"We Begin Again in Love"
Return again, return again, return to the home of your soul ... " Shlomo Carlebach
The Jewish High Holy days,
the 10 days between Rosh Hashanah, the new year,
and Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement,
is a journey of the soul reawakening,
calling out,
Return Again,
Return Again,
Return to the home of your soul.
Where have you been, spiritually, this past year?
Have you been fully present to yourself?
To your loved ones?
To your passions in life?
To the values you hold most dear?
Or have you become fragmented,
torn,
separated from what you are,
who you are,
where you are?
Return, again.
Yom Kippur is the most important day
of the Jewish liturgical year.
Jewish teachings say that in ancient times,
on this one day,
the high priest
was allowed to enter into
the innermost sanctum of the temple,
a small cubicle called “the holy of holies.”
It was believed that there,
in the darkened, windowless space,
away from the eyes of the people,
that there ...
God would appear.
This inner chamber was separated from the rest of the temple by a veil,
a huge, heavy drape made of fine linen and
blue, purple and scarlet yarn,
with rich gold embroidery woven within it.
Before entering the holy of holies,
the priest went through elaborate rituals and prayers,
making himself ready,
a reminder that entering this most sacred space
was not to be done lightly,
but with great reverence and care.
There, in the holy of holies,
physically cleansed and spiritually alert,
the priest uttered the secret name of the Divine,
and offered up prayers of atonement
for himself and for his congregation,
in order to renew the land and the people,
in essence creating the cosmos anew
for the coming year.
Return, again.
The ancient temple is long gone,
and with it the priestly tradition;
And though most of us at Throop do not claim Yom Kippur
as a religious observance for ourselves,
we Unitarian Universalists do find meaning in this day.
Our hymnal includes readings on this theme
because Yom Kippur offers rich spiritual lessons
for us to learn from;
and it is a powerful reminder that we
share a core common belief
with our Jewish friends:
We believe that we are each responsible
for our own atonement,
for asking for forgiveness,
for mending the tears in our lives.
This coming Wednesday during services,
no rabbi will ask for forgiveness
on behalf of their gathered congregation.
Nor do I ask it on behalf of you all, today.
Forgiveness,
making amends,
is a journey wholly and completely our own.
You decide how, and when, and whither.
It is your hard work to do.
You do so within the context
of your own life.
Just as the ancient temple priest
wound his way deeper and deeper into the temple,
closer and closer toward the holy of holies,
each of us carefully winds our way toward amends
that need to be made.
Each of us winds our way toward
inner health and healing.
Return, again.
Yom Kippur asks us to take account
of our actions and our intentions of the past year,
and to own up to the ways we have
broken our vows,
broken our connection,
to other people in our lives, yes;
and just as importantly.
to that which we consider sacred.
In essence, we ask ourselves
how have we broken the very ground of our being.
What do you identify as sacred or holy in your own life?
God ...
Nature ...
Interconnected Web of Life ...
Beloved Community ...
Spirit of Love ...
However you understand the Sacred -
we humans break our connection to it.
One of my favorite wisdom stories
is told by an Indian Jesuit priest,
about a piece of golden thread.
The story is that The Eternal
holds each one of us by a string.
When we don’t act in accordance with our innermost values,
we are in essence cutting the string;
the connection between ourselves and The Eternal,
ourselves and what we know,
ourselves and others.
When we cut the string
and realize what we have done,
we ask for help or forgiveness,
and the Eternal ties the string again,
making a knot - and thereby bringing us closer.
Again and again in our lives we cut the string -
and again and again our Creator reties it.
With each knot our string become shorter and shorter,
and we are drawn closer and closer to the Eternal.
Return, again.
The medieval poet Moses ibn Ezra offers
an image for the ten Days of Awe,
or the Days of Repentance -
that of a veil.
He wrote that our sins are like a veil covering our face,
separating us from what we name as sacred,
separating us from the people in our life,
separating us from our true self.
The process we go through during this time of repentance,
which literally means, “return,”
is meant to return us to our core self.
Return us to who we are,
return to what we are,
return to where we are.
By setting aside time in our lives for
intensive introspection, prayer and reflection -
we realize that the veil we allow
to drop over our faces in the course of
our busy, everyday lives -
the veil can be removed. (1)
Just as the ancient temple priest
pushed aside the huge heavy drape
allowing them to enter into the holy of holies,
we, too, have the power
to push aside the heavy drape
of our inner chatter,
our self-doubt,
our anxiety and self-importance.
I ask you to once again
settle your mind and spirit,
and join me in a Kavanah,
a Jewish prayer of intention,
of direction of the heart:
The spirit is not holy;
nor ideals, intention of will.
To love Creation in the heart,
to carry a spiritual thought -
this is not the holy way.
Holiness resides in deeds alone;
only these are our task in this world.
But to act without thought is empty,
a mechanical rite without soul.
Consciousness and action,
matter and spirit -
all unite in a deed mindfully performed.
We change the world not through our dreams,
but through the way we consume, do our work,
rest on sabbath, give to one another.
Were we angels, pure disembodied souls,
we would not need the discipline of deeds.
Were we animals, pure instinct and drive
we could not rise to touch the sacred.
To join body and mind,
to live our ideals,
to serve in the fullness of our humanity:
there is the challenge of holy living. (2)
May we move toward greater wholeness,
may we return, once more, to who we are,
and begin living again in love.
1. From Yom Kippur: Mishkan Hanefesh, A Machzor for the Days of Awe, p. 94.
2. Ibid., p. 217.
the 10 days between Rosh Hashanah, the new year,
and Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement,
is a journey of the soul reawakening,
calling out,
Return Again,
Return Again,
Return to the home of your soul.
Where have you been, spiritually, this past year?
Have you been fully present to yourself?
To your loved ones?
To your passions in life?
To the values you hold most dear?
Or have you become fragmented,
torn,
separated from what you are,
who you are,
where you are?
Return, again.
Yom Kippur is the most important day
of the Jewish liturgical year.
Jewish teachings say that in ancient times,
on this one day,
the high priest
was allowed to enter into
the innermost sanctum of the temple,
a small cubicle called “the holy of holies.”
It was believed that there,
in the darkened, windowless space,
away from the eyes of the people,
that there ...
God would appear.
This inner chamber was separated from the rest of the temple by a veil,
a huge, heavy drape made of fine linen and
blue, purple and scarlet yarn,
with rich gold embroidery woven within it.
Before entering the holy of holies,
the priest went through elaborate rituals and prayers,
making himself ready,
a reminder that entering this most sacred space
was not to be done lightly,
but with great reverence and care.
There, in the holy of holies,
physically cleansed and spiritually alert,
the priest uttered the secret name of the Divine,
and offered up prayers of atonement
for himself and for his congregation,
in order to renew the land and the people,
in essence creating the cosmos anew
for the coming year.
Return, again.
The ancient temple is long gone,
and with it the priestly tradition;
And though most of us at Throop do not claim Yom Kippur
as a religious observance for ourselves,
we Unitarian Universalists do find meaning in this day.
Our hymnal includes readings on this theme
because Yom Kippur offers rich spiritual lessons
for us to learn from;
and it is a powerful reminder that we
share a core common belief
with our Jewish friends:
We believe that we are each responsible
for our own atonement,
for asking for forgiveness,
for mending the tears in our lives.
This coming Wednesday during services,
no rabbi will ask for forgiveness
on behalf of their gathered congregation.
Nor do I ask it on behalf of you all, today.
Forgiveness,
making amends,
is a journey wholly and completely our own.
You decide how, and when, and whither.
It is your hard work to do.
You do so within the context
of your own life.
Just as the ancient temple priest
wound his way deeper and deeper into the temple,
closer and closer toward the holy of holies,
each of us carefully winds our way toward amends
that need to be made.
Each of us winds our way toward
inner health and healing.
Return, again.
Yom Kippur asks us to take account
of our actions and our intentions of the past year,
and to own up to the ways we have
broken our vows,
broken our connection,
to other people in our lives, yes;
and just as importantly.
to that which we consider sacred.
In essence, we ask ourselves
how have we broken the very ground of our being.
What do you identify as sacred or holy in your own life?
God ...
Nature ...
Interconnected Web of Life ...
Beloved Community ...
Spirit of Love ...
However you understand the Sacred -
we humans break our connection to it.
One of my favorite wisdom stories
is told by an Indian Jesuit priest,
about a piece of golden thread.
The story is that The Eternal
holds each one of us by a string.
When we don’t act in accordance with our innermost values,
we are in essence cutting the string;
the connection between ourselves and The Eternal,
ourselves and what we know,
ourselves and others.
When we cut the string
and realize what we have done,
we ask for help or forgiveness,
and the Eternal ties the string again,
making a knot - and thereby bringing us closer.
Again and again in our lives we cut the string -
and again and again our Creator reties it.
With each knot our string become shorter and shorter,
and we are drawn closer and closer to the Eternal.
Return, again.
The medieval poet Moses ibn Ezra offers
an image for the ten Days of Awe,
or the Days of Repentance -
that of a veil.
He wrote that our sins are like a veil covering our face,
separating us from what we name as sacred,
separating us from the people in our life,
separating us from our true self.
The process we go through during this time of repentance,
which literally means, “return,”
is meant to return us to our core self.
Return us to who we are,
return to what we are,
return to where we are.
By setting aside time in our lives for
intensive introspection, prayer and reflection -
we realize that the veil we allow
to drop over our faces in the course of
our busy, everyday lives -
the veil can be removed. (1)
Just as the ancient temple priest
pushed aside the huge heavy drape
allowing them to enter into the holy of holies,
we, too, have the power
to push aside the heavy drape
of our inner chatter,
our self-doubt,
our anxiety and self-importance.
I ask you to once again
settle your mind and spirit,
and join me in a Kavanah,
a Jewish prayer of intention,
of direction of the heart:
The spirit is not holy;
nor ideals, intention of will.
To love Creation in the heart,
to carry a spiritual thought -
this is not the holy way.
Holiness resides in deeds alone;
only these are our task in this world.
But to act without thought is empty,
a mechanical rite without soul.
Consciousness and action,
matter and spirit -
all unite in a deed mindfully performed.
We change the world not through our dreams,
but through the way we consume, do our work,
rest on sabbath, give to one another.
Were we angels, pure disembodied souls,
we would not need the discipline of deeds.
Were we animals, pure instinct and drive
we could not rise to touch the sacred.
To join body and mind,
to live our ideals,
to serve in the fullness of our humanity:
there is the challenge of holy living. (2)
May we move toward greater wholeness,
may we return, once more, to who we are,
and begin living again in love.
1. From Yom Kippur: Mishkan Hanefesh, A Machzor for the Days of Awe, p. 94.
2. Ibid., p. 217.
