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"The bell is full of wind, though it does not ring. The bird is full of flight, though it is still. The word is full of voice, though no one speaks it." "Even though I walk through a valley of death, I will not be afraid." Puzzling and engaging images. They point to apparent opposites and contradictions, the possibility of something that isn't but which is already contained in something that is; action inside non-action and openings contained in closed places. The importance of rest and stillness, rejuvenation in the midst of the tough walks in life. Potentialities that we cannot see that are nonetheless there. As we are all entering this new year, let us consider what our lives may be for, how they can be lived and what a church can be. Where is the place for stillness, emptiness, and non-action in our lives as well as urgency and intentionality? The bell is full of wind…A bell does not ring if the clapper is in contact with anything. The clapper has to be surrounded by air to make a sound. The bird is ready to fly even as it perches, but it cannot take off unless it is first still. We need to be in the presence of death to really appreciate life. This weekend, we remember the Civil Rights activist and martyr, Martin Luther King, Jr. He had his dying within him as he lived. It is what made him so eloquent. He lived his public life like a man on fire, with a short time to act. He is much like other leaders and heroes who have been afire with a mission. They know that life is short and there are things to get done. Jesus' tone in the Gospels, if you read closely, changes between the beginning and the end of his ministry. As he senses his enemies are growing, his words begin to have an urgent, sometimes ruthless tone. "Those who are not against us are with us," changes to, "those who are not with us are against us." There is not much time and there are things to get done. There is an increasing urgency and focus in King's speeches as time goes on during the Civil Rights movement, and he sees how far there is yet to go. There is also, days before his death, in his "I have been to the mountain" speech, a coming to terms with his own limited role and a certain inner peace, finally. If you read my message in the January newsletter, you know that both my husband's nephew, Payson 26, and my father, Harry, 83, died last month within the same week. John was in Massachusetts with his family and I was in Arizona with mine, not the ideal logistics. I am fortunate right now. For a brief time, now, I am conscious of death. I will forget this soon, I am afraid, and take life for granted again. The death of someone close to you is very real; the occasion makes life real. When I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I do see that my cup overflows. It is the contrast. Death is the other side of life that makes awareness of life possible, like the empty wind filling the bell and the sky that is full of clouds through it is alone. I, and my younger sister, Lisa, who was here in Morehead City this past October, were both with our dad. It was a good time. We said our goodbyes separately and together. We loved him up a lot. A big surprise arrived, however, with some of my father's last wishes. They came out of a long festering bitterness about something that he was involved in decades ago. Though I spent much time with him over the past two years, I missed this incompletion in his life pretty much completely. I didn't listen to him, though he was giving hints of troubled waters. I didn't listen in a way that might have helped him resolve this. Come to think of it, I was often talking about myself and assuring him how well my life was going and that he had done a good job. But that sentiment, nice as it was, was not what was on his mind. We all need to have someone listening closely in order to get something off our chest, once and for all. This surprise from my father's last wishes has been a sobering wake-up call for me, and I plan not to waste the lesson. There are things that are hidden right in front of us. How can we see them? The word is full of voice, though no one speaks it. Who will speak it? I was noticing that my Christmas cactus, after blooming magnificently over Thanksgiving, had stopped producing buds because it got over watered. Now that it is drier, new buds are starting to come out. We need the right environment in which to grow, to seek our next expression out into the world. Everything living and human is moving toward and leaning into its next expression. Each living thing will push its way, roll its way, speak its way into its own next authentic expression, if given the proper environment. It will unfold into more of itself, let go of excess baggage, release tensions. Yoga is really an environment of stretches and breathing and awareness that allows the body to release unwanted tension which it will do naturally. I once viewed a promotional film about an outdoor survival course in which participants were said to be transformed. I was dubious, not being much into mountain climbing and jumping off cliffs and such at the time. The film was called, "I Used to Be Different; Now I'm the Same." In the week-long course, which I eventually took, people shed their excess baggage, left behind pounds of fat and pounds of memories, uncovered cramping assumptions, and had a haircut and a make-over. In my Before and After photos, I really did not look like the same person. I was more myself, more the "same" than I had ever been. I had fled toward my presence. I wonder if this is not what churches are for? In vastly different ways, to be sure, is not the mission of any church really to provide a community with a safe environment to be authentic? Do we not wish mightily to create churches as spaces where the truths of human existence, sweet and not so sweet, can be spoken and expressed in worship? Are not churches for people who are fleeing from what is not their life toward what is their real life? What is contained of you in this church with its Mission and Vision? What if we listened more to what is not being said than to what is being said? What if we consciously trusted that our lives and ourselves as the Church Universal are all seeking our own unfolding - naturally, organically. Perhaps all we have to do is get out of the way. How? Who knows? What would it be like if a church took on the inquiry about how you make a path clear for human expression and growth? Experimentation, intentional conversations, workshops, inter-church meetings and explorations would be the order of the day. Because we are all in this human cauldron together. How much is right here in front of you and you are missing it? The ordinary person before you who is talking at coffee hour…some gift of nature you are missing….some long festering injury being expressed by someone and you don't catch it, so that person is left still stuck with it? Everyone is longing for the next expression of their real life. Is anyone, in church especially, listening? If we aren't, we will miss the sadnesses and also the unexpressed joys. Did anyone catch the depression and fatigue in Martin King's face toward the end of this life? Are you seeing the new buds now emerging from a plant once over watered but now rescued?
"Everything is full of fleeing, though there are no roads; Everything is fleeing toward its presence. Rejoice! © 2001 The Reverend Eileen L. Epperson
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