Sometimes a preacher cuts some material out of a sermon. Perhaps it seems to divert from the intent of what the preacher wants to say, sometimes it is too radical, or too spiritual for the audience, or adds unnecessarily to the length. Here is an outtake from a sermon I wrote in 1996. I don't know why I cut it.
I have preached the sermon in different versions since then, but this is the first time the out take has been made public. It is a peak into my preaching soul from ten years ago.
I'll publish the sermon. I wonder where it was supposed to fit?
Love one's enemies
is that an oxymoron?
Can they be enemies if one loves them.
maybe that is the meaning of this strange idea.
Love the creation as oneself,
is that a platitude
or wisdom so profound that the powerful can not comprehend it,
and the busy can not practice it,
and those who would be rich in things can not imagine it?
God is love said the Universalists
and as God's creation we are called to love God,
and enjoy the Creation entirely
without reservations, without limits.
Respect Interdependence says the Principles of our Association,
and on reflection this is a profound spiritual challenge.
the religion implicit in this statement upsets our isolated,
controlling ways of doing our lives.
It is a religious principle, and if we try to live it,
we discover the depth it can bring our souls,
and the heights to which it beckons our spirits.
Respect interdependence
respect its energy in both directions,
we are dependent on every other thing.
and every other thing is dependent on us.
We can not escape.
When our government neglects its responsibilities
that neglect rebounds on each and every one of us,
and when we neglect our government,
and our responsibilites as citizens
members of community
the neglect rebounds on each and everyone of us.
And so the love is deep inside us, calling us to become connected,
to take on the responsibilities of being part of the whole,
interconnected, and interdependent.
Kenneth Collier writes about the rain and the weather
and something else. Listen:
The sky is filled and gray and black
With clouds left from this morning's rain,
And mists rise from dark puddles,
And long rivers that flow slowly through the forest.
And rains begins to fall again,
like night falling through the afternoon,
sifting through forests.settling on rivers,
Swirling around the long, greening hills.
That stand as silent as rocks in the river.
The whispering, patient rain slides
Through over bear branches now, and seems
to speak like dreams and faint glimples
Of something not quite visible,
A face or voice or the echo of a music
So faint and distant, so suggested and hinted
That I'm not evern sure it's there,
But whehter I look though rain or leaves,
Its there and gone and back again.
Whisering, hinting, powerful, yet distant.
What is this constant presence, this music.
This voice that I can't quite hear.
Whose face is that hides
In the dead leaves left by fleeting Autumn,
And the rising, swirling mists on the Lake
What is this strength, this power, this love
That wells upward like sparkling water.
And fills my heart like falling rain,
And stands as rich and silent as the hills
It is the echo of the echo of the memory of mystery,
And the rain continuing to fall through the night.
Let us ponder these things in silent contemplation, and mediation.
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