The first step of a spiritual life is recognizing that there exists something larger than myself, something which contains and supports me, but is more than me, perhaps even more valuable than me alone. When that larger thing needs our defense, we face the question of sacrifice. What are we willing to give, so the larger thing might flourish?
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We’re talking this winter season about the spiritual issue of meaning: the question of “Why does it matter?”
Last week, I suggested, that for some people, the question is answered by a feeling that the universe is ordered in a particular way, and that this order applies not merely to physical laws that we can describe through science, but also imbues our existence with a moral order. And so we have a sense that there is a right way to live, a feeling that there exists an ethical imperative that is just as real as the law of gravity, although unfortunately, given human free will, much easier to disobey.
Thus, some ways to live are right, and others wrong. Some actions we could take are right, and others wrong. Not just because I think so. Not just because I prefer it. Not just because it’s the way we do things here, in my culture. But truly right and forever wrong, for all people, always.
Meaning, then, for these sorts of people, comes from understanding the universal “oughts” and then following them personally, as closely as our human nature allows. Moving with the flow of the universe in the Taoist sense. Following the ethical teachings of Jesus or secular philosophers. Or following the rulebook given in the Torah.
Meaning, in this sense, is that there is a “rightness” to the universe, and our role in life is to assist and support and further that proper order, by living our lives in line with the universal law. Our individual lives have meaning, because the universal law is right, and good, and worthy, and when we follow that law in our own lives, we share in the right, and the good, and the worthy. On the other hand, if we chose to live our lives against the moral law of the universe, then our lives would be wrong, bad, sinful, or evil, unworthy, disordered and thus, meaningless.
This week, I want to offer a different path that some people walk to find meaning in their lives: the path of service. But before I get to that, I want to pick up and expand on a lesson from last week’s sermon, which undergirds all the paths of meaning, which we will look at over the next several weeks.
So, thinking about that picture of finding meaning through a morally ordered universe, notice that we’re talking about a universal system. It’s a moral system much greater than a single person. It’s not my morality or my preference. It’s a system that seems to arise from the way things are, for everyone, presumably. It’s something larger than myself.
To be meaningful, the individual has to be able to align their personal moral system, with a larger moral system. Otherwise, the individual’s morals would be indistinguishable from simply their personal preference. In that case we would be right back to the meaningless moral system of an individual simply doing whatever they want. Follow the rules or not. There is no standard beyond the individual. Nobody cares, nothing matters.
So the standard has to be larger than the individual, but also must include the individual in order to be relevant. A moral system that only applies to foxes, won’t have any meaning for a human being. Just as a moral system made for human beings may not have any relevance to the life of foxes.
And that larger system has to be positioned in such a way as to make demands on the individual. That’s where we get to the question of whether our lives matter. It has to matter to something that you care about. The something larger has to be has to be a thing that the individual feels some obligation to, some accountability toward. Which means that the individual has to have a relationship with that larger thing where the individual finds the larger thing worthy of allegiance, protection, respect, admiration, or love.
So to provide the meaning that we need, we’re looking to connect with something larger than ourselves, of which we are a part.
A satisfactory answer to the question, “why does it matter?” is that it has to matter to something larger than yourself.
Now you might say to yourself, “well it matters to me!” “My choices matter to me!” “My life matters to me!”
Then you have to ask “why?” “Why does it matter?” And the answer might be something only personally relevant like, “well it makes me happy.” Or “I just love to learn new things.” Or, “Because I think it’s more beautiful that way.”
OK. But “Why?”
Remember the two-year old test for ultimate meaning?
Why does happiness matter? Why does learning new things matter? Why does it matter whether something is beautiful or ugly?
Eventually, whichever path you start down, you have to get to a place where the exasperated mom of the two-year old simply says, “Because I said so. Because I’m your mother and it simply is that joy, or wisdom, or beauty, or what have you is an inherently good thing. It doesn’t need any justification beyond itself. Indeed, there is no possible justification. It simply is self-evidently good and worthy, and true, and right, all by itself. It is the ultimate.”
And once you’ve said that, you can then place your personal, individual preference into alignment with that ultimate and that creates worth.
It matters that this makes me happy, because my happiness connects me with the universal joy that is the reason for existence, or at least one of the reasons.
It matters that I learn new things, because deeper wisdom, the universe knowing itself, is one of the ultimate goals of all existence.
It matters that I make this garden as beautiful as I possibly can, because in doing so I contribute to the ultimate beauty of the universe, a transcendent beauty not just of things but of spirit, that I love, respect, and admire.
It matters to you because it matters to something larger than yourself.
The beginning of all spiritual feelings, not just the question of meaning, but any spiritual question, is this acknowledgement of a something larger than ourselves, that includes us, and to which our lives are accountable.
Now you may have noticed that I’ve been careful not to define “something larger than yourself of which we are a part.” You may have assumed that I was talking about God, but I’m not really, necessarily. All that matters is that it be something larger than yourself alone, which yet includes you, and to which you feel some sense of obligation and accountability. Perhaps for you it’s one good friend and your friendship together. Or a lover. Or your family. Or a community that you belong to, like this church. Or the world community of all people. Or all living things.
Something larger than yourself, of which you are a part, to which you feel a sense of obligation.
As Ralph N. Helverson writes, in the words that were our Call to Worship this morning, “We have religion when we stop deluding ourselves that we are self-sufficient, self-sustaining, or self-derived.”
When we admit that the universe is bigger than just us. When we acknowledge that thirteen billion years had already passed before our birthday. When we confront the truth that our precious name is completely anonymous to most of the nine billion other people on the planet. When you think of how many planetary resources and systems are required to keep each of us alive day after day: air, and water, and food, and shelter, and medicine, and companionship, and entertainment, and on and on, and how very, very, little of any of that are you capable of producing for yourself, then we have, as Ralph Helverson says, “religion.”
We celebrate the web of life, its magnitude we sing;
for we can see divinity in every living thing.
A fragment of the perfect whole in cactus and in quail,
as much in tiny barnacle as in the great blue whale.
Of ancient dreams we are the sum; our bones link stone to star,
and bind our future worlds to come with worlds that were and are.
Ralph Helverson says that’s the religious sense. I would say, that’s the spiritual sense. In whatever way you choose to respond to that spiritual sense, whether through religion, or poetry, or science fiction, or science fact, or a walk in the woods, or knitting a pair of socks for your grandson. We have spirituality when we recognize that we are a part of something larger than ourselves.
As Frederick Gillis, Unitarian minister, put it in our meditation, “We are part of a web of life that makes us one with all humanity, one with all the universe.”
Some people say that the basis of all spirituality is gratitude. Helverson says, “We have religion when we have an abiding gratitude for all that we have received.
But his statement is planted deeper. Certainly, the awareness of how much of the universe is required to keep you fed and clothed and alive and inspired, should make you feel ever grateful every morning. But you have to be grateful to something: your friend, your church, humanity, the Earth, or God. It is through your acknowledging that there is a generous, magnificent, awesome, something larger than yourself that you can then feel gratitude for all the gifts the something gives.
Ralph Helverson says, “We have religion when we have done all that we can, and then in confidence entrust ourselves to the life that is larger than ourselves.”
In that sentence, Helverson echoes the phrase that I’ve been using, “the something larger than ourselves” and he also makes clear that the something larger than us also includes us. We participate in it. The something larger has to include us, to be relevant, to make claims on us. And so, because we participate in it, and because the something larger than us asks something of us, it is a mutual relationship. It is an interdependent relationship. The success of that great thing in meeting its ultimate aims, depends on our participation and contribution. That dependence of the larger thing on us, is how we derive meaning in life.
The universe cannot be fully joyful unless you have joy in your life. The universe would be a tiny bit less wise if you remained in ignorance. The universe would be a tiny bit less beautiful if you neglected to make the corner of the universe you’re responsible for as beautiful as you can make it.
Helverson says, “We have religion when we have done all that we can, and then in confidence entrust ourselves to the life that is larger than ourselves.”
We do what we can. We contribute our lives to the divine aim. Then, we let the something larger take over from there. But first we must do what we can.
And so, because that great thing, larger than ourselves, depends on us, some people find meaning in their lives through acts of service. A life of meaning is a life of service, where we give ourselves to the furtherance of that divine aim: a world more joyful, wise, beautiful, ordered, or others we will get to in coming weeks.
Service is about giving from ourselves, responding to the needs of others, connecting beyond ourselves to the benefit of all.
That might mean religious service directly to the great thing itself. As when a person joins a holy order and spends their life in worship and prayer, or in tending the shrine, or in feeding the idols.
But service to anything, or anyone, also fulfills this path of meaning, because putting our lives in service to some worthy thing larger than ourselves is what we mean by meaning. Service to my family. Service to art, by writing this symphony. Service to this community. Service to these people.
Service is a form of prayer, as we say in our Covenant each morning. Service is a way to connect ourselves to the something larger we depend on, and which depends on us to meet its goals.
In “the interdependent web of all existence, of which we are a part” service toward any piece of existence counts as a contribution toward service to the whole.
Taking a meal to an ill friend.
Offering a ride to a person without a car.
Sitting in silence with a person as they work through a difficult emotion.
Offering a cup of coffee on a cold morning
Handing a warm coat to a houseless person.
Some people are incredibly good at intuiting the needs of others. Some people seem to know even before the other person knows themselves what they need. And there they are with the cup of tea, or the blanket. The phone rings just when you most needed to talk to a friend. The meal is already prepared. The guest bed is already made up. “I had a little extra time so I completed the job before you showed up.” And then, “What else do you need?” “What more can I do for you?”
“How can I be of service today?”
When you’re down and troubled
And you need some loving care
And nothing, nothing is going right
Close your eyes and think of me
And soon I will be there
To brighten up even your darkest night
Service is, for some people, one of those ultimates that need no further justification. It simply is self-evidently good and worthy, and true, and right, all by itself, to be of service to something larger than ourselves.
Service acknowledges that we that we are not self-sufficient, self-sustaining, or self-derived.
Service knows how much we receive. And how grateful we are for the gifts. And service knows, because this is an interdependent relationship that the thing larger than myself depends on me, too. So I give to it. I serve its needs. And serving it, it serves my need for meaning.