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Home > Worship > Special Services > Blessing of the Animals > 2000 Sermon
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For All My Relatives: A Covenant of Community and Compassion
by The Rev. Ted L. Purcell
Baptist Campus Minister
Lesson: Psalm 8:1, 3-8; Psalm 104:24; Job 12:7-10
Introduction
Since helping to support the beginning of this 11-year tradition
at Duke I have often said that we should work toward having a
non-human creature as principal speaker. After all, in the spirit
of the book of Job, we really should “ask the animals,”
for they will teach us. Many stories of the relationships between
humans and non-human creatures validate this scriptural claim.
Meanwhile, at least some of the caretakers of some of our animal
friends gather in the hope of being a voice for this part of the
creation, to call attention to their plight in a world where human
“dominion” often adds to the suffering of non-human
species. One need only recall such areas as food production, experimentation,
entertainment, and so-called “sports” as hunting,
or even neglected or abused companion animals. I do not want to
gloss over the ethical complexities of such issues. My own beloved
daughter, for example, who lives with diabetes, is an intimate
reminder for me of how research on animals may benefit humans.
Add to these issues the larger picture of habitat destruction
of the so-called “wild” animals whose lives are threatened
by human encroachment, and the scenario cries out for a careful
examination of human attitudes and values toward the Earth and
all her creatures.
“But ask the animals, and they will teach you; the birds
of the air, and they will tell you. In God’s hand is the
life of every living thing and the breath of every human being.”
(So help me, at this point in the final preparation of these reflections,
our little dog, “Precious,” came up to my chair in
front of the computer, and in her own language, seemed to be saying,
“Don’t be quoting this scripture if you aren’t
really open to asking and listening!”)
If we are not afraid to ask, especially within the context of
our own spiritual and ethical traditions, we may be challenged
to see more clearly the role of the human, both in terms of how
we contribute to ecological disaster and what we are called to
be and do in response to it.
My own tradition (Judeo-Christian) challenges me in several ways:
The Psalmist says: “The earth is the Lord’s, and
the fullness thereof, the world, and they that dwell therein.”
(24:1). I can’t begin to imagine the full implications of
taking that seriously, but at the very least it tells me that
this creation is not mine to do with as I please, guided solely
by what is valued or desired by the human species, without reference
to the welfare of earth’s “otherkind.”
My tradition tells me that my life, like that of other beings,
is a gift to be received, and that I am dependent on others for
its welfare. Given our tendency toward pride and illusions of
self-sufficiency, it humbles me to realize that, sometimes, at
best, we humans seem like “altruistic predators.”
Yes, my tradition speaks of a human role as “having dominion”
over the earth, but often that has meant domination and manipulation
rather than care. Too often the theme of “dominion”
has lent itself to attitudes of separation from and superiority
over the rest of creation.
And in my desire to be seen as one who practices “non-violence,”
I count the ways in which my very lifestyle often wages war against
the earth and her life systems through human-generated pollution
of air, water, and soil, much of it reflecting an addiction to
the pathology of consumerism.
And since my tradition also warns of self-righteousness, obviously
there is no room for me to justify any pretension to be “greener
than thou.” To borrow the confessional style of Alcoholics
Anonymous, I am bound to say, “My name is Ted Purcell, and
I am an earth-polluter.”
All of this is part of my spiritual and ethical tradition. But
in the beauty of religious diversity represented here today or
in this region of the earth, there are at least two profound values
which we hold in common which challenge us toward responsible
relationship with the earth and her many forms of life: community
and compassion.
Community
Whatever our differences in theology, let us meet on the ground
of ecology. A Talmudic story tells of two men in a boat rowing
toward land. Suddenly one begins to bore a hole in the bottom
of the boat. When he is challenged, he retorts: “This is
none of your business. I’m boring a hole under my seat.”
This story illustrates one kind of human response which underlies
the problem we face — a selfish, ignorant, and ultimately
fatal sense of foolish and immoral individualism.
The nature of reality is ecological: we are interconnected and
interdependent. The factual basis that underlies our life is this:
it is life together or not at all. Or, as Wendell Berry puts it,
“it is impossible to damage, exploit, or care for each other
more or differently than we do the earth.”
Often our human problem is that we tend to regard the earth as
a commodity to be consumed rather than as a community to which
we belong. I first learned the expression from Buck Ghost Horse,
a Lakota Sioux man who was teaching us about the sweat lodge ceremony.
He used the phrase “mitakuye oyasin,” which means
“for all my relatives.” It is a Native American concept
that affirms what the science of ecology teaches: that we as humans
are only ONE SPECIES in an incredibly beautiful and complex web
of life in which we are mutually interdependent with our nonhuman
“relatives.”
It strikes me that this viewpoint has deep kinship with the one
described by Old Testament scholar Walter Brueggemann, who says:
“The central vision of world history in the Bible is that
Creation is one, every creature in community with every other,
living in harmony and security toward the well-being of every
other creature.” (Living Toward a Vision, p. 15). Obviously,
that ideal is more vision than reality at the present time, but
isn’t this hope, this longing, the very basis for our desire
for community? And surely it calls us to extend our definition
of community to include those who are different from us, whether
human or non-human, to make our understanding of “neighbor”
reach out to embrace as kindred the diversity of life with whom
we share this one planet.
Compassion
Community, of course, is not possible without compassion. Let
us be reminded that compassion means “to suffer with.”
Could we consider that if our hope and intention is to grow toward
greater wholeness in our spiritual and ethical values, it will
involve compassion, “suffering with?” That movement
may occur as we move from seeing our particular suffering as “our”
pain and begin to experience it as “the” pain —
the pain of all creation, of all beings. Then we move from being
separate and alone, and our suffering becomes a doorway into community
with the family of the earth. We begin to grow in compassion,
we begin to hurt for others, we take on some of the pain of the
morning headlines of a war-torn country, a neglected child, an
uncherished elderly person, an unemployed person, a fellow student
or staff colleague, an abused and suffering animal who is with
us in this single web of life that binds us together.
Since, for many of us, the content of compassion is expressed
in the concept of “love,” what does it mean to LOVE
THE EARTH? We can draw on the spiritual teachings of our traditions,
and we can draw on the best of what we know about loving another
person if we have had that experience:
To Love Another Means
- To spend time with the other; to love means feeling the
pain of the other.
- To love is to enjoy and delight in the other.
- Love sees beauty and potential and uniqueness, unseen
by unloving eyes.
- To love is to learn about and understand the other.
- Loving always requires self-giving and self-sacrifice;
love is willing to be inconvenienced.
- Love means advocacy, standing up for the other when unjustly
treated.
- Love is usually unheroic, even anonymous, known for its
endurance.
- Love longs to be incarnated in action.
- And love is hopeful.
Where then can we learn such love? Turn to the depths of your
own heart. Turn to your best experiences of loving and being loved
by another person. Turn to the enduring truths of the spiritual
traditions.
And don’t forget to “ask the animals,” and
then, listen!
©2000 by The Rev. Ted L. Purcell. All rights reserved.
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