Sermon: Held by Healing

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IJqpire6IJ4

Call to Worship:

Let us take a moment to settle into this space, to breathe deeply and care for our bodies as we come together in worship. We gather not only with our thoughts, but with our bodies, each of us carrying unique stories and emotions that shape this shared experience. In this moment, we allow ourselves to be present, to gently soften, and to open to what this time of worship holds. As we breathe together, we recognize that we are not isolated, but part of a greater collective energy, one that vibrates through us all. In this sacred gathering, our presence creates a shared rhythm, a resonance that connects each of us to the whole. By honoring this collective energy, we tap into a force that can guide us, inspire us, and empower us as we move through this worship experience together.

We are reminded of the rhythms that move through us all, the ebb and flow of the air, the delicate balance of light and shadow, the quiet hum of the world around us. In this sacred space, we hold what is held within: our joys, our sorrows, our hopes. Grief, when it rises, speaks softly at first, whispering in the tension of our muscles, in the weight we carry in our hearts. It invites us to name it, to witness it, as we stand together in this shared journey. As we begin to acknowledge the emotions that stir within us, we may feel discomfort, a tightening in the chest or a knot in the stomach. This is a natural part of the process, by allowing ourselves to feel, to hold, and to name what is present, we create space for transformation. 

As we turn our attention to the world around us, we name the grief we carry, particularly the grief born from the climate we share, a grief that touches the earth, the air, the waters, and all that we love. In this moment, let us acknowledge that we are not alone in this feeling. We are connected, not just to each other, but to the world we inhabit. As we release together, may we make space for healing, for understanding, and for renewal. Let us remember that the grief we carry is not a burden to bear alone but a call to act with compassion and care, both for ourselves and the earth. When we come together in this shared space, we amplify our collective strength, moving toward reconciliation with ourselves and the world. Let us worship, attuned to the rhythms of grief, release, and the quiet strength that emerges when we join our voices and hearts in this sacred space.

Sermon: 

In Princess Mononoke, Hayao Miyazaki presents San and Ashitaka as dual embodiments of climate grief, each reflecting a different response to the destruction of the natural world. San, raised by the wolves of the forest, channels the raw anger and desperation of a land under siege, fiercely fighting against human encroachment and the devastation wrought by industrialization. Ashitaka, by contrast, represents a quieter, more introspective grief, seeking to bridge the divide between humanity and nature while grappling with the personal toll of violence and destruction. Together, they embody the tension between resistance and reconciliation, illustrating the complexity of responding to environmental collapse. While the extended characters add layers of nuance to this duality, showing how diverse motivations contribute to the same cycle of destruction, the intricate emotional interplay mirrors the multifaceted nature of climate grief, as we confront both the beauty of what remains and the damage already done. Rather than providing easy answers, the film underscores the ongoing struggle to find balance.

The overwhelming nature of climate grief is compounded by a sense of helplessness, as the vast scale of the crisis touches every aspect of life, from food systems to weather patterns and human health. This enormity can leave us paralyzed, unsure of where to start in the face of such widespread challenges. Yet, the interconnectedness of the climate system offers a glimmer of hope, reminding us that every element, from the smallest microbe to the largest ocean, plays a part in this shared responsibility. Grief is not something we create, but something we carry, often emerging in forms like anger or numbness, and it is a grief many of us share. By naming our grief and acknowledging these connections, we make space to hold it together, exploring how it shapes our relationships with one another and the world around us, while focusing on what can still be saved and renewed.

The ending of Princess Mononoke leaves us with an ambiguous resolution, where healing begins but full restoration remains out of reach. After the intense conflict between humans and the forest spirits, Ashitaka steps into the role of mediator, halting the immediate destruction and offering the possibility of renewal. Yet, the forest bears its scars, and the consequences of human industrialization continue to haunt the land. The film refuses to present a simplistic return to an untouched past, acknowledging that some wounds cannot be undone. Instead, it emphasizes that healing is an ongoing process, requiring patience, effort, and a willingness to navigate the complexity of an imperfect world. Ashitaka's hope and determination remind us that reconciliation and renewal are not swift or easy, but they remain essential.

Grief, when allowed to be felt and processed, has the power to propel us forward. Unlike despair, which can immobilize, grief carries an urgency born of love for what has been lost and what remains. It stirs a desire to protect and preserve, to fight for what is still alive and sacred. In this way, grief becomes a force for connection and action, pushing us to engage with environmental stewardship, advocacy, or personal transformation. By channeling grief into constructive efforts, we honor the lives, ecosystems, and species that are at risk while holding space for our emotions to guide us toward healing and renewal. This process of transformation allows grief to fuel creativity, inspiring innovative solutions and deepening our commitment to sustainability. It also fosters empathy, helping us connect with others who share similar losses and aspirations. Through collective grieving and action, we build resilience and strength, ensuring that the grief we carry can be a powerful agent of positive change.

As with all of Miyazaki’s works, Princess Mononoke could only be fully realized in the medium of animation, which allows the story to transcend the limitations of physical reality. The fantastical elements, such as the forest god with a hundred faces and no face, highlight the surreal nature of the divine and the natural world’s immense power. When the god shatters into countless pieces, raining stars that begin the process of renewal, the film illustrates an act of transformation that would be impossible to convey in any other form. Animation breathes life into the impossible, enabling viewers to see a world where destruction and healing occur on a cosmic, almost mythic scale. These visual metaphors resonate deeply with the audience, offering not only a representation of environmental renewal but also a sense of wonder and hope that transcends the narrative’s immediate reality.

As humans, our bodies hold no such ability to shatter and rain down healing; we are bound by the limitations of our physical forms. What we do possess, however, is the ability to feel and name what is already present within us. Grief, anger, and love are forces that shape our response to the world, connecting us to the earth and to one another. By naming these emotions, we acknowledge the depth of our experience and begin the process of transforming them into meaningful action. This act of naming and holding space for our feelings does not erase loss or undo harm, but it creates room for growth, healing, and the possibility of renewal, both within ourselves and in the world around us.

Grief is held in the body, often settling in places we least expect. It lingers in our chest, in the tightness of our shoulders, and the weight of our breath. Our emotional bodies, just like our physical and spiritual bodies, need care and attention. When we hold grief without release, it can become an overwhelming burden, closing us off from the possibility of new emotions, like joy or calm. Yet, even small releases of grief, like a deep breath or a quiet acknowledgment of sorrow, create space for these emotions to emerge, and with them, the ability to navigate fear and anger with more clarity. We relearn how to approach our emotional bodies by giving them permission to feel, to process, and to move through us, rather than forcing them into hiding.

As we allow ourselves to release grief, we honor not just the need for emotional expression but the essential right of our emotional bodies to exist. Our grief is not something that needs to be earned, nor is it a weight we must carry alone. It is a natural part of our human experience, one that, when acknowledged, creates room for healing and transformation. Just as we tend to our physical and spiritual needs, so too must we tend to our emotional needs. Releasing grief is not a sign of weakness but an offering of grace to our bodies, a grace that allows us to process, to breathe, and to be present with the world around us. It is this grace that helps us approach our emotional bodies with the same tenderness we would show to our physical and spiritual selves.

In the process of care, we come to understand that our emotional bodies are just as valid and worthy as our physical or spiritual needs. They exist in constant dialogue with both the body and spirit, and when nurtured, they create the space we need to navigate life’s challenges more freely. By allowing ourselves to release grief, we open up the possibility for a more balanced and compassionate existence, where fear, anger, and joy can coexist in harmony. This ongoing process of releasing, feeling, and learning helps us find a new rhythm within ourselves—one that not only supports personal healing but also strengthens our collective responsibility. When we honor our emotional bodies, we reclaim the grace to face difficult challenges, like the climate crisis, with compassion, hope, and unwavering commitment to the Earth.

In Princess Mononoke, the vibrant and transformative world invites us to engage with the divine, the natural, and the human, but it does not define who we are or limit the stories we can tell. Our own stories, shaped by our lives and experiences, are not confined to the mythic cycles of destruction and renewal. Like the forest god, whose pieces scatter and reform, we too experience moments of transformation, loss, and healing, reflecting the depth of our humanity. Yet, we are not passive recipients of these forces; we actively participate in the ongoing act of becoming, shaping the narratives we live by and those we choose to tell. Our bodies, whole and full, exist beyond the constraints of any singular story; they carry ever-evolving, deeply felt, and dynamic experiences. The emotional resonances of these stories enrich our self-understanding, but they do not define us, they are tools for connection and transformation, not limitations.

As we sit with these emotions, we recognize that while they may feel heavy now, there will be opportunities throughout this service to release them. In the coming moments, we will create space for both the sorrow and the joy, knowing that the process of releasing grief takes time, and that we do not have to do it alone. Let us hold these emotions together in the comfort of community, finding solace in our shared vulnerability. As we honor what is held within, may we also open ourselves to healing, knowing that every small release can lead us toward a new, more peaceful connection with ourselves, one another, and the Earth.

Meditation:
As we settle into this sacred space, I invite you to get comfortable, allowing your body to be supported by the chair beneath you, your feet connecting with the ground, and the air that surrounds us. Gently close your eyes or soften your gaze, feeling the subtle touch of the light upon your face and the coolness of the air as it moves across your skin, while your breath flows in and out, bringing gentle life to the body that holds you. Acknowledge that grief, whether personal or collective, often resides in the body, unspoken until it reveals itself in physical form. In this moment, invite yourself to bring your awareness inward, recognizing the grief you carry, whether from personal loss, environmental harm, or societal injustices, knowing that, like the air we breathe, it is natural for grief to exist. In this space, free from judgment, feel the permission to hold and explore this grief, understanding that we are all connected in this process, united by the same flow of energy, by the same cycles of life and loss.

Gently bring your attention to your body, beginning at the top of your head. Slowly scan your body, moving down your spine, through your limbs, toward your toes, like a steady stream flowing across the landscape. Notice any areas of tension or discomfort, where the weight of grief may have settled. Perhaps you feel a pressure in your chest, heavy like the burden of the world, or tightness in your shoulders, as if the winds have turned cold and still. Let your breath be the soft air, moving through these sensations without the need to change them. With each breath, invite clarity and healing to these areas where emotions may be held, feeling the quiet stir of release, allowing space to feel, hold, and witness your grief.

Place one hand on your chest and the other on your abdomen, feeling the flow of air move through you, like the breeze brushing gently over a calm surface. As you inhale, imagine the rise of your chest and abdomen, filling with the energy of compassion and renewal, as if drawing in the very breath of life. As you exhale, feel the release, like a cool breeze dispersing the remnants of a storm, letting go of any tension or grief that has settled. With each breath, let the rhythm of your inhalation and exhalation deepen, like the steady cadence of the wind, soothing and steadying you. Feel the flow of your breath, as if the air is carrying your grief, spreading it out across the open sky, where it can be transformed and renewed. Trust in this release, remembering the natural cycles of change and renewal, just as your own body transforms with each breath.

Slowly, lift your shoulders toward your ears, like towers reaching upward. Hold them there for a moment, noticing the tension or discomfort that may arise. Then, as you exhale, gently roll your shoulders back and down, releasing the strain, like a river eroding stone over time. Allow this motion to continue, letting each roll of your shoulders free the burdens you carry, like the winds shifting and changing the direction of the clouds. With each breath, feel your shoulders relax further, and allow the ground beneath you to absorb the weight you are releasing. Feel the lightness, like the air itself lifting the weight from your body, clearing space for new energy to flow in.

Now, bring your attention to your feet, imagining them as anchored deeply into the earth, drawing support and steadiness from the ground below. Feel the connection between your feet and the earth, as if you are rooted, receiving nourishment and stability. With each breath, allow any heaviness or grief to move downward, through your feet, into the earth, where it is transformed, like rainwater filtering through the soil. Take a moment to feel the weight of your body, held and supported by the ground, trusting that it is always here, strong and steady, to hold you. As you ground yourself, let your grief be carried away, like the wind sweeping through the trees, dissipating it into the vastness, where it can be renewed. Feel the strength of the earth beneath you, steady and enduring, and know that in this moment, you are held in your release.

Slowly, open your palms, facing upward, in a gesture of both receiving and letting go. Feel the energy of the air, the elements around you, flowing into your open hands, like the branches of a tree reaching toward the sky. Imagine releasing your grief into your palms, letting it rest there gently, like a stone resting in the bed of a river. With each exhale, feel the weight of grief soften and dissipate, like the warmth of a fire fading into a quiet, glowing ember. As you release, invite space for renewal, healing, and hope to enter, like a gentle breeze fanning a flame, allowing it to rise and spread. Trust that your hands are open to receive the healing energy of the universe, flowing through you and into the world around you.

Now, bring your awareness to your jaw, where tension may have settled, like the calm before the storm. Gently soften your jaw, releasing any tightness that may have built there, like the last traces of heat dissipating from a flame. Imagine softening your forehead and the muscles around your eyes, like the skies clearing after a storm, leaving only peace and clarity. With each breath, feel the release, like the cooling air after a summer rain, creating space for calm and stillness to settle in your emotional body. Allow this softness to spread throughout your being, like the air enveloping you in its embrace, grounding you into serenity. Rest in this openness, knowing that in the stillness, the body finds its balance.

Take a deep, full breath in, feeling the fullness of your lungs, like the air filling the sails of a boat, carrying you forward. Then exhale, releasing whatever you no longer need, like a stream carving its way through the landscape, leaving only what is essential. Remember that grief is a journey, a flow, and it is not something we are meant to fix but to honor and witness. Allow yourself to return to this practice whenever you need, to release or simply create space for what needs to be felt. Know that you are not alone in this; your grief is welcome here, and you are worthy of healing and renewal. As we close, offer a moment of gratitude for your body, your breath, and the collective energy of this space, knowing that, like the air and the sky, we are always in a process of transformation.