Fount of Wisdom

“Fount of Wisdom” By Rev. Nastasha Ostrom Preached Sunday, July 9, 2017 Unitarian Universalist Fellowship of Raleigh

There’s an ancient story you may have heard about an unseen elephant. The story appears to be Hindu in origin, but has also been told by a great many other faith traditions, including Unitarian Universalists.

On a very dark night, several people were traveling along a road, when suddenly they encountered something unexpected. Their bodies smacked into a huge barrier, and they could go no farther. Each person reached out in the darkness to the thing they had encountered, and tried to feel what it might be. One person touched something solid and tall, and thought it might be a wall. Another person’s fingers brushed over something hard and rounded, and she thought it might be a tree trunk. A third carefully touched something long and sharp, and thought perhaps it was a spear. A fourth grasped something long and soft and thought it might be a snake. The last touched something flat and somewhat floppy, and thought it was a fan.

No one was right. It was an elephant. They were all touching different parts, but none grasped the whole.

The meaning of the story is clear. We human beings encounter the truth in fragments. No one person can claim a monopoly on truth.

Just as no one person has a monopoly on truth, so too does no one religion. Each religion has wisdom to share that can help challenge, inspire and guide us.

In the book Wisdom Ways, feminist theologian Elisabeth Fiorenza talks about “Wisdom’s open house”, a radical, democratic and inclusive learning space where wisdom moves “without borders or exclusions”

Fiorenza uses this concept of Wisdom’s open house to introduce feminist biblical interpretation, but every time I think of it, I think instead about how it could also be a metaphor for religious community at its very, very best.

At their very, very best, religious communities are open spaces where people of diverse religious perspectives can come and go freely. They are radical spaces where wisdom sinks down to the roots of community, transforming it from the ground up into a welcoming space for all. They are democratic and inclusive spaces, where the spiritual contributions of all are valued, not just those of particular privileged religious voices, and where all participate in shaping our collective wisdom. And at their best our religious communities are learning spaces, spaces where we open our minds and our hearts to one another’s wisdom and the wisdom of the other religions with curiosity and respect.

But should religious communities also be spaces where the wisdom of the world religions moves “without borders or exclusions”, to use Fiorenza’s words?

One possible answer is offered up in a book by one of my favorite authors, fantasy writer Patrick Rothfuss. In Wise Man’s Fear, the young protagonist Kvothe tells his friends a wisdom story from his culture, the Edema Ruh.

In the story a mysterious beggar with no name travels through the wilderness and comes upon five campfires. He’s hungry, and visits the people at each campfire asking for food, but is turned away each time. The mysterious nameless beggar leaves the five campfires empty handed and is about to give up and travel hungry through the night when he notices a very small, mostly hidden campfire with several ragtag people crouched around it - a traveling troupe. The people around the campfire are Edema Ruh, and understanding what it's like to be turned away and abused, they invite the beggar to join them at their fire and share their meal. They offer him wine, and he refuses, saying water would be fine. And so the Edema Ruh welcome him as family, and he spends many years with the traveling troupe as one of their own.

After Kvothe finishes sharing the story, his friends admit that it confused them. It didn’t end the way they expected. In the stories of their own people, a tale like that would usually end with a revelation of the beggar’s mysterious identity and a reward to the impoverished Edema Ruh troupe for their kindness.

Kvothe then explains to his friends that some stories are stories we tell others, like the stories we use to entertain people. But other stories are stories we tell ourselves. He says, and now I quote,

"The story holds a kernel of truth. If you promise to keep yourselves, I will tell you a secret... If you ever accept the hospitality of a traveling troupe, and they offer you wine before anything else, they are Edema Ruh... But don't take the wine... Your host offers you wine, but you insist on water. When you do this, they will know you are friend of the Edema, that you know our ways. They will treat you like family for the night, as opposed to being a mere guest."

This fantasy story is like some of the wisdom stories around the world, stories which are often intended for people within a particular community rather than people outside of it. As Kvothe says, there are stories we tell others, and there are stories we tell ourselves.

So what happens when a story a group of people tell themselves, a story intended for their community, gets taken out of its original context? Is this a problem?

It depends in part, I think, on the type of wisdom in the story. Is it universal wisdom, true for most people in most times and places? Or is it particular wisdom, true for a specific group of people in a specific time and place? And who benefits from the sharing of the wisdom?

Last month, I preached on the 1st of our six Sources, “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 which sustain and uphold life”

Wisdom comes from many sources. Some wisdom comes from transcending mystery and wonder, from life itself. In this sense, wisdom is universal.

And yet, however direct an experience may be, it is never an unmediated experience. By this I mean that we encounter mystery and wonder at particular times and places, as embodied beings. We make meaning out of not just the sweet ineffable mess of raw experience itself, but out of the way our experiences filter through our unique lives and through the things going on around us in the world.

Perhaps, as we heard in the song earlier, there are many windows, one light. But think of the windows as stained glass. Beautifully stained glass, but still stained. The light shines through in kaleidoscopic richness, and it’s hard to separate how much of that is the original light and how much is the brilliant, beautiful colors of the tinted glass.

We Unitarian Universalists have a long history of seeking universal wisdom, in ways that sometimes overlook the rich particularities of the wisdom of other faith communities. For example, mid-19th century Unitarian Transcendentalists were very interested in Hinduism and Buddhism. They drew on both traditions in the development of their own religious understanding. However, according to Chris Walton in his article Unitarianism and early American interest in Hinduism, 19th century Unitarians were primarily interested in ideas and literature, and largely ignored spiritual practices and cultural contexts. They filtered the light of Hinduism and Buddhism through their own particular religious contexts. The light that emerged within Unitarianism was different than the original light. Something was lost. Perhaps a few things were gained.

Like our Transcendentalist forbearers, we too sometimes pluck religious wisdom out of its original context for our own purposes without regard for the sacred wholeness of other faith traditions.

And yet, however incompletely Buddhism and Hinduism came into our tradition, the fact remains that they appear to have both nevertheless influenced the formation of 19th century Unitarian thought, and thus 21st century Unitarian Universalist thought as well. And though it took some time, eventually we came to respect the practices of these traditions in addition to the teachings.

For example, UU minister and Buddhist priest Rev. James Ford says that Unitarian Humanists began practicing Zen meditation in the early 20th century, and those practices have been pretty well established in some congregations for several decades now. Perhaps you have practiced Zen meditation here or at another UU congregation. So while we may not have always embraced the fullness of traditions that resonate with us, it seems that over time, our understanding of and respect for Buddhism in all its richness has grown. Perhaps then, given enough time, wisdom does indeed move “without borders or exclusions”.

Wisdom’s open house is a place where many people, and many ideas and practices, can find a home. Today there are Unitarian Universalist Christians, Muslims, Jews, Agnostics, Pagans, Buddhists, Hindus, Atheists and more. Our congregations welcome religious wisdom in its many forms: songs and stories, teachings and texts, rituals and holy days. Many congregations have local pagan groups and Buddhist sanghas, celebrate Passover seder and host guests for Ramadan, read Rumi’s poetry and practice kirtan. We are striving to be Wisdom’s open house.

We will be taking a deeper look at the wisdom of Jewish and Christian teachings in the next sermon in this series. So I want to leave you now with these words from Proverbs, Chapter 8: “Does not wisdom call, and does not understanding raise her voice?... Beside the gates in front of the town, at the entrance of the portals she cries out: ‘To you, O people, I call, and my cry is to all that live.’.”

Wisdom’s cry is to all that live. May we respond to that cry with respect and care, treating the wisdom of other faith traditions with the humility and respect and the open-armed welcome that Wisdom itself deserves.