All Souls
Bethlehem
Church

 Last week I left you hanging with the image of Tom Berenger parachuting high over the Amazon in a film clip from, At Play in the Fields of the Lord. We used that film as a symbol for the encroachment of the modern industrialized world into the last remaining strongholds of the wild. Today we'll see if we can find a soft landing in the natural world.

With war raging in Iraq I feel as if I ought to be talking about that, yet the more I think about it the more I see the madness there as the epitome of our exploitation of the Earth. Let's face it: it's no coincidence that we're a petroleum based economy mired in a petroleum rich nation half-way around the world. Ecclesiastes says there's nothing new under the sun. And if you look at history, you'll see we're doing what the British did before us, much like we recapitulated the mistakes of the French in Vietnam. The cover of the May 10, 2004, New Yorker magazine makes the point succinctly with an image of an oil well gushing blood. That about sums it up, doesn't it?

Another big story in the news is the shaming and torture of prisoners in Abu Graib by US soldiers and "contractors." When the pictures first emerged I thought of the famous Stanford Prison experiments of 1971 in which a group of undergraduate volunteers was randomly divided up into prisoners and guards and within a few days the guards were lording it over the prisoners, leading them around with bags over their heads.^↕ So my take on the current scandal is that it serves as yet one more reminder that this kind of sick violence and shaming is not an Iraqi problem or a US problem but a human problem.

Now, I could say more about how our faith traditions illuminate these kinds of horrendous abuses. Mel Gibson aside, there are some powerful stories of sadistic abuse within our sacred scriptures. But the world feels so dark to me right now that, despite my usual inclination to illuminate the problem of violence, I feel inspired to move toward the light. As people of faith it's important to know what our tradition has to say about the oppression of innocent victims (and we've talked about that in the weeks leading up to Holy Week). But we're also in need of a new vision, a new way of being in the world that's not fueled by oil, not rooted in patriotism, not identified with Empire. All those things are the way of the world and the spiritual life is by definition an alternative path, the road less traveled. This is the way of deep contemplation joined to action. When we engage in this work we are facing an ancient and archetypal tension between the sacred and all those attempts to exploit it.^↑

Of course it's hard to move in the direction of deep contemplation in times such as ours. Though we are clearly in a time of crisis, we could say that these distractions are part and parcel of the modern age. In the foreword to the Native American classic, Black Elk Speaks, Vine Deloria sums up some of the obstacles we face this way:

It's no coincidence, of course, that this comes from a foreword to precisely the kind of "classic expression of eternal truth" that Deloria has in mind. Black Elk's story and the way it was captured for posterity make for fascinating reading. Born around the time of the Civil War, Black Elk witnessed the crowning heights and blood-stained depths of the Native American experience. As a shaman or holy man, he was wracked with visions that foretold the destruction of his people, while at the same time pointing the way toward restoration and healing for all humanity.

Black Elk's visions may never have reached a wide audience were it not for John Neihardt, a poet engaged in research for his long, five-part narrative poem about the west (Cycle of the West). Neihardt was told he ought to speak with Black Elk, a revered spiritual leader and a cousin of the great Chief, Crazy Horse.

When Neihardt arrived, Black Elk was waiting. His story poured forth like a great revelation. Once published it made it's way to Zurich and into the hands of the great depth psychologist Carl Jung. Today it is widely held to be one of the great spiritual classics of the twentieth century.

Despite the eventual success of the book, Black Elk viewed himself as a failure. He felt he lacked the strength to harness the power latent in his great visions. And yet when he sat down to share them with Neihardt, it's as if he knew the power of the visions had yet more light to share. He said to Neihardt, "…if the vision was true and mighty, as I know, it is true and mighty yet; for such things are of the spirit, and it is in the darkness of their eyes that men get lost" (p. 1).

Black Elk's first vision occurred when he was five years old. Then there was a lull of four years. At age nine, he became deathly ill (following the classic shamanic pattern described by Mircea Eliade in, Shamanism: Archaic Techniques of Ecstasy) and underwent a series of very powerful visions. It's important to remember that he had these visions at time when an entire culture was on the brink of collapse. The western expansion of white Europeans had begun and would soon vanquish his people. Another Native American had already dreamed of the coming destruction and reportedly died of sorrow, so great was his sadness over the meaning of the dream. In Black Elk's case, his visions were both a foreboding of his culture's imminent collapse, and a healing vision for us all.^↑

I'd like to suggest this morning that the thrust of these visions can serve as a bridge between our present time of cultural and spiritual crisis, and the kind of world that's possible if collectively we decide to make it so.

In his vision, Black Elk is taken to a council with six grandfathers.

Each of the four Grandfathers has words of wisdom for Black Elk. But it's the concluding vision of the "four ascents" that I'd like to look at more closely today. This vision of the journey of his people no doubt had particular meanings for the Lakota and perhaps for all the Native Americans who banded together at the end. But I see it as a vision for all humanity as well. And it's in that light that I'd like to explore it.

The number four is an archetypal symbol of wholeness. Think of the four directions or the four elements (wind, fire, water and earth). In the same way the four ascents comprise a journey toward wholeness. In the first the nation is represented as a sacred hoop with the tree of life in the center. Echoing the tree of life found at the beginning (Genesis), middle (Psalms) and end (Revelations) of the Bible, the sacred tree is a symbol for the life of the community and ultimately for all life. At the beginning of the journey the hoop is intact, the tree is thriving, and so are the Earth and its creatures. In the second ascent the going gets a little steeper. And by the third, clouds of cultural crisis are brewing.

The fourth and final ascent combines death and healing. It is a time of great crisis in the community and in the world. Black watches the fourth and final ascent from the vantage point of an eagle. This is how he describes what he sees:

At a crucial juncture in the fourth ascent, Black Elk sees an old dying horse which is a symbol for the people and, taken in all its fullness, for all the creatures of the world. He feels a power come over him and the voices of the Grandfathers tell him he can heal the horse:

The horse plunges in the four directions, emphasizing healing and wholeness for all. In each direction the dust clouds become herds of horses that rise up to follow the stallion.

I believe Black Elk's vision embraces all reality, which is another way of saying that it's no coincidence that the Grandfathers who spoke to him within it were "as old as the stars." It is a vision born of the universe itself and the Great Spirit who breathed it into being. As conscious primates on this mysterious globe spinning through space, we can reflect on this beautiful symbolism and allow it to serve as a guiding dream for all life on the planet.

This is why the Tree of Life is such a powerful symbol.^↑ It represents the sacred center around which we must learn to orient civilization if we are to survive as a species. It should go without saying that we should not drop bombs on the Earth's outer skin, just as it should go without saying that we should not intentionally shame and torture each other. But we are a primitive species, and as Black Elk says, "it is in the darkness of their eyes that men get lost."

There has been so much darkness in our eyes lately. We must take heart and gather up what light we can.

During announcements I mentioned the inter-faith service that was part of the all-night vigil around homelessness at City Hall this past week. Just before we bedded down in the park, a Sufi mystic led us in a round of chanting.

Now I've got to confess that for some reason I've spent most of my life in terror of dancing. But on that night, under the vast open sky, in the heart of a great City, surrounded by people from many faiths, nothing could keep from dancing.

Amen.