“Stumbling Into Wisdom” Rev. Zenshin Florence Caplow

First I want to say how wonderful it was to be with you and in the Roaring Fork valley, a few weeks ago. You were so kind and welcoming to me. I also want to add my wholehearted welcome to Paul and Micha to TRUU. I’m just getting to know them but their enthusiastic response to finding out about TRUU is infectious. Not to mention that they are fantastic musicians!!
I’d like to begin with a story this morning.
Those of us who don’t have children of our own are sometimes blessed with sweet connections with other people’s children, and that has been true for me.
Twenty years ago my mother and I bought a little cabin on a bay in Washington state, and shortly afterwards I met my new neighbor and her children, who were four and six at the time.
Judith, my neighbor, is an artist, writer, and jeweler who works with sea glass, pebbles, rare stones, coins, silver and gold – crafting unique and extraordinary pieces of jewelry. She and her children Sophia and Raleigh have been part of my life all these years, though they live there year round in that little village by the water, and I’m a bit more migratory. But they have all been blessings in my life.
Over the years Judith’s children grew and changed, as children are wont to do, and I have been a witness to those changes, year after year. Almost every summer for these many years we camp out one night on a sandy island across a lagoon from our houses, make a fire, roast marshmallows, eat too many marshmallows, end up with sand everywhere, and tell stories.
13 years ago, the summer Sophia was moving from child to youth, about the age that our kids here go through our year-long Coming of Age program, her mother secretly made her a beautiful, silver ring with an ancient Greek coin from Athens set in silver.
The coin showed the goddess Athena on one side – the patron of Athens and of wisdom, and her animal companion, an owl on the other side. We were camping out on the island when Judith gave Sophia the ring as a surprise as we sat around the fire and the full moon rose over the waters of the bay.
As I think back to that full moon night, and this carefully crafted gift from a mother to a daughter on the perilous cusp of growing up – a gift with the image of the goddess of wisdom, I think yes, that is what every parent I’ve known wishes for their child as they watch them begin their own path into the world – wisdom – wisdom to sidestep somehow those many dangers and pitfalls that lurk for young people, that probably their parents feel into themselves, wisdom to choose well in love, wisdom to find their way with no stumbles.
And Judith, who named her daughter Sophia at her birth – Sophia is the Greek word for wisdom – gave her a parental talisman and blessing at the entrance of what is, in many ways, another birth.
The great poet David Whyte has a poignant poem to his infant daughter, asleep in his arms, that ends with these words:
As she grows
away
from me,
may these life lines
grow with her,
keep her safe,
so
with my open palm
whose lines
have run before her
to make a safer way,
I hold her smooth cheek
and bless her
this night
into all these other
unknown
nights to come.

And yet…when I think of myself at that age, and when I think of Sophia’s life as it has unfolded since that night into her young adulthood, I think…oh, despite the best of parental hopes, wisdom comes slow and with many stumbles, maybe even through many stumbles, even hard falls. I’m sure you can remember some of those yourself. Most of us are more like the fool than the wise philosopher, no matter what our age
And hey, not even just when you’re young – I was talking to someone yesterday in their 70’s who said that when she was younger she had THOUGHT that one day, when she got to, say, her 70’s, she would truly and finally be wise, but come to find out she’s still learning too, learning how to live this life. Even at 95, I think my mother would have agreed.
I myself, in a rather desperate search for how to live my life, spent a lot of time as a young person reading books, hoping to find wisdom that way, like a ladder out of my confusion. For a while, I thought that studying philosophy would help me become wise. Those of you who have studied philosophy or even taught philosophy could probably attest to the poor correlation between knowing philosophy and living a life of wisdom.
I have also tried sitting at the feet of various great spiritual teachers, probably a bit more than the average person, which might say something about my level of desperation, and which is really a fine thing, and probably several orders of magnitude more useful than simply reading wise words, but still…I have remained remarkably foolish nonetheless.
Even – and I’m sure this will shock you – being a Zen priest or going to seminary and being a UU minister does not necessarily correlate with greater wisdom. When I ordained as a Zen priest, I remember my Zen teacher saying that priests are not necessarily wiser or smarter or more enlightened than anyone else. They just vow to keep showing up for others. That was so helpful to hear!
So if books don’t bring wisdom, or philosophy, or religion, or great teachers, or even seminary, where does it come from, how do we find it, how do we live it?
As I sat with these questions, I thought of one of my favorite Zen koans. Koans are teaching stories, usually about an encounter between Zen people where someone, sometimes both people, have a great insight, a life changing insight, as a result of that encounter. Often this is a Zen teacher and their students, but in this story from ancient China, the two people are friends, traveling together.
Yantou and Xuefeng were Zen monks on a pilgrimage and one day they got snowed in at a place called Tortoise Mountain.
Day after day, as they waited for the snow to melt, Yantou napped while Xuefeng sat up and meditated earnestly.
On the third day, Yantou sat up too and said, “Get some sleep. What do you think you are – a roadside shrine?”
Xuefeng touched his chest and said, “My heart isn’t at peace. I can’t fool myself.”
So Yantou compassionately asked his friend to tell him about his insights and experiences with Zen masters, and Xuefeng told a bunch of stories about what he had learned from famous teachers of his time.
Finally Yantou sighed and said to his friend. “Don’t you know that the family treasure doesn’t come in through the gates of the town? Let wisdom flow out from your own heart to cover the sky and the earth.”
Xuefeng was suddenly enlightened at these words and cried out, dancing around their little room “Today Tortoise Mountain has finally awakened!” (2X)
Zen koans are kind of odd stories, but I do love this one. In my life, I have been more Xuefeng looking for wisdom than Yantou the napper. I used to call myself, “Tries too hard woman.” I wanted to get wisdom through sheer effort and will power, like Zuefeng and his earnest meditation.
But what Yantou reminds his friend is that real wisdom lies in your own heart, through your own hard learnings, your stumblings, your failings, something can give you, or take away from you. I also love that wisdom is in the heart, rather than in the head, where we ordinarily look for it. And when Xeufeng finally lets that in, that the treasure he has been seeking everywhere is actually within, his life changes.
Of course, it’s not always that dramatic. In fact, I would say most of the time finding real wisdom is not dramatic at all. Here’s a straightforward description of the kind of wisdom most of us can relate to. This is by Portia Nelson. It’s called Autobiography in Five Short Chapters.
Chapter I
I walk down the street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I fall in.
I am lost… I am hopeless.
It isn’t my fault.
It takes forever to find a way out.

Chapter II
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I pretend I don’t see it.
I fall in again.
I can’t believe I am in this same place.
But it isn’t my fault.
It still takes a long time to get out.

Chapter III
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I see it there.
I still fall in… it’s a habit… but,
my eyes are open.
I know where I am.
It is my fault.
I get out immediately.

Chapter IV
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I walk around it.

Chapter V
I walk down another street.

Thank you. We will now hear some special music…