Where The Wild Things Are

A sermon prepared by Rev. Tim Kutzmark
Sunday, noVEmber 4, 2007 • Unitarian Universalist Church of Reading

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Chalice Lighting

Our chalice lighting words come from the pen of Kathy Mitchell:

“I just got back from a paddle out on Dead Creek, alone.  But I wasn’t alone: Ospreys, hunting hawks, beaver, so many jumping carp, sweet little warblers feeding on baby leaves and seeds, beautiful ancient oaks, various textures and shades of green . . . I glided into silent waterways and sensed with my spirit-mind, my soul-self, the life that occupied the space.  Eyes were on me.  Waves of their energies rippled over me.  I pondered the ancient oaks towering on their strong ground.  How many lives have they seen come and go, living and dying, seasons changing?  I am blessed by the witnessing.  It makes me feel a part of something much bigger.  I feel embedded in its beauty.”

For the beauty of it all, for the beauty of us all, we light our chalice.  (chalice is lit)

The Morning Reading

Our reading this morning comes from the writings of Sigurd Olson, one of America's most beloved nature writers and influential conservationists:

“I once climbed a great ridge called Robinson Peak to watch the sunset and to get a view of the lakes and rivers below.  When I reached the bald knob of the peak, the sun was just above the horizon, a flaming ball ready to drop into the dusk below.  As I watched and listened, I became conscious of the slow, steady hum of millions of insects, and through it, the calling of the whitethroats and the violin notes of the hermit thrushes. But it all seemed very vague from that height and very far away, and gradually they merged one with another, blending in a great enveloping softness of sound no louder, it seemed, than my breathing.  Over all was the silence of the wilderness, that sense of oneness which comes only when there are no distracting sights or sounds, when we listen with inward ears and see with inward eyes, when we feel and are aware with our entire beings rather than our senses.  I thought as I sat there of the ancient admonition, “Be still and know that I am God,” and knew that without stillness there can be no knowing, without divorcement from outside influences we cannot know what spirit means.” (adapted from The Singing Wilderness)

The Sermon

In wilderness is the salvation of the world.
—Henry David Thoreau, Unitarian Philosopher

The Chasidic Jews tell a wonderful story about the wild places.

Once upon a time, the child of a rabbi used to leave the village each day to go off deep into the wilderness.  At first, his rabbi father let him wander in the wild, but after a time the boy’s father became worried.  The wilderness was dangerous; it was, after all, where the wild things were.

The father decided to discuss his concerns with his child.  One day he took him aside and said, “You know, I have noticed that each day you walk into the wilderness.  I wonder, why do you go there?

The boy said to his father, “I go there to find God.”

“That is a very good thing,” the father replied gently.  “I am glad you are searching for God.  But, my child, don’t you know that God is the same everywhere?”

“Yes, God is the same everywhere,” the boy answered, “but I’m not.”  (Adapted from story by David J. Wolpe, in Teaching Your Children About God, as quoted in Spiritual Literacy, p. 128)

What is it about the wild places that call to us?  What is it about the rough and raw regions that sing to our untamed souls?  We have only to see a photograph of the vast tundra in Alaska, a picture of the snow-kissed caps of the Canadian Rockies, the image of that thin strong river running through the Grand Canyon.  Something stirs within us—an ancient longing, perhaps, a recent restlessness? 

Explorer and naturalist W. Douglas Burden, best known for his expeditions to Komodo Island in search of the Komodo Dragon, suggests that the attraction many of us have to wilderness is psychologically rooted.  He writes: “Sometimes it is the sense of danger; sometimes it is . . . the achievement and conquest; the difficulties overcome or shared; sometimes it is discovery . . .  But beyond all these lies . . . a fascination that runs infinitely deeper. It is the sense of mystery that dwells in the remote unreachable heart of the wilderness. Sometimes this sense of mystery is felt as a yearning to reach out beyond ourselves.”

Sometimes this sense of mystery is felt as a yearning to reach out beyond ourselves.

Danger, difficulties to overcome, rawness, struggle, moving into the unknown, reaching out beyond ourselves: these qualities attract us to nature’s wilderness. But why does the call of the wild end at the edge of our humanness?  Why is it that, back home in our everyday lives, most of us run from the very psychological experience the wilderness invites?  Why is it that, in a church community, most of us run from the very psychological experience the wilderness invites?

There are two kinds of wilderness—the outer wilderness and the inner wilderness. There are two kind of wilderness, and our relationship to each is very different. 

We recoil from the inner wilderness that is part of human life.  When we aren’t sure what is happening next; when we are confronted with change; when we have to say goodbye to something we don’t want to lose; when we aren’t sure what to do or what choice to make; when something happens we have no control over; when our body ages or grows ill; when life, for good reasons or hard reasons, suddenly feels uncharted and unknown—then, we think something is wrong.  We think something is not normal.  We look at that kind of wilderness as a problem to be solved.  In the natural world, the roughness of the moment is considered beautiful, the challenge of the moment is savored, for that is where it’s power is found; in the human world, we believe that the roughness of the moment is to be avoided at any cost.  We believe it will not strengthen us but destroy us.

There is much wilderness within us. 

There is much wilderness that we are within: the wilderness of this world in these uncertain times; the wilderness of a country that has lost sight of the virtues, principles, and practices on which it was founded; the wilderness of national politics, and where the religious right forces its unyielding social agenda. 

And there is also the wilderness of this church, a church that has just completed a multi-year building project and now must decide how to fill this new space, how to inhabit this new space.

Rabbi Niles Elliot Goldstein writes: “Making a journey—especially a journey into the inner wilderness—can be difficult.  We are not certain how long it will take us to reach our destination.  We don’t know what kinds of obstacles we might confront along the way.  We are not always sure what we will find at the end of the path.  Or if we will reach an end at all."  (Niles Elliot Goldstein, God at the Edge, p. 69)

The good news is that when we go to where the wild things are, we do not need to make that journey without resources. There are guides to lead us through whatever our wilderness might be; on the trail we have maps and compasses and markers.  And in day-to-day life, we have friends, partners, families, doctors, therapists, ministers, anti-depressants, ancient sacred texts, and the wisdom of modern teachers.  We have spiritual practices, ways of centering ourselves.  We have beliefs: beliefs in a Higher Power, in a source of human strength, in the hand and heart of a loving God.  And, we walk side by side with others; we walk as a spiritual community, wanderers and worshippers who rely on each another to recall us to our best selves again. 

And, for this church in the midst of its glorious transition, we have a minister experienced with growth and change, a hard working staff, and astute church leaders you’ve elected who are open to learning new ways.  We do not need to step into the wilderness of growth and size transformation without guidance. 

But it is foolish to step forward without a map.  Maps can be a lifesaver to anyone venturing off the well-worn trail.  And I believe this is the time to choose a new map to lead us into the future.  Our governing board and church leaders believe this is the time to choose a new map to lead us into the future.  We have built our building.  Now, we must build a plan to guide us into the transforming, beautiful, raw and exhilarating wilderness of change that lies ahead of us.

Next week, members of our Long Range Planning Committee will be attending a District Training on strategic planning for congregations.  Our church’s governing board has charged them with proposing a plan for how we, together, can talk about and plan for our future; a process that we can eventually begin going through together beginning next September.

We are a place with energy, lots of energy
We are a place with caring, lots of caring
We are a place with love, lots of love.
We are a place with ideas, lots of ideas.
We are a place with projects, lots of projects.
We are a place with committees, lots of committees.

But are we a place with a clear sense of direction?  Are we a place with a clear sense of identity?  Are we a church community with a clear focus?  Are we a people with a clear shared mission?  I gently suggest that we are not.  I strongly suggest that we are not.

We have built for our future.  Now, we must plan for our future.

We need—as Sigurd Olson described in our reading this morning—to head to the top of the mountain, where the vision is clear and our perspective is uncluttered. We need to step back and claim a bigger and broader view of where we are and where we are going.

Who will we be in this beautiful new space?
How will we be in this beautiful new space?
What will we be?
Why will we be?

What will we welcome into this beautiful new space?
Who will we welcome into this beautiful new space?
Why will we welcome?
How will we welcome?

What will we send forth from this new space?
How, how, how will we make this place a launching point to help and heal and mend and justice-build our broken and beautiful world?

This is the wilderness we must explore.

On Friday, a little boy, Marcus, was born to Laura and Armando, who are active in this church.  Will we bring a few meals, dedicate Marcus in a special ceremony in a month or two, and then wish the family well, and hope they come back to church again?  Or will consciously create programs and supports for them as the years unfold?  What happens when little Marcus grows older and, like most little kids in his neighborhood, wants to play with guns or violent video games?  What happens when Marcus wants the next bigger thing he sees advertised on TV? Will we create the programs here to help Laura and Armando, and other parents, who wish to teach their children a gentler way to live and play and be in this world?  Will we be more than a Sunday morning refuge?  Will we be a real resource that strengthens faith and values?

This afternoon, we are sponsoring an important workshop entitled “Caring for Aging Loved Ones.”  At a time when so many of us know someone who is aging, this is an essential program.  But are we offering it just for this church community, or for anyone beyond our walls that could use this support and information?  Did we advertise it in the community with press releases, with flyers that we each took and put in supermarkets or other places because each of us had ownership in this program, because we believed that it could help someone out there who was struggling or feeling overwhelmed?  (I know that I did not.)  Did we schedule it at a time right after church because it was convenient for those of us already in the sanctuary, or did we pick a time that could allow the largest number of attendees beyond our church community?  Did we provide childcare, so that over-extended parents who are also dealing with an aging parent could attend easily?

I ask these questions not as a criticism, but as honest questions for us to consider.  It is important that we hear this again: I ask these questions not as a criticism, but as honest questions for us to consider.  This is the true wilderness we must now explore.

Who will be become?  What will we be known for?

Will we be known as the church that built a comfortable new building to rent out for weddings?  Or will be known as the place you go to if you want to get uncomfortable and act boldly for social justice and economic transformation?

Will we be known as the place that increased it’s staffing and hired a childcare provider for all the new babies being born here?  Or will we be the place you come to if you are expecting a new child, because this is the church community that will embrace you and support you and help you maneuver the maze of raising a spiritual child in a complex world.

Will we be known as the place that has a beautiful light-filled sanctuary for memorial services?  Or will we be the place that you come to because we holds our people as they grow older, we help them find meaning in their living and their dying, we surround the spouse who remains, we make sure no one is alone?

Will we be known as the place whose expansion increased its carbon footprint, further damaging our fragile earth home?  Or will we be the place people come to because we are a people who made difficult decisions and cut back our electricity usage and acted responsibly in our use of this planet’s resources.

Will we be known as the place that has its teenagers meet apart from the church on Sunday night in the remodeled and pristine Loring House, or will we be the place people come to because we are an awesome and teen friendly community that lets our kids claim and create their space, and fully invites them into the heart and soul of this community?

Will we be known as the place that is trying to fill the sanctuary with new members to help pay off its building loan?  Or will we be the place people come to when they want to be filled with courage and conviction and commitment and connection?

Will we be a church that is satisfied with bringing in pictures of our favorite wilderness places, pictures celebrating our brief moments of wildness?  Or will we be a place people come to because they know they will be challenged to step more fully into the inner wilderness that is calling our name?

My friends, there is a glorious wilderness stretching ahead of us.  There is a wild place that we are being called to explore.

My friends, we need to be a WILD PLACE that steps joyfully and consciously into the FUTURE, the takes the future by the horns and either tames it or hangs on for one heck of a ride together!

We need to be the wild place where people go, not because God is the same everywhere, but because here, in this church, no person can remain the same; because here, in this church, every person reaches out beyond ourselves.

May it be so.  Blessed Be.  Amen.

©Copyright 2007 Rev. Timothy A. Kutzmark
All rights reserved.