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Changes Frightening Me
A sermon Offered by Rev. Tim Kutzmark
Sunday, October 8, 2006 • Unitarian Universalist Church of Reading
Lucky are those who can open their arms to changing seasons and changing life, noticing not the chill of encroaching autumn, but the fleeting beauty of a single yellow leaf floating delicately in that patch of ocean so recently occupied by the summer sailboat.
—Elizabeth Tarbox
Summer old, autumn cold. And changes frightening me.
The crisp, cool air jolts us from summer sluggishness. Days spent vacationing, hours basking in the sun, family picnics, mindless books, and long evenings of humid play seem so long ago, don’t then? The browning winds of late September have chased away the last full buds of green, and life has given way to the robustness of pumpkin orange and chrysanthemum yellow. Now, the early October chill teases out a new burst of energy. This sharp edge of autumn rouses us; it awakens the body and the mind. Our skin is invigorated, as it seems to come alive, protected under sweatshirts and sweaters and jackets. There is suddenly so much to see in these colorful days and weeks. There is so much to feel.
Alive with this awareness, songwriter Todd MacDonald looked out at a recent New England autumn and wrote:
When summer green grows old
The hills put on a coat of golden hues
And balmy breezes grow cold
And summer skies turn a cooler shade of blue
I don’t know to rejoice or cry
Over mountains on fire, oh autumn comes alive
Yes, but only as summer dies.
And I feel changes blowing through me,
And changes frightening me.
There’s a paradox in the midst of our autumnal tingle. Even as we awake in the stimulating embrace of cool temperature, our eyes behold the slow decay of life around us. We witness a nature that is exploding into fireworks, but in doing so, a nature that has already begun her cooling descent into winter freeze. We witness the draining of life and color into dry and drab dormancy.
Summer old. Autumn cold. And changes frightening me.
There is a wonderful story about the spiritual challenge of living life’s changes. The story goes like this:
One bright autumn day an angry student approached her spiritual teacher. Frustration danced along her face. She spoke. “Yogi ji, O wise one, I have been doing as you taught. I rise every morning, and sing praises to the beauty of Creation. I breathe deep into life. I try to act mindfully, aware of the impact of my choices. I meditate. I focus my mind and spirit on a loving way of being. And yet, this morning, I awoke in tears. I felt so drained and hopeless, I barely could get out of bed. The pain in my heart is great, greater than I have ever felt before. I do all you say, I follow the teachings. I live the practice. So I ask you this: when will I feel better?” There was a long pause. The teacher smiled, and chuckled. Ah, my child”, said the spiritual teacher, “I never promised that you would feel better. I promised you would feel more.”
Summer old. Autumn cold. And changes frightening me.
Sometimes, to feel better is to live a half-truth. To feel better is to sometimes be unnatural. Look outside, and sense the change in the air. It tells us life is not only summer sun. It shows us that life is also autumn cold. Autumn shows us that breaking apart, breaking down, is part of nature. It shows us that shattering is part of being alive. As the Buddha so wisely observed, all earthly things are impermanent, it is the nature of all earthly things to change.
But that change can be so hard when it is our life we’re talking about.
Again, the words of songwriter Todd MacDonald:
It’s a turning point in time
It’s the long and painful death of a dream
To come so close only to find
What it is is not all that it seemed.
And as I rest…breathless
A new frontier lies before me, oh unexplored and wild.
[Spirit], comfort your frightened child.
Cause I feel changes blowing through me
And changes frightening me
In just a few weeks, on October 31st, we enter the ‘dark half’ of the year. On that day, the earth-based celebration of Samhain marks the lengthening of nights, the stretching out of darkness. How astute these wise ones are. Attuned to the natural cycle of life, the Wiccan see this time as the beginning of the New Year. The Roman-based Julian calendar and the Christian-based Gregorian calendar both place the New Year at the time when light begins its return to the earth. Not so for the earth-based religious traditions. They see that the true beginning of life and transformation lies within this present darkness. They know the long, dark night is the birthing place of the soul.
The womb is not a place of light; it is dark. Yet it is a place of life. The birth canal is not a place of light and gentleness; it is harsh and bruising. Yet it is a place of life. The tilled soil of Mother Earth is not a place of sun; it is dense and dusky. Yet it is a place of life.
The site of our church renovation and new building is not, at this moment, a place of light. It is earth forever broken by heavy machinery, walls torn asunder, and bare wooden skeleton framing in October moonlight. Yet, for our dreams and vision, for our growth, it is a place of life.
The long sleepless night, the drawn out hours of tossing and turning, is not a place of light. It is confusion, restlessness, and fear. Yet it is a place of life. In the midst of that endless night, we sometimes drop our defenses and open to the God of our hearts. In the night of lonely shadow, we reach out past old ways and accept amazing grace.
Life waits within this shadow time. But so often we don’t allow that life to flow.
In the Hindu and Sikh faith traditions, there is a meditation that powerfully creates an awareness of this flow within the shadows. It uses an ancient Sanskrit mantra: sa, ta, na, ma.
The first sound is SA. Sa means birth, the coming into existence. The second sound is TA. Ta means life, living. Next comes NA, which means destruction and death. Then, comes MA, which means rebirth. SA, TA, NA, MA. SA, TA, NA, MA. Birth, life, death, rebirth. Birth, life, death, rebirth. A yogi meditates on these sounds, these truths. SA, TA, NA, MA. Birth, life, death, rebirth. Over and over, the mind focuses. Over and over, the heart listens. In time, an awareness beyond rational intellectualization begins to awaken within the senses. Slowly we realize that truth--that true identity--is this cycle of birth, life, death, and rebirth. We gain subtle awareness that every moment is filled with this cycle. Each thought has a moment of birth, of life, of death, and of rebirth into another thought. Each breath has a moment of intake, of fullness, of emptying, and then new inhalation. Each act has a moment of conception, a moment of movement, a moment of stopping, and a moment of new conception. And this cycle is the basis of life. This cycle puts everything in perspective. This cycle holds a key to understanding ourselves. This cycle holds a key to understanding our lives. This cycle holds a key to our feeling more.
Then comes the spiritual kicker: in feeling more, we might learn how to feel better.
I envision the changing cycle of life as a large circle, with us standing in the center. The circle moves around us. We happily let flow sa, the birth of things. We savor the ta, the life of things. But the moment we feel a shifting into na, life shifting into dissolution, we become frightened. When we feel frightened, when we feel threatened, what is our natural response? We tense, we tighten, we clamp down where we are. The problem is, the cycle and circle keeps moving. But we’re holding on, and suddenly we’re pulled off balance. Suddenly we’re not standing strong, but we are turned head over heels. It is no wonder we feel out of balance. But we still hold on to that ‘something’ that continues to spin farther away. In order to keep that hold, we must stretch ourselves farther and farther. It is no wonder we feel stretched to our limit, stretched past our limit. It is no wonder our bodies and minds ache with the pull of the past. But we still grasp and hold to what we know, because somehow it feels safer than the unknown. So, our hands and hearts blister, rip, and bleed in our effort to hold onto that which we know…..that which we know is no more.
Summer old. Autumn cold. And changes frightening me.
May those of us who are holding tight listen to the wisdom of autumn. If we but release our grasp we may notice that the change looks and feels very different from what we fear. If we let it be, we may see.
For visible change is not the only reality. We do not stand alone in the dark, in empty void. No, within the shape-shifting of earthly existence stands the Unchanging Foundation, the stasis at the basis of life. This moment of change is filled with that which does not change. This moment of change is filled with Spirit, a transforming power beyond our knowing, yet present to us in every moment. This moment of change is filled with a natural Spirit, a power that can turn summer warm into autumn splendor into winter wonderland into springtime meadow. Why would it be any different for us than for the nature around us, for are we not children of the earth?
The Gospel of Matthew tells us: “Learn a lesson from the way the wildflowers grow. They don’t work, they don’t spin. Yet I tell you, not even Solomon in full splendor was arrayed like one of these. If the Spirit of Life can clothe in such splendor the grasses of the field, which bloom today and are thrown on the fire tomorrow, won’t she do as much for you?” (Matthew 6:26,28b-30a, adapted)
This life-power within us, among us, and beyond us will hold us through the seasons of change. It will hold us, so we can let go. It will hold us, so we can let go and allow the cycle of life to move on as it must. It will hold us, so we can let go and see the possibility and transformation waiting within the change.
We will be held.
So come the storms of winter, and the birds of spring again. We do not count the time. We do not fear the time.
Summer old. Autumn cold. A few less changes frightening me.
May it be so. Blessed Be. Amen.
© Copyright 2006 Rev. Tim Kutzmark
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