Into the Mystic

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By Rev. Terry Davis

Delivered at Northwest Unitarian Universalist

Congregation on April 28, 2013

In my eight months here at Northwest, I have shared openly about some personal aspects of my life. You know about a few of my struggles and triumphs, and we’ve been getting to know each other.

But there is something I haven’t shared with you yet. And, thinking about this morning’s sermon topic, now seems like a good time to bring it up: I am a Trekkie.

No, I don’t have my own personal costume of my favorite Star Trek character. I have never been to a Dragon Con or Comic Con event where Trekkies tend to gather to share memories and memorabilia. And, I know there are more devoted fans of the television show Star Trek than I am (fans who prefer the more serious term “Trekker” to “Trekkie”).

Nevertheless, I will claim the label Trekkie because I have watched countless episodes of Star Trek since my childhood, starting with the original series in the 1960s, as well as the many new Star Trek series that came along over the years. And, in true Trekkie form, I have never grown tired of the reruns.

Now, while Captain Jean Luc Picard and his crew members in the series The Next Generation are probably my favorite characters in the franchise, the setting for the series Deep Space Nine is the most intriguing to me.

As some of you may recall, Deep Space Nine was the name of a space station strategically located near the portal of a newly-discovered wormhole in the Milky Way galaxy. Now, this wormhole was an important passage to the unexplored Gamma Quadrant, a section of the Milky Way that was, oh, about 70,000 light years away. An assortment of galactic explorers, interstellar traders and others who were traveling back and forth through the wormhole stopped at Deep Space Nine to rest, refuel and stir up a few conflicts.^[1] You might say that Deep Space Nine was sort of the Howard Johnsons of outer space.

The opening sequence to the series features a computer-generated spaceship leaving Deep Space Nine. Flying through the darkness, the ship suddenly encounters an enormous portal that opens up out of nowhere. The spaceship then disappears into the portal, leaving the viewer to imagine that ship is traveling through the wormhole and is destined for new adventures in the unknown reaches of the galaxy.

The existence of portals and wormholes that lead to somewhere else in space and time is something that many scientists have argued is real, including Albert Einstein. I find it a thrilling possibility to consider.

Metaphorically speaking, I believe that portals and wormholes also exist in our personal lives. These passages can lead us to experiences that invite us into the mystic, which is the topic of my sermon today. They are the tunnels and byways that move us to a different and deeper kind of awareness . . . journeys of our mind and spirit where time and space seem nonexistent and we may feel as though we have connected to something much larger than ourselves.

These passages may transport us, perhaps to a place where we experience a deep sense of inner peace. Or, they may take us directly into our sense of wonder and awe in a deeply profound way.

I imagine that people like us – Unitarian Universalists who often have unique and varied ways of understanding what is most sacred – I imagine that most of us know where to go to find the wormholes in our lives. We know where to steer our spaceship, so to speak.

We know that wormholes into the mystic, for example, can be found in our walks in the woods or along the beach. We may find them in the morning on the golf course or in the afternoon with our paints and canvas.

They might be in the resonance of played piano keys or vibrating guitar strings . . . or in the rhythm of knitting needles looping yarn, of sandpaper smoothing wood or of folding towels warm out of the dryer.

These and so many other activities that involve nature, the arts or some simple physical activity on our part have a way of serving as our passage to that mystic place that nourishes our spirits and increases our sense of well-being.

So, when it comes to going into the mystic, it seems to me that the challenge is not where to find the passage. Rather, the challenge is making the time to linger at its entry point. Like those galactic explorers of the Milky Way, we have to slow down our hurried travels. We need to stop at the way station along the way and allow ourselves to linger for an hour, an afternoon or even a day or two to rest and refuel.

We need the clear calendar, the mindless moment, the do-nothing day. We need regular downtime so that we can engage in those simple hobbies and habits that replenish us . . . that can make us feel as though we have traveled 70,000 light years back to ourselves in an instant.

I know I’m not saying anything new here about the need for downtime. But why do so many of us – including me – find making room for it so difficult?

In his article “What Happened to Downtime? The Extinction of Deep Thinking & Sacred Space,” writer Scott Belsky suggests that the reason we distract ourselves with e-mail, the Internet, people and activities is because we are actually afraid of downtime and the sacred space it creates.

“Space is scary,” he writes. “During these temporary voids of distraction, our minds [can] return to the uncertainties and fears that plague us all.”^[2] Belsky, who is a creative technical consultant and no Luddite, argues that it’s not our iPhones and Facebook that are the problem; it’s our inability to face life without the reassurance of constant activity and data. To get to our wormholes and into the mystic, it seems, we have to take a break from being so busy. So, how do we do this?

One suggestion that Belsky makes is that we rediscover the meaning of Sabbath. He makes a specific reference to a contemporary Sabbath movement known as the Sabbath Manifesto. The Sabbath Manifesto is a creative project that is designed to slow down lives in an increasingly hectic world. It was created by a group of Jewish artists in search of a modern way to observe a weekly day of rest. They are all members of Reboot, a non-profit group designed to “reboot” the cultures, traditions and rituals of Jewish life.^[3]

According to their website, these Jewish writers, filmmakers and media professionals who developed the Sabbath Manifesto are not particularly religious. Rather, they say that they “felt a collective need to fight back against our increasingly fast-paced way of living. The idea is to take time off, deadlines and paperwork be damned” they declare.^[4]

Members of the Sabbath Manifesto have developed ten core principles that they observe one day per week, from sunrise to sunset. They’re simple practices, with the intention of getting themselves to slow down, to stop the busyness and to get back in touch with the sacred rhythm of simple things. The ten principles of the Sabbath Manifesto are:

Avoid technology.

Connect with loved ones.

Nurture your health.

Get outside.

Avoid commerce.

Light candles.

Drink wine.

Eat bread.

Find silence.

And give to others.

These strike me as lovely acts of self-care. Individually, each seems simple enough. Yet, taken together, I’m aware that they could possibly create a seismic shift in my external and internal worlds. I believe they could slow me down in a way that would make it easier to pursue my wormholes and go into the mystic.

In reflecting on these principles, I think I had what I will call an accidental Sabbath the other day. There was a technical glitch in my Smart Phone that made it impossible for me to make calls, send texts and e-mails for one solid day. Now, I’ll admit that I carry my phone everywhere with me and have been known to check and send e-mails while stopped at a traffic light, in the bathroom and even while lying in bed. So, not being able to use my phone for a day was a very big deal.

Well, it was in the morning when I discovered this problem and it was my day off, so I tried not to fret about it. Instead, I put my phone down and decided to do something I hadn’t done in a long time: I decided to make French Toast.

And, a few minutes later, as I stood at the kitchen counter, slowly blending eggs and milk together in a bowl with a fork, I looked up and gazed mindlessly out of the window over the sink. On the tree just outside, I saw a large Brown Thrasher sitting on a branch.

I noticed its reddish feathers and brightly streaked chest. Thrashers are also known have the largest song repertoire of any North American bird, with at least over 1,100 song chants. And this one was singing its heart out, while I was beating my eggs and milk.

We both went on like that for what seemed to be an infinite minute . . . the bird sweetly chirping and me lightly beating. I felt so taken into the moment, I could have stood staring out of the window indefinitely. But, then the Thrasher flew away and my egg milk was ready for the first slice of bread. My journey through the wormhole was complete.

Now, it wouldn’t have occurred to me that a disabled Smart Phone would lead the way to French Toast, a Brown Thrasher and passage into the mystic . . . but there it was. This accidental Sabbath and the downtime it created were the necessary elements to bring me to the entry point. I don’t believe there was any other way to get there.

Singer/songwriter Van Morrison, whose saxophone solo from his song “Into the Mystic” was hard to keep out of my head the entire time I was writing this sermon, seems to understand the mystic as something transcendent, or happening outside of himself.  He writes:

We were born before the wind
Also younger than the sun
Ere the bonnie boat was won
As we sailed into the mystic

Hark, now hear the sailors cry
Smell the sea and feel the sky
Let your soul and spirit fly
Into the mystic

Interestingly, a BBC survey revealed this Van Morrison song as among the most listened to by doctors as they operated on their patients.^[5]  I’d like to think it’s because the song and its imagery of sailing into the mystic brings about a sense of release and ease.

Unlike Morrison’s understanding of going into the mystic as a transcendent experience, in Nick’s reflection this morning, he talked about a mystical experience as something immanent . . .  meaning that it’s something he feels happens inside of him. He says his mystical experiences allow him to traverse the geography of his own mind and to see the world he lives in in new ways.

Whether we understand traveling into the mystic as happening inside or outside of us, it seems to me that we all might benefit from the transformative experience it offers us.

I believe that the portals and wormholes that will help take us there are all around us. We need only to find our Sabbath – that way station in our busy lives – and stop in regularly to rest and refuel. From there, we can engage in those activities that bring us closer to Nature and the arts and in sync with the gentle rhythms of our bodies.

It’s my hope that, when we do, we’ll find our passage into the mystic easily and often. And, ultimately, we will experience a greater sense of connection and well-being that is the promise and blessing of life lived simply and mindfully.

May it be so, for you and for me. Amen.