"Knowing Home" Reflection for Water Ceremony Sunday

August 6, 2017  "Knowing Home"
The Story shared in this service was "The Agreement" by Barry Lopez

Readings

Excerpt from “Braiding Sweetgrass” by Robin Wall Kimmerer (p.22)

“I once heard Evon Peter—a Gwich’in man, a father, a husband, an environmental activist, and Chief of Artic Village, a small village in northeastern Alaska—introduce him self simply as ‘a boy who was raised by a river.’  A description as smooth and slippery as a river rock.  Did he mean only that he grew up near its banks?  Or was the river responsible for rearing him, for teaching him the things he needed to live?  Did it feed him, body and soul?  Raised by a river: I suppose both meanings are true—you can hardly have one without the other.”

First Lesson by Philip Booth

Lie back daughter, let your head
be tipped back in the cup of my hand.
Gently, and I will hold you. Spread
your arms wide, lie out on the stream
and look high at the gulls. A dead-
man's float is face down. You will dive
and swim soon enough where this tidewater
ebbs to the sea. Daughter, believe
me, when you tire on the long thrash
to your island, lie up, and survive.
As you float now, where I held you
and let go, remember when fear
cramps your heart what I told you:
lie gently and wide to the light-year
stars, lie back, and the sea will hold you. 

“Knowing Home”

Last month I got to participate in a panel discussion at the library—part of an afternoon of events on “adulting.”  Do you know what adulting is?  You know, taking care of the adult things in life, the things that kids don’t usually have to worry about, or shouldn’t have to.  Basically, functioning as a responsible adult.

The panel was asked a very powerful question:  What do know now that you wish you had known or been taught when you were a teenager?

Well, I could have said something about buying a house and mortgages, or how to manage to get through college without too much debt, or how to find the best mechanic.

But instead, being the minister on the panel, I went with something different:  I wish, when I was teenager, that I’d known or that someone had told me, that when I reached the age of 42, that I would not necessarily feel like an adult, all grown up. 

I would not feel like I had figured it all out, or put life in my control, or feel as if I had “arrived” back home to the place where I can just let go and float.

No, usually I feel like I’m the salmon swimming upstream, not always struggling exactly, but it’s not an easy, lazy float down the river.  Whew, is parenting ever like this!  All I want is to get to a place of ease, like I know what I’m doing.  I just want to create lovely mornings when everyone is happy and no one yells or cries or whines, especially me.  Parents should be able to do that right?

Hardly!  The reality is that everything is constantly changing.  The flow of the day, the season, the age of the kids, to say nothing of everyone’s moods—nothing stays the same for very long.  The water just keeps flowing. The river keeps moving on.

And then there are the occasional days I feel like I can’t even find the river, the path to take me home to God and myself.

So lately I have tried to stay focused on the moments.  The glimpses of knowing my true home in this world.  Not a physical place.  And not a destination that I will some day reach and live in for all time.

But a fleeting experience of Home-ness. Of sanctuary.  Of confidence. Of letting go and knowing that though nothing is perfect, I’m not going to sink.

Buddhist teacher Thich Nhat Hanh says “With practice, it is possible to live in the here and the now.  The here and the now is our true home.  If you do not live in the here and the now, you miss everything.” (in interview with Parabola, Winter 2006)

So, right here, right now:  With whom are we connected?  How are the relationships with them?  How are our love agreements doing? Are we taking anyone for granted? Are we able to say what I need and what I can give away?

And also:  right here, right  now: how do we depend on the earth itself?  How am we fed and nurtured and raised up by the land, the plants, the water, the air, the animals?  Can we imagine, as Robin Wall Kimmerer puts it, that the earth itself can both sustain me physically and teach me what I need to live?  That perhaps this is the Earth, the Universe, telling us that we are loved.  

If we remember to include the Earth in our agreements, then maybe we can know Home, no matter where we are.

And then, we might float for a time in that embrace.

Grounding Words

Grounding words for Earth Day, or any day...

We gather here to remember this is our home, but not just ours

This land we live on, this water we drink, this air we breathe

These old mountains that hold us steady to our ground

These forests that give us their healing green, these flowers that give us their beauty and fragrance, these fields that give us our daily bread, these stars that show us our place.

The wilderness and the tame backyards, all of it our home.

We remember the ancestors who have lived on this land, who have shaped it and left it for us.  The Cherokee, the settlers, the mountaineers, the farmers, the hunters, the immigrants, the artists, the families, the explorers, the business-people, the engineers, the builders, the scientists, the teachers, the workers, the leaders.  We inherit their choices.

We honor the animals and creatures that have made their home in this land, the ones here now, and the ones that used to be here.

We envision the future generations who will live on this land, and let their voices fill our hearts.

We gather here to remember this is our home, but not just ours.  

Prayer commemorating Pulse

Prayer shared on June 12, 2017, at a vigil in Knoxville commemorating the one-year anniversary of the Pulse nightclub shooting in Orlando.


Today we are pulsing—with sorrow, rage, determination, hope.  Whatever you have, bring it here.

Listen to your own pulse, join in unity with the beating hearts present here.

As we hear the life flowing in us and between us, we remember those who are no longer with us.
Our siblings lost one year ago—beautiful gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender, queer, siblings, and human beings beyond any label or box—as they danced, and played, and laughed, and created sanctuary for one another.

We remember our siblings lost through the generations, in different times and places, to acts of hatred, ignorance, and violence; and those lost to disease, poverty, and lack of access to health care and other basic needs.

We remember, too, our siblings who succumbed to too much pain and suffering, who were not able to keep on living in this world.

As we gather we also remember all the ancestors who fought for change, for freedom, for the liberation of all people.

As we gather we bring to mind the people in our lives who brought us to this day—who affirm us, who dance with us, who hold us, who see us, and who love us.

Let us wrap up all those lives, all that life, up into our own, let them strengthen us so that we find our own brave hearts.

Brave hearts that don’t turn away from pain and suffering, but are willing to break open with love for one another.

Brave hearts that dare to still see the beauty and goodness and joy in this world, and remember that we too, are part of this beauty and goodness.

Brave hearts that believe no matter our life circumstances, no matter what the world says about who we are, we are beautiful and good—our bodies are beautiful and good, our lives are beautiful and good, our relationships are beautiful and good.

Brave hearts to remember that our siblings of all races, genders, sexualities, nations, and religions around this world also belong to this beauty and goodness.

With that courage, may we be the Love we ourselves want to receive and be the change we want to see in the world.

May we be the Pulsing heart that brings liberation out of the loss, rising up, together, again and again.