Another Year is Calling
Audio recording here.
I went to a coffee shop yesterday and - unexpectedly - the barista shared a story.
We had just done the polite exchange of - “Hi, how are you?” “I’m good, how are you?” I may have done an “I’m fine” or an “I’m well” - not sure what was on tap yesterday morning, but definitely one of those three options - a quick - good or fine or well - and threw it back to him with a how are you?
It was early in the morning and there was maybe one other person in the coffee shop and so this barista decided to tell me a story in thoughtful reflection to the simple interaction we had just had.
It was about a professor he had who was from Finland in a time since past. This professor lived a long life and has since died but at some point as an adult moved to the US, he actually taught at Naropa in Boulder.
And when he moved to the states, this professor was struck by the way most people commonly greet each other here.
You see for him, at whatever time he grew up in Finland, when you greeted someone the set response - instead of good/fine/well was - “troubles, problems”.
So, the conversation would go, “Hi, Jef, how are this morning?” “Oh, troubles, problems, you?” and I’d probably say, “yea, troubles, problems.”
It’s not necessarily as if anyone was diving into detail in the somewhat casual exchange, I imagine that in Finland at this time the greeting at the coffee shop or on the street corner, in the grocery story or at work was as brief an interaction as most of us have in similar situations.
The difference rests in the agreed upon phrase to be shared - the understood state of things.
Curious that we’ve decided on “good” as part of our greeting, as our understood state of things.
I’m gonna go out on a limb here and imagine that for most of us we’re not always “good” when we answer as such. I recognize the value of having something available to say when interactions are brief or with new people - and perhaps sometimes “good” is accurate for you.
But, what strikes me about this story is the naming of “troubles and problems” didn’t necessarily lead to intense or elongated sharing, the exchange may have been left at that or moved to the sharing of new year’s eve plans, a funny holiday story, reflections on the weather.
There’s a teaching in this generally, but especially right now, today.
That troubles and problems just are - they are part of the landscape of what is - for each of us, for every person. By naming their existence, they don’t have to pull us under.
Perhaps by naming their existence we make space for their inevitable company and learn to connect from a deeper place of truth - that troubles and problems just are a part of this whole life thing.
Today we mark, the turning of another year. We take time to reflect on what has been and to cast our gaze into the future, toward what we hope will be.
Many of us have resolution practices, small and big things we want to change about our selves and our lives. Others consider setting an intention, a focus for the mind and heart, for the year to come. Some of us might simply enjoy the opportunity to gather with friends and loved ones that the holiday provides.
On New Year’s Eve we exist in a threshold, a moment of transition, a leaving of one year behind, the ending of something, and the entering into something new.
But before we cast our gaze forward, before, or perhaps as part of, the work of sharing our hopes for this next year, we must first take a look at what is.
In part, - “Troubles, problems.”
Reflecting on the importance of creating space to name and see and feel the struggles of our time and the struggles of our lives as a pathway to hope, writer, activist, and Buddhist scholar Joanna Macy writes:
“Images of hope are potent, necessary: they shape our goals and give us impetus for reaching them. Often they are invoked too soon, however. Like the demand for instant solutions, such expectations can stultify - providing us with an escape from the despair we may feel, while burdening us with the task of aridly designing a new Eden. Genuine visioning happens from the roots up, and these roots for many are shriveled by unacknowledged despair.”
I know that despair here is a heavy word. I imagine it resonates with some of you and not others as a way to name some of textures of your experience this past year.
But what Joanna Macy speaks to is that - deeply rooted hope - a hope that is resilient and steadfast and reaches across time - resides in the deeper layers of our experience.
And that this deep-dwelling hope asks us to practice seeing what is - and feeling it, in order to get comfortable in the deep layers of our experience where it (the hope) will emerge.
Like the “troubles, problems” exchange - naming and seeing the struggles does not have to pull us under to places where we can’t breath.
Yes, it does ask us to go deeper, but perhaps just deep enough to tend to the place where roots grow.
And so, what might it mean to move some surface earth aside and to dig deeper as we reflect on this year, and find hope for the next.
It might mean taking time to really acknowledge, to sit with the crisis of this national and global moment defined by the first year of the Trump presidency. To name, to be present with the onslaught of unprecedented weather events, unprecedented mass shootings, unprecedented numbers of refugees, unprecedented levels of hate crime.
This is real. This is our moment. And I know it’s so much more than what I’ve mentioned.
And, we also know, even given the pitch of this global moment, it’s our personal lives that leave us with a heavy heart. 2017 may have been defined for you by a loss, a physical or mental illness, family tension, chronic pain, the daily grind of life.
Can we sit with this, make space for all of it, acknowledge how it makes us feel, by trusting that there is transformational power in experiencing what is, both in our own lives and in this larger moment, that reveals the very soil where fierce hope can grow.
Yehuda Amichai, the Israeli poet and author of our reading today was born in Germany in 1924. He left his home country at age 11 with his family and settled in Palestine. Living through WWII and serving the Israeli defense forces in multiple wars over the years, Amichai’s fiction and poetry searche the human experience trying to make sense of a world that created the Holocaust.
And although we don’t know exactly who or what he was thinking about when he wrote this poem we do know that he brought complexity and humanness to conversations in very difficult times -
“From the place where we are right
flowers will never grow
in the Spring.”
he begins“The place where we are right
is hard and trampled
like a yard.
But doubts and loves
dig up the world
like a mole, a plough.
And a whisper will be heard in the place
where the ruined
house once stood.”
I wonder if - these places where we are right - is another way of naming the things in our lives that are blocking us from going deeper, from being present to all that is.
Those things or those places in our lives where we are particularly bristly or hardened, - just like that really hard and packed soil described in the poem.
Maybe it’s the place where you have a particularly short fuse
Or maybe it’s perfection.
Or the part of you that just wants to quickly say “I’m good, how are you?” in every interaction to not have to risk going into deeper sharing.
Or maybe for you that hardened place is a certain way of seeing the world, a certain order of things that is untouchable.
And it’s from this hardened place where connection can’t reach and flowers can’t grow.
But, if we allow the earth to be dug up in these hardened places - dug up by doubts, by loves, by vulnerability - a whisper, that small still voice within can be heard calling from the deep.
Calling us to keep going, calling us to love harder and more expansively, calling us to remember the ancientness of the towering mountains, the cycles and interconnected complexity of the 4 billion year old magnificent earth.
I don’t know why this is often where the whisper resides, the spark of this deep rooted hope. I don’t know why it seems to sit, waiting, layered underneath piles of packed earth.
Why can’t deep rooted hope just exist on the surface? Well, I suppose because it wouldn’t then be deep rooted.
And, nature is truly a magnificent teacher.
Nature teaches us that often the most nutrient dense soil is dark and layers below the surface - and we have to do some digging to get there.
Many of you gardeners can attest to the fact that we have to churn up the earth, loosening any stones, connecting with the rich organic material below the surface, in order to support the growth of new life in a new season.
Nature teaches us that we too are made of stardust and that living into the fullness of how that whisper calls us to be - can impact the whole system.
Nature teaches us that we need each other and that through going deeper into our own rich soil we connect with the roots of our neighbors. Like the mighty oaks whose roots interlock deep underneath the earth’s surface offering stability and resilience through storms.
The digging up of the hardened earth in our lives certainly isn’t often comfortable, but it does directly lead to this deep rich earth underneath.
If we allow ourselves to sit in some of the churned up earth of our lives, in the churned up earth of this year - you might begin to wonder, what whisper do you hear calling from the deep.
What hardened earth needs to be let go of for you this year in order to move into the deeper layers of your life and experience, in order to hear the whisper from the deep calling you into clearer purpose and wholeness, calling you into deep-rooted hope, calling you to the self you already are.
Stone Ritual
Each of you was offered a stone when you came through the doors this morning. And for our friends on livestream, we invite you to reach for a stone or rock that might be in close proximity and available to you, and if not we invite you to follow along and join in the imagining.
This stone represents a piece of your hardened earth, something in your life preventing you from sinking into the deeper layers of your experience. Something that is no longer serving you.
This stone represents something you would like to let go of as 2017 comes to a close, opening yourself up to the deep soil calling to you from a new year.
What do you need to let go of in order to live more fully into what is, in order to stay present to storms outside and within.
Maybe it’s something very tangible and comes to mind immediately. Maybe it’s less tangible and harder to name. Trust your process and whatever emerges.
Maybe it’s letting go of a certain soundtrack in your life telling you you’re not enough, a soundtrack that packs firmly the surface earth around you in protection.
Maybe it’s letting go of guilt, of perfection, of a weight known only to your heart.
Soon, we’ll start singing. First we’ll have a few minutes of just the sound of the piano, without words - spoken or sung - to give you time to connect in to what needs to be let go of.
And once we start singing, you are warmly invited - when ready - when moved - to bring your stone to one of the receiving baskets - we have one at the front and two on the sides. Letting your stone go and all that it holds - back into the earth.
If you would like to move to one of the receiving baskets but need assistance, Kim is available for support and from the back of the sanctuary will watch for the raising of a hand.
The sanctuary of course will also be open after the service if you’d prefer and different environment for your letting go.
These stones came from the grounds around the church and will be returned to the same earth - trusting the resilience of the land and her ability to receive what’s offered.
But, if you have a special spot or a close connection with a piece of land, you might choose to let your stone go at a later time, perhaps in the coming days, during a slow and peaceful new year’s day walk or roll, or whatever it might be.
Closing:
In the words of Sharon Salzburg, “Letting go is gentle, but it is not characterized by passivity; it involves intention, patience, and a willingness to challenge habits of mind.”
We wish you blessings of intention and patience on your letting go journey and give thanks to this wondrous earth helping to guide us all along the way.
May it be so. Amen