Messengers

This season is one of messages and messengers - sacred conveyors, in fact. With the onset of Advent, we prepare ourselves to receive the birth of a "young and fearless Prophet of ancient Galilee." As the hymn of said title exhorts, the messenger himself is in large part the message: "Your life is still a summons to serve humanity." The Hanukkah story, which commences this year on December 1, also recalls a message of triumphant hope amidst the rubble of hopelessness.


Last week, as I feasted with family and friends, the typology of the messenger felt quite near to my heart. Suffice it to say that I found myself elaborating on my ministry at First Parish more than once. Whether reminiscing with old friends in the living room or grabbing a drink at the local bar, the mere utterance of my vocational ambitions triggered an onslaught of questions and confessions. One trip with me to a social gathering dispels any rumor of religion losing its relevance. No, people hunger for an outlet to share their spiritual yearnings and religious hang-ups. And I'm a messenger of such an invitation. 



Rabbi Abraham Heschel once noted: "Man is a messenger who forgot the message." 


In all of my conversations this past week, I wrestled with this very observation. It is so easy to lose sight of the Message behind the message. When one mother spoke of her best friend's emotional struggle to accept her son's sexuality, I heard her own longing for a community of acceptance and love. And when I responded with questions about the social support network of her friend and her friend's son, what I really wanted to say was: your friendship must mean the world to her. And then: they both need a place that will hold them in this time of vulnerability.


First Parish, I have come to believe, is where we messengers re/member the message. Where we recall our call, and where we, as members, live it out.

Mourning the Loss of Ajeet Singh Matharu

India is far away, and news travels slowly. Earlier this evening, I caught wind of a tragic car accident that killed a colleague and friend of mine this past July.


I only met Ajeet Singh Matharu once - out in California for a Sikh Studies conference at which I also presented a paper. The brevity of our relationship belies the depth of connection and inspiration I experienced with and from him. Ajeet manifested a calmness and centeredness that I rarely find. He was naturally funny, exceptionally bright, intellectually curious and genuinely warm-hearted. I felt welcome in his presence, accepted, embraced.


I can still vividly recall our first dinner with the panel of presenters. Ajeet and I huddled in the corner, throwing around and trying on different critical theorists and Sikh scholars like they were old sweaters lumped together in a pile. We had both brought our respective intellectual wardrobes, and that night I discovered a whole new style. We hypothesized, intellectualized, and laughed throughout. It was one of the best nights of my life.


Ajeet's loss is both stunning and deeply saddening. My heart breaks, my soul tears. But he will not be forgotten.


Ajeet, in all of his academic splendor, testifies to one of the greatest truths: "God is not found by intellectual or clever devices" (SGGS, 1098). As a white American struggling to fit in, Ajeet showed me the love of God. "Those who serve You are immersed in You. You unite them in Union with Yourself" (SGGS, 1060).


Thank you, Ajeet, for your life and for your friendship.

So satguru piara mere naal hay: that beloved true Guru is always with me.

It Gets Better

This video is worth your time.







It gets better. Now, let's make it better. 


Get involved individually. Get involved collectively: let the Social Action Committee know you want to help First Parish become more engaged.


Blessings.

Giving Thanks

What will you give thanks for this holiday? It's a simple question, really. But one of great magnitude and holy significance: "Rejoice always; pray without ceasing; give thanks in all circumstances" (1 Th. 5:16-18).


After having counted our blessings, we must ask ourselves: what to do with them? Give praise, yes. Perhaps even take someone aside after the Thursday meal to give them a big hug and express your gratitude for their love.


There are other ways to give thanks, as well. Like giving back. In a recent interview with ABC's Christiane Amanpour, billionaire Warren Buffett exclaimed: "I think that people at the high end, people like myself, should be paying a lot more in taxes. We have it better than we've ever had it." The vast majority of us do not have the luxury of asking the government to dip into our wallets. But the spirit of Buffett's confession - the admission that we all can find our own respective ways to help out by giving back (money, time, love) - that spirit should inspire us.


This afternoon, while grabbing a burrito at Felipe's in Harvard Square, I came upon an unshaven, disheveled man perched upon a ledge. "Can you help?" he pleaded. Slipping my hand into my pocket, I grabbed a handful of change and dumped the coins into his crumpled cup. Typically, I would have smiled and moved on, feeling quite good about my generosity. But the Spirit, for whatever reason, would not let me leave. I stood there, staring into the man's eyes, striking up a conversation. I asked him about his Thanksgiving plans, whether he would be able to feast on some turkey and gravy. He nodded. The man then explained his predicament, caught without work, unable to find an employer willing to accept his resume. "I'll get up and outta here some day." I listened deeply. And then, upon departing, we exchanged blessings. We both gave thanks for the time we had spent together.


What a small gift of great joy.


May you find time this holiday to listen and to be heard, to give love and to receive the warmth of relationship. Happy Thanksgiving.

Imagination and Empathy

Ralph Waldo Emerson would have celebrated this morning's worship, which explored three overlapping pathways to the imagination: reason, movement and artistic inspiration. He insists that 'imagination is not a talent of some people, but is the health of every person.' Indeed, each of the three lay leaders testified to the importance of imagination in maintaining the health of their spiritual lives. Whether tempered by reason's pull towards practicality, harnessed during yogic meditation or emancipated from the shackles of the mundane through artistic expression, imagination seems to open a door to the not-yet - the world of maybes and oughts that lures us towards our better selves.


In a recent New York Times article, legal ethicist Martha Nussbaum argues that "we need the imaginative ability to put ourselves in the positions of people different from ourselves." Imagination, we might say, breeds empathy, literally 'in-feeling.' Through the use of our imagination, we learn to conjugate our possible-selves (i.e. the people we could become) with the fluency that we conjugate verbs. This ability to see ourselves in different circumstances and behaving in different ways in turn helps us come to see another person's situation as less distant or incomprehensible. 


A slightly odd, but timely, example: The other night I went to the cinema to watch Vision, the German-language film chronicling the life of medieval saint and seer Hildegard von Bingen. While the plot dragged at times, the visual depiction of, and musical landscape associated with, monastic life was striking. By the end, I found myself daydreaming, my imagination spinning ascetic incarnations of myself. What would it be like to dedicate the rest of my life to prayer and monastic work (ora et labora)? What would my meals taste like? How would my body feel as I lumped myself into bed? Considering these questions, I began to paint an emotional picture of a new way-of-being. I filled in, or 'feeling-ed in,' a different life position. I can't say I have since located a monk perusing Harvard Square with whom to evaluate my newfound level of empathy! But I can say, with some confidence, that I grew in my appreciation for the quiet life - for a simpler, but by no means easier, type of existence. 


This afternoon, while facilitating the Coming of Age scavenger hunt in downtown Boston, an adult parishioner spoke about his preference for frequent reprieve from the urban bustle. "Maybe I'm just a country boy," he exclaimed. And somehow, I felt a deeper connection, a stronger resonance, with his longing for quiet and simplicity.  


Take a moment to imagine: who could you be? Who might you become? 


What fantasies has your imagination planted in your mind?


And might these possible-you's enable a healthier relationship - with yourself and with others in your life?

Thought for the Week: We imagine ourselves into empathy.