The Lords’ Club

July 20, 2008

Rev. Margaret A. Hart

First Universalist Society of Central Square, NY

“The heart is the hub of all sacred places; go there and roam.” This quote from Bhagawan Nityananda, a great spiritual teacher in India who was the guru, or spiritual teacher, of my guru, encapsulates much of what I want to share with you today.

Maybe it is partly because my vacation is coming up, but I have been thinking a lot about spiritual journeys, and pilgrimages recently. Last month, Arne Hook and Nick Abbott-Hook shared their spiritual journeys with us, and I found them fascinating. This past year I read a lot of books on the topic of pilgrimage. I have been on a spiritual pilgrimage for many years, myself. Today I hope to reflect on my readings on pilgrimage and my own spiritual journey in a way that will speak to you as you pursue your own journeys.

In my readings, all the pilgrimages to various places had some common themes.

First, there was a clear destination, whether it was a monastery, an old church, Stonehenge, or some other sacred site.

Second, there was preparation for the journey.

a. One engaged in spiritual practices- such as meditation, contemplation, repetition of sacred words or mantras- as a way of letting go of worldly concerns and focusing on the goals of pilgrimage. One may also have engaged in spiritual practices before getting clear on the destination.

b. One needed to determine one’s route and means of conveyance; would walking be involved? or trains, planes, boats, automobiles, or camels? Arrangements for such conveyance needed to be made.

c. One needed to determine whether to travel alone, with a group of known companions, or whether to join up with other travelers going the same way.

d. One needed to estimate how long one would be gone, and make arrangements for the care of that which was valued and left behind, like family, pets, plants, and property.

e. One’s preparation might involve tying up loose ends in case one did not return (whether by accident or choice); writing a will or other documents.

f. Finally, one needed to pack thoughtfully and lightly, to take the essentials, but not to carry the weight of anything that wasn’t truly essential.

As you can see, preparation for a pilgrimage is typically quite involved, and has many elements in common with preparation for other aspects of life.

And then there is the actual journey, the time of traveling itself. As one author reflected, a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. One has to begin somewhere and sometime, and it might as well be here and now. Another author has reflected that it is not the destination as much as the journey that matters. How we journey and attend to the way, how we are with each other along the way, is at least as important as the arrival at our destination.

But, the pilgrimage also involves arrival at one’s destination, and time spent at that site. Part of the preparation might have involved thinking about how one wanted this part of the pilgrimage to go, or one might have contemplated the arrival along the way. The type of arrival may also have been influenced by the nature of the destination. Is it a place which was to be approached silently? Or in celebration? Is it a destination in which one would be welcome to stay for a while to imbibe the ambiance?

Finally, the return. Assuming that one is able and willing to return from the pilgrimage, how will the return unfold? Will you return to the place from which you started? Will it be the same, or will you see it with new eyes? How will you have been changed by the pilgrimage? And will loved ones be able to embrace you, and understand you, with the changes? Even if loved ones can, will others you have known? What about your place of employment? Will they still want you? Will you still want to return?

While a pilgrimage often involves actually taking a physical journey, a pilgrimage can be an internal journey; it is often both at the same time. When we go on a physical journey, whether a short vacation, or a longer trip, we need to think about many of the things I discussed under preparation for pilgrimage. We need to be intentional about the value and meaning of the things we take with us, and what we choose to leave behind. Our daily schedule is turned topsy-turvy; we have to find new ways to do the simple things that we have always taken for granted- like where to put our toothbrush and toothpaste, and whether we have a cup and clean water to drink. The very need to think intentionally about simple things can put us in touch with deep-seated patterns and values in our lives. This can help us to see internal changes we want to make, and then commit to making those changes.

As I was writing this, I thought about how so many men and women have been journeying to war-torn places like Iraq and Afghanistan. Some of them knew what they were getting into when they enlisted in the armed services, as much as one can imagine such things, and are glad to do their parts in protecting the freedoms of the United States. Some may have enlisted in the National Guard, expecting to serve their state or country in natural disasters or other events for which they were prepared to serve, never expecting to fight in a war in a foreign country.... never expecting to kill and risk being killed, far from their families and homes. Many of the same elements of a pilgrimage are involved in setting out for military service.... destination, preparation, tying up loose ends, and return. I am especially concerned here about return, as so many men and women do not return home to their families, or if they do, they are so changed by their military experience that they do not return as themselves. This affects not only them and their families and friends, but also their employers and communities. It affects us all.

Having made this timely diversion, I would like to reflect with you now on my own spiritual journey. In a recent sermon I talked about my life with this church, so I will speak now about what came earlier.

As many of you know, I grew up as a PK, that is a preacher’s kid. I was the fourth child of a Congregational minister and his wife. I grew up in parsonages, or houses owned by the churches, in Massachusetts and Connecticut. I attended religious education, youth group, and church. When I was in high school my father said, “you don’t have to come to church if you don’t want to”. I think he must have realized that I was having some doubts about the theology preached in the church. But I loved singing in the church choir, so I was willing to translate the words into something that had meaning for me. (I guess that was good practice for attending a Christian seminary, Colgate Rochester Crozer, as that was the only one in this area approved by the UUA; but I am getting ahead of myself.) Back to high school- one summer when I was dating a former Catholic, we used to read the Saturday newspaper to see what church seemed to be having an interesting service the following day, and we’d attend there. I refer to that as my “grazing” period.

After high school, I attended Cornell University in Ithaca. My parents were living in New Hampshire at the time, so I guess New York State was a bit of a journey from there (although I also explored a college in Washington State and decided not to go that far). When I decided to attend the College of Human Ecology at Cornell, I thought I wanted to be a nutritionist. One of my favorite aunts was a nutritionist. But when I arrived at college, I found that there was a lot of science involved in the study of nutrition, and science wasn’t one of my favorite subjects. So I quickly started taking courses I was interested in- psychology, sociology, memory, aging, child development. By following my bliss, as Joseph Campbell would say, I came to major in Human Development and Family Studies. This turned out to be perfect preparation for the next leg of my journey, which was to work with developmentally disabled adults for almost nineteen years.

While at Cornell, I wasn’t involved in any formal religious practices. I did go foraging for wild edibles, hung out at a coffee house, and dabbled in learning folk music. But mostly I really studied hard, which would help later when I got a scholarship for seminary based on those grades. I also was involved in an internship with the Learning Web, helping high school age people find alternative ways of learning through establishing mentorships with people in the community. This was a great experience for me, and an early introduction to what Unitarian Universalists refer to as the interdependent web of all existence of which we are a part. Also while at Cornell, I read Frances Moore Lappe’s Diet For a Small Planet, and started to eat a vegetarian diet, convinced that if we all ate lower on the food chain, we would be healthier and all people throughout the world would have enough to eat. We are all connected, after all.

After Cornell, I got a job in Syracuse working as a residence counselor. I didn’t have a car, so got an apartment on a bus route. The apartment was very nice, and affordable, and I could walk or bus to work. But it was located on South Salina Street at the corner of East Kennedy. When I walked to work at Mulberry Square Apartments, at the intersection of Townsend and Adams Streets, I walked through some of the poorest parts of Syracuse. I shopped for groceries at the Great American on South Salina Street, and soon learned to only purchase what I could carry. It was a good, if difficult, experience to be in the minority, as one of the few Caucasian people in the store and on the street.

At my job, I met a coworker named Harry. When I saw him interact with the program participants, I was amazed at how light and joyful he was, diffusing even the most challenging situations with humor. I soon discovered his secret- he meditated. Harry took me to a local meditation group, where I soon became involved. In the summer of 1976, I accompanied Harry to a retreat, or ashram, in the Catskill Mountains in southern New York State, where he introduced me to his guru, Swami Muktananda. If I thought Harry was a free being, I was totally amazed by Muktananda. I soon formed a plan to go to India. A jumbo jet of devotees was going to Muktananda’s ashram in India, and I obtained a six month leave of absence from my job, and prepared to go. It all seems a bit like a dream in which I was jumping with both feet into unknown territory. I was only twenty-two years old, and I was going halfway around the world. But I had been doing spiritual practices. And I think the fact that I was going with a group of like-minded people to the same destination, including a friend named John from Syracuse, made the journey easier for me to embark upon.

I enjoyed being in the ashram in India, and engaged in the various activities offered there.... chanting and meditation, and a lot of seva, or selfless service. Everyone performed seva as part of their stay in the ashram. Sometimes it was assigned to utilize your skills, and sometimes it was not. I remember a friend, a psychiatrist, who went to the ashram. Her spiritual name was Sadhana, and when she was given a card with her new name written on it she thought, “Sad Hanna, what kind of a name is that?” (the name actually means spiritual practices.) Sadhana thought that, being a doctor, she might be assigned to perform seva in the clinic, but she was sent to clean the toilets. Often times seva assignments worked on our egos, on our sense of identity, or allowed us to work with other people with whom we could learn important life lessons.

In addition to the daily schedule at the ashram in India, John and I took a course to train Center Leaders, even though we weren’t Center Leaders at the time. When we returned to Syracuse, the Center Leader who hadn’t received the training, said that now that John and I were trained we might as well serve as Center Leaders. So we did. In this way the return was fairly smooth, as we had a particular role to play. My return to work was also fairly smooth, and I was promoted soon after my return.

For the next few years, I served as a Co-Center Leader in Syracuse while living with other devotees in an apartment and later in a house. Meanwhile I was continuing to work with people with disabilities, and continuing to move up in the organization. Someone asked me, upon learning that my father and brother were both ministers, why I hadn’t gone into the ministry myself. At the time I thought that in a way I had, between my work and teaching meditation.... little did I know what was to come.

In the fall of 1981 I again wanted to go to India, and asked my employer for a leave of absence for a year. This time he said, “No, just reapply when you come back.” So I tied up loose ends, quit my job, and left for India in late December. While I was in India, Swami Muktananda passed leadership of the Siddha Yoga lineage to Swami Chidvilasananda (Gurumayi) and her brother (Swami Nityananda) in May, and then Muktananda left his physical body in October. This transitional time was very powerful, and I was glad to be there. Much was happening around me and within me, and I couldn’t imagine leaving, so I stayed. I ended up staying for three years, and realized that it was a blessing that I hadn’t received the leave of absence, as I didn’t have a job pulling me back.

I had many transformative experiences during my time in the Ashram, and have chosen a few incidents to share with you. There was a system in which when devotees were flying back to the United States, or to other parts of the world, items would be packed into their luggage which the ashram needed to send. This included mail, as local mail is much less expensive than international postage. One morning, I realized that someone I knew was returning to the U.S., so I grabbed the mail that was addressed to places in the U.S. from the top of a desk in the office, to give to her. Someone noticed me doing that, and asked me what I was doing. When I explained, she said, “You can’t do that; we have a particular way of insuring that the mail is delivered most effectively.” I realized that I had overstepped my role. In trying to be helpful, I had not respected the boundaries of my role and the roles of others.

During the time I was in the ashram in India, I think I had seven different rooms, including a dorm, a double, a walkthrough, and singles. As you might imagine, moving so much had a way of highlighting issues within myself which might otherwise have gone undetected. When I lived in a dorm, I learned that the bed was sacred space. Since we didn’t have much privacy or space in the dorm, except for our bed, locker, and a small amount of hanging space, we set up pujas, or altars, on our beds with meaningful photos and objects. One didn’t just sit down on someone else’s bed, but respected the boundaries. Since I was there so long, I became a dorm captain, and had the job of upholding these boundaries as well as providing support to the people who lived in the dorm.

After my experience in the dorm, I was transferred to a double room. I didn’t know the woman I was to share with, and she wasn’t home at the time I moved in. She had been used to having the room and adjoining bathroom to herself, and had, as most of us would, spread her things out to be most convenient for her. When I moved in, I moved some of her things in the bathroom and bedroom, in order to make room for my things (being careful not to touch her bed). Then I left the room to do something else. When I returned, there was a note on my bed. I could feel the anger leaping off the page as I opened the door. When I read the note, I found that she was angry that I had moved some of her things. As I recall, we never became fast friends, but we did find a way to share space amicably. I was soon moving again, having had another lesson in the importance of respecting the boundaries and feelings of others.

Another time, I was assigned to a single room above the Amrit restaurant, as I had the seva of supervising the counters in the bustling restaurant. The room was fine, but only lasted as long as I held that seva position. That was the most difficult seva I had. I was so used to jumping in and doing whatever needed to be done, that I wasn’t an effective supervisor. The woman who was training me for the position saw that tendency in me, pulled up a chair behind the counter, and insisted that I sit down. I was instructed to watch the flow of traffic, observe where the flow was getting hung up, and resist the temptation to jump in and help. Then I would be able to see how I needed to rearrange the resources of the restaurant. While there were many people working at the counters, no one else was charged with the function of supervising, so I needed to step back and do that well. This was an important lesson which served me well when I returned to do a managerial job in the United States, and is a lesson I am still trying to learn.

There are many more stories to share, but we are running out of time for today. So, I would like to close by relating one more story which seems to sum up much of what I wanted to share today. This story was told by Swami Muktananda, The Lords’ Club, and I will share it as I remember it,

Once a group of Lords decided to form a club, as they wanted to enjoy each others’ company. All of them were Lords, since no one but a Lord was admitted to the club. They had to figure out how to divide up the duties to make sure that the club would run smoothly and no one would feel overburdened by their responsibilities. The trash needed to be removed regularly, the toilets cleaned, the floor mopped, refreshments served, and someone had to stand at the door to greet the members. They also needed a President, a Secretary, a Treasurer, and people to do all the other jobs involved in having a club.

What they decided to do was to rotate the different jobs, so that one week a person would serve as the President, and the next week he would clean the toilets, and so on. In this way, all the jobs would be taken care of and the club would run smoothly. Because each of them was a Lord, and knew that they were, they could easily rotate among the jobs for the good of the club, and not identify with any of the jobs. May we all have the good fortune to remember our true nature, and contribute whatever we can to the good of the whole.

May it be so.