Epiphanies of Harmony, Leslie D. Tawnamaia

As a Lutheran child, I learned the term epiphany fairly early.  On the last day of the twelve days of Christmas, or twelfth night, we took down the tree and holiday decorations.  At church that nearest Sunday we heard about the three wise men finally arriving to visit baby Jesus with their exotic gifts all those centuries ago.  

Back then I understood that these three were kings who had travelled from distant lands following a star.  Surprisingly, they were in search of the holiest and best person ever born, to be called prince of peace.  I could imagine that reaching a barn with Jesus and his family might be quite a revelation after an extended journey with such expectations.

In later years I came to comprehend the three strangers as priests or yogis who practiced astrology.  I found it fascinating that they supposedly arrived from Asia, Africa and Persia.  In our family nativity set they each had a different skin color.  Intriguingly, despite being from presumably different cultures, having different appearances, and, one would expect, speaking very different languages, they apparently joined together.   At least near the end of their spiritual quest, they travelled with each other and without any hint of competition or conflict.

I like that story.  It reminds me of another theme from religious teachings.  The Hebrew scripture contends that humanity was created in the image of divinity--or what some might call a core life-supporting direction in our universe.  From Buddhism I have heard a similar concept--that everyone has an underlying Buddha nature, or basic goodness.  I recognize this same theme in our first Unitarian Universalist principle affirming the inherent worth and dignity of every person.  

Of course, there are far too many examples of people not acting in line with their inherent worth.  They break our hearts as they bring harm to themselves and others.

Still, I suspect that the validity of these ideas about people having value and bringing a variety of gifts to share were first anchored in my experience within my extended family.  We spent a lot of time with my mom’s folks.  Her dad was French Canadian and her mom British.  Her dad’s cousin had married an Italian, and they lived near my grandparents when both families were raising children.  

So when we, the next generation, came along, our family get-togethers were large, loud, and happily diverse.  To the French, English and Italian were added Polish, German and Irish, with nearly as many different types of food.  At the time I do not recall being conscious of how lucky I was that everyone loved each other as the family they had become.  I do recall feeling rather overwhelmed by all that noise, fussing, hugging and kissing.

Nevertheless, maybe the ethnic diversity of my family is partly why it was so easy for me to feel close to the woman who cleaned my room every day when I spent a week in the hospital at age eight or nine.  Mary seemed to genuinely care for me too, and we had some conversations that felt deep and important.  Our skin tones reflected an ethnic contrast--she was African American. Our experience together was likely influenced by the major event on television that week.  

If memory serves me, it was the civil rights march on Washington when Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Junior told us that he had a dream: a dream of our country living up to its statement that all are created equal, a dream of people being judged not by the color of their skin but the content of their character, a dream of freedom ringing throughout the nation and all of God’s children joining hands in thanks.  

Mary and I were thrown together for that one week only, but I learned some vital truths.  For example, I noticed that imperfect grammar and a sometimes undervalued job did not indicate lack of intelligence, insight or wisdom.  I also discovered that someone who looked & spoke differently, though not employed to take care of me, could actually be the one to help me through my fears of being in the hospital far better than anyone else had managed.  

This time I did have a glimmer of how lucky I was.  However, I doubt that I was mindful of how Mary might have chosen to set aside resentment over my having opportunities which her own children might not.

Poet Muriel Rukeyser suggests that “diversity can become our strength”--something “sacred to us.”  She notes that “many have fought this reality,” and “we know the wounds.”  I have no doubt that Mary knew those wounds.  In fact, I suspect that most all of us know those wounds.

And that reminds me of Jean, a dear friend who died two years ago next week.  We met over the phone through my work and we took an immediate liking to each other.  When her husband came to the office to pick up her herbs, he encouraged me to come visit her.  I do not recall what they each told me, but I realized that she had limited mobility.  Over the next decade of our friendship, I learned a lot about a life that had been disparate in many ways from my own.  

Jean told me how many times from age nine onward she had spent months in the hospital undergoing painful procedures, and more years at home on bedrest, barely managing to graduate from high school, but nonetheless persevering through college.  She spoke of loneliness, of depression, of taunting, of medical mishandling, of biased assumptions and of nearly dying more than once.  But she also spoke of dreams she was able to realize--their marriage, her career, their beloved adopted child.  

Even more significantly for me, she modeled forgiveness and patience: for the children who had bullied her when she was a child, for the critical errors by professionals, for the ignorance of those who dismissed her life as worthless.  She showed me how much she loved her life and how much she had to offer to the lives of those around her.  

As an articulate advocate for disability rights, she made what was for her an extremely difficult trip to Washington, DC.  There she met with then President Bush (senior) to advocate his signing of the Americans with Disabilities Act into law.  This was just one of the instances where she served in positions and on boards where her persuasive speaking and writing abilities were grounded in impeccable logic, extensive knowledge, and unfaltering grace and good will.  

Jean was a woman in constant pain, whose feet were permanently twisted and swollen, whose shrunken fingers were curled almost shut, whose back and neck allowed her only to sit (not straighten out), and turn but a tiny bit.  She required assistance to move into and out of her wheelchair and every other place she might go.  Eating was difficult and she could drink only with a straw.  Dressing required assistance.  

At the same time, Jean was more committed to spiritual growth than anyone else I have known.  She practiced daily to maintain her positive perspective.  It seemed only appropriate that hummingbirds would feel safe enough to light on her as she sat outside meditating on the porch.  

Their adopted daughter can imagine no other mother giving her the quality of loving care that Jean did.  She listened with palpable empathy as I grieved the dying of both my parents, and she believed in me as I took on the challenge of becoming a minister.  We laughed and cried together and she paid me the incredible honor of calling me her best friend.  

I know for sure how lucky I am to have learned from her just what precious and sacred gifts we can receive from those who are different from us.  

In fact, that is some of what I take from the story in the book of Matthew, chapter 25.  It tells of Jesus coming again in glory with the angels and sitting on the throne of judgement.  He calls some folks to him and tells them that they are blessed and will receive the inheritance prepared for them since the beginning of the world.  
He says to them that they are receiving this inheritance and blessing because they fed him when he was hungry, gave him drink when he was thirsty, gave him clothing when he was without, nursed him when he was ill, and visited him when he was in prison.  

Perplexed, they cannot recall having done these things for him.  Then Jesus explains, whenever you did any of these things for my brothers and sisters, you were doing these things for me.  

If Jesus represents the potential for good in all, this story could be describing what happens when we respond to the positive possibilities in others with nurturance.  We feel blessed.

The passage goes on to describe how those who did not reach out to the hungry, thirsty, ill, poor and imprisoned were sent away--from being blessed.  

This reminds me of another Buddhist teaching.  In it we are urged to refrain from what are called the three poisons.  The first is self-delusion or denial of the truth, the second is compulsive grasping, and the third is the continuum from dislike through anger into hatred.  

Anyone who has felt hatred knows about suffering.  All three poisonous attitudes can too easily infuse our actions toward others and thus cause great harm and further suffering.

Just consider how good it feels to love someone and how miserable it feels to be angry, or to be hated by someone else.

Remembering my friendship with Jean, it is easy to see that caring is its own reward.  She did not keep me away out of envy for the things I could do which she could not, or for the fact that I took all these abilities for granted much of the time.  I did not keep her away out of fear or resentment for what she would need from me if I were to spend time with her.  

We were not the same, so the gifts we had to give differed.  While we each might say the other gave more, we simply both gave what we could despite any reservations or fears, and we both received the immediate blessing of caring friendship.  

I agree with Mark Belletini that,
“For religion to be significant, it has to provide more than the comforts of community.  It has to provide opportunities for deepening, for... spiritual growth...  [It] has to open us to the real diversity of our... world.  For our work as liberal religious people is not to....find ways to supersede others, but rather to... grow beyond our limitations and our constrictive boundaries. ...  

Diversity is a gift.  But it cannot be a gift... unless it is received.  It is only received when there are hands and hearts open enough...  The opening into welcoming hands and... hearts is our spiritual work.”

Let me tell you one more story.  When my dad died, after a long struggle with cancer, I had the privilege of hearing from lots of people whose lives his path had crossed.  Two people in distinct circumstances from each other and from my dad shared a similar tale.  

Unbeknownst to each other, both my mother’s doctor and the church janitor reported how much they had been touched by the fact that Dad treated them first and foremost as human beings.  He sought them out on their respective rounds, gave them candy, told them jokes, and asked about their lives and loves.  

I wonder if Dad learned that from the tale of those wise men who followed the star.  He went out of his way to bring gifts in hopes of witnessing the revelation of something wonderful in other people.  

May we each be so devoted to, and find such joy in, seeking out and reaching across both the real and illusory separations of our multiple human diversities.

More importantly, may we help each other find the strength to let go of the poisons of mind and heart, as Mary must have done, and Jean worked tirelessly to do.  Otherwise we see too clearly how poisons like hatred cause suffering in our lives and the lives of those around us.