This is the first of six reflections on what are commonly called the “sources of our faith,” although that word “faith” can be problematic for some Unitarians. What the document reproduced in our hymnbook actually says is, “The living tradition we share draws from many sources” and it then lists five of those sources -- a sixth was added later. The one we're looking at today, the first, is “Direct experience of that transcending mystery and wonder, affirmed in all cultures, which moves us to a renewal of the spirit and an openness to the forces that create and uphold life.”

I've often wondered what is meant by direct experience. At the very minimum, it seems to mean individual and personal experience, as distinct from the teachings we've received from others, which could be called indirect experience, mediated or second-hand. But even in the case of what happens to us personally and individually, I'm not sure how direct our perceptions are of what's happening to us. To what extent, I wonder, can we separate our experience from the lessons we've been taught -- in any areas of our life, not just the religious or spiritual.

Take a moment to search back for your very first memory, probably as a small child. Think about what was the setting for that memory, the context and background. Would the experience, and your memory of it, have been just the same, do you think, if it had occurred in another time and setting? How much do you think your later experiences of life have been affected by the direct and indirect teachings of your home, school, church and / or society? Perhaps the earlier in your childhood that first memory was, the more direct an experience you had but then again, your memory of it is likely to be coloured by your later knowledge and outlook. Memory is a filter, just as culture and context are filters. Perhaps only newborn babies have totally direct experiences!

I'm going to ask Boyd to play a short piece of music for us now, and before he does so I ask you to do something quite difficult -- to try to listen to it simply as music, without letting it be coloured by any associations it has for you, or by thinking about it. Try just to hear it, to experience it directly.

(Boyd plays (O Canada()

Well, I don't know about you, but I found it quite impossible to simply hear that without it arousing all kinds of thoughts and images the fact that Canada's not my native land, for example, or the first time I ever heard it, or the curious truth that although it's not a great piece of music, when I'm in another country and I hear it it seems quite wonderful!

Perhaps you're thinking that all the associations the music has for you are not separate from your direct experience but part of it. That is, the experiences we have as we get older are not necessarily less direct, but richer and fuller and more complex. I think I believe that, but it points out to me that the things we've been taught and imbibed from our culture can never be totally stripped away; they're part of us. And therefore, because they help to make up our experience, our culture, our education and our context, are among the sources of our living tradition. On Friday, I was reading some material about hypnosis as a means to weight loss, in which a Dr. Patrick Porter wrote that we're all already hypnotized. He says,

....... we know that you have developed a set of beliefs, attitudes and convictions [which] were programmed consciously and subconsciously as you developed from infant to .... adult. .... In a sense, we already live in a hypnotic trance based upon the existing beliefs ... and perceptions stored in our memory bank. These beliefs and perceptions help us define “reality,” or at least what reality is for us as individuals and help us process and file new information that comes our way. The trouble is, these beliefs and perceptions often get in the way of processing and putting into action new information that might be helpful to us. As human beings, we tend to accept or reject new ideas based upon our past. ....... However, anything that is learned can be un-learned.

Our experience is not only coloured by our culture and background, I think, but by our limited knowledge. A friend sent me a little story this week which illustrates this point it's a variation on the “maybe; maybe not” story which many of you know:

Two travelling angels stopped to spend the night in the home of a wealthy family. The family was rude and refused to let the angels stay in the mansion's guestroom. Instead the angels were given a small space in the cold basement. As they made their bed on the hard floor, the older angel saw a hole in the wall and repaired it. When the younger angel asked why, the older angel replied, “Things aren't always what they seem."

The next night the pair came to rest at the house of a very poor, but very hospitable farmer and his wife. After sharing what little food they had the couple let the angels sleep in their bed where they could have a good night's rest. When the sun came up the next morning the angels found the farmer and his wife in tears. Their only cow, whose milk had been their sole income, lay dead in the field. The younger angel was infuriated and asked the older angel how could she have let this happen? The first man had everything, yet you helped him, he accused. The second family had little but was willing to share everything, and you let the cow die.

"Things aren't always what they seem," the older angel replied. "When we stayed in the basement of the mansion, I noticed there was gold stored in that hole in the wall. Since the owner was so obsessed with greed and unwilling to share his good fortune, I sealed the wall so he wouldn't find it. Then last night as we slept in the farmers bed, the angel of death came for his wife. I gave him the cow instead. Things aren't always what they seem.”

So, our experience is conditioned and limited; nevertheless, the statement about the sources of our faith clearly and strongly, and consistently with our first Principle of the inherent worth and dignity of every person, affirms the trustworthiness of individual experience and conviction. Limited as our personal perceptions may be, they are the most important factor in reaching an authentic faith. Diverse as our individual experiences may be, they are the first, the primary, source of our living tradition. No wonder Unitarian Universalism is so hard to define it's made up of all our varying and sometimes contradictory experiences! You can probably think of times when you've experienced things differently from other people. How did you or do you cope with such differences? The statement we're considering today encourages you to trust your own thoughts, experiences and convictions at least as much as those of others. Ask yourself when you defer to others' opinions and when you assert your own -- and why.

You may think there some kinds of experiences which are generally more, or less, reliable than others as guides to reality ( drug trips, for example, or mass hysteria, depression, sensory deprivation, or brainwashing. But perhaps there is no "normal" state for all human beings in which reality is most able to be perceived. Our valuing of direct experience says that the way you perceive the world and what happens to you in it is of paramount importance. Sure, it's influenced by what you've been taught, and by the media and public opinion, and by the state
you're in and the things that have happened to you in the past, but it's still yours and it's the first source of our living tradition, the faith community of which you're a part. One of my Unitarian heroes, Ralph Waldo Emerson, was very emphatic and quite radical about this in his famous Divinity School Address, delivered in 1838. Addressing the graduating class of Harvard Divinity School, he said, much to the consternation of the more orthodox Unitarians there:

..... Once leave your own knowledge of God, your own sentiment, and take secondary knowledge, as St. Paul's, or George Fox's, or Swedenborg's, and you get wide[r] from God with every year this secondary form lasts ....... Let me admonish you, first of all, to go alone; to refuse the good models, even those most sacred in the imagination of men, and dare to love God without mediator or veil. Friends enough you shall find who will hold up to your emulation Wesleys and Oberlins, Saints and Prophets. Thank God for these good men, but say, (I also am a man.( Imitation cannot go above its model. The imitator dooms himself to hopeless mediocrity. The inventor did it, because it was natural to him, and so in him it has a charm. In the imitator, something else is natural, and he bereaves himself of his own beauty, to come short of another man's ...............[So,] cast behind you all conformity, and acquaint men at first hand with Deity. [Live] By trusting your own soul ............

I've suggested that all our experiences contribute to our personal beliefs and to our collective (living tradition,( but the (first source( is concerned particularly with experiences of what it calls (transcending mystery and wonder. Let's think for a moment or two about that phrase, and about any times in your life that you've sensed that mystery and wonder. I don't want to presume too lightly that you all have had that experience, or that you even want to. Sceptics can switch off right now if you like, and if you haven't already done so, and think about something more satisfying! But it might be useful to clarify what we mean by the phrase, if “clarifying mystery” isn't too much of a contradiction.

A couple of years ago, the editors of a progressive Jewish magazine attempted a definition of spirituality, saying that it was a “lived experience” exhibiting one or more of these qualities: A feeling of awe and wonder, of gratitude toward the world for its own sake rather than for its practical uses. Second, a recognition of the ultimate Unity of all being, and of the sacredness of all life. Third, a sense that the universe is abundant and that all human beings are entitled to share the blessings of creation. Finally, spirituality includes an awareness of a conscious energy which permeates Nature and works toward freedom, compassion, creativity and generosity. I would say that if you've ever experienced any one of these ( a sense of awe, gratitude to the world, recognition of the unity of things, the sacredness of life, the kinship and equality of all human beings, the realization of a powerfully good energy in Nature ( you've had direct experience of transcending mystery and wonder. And my guess is that all of us actually have had something like that, at least once in our lives. Such moments, says our document, are the first, the primary, source of our faith.

Respect and treasure them. What a densely-packed statement this one about the first source of our faith is! It goes on from lifting up the value of direct experience, and qualifying it as experience of transcending mystery and wonder (transcending meaning “going beyond,” to describing the demands which such experiences place upon us. This kind of direct experience, it says, “moves us to a renewal of the spirit and an openness to the forces that create and uphold life.” This is the awareness, the illumination, that all forms of meditation and spiritual discipline are intended to facilitate; this kind of experience takes discipline -- it's not easy to come by. You might say it's not just any old experience, however direct. On the other hand, you might say it could be any old experience if we gave it our full attention and awareness. Attention can be transformative ( can bring us in touch with transcending mystery and wonder and can move us to renewal of the spirit. Spiritual practice is all about paying attention, or what Thich Nhat Hanh and other Buddhists more suggestively call “mindfulness.”

We tend to suppose that we are always (paying attention,( but spiritual practitioners encourage us to be more intentionally mindful; to cultivate the ability to sustain an awareness of mystery and wonder in the most ordinary things. The goal is not just to look, but to see; not only to listen, but hear; and when we run, for instance, as a line from the movie Chariots of Fire puts it, “to feel God's pleasure” in our bones and muscles. The flow of our thoughts and the surges of our emotions can also become objects of attention. By attending to the interior universe we gradually come to know and understand ourselves and ultimately are better able to govern ourselves. This kind of attention is perhaps the most direct experience of all, and the most ultimately wonderful.

In his book Flow, Mihaly Czikszentmihalyi, a University of Chicago scholar of consciousness, says that “the control of consciousness determines our quality of life, a fact that has been known for a long time; indeed, for as long as records exist.” The author goes on:

Each person allocates his or her limited attention either by focusing it intentionally like a beam of energy, or by diffusing it in desultory, random movements. The shape and content of life depend on how attention has been used; it is our most important tool in the task of improving the quality of experience.

So how do we get there, to the point where we are truly mindful? A Unitarian educator, writing in the journal Quest, suggests that it can begin very simply:

Awareness starts with stopping, pausing, and just looking really looking at your partner, or your kids, or your dog. If you're lucky, you might get the added benefit of their awareness, too. They'll look back. I have to admit that I get that most often from the dog but occasionally my husband or kids and I will catch each other's eyes and just smile. Don't let that moment go unnoticed! It's a sacred moment. It's not a big moment. It is a moment to truly appreciate.

It's a moment to truly appreciate. And it is, I suggest, a direct experience of transcending mystery and wonder, moving us to renewal of the spirit. It's the real thing.

Some of you know and appreciate the poet Mary Oliver. She conveys a sense of intimacy with the natural world that obviously comes from a patient and disciplined spiritual practice. Here, in February, is a poem of hers called “The Summer Day.” Hearing it probably won't be a direct experience of summer for us, but it may possibly lead to a small moment of awareness, a direct experience of transcending mystery and wonder:

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,
But 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?

Someone whose name I've lost has pointed out that while we Unitarians are ready and even eager for direct experience, the childlike experience of this poem, the problem is commitment. We are, for the most part, a casual bunch of spiritual seekers. But if it's joy we want, insight we want, peace we want, then we must learn step-by-step to pay attention. And to tell the truth, says this anonymous fellow-traveller, if we put the same time and effort into mindfulness training as we do perfecting our backhand, our bridge game, our fluency in French, our on-line communications, or our bargain hunting abilities, we'd all have grasshoppers eating out of our hands in no time.

So now, to echo Mary Oliver just what is it you plan to do with your own wild and precious life? Whatever it is, I hope it will contribute to your faith and give you joy. I wish for you plenty of mindful, attentive, direct experience of that transcending mystery and wonder, affirmed in all cultures, which moves us to a renewal of the spirit and an openness to the forces that create and uphold life. So may it be. Amen.