The following is based on a sermon delivered at Unity Temple on Aug. 3:
One of my favorite books of poetry is an obscure little book called Bucolics by Maurice Manning. The 78 poems in the volume are grounded in a rural setting. The voice of the poet seems to be that of a farmer. Some of them are praise songs for the beauty of nature and farming, but there is also a lot of wondering about life’s questions and meaning, doubt, and even a fair bit of quarreling and complaining. The farmer/poet reminds me of Tevye in Fiddler on the Roof.
All of it is addressed to someone called “Boss.” As one of the testimonials in the front of the book puts it: the poems are “a postmodern conversation with a version of a higher power [called] ‘Boss.’” They aren’t exactly conversations though, because Boss never says a word.
Picturing God as a boss is an intriguing angle on the divine. The image probably doesn’t work for everyone, especially if their own boss is considerably less than divine. But the image works pretty well for me. I guess I’ve generally had good bosses.
When it comes to the divine, I’m decisively agnostic. I’m not sure whether there is such a thing as God or Goddess or whatever name we give the divine for this thing. I usually favor the more ambiguous, non-human, non-gendered “divine” for this thing I decisively may or not believe in. But for this sermon, I’m going to use “God” for that thing.
If there is God, then count me a polytheist. This is because if there is such a thing as the divine, it makes good sense to picture “It” in a multitude of ways. The more pictures, the merrier. No one image of God can ever possibly exhaust the truth about the mystery of the divine. So I’m delighted to include Boss (as depicted in these poems) to the many names and images I use for this possibility called God.
Here’s a representative poem from Bucolics. It’s a praise song to Boss:
boss of the blue sky boss
of green water boss of rain
with thunder out in front of it
boss of the flatland bottoming
the hill O Boss you’ve got
a hundred marvels underneath
your belt so tight you’ll have to poke
another hole if you keep bossing
The picture that emerges of God/Boss in Bucolics is complex (like any boss). The characteristics Manning depicts resonate very well with my pictures of God.
First, Boss is everywhere. “O everywhere I go you’re there/before me Boss,” the poet writes. Boss is in the world, the world is in Boss, the world is Boss. If we’re looking, we can see Boss in the simplest of things.
And Boss is not just part of good things that happen to us, but also bad (and who’s to say for sure what’s good and what’s bad?):
whenever there’s a to I know
a fro is coming after it…
Boss
you sender of the sun
you rain for rivers
Maybe most amazing of all, Boss is even in you and in me: “Are you in my chest Boss?” the poet asks, and the answer plainly is yes.
I like the idea of God having some human qualities like occasionally being sorry. This makes God so much more relatable than some perfect being who is far away from my imperfect human life on this little, out-of-the-way planet.
Another thing about Boss is that Boss has a keen and sometimes even devilish sense of humor. If there is God, it seems to me that God must possess a sense of humor. There’s just too much that is laughable in life for God not to have a hand in it, or at least to appreciate it. Even in the worst times, there can be glimpses of humor. I have so often seen and experienced the human capacity to laugh even in bleak moments. Laughter frequently punctuates the tears and pain.
I once had a congregant in a hospice unit who confided that she stopped eating a few days earlier. When an aide came to check on her, she said, “Oh, Roger, the milk shakes are terrific here.” She looked up at the aide and said, “Two milkshakes, please.” She was a person of many contradictions, and I think she quietly understood and enjoyed this one. We toasted her good life as we drank our milkshakes. Her family and I laughed so hard about this when I shared the story as we planned her celebration of life.
Where does this capacity to laugh come from? I’d like to think it has a divine origin. I’d go as far as to say that if God doesn’t have a sense of humor, then move me over to the atheist column. I could never believe in a humorless god.
Another characteristic of Boss is that Boss is rather distant and reserved. This clearly is a source of unending irritation to the farmer/poet. He keeps on talking to Boss, asking questions, and never hears anything back. “My ears get lonely I wish/you’d let me hear from you,” the poet whines.
It even feels sometimes like Boss tries to run away — especially when the poet inches closer to truths about Boss. You’re like “a funny little horse” who runs away, the poet says. “I ought to tie you to a tree.” But you can’t tie Boss to a tree.
This picture of a rather distant Boss matches my experience of the divine. I’ve never heard God speak directly to me. When I pray, it’s always a one-sided conversation. Now sometimes I feel like I get answers, but never directly. I must look for clues. And whenever I seem to inch a tiny bit closer to glimpsing the truth about God, God seems to inch backward. How I wish I could tie God to a tree like a funny little horse!
I don’t think anyone can completely figure out the mystery called “God.” Anyone who thinks they have God all figured out has a god who is way too small.
Another characteristic of Boss is that there are limits to what Boss can do. Boss is in charge as much as any boss, which is to say: not very much. Boss needs the workers to get the work done; Boss cannot do it all on Boss’ own. Of course, each worker can only help Boss in small ways. But when you add together the little bit that each of us does, it adds up.
This totally squares with my understanding of God. If there is God, I don’t believe that It is all powerful. It relies on all of us. We are God’s hands and head and heart. We all must do our part to make real Love at the center. Creating a more just and peaceful world is not God’s work; it is our work. Working together, we can bend the moral arc of the universe toward justice.
I still believe this, even at this moment when it feels like the moral arc has sprung skyward.