Ok… so what do you think when you see this photo compilation? (cat, dog, penguin) There’s a certain “awwww” factor, isn’t there? I meant they are cute, right? There’s even a certain cuteness to these creatures (slide with orangutan, snake, elephant). Well, it turns out that babies, of any species, appear cute to us as humans, isn’t just a coincidence…there’s no way an entire group like us would simply find the same things cute – it turns out its neuroscience.
I want you to think back to the beginning September (I know it feels like 100 days ago), back to when we took our first step into this Intrinsic Hope journey. We learned then a little bit about the neuroscience behind habits. How the forming and breaking of a habit is more than just will power? Well, there’s brain science around babies being cute as well. It’s called biophilia – which is defined as “”the passionate love of life and all that is alive.” It’s hardwired into our brains and is a core basic instinct that all humans are born with – the want to love and be loved. But it’s more than getting warm fuzzies and cute animal memes sent to your pals. It’s a product of natural selection and quite literally ensures the survival of all living things.
There are a few different ways this plays out in the world, but babies and their cuteness is the clearest example of how it works. We look at a baby… we see those big eyes and out of proportions and hear those cute sounds, and we just melt inside. We will do just about anything to protect a baby – even when it isn’t related to us, even when it isn’t even the same species as us… we just see it, think its cute and want to keep it safe.
What’s amazing is that when this part of the brain is activated, an overall love of life, a “universal love” that goes beyond our personal loves is triggered. Suddenly we can truly long for the happiness and well being of all living things versus the happiness and wellbeing of only those within our particular circle or environment. It’s a great system that kick starts compassion.
But here’s the frustrating thing – the opposite can happen when we are kept from seeing the cuteness or goodness in others. This then blinds us to the needs of those around us by focusing our attention solely on our own needs and survival. Perhaps you’ve seen this tactic being used lately… #MAGA. Interestingly there’s an actual name for this self centered mindset, it’s called ethnocentrism. It’s what we do when we measure or judge our own culture against another culture and find ours to be vastly superior and more valuable.
Since the 1940’s this idea of “us” being of more value than “them” has been on the rise. And while it doesn’t take a genius to see the danger of such thought, Einstein did explain it in a very Einstein-y way when he said, “a human being is a part of the whole, called by us “universe”, a part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts and feelings as something separated from the rest, a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest to us. Our task must be to free ourselves from this by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty.”
These days it feels like we are being trained, taught, led, to let go of compassion. To see compassion for others, the planet, and even ourselves, as a weakness. Perhaps this is what makes it our most powerful and important “habit of hope.” If we are going to truly love the world and by that I mean love our planet, love our neighbour as ourselves (incidentally, I think I also mean “love our enemy” but that’s another sermon), we are going to have to lean into compassion in a way that goes beyond what has been the norm of late.
Now, I like to think that we’re a compassion crew around here and in the United Church generally, and I have always assumed that it means we’re kind, thoughtful, and generous people, which I think is true. But turns out compassion means something else. “Com” means “with” and “passion” means suffering (think the Passion of the Christ). So “compassion” actually means “with suffering.”
Curious… if I am to have compassion for someone or something, this means I must open myself to their suffering. Compassion says. “I suffer with you, I feel your pain as my own, and I will do whatever I can to ease it.” It is, I think, what God must have felt in the moment the holy one chose to become enfleshed: chose to walk the earth as we do, to weep as we do, to mourn as we do, to die as we do, for the sole purpose of being able to honestly say to us: “I suffer with you, I feel your pain as my own, and I will do whatever I can do to help ease it.”
Anyone who tries to spin an image of Christ as anything other than coming in compassion, has twisted what this whole thing is supposed to be about. Rainn Wilson said “the metamorphosis of Jesus Christ from a humble servant of the abject poor to a symbol that stands for gun rights, prosperity theology, anti-science, limited government (that neglects the destitute) and fierce nationalism is truly the strangest transformation in human history.”
But the desire for Jesus to be something other than what he was… that’s not new. Even his own disciples wanted him to be something else. They wanted him to focus on the powerful, the rich, those whom they felt were worthy of his attention and could aid the movement. Consequently, when a group of parents showed up one day with their children in tow what did our intrepid disciples do? They shooed them AWAY. And what did Jesus do? He welcomed them.
Now, this story has been diluted becoming a sweet bedtime tale or the cover illustration for a children’s Bible. This is likely due to our brain chemistry that kicks in when we see those cute babies and kids…we just want to see Jesus being nice to them. But it was unlikely that people were bringing their healthy kids to Jesus in order to receive some sort of benign blessing. It was more likely that these were parents bringing their sick, hungry and suffering children in the hopes that Jesus would heal them. Silencing the complaints of the disciples, Jesus turns to face the suffering of those around him, even those deemed by others as unworthy of his attention, and opens the door of hope to them.
In his book Near Occasions of Grace, Richard Rohr wrote: “Until we walk with despair, and still have hope, we will not know that our hope was not just hope in ourselves, in our own successes, in our own power to make a difference, in our image of what perfection should be. We need hope from a much deeper source. We need a hope larger than ourselves… this very journey is probably the heart of what Jesus came to reveal.
I could stand here and tell you a million things that I think you should believe. I could wax as eloquently as I can about faith or hope or doctrine, spend hours writing liturgy that points to something beyond us, in a vain attempt to convince you, and frankly myself, that everything will be okay. But on this World Communion Sunday, I am acutely aware that the power of the sacrament and what we are invited into when we gather around the table goes beyond any homily I could draft, any doctrine the church could come up with, any list of habits or rules or best practices the internet could offer.
This sacrament, it reminds us that God longs for us to have this full and abundant life. Not necessarily free from suffering, but free from fear. Not free from hardship, but free from judgement. Not free from loss, but free from hopelessness. Jesus came to show us that this compassionate love is hardwired into God’s very being. Like us standing in a line at the grocery store when we’re tired and cranky and find ourselves making faces for a stranger’s baby… God just can’t help it. The source of all compassion cannot help but say “I see you, I love you, I suffer with you, I feel your pain as my own, and I will do whatever I can to ease it.”
And so we gather here, with all the cherished of God’s creation, we claiming our spot at the table, squishing close together to make sure there’s room for everyone, as we open ourselves to the Hope that lives here. Amen.
