Deep Yearnings

         On Friday I had the gift of going on a mother-daughter day with number one child before she returns to college for the second semester of her first year.  We did one of our favorite trips: drove down to Monterey, went to the aquarium, ate clam chowder in sour dough bowls, drove along the coast to Carmel, where we went to the beach and then did some art gallery exploration and window shopping before returning home.  A full day.  A wonderful day.  We listened to books on tape for the drive up and back, had a lot of time to talk and walk, did some singing in the car together as well (which we love), and just enjoyed each other's company.  All of it was good.  My favorite part was the time we spent on the beach.  

           The beach was almost empty of people, the tide was out which created a hugely expansive beach, the sun was in a perfect location adding a touch of mystery and sheer beauty, the weather was absolutely perfect - not hot, not cold; the water was not too icy for walking barefoot through the waves, and I had the best company I could imagine.  We walked, we played in the sand, Jasmyn danced a bit, we gloried in the beauty of the day.  We saw interesting dogs running around, and interesting shells and rocks:

         I felt this deep sense of gratitude for the day, for the time, for the experience.  I still do.  It was, in so many ways, a perfect day.  I couldn't have ordered one better.  It was a day for us, which is a rare thing, and because of that, so much more deeply appreciated.  I breathed it in.  I still breathe it in with thanksgiving and with humility for the gift of the day.

         But underneath it all, I also felt this yearning, this restlessness, this … maybe it was grief.  Grief that the day would not last?  Grief that my daughter would soon be leaving again for her second semester of college?  Grief that everything is temporary, that everything passes, including the beautiful? At some level it was grief that this day pulled out of regular life is not one that everyone can experience, especially in this difficult time when there is so much extreme poverty (and increasingly this exists even here in the U.S.), so much war and chaos, so much pain and discrimination, so much fear and hatred.  It is also painful to me that those thoughts cross my mind when I am in the midst of beauty.  I would like to be able to put aside, just for a day, awareness of the pain in our world, the destruction of our environment, the inequality and inequities that are rampant around us, the acting out by building walls of hate, discrimination, prejudice and "us vs. them" thinking that are tearing our world apart.  But I don't seem able to do that.  Even to be present with my daughter, I can't put all of that aside.

      I read somewhere that our deepest yearnings are ultimately an ache for the divine.  And that the pain we feel is that sense of separation from that which is beyond and bigger and better than ourselves.  Partly true.  But I would say it goes even deeper than that.  As I have said before, I believe that we, all of us, are, ultimately, one.  What hurts you, hurts me: what hurts me, hurts you.  As I said in my sermon yesterday, we are one body (I didn't make this up, folks: it's in every sacred text ever written).  When the foot is injured, we limp.  When the eye is not allowed to see (because that eye is scary and might take something from me), then our vision is limited.  When we do not allow others to have the same quality of life that we have, the person who is damaged by that decision is ourselves.  The point?  That yearning is not just for the wholeness of God.  That yearning is for the health and wholeness of creation, of all of us, of the world.  And until we can create a world where we all have enough, and we are unafraid, and we can look at each other person with eyes of love and care and compassion - until we create such a world, all of us will have within us somewhere that restless yearning, that ache for what we can only imagine, that longing to be whole again, to be home again, to be right within ourselves and right with the world.  It is only through loving each other more fully that we do connect more deeply with God.  The reason we are only given two commandments: to love God and love our neighbor as ourselves is that they are the same thing.  We only love God as much as we love our enemies.  And we only connect to God as deeply as we can connect to those we fear the most.

        I am still grateful for the day I had with my daughter.  I think that time and those experiences strengthen me to keep going in the battle for all people.  I think that vision of what could be for all of us gives me the strength to work for everyone to have this, too.  At the same time, the yearning, the pain, the ache is as much a part of the memories of the day as all of the good.  And perhaps that is just as important as it also pushes me to keep stepping forward in a pro-active way.

        I wish our world were different: I wish it were kinder, gentler, more loving, more compassionate.  And those are things we have to keep working for.  At the same time, there is still a great deal of beauty out there; the times of connection with loved ones, the incredible beauty of nature, the smells of fresh air and salt water, opportunities to walk and learn and grow and be.  It's all part of what we are.  May the good strengthen us all for the work ahead.  May the yearnings be a call into action.  May our deep desires and the aches of our hearts that ultimately are a call to connect to the divine create within us a commitment to love all that God loves with fullness and without prejudice.  For it is in that loving that we will connect more fully and deeply with God and in that connection that, finally, our deep yearnings will find satisfaction.