All my life I have been conflicted about God--the unknowable, almighty something that began this amazing, seemingly endless, infinite universe, from whom or from which we human creatures have received such intricate physical and mental systems that we are able not only to live in a body of enormous complexity, but to have such highly developed mental capacities that we are able to search for the unknowable--and now in the twenty-first century, find ourselves awe-fully close to an answer. I have been thinking of the progress of science and the struggles of the human potential movement, especially in contemporary religion, both of which are attempting to understand how we got here, what we are doing here, and how best to do it. I have only faint glimmerings of understanding about the enormous discoveries that are taking place in the scientific world, and can hardly share (even vicariously, as my husband Toby did in his last years through his love of astronomy), the truth, beauty, and mystery of current exploration. Yet I know that in ways beyond my ability to fathom, I will benefit from these discoveries and I don’t trouble myself about my lack of personal connection. However, when I focus on religion, I find that I envy those fortunate believers who put their trust in an all-knowing, all-loving God who, though he may not protect them from the vicissitudes of life--the ordinary garden-variety problems we all encounter, or terrible tragedies like the loss of a child, of a beloved, or the shattering of a life through accident, or the horror of September 11th--nevertheless, this God is present in their lives, a presence that gives a sense of security, a sense of belonging, a sense of being held in the arms of a parent, a father-mother. I envied those who were able to turn to God for comfort on September 11th. I think the phrase, "Let go and let God," must be a powerful example of trust and faith as well as a way to see into and beyond current difficulties.

The Judaic and Buddhist traditions speak of God as "ineffable, indescribable." In those descriptions I find comfort. For they allow for the broadest concept of spirituality without the need for an anthropomorphic God. One of the questions I hope we can explore today is how to live a good, satisfying, moral, and ethical life, rich in loving-kindness, fully awake, with no guide but our own conscience and no supra-normal assistance but the truth that we find through searching our hearts and reaching out to others.

You see before you one person, who believes that in my body and in my mind and in my heart live all the humans who came before me. In this body you see before you, I believe you will find the molecules of the universe--the dust of the stars. And if I believe that, then my struggles with the concept of God are lessened. For there is divinity in every one of us. And yet, if I am on my own--if it is up to me to find a way to live a life filled with joy and contentment and peace, good work and good deeds (for why else are we alive?)--if that is so, then I must look to the essence of the word "God" for what it means to me and where it leads me.

In searching for my religious spirit I read a great deal. I make no distinction between faiths or philosophies and often find inspiration in whatever I am currently reading. I have come to expect valuable lessons from Anthony De Mello, a Catholic priest; Jack Kornfield, a Buddhist teacher and author; Sylvia Borstein, a Jewish Buddhist guide and author; and Forrest Church, a Unitarian Universalist minister. Many of what Toby called my "Hernias-can-be-cured" books have given me guidance and support--books like Rachel Naomi Remen’s Kitchen Wisdom and My Grandfather’s Blessings, Christopher Reeve’s Still Me, Rabbi David Wolpe’s Making Loss Matter, Sue Bender’s Plain and Simple, Roger Kamenetz’s The Jew in the Lotus--and I am sure there are books you could name that would fulfill the same search. All of the various texts lead me to want to access my highest aspirations to fulfill the essence of a religious spirit: these aspirations are to be at peace with myself; to be open to change and growth; to be generous in thought, word, and deed; to be compassionate and sensitive to the needs of others; to honor and value the efforts of all those who attempt to learn, to change, to explore; to give respect to all; and finally, to do justly, to believe in mercy, and to forgive. If I can do these things, if there can be moments when I can be that person, then indeed I can live within the power of goodness which is what the symbolic use of the word God means to me--a word that has been part of my life since my childhood in the synagogue, the religious home of my grandparents, and I can think the word, and even, Unitarian Universalist that I am, use the word that I have never been able to remove from my soul--a word that is a symbol that I now, in my sixty-ninth year, accept for its powerful life-affirming value.

William Zinsser has written many books on the art of writing. Three of them saw me through my ten-and-a-half years of higher education, from my Bachelor’s degree through my dissertation and doctorate: On Writing Well, Writing with a Word Processor, and Writing to Learn. In Writing to Learn, Mr. Zinsser says, "Writing is the beginning of wisdom." What I have just read to you, I learned about myself as I wrote. It’s true that I had been thinking about the issue of God for a very long time, but I never articulated it in this manner. Writing these words has helped me clarify what I have been thinking about. Not everyone is drawn to writing or can find the time to do it. But just as one can put down words on paper to read and re-read, thereby coming to understand more about one’s own ideas and views, so we can think our thoughts and speak them in a safe and supportive environment, exploring their meaning and the journeys we are on, or the new ones we might wish to explore.

I have been struggling to find an inner sense of peace, a satisfaction with my life, a feeling that all is well, even though trials may arise. Because, really, all is well! I have all the creature comforts I need. My family is in good health. I am in good health. I function well in my work life. All the important things are in order.

You know that I lost my beloved husband last July. Our life, for many years, was terribly difficult, and his death, before the very worst that was anticipated for him, was a merciful one. Yet, I find it hard to let go of the turmoil of trying to find answers for his suffering. I think it takes time to learn to let go of sorrow and pain. I have wondered why we all hold on to our sorrows, to our anger, to our frustrations, to our guilt, to our shame. Is it possible that if we let go--if we truly are brave enough (or perhaps weary enough) to let it all go--we might awaken to a new but strangely empty life that feels quite different? One that needs to be examined afresh? Well, that is what I hope we will discuss here today.

How do we find joy in life? Surely, when humanity is so gifted with such amazing physical and mental abilities, we must have it within us to understand how to live with joyful hearts. When we are faced with serious illness and grave problems, is there a way that we can hold on to what is good in life? Are we really supposed to suffer and arrive at the end of our lives never having awakened fully to the joy of being alive? Let us think about that. What is it that makes life good?

When Toby died, I wanted to do something that would keep him close to me for a while longer. So I read Moby Dick, the book he thought was the greatest novel in American literature. Throughout the three months of daily morning readings I felt my mind and spirit expand and I came to understand, at last, the magnificence of Melville’s writing. And I understood why Toby, having read Moby Dick as a young boy of fourteen, committed himself to a life of art and became a poet. And I was grateful to the universe for Herman Melville, and I changed and grew as I read Moby Dick. I felt as though my creative spirit was being re-awakened and my heart actually ached as I took in the enormity of the ideas and the amazing artistry and imagination of the writer. Have you changed and grown recently? Do you see the coming year as an opportunity for some exploration you might wish to pursue? There are so many avenues of endeavor open to us. I am beginning to believe that the world is our oyster! We only need pry open the shell!

I have always thought compassion meant doing good for someone or for some cause. My daughter Valerie says that compassion means something closer to "empathy." The root meaning of compassion is "to suffer with"--to understand what someone feels and to respond in a way that is genuine and authentic. Sometimes, that ability to understand and respond to another’s distress is very difficult to extend, and I have fallen by the wayside more times than I care to admit. When someone comes to you for help, especially help you wish you were not called upon to give, how do you respond? And when you offer your aid and more is asked of you than you can give, what then?

What about honor and respect? How do we acknowledge those whose views differ from ours--who wish to explore new horizons, who are in the process of changing their lives, who are attempting to put their lives together, sometimes in ways we may not understand? Do we give honor and respect to those people who work hard at jobs that serve our needs? How shall we honor and respect and trust the young--the ones who are taking life on alone for the first time? How much direction, how much support, how much independence can we extend? Do we honor and respect our nearest and dearest who are the most important persons in our lives and, frequently, the most overlooked? And if we cannot honor a foe, can we at least offer respect? For we are rarely ennobled by righteous anger. If we are not very careful, we find ourselves using the very behavior that has injured us.

How are we to do justly, to believe in mercy, and how, in the final analysis, are we to forgive? Forgiveness is a quality I find terribly difficult to access when I have not resolved the anger and pain I might feel. How shall we live good lives, rich in loving kindness, in joyful work and play, in communion with our best selves and the best selves of others?

Let us now talk together. Share your thoughts with us. Let us bring this year to a close by speaking from the heart, thereby opening ourselves to the healing love of this treasured community. Let us begin by silently lighting our candles for Joys and Sorrows. We will then sit quietly in meditation while Mary enfolds us in music. There will be another minute of complete silence. Then, if you wish to speak, please raise your hand and, when you are recognized, come forward to the microphone. I have here a three-minute timer. You may wish to speak very briefly, but we ask that each speaker use no more than three minutes. I will ring this bell at that point, if needed. If you wish to get your children at the end of the hour, or if you must leave at that time, please feel free to do so.

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