"Deep Mysteries Revealed by the Clear Mexican Light"
(or What I Did On My Summer Vacation)

Liturgical Materials for Sunday the 17^th of August, 2003

Mark Belletini, Minister, Minister
First Unitarian Universalist Church of Columbus, Ohio 

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Opening words [Next] [back to top]

We are here
after a week of hot and rainy summer days,
and worry about loved ones in a power blackout,
and the exciting noise of construction
within this very building, our common home,
to worship, to lift our hearts and minds
above the daily round, that we might catch the spirit.
It is a time when we pray

(together)

May we live fully, love deeply, learn daily, and speak truly,
that we might together leave the sacred legacy of a better world.

Affirmation [Next] [back to top]

In Xochitl In Cuicatl (FlowerSong or Poem) in
the Aztec style by F. Alarcon

every tree, a member of the family
every hill, a pyramid, a holy spot

every valley, a poem, a flower-song.

every cloud, a prayer
every rain drop, a miracle

every body a seashore
a memory at once lost and found

we are all together:
like fireflies in the night
dreaming up the cosmos

Sequence Before the Silence [Next] [back to top]

In Ixtli In Yollotl / Literally Face and Heart, but meaning Sincerity, A prayer a la Aztec by Francisco Alarcon

may our ears hear
what nobody wants to hear

may our eyes see
what everyone wants to hide

may our mouths speak
our true faces and hearts

may our arms be branches
that give shade and joy

let us be a drizzle,
a sudden storm,
let us get wet in the rain

let us be the key, the hand, the door
the kick, the ball, the road

let us arrive as children
to this huge playground: the universe

(silence)

And now may we embrace in our dreaming,
in our love, those people in our lives whom we hold dear, our families, our friends, our loved ones.
We embrace them by the gift of our imagination,
enfolding them far and wide in the arms
of our care and love and devotion, making
them part of our morning time together
by naming them aloud or holding their faces
in our silent hearts.

(naming)

May the dreaming that is the universe
rise up in our love, rise up in the flowers,
rise up in the poems, in the prayers, and in the
delightful rhythms of the music.

First Reading [Next] [back to top] this morning are lines from a poem by the great Mexican and world poet, Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz. She was a nun, a feminist, and a poet, often called the Phoenix of Mexico. The poem is called "En Reconocimiento de las inimitables plumas de la Europa" or "In acknowledgement of all the fine praises coming from Europe." It was written around 1680.

What magical infusions, brewed
from herbals of the Indians
of my own country, spilled their old
enchantment over all my lines?

You have brought disgrace on me
in making me so famous, for
the light you shed reveals my faults
more clearly, making them stand out.

Everything that you receive
is not measured according to
its actual size, but, rather, that
of the receiving vessel.

Second Reading [Next] [back to top] is one of the poems of Nezahualcoyotl, (Nezza-wal-kyotul) one of the great poets of both Mexico and the world. He was a ruler in Texcoco, a cultural center in Aztec days that even the Spaniards regarded as the Athens of Mexico. His poetry influenced both theology, literature and social thought in Mexico.

In the house lined with paintings
the singing begins,
song is practiced,
flowers are spread,
the music rejoices.

The songs resound.
Little bells are heard.

These our flowers,
like tambourines,
echo our answer.

Flowers are spread,
the music rejoices.

Above the flowers I hear the song
of the iridescent pheasant;
his song unfolds
over the waters of the lake.

To him reply
all manner of red birds.
One red bird dazzles and
beautifully sings.

Your heart, o Giver of Life
is a book of paintings.

You have come to sing,
to make your drums echo over the land.

You are the singer of all things.

Within the house of the flowering seasons,
you make the people happy.

You alone bestow
flowers that intoxicate us,
precious flowers.

You alone are the singer.

Within the house of the flowering seasons,
you make the people happy.

Sermon: "Deep Mysteries Revealed by the Clear Mexican Light"
(or What I Did On My Summer Vacation) [Next][back to top]

I have to admit, I had a very good vacation time this summer. For almost three weeks, I traveled far and away, and found both rest and excitement.

First I flew to Santa Fe, where, while visiting my beloved friend Doug Robson, I was enraptured by the beauty of both the soft blue Sangre de Cristo mountains retreating into the distance, and the blinding red Chamayo chiles on the table.

Second, I flew to the Bay Area of California, where, despite the eye-rolling silliness of the gubernatorial politics, I engaged deeply with my closest friends, Richard, Kevin and others. We shared exotic dinners and rare conversations under the clear glowing skies.

But third and last, I visited my colleague and friend Farley Wheelwright and his wife Virginia down in Mexico. What wonderful people!

Now, in a week, I only managed to visit three cities of that great country: 1. Mexico City, 2. Teotihuacan and 3. San Miguel d'Allende. But I have to admit, I fell totally in love with the nation called Los Estados Unidos de Mexico, the United States of Mexico.

First, I can now see clearly why some folks go bananas over the very concept of a pyramid. I was simply knocked flat by my first sight of them standing wide and solid in the lovely green valley of Teotihuacan. The ancient structures simply overwhelm you. They are so splendid, so mysterious, so old. You immediately want to climb them, though they are dizzyingly high. I wondered if I would find the energy to make the climb. But, despite my heart condition, and despite the 87-year-old Farley's necessary cane, we both made it to the top of the Pyramid of the Sun where we looked down in awe on the jade-green valley below.

The city of San Miguel, where Farley and Virginia live, is simply one of the most charming towns on the whole earth. Like so many before me, I was seduced by the red, blue and gold houses, and the steep, cobblestone streets. I laughed inside the strange cathedral, which sported frescoes of Lenin and Trotsky at the foot of the cross, and peyote buttons carved into the spires, a delight left by the grinning Indian architect. The food in that city was wonderful too, the huitlacoche, or black corn fungus, the fragrant cherimoya fruits, and the wonderful national dish of Stuffed Chiles with Walnut Sauce and Pomegranite Seeds. The whole city was a feast of flowers too, with bougainvillaea spilling over the golden walls, and dayglow geraniums in every pot.

But, in most ways, it was Mexico City that stole my heart. I cannot begin to list the treasures I gathered for my inner life while visiting that working miracle of 26 million people. Climbing through the fig tree, filled, blue courtyard of the painter Frida Kahlo's house, or strolling the brightly lit studio of her husband, muralist Diego Rivera, or lunching on a tamale flavored with sassafras leaves over at Trotsky's house would have been enough in themselves. But Farley and I packed ourselves into the crowded, but most efficient, bright red subway, or one of the green Volkswagon cabs, and visited all the museums of modern art the city has to offer. On top of that we saw three spectacular archeological museums.

One day Farley and I went to the site of the Templo Mayor, or Great Temple Platform, right next to the soot-darkened, and much younger Cathedral of the city. I was surprised to find that these impressive ruins had been found only as recently as 1978. The dark stone walls date from the time of the conquest, in the early 15 hundreds. In those days, it was the largest structure in the Aztec capital of Tenochtitlan. It looked something like a large steep pyramid, but with rounded corners, and precarious steps to the top. On top of this platform were two large temples with steep roofs, one painted red and one painted green. The temples were dedicated to the Rain God, Tlaloc, and the War God, Huitzilopochtli.

And on those "divine" altars, adults and children were routinely sacrificed. Their living hearts were cut out of them by the priests with a razor sharp knife, made of a glassy black stone called obsidian. The theology behind this gruesome affair proclaimed the absolute necessity of human sacrifice. If it ceased for but a short time, the sun, they said, would not rise, and time itself, and every thing in the world, would come to an end.

I was haunted by this ancient practice of sacrifice while I was down in Mexico. Now mind you, I am well aware that the Spanish conquest of Tenochtitlan was not the high water mark of European civilization either. From all I can tell, Cortes and his men were mostly cruel scoundrels with no more heart within them than the sacrificed victims of the Aztec priests. But despite their own moral numbness, they managed to be suitably disgusted by the Aztec sacrificial practice on the temple tops.

For, yes, it remains a sober fact: the Aztecs, the Indians, or native peoples of Mexico, really did offer human sacrifice. This was not a European exaggeration. It was not a misunderstood practice, or merely a symbolic ritual. It was the religious murder of tens of thousands of powerless children, lower class slaves and conquered peoples.

And any such practice was, and is, and will be forever, repulsive.

But what makes it especially repulsive is the sharp contrast between the murder of innocents and the generally superior quality of the rest of Aztec culture.

You see, the Aztecs in almost every other way were a most civilized people. For example, they provided for their elderly citizens with a system of care far better than anything provided in Europe. They justifiably prided themselves on their schools. They were responsible for some of the greatest poetry, art and engineering feats to ever blossom on this continent. They excelled in the tender and delicate art of flower arranging. Their sense of humor was rich, their design abilities superb by even modern standards, and their cuisine was among the most sophisticated, varied and delicious on earth. (Indeed, they discovered how to make chocolate, which alone makes them great in my book!)

Yet they murdered children and called it religion.

The more I read about the Aztecs, the more puzzled I was. How could such a sublime culture have fallen for such a cruel and daily practice? How could you write a poem of enduring beauty one minute, and watch blood pour down the steps of a temple the next, and not lose your mind?

The city of Tenochtitlan had over 250, 000 inhabitants. It was over five times the size of Madrid in Spain. Yet a little, tiny army of 400 Spaniards overthrew this great city. Yes, I'm sure the religious mania of King Moctezuma, which we all heard about in High School, was part of it…he really did believe the old tales of a white God coming from the East. He really was scared of Cortes in a supernatural way. But, clearly, that is only part of the story.

You see, the Europeans were not the only people disgusted with the Aztec practice of sacrifice. Many of the Indians themselves were speaking up against the practice. It was by no means universally popular. Even the theology itself was being questioned.

And not just, as you might expect, by the class of people that were the most likely victims of the outrage, namely, the underclass, but even by those who stood in power and had privilege.

I am thinking of Nezahualcoyotl, the ruler of Texcoco, who wrote the very fine poem you heard this morning as one of the readings. Nezahualcoyotl, although not technically by culture an Aztec Indian, was raised in Tenochtitlan to rule the Aztecs, and was steeped in the Aztec theology of his day. He knew both privilege and power.

But, he seems to have given up the theology that supported such things. During his reign, he forbid the priests to sacrifice children, for starters. And he built a new temple, not to the God of War or the God of Rain, but to the mysterious Giver of Life, the unknowable, nameless and unfathomable power behind the universe. The temple rose high, toward the sky, and in its many stories were images of human beings, and the animals and plants and the stars, the beauties of creation, if you will. These things were for meditation only, not gods that demanded sacrifice. Meditating on creation, he suggested, was the chief way any human mortal can apprehend the Giver of Life. You cannot worship by bloodshed and controlling rituals, but only by appreciation of the magnificence of the world and its creatures.

Furthermore, the wise poet said, human beings were just like the flowers of the field, beautiful, yet utterly fragile. Mortal. Everything comes to an end, wrote Nezahualcoyotl. Even gold. Even jade. Everything in the universe is like a song or like a flower…each has a beginning, a middle and an end. Simple as that. You cannot make the world or the things in it last forever… by bloody rituals or by any other means. You cannot control life and its duration. All you can do is live, be happy as life passes through us, and be thankful for our brief moment of life. For we too are flowers, we too are songs, we too, beautiful poems.

You alone, oh Giver of Life,
bestow flowers that intoxicate us,
precious flowers.

You alone are the singer.

Within the house of the flowering seasons,
you make the people happy.

Sor Ines de la Cruz seems to have been happy when she wrote her thank you poem to her European fans. She seems to have appreciated the beguiling power of her Indian heritage, and took delight in poetry and reform, much as Nezahualcoyotl did. When she was praised by European writers for her great poems, she claimed with a sly smile that her writing only appears good. She speculates that her critics like her stuff only because they have been "enchanted" by some herbal magic brewed up by the Indians of her country, i.e. the Aztecs.

What magical infusions, brewed
from herbals of the Indians
of my own country, spilled their old
enchantment over all my lines?

Then she goes on to offer this amazing quatrain:

Everything that you receive
is not measured according to
its actual size, but, rather, that
of the receiving vessel.

In other words, Sor de la Cruz is saying to her fans: "If you, those who praise me, think my writing is great, it can only be because you yourselves are great. A vessel can only hold as much as its size allows."

This is a very wise saying, I think.

She is saying that the more expansive and compassionate the human spirit is, the more it can take in and appreciate and praise, the more likely is it to find something praiseworthy and wonderful.

If you are small and crabbed on the inside, you are likely only to see a small and crabbed universe outside you.

But she also suggests that an expansive spirit is also likelier to notice when things are out of whack, when something is unbalanced, when there is poison in the system that needs to be drained for the health of the whole.

Nezahuacoyotl and the Aztec men and women like him were people like that. They were so expansive of spirit that they were able to distinguish between what was whole in their society and what was broken. They were not confused by the fact that they benefited from that society and its ways. They knew clearly they had to make changes in part of their culture, or otherwise lose all of it, as well as their own soul. And they were not so foolish as to throw the baby out with the bathwater.

They knew that just because blood had been shed for centuries, it no longer should be shed. They also knew that their religious life was basically good except for that one thing. They knew that elders must still be taken care of, flowers arranged, poetry written, children educated, and worship conducted. But the last must be done without blood and without the arrogant fear that the universe can be controlled by the mere actions of human beings.

While I was in Mexico, I saw no sacrifices, just temples in ruins. But I did see down there exactly what I see up here. People in the street so poor and stepped on that nothing much is left of them. Up here, it's usually men I see on the street, scruffy and defeated. In Mexico, I almost always saw older women, like the one on the front cover, who is an actual beggar from San Miguel. And I saw plenty of children in rags on the street too, huddling next to these old women.

I know, I know, there are lots of scams out there. And a human sacrifice with an obsidian knife is not quite the same thing as a child on the street with his or her hand stretched out, either in the United States of Mexico or the United States of America. But all of my religious thinking these past twenty five years makes me think they are at the very least intimately related.

You see, both the ancient belief in sacrifice, and modern split of society into the well-to-do and utterly destitute are based on the same premise, to wit, "some folks among us are disposable. And some are not."

The major difference to my eye seems to be speed. Suffering on the altar is fast. The black knife is sharp. Suffering on the street is slow, the knife of hunger being blunt. But both sets of folks remain equally disposable.

And they will remain disposable until religious folks both powerful and powerless, both privileged and unprivileged, wake up. Wake up, you know, like Buddha waking up under his tree perhaps. Or Kwan Yin on her sick bed. Or Jesus in the wilderness. Or Mirabai walking away from her family degradation. Or Nezahualcoyotl himself looking up at the uncontrolled stars from his towering temple.

When I went to Mexico, I was shocked by the practices of the Aztecs. I naturally counted myself different from them in every way. "I am a good person. I do not sacrifice people." Now, after spending a lot of time thinking about it, I am not so sure I am such a completely different species. For I too live in a society where people are disposable, and even have to come up with so-called scams to get their next meal, or wait for church groups to cook them a supper they would otherwise not eat.

But my religion, my Unitarian Universalist faith,  calls me to the kind of discernment that religious figures like Nezahualcoyotl used, he who lived to make changes in his culture and in the world, and who gave up thinking that the universe was something that needed to be controlled. As his Indian descendant, Francisco Alarcon, would one day put it, in prayer language borrowed from Aztec style, in the true and deepest spirit of that most amazing country, the United States of Mexico:

"May our ears hear
what nobody wants to hear

May our eyes see
what everyone wants to hide

May our mouths speak
our true faces and hearts

May our arms be branches
that give shade and joy

Let us be a drizzle,
a sudden storm:

Let us get wet in the rain.

Let us be the key,
the hand,
the door
the kick,
the ball,
the road!

Let us arrive as children
to this huge playground: the universe."

I doubt if any modern Unitarian Universalist, or any ancient poet, even Nezahualcoyotl, could offer a better religious vision than that.

May we find a thousand ways this coming year to wake up. May we find a thousand ways this coming year to arrive. And may we find ten thousand ways this coming year to live out the good news of our liberal faith, whereever we find ourselves…in Mexico on top of a pyramid, or right here in the U.S. of A…on a local street, or in our own back yard.

Offeratory [Next][back to top]

The gifts of the people are for the people.

For the offering is a circle that signs the whole.

We both give and receive the gifts,
by this act of consciousness that proclaims
that everything that is solid
must stand on a solid foundation.

Closing Prayer (Returning) [back to top] In Ixtli In Yollotl / Literally Face and Heart, but meaning Sincerity A prayer in the Aztec Style By Francisco Alarcon

may our ears hear
what nobody wants to hear

may our eyes see
what everyone wants to hide

may our mouths speak
our true faces and hearts

may our arms be branches
that give shade and joy
let us be a drizzle,
a sudden storm,
let us get wet in the rain
let us be the key, the hand, the door
the kick, the ball, the road
let us arrive as children
to this huge playground: the universe

[back to top]
 

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