"God Is A Verb"

© Rev. Susan Karlson
January 9, 2011

I am stunned by the shootings in Tucson, Arizona yesterday that left six people dead including a nine-year old girl, a political aide and a court judge and injured Rep. Gabrielle Giffords, the US congresswoman and the apparent intended target of the shootings and eleven others.

When I read about this tragedy, I pondered whether the words I planned to say have relevance in light of the shadow cast by yet another bout of violence. When violence occurs like this, prayers are requested and offered for the families of the murdered, recovery and healing for those injured and the entire community where the violence took place. Compassion, sensitivity and deep listening are needed regardless of our beliefs in the efficacy of prayer. The people in Tucson will face a crisis in the schools, at the shopping center where the shootings took place, in the offices and the courtrooms and the homes and workplaces of those injured and killed. And we will be challenged to feel compassion for the shooter, as well.

I had planned to talk about my experience of feeling connected to something universal, ancient and timeless when traveling in India. In thinking about the shootings in Tucson, I realize that these feelings of connection and interdependence are even more common through the natural outpouring of empathy for those who are suffering. I believe strongly that we are all connected to one another and every element of creation. Sometimes, an event or a place draws us into a deeper awareness of our unity.

These experiences of connection and oneness happen to most of us—suddenly something clicks for us and we feel we are a part of something vast and limitless. It often happens when we are out in nature but we also can experience it when we are stirring some concoction, painting a picture, encouraging a baby to smile, singing a lullaby as children drift off to sleep, or gazing at an ailing or dying loved one. These are moments of perfect synchronicity—moments when we feel in harmony with the world and our part in it. And even when chaos comes stomping in and the world as we know it is shattered as it was for the people of Tucson, we become aware that even in our moments of utter fragility, we are held together by a great love. Some call that great love God.

As human beings and meaning makers, we give names to experiences and concepts that defy description. Nothing can ever adequately depict those holy moments yet we still try.

By crafting names for God, people create God in their own image—giving God attributes and characteristics similar to their own. In most cases, we refer to God as if God is a noun, a separate omniscient, omnipresent and omnipotent Being, usually seen as having the gender of a male.

In the mystical tradition of Kabbalah, in a branch of philosophy referred to as process theology, and to Buckminster Fuller as well, “God as a noun” just doesn’t cut it. Nouns name something; they describe an object with finite attributes or characteristics and in most languages, gender. That understanding of God is an anthropomorphic projection. Ironically, God, the noun, is bound in form and name whereas God as a verb is about an interactive, dynamic, and interdependent process; unlimited.

Whether I am struggling or filled with joy, a God that is distant, removed from the burdens and pleasures of this world, is not so very accessible. In process theology, God and parts of creation are always changing; we are all co-creators in a continual cosmic dance. As Unitarian Universalist Gary Kowalski relates, “In a panoply of events, God is simply the Main Event. Amid a multitude of partial and imperfect relationships, God is the one to whom all are fully and perfectly related. In a “participatory universe” where all have a role in the construction of reality, God is the one who participates in all life and every act of creation.” ("The Ultimate Canvass" adapted from "Science and the Search for God").

The Sufis have a tale about the interrelatedness of God and the cosmos. In their story, a man calls to God at all hours of the day and night. God does not respond. The wily devil speaks to this disappointed man and plants the seed of doubt in his heart: “How long will you wait for God to respond ‘Here I am’ to all of your entreaties?” The disheartened man stops calling out to God but in a dream, an image of the Divine asks why he has stopped his calls. The man replied God never answered me. Then the dream-image, representing God, said “Did you not realize that every calling of yours IS itself my response?” (story from David Cooper's book, "God is a Verb").

Here is the idea in Psalm 42 of “deep calling to deep”. Caller and called are intricately interwoven in the most complex of dances. With God as a verb, there is a steady interplay between all parts of the universe. God is not named as an all-powerful potentate but is in an ongoing evolving relationship with us.

Sixteenth century rabbi, Isaac Luria, taught about a very complex cosmology called “the Shattering of the Vessels”, an interpretation of the verses in Genesis: “And the earth was without form and empty; and darkness was on the face of the deep.” Luria believed that vessels that would hold the light of creation were shattered and spread out in all directions. A tiny fragment of that light like a holy spark is in each of us and in every aspect of the universe, although each spark has a shell coating and obscuring it. If we increase our awareness of these holy sparks, we help to repair the shattered vessels. We have the opportunity to mend the world and the brokenness in it.

In "God Is a Verb", Rabbi Cooper concludes that “our opportunities to raise sparks are boundless” in every action, encounter, and relationships with those closest or most distant. Every moment affords us the chance to own the holy spark within us, in others and all around us.

With God as a noun, we are separate entities. The power differential is immense. When God is a verb, God is in process as are we. God as a verb is empowering because we matter. Our actions can lead to further fragmentation and disharmony or we can choose to heal the small part of the world we occupy. We can go through life unconscious, caught in the past or future, shunning the “holy sparks” that are our nature or embrace the unfolding of the present.

In essence, God does not have a plan for you. You are the plan. Rabbi Cooper says that “God-ing” is “everywhere around us and an aspect of everything we do.” With God “God-ing” we participate in the ever-new dance of life in contrast to the God that finds humanity ever wicked and sinful. Even in the midst of devastating loss and utter chaos, our tears are dried if we claim our capacity to be holy agents, sparks of the divine.

We do not know what was in the heart and mind of the man who shot so many people in Tucson. When we are in concert with the universal spirit of compassion and love, our thoughts and prayers go out to him and his family as well as all the other people in Tucson. We in Staten Island know something about the aftermath of tragedy and violence--the days after when you have to pick up the pieces. It is apparent to me that you cannot intentionally harm others in that way and be in touch with that spirit of oneness and interconnection that cradles us as tiny sparks emanating from the same Source. To go on a shooting spree is to be unaware how that destruction harms the one who pulls the trigger and maims the web of life that joins us all.

Ultimately, it doesn’t matter what name we give to God or if we find the concept of God meaningful or not. What matters is how we can enliven this moment now and each and every moment that flows from this one. And that will move us to a place where we are actively refining and reclaiming the verb state of God-ing, Susan-ing, Linda-ing, Virginia-ing, John-ing, and each of us that can carry our spark through acts of compassion, mercy and unity. May it be so.