Reading
From Wallace Stegner’s novel, Angle of Repose
For a while I lay here feeling pretty bleak—old, washed-up, helpless, and alone. It was as black as a coalmine, there was no sound through the open window, not the slightest threshing or singing of the pines. Then I heard a diesel coming on the freeway, taking a full-tilt run at the hill. In my mind I could see it charging up that empty highway like Malory's Blatant Beast, its engine snorting and bellowing, its lights glaring off into dark trees and picking up the curve of white lines, a blue cone of flame riding six inches above its exhaust stack, its song full of exultant power. I listened to it and felt the little hairs rise on the back of my neck, tickling me where my head met the pillow.
Then the inevitable. The song of power weakened by an almost imperceptible amount, and no sooner had that sound of effort come into it than the tone changed, went down a full third, as the driver shifted. Still powerful, still resistless, the thing came bellowing on, and then its tone dropped again, and almost immediately a third time. Something was out of it already; confidence was out of it. I could imagine the driver, a midget up in the dim cab, intent over his web of gears, three sticks of them, watching the speedometer and the steepening road and the cone of fire above his stack, and tilting his ear to the moment when the triumphant howl of his beast began to waver or shrink. Then the foot, the hand, and for a few seconds, a half minute, the confident song of power again, but lower, deeper, less excited and more determined. Down again where the grade stiffened past Grass Valley, and then down, down, down, three different tones, and finally there it was at the dutiful bass growl that would take it all the way over the range …
Sermon
I was talking with a ministerial colleague a couple of weeks ago. We were together at a meeting of the ministerial advisory committee of the UUSC— the Unitarian Universalist Service Committee. This colleague has served as a hospice chaplain for a number of years. In that role she has led any number of grief groups for people who have lost someone they love. We talked briefly about how people handle grief differently. She mentioned that in a recent grief group she had a woman who signed up. The woman had lost her mother. When the group met, it turns out that this woman was grieving the death of her mother some 30 years before. “She talked about it as though it had happened last week,” my friend said.
Now, this poor woman is an extreme case of not moving through the stages of grief. A sad event that happened some 30 years ago still dominates her life.
Now, that is an extreme case. Yet how often have you and I allowed something bad that happened to us drag on? I think of how often I have allowed events to haunt me longer than they should.
Every one of us has suffered pain, loss or emotional trauma of some kind. Luckily, most of us will never experience life’s worst horrors. Few will experience post traumatic stress after brutal combat. Few will experience the worst kids of abuse. Yet no one gets through life unscathed. Death, pain and disappointment touch everyone.
The pain that we have suffered never completely goes away. Sometimes it has a way of sneaking up on us. I recall heading to San Francisco for a routine appointment ten years ago. I was headed to the University of California Hospital for an interview with the head chaplain at the hospital. I was in seminary and looking into the possibility of a clinical internship. I got off the bus and headed up the hill to the entrance. As I approached the front door I was suddenly overwhelmed. A wave of emotion came over me. It was a mixture of fear and revulsion. I had this intense desire to turn around and walk away. I stood there for a couple of minutes. I collected myself and then went in.
I had been caught completely by surprise. Good grief, I thought to myself, it has been over 20 years. I had gone through those doors dozens of times during my son’s cancer treatment many years before. I never realized the deep impact it had made. The simple sight of the hospital entrance brought back all the tension and anxiety a generation later.
Every one in this sanctuary today has some scars on his or her soul. Yet how you and I experience our lives, whether joyful or filled with bitterness and sorrow, depends on how we deal with life’s suffering. And while this sermon is entitled “Get Over It,” we all know that it just isn’t that easy. We also know that simply telling ourselves to “get over it” is not helpful.
As we move through life we see that some people do in fact move on beyond life’s traumas while others get stuck. How is it that some people can “get over it,” while others remain imprisoned by past suffering?
What do the great religious traditions teach us about transcending pain and sorrow? What help can we find in modern psychology? Is there a secret to moving beyond trauma and pain?
Let’s begin with the teachings with which many of us are familiar, the Christian tradition. Of course, we need to approach any tradition with a critical eye. For millennia, the Christian tradition counseled believers to accept suffering in this life and to cling to a hope of paradise in the afterlife. Christians were told to put their faith in the next life, a life that would be free from all sickness and pain. I cannot put my hope in a paradise after death, and neither can the vast majority of you.
Fortunately, there is more. The Christian tradition also developed a set of teachings that are based on a profound insight into the human spirit. The whole sense of conversion, of being “born again,” speaks to our human capacity to break free from all the things that confine us and would destroy us. While I may not accept the literal teaching about the Holy Spirit coming down and freeing people from whatever demons possess them, that is no reason to ignore the profound insight into the human condition contained in this this notion of a spiritual rebirth.
In a very real sense, you and I can be born again. We need not be literal Christians, or Christians at all, to appreciate this. What happens in a true, lasting conversion? We leave the past behind. We feel an overwhelming sense of compassion, a powerful universal love all around us that is ours for the taking. In a real conversion, we realize that we can find freedom. It is all around us, there for the taking. But first we need to let go of the past—to really, really let go. If we let go and accept the reconciling love offered to us, we are filled with a sense of love and a sense of new possibility.
Another thing that happens in a true conversion experience—whether Christian or in any tradition (Christians are not the only ones who have conversion experiences, after all). After the experience of letting go and accepting love, we come to see the world differently. The world seems new and different, not because the world has changed, but because we have learned to see it differently. And how we see the world, how we interpret our experience, makes all the difference. In the language of modern psychology, we have come to reframe our experience.
The whole recovery movement started by Alcoholics Anonymous is based on a very similar insight into the human beings. We can be trapped by the past, by our own frailty, by the powerful grasp of an addiction that can destroy us. What saves us, as in traditional Christianity, is a burning desire to break with that past. (Incidentally, Nathan Woodliff-Stanley will be preaching about addiction in a couple of weeks.) The alcoholic who turns his or her life around is one who desperately wants to change, to be free of dependency. What is also important, and what is especially hard for self reliant people like most of us, is that to make the break and to a new start we also have to admit that our own personal power is limited. We hit bottom. We confront the fact that alone, left to our own devices, we flounder. In the AA tradition, this is expressed by the notion of admiting our dependency and appealing to a power greater than ourselves. That power is usually imagined in traditional theological terms with God as an all powerful person. In our culture, how could it be otherwise? Yet this should not put any of us off. What is at work here, whatever one’s theology, is a realization that alone, left to our own resources, we have limits. This is why social support is absolutely crucial. A key to the success of organizations like AA, I believe it is the key, is that they provide an effective network of personal support. This is why members go to meetings and have a buddy.
Another key element in both the traditional Christian approach and the recovery movements is that they teach the important lesson of accepting ourselves. We have to accept ourselves as we truly are: less than perfect, weak, less than self sufficient. This is so very difficult for most of us. We like to think of ourselves as strong and self reliant. I am no better you. I like to think of myself as strong enough to face anything. That is such a trap! The truth is that we need each other; we are interdependent. The truth that all religious traditions teach is that together we are so much stronger than can ever be alone. The great irony is that you and I become so much stronger when we admit we are weak.
What do the great eastern religions teach us about moving beyond our pain and suffering? I am particularly intrigued by the eastern emphasis on meditation.
In meditation we are taught to focus on the present moment. We are encouraged to let go of the past, to turn our attention first to the simple miracle of being alive. In meditation we also practice getting some distance from our emotions. We are taught to simply let our feelings come, to observe them, to welcome them. In the process, however, we learn that we are not those feelings. We are more than these feelings. And we learn that we are capable of having other feelings. With practice, and it does take a lot of practice, we begin to learn some control. We learn to focus on positive thoughts, on feelings of joy and harmony and peace. We learn to detach ourselves from the past and even to detach ourselves from desires that bring suffering.
Once again, we have a great tradition teaching us a way to let go of the past. With practice, lots and lots of practice, we learn let go of feelings that destroy us and to follow a new path—a path of compassion and peace.
I also find it ironic that meditation, which seems so very personal, is so often practiced in groups. All the meditation traditions emphasize having a group and having a teacher. Once again we see the importance of not trying to go it alone.
Note that none of these approaches—Christian, recovery movement, meditation based on eastern religious tradition—advocates denial of the past. Moving beyond the prison of the past does not mean denying what has happened to us. Bad things that we do not deserve happen to us. Life is not fair. Denying the reality of evil or simply repressing the past is not the answer. For example, we can be certain that a number of the people in this room have suffered physical and emotional abuse. We heard a painful tale of abuse in today’s chalice lighting. As a society we are seeing the return of thousands of soldiers who have experienced horrible things. We must face the truth. The pain is real.
In the last century a new wave of secular therapies have arisen. There are lots and lots of therapeutic approaches. Like all fields, psychology continues to develop. Therapeutic techniques are being developed all the time. There are many excellent therapists who specialize in such areas as post traumatic stress or helping people who are victims of child abuse.
Unfortunately, there is some bad therapy out there. I read an article a few months ago that referred to a recent study that indicated that some types of therapy for post traumatic stress syndrome actually make the condition worse. The finding was that some patients, when asked by their therapist to relive traumatic experiences, actually become retraumatized and get worse. We need to let go of the past, not relive it. They would have been better off without therapy. Other studies show that in the hands of a capable therapist, people can indeed learn to free themselves from the prison of trauma.
On the positive side, recent research shows that people can, with practice, learn to suppress memories. If we concentrate on remembering certain things, we remember them better. If we practice letting go of some memories, they fade.
There is a fascinating pattern to all of these approaches. Whether we look to the western Christian tradition, to the recovery movement, to eastern religion or to modern secular psychology, we see the same themes, a common understanding of the human condition.
The first of these, and perhaps the most important, is that we are not trapped by the past. Please hear that and take that in. You and I are not trapped. Terrible things happen to us. Yet we can transcend the pain. It isn’t easy, but we can do it. People do it all the time.
A second crucial point on which all traditions and modern science agree is this: you and I need help. When the pain is intense and we are trapped, we need a helping hand. We need a guide. We need support. Are you in pain today? You can get over it. But you need to reach out. You need to admit your limits. This is so very hard for those of us who have been taught to be achievers and rugged individuals. At some point, when the hurt is intense, we need to reach out to a teacher, to a group, to friends, to a minister, to a therapist. Here we are surrounded by good, gentle, caring, loving people. Help is all around us if we will but reach out for it.
A third theme I see in all these traditions is that a key to transcending the past is to let it go. Years ago I heard someone say that the key to forgiveness is to give up all hope for a better past. Let’s do that. Let us give up all hope for a better past. We cannot go back and have a better childhood. Or a better first love affair. Or a better first marriage. We cannot undo our mistakes. We cannot undo the carnage of war. We can, however, accept the fact that we cannot change what has happened. We can, however, change what is happening today and what is going to happen tomorrow.
This is how we get over it. We let go. We reach out. We learn to see things in a new light. We feel the compassion that always surrounds us. We see possibility.
And, at the final level, we can actually learn to transform our pain into healing for others. AA can help people only because recovering alcoholics help guide others. Cancer survivors offer hope and support to cancer patients that no one else can. Soldiers who have suffered post traumatic stress are in a unique position to help others. Our pain can and does become a source of strength. It is a beautiful thing to see, and we see it all the time.
Recall the powerful image of the diesel climbing the mountain in this morning’s reading. You and I enter life like the roaring diesel. We are full of confidence and energy. Then we hit one of life’s steep hills. We shift down. The hill continues. We shift down again. And again.
Don’t ever lose hope. You and I can climb over the hill. We need to find the gear that will get us over the top.
Shift down. Let go. Shift down again. Reach out for help. Shift down. See the possibilities. Shift down. Become a source of healing for others.
May we each find that dutiful base growl that will take over the hill.
So may it be.
Amen.