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By Rev. Terry Davis

Delivered at Northwest Unitarian Universalist

Congregation on February 3, 2013

Many years ago when I was 30, my life seemed to be on the verge of falling apart. On New Year’s Day, my husband of less than three years taped an envelope to the door of the apartment where I was living during our separation. Inside the envelope was a letter, asking me for a divorce.

In the three months leading up to my court date, I encountered a bout of depression that hit me harder than any I had ever experienced . . . and I knew I had to take action or I was going to come completely unraveled. So, I made many phone calls and two reservations. Then, less than two weeks after my divorce was final, I packed my bags, boarded a plane, and checked into a treatment center in Tucson, Arizona . . . a peaceful and beautiful place surrounded by towering Saguaro cactus in the middle of the Sonoran Desert.

It was at that treatment center in the middle of the desert, where cactus flowers were blooming and brown snakes were sunning on flat rocks, that I discovered my spiritual center. Therapy, Native American readings and rituals, hiking excursions in the Santa Catalina Mountains, and midnight treks through the moonlit valley began to heal my heart and spirit.

I returned to Atlanta 45 days later carrying that warm experience inside of me . . . ready to continue the journey I started back to myself and to the god of my understanding.

And so, in the year that followed I did a few things. I quit my soul-sucking job and started my own business. I purchased a condo in a lovely old building that was surrounded by oak trees. I returned to my abandoned practice of running outdoors. I started attending the Unitarian Universalist Congregation of Atlanta. And, one afternoon, I read a magazine article about a monastic community high in the hills of Santa Barbara, California and decided that I needed to go for a spiritual retreat.

The monks belonged to an Anglican Benedictine order. Their Santa Barbara community at the time was comprised of about 20 brothers who lived in the mountains and ran a retreat house. They were about to become my teachers, maybe even my role models. They would continue my education about and my experience of what it means to live a life where everything is holy and every action is a prayer. And, no one was more surprised at this than I was.

In our reading this morning, Kathleen Norris referred to monks – along with poets like herself – as among the best degenerates in America.^[1] Degenerates. Now, I don’t recall that being a very nice word. I typically have heard it used to describe punk rockers, alcoholics, incarcerated persons or others that society has deemed as – well – as not having their acts together.

Just to make sure I hadn’t misunderstood the term, I looked it up. “Having lost the physical, mental, and moral qualities considered normal and desirable,” read one definition. “Showing evidence of decline; to deteriorate” read another. Nowhere did I read anything that resembled Kathleen Norris’s elegant definition of degenerate monks, where she said they “have a finely developed sense of the sacred potential in all things; they recognize the transformative power hiding in the simplest things, and it leads them to commit absurd acts.”^[2]

Absurd. Another word I didn’t remember as being very nice and, thus, required another visit to the dictionary. “Wildly unreasonable, illogical, or inappropriate,” said Merriam-Webster. “Foolish and preposterous” it continued.

So, what exactly are these absurd acts of monks? For the monks at Mt. Calvary Monastery in Santa Barbara, they included the wildly unreasonable practice of daily communal and private prayer . . . the illogical activities of gardening and selling organic coffee . . . the inappropriate ritual of silence during breakfast and after sundown . . . and the foolish and preposterous commitment of working several days each week at the homeless shelter in town.

Of course these activities aren’t so absurd after all, which is Kathleen Norris’s point. Rather, this liturgical rhythm of prayer and work . . . which is the essence of the Rule of St. Benedict, the ancient book of precepts that guides Benedictine monastic life . . . it’s this balance of prayer and work that enables monastics to live both in the world and apart from it.

Monastics “[remain] out of reach of commercial manipulation and ideological justification,”^[3] writes Norris. And, yet, their focus on prayer in all its forms is not an end in itself, but a means by which they can then engage thoughtfully, compassionately, and decisively in human affairs.

It’s these characteristics of the contemplative life that have led Dr. John Carroll, professor of natural resources at the University of New Hampshire, to conclude that monastic communities – particularly those whose members are female – are where we will find persons deeply committed to healing the human spirit through healing the planet.

Carroll, author of the book Sustainability and Spirituality, argues that some of the most persistent examples or models of sustainability in the United States are to be found in the series of Benedictine, Dominican, and Franciscan women’s communities located here.

These women-led and women-inspired ecumenical communities are not only fully active in the real world with social ministries, they also, writes Carroll, “have deliberately set out on a path to ecological sustainability, interpreting such as God’s command to them, indeed to all of us.”^[4] 

Impressive, dedicated, and even absurd acts of sustainability can be found at a number of these communities . . . which is why I believe they serve as an important example for our community . . . a Unitarian Universalist community that’s dedicated to living more fully into our Seventh Principle.

And so, this morning I’d like to suggest to you that these religious women may be the role models we are seeking . . . role models that can show us what a commitment to sustainability – sustainability rooted in a deep and abiding faith and intentional spiritual practices – looks like.

By examining what these communities do and their shared characteristics and principles, we may find some clues as to how each of us and Northwest as a whole can move forward with what is a passion among us and quite possibly our ministry to the wider world.

To begin, we might first look at what these exemplary women contemplatives are doing.

According to John Carroll, who has conducted extensive research in this area, women monastics are living sustainably and advocating sustainability in many ways. They include a commitment to sustainable, organic food production for themselves and others; to developing and practicing sustainable agricultural practices; to ecological habitat design; to major energy conservation techniques; and to complete or near-complete reliance on renewable rather than nonrenewable sources of energy.

Next we might ask, “What is the nature of these women who see their spiritual life as one of living sustainably in as many ways as possible?”

Carroll writes that while they are fully Christian and vary in age, they are exceptionally non-hierarchical in theory and practice. They conduct themselves in a consensus mode of self-governance, under the ultimate supervision of a larger order elsewhere. But this “ultimate supervision,” says Carroll, “tends to be loose, informal, and distant . . . meaning that these women operate with a high degree of autonomy.”^[5]

Hmm. This strikes me as not at all unlike Unitarian Universalist congregations, who are in covenant with one another through our larger association . . . and who each make their own decisions regarding policies and practices.

Another question about these religious women might be, “What sustains their efforts?” Carroll says that while monastic women are naturally devoted to more conventional prayer and chant, these women also regard prayer as action.

Prayer as action. Again, this strikes me not at all unlike Unitarian Universalism, which promotes the importance of living our faith through acts of compassion and social justice, rather than by sharing common theological beliefs.

Prayer as action makes possible the labor necessary for these monastic communities to live ecologically – which Carroll notes is in contrast to other monastic communities who spend so many hours in chapel in conventional prayer that they don’t have enough time remaining to do the work needed to maintain land, crops, and so forth as ecology would require.^[6]

Carroll provides a window into the specific activities of a number of these monastic communities, but here are just a few examples^[7]:

• They are constructing strawbale residences and buildings, which uses straw and stucco and is considered one of the least expensive, energy efficient, and most socially-just forms of architecture available.
• They seek to obtain organic agricultural certification for the food they grow, eat, and sell and are active in organic certification organizations and movements.
• They are active participants in Community Supported Agriculture, a food production and distribution system that directly connects farmers and consumers.
• They view energy and resource wastage as sinful and are particularly committed to using solar and wind energy and practicing composting wherever possible.
• They are committed to connecting to supporting populations, such as immigrants and inner-city residents, by establishing community organic gardens for them on their properties.
• They provide education to others about sustainability, including newsletters, literature, lectures, retreats, conferences, internships, and teaching sustainable farming techniques.

And Carroll cites many more examples in his book.

It’s really a quite lengthy and impressive list. In many ways these women are as extravagant in their efforts to embrace sustainability practices as was the woman in the Gospel story referenced in the Kathleen Norris reading.

As the story goes, a woman appeared at the home of a Pharisee where Jesus was invited as a dinner guest. Upon seeing him, she fell at Jesus’s feet, she bathed them with her tears, wiped them dry with her hair, kissed them, and then extravagantly anointed them with an entire jar of heavy and expensive oil.

When the Pharisee criticized the woman for such an extravagant gesture, Jesus, in turn, reprimanded the Pharisee. “I entered your house and you gave me no water for my feet,” Jesus said, “but she has bathed my feet with her tears and dried them with her hair. You did not anoint my head with oil, but she has anointed my feet with ointment. She has shown great love.”^[8] The woman had taken action, whereas his host had offered none. Therefore, what appeared to be a wasteful act to others was, in Jesus’s eyes, an act of abundant love.

The monastic women described in Carroll’s book seem to clearly be taking extravagant action to live sustainably – extravagant action with love at its center. Yet, we might wonder how much of an impact can these small communities really expect to have on the global and colossal problem of climate change? How much good can a little group of people really do?

My friends, the answer to that question is essential to understanding not only these monastic communities, but also the raison d’etre of our entire Unitarian Universalist faith – which as you and I know is also a relatively small religion of 250,000 members worldwide.

The answer, as Kathleen Norris puts it, is this: symbolic acts matter. “Those who know the exact price of things, often don’t know the true cost of anything,” she writes.^[9]  We have no idea what impact our actions may have, what seemingly small and simple actions may have on the grand scheme of things.

Role models . . . like the woman who anointed Jesus’s feet . . . like the Benedictine brothers in California who faithfully keep an ancient rhythm of prayer and work . . . like the women who are living and breathing sustainability in tiny monastic communities . . . these role models don’t exist to solve our problems. They won’t take down what my ministerial colleague James Forbes refers to as the giants of racism, materialism, and militarism. They won’t single-handedly bring peace on earth. They alone won’t end the greenhouse effect or our dependence on fossil fuels.

No, we can’t count on role models to do any of these things by themselves, just as we can’t count on this congregation or even the entire Unitarian Universalist Association to change the world.

But here is what I believe a few amazing role models can do: they can inspire us to change . . . hundreds of us, thousands of us, even millions of us. Just think of those role models throughout history who have inspired countless men and women to do the impossible and end injustices.

Role models and their actions, therefore, aren’t the solution or even a small dent in the solution. Instead, I believe that their actions are a prayer . . . they’re a prayer for the rest of us. I believe their actions are offering the rest of us a prayer of hope and courage.

I believe that they are showing us that . . . if we put our faith at the center of everything . . . then we and all living things can achieve deliverance from harm, ruin and destruction, which is, by the way, the definition of salvation.

So, what about it? Is our faith in these role models delusional? Is it the dream of a degenerate . . . you know, someone who is in a serious state of mental decline? Would any actions Northwest might take to live more deeply our commitment to respect the interdependent web of all existence . . . would these actions be wildly unreasonable, foolish, illogical, inappropriate and preposterous?

I don’t think so. My faith in the promise of Unitarian Universalism and the passion of this community is why I’m here.

And, I see signs of hope all around us. They exist in monastic communities of women who model what it is like to radically live in connection to the earth and one’s faith.

They exist at the West Atlanta Watershed Alliance, with whom this congregation has partnered to help protect, preserve, and restore an important natural resource.

And, they exist in the passion of Northwest’s Earth Team ministry, whose members have put solar panels on this building, have instituted a carbon footprint reduction program to raise money to complete that solar array, and have enabled this congregation to achieve the UUA’s Green Sanctuary designation – the only UU congregation in Georgia so far to have this recognition.

But, we know we still have a lot to do. So, let’s keep going. And, as we go forward, may we humbly follow in the footsteps of those role models who are showing us the way. May it be so. Amen.

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By Rev. Terry Davis 

Delivered at Northwest Unitarian Universalist

Congregation on January 13, 2013

A week ago, I threw my back out. I’m not sure what I did exactly. I wasn’t looking for any trouble when I bent over and picked up that heavy box of dog food. For those of you who have had lower back issues, you may be familiar with that little rubbery snap that lets you know that something has shifted, popped, slipped, or otherwise moved in a direction that it shouldn’t have. Not a good feeling!

I’ve had back problems before. And, what’s usually called for is a change in my behavior. I have to slow down and simplify my activities, take short walks, do back exercises, and be patient with the results. These changes gradually, but eventually, bring about the healing I seek.

Now, what does that have to do with my sermon topic “Lessons from the Transcendentalists?” Only this: that these 19th-century reformers brought change and healing to an American Unitarianism that was ailing . . . a Unitarianism that was failing to respond to the needs of persons who sought a deeper and more immediate spiritual experience.

I believe the religious and social reforms the Transcendentalists sought and the practices they adopted to cultivate their own spiritual growth can provide us with powerful lessons on what it means to live deliberately and with experiences of the sacred in our everyday lives.

Before we examine the lessons that the Transcendentalists offer us, let’s first look at who they were and what they were so upset about.

The Transcendentalists were a very small, but influential group of Unitarians who were not happy at all with the way conventional Unitarianism was shaping up. As Nick and Elizabeth mentioned, Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau are the two Transcendentalists that we might know best. The Transcendentalists also included Theodore Parker, Margaret Fuller, Bronson Alcott, George Ripley, Walt Whitman, and others.

This group of influential radicals observed that 19^th century American society was becoming more industrialized, more materialistic, and more class conscious . . . and they believed that the human spirit was suffering as a result. They felt that Unitarianism’s over-emphasis on reason and intellect gave persons of faith nothing nourishing . . . nothing that would help them get in touch with that divine spark that resided within their souls.

Although they understood themselves as liberal Christians, Transcendentalists believed that God was a pantheistic presence in the world, meaning that God could be seen and felt in everything – especially in nature and in the creative arts.

Rather than use reason to understand religion, the Transcendentalists believed that persons should rely on their human emotions and intuition to experience this god-in-all. These experiences would lead persons to understand deep religious truths and inspire them to act ethically in the world and work for social justice.

In addition to being spiritual seekers, Transcendentalists were also experimenters – experimenters who were willing to challenge the status quo in the hopes of bringing about a new human society.

For example, in 1834 Transcendentalist Bronson Alcott founded the Temple School, which was a pioneer in what was later to be known as progressive education. At the Temple School, there was no corporal punishment, children were encouraged to express themselves, even on controversial subjects – and sex was mentioned in the classroom, all unheard of practices in education in that era.^[1]

Similarly, Transcendentalists George and Sophia Ripley founded Brook Farm – an experiment in communal and egalitarian living. The goal of Brook Farm was to balance work and leisure, with everyone working for the good of the community.^[2] Each member could choose to do whatever tasks he or she found most appealing, and all persons – men, women and children – were paid the same wages for their labor.

Transcendentalists could also be found leading the way in other social reforms and humanitarian causes, such as abolition, women’s rights, prison reform, advocating for the fair treatment of indigenous people. Ultimately, they awakened within Unitarianism a passion for a more individually-centered spirituality and a more justice-centered faith.

In thinking about Transcendentalism’s rich history and the challenges facing our world today, I wonder if we are in need of another spiritual awakening. In many ways, it seems that the conditions of the 19^th century are similar to those we face today.  As 21^st century Unitarian Universalists, aren’t we, too, suffering from the ills of a materialistic and commercial society? Aren’t our spirits hungry for deeper connections . . . connections that we find in nature, in the arts, and in meaningful conversations with one another? Could it be that our unique faith and leadership are needed now more than ever to end oppression and secure justice?

I think so. So, what shall we do?

I believe if we turn to the Transcendentalists – these harbingers of change – we might find some answers to set us on our way. Perhaps we can begin the way they began . . . by cultivating a spiritual life that can deeply nourish us in its simplicity and inform our actions for positive change in society.

Rev. Barry Andrews, a Unitarian Universalist minister and author of the book Thoreau as Spiritual Guide, says that the Transcendentalists called these intentional acts of cultivating spiritual growth or caring for the soul “self-culture.” According to Andrews, the Transcendentalists believed that the goal of self-culture “was to make it possible for [life’s] moments to characterize the days . . . to develop a sense of spirituality in everyday life.”^[3]

Andrews says the Transcendentalists sought self-culture in a variety of ways, but especially by looking to nature as a source of spiritual revelation.

Henry David Thoreau summed up this priority best in an entry in his journal. He wrote, “My profession is always to be on the alert to find God in nature, to know his lurking places, to attend all the oratorios, the operas in Nature . . . To watch for, describe, all the divine features which I detect in Nature.”^[4]

Other ways the Transcendentalists pursued self-culture included reading; journaling; engaging in contemplation; having conversations about philosophy, world religions, poetry, science, and mythology; and taking long, meditative walks outside.^[5] Transcendentalists tended to keep their material needs to a minimum so that they would have more time to pursue these leisure activities, which they considered critical to their spiritual growth and to their ability to contribute to positive social reform.

In thinking about these spiritual practices of the Transcendentalists and their desire to overcome the soul-crushing consequences of living in a rapidly-changing society, it has occurred to me that the Transcendentalists possessed something that perhaps many of us lack today.

They had what we would call “downtime” – time in their day that wasn’t occupied with producing or accomplishing but, rather, was set aside for more rest, for leisure, and for more contemplative activities. The Transcendentalists seemed to recognize that tending to the spirit require a roominess in one’s daily schedule that isn’t valued by our society – then or now.  Elizabeth’s children’s story about Thoreau made an excellent point about this.

The importance of intentionally creating downtime was brought to my attention in a most poignant way a few years ago. It occurred when I was working as a chaplain at a large geriatric care and nursing facility in Atlanta. As is typical of many nursing facilities, the residents’ advancing age and declining health had left many of them with nothing but downtime . . . lots of downtime and often few visitors to appease their loneliness.

There was one resident I used to visit there that I’ll call Lucille. Lucille was in her late 60s. She had long gray hair and always had a smile for me when I came by to visit her. Unlike some of the other residents’ rooms, Lucille’s was very sparsely-furnished. She had only a bed, a nightstand, an old chair for visitors, and a few framed photos of persons whose names she could no longer remember.

The first time I visited Lucille she informed me that she had been living at this nursing facility for 32 years. Quite honestly, I found that incredible, so I looked up her chart after our visit. True to Lucille’s word, she had indeed been a resident there for 32 years due to a diagnosis of schizophrenia. On my second visit, I found Lucille lying on her bed, the window blinds almost completely closed and a damp washcloth pressed to her forehead. She told me that the washcloth helped her relax, and she invited me to sit in her guest chair.

In the darkness and quiet of her room, Lucille said to me, “I’ll bet you stay pretty busy visiting people here. This is a busy place.”

“Yes, it is,” I agreed.

“Well,” she continued, “I want you to know that you can come into my room any time for some rest. We don’t have to talk. You can just come in, sit in my chair, and we can just be quiet together. You can write or read or just rest. Would you like that?”

I may have been the chaplain, but in that moment, it was Lucille who was doing the ministering. She was giving me the opportunity to take some downtime . . . something that was plentiful for her and in short supply for me. I was deeply moved by her hospitality and considerateness. I knew the kind thing to do in return was to take her up on her offer . . . and so I did.  What I didn’t know was how much those visits were about to nourish my spirit.

And, so, as the weeks went by, I would often stop by to see Lucille. Holding a washcloth on her head, she would smile and nod at me as I took a seat in her beat-up guest’s chair in the corner of her room. And there we would be, sitting together, saying nothing, but experiencing everything.

Those quiet visits with Lucille were times of spiritual growth for me. They were times when I felt connected to Lucille and to something greater than the two of us. It was a personal experience of the holy that needed no sacred texts, no rational explanations. It was immediate and powerful, just as the Transcendentalists suggested is possible.

Thinking about them now I’m reminded that downtime is indeed a precious commodity . . . and is vital if I am to cultivate the spiritual growth I seek and our hurting world needs.

And so it seems the 19^th century Transcendentalist movement is one that offers powerful opportunities for the spiritually hungry persons of today. These reformers remind us that our best opportunities to connect with the holy are right in front of us – in nature, in the arts, and in the sacred corners of quiet rooms. The Transcendentalists show us that our recovering our spiritual health requires that we intentionally make space for simple spiritual practices . . . and that the health and wholeness we seek for ourselves and our world depends on it.

So, may we go from here curious about these harbingers of change and open to the lessons they offer . . . for our sake and the sake of us all. May it be so. Amen.

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By Rev. Terry Davis 

Delivered at Northwest Unitarian Universalist

Congregation on January 6, 2013

On a cold, windy day, a solitary goldfish swims round and round in its bowl. Yellow baby spiders begin to hatch from a brown webbed shell. Snow and ice literally disappear into thin air. Nests are stirred and fall out of trees.

And, something primal is stirred, too . . . stirred among fish and fowl and arachnids and a writer . . . all of whom seek their proper habitats, proper rhythms, and proper places in the natural order of things.

I chose the passage from Pilgrim at Tinker Creek for our reading this morning because it is a reminder that our spirituality and the natural world have a powerful bond . . . a bond that is sometimes more deeply felt than understood. It’s a bond that many of us say we treasure, and yet it’s one that is deeply threatened. It’s deeply threatened by, of all things, the weather.

Weather – that topic that Author Annie Dillard says is always welcomed in her home – has become the topic of the 21^st century and one that is not always so welcomed. Weather – increasingly extreme weather, such as more powerful hurricanes, more frequent super-storms, and more scorching summer days – is the topic today that brings up bitter debates and growing fear.

I don’t need to tell you what you already know about the changing weather that is the consequence of climate change. Nor do I need to tell you about the unsustainable human behaviors that are making it so.

What I do want to tell you, which is the focus of my sermon today, is that you and I – all of us – are being called by the seen and unseen forces of nature and our own spirituality to put the two together for the welfare of all living things. As a progressive religious community, we are being invited by climate change and its life-altering consequences to live our faith more deeply than perhaps ever before.

The circumstances of these times, in fact, are demanding that we put our Unitarian Universalist Seventh Principle – the principle that compels us to respect the interdependent web of all existence – at the very center of our spiritual journey.

We are being asked to make this last UU principle first in our lives . . . to recognize that our hurting planet is in need of a solution that has an everyday, intentionally-lived, radical spirituality at its core.

What do I mean by radical spirituality? I mean only what countless religious leaders and faith traditions – including ours – have sought to inspire millions of people to do for thousands of years: that is, to live counter to a culture that puts the needs of the spirit at the bottom of its priorities.

It is the message of Jesus and of the Buddha; it is the message of Gandhi and of Martin Luther King, Jr. It is the message of the Golden Rule writ large – that we treat others as we would like to be treated: that is, other people and all other living things.

It’s the unspoken “and all living things” part of this ethic of reciprocity that is also at the heart of sustainability. Sustainability is a term that has been confusing to and distorted by many according to Dr. John Carroll, professor of natural resources at the University of New Hampshire and author of the book Sustainability and Spirituality – a book that is informing my thinking about sustainability and radical spirituality and whose concepts will find their way into several of my sermons between now and Earth Day.

According to Environmental Activist Steven Rockefeller, sustainability refers to “all the interrelated activities that promote the long-term flourishing of Earth’s human and ecological communities.”^[1]

Sustainability, says John Carroll, requires far more from us than “cheap and superficial measures”^[2] such as those commonly taken by our agriculture, food, and energy industries. True sustainability requires a deep change in our most cherished fundamental values.

Which is why, he argues, genuine sustainability must be motivated by a spiritual conversion, a type of spirituality that is radically different than what we’ve experienced and practiced before. It’s a deep spirituality that promises to transform self and society thoroughly as we become awakened in a new and more urgent way to what it means to live in right relationship with all living things.

Spiritually-based sustainable living, writes Carroll:

“is an endless dance of reason and faith. Reason without faith succumbs to pride, arrogance, hubris, and all that that brings with it, while faith without reason denies humanity, denies who we are as human beings. Sustainability [therefore] without attention to Mystery, Spirit, and Spirituality is a dead-end street, for it ignores who we are.”^[3]

This dance . . . this necessary tension between reason and faith . . . is the dynamic that Carroll and others believe holds the key to creating a new ecological value system in our world.

On the one hand, reason helps us understand the laws of Nature and what is happening to our planet; it’s what uncovers the clear, unemotional facts of how we’re contributing to our planet’s demise. Faith, on the other hand, keeps our eye on the prize – the prize of an earth where lives and living systems are in harmony . . . an earth where, as Annie Dillard says, “things are well in their place.”^[4]

Faith is what enables us to “progress toward a sense of our origins”^[5] – origins that are as mysterious as a goldfish swimming in his bowl in search of deeper, warmer water . . . as primal as dim, fatted chickens trying to fly south for the winter . . . and as quick and kicking as a terrific tailwind that is also the breath of life.

I believe that to live in this tension of faith and reason is to live with wisdom and maturity. And radical spirituality, it seems, calls precisely for both . . . it calls for a wisdom and maturity that balances our individual needs with the needs of all existence.

I, for one, don’t believe that radical spirituality is about extreme asceticism, about punishing self-abnegation, or about obnoxious evangelicalism. Rather, I believe it’s a way of experiencing a connection to the sacred in everything we do . . . a connection made more possible by a moderate, simple, and ecologically-centered life.

Can this sort of radical spirituality just “happen” like some sort of true religious conversion experience? Or, can it be cultivated through education and practices? I believe that it’s a little of both.

For instance, my guess is that all of us can think of times in our lives when we have had a conversion experience – an “ah ha” moment that shifted our values and changed our thoughts and actions forever.

One of mine came during a visit to a quaint little restaurant in The Cotswolds, a bucolic area of England known for its lush, rolling hills and sheep farms. As Gail and I and our friend Larry were at our table waiting for our meals to arrive, I glanced out of the window. In the distance were sheep grazing peacefully on a green meadow. The sun was slanted low in the sky. It was a lovely scene. And, at that exact moment, our waitress plunked down in front of me my dinner order – a steaming and aromatic bowl of lamb stew.

With no warning whatsoever, my conversion experience was upon me. It was a clear voice within that simply said, “You can’t eat that. It’s not right.”

That was in 2004. Beyond my “I can’t eat baby animals” awareness, I’ve since discovered many more reasons why eating lamb or beef or pork can never again be part of my diet. I’m still hopeful that I will find the will to eventually give up all animal meat. I consider this part of my journey towards living counter-culturally, living guided by radical spirituality.

Now, as to whether radical spirituality can be learned, American psychologist William James is one who believes that it can. He says that many of us have spiritual awakenings that develop slowly over time. He calls them conversions of the “̔educational variety.”^[6]

So, trusting that I can cultivate the deep awareness John Carroll argues is necessary to bring serious solutions to the problem of climate change . . .  and assuming that I’m in for a few more “ah ha” moments regarding sustainability and my own deeper appreciation of my connection to all living things . . . where might be the next step in my journey towards radical spirituality?

I have decided to start where John Carroll in his book starts. And, that is with understanding four basic principles of ecology as outlined by American biologist Barry Commoner.[7]

These foundational principles may be familiar to some of you, but they were new to me. And, they seemed worth mentioning this morning as a place from which to begin framing the discussion of sustainability and spirituality that we will be having after this service and in the coming months.

Carroll lists these principles as follows:

First – everything is connected to, related to, interconnected to, and interrelated with, every other thing. We are situated in an interdependent, entangled order. We and all things are embedded in a context within the universe. As Catholic priest and eco-theologian Thomas Berry points out, only the universe itself is a text without a context.

Second – Nature knows best. By Nature, this means one that is fully inclusive of all humanity. “Nature knows best” is not about nature worship but, rather, nature as a source of revelation – revelation about the Divine and about ourselves.

Third – everything must go somewhere. This principle is essentially a take on the adage “what goes around, comes around.” There is no such place as “away.” If you think you threw something away, you likely threw it in someone else’s backyard. And, there is no such thing as waste. Everything has a role, has a job to do, everything fits into the larger picture.

Fourth – there is no such thing as a free lunch. This means that any attitude that supports taking advantage of some other person, of the natural ecosystem, or of future generations violates ecological principle and imposes a cost. There are no bargains.

Carroll says that to recognize these four principles in our everyday lives, “is to understand [that it’s] possible to think ecologically, to be governed daily by an ecological mindset or frame of reference.”^[8]

For me, these principles are forming the building blocks of my conversion experience . . . the deep change that he says is necessary for me to understand and begin my journey towards contributing to true sustainability.

And so it seems that radical spirituality ultimately requires that we pay attention . . . that we pay close attention to everything around us – to fish swimming around in circles; to fowl flapping for the south; to translucent spiders that spill from cocoons; to the terrific tailwind that blows nests out of trees; and to fleet and fleeting urgings in our souls.

Radical spirituality is about living in concert with everything and knowing that our spiritual, emotional and physical well-being depends on all things being well in their place.

May we go forward this day ready to grow with this knowledge and deepen our faith. May it be so. Amen.