Fire and Ethical Friends

Fuego is a local eating establishment which seems to be popular with graduates of the local university.  I selected it as the place to meet up with several friends from Ethical (one of the New Jersey branches) who were passing through en route to view the upcoming solar eclipse.  I had intended to invite them to that local establishment also known as the Texas Stop Sign (DQ), but a quick check showed no coffee on the menu and an opening time of 10:00 am.  Fuego is open 24 hours.  

So we met.  I knew all three of my visitors either from working together through the American Ethical Union or attending the same meetings online.  It was really nice to meet them all three in person.  We had a chance to share some Texas foods (banana pudding, breakfast tacos, horchata--and coffee, of course).  We also shared a bond, each having our own experiences of the past few months of drama in the AEU and each extending spoken and unspoken words of empathy and compassion for the slings and arrows that seem to have flown out of that drama.  

What I had not expected was the depth of discussion that we had about the ups and downs of membership in Ethical Culture.  As with most forms of religious community these days, our membership is declining.  We talked about "nones," and the apparent commitment in that group to remain uncommitted.  We talked a bit about the social shifts that occurred because of the COVID pandemic, and the technology that continues to support our isolation.  

The conversation gave me a chance to talk about my own ideas about membership growth.  The 1% reversal of decline that moves us in a positive direction.  The need to be a visible to those who are needing--or seeking--our community.  The back and forth of discussion pointed out a weakness or two in my ideas and opened new possibilities of thought.  In other words, it was an Ethical discussion among Ethicals about Ethical--conducted ethically.  What a delight!

We often think of the positive benefits of our community in terms of a safe haven, a compassionate space, a warm welcome.  We share our joys and concerns and get to know each other better.  All true and good.  I think our community also provides a chance to exchange ideas in an open manner with respect for each other as well as for reality.  How refreshing!

Fuego ("fire" in Spanish) provided us with a different "light of understanding, warmth of compassion, and fire of commitment."  The banana pudding was good, too!

The Light of Ethical

At this time of the year, there are many festivals that focus on light.  December 21 is typically identified as the first day of winter; it is the winter solstice, the day when the northern half of the planet is tilted farthest away from the sun and begins to reverse its tilt.  This reversal is, to many humans throughout history, the return of the light.  Days now will become longer.  It is, to many of us, a promise that spring will eventually come again and the earth will warm and produce its bounty.

I ran across a different kind of festival in my research on Ethical Culture.  The New York Meeting House was built by October 1910 (I can't find the date for the groundbreaking ceremony) and dedicated, first, to its Ethical and Religious Purposes and, then, to its Civic Uses in ceremonies on October 23 and 24, 1910.  Included in those ceremonies was a poem written by Percival Chubb, called simply "Dedication Ode."  

I'm no judge of poetry, so I can't suggest how this poem might rate in form or language, but the idea of the light is a powerful one for me.  I am sensitive to the changes that we experience as the seasons pass when the light changes (and the temperature as well).  I imagine the delight of those first humans to "capture" fire and then to discover how to "make" it, turning the dark of night into something nearer day, gaining both warmth and the comfort of light to their camp.  I imagine living more in tune with the seasons, knowing what the earth will produce as the light and the temperature changes (if the rains come on time), having my life channeled by the boundaries of nature's time, not that of humans.  

In The Ethical Society of Austin, when we mark the beginning of our Ethical discussion, we light a candle and say ritual words:  "May we kindle within ourselves the light of understanding, the warmth of compassion, and the fire of commitment."  These concepts are very meaningful to me.  When I light a candle here in my home, I sometimes utter them as a reminder of how powerful such a light can be. I light a candle and think of how much such a tiny light can mean when the world is dark and so are the hearts of men.

One thing that our candle lighting ritual does not encompass is that comfort that humans have felt in the presence of a burning light.  It pushed back the darkness and gave a slight sense of increased safety.  It included hope that the time of darkness would end and the full light of day would return, but for now . . . just for a while . . . the world is not so dark.

Percival Chubb's "Dedication Ode" spoke to me as the lighted candle does.  He talked about the nature of the light that he saw in the Meeting House, emphasizing that it was not supernatural, but produced by humans:

Flame of the kindled heart by which we love;
Light of the single mind by which we see.

He then calls on that light to bind us together:

Blend all our separate lights to one great whole
As in one perfect fellowship of soul;
That in the pure effulgence we may see
The splendor of the prophecy
Of man harmonious in the true society.

It is, however, the ending of the poem which speaks to me with the strongest emotion:

When low our spirit's flickering flame may burn
And our feet falter on their starward way.
Hither our steps unwittingly shall stray.
Hither our longing turn.
Here to the quiet and the calm;
Here to the peace . . . the light . . . the fire.

The peace, the light, the fire--the comfort that comes from Ethical when we see each other with understanding and compassion, committing ourselves to cherish the best in each other with our own best selves. 

What is Burning Bowl?

When the Burning Bowl was first announced as a program activity for the Ethical Society of Austin, I had no idea what that might entail, but I was anxious enough about this new ceremony to begin researching it.  I wanted to know more than the what and the how.  I also wanted to know why and who originated this ceremony and who practices it and when they do.  Are there variations?  How long has Burning Bowl been practiced?  In the US?  In the world?  And where in the world is it practiced?

These days, for casual information on a subject, Wikipedia is often a first step. Imagine my surprise when I found that Wikipedia does not give the term "burning bowl" alone or paired with "ceremony" or "ritual" a separate entry.  Wikipedia did allow me the option to have the page created, but I did not pursue it.

The second step, a Google search, did, however, provide an abundance of images, videos, and webpages to give a fair indication of how widespread and diverse the practice of burning away <something negative> might be.   I sampled only a few of the search results.

One of the more interesting results was a link to the song "Burning Bowl," sung by She Keeps Bees.  It seems that Burning Bowls are fairly common in Unity and some independent Christian churches as well as some Eastern-based healing traditions.   There may be other practitioners that I skipped over in my haste.  The Burning Bowl might also be practiced by individuals in a personal ceremony.  It is common to practice the ceremony at the end or the beginning of the year, but some practice it during a full moon and others at any important life or personal transition (burning away the old to make room for the new).  All one needs to make the ceremony happen are:

• a personal need to let go of something negative;
• a bowl or some fire-resistant surface;
• a source of fire;
• paper (flash paper optional);
• writing implement;
• community (optional);
• transitional occasion (end/beginning of time period, life phase, etc.).

I used a number of keyword searches and combinations to try to find out more about this practice.  There are some who think it originated in Hindu traditions, but I could find no quick resource on the web to confirm this.

A few days ago, I talked about the ESOA Burning Bowl ceremony and what it meant to me with a friend, who happens to be an active Methodist.  She told me that her church has a similar practice around Easter when church members can write down a problem or concern, pin it to a cross provided on the altar, and so have that problem or concern taken away, presumably by the Christ.  I am familiar with the belief that one can pray and have one's burdens taken away, but I had not previously heard of this sort of paper/cross activity before.

Are there other (or similar) practices being used in (other) sacred and secular contexts that include this process of writing down a <negative idea/feeling/problem>, then destroying or otherwise "letting go" of the written problem so that the individual can, through the physical act, symbolize the desired emotional/physical/social release/relief?  An old idea with new forms?  An Eastern idea that has moved to the West?  When?  How?  And how widespread has it become?

Just curious.

Lighting the Burning Bowl

On the first Sunday of the year, the Ethical Society of Austin held a Burning Bowl ceremony.  Each of us present wrote down a problem or trait or issue that we wanted to "get rid of" in the coming year on a small piece of flash paper.  We each lit our paper and watched our problem/trait/issue burn and, in some cases, float away.  As moving as a Burning Bowl ceremony can be, this one had a special feature.

As it happens, we used the humble kitchen match to light our papers.  To light the match, however, we touched it to the flame of our meeting lantern, rather than striking it on the side of its box.  The striking panel, alas, was just too worn to do the job.  After the ceremony had ended and we were reflecting together on its meaning and impact, one member (was it Lucy?) noted the significance of the fire that we used.

ESOA has few true rituals.  We call ourselves together with the note of a single chime.  This is the signal to turn off cell phones, stop chatting, come sit together, and focus on the meeting.  Once any announcements or preliminary discussions are completed, a member is called to light the lantern.

As the lantern is lit, the day's leader reminds us:

May we kindle within us the warmth of compassion, the light of understanding, and the fire of commitment to build a brighter future for all.

This is the point at which we turn to the heart of the meeting, the activity, platform, or colloquy that will help us to reflect on the meaning and direction of our lives.  On this day, the activities included the Burning Bowl ceremony. At the end of a meeting, our leader reminds us:

As the candle is extinguished we ask that you keep within you the warmth of compassion, the light of understanding, and the fire of commitment to build a brighter future for all.  

These are simple statements that never fail to inspire me.  The lighting of the lantern, the invocation of meaning, the solemnity of the moment all enrich the experience of the meeting.

How fitting it was, then, that we used the fire of that lantern, transferred through the kitchen match, to burn away the problematic issues that we sought to end.

Now we all knew--and know--that the action of lighting the lantern is merely symbolic.  It's not always a perfect process for all that the symbolism of lantern and fire are powerful in many cultures.  Sometimes the lighter is cranky.  Sometimes the candle goes out.  Once, at least, a leader forgot to have the candle lit until the program had already started.  Stuff occurs.   The ideas behind the lighting of the lantern are not subject to the vagaries of circumstance.  Even so, it does seem that circumstances did work on this day to increase our sense of meaning in the Burning Bowl, to increase the power of the image of our burned-away problems.

For me, the ceremony was already beneficial.  The notion that we used the flame of our lantern to burn away the pain took things a bit further and enhanced my confidence in my ability to do the real work that the Burning Bowl had symbolized.  I had--have--a heartache, a pain so strong that I know it will harm me if I continue to hold on to it.  With the Burning Bowl, I learned that I had the power to choose to let go of that pain.  I could objectify it, separate myself from it, and turn it to flame and ash.  With the added symbolism of the lantern's fire, I could see where understanding of the source of the pain and compassion for both myself and that source could allow me to commit myself (fierily?) to making my future one where I have left that pain behind.  It's work in progress, yes, but the lantern's fire gave me some tools.