Sunday Sermon -- Sit By the River

Sunday Sermon -- #grandfatherfootsteps

Siddhartha sat down by the riverside.

Wonder what the preachers are racking on about today. In my day, they preached that women shouldn’t wear jeans to church. One church even brought you a dress to change into if you came in jeans. They preached that women shouldn’t dye their hair, should never wear red or purple, should not wear jewelry, should not wear make-up, should not cut their hair… ok, it was mostly telling women what to do.

Not so, my grandfather. He also told the men what not to do, ie: don’t wear ties.

They wasted their time. They had two thousand years to change the world and they frizzled away their moments with foolishness.

But they had some rousing hymns.

“Shall we gather at the river…. “

Who doesn’t like gathering at the river? Old time church services were sometimes held in the wilds. People would come from their homes where they worked all the time and would sit down (even the women) and they’d sing. No wonder the religion held them so long. Well, that and the fact that Jesus was coming back with a sword and they were going to burn forever if they didn’t obey every jot and tittle. This, I guess, is why preachers concentrate so hard on the jots and the tittles.

Now that organized religions are in their final days (and showing their true colors as they go – just like autumn leaves), we once more have a chance to gather at the river. I’d suggest we do it Siddhartha style, as much as we are able.

Once Siddhartha made it to the river, he realized he never had to make that arduous journey at all. He got off the wheel.

I never wanted to get off the wheel before. I couldn’t believe anyone would not want to come back; the world had more for it than against it. It was a constant and consistent battle to find food, shelter, and safety, to not get trampled under the feet of the people we elected to see that we didn’t get trampled, but still…

There were moments. Sunrises and sunsets –optical illusions created by a play of light on droplets of water as the earth turns and we say the sun descends or rises. Watching the life cycle of leaves and what we think of as the turning of seasons. The moment your baby first makes eye contact with all that trust you are never going to be able to live up to (and recognition that transcends lifetimes).

Moments like being caught in a sudden rain, being outside at night with no light except the antique light of stars above, drinking hot chocolate when you come in from the snow, and being heard, even temporarily, by someone who had no primary investment in you. All these wonders are part of the earth experience and I couldn't imagine not wanting to be part of that, even if it meant being subject o all the rest of it.

Lately, I’ve wanted to be off the wheel. That is, supposing the wheel isn’t broken altogether at this point. I haven’t earned the brownie points necessary to get off the wheel, still many lessons to learn, but the pull to come back isn’t as strong as it was when I was younger. I am disengaging.

I've done all the things. Sufficient is a feast. There's so much to be said for watching the river.

My brother, Delbert, told me once that as you age it isn’t so much what other people have said that troubles you, it’s things you’ve said. This is so. Things you’ve said or didn’t say, did or didn’t do come to haunt you. This is another draw the major religions have – they offer atonement (always someone else’s blood being shed, though, not your own).

What other people say or do is irrelevant. When you are young and someone insults you, you believe them and start telling yourself the same thing, but as you get older and someone insults you, you get a sardonic grin and an air of superiority that the fools just don’t get it. Other people’s opinions don’t actually engage you once you’ve reached a certain age (that has nothing to do with years).

However, things you say, which you were immune to before, now sit like the elf on the shelf and give you accusing looks. Things you didn’t say, as well. Things you didn’t say ring loudly. Missed moments haunt you, too. In a world, where moments are what count, you don’t want to miss too many of them. You don’t want to be busy with distractions while your child is being amazing right there in front of you – you don’t want to be fussing with the dishes or distracted by the antics of politicians. Paying attention to the wonderful person in front of you – that’s Siddhartha’s kind of sitting by the river.

Until you forgive yourself -- or look at yourself with a sardonic grin and an air or superiority -- and stop judging past moments, you are still on the wheel. It is possible to let it go -- no atonement necessary. Simply set by the river and breathe. Your breath is holy, follow it while it exists; there is not an endless supply.

"... and the things of earth will grow strangely dim..."

Go sit by the river for a little while – pay attention to what is important for a moment. Pass the plate and offer a koan to think on, sing a rousing chorus of Om Mani Padme Hum or Roger Miller’s Walking in the Sunshine. Contemplate the wheel and watch it spin.