9/24/23 Sermon

When I was in middle and high school, I stumbled across the writings of Jack Kerouac.  And I totally fell in love with the Beatniks.  I wish I remembered how I was introduced to them, but I can’t for the life of me.  And in wanting to be like my heroes and wanting to be a bit rebellious and unique, I started telling people I was a Buddhist because it seemed like all good beatniks were Buddhist and it sounded enlightened and smart.  Now, the only thing I knew about Buddhism is that it was founded by a guy named Buddha and involved meditating but that didn’t need to stop me.  However, I figured that if I was going to claim to be a Buddhist, I should probably learn something about it in case I ever met an actual Buddhist, and they questioned me about it.  It wasn’t very likely that I would actually meet another Buddhist at Garwood Middle School in Fairview, Pennsylvania… but you never know. 

So, I got ahold of a book about the Four Noble Truths of Buddhism from the library.  The First Noble truth of Buddhism is that life is suffering.  That’s about as far as I got.  That seemed like a horrible foundation for a religion because who likes to suffer? And It just seemed far-fetched that life is suffering.  Then I got married…  maybe they’re on to something. 

 My friend Lucas asked me the other day how I was doing.  And he asked it not in the way of someone being polite or trying to strike up a conversation, but as someone who genuinely wanted to know how I was actually doing.  I’ve had a lot going on in my personal and family life lately.  Many of you know that my mom has cancer that’s been deemed treatable but not curable at this point. My wife Beverly has had some health issues.  And to top it off, a few months ago we found out my sister is suffering from cirrhosis and is in end stage liver failure at the age of 52.  It’s a lot to take in and deal with, honestly.  And so, Lucas being the kind, compassionate, and good friend that he is, asked me how I was dealing with all of this. 

 I told him I was trying to practice what I can only describe as radical acceptance.  There’s nothing I can do about it.  Sure, I can be there as a support for my family.  I can find ways to help wherever I can.  But as far as changing the situation, there’s nothing I can do.  I tried worrying about it and having sleepless nights, but it hasn’t seemed to make anything better.  So, I’m trying to give up on doing that.  Worrying just doesn’t seem to make anything better no matter how much I do it.

Ironically, if I had kept reading that book about Buddhism when I was younger, I would have learned an important lesson sooner.  And it’s actually one of the places where I see the teachings of Buddhism and Christianity converging.  Suffering is just a natural and normal part of life.  It isn’t just a possibility; it’s an inevitability.  And so, what both Buddhism and Christianity teach us - if we look closely at them - isn’t that suffering should be avoided - it isn’t something we should run from and do everything we can to protect ourselves from - but rather the only way to alleviate suffering is to simply accept it. 

 It seems counter-intuitive to accept and almost embrace suffering as a way to alleviate it, but it actually seems to work.  There’s something liberating about just accepting that sometimes life is hard, that I don’t have to be happy all the time, that I’m allowed to struggle, and I’m allowed have bad days and I’m going to have hard times and periods where I don’t feel well. And in all honesty, it’s no judgment on my faith. It’s not that I’m lacking something or that I’ve done something that’s angered God or that I’m doing life wrong.  In fact, it’s just the opposite.  If suffering is a natural part of life, if there’s nothing I can do or say to avoid suffering, then when I suffer, when I go through periods of struggle, what I’m really doing is experiencing the fullness of life.  And to try and deny or avoid suffering is actually to try and ignore an integral part of life and what it means to be human. 

 In my late teens and early 20s, I was fortunate enough to meet a man who was both a psychologist and a devoutly religious Seikh by the name of Subach.  We would get together and read poetry written by Spiritual mystics like Rumi - I guess I was still trying to be a beatnik.  But I asked Subach once what he does with suffering or how he handles bad experiences.  And he told me something that was really transformative for me.  He told me he doesn’t try to put any judgment on what he’s going through.  He simply tries to acknowledge it in the moment and then decides to reflect on it later on. 

So, I asked him what he meant and what that looks like.  He told me that when he’s going through something that’s bringing up intense emotion like anger or sadness or even happiness and bliss, he tries to step back and just say, “Woah.  I’m having an experience. He doesn’t try to say it’s a bad or good experience - just that it’s an experience.  He acknowledges that he’s in something at the moment and allows himself to experience it.  And then later he reflects back on it to understand why, what happened, and what he might learn from it. 

That’s what I mean when I say I’m trying to practice radical acceptance these days.  I’m trying to accept that I’m going through an experience.  And the prospect of losing half of the family I grew up with isn’t a pleasant experience. But it’s a natural part of life.  It isn’t good or bad.  It just is.

 Now, does doing that mean that it hurts any less?  Of course not.  It hurts like hell in some moments, and I know it’s probably going to hurt even more in the future. Anyone who’s ever lost anyone in their life can tell you that.  But when I stop and I don’t allow myself to get caught up in the feelings, when I let go of focusing on the suffering - when I accept that I’m feeling it and don’t try to fight it, I can then look at why I feel that way.  And it hurts because I love my sister and my mom.  I care about them deeply. And they’ve been such integral parts of my life that it’s hard to imagine life without them in it.  And when my thinking shifts away from the suffering portion and begins to meditate on the why of it, I find so much to be grateful for. To love and be loved deeply is a beautiful gift.  To be able to share life with people is a beautiful gift.  To know I can care deeply about other people is a beautiful gift.

 In essence, it’s like sticking your arm over a fire.  If you just focus on the fact that it hurts super bad to be burning, you’ll miss that if you simply removed your arm from the flame, the burning will stop.  If we focus on the suffering of loss, we miss why the loss is in fact a loss. If we focus on the suffering, the suffering continues.  If we accept it and acknowledge it, we can begin to focus on the causes of it and begin to address them or shift our focus onto what we have to be grateful for and the gifts that may accompany it.

I think that’s what Paul is getting at in his letter to the Philippians this morning. Paul helped form this church a few years before his second missionary journey and it held a really special place in his heart.  And he writes this letter to them somewhere in the years of 60-62 CE possibly making it one of the last things Paul wrote.  And he’s writing it as a response to their concerns over his imprisonment in Rome. Now Paul was imprisoned twice in Rome and the second time ended with his beheading.  We’re not sure during which imprisonment he wrote this letter to them during. But either way, it’s not like Paul was going to spend a night or two in jail.  Paul being in a prison in Rome meant things could go horribly, horribly wrong. 

 And yet, instead of Paul being destitute and depressed about it, we find him being surprisingly upbeat about it. He actually thanks God for the privilege of being there. Now, it isn’t that it’s a nice experience being in that prison.  Paul even says right here that he’d personally rather die than be locked in that prison cell.  But he seems to take the perspective that as long as he’s alive, he can still do good.  He can still serve Christ. And maybe through staying faithful even in times of intense suffering, he can help strengthen and bolster the faith of the Philippian community. 

 And so, Paul finds joy even in his current state of suffering.  He’s able to accept that he’s suffering.  He doesn’t ignore it or pretend it doesn’t exist.  He acknowledges that it’s absolutely horrible to be in that prison.  In fact, it’s so bad that he’d prefer death over it.  And yet he finds joy and gratitude because he knows that as long as he lives, he lives in Christ.  He accepts the suffering. He knows there’s nothing he can do about it.  He practices a radical acceptance of it. And it moves him beyond the suffering to see the love he has for Christ, the love he has for the Philippians, and he’s drawn even more fully into spreading the love of Christ with everything left that he’s got. 

As I read what Paul wrote here, as I thought about my own life at this time, and as I reflect on it, I couldn’t help but think of that old song that Charlie Chaplain first wrote to the move “Modern Times” which I think has been updated and changed slightly since then called “Smile”.

Smile though your heart is aching.

Smile even though it's breaking.

When there are clouds in the sky, you'll get by

If you smile through your fear and sorrow

Smile and maybe tomorrow

You'll see the sun come shining through for you.

Light up your face with gladness

Hide every trace of sadness.

Although a tear may be ever so near

That's the time you must keep on trying.

Smile, what's the use of crying?

You'll find that life is still worthwhile.

If you just smile

That's the time you must keep on trying.

Smile, what's the use of crying?

You'll find that life is still worthwhile.

If you just smile.