"A Labyrinth Has No Beginning Or End"

Les Tacy- October 11, 2009

READINGS:
Excerpts from Alan Alda’s “Things I Overheard While Talking to Myself”
Excerpt 1:
“At some point in your lives, a lot of you are going to look up from your work and wonder: ‘what’s the point of it all? You’ll wonder how much you’re really getting accomplished, and how much it all means. I think it’s safe to say that most of you will experience this. The sentence ‘what’s the purpose of all this?’ is written in big letters over the door of the Midlife Crisis Butcher Shop. You can’t miss it, as you lug the carcass of your worldly success through the door to have it dressed, and trimmed, and placed in little plastic packages, so you can dazzle people with it in your showcase. ‘What’s the purpose of all this?’ You may ask yourself that question next year, or twenty years from now. But when you do, you’ll remember what I’m going to tell you now: Life is meaningless unless you bring meaning to it; it’s up to us to create our own existence.”
Excerpt 2:
“Be open to change, and take risks – that’s the adventure and the art of life. Find the bridge between constancy and experiment. Be flexible, but principled. Be a dissenter, but patriotic. Be disciplined but improvise.”
Excerpt 3:
“We ride this rhythm – and it rides us. Like a wind sock in a heartless gale, the artist whips back and forth to the beat of nature, free of care, and sometimes, just a s free of safety.”
Excerpt 4:
“Not knowing is much more interesting than believing an answer which might be wrong.”
Excerpt 5:
“It turns out that the old thing about the destination not being as valuable as the journey really is true because when we began, FINDING seemed important. And I guess it was. But as it turned out, LOOKING has been the fun.”

SERMON:
INTRODUCTION
So here we are – one of your church musicians trying to put two words together. Maybe it’s easier for me to put two notes together, I don’t know for sure. Let’s hope I don’t get too off key. Let’s hope the progression of thought makes sense like the chord progression of a song. Let’s hope the tune is somewhat easy to follow, and the accompanying harmonies pleasant, if not at times dissonant, and interesting. A sermon is like a composition anyway, coming from the heart and soul, laying open ourselves for scrutiny and criticism, and maybe praise and acknowledgment. In fact, our very lives are compositions. At some points simple melodies that are intuitive and easy to follow. Other times complex, with strange, and at times dissonant, chords. At times an expression of anger or rage, and at times expressions of love. At times predictable, and at times very exciting and unpredictable. Like Bach at times, and like Danny Elfman at others. Like Mozart, or like Wagner.

OUR STORY; OUR COMPOSITION; OUR BOOK
We all have our own story, are own composition, our own book. In fact, for those of us here today, we are still writing our book. None of us are sure if the chapter we are on is our last since we don’t know when the end of the book will occur. We just know that it is not the first chapter, and probably not the last.

THE LABYRINTH
My best imagery for this topic is that of walking a labyrinth. You know, like one out back here on the Northern Hills grounds. In my mind, the labyrinth has no real beginning or end. Once you reach the center, you walk back to the outskirts. You can do this over and over, if not on the same walk, then the collection of many walks. The process of meditation while walking is spiritual, often enlightening. Decisions might be formed during the walk. Change may be fostered as considerations of the confusing world, and our lives in it, are considered.
My image of a journey is not a straight path, but a circular one, like the labyrinth. It is in the walking that we find meaning, not arrival at any particular point. The journey is the best part, not arriving at the destination.
As I share some of my journey, and my questions and attempts to know myself and some of the world around me, I invite you to reflect on your own journey and your own questions. After all, we have some common themes I’m sure. Some of these are that we all have pain and joy. Uncertainty. Frustration. Anger. Love. Peace.
Many of us have similar experiences - loved ones leaving us by death, divorce, or withdrawing from us in some way. We also experience many aspects of love, through marriage or union of some kind, raising children, or doing good works that are helpful to individuals, or to the larger world. The individual variations on the common themes are what make our own life unique. So please think on your own spiritual journey as I relate a few parts of mine to you.
And as I share understand that coming to you today is humbling. In trying to answer the many “W” and “H” questions (Who, What, Where, When, Why, and How) I have not gotten definitive, stationary answers. The moment of now for me, and probably you, was different yesterday, is different today, and will be different tomorrow.

DEATHBED WORDS
I often have a fantasy where I’m close to the end of my life and am looking back. I hope that I will feel good about my life. And I visualize at that moment that I’m talking from my deathbed about my life: what I learned, and my acquired wisdom, imperfect as it will be. I am also hoping that as I look back I am pleased, for the most part, with how I treated other people. I don’t want to have many regrets. I sense that would be very painful. This backdrop often affects how I treat people. At the end of this talk I will relate to you what I might like to say at that moment.

BEFORE I ENTERED THE LABYRINTH –GROWING UP
I believe my spiritual journey began on June 10,1965. My dad, having just turned 44 on June 5 of the same year, died suddenly. I’m not sure how disappointment and sadness is felt in a boy the age of 7, but I do know I began asking those W and H questions. The H question – “How could this happen” – that was a big one. But also “What happened”? “Why did this happen?” “Where is my father now?” “Who took him”; or “Who knows the answers to these questions?” As it turned out, nobody had a firm answer, just beliefs. After my father died, I became scared of many things. I was sort of like a mini-Monk. I’m referring to the television character, Adrian Monk, who is a detective with many phobias. I was scared of loved ones leaving me, particularly my mom. If she died I would be destitute. Yes, I still had four sisters living with me, but I had no trust in their ability to manage things. I was scared of dying, particularly through poisoning. I wouldn’t touch my food in fear of getting germs that would kill me. I even ate sandwiches with a napkin curled around it so I wouldn’t touch it. When one of my sisters would touch something on my plate to tease me, I would not eat the food they touched. When I was outside I used to spit out what I thought were airborne poisons trying to get into me. I was also scared of evil spirits. I could not sleep in the dark. The bright light of my bedroom ceiling shone until I was asleep and my mom would quietly turn it out. Imagine my terror if I woke up in the middle of the night!

BEFORE I ENTERED THE LABYRINTH – THE CHURCH OF MY FIRST 42 YEARS
There was a positive fallback, however, in my young years and even into young adulthood. This was the church of my upbringing. The people there helped me deal with life’s questions and difficult moments. They were genuine, and while I’m now sure they were questioning many things too, their advice and their theology was a comfort to me. The theology was firm, and promising, even hopeful, so long as I
lived a good life.
There was a support structure that you would like to have in a church, and chances to become someone special. It is where my identity was formed. I longed for it. I longed to be acknowledged. I did not feel good about myself outside of the church – not at school, not in the neighborhood; really, not anywhere else. As I grew into a pre-teen and young teen, I remember praying fervently that I would be accepted by God and called into his priesthood. This church had a rather unique lay ministerial structure where men (later to include women) were “called” by God through the pastor of the congregation. There were unique offices that one could be called to, such as Deacon, Priest, Teacher, Elder, High Priest, Evangelists, and Bishop. One could progress as one grew in God’s good grace and as one evolved. Getting into the “priesthood”, as it was termed, was the most important thing for me in the world. Perhaps like some teens wanting to be accepted by their peer group, I wanted to be accepted in the church in this particular way. The church was my peer group, especially the other young people with whom I was very good friends. There was this sense of competition, however, among my friends, to get into God’s good graces so we would be “called” into the priesthood. I waited fervently as some of my friends were called and I wasn’t. Mine finally came – to the office of Priest.
After my ordination in March of 1975, I gave my first sermon, at the age of 17, in October of that same year. It was 10 minutes long and about forgiveness and repentance, and something else about following God I’m sure.

Over the years I gave many more sermons, and was called to an Elder in 1985. I performed baptisms, weddings, counseled people, and visited church members in the hospital, and in their homes. Think of anything a minister, with whom you are familiar, currently does and I probably did it. And all the while I held a full time job. I even served as a pastor one year in the late ‘80’s. My role in this faith was as a minister, not just as a musician, though I did contribute with music on Sunday’s I wasn’t the speaker or part of the ministry of the service.

ENTERING THE LABYRINTH: THE FIRST CIRCLE
One comment I need to make right now is that I am so amazed that I accepted all of the teachings of my youth and young adulthood as undeniably true. I didn’t question the framework; I simply questioned my ability to be faithful to it. My angst was not over whether or not the theology made sense or was even true, but whether or not I was worthy of it at all. Guilt was so huge in me. Whether it was guilt after hearing a sermon, or guilt after giving one, or any other of the myriad happenings in this church, I was constantly, and unsuccessfully trying to be the best person I could be. But I did not know what that truly was; though at the time I thought I had some clues about it. My W questions then were inward – “Why am I not getting this right”; “How can God accept me?” “When will I finally feel right about my life?” “Why
do I feel so bad after church, like I’m not measuring up?” I did not question the frame, just whether or not I was in the picture.
However, incrementally, almost imperceptibly, I began to question the frame.

My first doubts began when I read some books about the founder of the church I grew up in (Joseph Smith). They were from a “third party” perspective. They were not cloaked in the church’s biased history, nor from the biased view of those against the church. Through doing research into many documents of the early to mid 1800’s, this author had come upon some information they wanted to put out there to form a balanced view, a look at this phenomenon of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, a movement that began in the1800’s. It was not entirely critical, and not entirely complimentary. It seems balanced and real. But to me it was upsetting. It showed imperfections, even what I would have termed sins.
My paradigm was changing, and I was kicking and screaming inside with a heart wrenching “No, this can’t be”. I began a kind of mourning. I was moving into the first circle of the labyrinth. Before I wasn’t even in it. I didn’t need it. I knew what was. Now I didn’t. I didn’t want to go into it. But I was compelled. I remember reading these books in the early ‘80’s, and then setting them aside. Then the desire to know
about this would emerge again, and then fade. All the while I was actively engaged in the life of this church, through congregational experiences such as we have, to major conventions, such as our General Assembly, to camping experiences in the summer. Even while going through this soul searching, which lasted about 15 years, I was still trying to stay true to this foundation. The theology of my youth and
young adulthood (up to that point) had a strong hold on me.

THE SECOND CIRCLE OF THE LABYRINTH
Then I slowly entered the second circle of the labyrinth. I broke out of the frame around the year 2000. The turning of the century and millennium were symbolic for me as I look back. The W questions were becoming angry. “Why had I believed all this without questioning it”? “Where were answers to be found now?” “How do I find out what is right?” “When will this pain end?” At this point I went into therapy for two reasons, and came out after a third materialized. The first reason involved helping me deal with my father’s death, as I was approaching the age at which he died (he was 44 when he died and I was then 42). Part of that was dealing with how he handled me and my sisters,
which was not all good. The second reason was that I was in the process of leaving the church, which caused me deep pain and set me into a mourning spiral of guilt and fear. The third reason occurred while I was still in counseling. In 2002 when my wife of 22 years suddenly announced that she wanted a divorce. By the end of 2003, around the time I first met Steph, that string of therapy sessions had given me some help in dealing with these issues.

THE NEXT CIRCLE OF THE LABYRINTH
Then I went deeper into the labyrinth. During this same period of time, as I left the church, I was vacillating between “I do not believe at all in God”, to the question “Is there no organization that accepts people who are thinking like this, as well as the many other ways people probably think about things?” I had been so insular I was clueless about this. I also asked “If there is such a place, where is it?” “What is
it like?” “How do I find out about it?”
So I began a search. Typical of our times, I delved into this via the Internet. I found information about the UU church. I then found the UU Heritage Congregation, and began attending. I remember my first Sunday. The interim minister, a 50-ish aged lady from a Buddhist background spoke words of acceptance and comfort. There were no “You should’s”, or “You musts”. There was no “We got to share our story because our story will save souls”. It was just a talk about a part of her own spiritual journey, which involved two themes as I reflect on it now: 1. You can honor your past – in her case her Buddhism, and you can apply it to your current theology; and 2. The journey is ongoing, with no end, at least not while we are here.
As she talked I quietly sat in the back of the church and wept. They were tears of joy. There is a church where you can feel good about yourself, and decide for yourself if you need to be better, and how you can be better. She gave an honest expression of her own life’s journey, at that point in time, in that moment. There was nothing else but that moment of now, and I was in it.

WALKING TOWARD THE CENTER OF THE LABYRINTH
My life was changed at that moment, and my spiritual journey continued. I began walking the final circle of the labyrinth to the center. I experienced a joy in marriage I did not think possible. I was part of a church that I could feel good about, while honoring the foundation of my past theology. Also many wonderful things came about during this walk. I began to be accepted as a real musician. I found Steph and this congregation and was married here. Theology prompted the search, and yet the relationships that came about during that search has helped me to grow. Grow in music, as well as in meaningful, long-lasting relationships with Steph and the children, as well as with you all. This part of the journey, walking to the center, was spiritually healing.

WALKING BACK OUT OF THE LABYRINTH
Now I’m beginning to walk back again to the entry point of the labyrinth. My life is still fraught with fear, guilt, and darkness. This is balanced by joy and love, and feelings of accomplishment, in both my children’s cases and my relationship with Steph. I am developing a new foundation. It is broader than my former one, and has much more room that allows for other theologies and frameworks. I am still questioning: “Where will this lead me?” “How will I find inner peace? “What is, after all, the meaning of my life? “When will I finally feel as though I have real wisdom to impart?”; “Or is the questioning, the “not knowing”, the real wisdom?”. I don’t know now, and probably won’t know. Perhaps I’ll know more after I die, assuming there is existence after life. But even if or when that occurs, I believe I will still be questioning, wondering, trying to feel our way through.

POSSIBLE UTTERANCES FROM MY DEATHBED
In conclusion, I’d like to revisit the deathbed speech again. I’m not really sure what I might say from my deathbed. But in reading the last chapter of Alan Alda’s book I came up with some ideas. These are my own, but they are inspired by some ideas in the last chapter of that book. Here is my deathbed speech if I made it today: I can think of some essential rules that have helped me out and you may want to consider:
1. Make someone happy. Or, in other words, love someone. Learn how to laugh and how to make someone else laugh. Accept them for who they are. Surrender to them. Not give in, surrender. Fall completely in love, making yourself vulnerable in case they don’t love you back. The
experience of loving is itself helpful in growing spiritually.
2. Be helpful. Being helpful is better than being the center of attention. And if you do become the center of attention at times, use that to be helpful as well. Let those you around you who are not the center of attention know they matter just as much.
3. Use your own framework, whatever it is and whether or not it changes. Don’t let the world tell you success is a big house if you think it is a happy home. Don’t let someone bully you, telling you that they are stronger and richer than you, and if you aren’t as strong and rich then
you’re nothing. Why fight with them? Some may be richer after all, so leave them alone. Besides, you probably could care less what they think.
4. Hang out with people who fill your bucket as well as take from it. In other words, give and take. Don’t be with those that only take from you. They won’t help you grow. They will only weaken you. Be with those who are kind to you, filling your bucket, but who may also need
support from time to time, at which time they will take from your bucket.
5. And finally, after all of your meanderings about the meaning of life I would like to tell you what I’ve really learned: “The meaning of life is life!” Not noticing life is what’s meaningless. I don’t know if that is what I’ll be thinking then. Probably not. I just hope, when I’m on my deathbed, I’ll be able to impart something helpful, and that I’ll feel as though my life was worth living.