Editor's note: This original version of this column was published Nov. 7, 2015.
The pace of our lives has intensified dramatically since the 1960s. As electronics in many forms today continually divert our attention from aspects of existence that matter, I join others in wondering where we're headed.
Surely you as an adult share similar thoughts when you watch what we've created and accepted in such a brief passage of time. This was never more evident than the other afternoon when a message titled "The Greatest Sermons Lived But Never Preached" popped into my email basket.
The brief essay contained anecdotes of acts that delve into the hearts of our mutual existence where they generate the enduring stuff of soul. Surprisingly, it never mentioned cell phones, video games, sports, egos, politics or even a TV series.
Rather, one told of an extended family gathered around their mother's death bed as she whispered her final words: "I feel so loved right now. We should have gotten together like this more often."
Another told of a man standing at his dying father's bedside as he recognized that the kiss he placed on his dad's forehead as he'd passed was the first since boyhood he'd given the man who'd helped give him life.
A young mother and breast cancer patient was laughing hysterically at her young daughter's antics when the writer suddenly realized it was high time to stop complaining about life and start celebrating each day again.
A traveler through Kenya encountered an extremely emaciated, unhealthy looking refugee who said he hadn't eaten in three days. A friend of the traveler who happened to be eating a sandwich at the time offered what remained to the man, who responded: "We can share it."
Along the same lines was the account of a young man in a wheelchair who encountered the writer struggling desperately across campus with his crutches while juggling books and a backpack. The wheelchair-bound student stopped and cheerfully helped the writer across campus to class. In leaving, he said to his newfound acquaintance on crutches: "I hope you feel better soon."
An 8-year-old girl one morning asked her mother to begin recycling. The mother said she chuckled and asked why.
The child responded, "So you can help me save the planet."
Still grinning, Mom asked, "And why do you want to save the planet?"
"Because that's where I keep all my stuff," the girl said.
Finally came the anecdote of a woman feeling depressed and lonely when she arrived home after the shocking news of her bad biopsy result. Opening her email she found a message from a friend she hadn't heard from in a decade. It read simply: "Thinking of you today. If you need me, I'm a phone call away."
I suspect most of us have similar examples. The common thread joining them is clear. These were anecdotes of thoughtful acts between people rooted in affection, love and kindness, often unexpected, that reach from the innermost recesses of our hearts.
Ever pay for a stranger's meal? Open a door for someone needing help? Show up just to make another feel good even when you didn't feel like going? Take a meal to a shut-in? Volunteer to help the less fortunate?
I'll always believe and strongly contend it's these tenderest moments, the seemingly smallest selfless acts stemming from our spiritual source that remain forever embedded deepest in our spirits.
All the other noise and bluster, the ego and competition swirling constantly around us nowadays in the end amount to little more than superfluous static. They contain not an ounce of relevance or significance in the big picture of existence.
On the other hand, the mysteries we experience from our hearts are as relevant as existence gets while providing fodder for sermons. I've written several times over the years about the work and findings of the HeartMath Institute and its director of research, Dr. Rollin McCraty.
The institute says that for centuries our hearts have been widely considered the source of emotion, courage, wisdom. That's why this nonprofit research institution has scientifically and spiritually studied mechanisms by which the heart communicates with the brain, "thereby influencing information processing, perceptions, emotions and health."
McCraty has said emotions create increased harmony and coherence in heart rhythms and improve balance within our nervous systems. And so it's no surprise to me that these examples of greatest sermons never preached all involve how our hearts respond harmoniously with others.
"The heart is far more than a simple pump," said McCraty. In research, "we observed the heart acting as though it had a mind of its own and was profoundly perceptive. In essence, it appeared the heart was affecting our intelligence and awareness."
And as for all of life's unpreached sermons, I've always appreciated what the late Antoine de Saint-Exupéry wrote in his enduring and profound little book called The Little Prince: "It is only with the heart that one can see rightly. What is essential is invisible to the eye."
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Mike Masterson is a longtime Arkansas journalist. Email him at mmasterson@arkansasonline.com.
Editorial on 10/09/2018