Sermon: Deep in the Hundred Acre Wood – Rev. Eric Banner

Oh, good morning. I didn't see you there at first. I was busy doing nothing, which is, of course, the best way for something to happen to you.

You look like people of the friendly sort, my favorite kind, but you know sometimes it's hard to tell just what kind of encounter you might have when you set out in the morning. It might be so foggy you get lost, or you might run into a heffalump, or a woozle, and sometimes I run into the strangest sort of creature, adults. Do you know what I mean?

They seem to have lost their ability to play, or imagine, or to see all the things that are possible. And then, then they get all filled up, like a Pooh, with too much honey, or too much fluff, and they need their friends to help them out, until they can get unstuck again.

Too many big words. Too much time filling things up. Why just the other day I found a book at the library about my friend Pooh. The Tao of Pooh it said. I wonder what a tao is... I suppose it must be like a cow, for they sound very similar… But I’ve never seen a cow in the 100 Acre Woods. It was a very long book, and not nearly as many pictures as a good book should have. But I like Pooh, and I wondered what it said about him. And there they were again. Adult words.

Right there, somewhere in the middle, I suppose, I don’t really remember if it was in the middle, or at the end, or maybe it was the beginning, but wherever it was, it said “The essence of the principle of the Uncarved Block is that things in their original simplicity contain their own natural power, power that is easily spoiled and lost when that simplicity is changed. For the written character P'u,” which I thought was my friend, at first, but then I saw it wasn't, “is composed of two separate characters combined: the first, the 'radical' or root-meaning one, is for tree or wood; the second, the 'phonetic' or sound giving one is the character for dense growth or thicket.” I suppose a thicket must be some sort of wicket, but what a phone has to do with Pooh, I really couldn't imagine. And onward it went, wandering in circles, like Piglet in the woods, until you couldn't tell which footprints were the Woozle's, and which ones were Pooh's.

Adults are just such silly old bears sometimes. Perhaps they ought to spend more time in the forest doing nothing, and then, perhaps, they might find what they most want to do. It reminds me of a time not long ago when I was talking with Pooh as we were going nowhere. I asked him what he liked doing most in all the world, and he started to tell me something—

"Well, what I like best—"

And then he had to stop and think. I suppose he was probably thinking about honey. He thinks a lot about honey, geloptious full-up pots of them, but after a while he turned to me and said—

"What I like best in the whole world is Me and Piglet going to see You, and You saying 'What about a little something?' and Me saying, 'Well, I shouldn't mind a little something, should you, Piglet,' and it being a hummy sort of day outside, and birds singing."

 

"I like that too... but what I like doing best is Nothing."

Do you know how to do nothing?

"It's when people call out at you just as you're going off to do it, What are you going to do, Christopher Robin, and you say, Oh, nothing, and then you go and do it."

 

"This is a nothing sort of thing that we were doing."

 

"It means just going along, listening to all the things you can't hear, and not bothering."

It seems such a silly thing, to forget how to do nothing. Or to not see your friends enough. I do love Pooh, dearly, but it just wouldn't be the same without all my friends. You have friends, I hope? Of every sort.

Not that all my friends are good at doing nothing. Why there's Rabbit, always so busy making plans, trying to keep things just the same they've always been. But he comes around eventually. You really must see your friends just as they are. Even if not everyone understands. For so often they don't. Understand, that is. Why you wouldn't believe what I've heard people say about all my friends. I overheard the adults not long ago, when I suppose I was supposed to be resting in bed, and they had the strangest things to say about Pooh, and Piglet, and Owl, and Eyeore.

“I do declare,” said one of them, “that bear is of such little brain. Inattentive, and impulsive, that bear is. What is he doing living on his own? And always counting things.”

 

“To say nothing of Tigger,” replied another. “ADHD for sure,” he said. I don’t know what the alphabet has to do with him, but that’s what she said.

 

“Always leading poor Roo off into poorly thought out plans. And he can't sit still. That animal must be made of rubber and springs!”

I won't even bother to tell you what they said about poor Kanga, who is just trying her best, with very limited resources. But I like them all. Just as they are. And it always works out, just the way it should, once everyone gets a chance to help out.

It just feels as if, well, I guess what I'm saying is, that, the woods wouldn't be nearly so much fun if we didn't have so many different friends. Why take our friend Pooh. Without him we'd have never learned to play Pooh sticks. You do know about Pooh sticks, don't you? You don't?

All you need is a bridge and some sticks. Pooh invented it, but anyone can play. In fact, all of my friends played, once we fished poor Eeyore out. Tigger had bounced him in, or maybe he coughed. I wasn't there, you see, not at first. Well, anyway, after everyone got Eeyore out of the stream, it turned out he was the best player there was, for he knew how to let your stick drop in a twitchy sort of way, which he then taught to Tigger, always ready to share what he knows, even if he is a bit of a grumpy sort sometimes.

You can do so much with sticks. There was the house for Eeyore that Pooh and Piglet built. There was the time everyone learned to spell the letter A, or was it H? I suppose I'll have to ask Rabbit next time I see him. Or the way Pooh fished out poor Roo when he fell in. And the one that wasn't just a stick, but a pole, up north.

But you see, it just wouldn't be the same without them all. Why Pooh, who is always kind, and loyal, and content, and Piglet, who is just so brave, even when he's feeling a bit anxious about it all, going along and sharing what he has.

Poor Eeyore always gets forgotten, but underneath that gruff outside, he's always making it through, and he always accepts the woods just as they are, even if they might need some improvements around the edges. He always shows up when his friends need him.

And Rabbit. He's always so organized, even if he gets a little bossy now and then. And he makes such good use of what is at hand.

Little Roo, AND Kanga. Gentle and caring, helping little Roo, who is so very curious and filled with courage to try new things. I don't know what he would do without her watching out, and letting them see what might come, even if perhaps not as quickly as Roo would like.

And Owl. What would a conversation be without one of his stories, or his knowledge. If only he would get out of his books just a little more often. But I suppose that's how he knows so much about customary procedures, and anything about anything, and surely something about something.

And Tigger. It just wouldn't be the same without his energy and excitement. Even if it doesn't always turn out just exactly right, he's always ready for a new adventure. I don't imagine half the things that happen would happen without him bouncing in on that springy tail of his, and the way he's always inviting everyone to join in.

Well, I'm afraid I have to go along. There's an awful lot of nothing left to do today. And we must do as much nothing as we can now, for the adults keep telling me that the day will come when we won't be able to do nothing anymore. So promise me, won’t you, that you'll head out on an expotition and disovery something soon. Or come over some Thursday, or Sunday, or Twos Day, and do some nothing with one of your friends. For there's nothing quite like running into a friend and being invited to have a smackerel of something. That is the best kind of friendly day. And I hope you have as many of them as my friends deep in the hundred acre woods.

Rev. Eric Banner
Senior Minister