by Rev. Terry Davis
Delivered to Northwest Unitarian Universalist Congregation on September 8 2013
This past Wednesday afternoon, driving with our friends Denis and Jay through a windswept mountain valley, we all saw something that made us shout for Jay to stop the rental car. Jay hurriedly pulled our SUV to the side of the winding road and turned off the engine. After hesitating briefly out of fear of ruining a rare moment, I gingerly got out of the backseat and joined my traveling companions who were now standing quietly together on the shoulder.
As I peered in the direction of Gail’s pointing finger, there tucked deep within the wild and thorny berry bushes that were growing along the road’s edge, the soft brown face of a very young black bear gazed quietly back at me.
A stopped car on this scenic route in Waterton National Park in Alberta, Canada usually means a bear, moose or elk sighting. So, it wasn’t long before our lone vehicle attracted a parking lot of others, with their passengers eager to see whatever it was we were seeing. After tolerating our gawking for a few minutes, the bear cub finally gave a little grunt. Then, still mostly hidden by the greenery, he wiggled away from the road’s edge and down the embankment, where we had also spied his significantly larger mother below feasting on the red and purple berries.
Close encounters with mostly unseen wild animals are thrilling for me. They fill me with a sense of wonder, which one definition I found describes as that feeling of surprise mingled with admiration in response to something beautiful, unexpected, unfamiliar or inexplicable.[1]
As we all stood there trying to see that fuzzy baby bear, I must admit that, in addition to wonder, I also felt a little guilty. I felt guilty as more and more people stopped their cars and joined us to peer into the thick bramble, likely trying to connect with their own sense of wonder. Our private moment with a cub in the berry bushes was no longer so private, and the question “At whose expense am I satisfying my curiosity?” crossed my mind.
As the crowd increased, the young bear grew very still in the bushes. I imagine he may have been frightened by the growing number of staring faces and the rising din of snapping camera shutters. And, while I would have selfishly liked a few more minutes with the small cub, I felt a sense of relief when he finally decided he had enough and scampered off down the hill.
This contact with a young bear and all the hope and wonder it symbolizes was a reminder that my stated desire of wanting to make the world a better place for all living things means little if it’s not matched by my actions. While driving and hiking in a beautiful part of the natural world this past week was a wonder-full experience, I also couldn’t help but notice that an invitation also laid waiting among the berry brambles, the bears and the barely-there mountaintop glaciers. It was an invitation to read between the lines . . . to look past the beauty and mystery and see the precariousness there.
And, as I read between the lines and contemplated the fragility of what I was seeing and experiencing, I realized that this moment was also urging me to once again to take stock of my own life. It was inviting me to see if my actions were matching up with my professed values of sustainability and mindful living. It planted the seed of discomfort . . . a seed that got me thinking about ways I might live with greater intentionality and integrity.
Just as that little black bear cub caused me to stop and think, I imagine all of us have moments when life is calling us to read between the lines and examine our actions more closely. I believe we can use these times of examination and reflection to see what our actions – or non-action – are saying about who we are and what we value.
And, once having made an honest appraisal of ourselves, I believe we can be as intentional about making a new decision and following through on it as we might be about any new practice that we know has the potential to change us for the better. Ultimately, I believe it is the action we take – more so than the outcomes that result – that have the ability to transform us and help us live more in harmony with ourselves and others.
The excerpt Tony read this morning from the Bhagavad Gita offers us one way of thinking about what it means to take action in our lives. This ancient Hindu sacred text, which some scholars believe dates back to the 5th century BCE, is part of an epic poem about a war between two royal families in Northern India. One family is led by the virtuous Prince Arjuna and the other is comprised of his evil cousins.
The Bhagavad Gita takes place on a battlefield at the beginning of the war. Prince Arjuna instructs his chariot driver Krishna to take him into the open space between the two armies. Arjuna becomes so overwhelmed with the thought of the imminent death of so many brave warriors on both sides, that he lays down his weapons and refuses to fight.[2]
Krishna, who is understood to be God incarnate, uses Arjuna’s moment of self-reflection and despair to begin to teach him about life and death, and about moral and spiritual principles. In the excerpt we heard, Krishna is attempting to gently instruct Arjuna in the importance of taking action. He says:
 Do any actions you must do, since action is better than inaction; even
the existence of your body depends on necessary actions.
The whole world becomes a slave to its own activity, Arjuna; if you
want to be truly free, perform all actions as worship.[3]
How might we understand these words? We might first begin by thinking about what it means to be a slave to some activity . . . something that, perhaps, we began doing innocently enough, but now its demands on our time, energy and other resources seem to possess us.
For some of us, this may be a job that has taken over our lives and left us with little downtime for family or ourselves. Or it may be a favor that we extended to someone we care about that has turned into more giving and more self-sacrifice than we bargained for.
For others, it may be a relationship that has needed to end for some time, but we can’t seem to walk away from it. Or, it can be some self-defeating habit that we can’t muster the courage to change that leaves us feeling discouraged and even hopeless and causes pain for others.
These may be some of the ways we have become a slave to our own activity – or lack of it.
There is a saying that goes “Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.” I thought of this expression when I thought about being a slave to my own activity. It’s as if I’m creating my own brokenness and bondage when I repeat behaviors that clearly aren’t working.
Krishna suggests that the way to break free of this bondage is to perform all actions as worship. What does he mean by that? Well, it seems to me that one way to think of this is to return to the root meaning of the word worship in order to bring a new understanding of it to our lives.
Worship simply means to give worth to something, to bestow it with honor or special meaning. If I was to think of all of my actions as something that I held in high esteem . . . something that added worth and honor to my life and the lives of others . . . how might that change what I do or don’t do?
My thoughts go back to those mountains in Montana and Canada that I visited last week. I saw much beauty there and I also saw things that disturbed me. I saw shrinking mountaintop glaciers that scientists say will last another 17 years at best. I saw mountainsides covered with Lodgepole Pines – nearly all of them dead and standing frightfully bare. And, I saw that little bear cub and I wondered why his mother only had one with her – not two or three, which is typical of bear litters.
I thought about all these things in the days that followed and on the plane ride home. And, I asked myself, “Where am I a slave to my own activity?” and “How does this slavery interfere with my ability to take worthy action that reflects my values?”
One answer came back easily and painfully: I continue to be a slave to my own creature comforts. There is still much I can do with respect to my own use of precious natural resources.
Am I willing, for example, to get back on the horse and try the carbon diet program that was introduced at Northwest earlier this year? Can I contribute to Northwest’s carbon footprint reduction program to offset some of that jet fuel I burned just to get myself to the Glacier Mountains? These actions can be forms of worship for me just as much – or more so – than any words I might write or say.
Krishna tells Prince Arjuna that while action – even action done badly – is better than inaction, it’s also best not to be invested in the outcome. He says:
Though the unwise cling to their actions, watching for results,
the wise are free of attachments, and act for the well-being of
the whole world.[4]
As I was writing this sermon and reflecting on these words, it was hard for me not to think about the vote facing our U.S. Senate next week on whether or not to attack Syria in retribution for using chemical weapons against its people.
Is this a time for action by our government? Will this decision have the well-being of the whole world at heart? What is at stake for us by punishing Syria for its horrific actions? And, what do we risk by inaction?
In an essay about the Bhagavad Gita, Gandhi believed that a devotee to the Gita’s teachings would easily see that violence for any reason could not be justified because it usually carried with it a desired outcome. He believed that “renunciation of the fruits of actions” – an expression he used to mean taking action that rejects a reward or payback of any kind – was the core message of the Gita.[5] Gandhi wrote:
I have felt that in trying to enforce in one’s life the central teaching of the Gita, one is bound to follow truth and [nonviolence]. When there is no desire for fruit, there is no temptation for untruth or [violence].Take any instance of untruth or violence, and it will be found that behind it was the desire to attain the cherished end.
He continued:
Let it be granted that, according to the letter of the Gita, it is possible to say that warfare is consistent with the renunciation of fruit. But after forty years’ unremitting endeavor fully to enforce the teaching of the Gita in my own life, I have in all humility felt that perfect renunciation is impossible without perfect observance of nonviolence in every shape and form.[6]
What I take from Gandhi’s words is this: whatever I value I must put into action. If I value nonviolence, I must act without violence. If I claim I value the natural beauty and resources of our planet, then I must strive to act in ways that match my claim. If I value a long-term relationship with my partner and family, then I have an opportunity to put this value into action by giving them more of my time and patient understanding.
As we go from here, may we find the courage to look at how our lives may or may not be in sync with our values. May we be willing to read between the lines, honestly admit what may be out of whack with ourselves and our relationship to the wider world, and humbly begin the process of taking new action in our lives.
And, as we take this action, may we let go of the outcomes, trusting that if the process has a larger good at its center, than we, too, will experience well-being and peace. May it be so for you and me.
Amen.