HUU Sermon Archives

Season of Joys and Sorrows

by Chris Edwards
December 9, 2001

(Note: This was one of several presentations given on Dec. 9, 2001, by members of the adults' discussion group.)

Legend has it that the father of young prince Gotama - who would become the Buddha -arranged the palace grounds so that his child would never see an old person, a sick person, a corpse or a monk. When the young man eventually learned that old age, sickness and death existed, he set out on his spiritual quest.

"Gotama's pleasure-palace is a striking image of a mind in denial," writes Karen Armstrong in the book, "Buddha," which our group just studied. I think our mainstream, affluent culture does something like what Gotama's father did.

I lost a son on Aug. 11. I haven't talked about Albert here much lately. I'm a private person, from a family of very private people, and I've sometimes sensed that acquaintances are uncomfortable if I do mention him. We're part of a way of life where loss is isolating.

In a hospital where Dr. Elizabeth Kubler-Ross practiced, she noticed a cleaning woman who had a kind of magic touch with dying patients. They seemed more at peace when she was around. Kubler-Ross discovered that the woman had known terrible poverty; she'd had a young child with pneumonia die in her lap in the waiting room of a clinic. The woman said: "You see, Dr. Ross, death is not a stranger to me anymore. He is like an old, old acquaintance. I am not afraid of him anymore. Sometimes when I walk into the room of your dying patients, they look so scared. I can't help but walk over to them and touch them and say, 'It's not so terrible.'"

So what is religion for? One eloquent answer comes from that misunderstood prophet whose birthday celebration is now being obsessively promoted in our shopping malls: "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of Heaven. Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted." (Matthew 5:3-4) But I haven't found any doctrine that comforts me. I only know that sterile palace is not an option.

I read "J.B." by Archibald MacLeish, a modern-day Job, and went back and read the Bible version. Job and his wife, named Sarah in the modern play, lose everything. They lose all their children. Then come Job's comforters, his three friends. They tell him the things that have happened must be his fault: God is always just. Job must be concealing some terrible sin. They're wrong. People find comfort in various systems of cosmic justice that explain misfortunes. I can't. I don't really know anything about God, or the hereafter, but I'm convinced there is no justice behind who gets cancer, who gets hit by planes or bombs, or what young man has his life cut short in a road accident.

In "J.B.," Sarah tells her husband:

You wanted justice, didn't you?
There isn't any. There's the world...
Cry for justice and the stars
Will stare until your eyes sting. Weep,
enormous winds will thrash the water.
Cry in sleep for your lost children,
Snow will fall.

The Bible story and "J.B." have the same plot, but the modern ending - which I like better - is different in a subtle way. In the Bible, God rewards Job for staying faithful. Rabbi Harold Kushner, in "When Bad Things Happen to Good People," interprets the ending of "J.B." by saying Job and Sarah forgive God and the universe for not being perfect. Then they start rebuilding their own lives.

Job says "It's too dark to see." Sarah says,

Then blow on the coal of the heart...
The candles in churches are out.
The lights have gone out in the sky.
Blow on the coal of the heart
And we'll see by and by.

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