Moved by Unseen Forces

Rev. Peter Friedrichs

October 28, 2007

It is probably safe to assume that most of you here today have seen the movie, Forrest Gump. Do you remember the opening and closing sequences of the movie? As the movie begins, a feather drifts down from the sky, swaying to and fro, lighting on a man's shoulder. Then it's tossed back up in the air by a passing car, and then finally it lands on the mud-caked sneaker of the title character. Forrest takes the feather and places it inside his copy of Curious George, a book that he carries with him through a good part of the movie. And at the end of the film, we see the feather again, after Forrest puts his young son on the school bus. After he's fought in Vietnam, and saved the life of Lieutenant Dan, and played ping-pong with the Chinese, and been a shrimp fisherman, and loved his Jenny and lost her. As he sits on the stump by the road, he finds Curious George in his son's book bag and opens it up. The feather flutters to the ground. After Forrest tells his boy that he loves him and puts him on the bus, the feather takes flight once more, dancing on the breeze to its unknown destination. We are left to wonder if, like the feather's flight, Forrest's life was simply a series of random events, strung together by luck both good and bad. Or if there was something greater at work here, some unseen force, perhaps even the hand of God?

I was reminded of Forrest and that feather one morning as I was out jogging. It was a still morning in early September as I chugged along the streets of Swarthmore, one of those heavy, humid days when the air feels thick all around you. I follow pretty much the same route every day when I run, so that I can gauge my progress and how I'm feeling. Now let me dispel any notions here that I'm much of a runner, or that my exercise routine is at all impressive. At the time I'm referring to, I was about three weeks into my new exercise regime, having spent most of the summer eating far too much ice cream. On this day, as on most, my body was rebelling against this assault on its sedentary senses. I was tuned in to what my body was trying to tell me, that maybe this exercise thing wasn't such a great idea. I was particularly concerned about the pains in my ankles and shins as my feet repeatedly hit the pavement, and to the racing of my heart, wondering if it was simply going to explode inside my chest. And I hadn't gone a mile yet.

In any event, I was trying desperately to get my mind off the messages my body was sending me, so I was looking all around for distractions. Up ahead of me, I saw the branch of a tree overhanging the road, and I noticed that the leaves were fluttering. It was a curious sight, since the air was so still. No cars or trucks had passed by to disturb the branches, and I didn't see any squirrels in the tree whose movement might have shaken them. But there were the leaves, shimmering and swaying back and forth as if they were teased by a gentle breeze. I passed them by and continued my death-march through the streets of Swarthmore that morning, paying less attention to my labored breath and more attention to what was going on around me, wondering what unseen force might have caused those leaves to move like that.

What factors make us who we are? How did we get here and where will our lives lead us? What forces have acted upon us to bring us to this particular place and time, and where will they take us? At their most basic, our actions and activities are, of course, subject to the laws of nature. The force of gravity, the principles of Newton's laws of motion, and other laws of the physical world act upon us every moment of our lives, both to our benefit and our detriment. As I labor up a steep hill on my morning run, I am acutely aware of the gravitational pull, and in the coming months many of us will enjoy the benefits of gravity as we swoop down the slopes on our skis. Laws of thermodynamics govern how much heat is thrown off by the burning logs in the fireplace in the lodge, and chemical principles determine how our body will react to the hot chocolate we drink. Our physical being, every cell within us, is a miniature scientific laboratory, where chemical reactions and physical laws animate us and control us. Scientists describe these immutable principles of nature with complex mathematical formulas that prove their existence and their constancy. Despite the fact that we cannot see or touch them, our own experience verifies their existence. Certainly, who we are and what we do is governed by these constants.

Although the laws of the physical world both limit and enable our participation in the unfolding history of our lives, there are more complex factors at work. We are all familiar now with the role that genetics plays in who we are and what we will become. Our DNA, handed down through the generations, determines not only the color of our hair and skin and eyes, but also our susceptibility to diseases from Alzheimer's to cancer. Our genetic code plays a significant role in virtually every aspect of our lives. Scientists with the Human Genome Project have mapped out the 25,000 +/- genes contained in human DNA, and others are feverishly determining which genes, either alone or in combination, are responsible for everything from our creative aptitude to heart disease. Some scientists assert that our intelligence, our emotional make-up, and even our openness to spiritual experiences are determined by our genetic coding. We all know that our parents, and thus their parents and their parent's parents, contributed to us the very stuff that we're made of, the stuff that, in large part, determines who we are.

But have you heard about the "epigenome?" I just learned about this and, frankly, it kind of blows my mind. We know that genes control how certain traits are manifested, and that we inherit those genes from our parents. But what scientists have recently discovered is that we all have chemical "switches" that work to turn genes on and off and that determine whether or how they work and whether or how their traits will be manifested. So, while DNA is life's little instruction book, these chemical switches, called the epigenome, appear to be the instructions to the instruction book. Not only that, but we're now learning that environmental factors play a large role in determining how the epigenome work . This doesn't sound all that earth-shattering on its face. But listen to the implications. Scientists are now finding that small amounts of external influences, like taking a vitamin or being exposed to a pesticide, can determine whether one of these chemical switches is flipped, and therefore whether a particular gene will manifest itself. This means that it's possible, even if you carry the gene that makes you prone to heart disease, to prevent the disease from occurring simply by finding the correct trigger mechanism to shut off the gene's expression. And it's not just limited to the substances you ingest, but to other more elusive behaviors. In one case, scientists have shown that the degree to which a mother rat nurtures its babies can affect how the epigenomic switch is flipped, resulting in adult rats that are either more or less prone to anxiety and mental illness.

That's not even the most amazing thing we're learning about the epigenome. Scientists who have been studying the historical records of a small population of farmers in Sweden have found a correlation between the occurrence of diabetes in the current generation and the incidence of famine or malnutrition in their grandparents' generation. These investigators theorize that, because of the epigenome's influence, environmental factors that were present when your grandmother was in your great-grandmother's womb can affect your own health and well-being! The implication, of course, is that what we put into our bodies today, or what we expose our bodies to - be it cigarette smoke, or pesticides, or vitamins - will have an effect on our own grandchildren. The old saying, "You are what you eat" appears to be true, but it may also be true that you are what your grandparents ate. This is simply astounding, and perhaps a bit frightening.

I apologize for that digression into cutting edge genetic science, but I think it helps to illustrate my point that who we are and how we encounter and react to the world around us is influenced by vast, unseen forces that we can only begin to comprehend. Although there are likely some among us who believe that one day all these forces will be identified and understood, I'd like to turn to those things that, at least at this point, have not been scientifically proven and which, I believe, are even more powerful than the influence of things like the force of gravity and our genetic make-up.

This week I watched the horrific fires spread across southern California. I saw the pictures of entire neighborhoods wiped out by the flames, of shocked homeowners sifting through the smoking remains of their possessions. And I watched a few of those painful interviews with people who had lost everything they owned in the fires. What captured my attention was the consistent answer I heard from these people to the question, "What did you take with you when you ran from the flames?" Of course people collected up their loved ones, both two- and four-legged. But time and again they gave the same answer, "Family photographs." "Pictures of our family." "Pictures of my children." "As many old photos as I could find." Some of these people were still clutching framed pictures, holding them tight against their chests, close to their hearts. These, it was clear, were their prized possessions, the thing that they could not bear to live without.

Family photographs are a curious thing. By their nature, they capture just a moment in time. We do not try to document our entire lives in photographs. Instead, we seek to record special events, flashes of joy and celebration, times of family unity and fun. We sort through the pictures and frame the ones that show us at our best and brightest, and toss aside the others, even if the others may have been more real. The odd photograph that shows a scowling child or a glaring parent is rarely displayed, except for purposes of amusement. We know that our pictures, displayed on our mantles and our walls, on our desks and our pianos, aren't life as it really is, and perhaps that's why we keep them, and why we protect them above all else. They are snapshots, fleeting glimpses of how life could be. They remind us not just of the event itself, but of the possibility that life can be that good again. They capture both our memories and our hopes. Memories of the past. Hopes for the future. That is what the burned-out homeowners in San Diego are clutching to their chests.

And today we have remembered our ancestors and loved ones by bringing photographs and mementos to our altar, and calling out their names. We are moved by who they were and what they meant to us, by our memories of their lives and how they affected ours. By the love we shared with them, the love they left with us. These two things, memories and love, are perhaps the greatest forces of all, the forces that sustain us and propel us, that inspire us and encourage us. We are shaped by the infusions of love we receive from parents and grandparents, aunts and uncles, brothers, sisters, cousins. Lovers, partners, husbands, wives. By the love we are given by our children and grandchildren. And so we shape and are shaped by the lives of those whom we love. Long after they have gone, we remember. We remember in our hearts, in our very cells, the abiding peace of loving and of being loved. The refuge we took in our mothers' arms. The strength we gained from our father's steadfast support. The inexplicable bond between sisters or brothers that neither time nor distance nor death can break. The trust in the eyes of our own children, who rest assured in the love of their parents.

And this reality points us toward our sacred duty as human beings: to love one another as fully and completely as we possibly can, to generate moments of loving kindness that will persist in memory, even beyond our living. Yes, we are a jumble of chemical processes, shaped by our genes and subject to all the human frailties of this limited existence. But, we are so much more. We alone have the power to embody love, to make it real and felt by those around us. We alone have the power to kindle the flame of memory in others that will persist as warm and comforting embers long after our breathing has ceased.

What were the unseen forces that propelled Forrest Gump through his life? What was it that lifted him, like that feather, above the limitations he was born with? Some may call it fate. Some may call it luck. Some may call it God. I choose to call it love. It was the enabling love he received from his mother and the creative power of the love he gave to his beloved Jenny that comforted, sustained and empowered him. I look down at these photographs and mementos of the ones we love and the ones who loved us and I ask, can there be a more powerful force than that?

This day, and every day, may we know love. Amen.

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