Unity Sermon 1996-Holiness and the Tao

At a used book store several years ago, I purchased a copy of Raymond M. Smullyan's book The Tao is Silent on a whim. I had heard of the Tao, and was intrigued by the little information I had. I had not heard of the Tao Te Ching, but I soon gained respect for Taoism's philosophy as Smullyan interpreted it. Halfway through the book a friend came for a visit and saw it. His jaw dropped open and he looked at me in an odd way. "Are you...into the Tao?" he said tentatively. "Well," I replied, "I like what I've read."

"Have you read the Tao Te Ching?"

"No, but I wa..." Before I could finish he dashed out of the house and slammed the door. I contemplated this peculiar behavior and wondered if perhaps I had overlooked a manic tendency in my friend. I certainly hoped he wouldn't hurt himself. Before I could finish my musings, the door had swung wide open once again. My friend hovered in the frame with a crazed look, clutching an enormous dog-eared trade paperback.

"This," he said, panting, pressing the book to my chest, "is the holy word of God."

"You don't say," I returned, flipping through the treasured tome. It was Gia-Fu Feng and Jane English"s translation, beautifully illustrated with Chinese calligraphy and Ms. English's stunning nature photography. "Can I borrow it?" I asked.

He chewed his lip a moment and I had my first glimpse of how terribly important this book really was to him. "I would really love to read through it. It"s not long. I'll get it back to you soon. Promise." I lied. From the first few chapters I was entranced with the book"s simplicity and awesome profundity, and living with it has seriously affected my life, both spiritually and socially. And this is not an uncommon phenomenon, either. Again and again I have watched people who were profoundly touched evolve toward spiritual maturity.

For those of you who may be unfamiliar with it, the Tao Te Ching is a book of Chinese philosophical poetry, written sometime between the seventh and the fourth centuries B.C.E. According to tradition it was written by a quiet librarian named Lao Tzu. As the legend goes, Lao Tzu, in his old age, finally gave up on humanity as a lost cause. He packed his yak, and headed for the wilderness where things were sane. At the top of a mountain pass, the last outpost of civilization, the gatekeeper persuaded Lao Tzu to commit his philosophy to paper before he left humankind forever. The resulting book, consisting of just over five thousand Chinese characters, became the famous Tao Te Ching, which means "the book of the Way and its power."

Today, I would like to speak to you about a much-maligned subject as seen from the peculiar perspectives of Lao Tzu, Jesus and the Medieval Christian mystics. The subject is "holiness."

Holiness is a word we tend to surround with a great amount of baggage. It can call up visions of heavenly splendour, whispering saints of legend, sentimental stories of extreme sacrifice, and the spectre of puritanical abstinence from anything even remotely pleasurable. Yet, when we honestly face ourselves, we often laugh a little at these charicatures. How many of us, though, have swallowed these mythologies whole? With all sincerity, many of us, especially if we were brought up in conservative religious traditions, have tried to live out these superhuman roles only to find that such a life is impossible and the attempt has left many broken, wounded, and bitter. Holiness in the Christian tradition is a concept used more as a controlling agent by religious authorities than as an ideal of Christian living. What exactly is the role of holiness then, and what does it really mean?

Although a general definition of holiness might be "the absence of sin," my concept would augment this by adding "and the presence of joy." For joy implies awe and mystery not present in mundane "happiness."

Having thus defined holiness, how might we define sin? Traditionally, sin is seen as an action (or lack of an action) which is somehow contrary to the will (or law) of God. The Taoist would agree with this definition. The will of the Tao is to be one with the Tao, to live as nature lives, in harmony with the rest of nature, with the Tao and with him or herself.

If living in accord with the Tao is the absence of sin, the presence of joy is a life that flows smoothly without undue stress or striving. Lao Tzu tell us that one who lives such a life is
-Not self-centered, he or she is enlightened.
-Not self-righteous, he or she is a shining example.
-Not self-glorifying or boastful, she accomplishes
great things and grows large inside.

Let's examine each of these three in turn.

As we mentioned earlier, in Asian cultures there are only subtle concepts of the individual; the family is the smallest division of society. The good of the family outweighs the good of the self. The good of the stranger is also important, regardless of whether respect or hospitality is reciprocated. Lao Tzu says "The Sage makes good on his half of the deal and demands nothing of others." The Sage is one who gives without thought of personal remuneration or even gratitude. It is all the same to him or her. Since the Sage is not attached to anything material, there is nothing he or she cannot part with, even, and perhaps most especially to a stranger, or even an enemy. In Luke's gospel, Jesus says similarly, "But love your enemies, do good to them, and lend to them without expecting to get anything back."(Lk. 6:35 NIV) The Sage is not concerned with getting anything back because with the Tao all things flow out and return. Jesus continues in verse thirty-six promising that "your reward will be great." Lao Tzu concurs and adds wryly "Heaven doesn't choose sides. It is always with the good people."

The Sage gives of self in non-material ways, too. He or she is a model of compassion. Lao Tzu says, "The Sage's heart is not set in stone. She is as sensitive to the people's feelings as to her own." We in the West have not developed the discipline of compassion as have our brothers and sisters of Eastern faiths. For them, compassion is the very highest value to which the believer can aspire. In Buddhism, compassion is what moved Buddha to sacrifice his own spiritual gain in order to help others find the way. Compassion seems to be a universal constant in the spiritual life of humankind. To identify with the suffering, which Jesus did throughout his ministry and in his death--and continues to do with the poor, the hungry, the homeless and the oppressed--is the very heart of the Gospel.

"To people who are good, [the Sage ] says, I am good. To people who are not good, I am good to them, too." This is reminescent to Jesus's words in Matthew 5:44, "Love your enemies, bless those who curse you, do good to those that hate you and pray for those who persecute you." Lao Tzu's version is a comment on what is true for the Sage; it is not a directive. Jesus, however, gives us a command which carries with it great responsibility and equally great difficulty. When we ask ourselves why this is so difficult, we find that it is because of that old dragon, desire. It is because we are concerned with the self, the person inhabiting this skin, and not concerned with the "capital S" Self that embraces all of Creation, the World as Self. We need to provide for the Self which includes all humans, all species, maggot to marsupial, and the very Earth herself. It is identity solely with the smaller, individual self that is the culprit.

The Taoist sage is also not self-righteous. This is a matter of great sorrow within our tradition. The Pharisees against whom Jesus railed during his ministry are still with us, still praying publicly on street corners and on television. Spiritual pride is a grave sin, one that is seldom addressed from the pulpit or even in print. This is perhaps because it is too painful an issue, too close to home, too common to all of us. Lao Tzu describes the Sage as one who is "honest, but not judgmental. Has integrity, but is not injurous to others . . . Therefore the Sage knows himself, but he is not opinionated." What is addressed here chiefly is respect. Sadly, Christians are notorious for disrespect to others when it comes to issues of faith--from the horrors of the Inquisition to the witchcraft trials at Salem, from the out-of-hand dismissal of any sacred tradition other than our own, to our refusal to hear the stories of others that are filled with pain because of religious oppression. All too often, it turns out to be our religious oppression. What we must do is acknowledge that, know it or not, all people are being courted by God. Everyone's story is valid; it is their story. It is also their journey, their process. We need to honor people's processes, to see that what they are going through at any given time is exactly what they are supposed to be going through; and most of all we must trust that God knows what she is doing.

We fail when we do not. We fail in our spiritual obligation if we do not hear people's stories and do not honor their processes. We forsake them. We tell them, in effect, that we are only here for them on our terms. We must realize that where they are is where they should be and we are not relieved of our responsibility to love unconditionally or to respect that person's spiritual evolution. "Therefore," says Lao Tzu, "the Sage is always there to help people so that no one is forsaken."

If we look at our own spiritual journey as in no way superior to the journeys of others, we are capable of true ministry. It is spiritual arrogance that poisons the soul. Instead, the Christian mystic Mechtild of Magdeburg says that we should live "welcoming to all." This welcoming is the standard of righteousness, not pious observances. "If you do not try to prove yourself superior to others," says Lao Tzu, you will be beyond reproach."

Not only are we guilty of not respecting the journeys of others, but we have very little compassion for ourselves when we fail to live up to the letter of the Law. Yet, as Thomas Merton says, "It is often more perfect to do what is simply normal and human than to try to act like an angel when God does not will it . . . It is not practical, it is not honest, it is not Christian to fly from 'every desire' and 'every pleasure' that is not explicitly pious." Perfectionism in ourselves is not righteousness, it is self-righteousness. Righteousness is the welcoming of all without judgment, including the welcoming of our individual self.

Hand in hand with self-righteousness is self-glorifying, which is the opposite of humility. The word humility comes from the Latin word "humus," meaning earth. Lao Tzu tells us that we are to live "close to the Earth." This is as true in our attitudes as it is in our literal, bodily existence. Hildegard of Bingen said that "Holy persons draw to themselves all that is earthly." What is earthly is what is in its natural state, not perverted by human contrivance. We should be earthy, most especially. This means being honest, even if we really want to impress someone; even if it is painful. This means being honest with ourselves about our motivations. If I were to give to a charity, would I be doing it out of philanthropy or out of a need to be affirmed that I am good? Too often, I fear, for myself the latter is usually the case. If I already felt like a good person, a state of spiritual health we just discussed above, I would only give honestly, and would want no recognition of it from others. Lao Tzu says that "the Sage works anonymously. She achieves great things but does not wait around for praise. She does not want her talents to attract attention to her."

The Sage is also honest with him or herself in that he or she is not embarrassed if they don't know about something. It is typical for us to assume that we have God, his purpose and our cosmology all figured out. Becoming aquainted with not knowing is for many people very intemidating. When the black-and-white universe that has all of the answers is wrested from our grasp, we are in an often terrifying position which demands that we think. This is true terror, for many religious people have been taught not to trust themselves or to make up their own minds. As J. Henry Burnett has said in an interview, "There is no religious position on abortion. Being religious does not relieve you of your responsibility to think." When we are ready to accept a more ambiguous world-view we find life to be, oddly, much richer, more honest, and most especially, more earthy.

Lao Tzu says "One who is well grounded will not be uprooted. One who has a firm embrace will not let go." Grounding and embracing are essential qualities of holiness. One who is grounded in the earth will be earth-centered, not self-centered. He or she will do what is right and holy for others, for the planet rather than what will benefit him or her directly.

One who embraces the whole of life will not slip into self-righteousness. Their motivations will come from the inside rather than from what others are likely to think of them. One who is grounded in the earth has no need to be self-glorifying, since the universe is also him or her, and has enough glory to go around.

Holiness is the perception that all of life--even just washing the dishes--is holy. Labor and recreation are holy. All that we do should embrace life as it presents itself to us, the good and the bad. All that we do should be grounded in the earth, motivated by the good of the whole of Creation that is also us.
Lao Tzu says,

One who stands on tiptoe does not stand firm . . . .
One who considers himself righteous, isn't . . . .

One who is well grounded will not be uprooted.

Cultivate these things in yourself
And you will have true goodness . . . .

Cultivate these in your community
And goodness will catch on . . . .

Cultivate these in the World
And goodness will fill the Universe.

Meditation

For too long, we have suffered under the misconception that we are supposed to fit in among Plato's world of forms. Well, my friends, we are not ideal forms, we are not perfect people, we are earth of earth, dust of dust, and full of every earthy attribute that has been so long discouraged in our culture.

Today, though, we refuse to mourn or beg forgiveness.

Today, we celebrate our passion!

We celebrate our earthiness!

We celebrate our holiness!

We celebrate our humility!

Because only in humility do we have integrity. Any time we attempt to climb the ladder into the heavens, the ladder falls; each time we try to build a tower to heaven, Babyl ensues.

Today, I invite you to sever your ties to an old way of thinking, a way of thinking that only honors the ideal, the perfect, the transcendent, the heavenly.

I invite you to cut your umbilical cord to that way of being, and bury it in the earth, where it belongs. Visualize that there is a huge chain connecting you to the sky. In your imagination, cut that chain, and free yourself of the tyranny of a religion that says you must be perfect, that you must be sinless, that you must be heavenly and un-earthly.

Now, take that chain, and, in your mind's eye, bury it deep within the sacred Earth.

Let us not value the things above that we cannot see, but cherish the world around us

Let us not be tied to ideas of a God "up there", and ignore the "God-with-us"

Let us not seek to be above the earth, but to live upon her, in all her glory

Let us not forever long for the unknowable mysteries, but be present to the here and now

Let us not blind ourselves by staring at the light,
but let the light illuminate the exquisite mystery all around us

Let us not grasp at elusive dreams
but humbly fashion dreams-come-true from the real stuff at our fingertips

Let us not float away from our center, but be lovingly grounded in the sustaining earth

Let us not rise into impermeable dimensions, but remain touchable, vulnerable and trusting.

Let us not enter a vacuous, antiseptic space, but ever glory in the sweat and tears, dirt and blood

Let us not focus on the glory of what is beyond
but be immersed in the glory of what is within and around and beside and amongst!

Amen.