Sermon delivered at the Church of St John the Evangelist
Stewardship Sunday - October 1995
You may gather that I'm trying to make a point by wearing a sari this morning. Bear with me, and I'll tell you how I came to be witnessing in a Christian church, dressed as a Hindu.
I was baptized and raised as a Roman Catholic, but from the late 1960s on, described myself as a card-carrying atheist. I was seriously opposed on principle to all things religious . . . and I reserved particular venom for Christianity and for the Christian God who had apparently abandoned me.
In 1984 and 1985, I became deeply interested in Eastern spiritual practices, and in Hinduism; in April of 1985, I became a disciple of an Indian teacher. In the West, we draw distinctions between theology and philosophy and physical health and getting through the day. We have a special word, "religion," which refers to things which are about God. There is no such word in Hindi or in Sanskrit, since it is simply inconceivable that there could be anything about anything which would not also be about God.
In 1987, my friend Jennifer suggested that I might enjoy visiting her parish. At first, I came to St. John's as a skeptical and cynical visitor. I kept coming back for several reasons . . . first, because I found God here, in a way I thought possible only via an eastern path. Perhaps equally important, I visited again because I found something here I had not known, or had forgotten over the years . . . what it means to truly live the gospel, to find Christ in living and in dying, in fellowship and in loneliness, in prayer and in sexuality and in problems and in joy and in anger. Spiritual work in the Eastern traditions is often interior and solitary . . . there is a maxim that you cannot save others who are drowning until you yourself have learned to swim. Here at St. John's, I found a community which took the dictate "Love one another" very seriously indeed. If others are drowning, physically or emotionally or spiritually, this is no time for swimming lessons… Yell for help! Grab a rope! Do everything you can . . . and do it now. This sense that "we're all in this together" pervades this community, transcending differences of lifestyle and income and even faith. There is a saying . . . when we teach a child not to step on a caterpillar, it is as good for the child as it is for the caterpillar. When a body begins to understand that its boundaries are illusory, and that there is room enough, and nurturing enough, for all, and all are welcome... it is as good for the body as it is for those who might otherwise have been excluded.
Please do not get the impression that some years ago I just arrived at St. John's, felt right at home, joined right in. Not so at all. To say that I was less than comfortable here understates the situation considerably. I continually questioned whether I wanted to be here, and why. I was not at all sure I belonged. I was trying to unravel my complicated feelings about Christianity, both emotionally and intellectually. Richard and Jennifer were endlessly patient with my endless questioning. They just kept reassuring me that I was in a safe place with them and with their church and with this community. So I kept coming back .. . but also kept the faith and the community at arm's length. I drew limits for myself. First, I just worked on remaining in the church through the entire liturgy . . . and for some months, that was quite hard enough. I sat in a back pew and listened and watched and kept quiet, and bolted out the front door immediately after the liturgy. But then it started to feel O.K. to sing a little. Then some of the prayers started to seem familiar and even comfortable. After a year of tiny, tentative steps toward involvement in worship here, I finally felt comfortable sharing communion at your table.
Then it was pointed out to me that since I was now attending regularly, and putting small sums of money into the basket regularly, it would be helpful to the church if I would pledge my tiny offering so that my contribution could be included in planning for the next year. Pledging felt too much like "joining" my first year here… I wanted to avoid any hint of commitment to the parish! By the second year, I understood that I did not need to "join" in order to belong… and I finally got my own little envelopes. By then, my self-imposed limits around participation were receding rapidly. One of the last limits involved my assertion that I would do anything at St. John's which did not require my wearing an alb, an act which seemed altogether too Christian for my Hindu self. But then I became friends with Karl. When Karl died, I wore an alb for the first time so that I could carry a torch the night we received his body here at the church.
I wear my Hindu prayer beads all the time. I am open about my strong ties to Hinduism. Even so, as I began to get to know some people here at St. John's, I felt a bit like an imposter . . . waiting for a heavy hand to land on my shoulder while a loud voice said "You don't really belong here, you know." But every time I tried to talk to members of this community about how I didn't really belong here because I wasn't really a Christian, they all just told me not to worry... of course it was fine for me to be here.
In a wonderful sermon several years ago, Jennifer preached about the tree of heaven which is big enough for all the birds of heaven . . . even the odd ducks. Some people fly into St. John's seeking God, or community, or peace . . . and rest here for just a minute, leaving before we've even learned their names. For others, St. John's offers a haven... a branch to rest on, out of the rain, with nourishment and support for the eventual continuation of the journey. For some, the haven becomes safe enough for a nest, and St. John's becomes, in a very real way, home.
When I first found Hinduism, I thought I loved it because it was so different from Christianity. After I came to St. John's, as I prayed and meditated and tried to integrate these very different spiritual practices and traditions, the differences became less distinct. The three ash marks on my forehead remind me that the Holy One is creator, sustainer, and transformer... not so very different, after all. I still struggle with theological questions... but when I can quiet my mind, and listen to my heart, I find myself nurtured and content here. I am most grateful to have found a safe haven in which to reestablish diplomatic relations with Christianity. I am grateful to have found a place where diversity is not merely tolerated, but welcomed. And I am profoundly grateful to have found a Western Christian community where we almost do not need a separate word for religion... because it is inconceivable that anything about anything would not also be about God.
In India, the word "namaste'" is used for both greeting and farewell… Namaste means "I bow to you. I honor you. I honor the divinity which I see shining in and through you." And I do honor all of you here at St. John's. Namaste.
