Be A Lamp Unto Yourself: A Reflection for Guru Purnima

"Be a lamp unto yourself." Last words of the Buddha

Today is the Indian festival of Guru Purnima, observed by Buddhists, Hindus, Jains, and Sikhs, as a day of gratitude for spiritual teachers. Guru means “dispeller of darkness or ignorance” and Purnima refers to the full moon. 

Along your spiritual journey, I wonder who are those who have helped you dispel the darkness? Gurus or spiritual teachers may be people we are used to thinking of as spiritual masters, whose followers built religious and spiritual systems around their teachers, like Buddha, Jesus, Mohammed (peace be upon him), Guru Nanak. They may be well known contemporary spiritual teachers, like Marianne Williamson, Adyashanti, Byron Katie, Rupert Spira, Joanna Macy, Richard Rohr, to name just a few. They may also be people in our circle of family and friends who have been shining lights for us. They may be our animal companions. They may be other beings, like trees. They may be beings in the spirit world – perhaps you work with angels or ascended masters or animal spirit guides. Anyone and anything can be a spiritual teacher for us if we are open to receiving their wisdom.

Among those who are well known as such, what makes for a genuine spiritual teacher? Jonathan Robinson, author of The Enlightenment Project, has conducted interviews with over 100 popular spiritual teachers, who shared several characteristics, such as kindness, humour, humility and presence. He wrote, “Although each of the spiritual leaders I got to know were very sincere and displayed great kindness, humor, humility, and presence, they also had very human faults. Many people assume that spiritual leaders and people who are “enlightened” should be perfect human beings. They are not. For better or worse, they are very much human. For example, I noticed that Mother Teresa seemed sad and disorganized, Ram Dass didn’t seem to take good care of his body (which eventually led to a stroke) … seeing that many teachers were flawed human beings with messy lives actually inspired me. After all, if they could display such wisdom and lofty behavior while being highly imperfect, then maybe so could I.”

What happens when our guru's faults turn out to be more serious? When does a spiritual community become a cult? There are many instances of spiritual abuse – when people in a position of power abuse their power to cause harm to others. One of my main spiritual practices is Kundalini Yoga, a form of yoga that combines movement with breath meditations and devotional mantras from the Sikh tradition. It was brought from India to the West by a Sikh man known as Yogi Bhajan, in the 1960s. He established ashrams and teaching programmes in Canada and the US, and Kundalini Yoga spread from there to various countries around the world.

In 2019, some 15 years after his death, it came to light that Yogi Bhajan had sexually abused and exerted disturbing psychological control over some of his followers. 3HO (also known as Happy, Healthy, Holy), the organisation founded by Yogi Bhajan, commissioned an independent report into the allegations of abuse, which found that other members in positions of authority within the community were also perpetrators. 3HO then set up an Independent Healing and Reparations Program to offer counselling and financial compensation to the victims of abuse. Some healing happened, but some lives remain scarred.

Although I have had no personal contact with Yogi Bhajan himself or with any one of the perpetrators or victims of abuse, these revelations shocked me and caused me to re-evaluate my involvement with the Kundalini Yoga community. My first reaction was to completely disassociate from everything to do with it, in horror and disgust. But, I had to admit, I found the practices spiritually nourishing, and my local yoga community supportive and uplifting, and our yoga teacher kind and wise. So I had to ask myself, could I separate the founder, Yogi Bhajan, from his teachings? Should I? Is it ethical to do so?

After much soul-searching, I decided to continue practising Kundalini Yoga, and I continue to be spiritually nourished by practising in my local community. I hope that you have not had to make such a difficult decision and that you do not encounter abuse in your spiritual journey. 

We all exercise discretion and discernment, using both reason and intuition, to evaluate whether teachers are genuine and whether their teachings resonate with us. Above all, we are all our own teachers, and our own lives, reflected on and learned from, are our best teachings. Teachers can point the way for us, but we have to move from darkness to light ourselves. And just as the earth moves from darkness to light to darkness again as it rotates, so we are always moving between darkness and light – 'enlightenment' is not a one-time occurrence or linear journey for most people. 

Perhaps somewhat ironically, Kundalini Yoga emphasises being your own teacher. We 'tune in' before practising using the mantra ONG NAMO GURU DEV NAMO - I bow to the Creative Wisdom, I bow to the Divine Teacher within.

How much emphasis we put on having a guru or spiritual teacher that we follow may depend on which spiritual tradition we are following. For example, within the Sufi tradition, one is initiated by a Pir or Master, whose teachings are passed down in a lineage, from the founder of the Sufi order, who in turn traced their lineage back to the Prophet Muhammad. In the Quaker tradition, by contrast, there are no gurus or spiritual teachers, and each person is absolutely their own authority in spiritual matters. Similarly, in Unitarianism, we are each free to pursue our own individual spiritual path, without having to follow any particular person. Of course, we all learn from each other in spiritual community. “We are all the guru and we are all the student, many times every day,” as my friend from the Unitarian Hindu Connections group, Suresh Rajpura, says. 

As Unitarians, we are blessed to be part of a spiritual community in which we all learn from one another. Our radical dissenting forebears laid great emphasis on the 'priesthood of all believers.' I have learned from the wisdom of those who have gone before us in the Unitarian movement, particularly for me the Transcendentalists of the nineteenth century. They pushed the boundaries of Unitarian sources of wisdom beyond the Bible, to embrace wisdom from the East and from Nature, and laid emphasis on the individual conscience as the 'seat of authority in religion,' to quote Unitarian theologian James Martineau.

And while I appreciate our Unitarian heritage, I have learned the most in my spiritual journey from what other Unitarians have shared from their hearts in our gatherings. The divine light within me and you, which we share in the light of our chalice flame, is what most moves me from darkness to light. 

I leave you with the words of Sufi poet and favourite of many Unitarians, Rumi,

"Let your heart's light guide you to my house. Let your heart's light show you that we are one."

From Little Acorns Mighty Oaks Grow

This day, may I be like a tree:

A shelter for all who come;

Growing towards the light,

Bending with the wind,

Bearing good fruit;

Rooted in the Earth

And grounded in Love.

I begin every day with this spoken and body prayer. I then walk the dog in local woods. I am grateful for the calming presence of the trees, as I walk, sit and sing beneath their welcoming canopy.

Oaks have always been one of my favourite trees. On the farm where I grew up, a huge oak stands at the edge of the farmyard, guardian of farm and family. I am not the only one to consider oaks special. Oak is the national tree of many countries. There are a number of famous individual ancient oaks in the UK, including the Major Oak in Sherwood Forest (said to have sheltered Robin Hood), the Royal Oak (in which Charles II hid after the battle of Worcester in 1651), and Macbeth's Oak in Birnam Wood, Perth. 

Oaks can live for over 1,000 years. The Big Belly Oak, the oldest tree in Savernake Forest, was a tiny sapling at the Battle of Hastings in 1066! Gog and Magog, the 'Oaks of Avalon', in Glastonbury, may be 2,000 years old.

Oak trees have captured the human imagination for millennia. They were sacred to thunder and lightning gods, such as the Celtic Dagda, the Norse Thor and the Greek Zeus. Druids held their sacred rites in oak groves. Oaks feature frequently in the Hebrew Bible, where they are sometimes known as terebinths – for example, in the stories of Abraham, Jacob, Joshua, Gideon, and Obadiah – in which they symbolise stability, faithfulness, and the power and protection of the divine.

In shamanic practices, oak is often the axis mundi, serving as a doorway to other worlds, enabling the practitioner to travel through its roots to the lower realm of ancestors and nature spirits, and through its branches to the upper realm of angels and ascended masters or enlightened ones.

Oaks are great spiritual teachers, offering us freely their lessons in resilience, generosity and nurturing community. Oaks can survive the harshest conditions and adverse events like being struck by lightning. They teach us the importance of staying grounded and steadfast in the face of adversity, and growing wise by learning from experience. 

Oaks epitomise generous service to the community. They play a huge part in our ecosystems, and are ecosystems in themselves. UK native oaks (pedunculate and sessile) support over 2,300 different species – birds, mammals, invertebrates, fungi, lichens and bryophytes – 326 of which are completely dependent on them (such as the oak leaf blister fungi), and another 229 that are rarely found on trees other than oak (such as the oak leaf-roller beetle). All stages of the tree – from acorn to sapling to maturity to deadwood – support obligate and highly associated species. 

Trees contribute to woodland ecosystems by providing shade, adding leaves and deadwood to woodland floor litter, and nutrient cycling through the interactions between their roots and other soil organisms. The shelter and support that oaks provide for myriad other life forms can inspire us to support those in need, care for one another, and contribute to the well-being of our wider communities.

With their extensive root systems, oaks encourage us to maintain a deep connection with our heritage, our roots. I recently discovered that one of my Transcendentalist heroes, the writer and naturalist Henry David Thoreau, had a passion for ancient oaks. In 1860 he spent several months exploring the ancient oak woodland of Inches Wood in Boxborough, Massachusetts, cataloguing trees and recording his findings in his journal. On 3 January 1861, with civil war approaching, Thoreau wrote that Inches Wood was, “likely to be cut off within a few years for ship timber and the like.” His fears were realised when, by 1862, the owner had cut all the old trees and sold the timber to the Union Navy.

Today, the survival of oaks is threatened by climate change, development, and disease. Worldwide, over a third of primary forests were cut down between 1900 and 2015. Britain has lost almost half of its ancient woodland since the 1930s and is now one of the most nature-depleted countries in the world, with only half our biodiversity left. Woods and forests are biodiversity hubs. We neglect them at our peril.

Since 2014 southern England and Wales have been affected by acute oak decline, caused by drought, waterlogging, and pollution, which stress trees and lead to infections by bacteria, fungi and insects, causing leaf loss, cracked bark and 'bleeding'. Affected trees can die within five years.

There are many things that we can do to help the cause of our precious ancient trees. Here are two actions you might like to consider:

1. Join Unitarians for Climate Justice (U4CJ) – we share information, inspire and encourage each other, and come together to take action. Our latest action was joining the multi-organisation march Restore Nature Now in London on 22nd June.

2. Support the Woodland Trust, whose work includes planting trees, funding research on oak decline and other tree crises, managing the ancient tree inventory, and calling for full legal protection for all ancient trees.

In these times, when our society seems more divided than ever before, may we be inspired to welcome all to our expansive canopy, and do all we can to provide everyone with nourishment for body and soul. As the saying goes, from little acorns mighty oaks grow. We grow strong when we consistently nurture one another in belonging.  

A last word from Henry David Thoreau's poem Friendship, which describes his friendship with Ralph Waldo Emerson:

“Two sturdy oaks I mean, which side by side

Withstand the winter’s storm,

And, spite of wind and tide,

Grow up the meadow’s pride,

For both are strong.

Above they barely touch, but, undermined

Down to their deepest source,

Admiring you shall find

Their roots are intertwined Insep’rably.”

"Your people shall be my people" - Reflections on the Book of Ruth for Shavuot

 

"Ruth replied, “Do not plead with me to abandon you, to turn back from following you. For where you go, I will go, and where you stay, I will stay. Your people will be my people, and your God my God. Where you die, I will die, and there I will be buried. May the Lord deal with me, and worse, if anything but death comes between me and you!”" Ruth 1:16 - 17

Listen to a beautiful song by Alicia Jo Rabins telling the story of Ruth here

The Festival of Shavuot celebrates the harvest of the first fruits, and the giving of the Torah by God on Mount Sinai and its acceptance by the Jewish people. At the centre of this covenant for living together in right relationship is the concept of hesed of loving kindness or steadfast love. 

Shavuot celebrates the Torah as the first fruits of the relationship between God and his people, and the first fruits of the land, in the barley harvest. The Book of Ruth is read in synagogues as part of the Shavuot services. Part of the story includes the barley harvest, and it is also a story of hesed in action – it is about people living in right relationship.

The Book of Ruth centres around the relationship between Naomi, a woman from Bethlehem, in Judah, and her daughter-in-law, Ruth, from Moab (present-day Jordan). It is one of only two books of the Bible to be named after a woman, and the only one to have female friendship at its core.

Ruth is set in the time of the Judges, a chaotic and tumultuous time in Israel's history before the establishment of a monarchy in approximately 1020 BCE. The themes of the story include return, restoration, and redemption, which makes it likely that it was written in the time of the Babylonian exile or shortly after the return, between 586 and 500 BCE. 

Ruth is a very human story. There are no miracles, no burning bushes, no voices from the storm. God works through the actions of people caring for each other. It is only ever implicit, rather than explicit, in the text, that God is behind the reverse of fortunes for the two women. 

Naomi and her husband and sons travel from Bethlehem to Moab to escape famine. In Moab their sons marry Moabite women. In the next few years, all the men of the family die, leaving Naomi with her daughters-in-law. Naomi urges them to return to their birth families, but Ruth refuses, declaring her loyalty to Naomi, saying, “Your people will be my people and your God my God.” Naomi and Ruth return to Judah, where Boaz, a wealthy landowner and relative of Naomi, shows Ruth kindness and provides for her, and ultimately marries her. Ruth then becomes the great-grandmother of King David, and thus the ancestor of Jesus. 

On the surface, Ruth is a simple story of faithfulness and kindness, but there are several layers to it. Let us look first in detail at the human level. Shavuot commemorates the giving of the Torah on Mount Sinai, and its acceptance by the Israelites. At the heart of this covenant or moral code for living in community is the injunction to treat each other kindly – to love your neighbour as yourself. In the story of Ruth we see this enacted in everyday life.

All three major characters embody “hesed” - this Hebrew word, which often refers to one of the characteristics of God, is difficult to translate into English. It is translated variously as “loving-kindness”, “steadfast love”, “mercy”, “faithfulness”, or simply “love”. Most biblical commentators agree that none of these translations fully express “hesed”, but touch on components of it. Naomi, Ruth and Boaz all respond to kindness shown them with acts of loyalty and generosity that go beyond the obligations of simple reciprocity. 

The 12th century Jewish philosopher Maimonides wrote of hesed that it, “includes two notions, one of them consisting in the exercise of beneficence towards one who deserves it, but in greater measure than he deserves it. In most cases, the prophetic books use the word hesed in the sense of practising beneficence towards one who has no right at all to claim this from you.” (Guide for the Perplexed)

In our week ahead, perhaps we might like to reflect on how such kindness, loyalty and generosity manifests in our lives. When have others taken risks and gone the extra mile to help us? How do we give generously of our resources to help others?

There is also a national or political layer to the story of Ruth. With its positive portrayal of Ruth as a foreign convert, the book may have been written as an antidote to those voices who were discouraging intermarriage in the post-exilic period. Ruth takes a risk to follow the call of her love for Naomi, in leaving her homeland, her people, and going to live in a foreign land, where she is unsure of how she will be received or whether she will be cared for. She puts her trust in Naomi, and in her people and her God.

Let us reflect on how we build relationships with people of different cultures and backgrounds to ourselves – personally as a society – how do we welcome the stranger? How do we make sure that those in need are provided for and cared for?

There is an even bigger picture in Ruth – a cosmological layer – one that relates to humanity as part of Nature.  Ruth's journey mirrors the journey of the first half of the year from winter to summer – from famine to feast, from fallow to fertile. This is one of those stories which for me illustrates the saying that the world is God's body – and we are God's hands and feet. In Ruth, the Divine Plan is fulfilled through human actions. It says, when we bless the world with our kindness, we are blessed in return. The Law of Reciprocity again. 

In the early medieval biblical commentary known as Midrash, Rabbi Zeira wrote of Ruth, “This scroll tells nothing either of cleanliness or of uncleanliness, neither of prohibition or permission. For what purpose then was it written? To teach how great is the reward of those who do deeds of kindness.” (Midrash Ruth Rabbah 2.13)

What does our experience teach us? Do we believe that kindness will be rewarded by blessings? Do we believe that the universe is ultimately a friendly place? Do we trust in the God of our understanding or Life? Is there Love at the heart of things? 

Give All to Love by Ralph Waldo Emerson

"Give all to love; 

Obey thy heart;

Friends, kindred, days, 

Estate, good-fame, 

Plans, credit and the Muse,—

Nothing refuse.

’T is a brave master; 

Let it have scope:

Follow it utterly, 

Hope beyond hope.

It was never for the mean; 

It requireth courage stout.

Souls above doubt, 

Valor unbending, 

It will reward,—

They shall return 

More than they were, 

And ever ascending."

The Holy Spirit of Communication and Fellowship: A Reflection for Pentecost

"When the holy day of Pentecost came 50 days after Passover, they were gathered together in one place.

Picture yourself among the disciples:

A sound roars from the sky without warning, the roar of a violent wind, and the whole house where you are gathered reverberates with the sound. Then a flame appears, dividing into smaller flames and spreading from one person to the next. All the people present are filled with the Holy Spirit and begin speaking in languages they’ve never spoken, as the Spirit empowers them.

Because of the holy festival, there are devout Jews staying as pilgrims in Jerusalem from every nation under the sun. They hear the sound, and a crowd gathers. They are amazed because each of them can hear the group speaking in their native languages. They are shocked and amazed by this...

Whoever made a place for his [Peter] message in their hearts received the baptism; in fact, that day alone, about 3,000 people joined the disciples. 

The community continually committed themselves to learning what the apostles taught them, gathering for fellowship, breaking bread, and praying. Everyone felt a sense of awe because the apostles were doing many signs and wonders among them. There was an intense sense of togetherness among all who believed; they shared all their material possessions in trust. They sold any possessions and goods that did not benefit the community and used the money to help everyone in need. They were unified as they worshipped at the temple day after day. In homes, they broke bread and shared meals with glad and generous hearts. The new disciples praised God, and they enjoyed the goodwill of all the people of the city. Day after day the Lord added to their number everyone who was experiencing liberation."

Acts 2: 1 - 7; 41 - 47 (The Voice)

The Spirit of Communication: In the story, we hear that the Holy Spirit gives the disciples the gift of being able to speak in different languages, so that every one of their audience understands them. 

Communication is the creation and exchange of meaning. Good communication is therefore vital to healthy spiritual community. Sustaining good communication is not simple. We are highly complex beings and our communication is complicated. There are many factors influencing how we communicate, including culture, education, upbringing, neurodiversity, context, energy and emotions. We have many means of communication now, in addition to face to face interactions. We can use the telephone, email, text messages, social media applications, and so on. So many ways to be understood and so many ways to be misunderstood! 

Unitarians can be fond of using many words, but words are only a small part of communication. When we communicate face to face, much of our communication is nonverbal, such as body language and facial expression. Electronic communication can be easily misinterpreted because words are isolated from nonverbal cues that provide more information. Whatever the mode of communication, the message sent is not necessarily the message received, because both sender and receiver must filter the message through their thoughts and feelings. Asking for feedback is the only way to be sure that our message has been understood in the way we intended it. Every message has content, conveyed by words, and feeling, expressed through the nonverbal cues of body language, gestures, facial expression, tone of voice, emphasis, and volume. If the content and feeling do not match, the feeling usually carries more weight, for example, if we say “I'm not angry with you” in a loud angry voice. 

Different forms of neurodiversity may affect some aspects of communication strongly. For example, people on the autistic spectrum may use direct and honest speech, which may be perceived as rude. They may find it hard to pick up on nonverbal clues and to participate in small talk, which for neurotypical people can be an important part of socialising. I have recently become more aware of aphantasia, a form of neurodiversity which includes the inability to visualise pictures in the mind while awake. “Picture yourselves among the disciples” - the phrase used by the author of The Voice bible translation – would be largely meaningless for someone with aphantasia. 

Being aware of these differences can help us learn about how we might adjust our communication so that we might be better understood by others. How we communicate with each other is important and so is how we talk to ourselves. I don't mean walking round the house muttering to myself, although I do that too. What I mean is the internal dialogue inside our minds. 

Valarie Kaur, in See No Stranger, talks about the inner voices that exist in her mind, the voice of fear and the voice of wisdom. The voice of fear, which she calls “the Little Critic”, shames and judges her. He says things like, “What will people think?” “What's wrong with you?” “They're going to eat you alive!” Here's what she says about the voice of wisdom, which she calls “Wise Woman”, “Her voice is quiet. There is so much noise in my mind – the Little Critic but also the cacophony of noises from the outside world, an endless stream of breaking news and social media and other people's thoughts. I have to get really quiet in order to hear her. How do I know when I am hearing her voice? She is tender and truthful. She is not afraid of anything or anyone. She does not give me all the answers, but she does know what I need to do in this moment – to wonder, grieve, fight, rage, listen, reimagine, breathe, or push. She helps me show up to the labor as my best self... My most vigilant spiritual practice is finding the seconds of solitude to get quiet enough to hear the Wise Woman in me.”

Just as we stillness and quiet help us to tune in to our own inner wisdom, some of the most powerful communication between people can be entirely without words. Consider what Thich Nhat Hanh says in Peace is This Moment about what we can transmit and receive in silence, through energy and presence, “You don't need to talk to communicate. If you sit and radiate peace, stability, and joy, you are offering something very precious to the other person. If the other person is truly present and sitting with solidity and peace, you can receive a lot of energy from them. True communication is possible in silence. Silence can be very elegant.” 

This brings me to the Spirit of Fellowship. The Apostles are sharing the Gospel, the good news, of the transformative power of joining the fellowship of the followers of Jesus Christ. The Spirit inspires the new and growing community to share everything – bread, prayer, possessions. What is the good news of Unitarianism? We may no longer speak in terms of forgiveness of sins and eternal salvation, but we do invite people to experience our transformational fellowship – a place where all are welcome, where people are loving and forgiving, where we share from our hearts, where the Spirit of Life connects us and inspires us to lead good lives. May we have the courage to spread the liberating message of our Unitarian faith and issue an open invitation to join our transformative fellowship for those who find a place for it in their hearts. 

I have spoken about the importance of the way we talk with each other and ourselves, but let us also remember that actions speak louder than words. Our Unitarian movement is founded on deeds not creeds. Our forebears who had the courage to break away from the established church and its elaborate creeds and rituals were inspired by the simplicity of the early Christian community as described in the Acts of the Apostles. I believe this is a vision of unity that can inspire us today – gathering for fellowship and worship, sharing with those in need, with glad and generous hearts.

Vismaad: Choose to Wonder

"Wondrous is sound, wondrous is ancient wisdom. Wondrous are the creatures, wondrous are their varieties. Wondrous are the forms, wondrous are the colours. Wondrous are the beings who wander around unclothed. Wondrous is the wind, wondrous is the water. Wondrous is the fire, which works wonders. Wondrous is the earth, wondrous the sources of creation. Wondrous are the tastes we seek and seize. Wondrous is union, wondrous is separation. Wondrous is hunger, wondrous is satisfaction. Wondrous is divine praise, wondrous is divine adoration. Wondrous is the wilderness, wondrous is the right path. Wondrous is closeness, wondrous is distance. Wondrous to face the divine, ever-present now. Beholding these wonders, I am wonderstruck. O Nanak, those who understand this are blessed."

Sri Guru Granth Sahib, Asa di Var, 463:18 – 464:4 by Guru Nanak, translated by Valarie Kaur

Listen to a beautiful recording of a recitation of this prayer in Punjabi here

“At that time the disciples came to Jesus, saying, “Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?” And calling to him a child, he put him in the midst of them, and said, “Truly, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Whoever humbles himself like this child, he is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.” Matthew 18: 1 – 4 

What do Jesus' words that we need to become like children to enter the kingdom of heaven mean to you? They speak to me to the need to redevelop our sense of wonder. Children have an inbuilt sense of wonder. Everything is new and marvellous to a small child – butterflies, flowers, snow, clouds, frogs... A few days ago, I was in the vivarium at the Manchester Museum. A small child was peering intently into one of the frog tanks, and began chatting to me, telling me which colour frogs he could see. “I see a red one!” “I see a green one!” “I see a black one with yellow spots!” Then he grew bolder and said, putting his fingers round his eyes like a pair of specs, “I have these visi-things that I put on and I can see the bones underneath!” His Dad laughed and told me he'd been happily staring into the same frog tank for ages. “He just loves it here,” he said, “he thinks it's all wonderful.” And so it is.

Perhaps we might feel that as we get older and more cynical about the world, we begin to lose our childlike sense of wonder. But the good news is that regarding the world and each other with wonder is a choice that we can make, again and again. Wonder changes us for the better, expanding our hearts and minds, sparking curiosity and imagination. When we are curious about other people, we listen to their stories and imagine the reality of their lives, which leads us to empathy, compassion, and love.

We often hear the words awe and wonder used together, particularly to refer to experiences when we perceive our tininess in an infinite universe. Awe is an emotional response to perceiving something so vast that it transcends our current frame of reference. In the wake of awe, we experience wonder or reflective curiosity, which leads us to reshape our existing understanding of the world in order to make sense of our experience. Researchers from the University of California studied the effect of feelings of awe and wonder on emotional health and social connections. They found that experiencing awe and wonder increased the inclinations to care for, share with and assist other people.  A 2019 study published in Frontiers in Psychology found that experiencing awe led to decreased self-importance and materialism, and increased humility, connectedness, satisfaction and wellbeing.

The Irish philosopher John Moriarty describes his experiences of wonder in his book, Invoking Ireland, “It was mostly when I’d be out hunting that it would happen to me. Even if it was only a hare for my supper I was hunting, it could happen to me. I’d be walking along by a river maybe and an animal light that would never be morning would dawn in me and for as long as it lasted I would know what animals know. I swear to God, I would know what bushes know and I might as well give up then because, no matter how hungry I was, I couldn’t level a gun at anything. It was like waking up to the wonder of things. And wonder is danger to how we normally are. It can bring down minds. Eyes and minds. And to say that it can bring down ways of seeing and knowing a world is to say that it can bring down worlds. It was wonder that brought down my first eyes and mind. It brought down my first world.” 

This idea of wonder as an extraordinary knowing that allows us to penetrate life's mystery and changes our perception of the world is encapsulated in the Punjabi word, Vismaad. The Sikh musician and blogger Shivpreet Singh describes vismaad as, “a state of being that goes beyond the limitations of ego and encompasses a deep appreciation for the mysteries of life.” Ego, writes Singh, is the antithesis of vismaad, since it acts as a hindrance to the experience of wonder. Ego-centric people falsely believe that they possess complete knowledge, which eliminates the mystery and curiosity that accompanies vismaad. In contrast, those who have attained spiritual enlightenment, embody the highest form of vismaad,  possessing the ability to perceive the divine within all things. As Guru Nanak, the founder of Sikhism, said, "Wondrous to face the divine, ever-present now. Beholding these wonders, I am wonderstruck. O Nanak, those who understand this are blessed.”

This ability to see all things as wondrous is echoed in the words of Rabbi and civil rights activist, Abraham Joshua Heschel, who wrote, “Our goal should be to live life in radical amazement... get up in the morning and look at the world in a way that takes nothing for granted. Everything is phenomenal; everything is incredible; never treat life casually. To be spiritual is to be amazed.”

In her book See No Stranger the Sikh anti-racist activist and founder of the Revolutionary Love project, Valarie Kaur, speaks of wonder as the wellspring for love. The title of her book comes from one of Guru Nanak's compositions in the Guru Granth Sahib, in which he says, “I see no enemy. I see no stranger. All of us belong to each other... The One pervades all.” 

Kaur writes, “Seeing no stranger begins in wonder. It is to look upon the face of anyone and choose to say: You are a part of me I do not yet know. Wonder is the wellspring for love… It is easy to wonder about the internal life of the people closest to us. It is harder to wonder about people who seem like strangers or outsiders. But when we choose to wonder about people we don’t know, when we imagine their lives and listen for their stories, we begin to expand the circle of who we see as part of us... Wonder is where love begins, but the failure to wonder is the beginning of violence. Once people stop wondering about others, once they no longer see others as part of them, they disable their instinct for empathy. And once they lose empathy, they can do anything to them, or allow anything to be done to them. Entire institutions built to preserve the interests of one group of people over another depend on this failure of imagination.”

“Never lose a holy curiosity,” said Albert Einstein. So let us keep wondering about the world. Let us keep wondering about everyone we meet. For when we keep wondering, we open the door of our heart to curiosity, imagination, empathy, compassion, and love. May it be so.

Guru Nanak, with followers Mardana and Bala, by W. Kapur Singh

Rising in Love: An Easter Reflection

 “And when the Sabbath was past, Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James, and Salome, bought spices, so that they might go and anoint him. And very early on the first day of the week they went to the tomb when the sun had risen. And they were saying to one another, “Who will roll away the stone for us from the door of the tomb?” And looking up, they saw that the stone was rolled back; for it was very large. And entering the tomb, they saw a young man sitting on the right side, dressed in a white robe; and they were amazed. And he said to them, “Do not be amazed; you seek Jesus of Nazareth who was crucified. He has risen, he is not here; see the place where they laid him.” Mark 16: 1 – 6 

In the approach to Easter this year, I have been drawn to the imagery of the stone rolled back, and I have been contemplating what it might mean for me, in my life. This month, I have been undertaking a 21-day Sadhana, facilitated by my yoga teacher and the supportive community of fellow practitioners that surround her, focused on a variety of practices for opening the heart to new opportunities. Sadhana is a Sanskrit word meaning 'discipline' in pursuit of a goal, and in Kundalini Yoga it refers to a daily spiritual practice done with the goal of transcending the ego.

The image of the stone rolled back and the empty tomb have become for me a metaphor for the opening of my heart. The tomb stone represents death, separation, the ego, the false self, all the ways I close myself off from love. The stone rolled back to reveal the empty tomb represents life, union, the true self, all the wondrous possibilities of a lived in the fullness of love.

The journey of Lent is a microcosm of life's spiritual journey – the continuing transformation from death to life, from fear to love. We begin on Ash Wednesday by acknowledging our mortality and our human frailties. We end on Easter Sunday by celebrating the triumph of love over death and our own participation in that great, universal love – the miracle of resurrection that happens within us and around us every day when we forgive ourselves and others, and acknowledge our interconnection with all beings. 

St Epiphanios of Cyprus, one of the Early Church Fathers, in a homily given on Holy Saturday, Easter Eve, said, "I order you, O sleeper, to awake. I did not create you to be a prisoner in hell. Rise from the dead, for I am the life of the dead. Rise up, work of my hands, you who were created in my image. Rise, for you are in me and I am in you. Together we form only one person and we cannot be separated."

Franciscan spiritual teacher Richard Rohr describes the journey from the false self to the true self as a returning home to the truth of who we are in God and who God is in us, which is love. In his book, Immortal Diamond, he writes, "Many Christians begin Lent on Ash Wednesday with the signing of ashes on the forehead and the words from Genesis 3:19, which is just the first shocking part of the message, "Dust you are and unto dust you shall return." But then we should be anointed, Christed, with a holy oil on Easter morning, with the other half of the message: love is always stronger than death and unto that love you have now returned.”

The true self, the connected self, is the self that acts in love and from love. But it is not always easy to choose love. Sometimes it is easier to choose the illusion of separation. Easter reminds us that we always live in union with the divine, but sometimes we cover up this reality with the stone of a hard heart and we need to roll away the stone and recover our true nature.

The UU minister Paul Stephan Dodenhoff, in his piece Why I Celebrate Easter, writes, “Every day offers us, yet again, the chance to experience our own Divinity and spiritual Transformation. The stone is rolled away and the tomb is left empty every time we acknowledge our own Christ Reality—or whatever name you choose to use—and the Christ Reality of all beings and things as part and parcel of the Ultimate Divine Mystery in which we “live and move and have our being.” To do that, we must die to our small, petty ego-selves: a difficult, often painful process.”

During my Lenten Sadhana journey, there were some days on which I  found myself experiencing resistance to completing my yoga practice. This is not unusual for me, since I can struggle with the discipline required to maintain a consistent, daily spiritual practice. But this resistance didn't feel like that. It felt like I was resisting the process of continuing to open my heart wider. Eventually I realised my resistance was linked to some difficulties I was experiencing in my relationship with a friend. 

This friend has always been what I would politely call 'scatty' but recently the results of their behaviour had left me feeling hurt. My friend had made commitments which they had not kept. They apologised, but I had spent what felt like too much time and energy picking up the messy pieces they had left behind, on several occasions. I was beginning to become resentful and in danger of hardening my heart towards them. I realised if I didn't address the issue then I would eventually have to walk away from the friendship. 

When a relationship is abusive and the other person does not respect us, the best thing we can do is to walk away. This friendship is not like that. My friend is a good person, who is kind, funny and very good company. They also happen to be forgetful and lead a chaotic life, which means they don't always honour their commitments. It is part of the way they are wired. It is no use hoping they will change. 

I didn't want to lose the friend I love, but I had begun to feel that love for my friend and love for myself were in conflict, pulling me in different directions. How could I act with love for both myself and for my friend?

First, I had to take a step back and acknowledge that it was my bruised ego that was causing me to feel annoyed and under-valued, that my friend had not deliberately set out to hurt me.  And then I made the decision to pull back from some of the plans we had made together, to give myself space to consider how I might approach things differently in future.

Ultimately, I know that if I want to keep my friend, I have to keep them warts and all. I choose to stay in relationship, to risk feeling hurt and let down again. I choose to open my heart to love, knowing that I may not always like the consequences. Sometimes love is hard work. The ego is not transcended in one day or even in the space of a 21-day Sadhana.

I believe in the inherent goodness of people. I believe that people rarely do hurtful things deliberately. Sometimes it may be through ignorance or because they are hurting themselves. Opening our hearts to people doesn't mean we need to condone their behaviour. It means we open our hearts to their pain and try to understand where they are coming from. 

Humans are hardwired for connection and community. We are hardwired for love. We may not always like what the people we love do or don't do. We make not always like all the people in our communities. But we can choose to keep loving them, even when it feels difficult. I believe that, in the end, love is always worth it.

This Easter, may we recognise our interdependence with all beings, how we are woven into the fabric of being itself. May we accept that we are loved unconditionally and keep returning to the truth of that love, that we may offer love and forgiveness to one another. And may we give thanks for the gift of new life that we receive each morning upon waking, and the opportunities each new day brings.

I leave you with the words of UU minister Molly Housh Gordon from her piece We Keep Rising in Love, “Is new life possible? Is love stronger, even, than death? The question itself invites us to rise up, and to live as though it were true—to make it true in our living... You can crush Love down, bury it, cover it over, but it will rise. It will reach for the sun, and we will reach for each other. Love will have the final word, even if that word is just a question, a wild possibility, a whisper to rise and follow wherever it may lead. Communities formed and nurtured in love will rise up for and with each other again and again.” Amen.

"Do the little things" - On Peace, Justice, and the Wisdom of the Warrior-Sage

"These days Welsh people have begun to adopt the daffodil as their emblem, but originally it was the leek. David is said to have been the son of a prince, and to have been brought up as a man of war. He was, however, a Christian and had no wish to spend his life in killing. He joined the Church, and started a monastery where he became well known for his learning and his care of people. He was a peaceful man – though he was not always allowed to enjoy the peaceful life. Legend tells us that war-like people poured into Wales. They over-ran much of the country – killing and stealing and destroying. The Welsh tried to resist them but they were no match for the invaders. Then they remembered David and how he had been trained as a man of war. They went to him and begged his help. He loved his country and so agreed. He rallied all the knights of the country around him. In the battle that followed the Welsh were a small army and at the beginning did not fare very well. During a lull in the battle, when each side was taking a rest, David was concerned that they were so few, and that they could easily lose sight of each other and even kill each other by mistake. Then he had an idea. The field where they were resting was full of leeks. David pulled one out, stuck it in his helmet, and called on his knights to do the same. This way they would be able to recognise each other. So with renewed enthusiasm they returned to the battle, won a victory, and pushed the invaders out of Wales. That is why the Welsh still wear a leek – or nowadays a daffodil – on the 1st of March in honour of St. David." From a story by Derek Smith

"The Passover of the Jews was near, and Jesus went up to Jerusalem. In the temple he found people selling cattle, sheep, and doves, and the money changers seated at their tables. Making a whip of cords, he drove all of them out of the temple, with the sheep and the cattle. He also poured out the coins of the money changers and overturned their tables. He told those who were selling the doves, “Take these things out of here! Stop making my Father’s house a marketplace!”" John 2: 13 - 16

I  was struck by the similarities between today's gospel reading from the Revised Common Lectionary about Jesus turning over the tables in the temple and the story of St David and the leeks. David was a man of peace, known for his kindness and compassion, but was prepared to help with battle to defend his community from attack. Jesus was a man of peace, known for his kindness and compassion, but was prepared to throw the corrupt money changers out of the temple to defend his community from enemies within and the holy temple from desecration. “There are no unsacred places. Only sacred places and desecrated places,” said the poet Wendell Berry.

When I was younger I used to think that this display of anger from Jesus was somewhat out of character, but over the years I have come to see that anger borne of being passionate about justice is entirely in character for the compassionate Jesus. Alastair McIntosh expresses this beautifully in his book with Matt Carmichael, Spiritual Activism, in which he recalls a workshop he ran at Iona Abbey, writing, “There was a mismatch between theme and participants. Many were in groups that had come for a spiritual holiday and activism did not speak to their needs. Initially we had an uncomfortable time together. As one woman put it, “Your Jesus is not like mine. Mine is always gentle, kind, and a healer.” “So is mine!” said Alastair, “which is why he turned over the money-changers' tables in the temple, told the rich young man to give it all away and challenged hypocritical family values.”

On a similar note, the poet Khalil Gibran wrote, “Long ago, there lived a man who was crucified for being too loving and too lovable. And strange to relate, I met him thrice yesterday. The first time he was asking a policeman not to take a prostitute to prison. The second time he was drinking wine with an outcast. And the third time he was having a fist fight with a promoter inside a church.”

The late great Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. famously said, “There can be no justice without peace and there can be no peace without justice.” We see the painful truth of this statement in the conflict in Israel and Gaza, with its long and complicated history of injustices. 

It may be helpful here to explore what we mean by justice and peace. When Dr. Martin Luther King spoke of justice, like Jesus and the Hebrew prophets before him, he was speaking of social justice, of a fair and just world for all its inhabitants. Anglican priest June Boyce-Tillman, describing how the medieval mystic, Hildegard von Bingen, used the word justice, said, “Justice is right relationship between human beings and the natural world and the divine.”

The English word 'peace' is derived from the Latin 'pax' – related to pact, truce, and treaty – meaning the temporary cessation of armed conflict. The Hebrew word 'shalom' is usually translated into English as peace, but has a deeper meaning, encompassing wholeness, well-being, prosperity, safety, and soundness. In India, the word for peace is 'shanti'. Satish Kumar, the Indian-British peace activist and former Jain monk, wrote, “In India we pronounce peace three times – shanti, shanti, shanti – because peace has at least three dimensions: inner peace, social peace and ecological peace – making peace with yourself, making peace with the world and making peace with nature.”

What does shalom look like when applied to inner peace? Since inner peace is individual, this will be different for each of us. For me, inner peace can mean feelings of tranquillity and harmony, such as those I find in meditation and when walking in the woods and hills. “Contemplation of nature revives my soul,” as Christine Robinson said in her version of Psalm 19. And then there is 'peace of mind' – being comfortable in my own skin – this is an ongoing process of self-compassion and forgiveness.

I think that inner peace, social peace, and ecological peace all require compassion and forgiveness to bring healing and wholeness. To find inner peace we must practice self-acceptance and self-compassion, and forgive ourselves our mistakes. Social peace requires us to heal the wounds of society with compassion and forgiveness of each other. Ecological peace requires us to heal the wounds of the earth with compassion for all living beings. 

Justice is key to social and ecological peace. Most conflict in the world is about control and possession of resources – land, water, fossil fuels. We only have to remember the Gulf Wars, fought to secure the oil supply of the West, and the continuing involvement of Saudi Arabia in the war in Yemen is being fuelled by UK arms deals with Saudi Arabia, who provide us with oil. 

Competition for resources will become more intense as climate change progresses. In recent years Extinction Rebellion has become a world-wide movement demanding justice for our planet. Last year a group of Unitarians formed Unitarians for Climate Justice. 

The climate justice movement challenges our global economy that prioritises money over the welfare of future generations. It draws attention to the injustice of a situation which sees the worst effects of climate change experienced by the poorest peoples in the world, with the smallest carbon footprints, while in rich countries with the largest carbon emissions, we remain relatively unscathed so far. Members of Extinction Rebellion and other environmental protest movements use our righteous anger about injustices to try to change the world through peaceful means. This is the work of the warrior-sage archetype, which is present in religious traditions from East and West, from Taoism to Christianity. 

The warrior-sage tradition is particularly strong in Sikhism, the youngest of the major world religions, founded by Guru Nanak, who was born in India in 1469. Sikh-American activist Valarie Kaur, in her recent book, See No Stranger, writes that Guru Gobind Singh, the tenth Sikh Guru, “led Sikhs into battle against an oppressive empire and called us to become sant-sipahi, warrior-sages. When you love someone, you fight to protect them when they are in harm's way. If you “see no stranger” and choose to love all people, then you must fight for anyone who is suffering from the harm of injustice. This was the path of the warrior-sage: the warrior fights, the sage loves. Revolutionary love.”

How can we follow Jesus and St. David in being people of peace who use our righteous anger about injustice to help change the world through peaceful means? How can we embody the warrior-sage wisdom in the fight for justice in our own time? Valarie Kaur suggests we ask ourselves four questions:

First, what is your sword? What are the weapons you can use to fight on behalf of others – your pen, your voice, your art, your wallet, your presence? 

Second, what is your shield? What can you use to protect yourself and others when fighting is dangerous – your camera, your legal counsel, your allies, public witness?

Third, what is your instrument? Kaur explains, “In Sikh legend, our ancestors designed the dilruba, a string instrument small enough for soldiers to carry on their backs into the battlefield, so that they could lift their spirits in music, song, and poetry in the mornings before they faced the fire... Your dilruba can be what centers you – singing, dancing, drumming, walking, yoga, prayer, meditation.”

Finally, who is your sacred community? You just need three kinds of people. Someone who sees the best in you; someone who is willing to fight by your side; someone who can fight for you when you need help. “Bring them together,” says Kaur, “and you've created a pocket of revolutionary love.”

I am grateful for my sacred community of Unitarians and grateful that many of them are on the front lines of protest, but I confess that I am not among them. I can't deal with crowds, so I support from the sidelines non-violent civil disobedience, which has been key to achieving social change from Gandhi's campaign for Indian independence from Britain, through the civil rights movement in America to the anti-apartheid movement in South Africa.  As I understand it, the core of my Unitarian faith is the path of peace – learning to make peace with ourselves, peace with each other, peace with our God. It is not just a journey towards peace, but the road we travel.  

As I don't tend to join marches, I try to contribute to creating a just and compassionate world in other ways – my weapon of choice is more often than not my keyboard and broadband connection – I try to educate myself about social justices issues, and then I email my MP, and sign online petitions and share them on social media. I participate in interfaith dialogue as part of the Faith Network for Manchester. I support charities involved in the work of peace and justice on local, national, and international scales. This Lent, I am making a commitment to move my bank accounts so that my money is invested in more ethical financial institutions. 

I see the season of Lent as an invitation to simplicity. It inspires me to being grateful for and content with all I have, and to be attentive to and appreciative of the small changes happening in nature all around me every day. Saint David was a paragon of simplicity. The monks in the dozen monasteries he founded followed a simple Rule of Life, consisting of prayer, silence, studying scripture, farming the land by their own hands (not even using oxen to pull their ploughs), and eating a plain vegetarian diet of bread, leeks, and herbs. They were not permitted to own possessions, holding everything in common. David was known as Aquaticus, the water drinker, because he and his monks drank only water, rather than ale. Now I'm not suggesting that I adopt such as spartan lifestyle, but it has inspired me to consider my purchases and consumption habits carefully, and to try to make small changes where I can.

David said, “do the little things.” I believe that the smallest actions make a difference. Peaceful communication in our daily interactions and personal relationships is the most important way we embody justice and peace. Every time we see something from another’s point of view, we cultivate empathy, every time we treat someone else with respect, kindness and compassion, when accept one another and ourselves without judgement and condemnation, we contribute to building a just and peaceful world.  

“When I say go in peace, I mean “go in peace, seeking justice.” I mean, “go in peace, committed to equal rights and opportunities for all.” When I say, go in peace, I mean “Go in the peace that is created when, together, we build communities of true solidarity, deep compassion, and fierce, unrelenting love.” Go in peace.” Jim Magaw