BITTER HERBS Life is a Feast
A Sermon by James Ishmael Ford
4 April 2004

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When the great rabbi Israel Bal Shem Tov saw misfortune threatening the Jews, it was his custom to go into a certain part of the forest to meditate. There he would light a fire, say a special prayer, and the miracle would be accomplished and the misfortune averted.

Later, when his disciple, the celebrated Maggid of Mezeritch, had occasion for the same reason to intercede with heaven, he would go to the same place in the forest and say, ‘Master of the universe, listen! I do not know how to light the fire, but I am still able to say the prayer.’ Again the miracle would be accomplished.

Then it fell to Israel of Rizhin to overcome misfortune. Sitting in his armchair, his head in his hands, he spoke to God. ‘I am unable to light the fire and I do not know the prayer; I cannot even find the place in the forest. All I can do is tell the story, and this must be sufficient.’ And it was.”
Elie Wisel

After twenty years in the used and antiquarian book trade I decided it was time to do something different. At the same time Jan who had been a typesetter saw how her trade was beginning to wane in the face of advancing computer technologies. So, we opened ourselves to consider what we would like to do with the next twenty years of our lives and came up with a plan. To begin we worked up a scheme where we would put each other through school. This was something of an undertaking as at the time I only had two years of college and Jan three, and what we both wanted, me to become a UU minister and she a librarian, required graduate degrees.

So, like following a recipe in a cookbook, we took it one step at a time. We began by my earning my undergraduate degree in Psychology at a local commuter school, Sonoma State University. Then in planning the next step Jan suggested I could consider any seminary I wanted, so long as it was in Berkeley. Her first three years of college were at UCLA and she wanted to finish at UC, Berkeley. So, while I earned my Master of Divinity degree at the Pacific School of Religion, Jan finished up her undergraduate studies at Cal, taking her Bachelor’s degree in Linguistics.

It was at this time she drew my attention to one of her professors, George Lakoff. An absolutely amazing thinker, Lakoff observes "We are neural beings. Our brains take their input from the rest of our bodies.” And he derives a compelling thought from that observation. “What our bodies are like and how they function in the world… structures the very concepts we can use to think.” Here he points to our limitations. “We cannot think just anything - only what our embodied brains permit."

As such one of our most fundamental ways of thinking is metaphorically, what the actions of our bodies reveal. He goes on to say perhaps the most fundamental way we think is metaphorically, like this, not like that. Now these metaphors are derived from the deep structures of how we are in the world, sitting, standing, walking, eating, making love, fighting or running away.

We find we live and breath and take our being within metaphors, as Lakoff and his collaborator Mark Johnson note in their study the Metaphors We Live By, “like time is money, love is a journey, and problems are puzzles. We continually find it important to realize that the way we have been brought up to perceive our world is not the only way and that it is possible to see beyond the ‘truths’ of our culture.” This is the wonderful thing. Not only are we constrained by the images of our lives, our metaphors, they also contain the possibility of our transformation.

And so today I want to reflect on Passover as a principle metaphor of life, of your life and mine. It is as ordinary as ordinary can be. And yet it is also an invitation to something new. It preserves a culture and it offers the chance of change. Fascinating, I find. Then, out of that observation, I want to explore the sacred meal itself; and how we might examine it as that “new” within an “old:” a new vision for our lives, a new way of seeing, and maybe even a new way of being.

Just in passing I think it worth noting the Passover story appears not to be historical. In The Bible Unearthed, biblical archeologists Israel Finkelstein and Neil Asher Silberman point out the various reasons why the story of the Exodus is extremely unlikely. It’s surprising how much we actually know about Egypt and Canaan in the thirteenth century before the Common Era. After enumerating the reality of Egyptian presence throughout the region during that time, which did not end at the Red Sea but extended to include all of Canaan including what would later become ancient Israel, they conclude “that the Exodus did not happen at the time and in the manner described in the Bible.”

Given the hesitations and hedges of scholarly endeavor it is striking that they conclude while there is a wealth of archeological evidence for what did happen at that time and place, “repeated excavations and surveys throughout the entire area have not provided the slightest evidence for activity in the late Bronze Age, not even a single shard left by a tiny fleeing band of frightened refugees.”

Today I don’t want to go after how this story became what it is, the central image of Judaism, and, I suggest, the deep pattern for the Christian story of Jesus’ passion and resurrection, as well. These are worthy questions. But today I want to point to this story as a principal metaphor of our western spirituality. And I want to suggest just that really is enough. I want to explore how such a metaphor enshrined as a ritual can be so profoundly meaningful for us.

Lakoff and Johnson tell us “The metaphors we live by, whether cultural or personal, are partially preserved in ritual… Ritual forms (are) an indispensable part of the experiential basis for our cultural metaphorical systems. There can be no culture without ritual.” Nowhere is this more clearly revealed than in a consideration of Passover. Here we are given a map, I suggest, to the great gift hidden within our culture: a way to our own liberation.

Now there are several metaphors that coalesce as the Passover story and its ritual expression. We find freedom. We find possibility. Each found within a shared meal. The a-historical truths that drive us as human beings, that inform our hope and flower as love and give meaning to history are found in a story of a meal. All we need do is notice. And so today I want to help us to notice, to talk about the possibility we might find within meals, within conscious preparation and conscious consumption of food.

First, I’d like to briefly outline what we find in today’s Passover celebration. One begins by thoroughly cleaning the house, and then dishes and utensils that have been reserved for this occasion are brought out. Special foods are prescribed, unleavened bread, bitter herbs, and special sauces. The parameters of work are defined, and in ancient times there often was a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. Then finally there’s the ritual meal itself.

It’s put together in a volume called the Haggadah, based on the story found in the book of Exodus. It features four questions, asked by the youngest child present. Each question is prefaced with the rhetorical call, “Why is this night different from all other nights?” First there is the question, why do we eat unleavened bread? Next, why do we eat specific foods and particularly these bitter herbs? Then third, why do we dip our vegetables in this way? And last, why do we eat sitting or standing?

These questions open us to the possibility of discovery. The marks of ritual, the tying of this ancient metaphor of food into one of the foundational rituals of western culture, invite us to something special, a re-visioning of our lives. I suggest as Unitarian Universalists we too can find much of value through a consideration of this ancient metaphor for possibility and freedom.

Not long ago I received a note from the principal cook of a Zen temple in the Midwest. She had read a line I’d written, “First you clean the kitchen,” and was so taken with it she’d had it calligraphed and hung up in her temple kitchen. I was pleased and a little embarrassed, as I’d lifted that line from Bernard Glassman and Rick Field’s wonderful little book, Instructions to the Cook. The subtitle of that volume is “A Zen Master’s Lessons in Living a Life that Matters.”

Bernie Glassman is an American phenomenon, a western Jewish Zen master. He’s one of my heroes, someone who has taken his spiritual training and moved it from the monastery and transplanted it into an ordinary engaged life. Well, ordinary in one sense and extraordinary in another. Here we find the mystery and possibility hidden in the basic metaphor of cooking, how through a creative encounter something as ordinary as cooking a meal can show us new ways of being in the world: the old revealing the new.

In that book Bernie speaks of three basic ingredients necessary for cooking our lives, for opening ourselves to the possibility of transformation. They are doubt, faith and determination. He suggests they’re fundamental, like “air, water, and heat. You need all of them for every meal you cook.” In honor of this time of special meals, of profound metaphors pointing to deepest possibilities, let’s consider these three basic ingredients and what they might mean for us.

First doubt. What a perfect ingredient for Unitarian Universalists, the Doubting Thomas’s of the spiritual world. We’re world class doubters. And it turns out this is a good thing. Bernie tells us how “Doubt is a state of openness and unknowing. It’s a willingness to not be in charge, to not know what is going to happen next. The state of doubt allows us to explore things in an open and fresh way.” This is, I think, why the youngest child present asks those questions. We need that mind of curiosity, of not already knowing it all, to allow the possibility of transformation.

Bernie says doubt is “like water…” It’s fluid. “It has no fixed position. If you pour water into a round container, it becomes round, and if you pour water into a square container, it becomes square. In the same way, doubt, or unknowing flows in accordance with the situation. It’s the state of surrender, of being open to what is.” Now as wonderful as it is this is one ingredient, and by itself it isn’t enough.

However, it seems as natural as our breath that to open ourselves in this way, to doubt, to not know, to be open takes us directly to faith. “When we let go of all concepts and ideas, we experience ourselves as we really are, not as an isolated individual but as part of an interconnected whole.” Here the two great assertions of our contemporary Unitarian Universalists Statement of Principles and Purposes become apparent. As individuals we are unique and precious. And we are woven whole out of the cosmos. We are intimately bound up with all that is. Here we discover a faith in what is.

The glorious thing, I find, is that this isn’t just a great idea. When we allow ourselves to open up, to truly not know for just a moment, then the knowing of our connectedness flows from that like day from night. And here we discover how faith rises within us, a leaven in our lives. Faith as our expression of intimacy, of a deep relationship with all things.

But we can’t stop even there. There are three ingredients for this meal. And the third is determination. Bernie warns us, “Even if you have doubt and faith, you need determination to take action.” And action is critical. We live within a dynamic universe. I suggest it is within these interactions we discover everything we do counts.

So, we need determination to continue on. As Bernie observes, “You might have an experience of the oneness of life, but without determination you could end up a vegetable. You might say, ‘The oneness of life – that’s nice,’ and stay in bed, drinking beer and watching television.” But that’s not enough. The meal calls us to share.

Now, “determination doesn’t have to be extreme or dramatic.” We’re talking about finding the extraordinary within the ordinary. We’re talking about the possibilities of shifting our ideas of what is and what we might be able to do through simple things, like cooking and eating a meal. But if we allow ourselves this possibility then amazing things can happen.

Bernie says, “When you apply the heat of determination, things happen. A chemical reaction starts – the water boils or turns to steam, the rice cooks, the bread rises.” And we find what we were born for. Life friends, is a feast. Our ancestors were right. Pay attention, and not only our personal liberation is at hand, but the liberation of the whole blessed world.

It’s about nothing less than that.

So, let’s make our next meal the Passover meal.

Pay attention.

Ask the questions.

And be prepared for the world to answer them all.

Enjoy.

And amen.