ACORN SUNDAY 2001

I don't typically title my sermons, but if I had to give this one a title it would be: "Into every life a little manure must fall." In the name of the Father, and the Son

In the Kalevala, the epic poem of Finland, the hero Vinminen gets tired of living on the barren earth, and so he asks Sampsa Pellervoinen to plant trees. They all thrive, except for the oak tree. So they find another oak acorn-seed and, for fertilizer, Tursas the sea gnome burns some hay that was gathered by five water nymphs. The acorn is planted and the oak that grows from it is so huge that it blocks out the sun.

One of the morals of this story, is, of course, "manure happens." And it's a good thing that it happens: just as the acorn could not grow into an oak tree without the help of some manure, so it is that most of us would not be the healthy, well-rounded individuals we are without going through a bit of manure ourselves.

Adversity shapes us every bit as much as anything else in our environment, and though it's rarely much fun to go through, it is the most powerful of teachers. Just ask yourself, would you be as good a person as you are today, if you did not ever suffer adversity?

If you had never known the tyranny of the schoolyard bully, would you be quite the advocate you are for the powerless and the oppressed? If you had never struggled financially, would you be half as compassionate towards the poor and the homeless? If you had never been wronged or betrayed, would you be quite as outraged when governments break treaties and lie to their people? The very word "compassion" means "to suffer with". If you have not suffered, you cannot extend that memory of suffering out towards another in sympathy.

This begs one of the great philosophical questions of all time: if God is all good, and God is all powerful, why does God allow evil and suffering to exist?

As I've said many times in my past sermons, I solve that dilemma by questioning the omnipotence of God. In other words, I do not believe God is all-powerful, just MORE powerful than anything else in the universe. But god does not have the power to suspend the laws of nature. God cannot pluck falling planes from the sky. If God were all powerful and did not save people in such distress he would by definition, not be all-good. In fact, if he were a human being, we would indict him for reckless endangerment, or failing to intervene when harm could have been prevented. It is, in any case, a matter of gross indifference and a grievous sin of omission. But if God is not all-powerful, if God has no more the ability to stop a falling aircraft than the rest of us, his moral integrity remains intact. He is, like us, a saddened observer when such disaster strikes; eager to comfort and heal, but powerless to prevent it.

This conundrum is further complicated by the fact that culturally we see the universe as locked in a cosmic battle between good and evil, and according to some of our co-religionists, evil is winning. I lived in that universe a long time. Like many others, I believed that there is a small pocket of good that is about to be overwhelmed by evil at any minute, and that it was my duty as a Christian to fight the demonic forces which we saw around every corner.

Thank God I moved out of that universe, into a kinder, gentler universe next door, where instead of a small pocket of good about to be overwhelmed by evil, there is a small pocket of evil about to be overwhelmed by good. It is a much more optimistic universe. The great thing is that you get to choose which universe you live in.

In the latter universe, the one where I now receive my mail, evil is not a cosmic conspiracy bent on celestial conquest. It is, instead, just an aspect of being human, of evolution. For as our society has changed, our definitions of what evil is has changed as well. In the Old Testament times, whatever hindered procreation endangered the tribe, and so therefore masturbation and homosexuality were forbidden; if birth control had been invented, no doubt it would be right up there with the other sins that endanger the tribe. But in our day, the human population is not in danger; quite the opposite is true, n fact: the proliferation of humans endangers the planets. In our time the survival of the tribe depends on NOT having so many children, and so birth control is seen as sensible, masturbation is seen as normal and healthy sexual expression, and homosexuals are the nice couple with the lovely bungalow at the end of the block. Our perceptions of what is evil grows and changes even as we grow and change. And just as this progression can be seen in the large arc of history, so can it be seen in the smaller arc of our daily lives. What may seem like an overwhelming hardship at one point in our lives may seem inconsequential at a different time. When we are children, for instance, the cruelty of a classmate can seem like the end of the world. As adults, it is easier to simply dismiss some people as being jerks who do not deserve to disrupt our peace of mind.

Evil, then, in this scheme of things is not a coordinated effort by some celestial arch-enemy, but a matter of discernment, relative to societal needs and norms, and our own subjective stages of growth. It can sometimes seem overwhelming and inestimably tragic, but in the experience of most of us it is merely ordinary and petty.

And in our ordinary and sometimes petty existences, evil acts as the sand in the oyster shell, an irritant without which the pearl would be impossible.

One group in our history who had a similar take on things were the medieval alchemists. Forerunners of modern science and chemistry, on the surface the alchemists were concerned with turning the un-valuable into the invaluable, lead into gold, manure into the mighty oak.

And while the means of this transformation were ostensibly physical, the real work was done spiritually. This is what we call a sacramental approach to spirituality, where the physical is inseparable from the spiritual. It is holistic, realistic, and altogether engaging.

So yes, evil is real. But it does not need to rule your world. If you give it too much power, it can take over, even if you think you are on the side of the good guys. But if you don't give it that kind of power, it then becomes a facet of life, with no greater import than any other. And when we do not eschew this shadow, we can even see it as being helpful, for we would not be the kind of people we are without it. Without evil, we could not grow into the goodness we so desire; without sand, the pearl would be impossible; without manure, the mighty oak would never grow. Let us pray

God of light and darkness, master of both those things we love, and those that we fear, help us to rest in your love, knowing that all things work together for the good, even if it doesn't feel so good when it is happening to us. Help us to receive the easy and the hard with equanimity, to welcome the struggles as well as the joys. Help us to find the perspective to see that not all sorrows are eternal, not all suffering is pointless, and not all adversity is harmful. Grow us in love, even when we feel hate; refine us into your image, even when it involves fire; and instill in us trust, even when we are afraid. For we ask this in the name of the one who is with us always, encouraging, whispering, adding the manure, and planting the seeds; even you, most Holy Spirit. Amen.