the Smithsonian museums. I would look with awe at these great American monuments. I would think about the historic figures to whom they were dedicated, I would wonder at the history that surrounded these hallowed places, and so on. But I also noticed that everyone else in the bus had their noses buried in that morning’s Washington Post newspaper. And I wanted to cry out to everyone on the bus, “Hey, look out the window! There are amazing things to see out there!”

But I didn’t yell anything. And within a week or two after riding my commute to Capitol Hill, I discovered I was burying my nose in the paper, too, instead of looking out. When the fascinating becomes familiar, sometimes it takes great effort to hold its value. I admire those who are able to do so. After a while, I did make a conscience effort, once every couple of weeks of commuting, to spend my ride looking out at the marvelous historic sites that crossed my eyes. I had to do it deliberately, but it was well worth it.

That moment of the wide-eyed child rapt in wonder at the sight of a street magician – or at any other exciting discovery – is something that never needs to disappear unless we chose to ignore it.

This is the season of miracles. This season's celebrations began due to miracle legends: the Christian legend of the birth of Christ to a virgin mother or the Hebrew legend of the Maccabees who were saved from conquest by a lamp that burned for eight days though it had only one day's worth of oil.

The season of miracles, though, is not limited to legends of miraculous events. The season of miracles refers also to something in us that changes us and helps us look for and create those moments of wonder and amazement.

The word “miracle” is in fact derived from the Latin meaning "to look with wonder." This season of miracles is a season that encourages in all of us an openness to the sense of wonder. In this season there is no reason to escape the magical moments of wonder. The moments happen all the time, but as we grow older, we find we often have to work to find ways to cultivate it.

Many of us Unitarians have a suspicious nature when it comes to legendary tales of miracles. A very common view of miracles is that they are supernatural events which come from divine intervention. From this perspective, they can be associated with superstition, something that many might consider to be the Unitarian equivalent of sin. And yet, I often wonder -- and this morning, I'll do my wondering out loud -- whether this view of miracles is far too superficial. Can there be something deeper in them than mere superstitions? Are miracles one way of responding to a world that is filled with mystery and wonder?

Our task, it seems to me, is to locate the miraculous in everyday life. I refer again to Einstein. Einstein once said, “There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.”

This is also, perhaps, what the poet Walt Whitman meant when he wrote, "To me every hour of the light and dark is a miracle, every cubic inch of space is a miracle."

It seems to me that looking for miracles in life is an art, and the point is less that miracles happen, but more that we are able to perceive them. That sense of looking in wonder can happen in any circumstance, if we choose to develop that way of looking at the world.

And these little life surprises are everywhere, if we tune our minds toward the miraculous. The Sufi poet Rumi says, "Observe the wonders as they occur around you. Don't claim them. Feel the artistry moving through, and be silent."

This is the season of miracles. This is a time to remind ourselves of the many senses of wonder that surround us in the world, and to keep our minds open to the unsolved mystery and surprises that are everywhere. Let me mention just a few of the miraculous elements of this season.

One of the most obvious miracles of the season is that so many people are infected with the spirit of love and giving. There is simply more evidence of human good will at this time of year. In this church, our Community Outreach committee coordinates the opportunity to share with needy children, the Alliance collects donations for those affected my mental illness, the choir coordinates a moving concert, the Religious Education Department offers a holiday luncheon and workshop honoring various religious traditions, and the church decorating group spends a full day decorating the church with greenery and ribbon. "Love is the Spirit of this Church" is as apparent as ever during this holiday season.

This is also a time of year to offer forgiveness to those who have offended us, and to send our best wishes, whether by card or simply by thought, to so many people who may never hear from us otherwise.

Preston Bradley put it this way:

"It is harder to hate at Christmas. Hearts are softened as the Day comes. Forgotten friends are remembered suddenly, and tears spring without shame when old memories are awakened. In the long, long year it is the one time when even the wisest and most inflexible admit the beauty of true sentiment, without fear of becoming merely sentimental.... The world is happier and would become progressively better if it forgot its sophistication and in childlike wonder, and with open mind and loving heart, let the song of 'peace on earth, good will to all’ become the motivation of all its days."

The human spirit, indeed, is at its best in this season of miracles, which is, perhaps, the best miracle the season provides.

That our Christmas holiday tradition stems from the miracle story of Jesus has a certain irony, I think. To focus on the miracle legend of Jesus' birth is beside the point of Jesus' teaching: that everyone's life is sacred and miraculous. Emerson got in a lot of trouble with the orthodox churches when he questioned the literal miracle stories of the Bible and suggested, instead, that Jesus claimed the same divinity that any one of us can claim. Here is part of what he said:

"Jesus Christ belonged to the true race of prophets. He saw with open eye the mystery of the soul. Drawn by its severe harmony, ravished with its beauty, he lived in it, and had his being there. Alone in all history, he estimated the greatness of human beings. He saw that God is incarnate in all people.... He spoke of miracles; for he felt that any person's life was a miracle, and that all that they do, and he knew that this daily miracle shines, as the character ascends. But the word 'miracle,' as pronounced by the churches, gives a false impression; it is a monster! It is not one with the blowing clover and the falling rain."

There is also a certain miracle in the fact that at Christmas time, more than any other, the spirit of Jesus' teachings, simple as they are, are practiced more widely. It is a time when people are filled with the spirit of love and goodwill, and many people set aside animosities to feel compassion. On that day, people look at the gleam in others' faces, especially the faces of children, and find that gleam contagious.

At other times of year, the religion of Jesus often gets distorted so that the religion is presented by some as complicated rules about baptism and salvation and piety. Too often, Jesus’ religious legacy is confused with declarations about what form of worship is or is not acceptable, or declarations about what kind of entertainment is allowable, or what sexual activities are approved or disapproved. But at Christmas time, a certain little miracle happens, and on that day, and in the spirit surrounding that day, the religion of Jesus is returned to its simplest and purist terms: a message of love, hope, and compassion. Religions rooted in judgmentalism and intolerance are not welcome in the season of miracles.

So it is in the spirit of Jesus' teachings, I think, that we devote ourselves to cultivating the art of finding miracles in life. This means looking with wonder at life, and looking at wonder in life. It means embracing the anomalies, being content with unsolved mysteries, and celebrating with open mind the everyday opportunities for joy.

It is a season when we can best capture the moment of joy and wonder that is found most frequently on the face of a child as their eyes widen and their mouths open, amazed at the world they find.

There is a certain paradox in celebrating a season of wonder and of miracles. Very often our approach to life is to try and solve whatever mysteries we encounter. We look for answers. But if, in fact, we choose to honor those moments of wonder that so enrich our lives, it would be more fruitful to look less for answers than to try and uncover mysteries. It is the mysteries of life that widen our eyes with wonder. And when our eyes do widen with wonder, we can agree with Einstein that,

“The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and science. . . . (And this) is also at the center of religiousness. It is the experience of mystery that (also) engendered religion.”

So this season I wish you unanswered questions. I wish you mystery and wonder. I wish you experiences that will make your eyes get bigger and bigger, and your mouth open in amazement. I wish for me and for you the ability to see miracles all around – in the stars, in the snow, in the spirit of goodwill, and in the eyes of every child.

READING

From Walt Whitman: “Miracles” (in “Leaves of Grass”)

Why, who makes much of a miracle?

As for me, I know nothing else but miracles.

Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan,

Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky,

Or wade with naked feet along the beach just in the edge of the water,

Or stand under the trees in the woods,

Or talk by day with any one I love,

Or sleep in bed at night with any one I love,

Or sit at table at dinner with the rest,

Or watch honey bees busy around the hive of a summer forenoon,

Or animals feeding in the fields,

Or birds,

Or the wonderfulness of the sundown,

Or of stars shining so quiet and bright,

Or the exquisite delicate thin curve of the new moon in Spring,

These with the rest, one and all, are to me miracles,

The whole referring, yet each distinct and in its place.

To me every hour of the light and dark is a miracle,

Every cubic inch of space is a miracle,

Every square yard of the surface of the earth is spread with the same,

Every foot of the interior swarms with the same.

To me the sea is a continual miracle,

The fishes that swim – the rocks – the motion of the waves –

the ships with men in the,

What stranger miracles are there?

What stranger miracles are there.