Chalice Lighting by Ashley Armstrong
For two months I took a bath twice a week out of a bucket, I was forced to speak a foreign language, I went without seeing my family, and I was pushed as far out of my comfort zone as I thought possible. This past summer I lived with a family in Nuevo Zoquiapam, a small village in Oaxaca, Mexico. I was there through the volunteer program Amigos de Las Americas with just one other volunteer. Our supervisor came once a week and the rest of the time we had to figure things out for ourselves. Our purpose for being there was to teach technology classes on how to use computers and the Internet, but I had never had any experience teaching before. Before I went on the trip, I knew that it would be a life-changing experience, but I never knew what the extent of my transformation would be.
From the beginning, I felt overwhelmed. I had been put in a pilot program designed for college students and there I was, a high school student who had only been out of the country once before and who had never been away from my family for more than two weeks. On top of this, I wasn’t very comfortable with the Spanish language, I had an extremely hard time working with my partner and our project was slowly dying before our eyes since there was no electricity running to the computer lab in our town.
All of the hardships I went through, however, didn’t stop me. I came out stronger than I had ever imagined. I learned how to work with someone that I didn’t get along with, how to improvise, how to be a teacher, and how to take a chance. Not to mention, I made a long-lasting bond with my host family and with the people of Nuevo Zoquiapam. In the end my students created an awe-inspiring Power Point presentation documenting the culture and the native language of Nuevo Zoquiapam.
Before I went on this trip, I was not very confident and I did not like to step outside of my comfort zone. When I first got to Nuevo Zoquiapam I kept up with my old habits; I made my partner do most of the talking, I didn’t like to do anything alone, and I never talked much while we were teaching. But, during the last week, my growth became apparent. My partner came down with an intestinal infection and was very sick. But, we had things to get done so I had to do them. That day that she was sick I held a very productive class by myself, I found a place to eat the next day for breakfast and lunch, I ate at the house of one of our students all by myself, and I held a meeting with the mothers of the community. At that moment, I realized that I really do have the potential to do anything; I just need to have initiative and not fear feeling a little awkward. I feel like I have changed immensely and my eyes have been opened to a completely different way of life. So today I light this chalice for those who may find themselves in an unknown place but are able to appreciate change and grow from the experience.
Reading
The Summer Day by Mary Oliver
Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean—
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down—
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
Sermon
When you thought about being lost during our time of silence, where did your mind go? And when you imagined being lost, how did it feel? Was it frightening? Did it feel exciting? Was it perhaps even peaceful, the kind of solitude we feel when we have lost ourselves in something we enjoy?
Some ways of being lost are terrifying. There is being completely lost in the whiteout of a blizzard. That kind of lost can be life threatening. A child who has lost her mother in a crowded mall is simply scared to death. And I can only begin to imagine the horrible sense of frightening disorientation that comes with a disease like Alzheimer’s.
Today, though, I want to explore other ways of being lost. I want to explore ways of getting lost that help us see ourselves in a new way, help us to experience life in ways that help us to change and to grow.
As I thought about being lost, I remembered backpacking with my wife Phyllis in the Trinity Alps of northern California. Of course, we had topographical maps. We planned a route that took a week and that crisscrossed over mountain passes.
I recall one day that we were in a particularly remote area on a trail that was little used. The trail was so little used that it was difficult to follow. Finally, as it entered a meadow, it disappeared. It was one of those times when you are not really completely lost, but you don’t really know where you are. We looked at the map to try to determine where we might be. We checked the compass (this is long before GPS). We looked at the mountains. We looked back at the map. We figured out more or less where we were. We looked far ahead and took our best guess at where the trail would need to cross the high ridge a few miles in the distance.
The next couple of hours were exhilarating. I paid attention to my surroundings with a new focus, a heightened intensity. With no trail to follow, we needed to find the best way across the talus and scree. We had to find a way across meadows that avoided the bogs. Steadily we made our way, heading for what looked like saddle in the range ahead. Going cross country like that you have to look far ahead, and you also have to pay attention to the footing at every step. Following a trail you only have to be sure you don’t step on a root or a stone that might twist an ankle. Without a trail, you really have to pay attention every step of the way.
Eventually we came upon the trail. It was a relief. I felt a sense of accomplishment. Yet there was just a touch of disappointment, too. Hiking cross country, uncertain of where we were, had been fun. It was exciting. It was an adventure. We had to deal with unanticipated challenges. Our senses had to be alert. We had to make dozens of decisions along the way.
Looking back, getting lost was the best part of the trip.
Now, I don’t relish the thought of being really, really lost in the mountains. I can imagine being in the mountains without any map, without a compass, in a fog. I can imagine not having any clue where I am or which direction is north. That would be terrifying and dangerous. But getting a little lost is a good thing. Getting a little lost is essential.
The great irony is that unless you and I get a little lost now and then, we run the risk of being truly lost. It is when we get a little lost that we find our selves. Unless we get a little lost we forget to stop and look around. It is too easy to persist in taking step after step on whatever trail we are following.
All the great religious traditions recognize the value of getting lost. The great heroes of the major traditions got lost before they truly found themselves. Jesus found it necessary to go off alone to the wilderness. The prophet Mohammed experienced his visions when he retreated to a cave on Mount Hira. The Buddha left his opulent home and wandered before he found enlightenment in meditation. In the well known native American practice of vision quests, the person seeking the vision goes off alone.
There is a common teaching to all of humanity’s great religious traditions: they all teach us to get lost. They say it in different ways, but the message is the same. In order to find ourselves, we need to get lost. There is another, less obvious message in these traditions: unless you and I get lost, we are lost.
There is another lesson contained in the teachings of all the great traditions: after we get lost, we find our way back. And when we return, we are changed. The Buddha could have attained enlightenment and spent his remaining years in blissful meditation. Instead, he came back as a teacher. Jesus would returned from his wandering in the wilderness to take up the burden of his ministry. The Native American returns from a vision quest to the community. Getting lost is never intended as a permanent condition. We get lost in order to return, but to return changed by what we have experienced.
Now, I don’t suppose any of us is going to found a major religious movement. That is just as well. We seem to have more than enough religious traditions already. Yet just like Mohammed or the Buddha or a someone on a vision quest, you and I need to break away from the familiar.
The challenge for us today is to find a way to get a little lost now and then. Most of us are pretty good at following the trail. The real danger for me, and I expect the real danger for most of us, is that we just keep on tramping down the same trail, putting one foot in front of the other, day after day, month after month, year after year. We have our routines. We have our responsibilities. We have our to do lists. We have our appoint books and electronic calendars that lay out a path before us.
We need to remind ourselves to get lost. We need to step off the trail. There are so many ways to get lost for a while. It need not be a big deal. In fact, we don’t really have to go anywhere to get lost. Getting lost is a state of mind, not geographical condition. We don’t have to wander in the Himalayas. We don’t have to lock ourselves away in a monastery.
Think of all the simple ways we have to get lost.
We can get lost in a good book. Imagine getting lost in a book that takes us into new realms. Maybe it is a book of poetry. Maybe it is a novel translated from another language that opens us to entirely new ways of seeing the world. Perhaps it is a classic we always have meant to read. It could even be a book about scientific discovery.
We can get lost in an art museum, taking the time to really take in some sculpture or paintings. We don’t have to go to New York or Paris or Rome. There is much to see in Golden, Denver, Boulder and Taos.
I love to lose myself in a piece of music, taking time to really listen, exploring some performer or composer that is new to me. A couple of nights ago I turned out all the lights and lost myself in Miles Davis’s album Kind of Blue. Then I played a slow sarabande from a Bach solo cello suite, letting the waves of deep cello sonority just float over me. I got lost with Bach and Yo Yo Ma. What a marvelous little journey it was. Many of you can lose yourselves in making music. Others lose themselves in movement: in dance, in walking, swimming, in yoga, in gardening. Heavens! You and I live in Colorado! Summer is starting. There are meadows and mountains and lakes that take our breath away.
We can lose ourselves by putting ourselves in new and challenging situations. In this morning’s chalice lighting, Ashley tells of how much she grew and learned in an unfamiliar place struggling with the a strange language and culture.
How do you get lost? What works for you? Think of the experiences you have had that gave you a new perspective. Think of times your attention was complete, when you truly lost yourself in something. Think of experiences you have had that truly changed you. Think of times you returned to your regular routine, your regular path in life, feeling, knowing, that you were now different. Any experience that changes us, that refreshes our spirits, that opens our awareness, is a spiritual experience, a religious experience.
None of us lacks for opportunities to get lost. Yet we so easily become slaves of the trail we are following. How do you and I get lost more often?
There is a certain art to getting lost. In many ways it is harder to get lost now. Oh, it is easy to get distracted—but getting distracted is not the same as getting lost. Watching insipid sitcoms or playing video games or mindlessly surfing the internet (my own personal vice of choice) is getting distracted, not getting lost. When we get distracted we numb our senses; when we get lost our senses are awakened and focused.
Getting lost today involves, ironically, planning to get lost. I know it sounds like an oxymoron, but it’s true. Getting lost requires discipline. It takes effort. We have to set aside time to read. We have to make time to lose ourselves in music. We have to plan an outing to the mountains. We have to sign up for a yoga class. And, maybe most important, we have to give ourselves permission to get lost.
Once we have gotten lost, of course, we return. We must complete our journey. Getting lost has no value unless we return. If we have allowed ourselves to really get lost, if we have taken the opportunity to truly lose ourselves in something, we are changed. We are refreshed. We have a new perspective. We see our lives differently. We see our home and our job and our relationships in a new light. We return to the trail we were on, but it is different now. Our usual trail isn’t all we know anymore. It does not confine us or define us in the same way. Someone who has experienced another culture, for example, can never see his own culture in the same way. In my own life, I know that having experienced living in Mexico, Peru and Spain has affected me profoundly. Think of the extraordinary experiences in your own life. Think of how important they have been to making you who you are today. Imagine your life, imagine your self, without these experiences. You wouldn’t be you. Without these ventures away from the ordinary, we would be something far less than we are.
The great challenge, once we return from getting lost, is to allow our new perspective change our lives and to affect the lives of those around us. The journey is not complete until it changes how we live, not just how we think. Again, think of the great religious leaders. Their experiences shaped not only their theological or philosophical outlook, it changed their lives. So it must be with us. For example, I know how the experience of the beauty of nature touches our spirits. Ultimately, though, that experience should shape how we live. If we have truly loved the experience of nature’s beauty, that love will inspire us to be good stewards of the earth. If we have truly experienced the suffering of others in the developing world, it will shape how we vote and how we shop. We have to bring it all home.
This is the rhythm of a religious life. We get out of our ruts by getting lost. When we are lost we gain new perspective. We are changed. And we bring it all home. We stay on our path until our souls cry out for change. We make time to get lost. And we return once again.
Summer is upon us. What a time to open our lives to something new. What a perfect time to wander off the trail. I am planning to wander around Colorado. I plan to meander on back roads and see the villages of Galicia in northwestern Spain. I plan to visit Chiapas and experience the struggles of indigenous people seeking freedom. I can’t wait to get lost!
What are your plans? In the words of today’s reading, what are you going to do with your one wild and precious life? If you don’t have plans, make some. What do you need to experience? Make the time. Get off the trail.
So beat it! Get lost! Then return home renewed. I can’t wait to see you when we all get back.
Amen.