Archive for category Sermon
Mission Impossible: Bridging 2012
Posted by revjudegeiger in Sermon on April 29, 2012
I was talking with a few folks in our community a couple of weeks back about growing up, changing times and how we all have someone in our lives who will always see us as the same person they knew so many years ago. You all know the phenomenon. You’ve got a sibling who will always see you as the controlling type. Or you have a daughter who will always see you as the annoying mom. Maybe you’re the happy type and some friends have a hard time recognizing when you’re in pain. Who here has parents who still see them as mostly irresponsible and totally uptight? Who here has children who still think their parents haven’t a clue?
We have two competing myths in our society. “If you dream big enough, you can change everything in your life.” The second pops up in dating advice when things go sour, “No one ever really changes.” We sometimes flip back and forth between those two when we want to hear a different answer. Both are true in their own way, or we wouldn’t repeat them as much as we do. But both are also not quite right.
For the first – dreaming big enough – think about school. If you work hard enough you can get into a great school, and a whole lot of opportunities can open up for you. But sometimes dreaming big isn’t about getting into the great school, it’s about stepping away for a time from how things are usually done. It can be about taking the time away from the crazy pace and reflecting on the life you want to make. What is it these days – starting in 7th grade or 8th grade – that NYC students take regents that determine what schools they’ll be allowed to enter? And by 16 you’ve got pressure to decide what you’ll study as an adult – if you take the path of college – that may or may not determine your first career. If you dream big enough, you can change everything in your life… just make sure that you start planning it by the time you’re 12.
To our Seniors graduating High School this year, as an adult you can always decide to do things differently. Sometimes you’ll have repercussions for the choice you make though. Here’s a secret I’m going to let you in on right now. Even if when the time comes to make that kind of life-changing decision, you decide not to do things differently, there are still repercussions. That’s the great lesson of adulthood – you can’t get away from it. You can change your major 7 times like I did, and still be fine. You can drop out of college, like I did, and pick up the pieces later. Or you can delay college, and take the time to figure out what you need to do without the pressure of high cost tuition till you know what your heart wants. And your heart may change over time – in fact it likely will.
That’s the part of cliche dating advice, “No one ever really changes,” that’s a bit off. A lot of people actually change quite a bit over time. We just don’t always see it over the short-term. It’s why some of us will always be seen as the controlling sibling, or the clueless parent, or the irresponsible child. Changing bits at a time are often hard to see, and families tend toward stasis – acting the way we always acted – having the same fights we’ve always had. Does that happen also in congregational life?
With adulthood, there’s a chance to change some of that, and yet we often change less than we could. When we move out of the house (for the first time) the world feels so different. When we return home for the first time – everything feels like it hasn’t changed a bit, but it all feels so strange. It feels like our childhood home could fit in one of those glass snow globes, and we’re a stranger looking in from the outside, able to shake out the memories but not go back inside.
For those of us who have been driving already, maybe for a while – do you remember that first time you got into a car and drove away from home? Even if it was just for the afternoon? What did that feel like to you? I remember this incredible sense of freedom – even though I knew I needed to go back home that day. Things were somehow different. I had more control over my life. Entering adulthood is like that feeling. But as time goes on, that feeling disappears. Maybe major changes, like shifting careers, or moving to the City or away from it, or graduating from college, might trigger the feeling again. But for the most part, over time those feelings are forgotten.
I think that forgetting is part of why we start to believe that people don’t change, or that we can’t change. We fall into our habits, or take on responsibilities, or feel real obligations, and change becomes harder and harder with greater and greater repercussions. But remember – repercussions happen whether we change or not. We just need to choose or accept which repercussions we can learn to live with.
Growing up is like a scene from “Mission Impossible” (I’m thinking the old T.V. show and not the snazzy recent movies – but that’s just because I’m of-a-certain-age.) Some mysterious figure comes up to you, hands you an otherwise impossible assignment, and pretends like you have a choice in the matter. Then all record of what you have to accomplish goes up in a puff of smoke and fire, and you’re left picking up the pieces. For the most part, everything will work out as well as it could for an otherwise impossible set-up. You just have to figure a way with the cards that you have been dealt, with the team that you have. Or in the words of the great UU Philosopher-Theologian, Dr. Seuss, “You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself any direction you choose. You’re on your own. And you know what you know. And YOU are the one who’ll decide where to go…” (from Oh, the Places You’ll Go!)
But there’s another flip to all of this. Growing up is not just about you. If you can change, make big choices in life, see and live in a new way – then the people around you can do the same as well. When you find yourself saying, “why won’t Mom realize that I’ve grown up, that I’m an adult now,” …and believe me you will find yourself saying that very soon… look for how you’re treating Mom or Dad the way you always have. If they’re treating you the same as usual, you’re probably also stuck doing the same. As an only child I can’t say from personal experience that it’s worse among siblings, but I’ve seen many friends who’s sibling rivalry or sibling friendship grow only more intense over time. It’s a great trick in the work-world as well. It’s why people give the advice, “Start as you mean to continue.” Because whatever way you begin, is often how people will expect, or even demand, you to be around them. It takes a long time to change your patterns, and folks often take an even longer time to recognize the newness in your habits and styles. Just keep at it, and your world will eventually catch up.
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Good Friday Evening Service 2012
Posted by revjudegeiger in Sermon on April 6, 2012
This short homily was preached on Good Friday, at the First Unitarian Congregation of Brooklyn on 4/6/12.
Our text is a difficult one today. Jesus stands before the worldly powers, – the chief priests, the elders, the scribes and even the face of the Roman authority in occupiedIsrael. It’s a text that is often confused in the retelling, laying blame upon the hands of Jews for the death of another Jew. To be fair, some of the gospel writers had the politics of the day in mind. They needed to convince a Roman world, that it was not to blame for the death of the Messiah.
Spiritually, we can also look at it as a testament to the audacity of life in the face of power. Theologian Delores Williams writes, “”Jesus did not come to redeem humans by showing them God’s ‘love’ manifested in the death of God’s innocent child on a cross erected by cruel, imperialistic, patriarchal power. Rather… the spirit of God in Jesus came to show humans life – to show redemption through a perfect ministerial vision of righting relations between the body (individual and community), mind (of humans and of tradition) and spirit.” I feel this is the spirit of the Christian path that most strongly lives on in our Unitarian Universalist communities. How do we live a life of meaning, amidst all the world’s struggles around wealth, authority, and consumption? How do we build up communities when nations sometimes seek to divide and control? Which traditions hold us up and which traditions hold us back? Does a life of spirit have meaning to us any longer, and what does it feel like if it does?
The world of the bible is in some ways very similar to ours. It speaks of a people trying to survive within radically changing times. We are blessed here not to suffer under an imperial power, but many around us know the curse of poverty, or the imbalance in a stratifying economy, or the lack of equitable access to opportunities. Religion is changing, family structures are changing, how we view security, safety and information are all matters in flux. And today we focus in on the life of a prophet who reminded us there was a right way to live. In fact, his students were known as “followers of the way.” In this path, we’re asked not only to love our neighbor as our self. Not only to forgive 70 times 70. But to lift up the poor, to steer away from worldly power, and that some things in life are not only worth dying for, but are worth living for.
It is his life, and his path, that we remember tonight.
White Rage
Posted by revjudegeiger in Sermon on March 25, 2012
This sermon was preached on 3/25/12 at First Unitarian, in Brooklyn. It addresses the tragedy of the death of Trayvon Martin, while wrestling with the spiritual implications of Whiteness.
We have a sometimes problematic tradition here where ministers need to post their sermon titles four to six weeks in advance – and still be expected that our subject matter is timely and relevant. I’m very sad to say that this week’s topic “White Rage” is tragically both timely and relevant. I will still speak about how we often talk about race dynamics in terms of oppression, abuse and power while attempting to speak to the perspective of victimized people. I will still take a hard look at the spirituality and psychology of Whiteness.” But along with the focus of our prayer this morning,I feel we need to begin with the death of Trayvon Martin. This great crisis in our country is tied to the reality that if Trayvon’s death weren’t in the news this week, my sermon on White Rage would have still another story to focus on. It was always going to be sadly, very timely. Racism in theUnited Statesis not merely about prejudice. It’s the source of pain, death and sorrow for millions – if not hundreds of millions.
On the night of February, 26th, 17 year old Trayvon Martin was shot and killed while walking home from a store with a bag of skittles and some iced tea, in his hometown ofSanford,Fla.The LA Times wrote on Friday about the death threats his assailant George Zimmerman has been receiving. Zimmerman apparently has gone in hiding because of those death threats. Note that he’s not hiding from the police – he’s not being sought for arrest. He continues to claim self-defense.
The LA Times article ends with this: ““For at least eight years, Zimmerman seems to have been part of a neighborhood watch group, based in his Retreat atTwinLakescommunity. During that time he called the police department at least 46 times with reports of various sightings such as open garages and suspicious people, often African American, it was reported. It was such a call that police released last week. Zimmerman told the 911 operator that he saw a suspicious teenager.
“Something’s wrong with him. Yep. He’s coming to check me out,” Zimmerman told a police dispatcher in a 911 call released Monday. “He’s got something in his hands. I don’t know what his deal is. Send officers over here.”
The teen started to run, Zimmerman reported. When Zimmerman said he was following, the dispatcher told him, “We don’t need you to do that.”
Shortly afterward, neighbors began calling 911 to report a fight, then a gunshot. By the time police arrived, Trayvon Martin was dead.””
Now when I read this, I’m sure we will learn more and more in the weeks ahead about the life of Zimmerman. I will not use this pulpit to convict a man. But I will use it to seek to come to terms with this tragedy in the face of how our country wrestles with the facts as they come in. We held a moment of silence during our prayer today for the life and family of Trayvon Martin. In a sense we are helpless in the face of their loss – and words may feel empty. And yet, we can allow this story to demand that we call out the horrors of violence and prejudice wherever they are rooted. Some of this is based in race dynamics. Some of this in power. Some of this in fear. Some in ignorance. But it’s also rooted in apathy. It’s rooted in gun laws that make it easy for civilians to pretend they’re heroes in their own minds. (…The teen started to run, Zimmerman reported. When Zimmerman said he was following, the dispatcher told him, “We don’t need you to do that.”) But he did it anyway. It’s rooted in always giving the benefit of the doubt to the assailant when the victim is a person of color – knowing the reverse seems rarely true.
Does anyone here doubt for one second, that should this horror story befall one of our white teens in this congregation, that their assailant wouldn’t be behind bars? Would we ever rest before justice was found? For that matter, would our white teen even be seen to be suspicious in the first place? We should hold a moment of silence in the face of this dreadful inequality.
The race dynamics are complicated here. Zimmerman was first described by the police as white. But his own family identifies as hispanic. Regardless of the perceived color of the assailant, the civic, legal and political responses here are typical for how those bodies deal with many Black Americans. I am no longer shocked by the inhumane responses we’ve heard from pundits and leaders alike defending the gun laws. Geraldo Rivera said, “I’ll bet you money, if he didn’t have that hoodie on, that nutty neighborhood watch guy wouldn’t have responded in that violent and aggressive way…”. That nutty neighborhood watch guy… Or Glenn Beck’s web-based attempt to link Trayvon Martin’s suspension from school to a fantasized criminal record – implying but not directly saying he may have deserved to be killed. Or Newt Gingrich’s attempt to turn this into a political moment for himself by falsely claiming President Obama was playing a race card – calling the president’s off-the-cuff words “disgraceful.”
The Rev. Sean Dennison (a UU minister inCalifornia) writes, “One way that racism works: tell people that telling the truth or even talking about race is “disgraceful.” We should all pretend that racism doesn’t exist. If you mention it, you’re somehow in the wrong.” Sean’s words are very apt. There’s a desire to pretend this tragedy would have played out the same way regardless of the color of the victim. I don’t believe that to be true.
Pulling back from the story of Trayvon Martin, where do all these reactions come from? Why is there a desire to pretend we treat all victims the same? Why do we feel the need to say folks who dress a certain way are inherently more dangerous? Why do white pundits try to fabricate criminal records for black children? Where does the rage come from in some white people?
I believe it’s in part sourced in the crossroads between the myth of the American Dream, and the pain we feel when things that used to go our way stop seeming to go our way. Then we project onto the world the drama that’s going on inside our heads. The American Dream says that if you work hard enough, you’ll achieve financial success, a house, and 2-point-something children. For some people that’s still true. But I’m willing to wager that if I were to ask for a show of hands (and I pointedly will not today) who here feels they have both worked hard and achieved financial success that we’d have less people than who could fit in a single row of pews. And yet, we still want to believe that if we work hard enough, we’ll get there. All on our own.
Or for those who have succeeded by working hard, there’s a inclination to want to say, “Well, I did it. So could you. And if you haven’t yet succeeded, it’s just because you didn’t work hard enough.” And sometimes that’s true. Sometimes, misfortune is tied to lack of effort or skill. But there’s a whole range that’s in between. It’s not always, or even often, either/or. Then there’s what I call the shifting landscape. The financial realities of working-class Americans is different now than when this American Dream was fabricated – or even in it’s heyday. And it directly affects how those who were raised with privilege react when they no longer seem to have the same opportunities their parents had. We often hear this described by conservatives as the decline of family values, or the collapse of the morals of plain old hard work.
In a Feb 10th opinion post, NY Times economist, Paul Krugman talks about this perception. He writes, “For lower-education working men, however, it has been all negative. Adjusted for inflation, entry-level wages of male high school graduates have fallen 23 percent since 1973. Meanwhile, employment benefits have collapsed. In 1980, 65 percent of recent high-school graduates working in the private sector had health benefits, but, by 2009, that was down to 29 percent.” He goes on to point out that, “much of the social disruption among African-Americans popularly attributed to collapsing values was actually caused by a lack of blue-collar jobs in urban areas.” He concludes with the rhetorical question, “you would expect something similar to happen if another social group — say, working-class whites — experienced a comparable loss of economic opportunity. And so it has.” I’ll save you all the mathwork Krugman has done. If you’re interested you can follow the links to it when this sermon is live on-line. But assuming that this Nobel Prize winning economist’s numbers are accurate, the White Working Class sector is suffering financial hardships in ways it hasn’t in generations (not that any other working-class group is doing well.) And I notice that at the same time, there is an influx of conservative outrage over the agency of women’s bodies, the definition of marriage, and now, the right of individuals to chase teenagers with hoodies down the street with a gun despite 911 saying “We don’t need you to do that.”
All this financial decline for the working class since 1973, the same year as the landmark decision of Roe. v. Wade. It’s a social conservative fantasy that if only we went back to that world where certain people were in charge (men, whites) all this would get better again. Ignoring all the safeguards and parameters that were once in place back then – Unions, better benefits, shorter work weeks, less disparity between the richest and the poorest, less need for the expense of graduate education to succeed or even be employed, and the list goes on. And the white working class – which these days some would say feels the same as the white middle class – is wrestling with a rage we don’t exactly understand. “I’m doing everything I’m supposed to be doing, and it’s just not working anymore. And you say you have problems!” And we get filled with rage. Rage because things that were once easy aren’t any longer. Rage because we’re experiencing financial hardships that other racial groups have had to live with generationally. Rage because we might be coming to realize that our own success may have less to do with our own actions, and more from the privilege of our skin. And we just don’t want to be told that.
Religion can be of help here. We don’t need to feel like we have to go at it all alone. Likewise, when we’re successful, we don’t have to feel like it’s us against and over the world. Rage is rooted in this sense of separateness. We are left broken when we allow rage to uproot us from that web of life of which we are a crucial part. Feeling rage is not wrong. Allowing rage to indignantly convince us that we stand apart from that web, our family, is the source of crisis. When it rears its angry head, acknowledge it for what it is… and let it go. It’s not real – only our actions are real.
Sometimes that’s hard to believe. For me, that’s where faith comes in. There’s a certain point where we just need to tell the mind – the part of us that repeats the tired old story that we’re not loved, or that we don’t care, or that the world stands against us so we should stand against the world – tell that voice to settle down. Even if we can’t see the other side, we may need to find a sense of faith that allows us to believe that there can be another way. We may not be thinking logically, and then logic isn’t going to help all too much.
If this is too ephemeral – or you feel like you have no sense of rage in your life – or you’ve got a good work/life balance – or your everyday problems are well in hand. (Bless you, and teach me how you’ve managed so well.) Take a look at congregational life. Our nation is not the only group that is experiencing massive cultural changes. We’re going to go through some changes ourselves – not only in this interim year, but with a new minister who brings with her a whole different set of life experiences. When you find yourself saying, “But this is how we’ve been doing this for 20 years,” ask yourself to slow down. The world as it was, is not the world as it is. That’s a hard thing to say out loud. And it’s a very hard thing to hear.
We all know that some things ought to be honored. And some things need to change enough to allow new folks, new faces, and new visions room to grow. We ought to be wary whenever our actions seek to control the views, expressions, and habits of others. That tendency is as much a male tendency as it is a white tendency. Patriarchal is only one step away from Colonial – and both are demeaning. They are not tendencies that are reserved only for men or only for white folk, but us white fellows have excelled at both.
I don’t mention these challenges around change to make a connection between them and the violence we see in the world. I mention them because how we manage our fears around change, influences how we manage our anger, and how we foster this sense of rage that can build up inside any of us. It also influences what our community can come to look like, and who it can come to represent.
Consider our young adult membership. Over the past four years we’ve seen a young adult community here that has grown from about 35 folks to about 135 folks. There have been moments of tension, as power and involvement have stretched and grown. All good things. But whether it’s obvious to you or not, we do things differently now in some ways than we did even five years ago. And because of these cultural changes, we’ve allowed a young adult community to thrive here in what is otherwise a smaller-sized congregation. Likewise, if you find yourself lamenting why more people of color aren’t in our pews, but you regularly restate, “But this is how we’ve been doing this for 20 years…” you have to be careful. Are you saying it because we’re not properly honoring a tradition? Or is it a way to maintain a sense of control over something when you feel out of control of a changing world? This is a very hard question I ask with no sense of accusation. The world can be a hard place, and our religious community can be a beautiful island amidst the storm. But it can’t be just your or just my island. It has to be one for all the people around us now, and it has to be for all the people who are not yet here. That’s what a community of faith is about. If we can get this right here, in this house of hope, then maybe we can figure out how to get it right out there too. But if we can’t figure it out here, we are not going to figure it out there.
When you encounter feelings that tell you things are unfair, or harsh – use that as an opportunity to foster compassion for others in a similar situation. Don’t use it as a chance to fortify your sense of righteousness. Be present to the difficult feelings. Honor them for the truth they offer. The rage we sometimes feel, or sometimes hide, can be fuel for a very long road. It becomes problematic when we rely on it, or become addicted to it. And it’s sometimes helpful when we would otherwise succumb to apathy. A faith centered life, is one where we recognize that at our core we are standing in solidarity with life. We are a force for compassion, possibility, and hope in this world. Whatever our career, our central vocation is one. We are all called to respond to the world with care and with a vision for wholeness.
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This Side of Love
Posted by revjudegeiger in Sermon, Uncategorized on February 19, 2012
Last Sunday, our Senior High Youth lead an educational social justice project toward the end of the religious education day with our children, as part of the Standing on the Side of Love campaign. After teaching our children a bit about love, marriage equality, and justice, we made Valentines to send to the NY State representatives who voted to support Marriage Equality. Being a Brooklyn congregation we sent the cards to Brooklynrepresentatives. We also included Valentines to our Federal Senators, our Mayor, our Governor, and the four Republicans (state-wide) who made a stand of personal conscious across party lines. It was a program that was rooted in gratitude for the efforts of our secular leaders on a matter of human conscience. Juliette and Cooper Richey-Miller crafted a beautiful video of the day that you can watch on our website. http://vimeo.com/36797503. It’s a hopeful snapshot of our religious community – and a good indicator of who we are and what we can be.
What makes a community? Or a congregation? Or a nation? Our story this morning spoke of a church being built on a hilltop – one that would bring the folks from all around to it every week. It needed a bell to ring folks to service. It needed strong stone and wood to stand firm against the wind and the weather. And it needed light – a whole lot of light – so that folks could find their way. I think it’s really beautiful that we learned from Zora’s mom in the story, that in our Unitarian Universalist tradition, we each carry a light of our own. Like the song we heard today – this little light of mine, I’m going to let it shine.
That’s at the core of faith. For UU’s, it’s not so much about belief, faith is in part about trusting in yourself – and the people around you. It’s trusting that all our lights are there; they’re worth uncovering; and they can help lead us on the path ahead. Right from the start, we come pre-packaged with that light – even if we sometimes find it hard to feel that warmth. It’s still there.
That’s what a community is about. It’s remembering what’s true for each of us, is also true for all of us. We each bring something of value to light up this church. You know, this is one of those kind of truths that we like to say is so incredibly apparent. “Duh, we all know that!” And yet, it’s probably one of the hardest things to remember.
Just a couple of weeks ago, I was talking with two god-parents who were about to make promises during one of our child dedications on a Saturday morning. Three of the questions they had to commit to were, “Will you teach her to tell the truth and to trust herself? Will you teach her to be compassionate and loving while being there with open ears and open hearts when she needs you? Will you keep good words and ways so that you will be an example for her?” They seem so straight forward, but one god-parent reflected, “At first I was thinking, oh sure, these are obvious. I can do that. But then I got to thinking – be compassionate and loving – how about the long line at the deli, or behind the wheel when someone cuts me off. Those three things are really hard!” And to be honest, she’s completely right. They’re all hard. Sometimes obvious things are very hard to live by. That’s partly why we go over them again and again.
It’s easy to say that each of us have value – but sometimes it’s hard to feel like that applies to ourselves. It’s easy to say that everyone has a light to shine, but it’s hard to feel that way when the other person is telling you what to do with a really mean voice. With a show of hands – who here has ever felt less about someone who was being mean to them? (alright, I thought that would be a strong showing.) We’re all a little guilty of not finding the worth in another when they’re being difficult, and we’re all probably just as guilty of thinking less of ourselves than our religion tells us we should.
But sometimes we do the opposite. Sometimes we think so highly of ourselves, that we think we know what’s best for the people around us. Sometimes we’re so sure that if only things were done my way, all would work out just right. Out of curiosity, with a show of hands, who here has ever thought that last one – if only the world worked the way I wanted it to… OK – we’re all in good managerial company.
That problem is happening from time to time all around us. It’s not just within our congregation, or over the dinner table. It happens in our country at large. Right now, we hear stories in the media of struggles around religious freedom. What are some things we think of when we hear religious freedom? What do we mean by freedom – call out one or two words (worship, belief, faith of the free, personal choices, medical treatments, congregating where and how you need, etc.) It’s an important value in our country. It’s also an important value in our faith tradition. It comes from the Edict of Torda. In 1571, a Unitarian, Francis David, convinced the King of Transylvania to pass a law that said that “no one shall be reviled for their religion by anyone.” Francis famously said, “We need not think alike to love alike.” It’s thoughts like this that influenced the foundations of this nation.
But just like how we sometimes think the world would just be a better place if it worked just like we wanted it, sometimes that mindset gets into the heads of our leaders. This is a difficult subject to talk about, but I think most of us have seen the photos, or the news, or posts on the internet – so if we don’t talk about it here we’re being strangely silent.
I’m thinking of those pictures of all-male testifiers before congress, giving their expertise on how women should receive medical care. I think just saying that sentence that way, more or less gets to the point for most of us. I don’t see a problem in men being involved in the decision-making process of how people receive health care – after all some doctors are male. I do see a problem in women not having a voice at the table – especially on matters that solely affect women’s health. I think it’s even more odd that several of those experts were clergy. In case this congregation has the same confusion – if you have a medical issue – I am not the person to come to for health-care advice. They do not teach that in seminary. Frankly, it’s a really severe case of abuse of power. In our story this morning, Zora had her own lamp to shine. Whenever we create situations where only certain people get to lift up their lamps, we’re probably doing something wrong.
Anyone here watch NBC? Well on Friday morning, following the spread of the all-male congressional panel photo – The morning talk show called, “Morning Joe” began talking about how inappropriate it was for Congress to have an all male line-up of experts. However, in one snapshot (and you can see it on my Facebook page) all five of Morning Joe’s experts were themselves men.
Now some of you may be scratching your heads right now. I started out by talking about religious freedom, and then shifted into talking about health care for women. If you’re having trouble seeing the connection, you’re in some very good company. The connection that’s being made in the media is stretched so thin it must soon break. Religious freedom is about being able to worship as you see fit – or don’t see fit for that matter. It’s about belief and it’s about personal choices (and you can hear the emphasis on personal right). Personal freedom, or liberty, is not about having the freedom to make the world do what you want. It’s about making your own best choices regarding personal matters – especially those matters that affect no one but yourself. I think managing one’s own body is the clearest definition of that I can imagine.
And in this congregation, we take that so seriously, that we educate our children and youth through the program Our Whole Lives. Right now, half of our religious education program is in an OWL class. It’s an age-appropriate comprehensive science-based sexuality curricula. I mention science-based, because not all programs out there on this topic are even legally required to be scientifically accurate. Our K-1 class started in January. Our Junior Youth began back in September. And our 4th and 5th graders will have two Saturday programs. And our Senior High will be continuing it throughout the Spring.
Just like the story, someone had to make that lantern and pass it down. In our tale, Zora had to learn to carry it on her own. From a caring, loving community, she grew into a mature adult that would do the same in return. I think if we were to edit the story to fit the current trend to misconstrue what religious freedom actually means, we’d have Zora’s dad carrying the lantern for her for the rest of her life. And her mom would be strangely silent. That image isn’t one of freedom.
I don’t want to end this sermon on a national matter. This time I want to bring that national crisis back home, back to our pews. Whatever emotions you may have felt, or are feeling, about the paternalism being inflicted on women in our culture right now – consider how we might be the cause of that kind of strife in our own lives – for other matters. How are we acting in such a way that we’re trying to mold people in our own image? How is our personal freedom affecting the freedom of those around us? How are our immediate wants hurting our neighbor? Do you speak over everyone around you? Do you let others be heard? Are you kind when someone does something that you disagree with? Do you seek to understand where someone is coming from – or do we try to fit their actions into our way of seeing things?
There’s this photo floating around the internet of a saying on a t-shirt (that I think was intended to be a joke.) It reads, “I’m a Unitarian-Universalist: the bedrock of my faith is an unshakeable belief that your guess is as good as mine.” Now as far as faith statements go, that’s more shale than bedrock. But it does speak to one very healthy mindset. My opinion doesn’t rule the day. Remembering that – not only in political chatter, but also in the coffee hour, is key. A little bit of humbleness is good for the health of a community, of a congregation, and yes – of a country too.
Secure in our Insecurities
Posted by revjudegeiger in Sermon on January 13, 2012
This sermon was first preached on May 10th, 2009 for Mothers’ Day. It’s not your typical Hallmark card.
Happy Mothers’ Day! … I make this brave assertion with some trepidation though. I never know what to presume from days fraught with such weighty expectations. We’ve navigated the complex family systems annual gauntlet of Thanksgiving, Christmas, Passover and Easter and can see the light at the end of the tunnel that is Memorial Day weekend. And then wham! May has yet another potentially awkward-sit-down-for-a-big-meal holiday too! And this one I somehow have responsibility for.
I long for the simple days where my relationship with mom shifted between wonderful and fitful, based solely on how tired or hungry either one of us were. Depending on what lens I use, that ended somewhere between five years old and twenty eight. Although, I’m suspicious that these patterns still undergird all of our conversations.
I’ve never been truly satisfied with Hallmark’s extensive series of suggestions on how to adequately express one’s gratitude for being brought into this world; in my case raised well with more opportunities than either of my parents have seen, while honestly lifting up the tensions, challenges, and short-comings along the way. I’m more inclined toward humorous cards like the Snoopy one that reads, “You’re the glue that keeps this family together, That’s a nice way of saying you’re stuck with us! …” because it’s at least accurate. But it doesn’t capture the entirety. The curve of my smirk holds appreciation for a mom who staved off the costs of childcare by going to work nights after dad came home so I would never be alone, yet who was absent at my ordination this year. I imagine that we have as many equally varied stories this morning as we have people here today. I know some of these stories are memories of our mothers who since have died, or the joy of being a new mother.
Our reading this morning is another such story, from the mindset of a mother of five, who was contemplating divorce and navigating rehabilitation from cancer. It’s an intense story of cascading difficulties that far exceeds the everyday. Yet, many of us will know people facing similar and sudden challenges. Some of those people will be us. Everyday. …
I know many of us have Tim Barger, fellow congregant and UU seminarian, in our prayers as he recovers and rehabilitates from sudden spinal surgery in Magee Rehabilitation Hospital, in Philadelphia. I am not myself in conversation with Tim, but the frequent Facebook updates, comments and discussions are looking up. Some of us may be thinking of Marge Odessky, who’s memorial was last Sunday. I could see from the many who shared their stories of Marge, that she showed us how one could be a mother to many in this congregation who are not her children.
I can barely imagine what it would be like to be faced with the prospect this anonymous mother was challenged by. Challenged is probably not even the right word; what she was threatened with. Able to deal well enough with the daily stories of relationships, children, work and community service, this mother reflects, in the extreme, the tentative nature of our security.
She gives us a vision of a street corner where we all reflect on our lives to this point. At times still feeling like children, but with far many more responsibilities to bear. Working with children as I do, I often see the hearts of kids in the faces of grown adults. It makes me wonder how different we actually are, despite what we like to convince ourselves. I sometimes think that’s what makes it harder for some adults to relate to children – we’re not willing to admit how similar we still are.
I believe this mother offers a path of hope in the face of the absurd. I see how she teaches us both to be a little more insecure in our security, and to be more secure in our insecurity. The suddenness of her situation is the classic reminder of how precious health is, and how easy we go about forgetting just how delicate, and how little controllable, it is. How she rises to cope and prosper is remarkable. It’s also very ordinary.
She recalls, “Finally, I said to myself, ‘Well, here you are and there’s no place to go. It’s time you brought a little help into your life.’”
In twenty small words, this mom summed up the entirety of religion, of what it is to be human, the very heart of all the ministry we will ever do. Whatever our individual situation is, we too are standing with her on that street corner. For some of us, unlike our story’s narrator, our loved ones will in fact come down to meet us. Whether we stand alone or in the midst of dozens, the task of religion is to help us all to be willing to let others in.
In many ways, living in New York City sends out the opposite message. In the midst of millions, we try to stave off the stranger because it’s simply just too much to take all in at once. The irony of the City dweller is that many of us choose to live here because we seek the density, or the diversity, or the intensity of human connections and opportunities; and still we so often push against the depth of our human connectedness. Insecurity, shame, or a particular sense of propriety all serve to buttress our isolating walls. As Unitarian Universalists, this communal and covenantal faith seeks to help rebuild those ties that remind us of our human relatedness and our very human need.
Her little prayer, “that the Lord will send me someone to help me along the way on my subway journey every day… and that He’ll send someone that I can share my faith and my strength with too. Both things…”
is far from little. How healing a prayer this is! It acknowledges that we are in need of one another. It is full of hope. And it is within this need, that we recognize that we too have faith and strength to share. Some of us will struggle will the outward reach for help. Others will prefer to help as many as they can, so long as no one notices their own hidden needs. And there are those who can not see that they have anything to give. This prayer is medicinal for all of us who find any of these statements too close to home; whether you pray to God, or you change the words to reaffirm your relationship with the living world.
There’s another thread in her story that I feel we rarely lift up. So often we speak as though blindness equated with ignorance. Her parable of the birthday cake, and the blind boy who stopped being attracted to a girl when he was told she was unattractive is quite telling. “…When you begin to see with that inner eye, that inner eye everyone has, it all changes. Everyone is human, everyone is God’s child. Everyone is helpless, one way or another, and everyone is helpful too. We’re all here for each other….”
The bodies we are born into, or the circumstances that change them, are both limiting and instructive. This woman who lost her sight for a time learned to see people differently – and I would contend that from her writing she learned to see them more clearly. She has known the difference. These lessons are not limited to disabilities. Anyone who was less than popular in childhood or youth, was given a firm yet difficulty opportunity to extend the kindness to others that they did not receive. They have known the difference. Anyone who has experienced the injustice of oppression, whether it be because of gender, race, sexuality or gender expression, have a different lens in which to view the injustices perpetuated on others. They have known the difference. The list could be exhausting – class, wealth, weight, health, or education to name even more. “Everyone is helpless, one way or another, and everyone is helpful too…”. We remain helpless and unneeded only so long as we choose to pull back our hands. We are not alone.
There’s a poem by Jill-Beth Sweeney Schultheis that I find to be a powerful reminder of this message called “Fragility/Divinity.” It reads: “We are fragile. We are not broken. We are imperfect. We are not flawed. We are curious. We are not confused. We are vulnerable. We are not weak. We are of this earth, and yet the divine lives in us. When I feel as if I’m going to break, I am the most human. When I embrace my fragility, I let you into my imperfect world.” This is the liberal religious tradition of which we are a part. This is my faith. Fragility, imperfection, curiosity, and brokenness are what make us human. We are not weak because of these qualities – we are alive because of them.
Coming to terms with our insecurities deepens our security. Security, in the spiritual sense of the word, is not the ability to control our circumstances. It’s not what makes us safe; it’s what makes us whole. Security is achieved when we hold in tension the lessons of our first and seventh principles. The first principle is where we affirm the inherent worth and dignity of every person – and I should clarify that every person here does in fact include ourselves, but it is not limited to just ourselves. The seventh is where we appreciate how we stand in relation to the living world. We are all connected and interdependent. Held in tension with each other, these principles point toward a living web that can catch us when we are falling, and strengthen us as we build up community. As our anonymous mother tells us, “There are ups and downs, of course. You start blind and you reach out. Sometimes there’s nothing to hold onto, but you still reach. Then you learn to hold onto whatever you get. Then you find someone’s hand and you take it. Then you see you can reach and hold onto someone else.”
The mother in this story started out seeing herself as independent and she ended up seeing herself as interdependent. I struggle to see myself like she does.
The words from the African lullaby prayer we heard for our offertory are beautiful. “Oh God of the sunrise, as I have given of myself to my babe, wilt Thou watch over and protect him through the night. If he awaken when the sun greets the earth, he will grow to be a man and will take upon himself the responsibilities of a man in the world.” I pray that every day we awaken to this earth and this sun, may we each grow to be human. May we take upon ourselves the responsibilities of a people in this world. May we know that this stewardship entails a reaching outward and a letting in. That we hold ourselves up as we hold and lift one another. May we know that we are living into our responsibilities when we choose to live more fully with our neighbor; when we choose to open our hearts and lives to another. I pray that we can accept a sense of security that focuses less on control and more on relation. In so doing, may we all be surprised by a newfound joy, that can not be found on our own.
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Mother Wove
Posted by revjudegeiger in Sermon on January 1, 2012
This sermon was first preached at First UU in Brooklyn on New Year’s Day, 2012. It looks at Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Theodore Parker and the Feminine Divine.
Happy New Year everyone! My partner Brian and I rung in the new year watching fireworks inCentral Park. This a new tradition for us, our second year spending New Year’s Eve this way. I’ve lived within short distance of NYC my whole life, and the Times Square Ball has so overshadowed the night’s events that I only learned of the fireworks last New Year’s Eve. Check it out next year. It’s a wonderful way to ring in the New Year. With sound, light and cheer.
For the last couple of years, a group of congregants, all women, have put on a piece of sacred theater called “Mother Wove the Morning.” Originally a one woman show, Dawn Brekke and her cast adapted it to be an ensemble piece. It essentially explored the absence of a sense of womanhood, femininity or motherhood in the Western world’s experience of the divine. We often hear of the great Father in the Sky, but what of the Mother of All? The multicultural stories span the history of the world from the perspective of straight women seeking to wrestle with where their heavenly role model went and the effects that has had on the experience of women in their daily lives. They’ve even performed at another UU congregation, Shelter Rock. I do hope that the tradition continues, maybe even with new plays.
We heard two excerpts from the play this morning. The period piece on Elizabeth Cady Stanton and the semi-comedic piece by Carol Lynn on the difficulties women face. Although this latter piece began with humor, it culminated with a mixture of the serious and the theological. She said, “And what I really believe about God is this: In the beginning, at the dawning of the first day, the Eternal One appeared as Two. Mother wove the morning, and Father made the evening–joyfully, together. Lovers, friends, partners, parents. Through them all things were born.” (end quote.) I personally see God as singular, although I do believe that God appears in myriad forms, hence the wide range of Revelations in this world. But I do agree that to succumb to the belief that God is gendered according to the sex historically with the most power, is a telling sign that something’s amiss. Even traditionalists get a bit queasy when you start pressing them on the genitalia of God as is male. Of course you don’t really mean that! But what do we mean?
I believe that historically, humanity meant exactly what the play surmised. To requote the Catholic Theologian, Mary Daly, “If God is male, then the male is God.” When theology codifies divinity within the gender binary, then power expands and contracts for the genders. In my opinion, that’s not the point of religion. Religion is here to expand our sense of awe in the universe. It’s here to deepen our commitment to compassion to those we share this world with. Religion is here to remind us that there is a depth to life that is worth divining.
The Unitarian minister Theodore Parker, of whom Elizabeth Cady Stanton both lifts up and chides in the play, speaks to this notion. “The only creed that true religion lays down, he claimed, ‘is the great truth which springs up spontaneously in the holy heart – there is a God.’ Parker admitted that true religion requires a form and carries a sanction, but only as attributes of Spirit-filled living. The only outward form that religion requires is divine living; true religion consists of ‘doing the best thing, in the best way, from the highest motives.’”[1]
Getting to “Spirit-filled living” can be a tricky thing if we don’t know what it would mean; if we don’t have a Spirit-model in our lives; if we’re used to thinking in terms of creeds rather than intuitions. If we don’t believe in God, and think Spirit can only mean those things that refer to God. I think that’s the practical necessity behind gendering God in the first place. I remember as a Catholic child never quite understanding what the “Holy Spirit” was. Now as an adult I get that the Trinity can also help us to see the relationality of life – that the Holy is found in our midst, in our relationships.
Although I don’t see God as male and female as the play suggests, I do appreciate that the Mother/Father image in the play helps to show us that creation and inspiration comes from joint efforts; that life and Truth is a series of dualities; that love directs us outward; and that the Holy is not limited to one gendered expression.
Take this in consideration with another piece of Theodore Parker’s writing, and we come to a similar conclusion that was made in the play. “For Parker, (these) three innate primal truths were crucial to the possibility and phenomenon of religion: (1) the instinctive intuition of the divine creates consciousness of divine reality; (2) the instinctive intuition of moral right creates consciousness of the existence of a moral law that transcends human will; and (3) the intuition of the immortal ensures, ‘that the essential element of man, the principle of individuality, never dies.’”[2] The first – intuition of the divine creates consciousness of the divine – directly speaks to Mary Daly’s quote. “If God is male, then the male is God.” If we intuit the Holy as male then our consciousness is changed. Expanding that intuition, expands our consciousness. It also leads into a healthier understanding of Parker’s second point around moral right that transcends human will. A morality that is informed, by a consciousness that perceives the holy value in more than one gender, is a safer morality for this world.
Now the latter two points -intuitions of moral right and the intuition of the immortal would greatly influence Elizabeth Cady Stanton, and help her to heal wounds inflicted by the fire and brimstone preaching of Charles Finney. (Incidentally, this is the primary reason for an extended look at a male Unitarian preacher on a Sunday devoted to the feminine divine.) Cady Stantongrew up in a conservative, upper class, Calvinist-Presbyterian household. Academic, Gary Dorrien writes that, (She) “was plagued by a morbid introspection that the family religion aggravated. The Cadys were serious Calvinists, God-fearing and morally upright, and she absorbed the element of fear in her youth.” In her home region of Troyin the 1830’s, “Charles Finney preached(ed) what came to be called the Great Troy Revival… Every day for six weeks young Elizabeth Cady listened to Finney with a mixture of half-believing fascination, moral compulsion, and dread…. His preaching seized Cady Stanton’s soul with fear of judgment, driving her to a nervous breakdown.”[3] The migration of her spirituality from Calvinist to Unitarian Christian, via Parker, would lead her one day to say, “The memory of my own suffering has prevented me from ever shadowing one young soul with any of the superstitions of the Christian religion.”[4]
Out of context, her comment about Christian superstitions would sound incredibly derogatory. But the word “superstitions” was code at the time for what Parker referred to as the “transient.” Those beliefs and practices that were not centrally intuitions of the spirit; that were not central teachings of Christian compassion; that were not reflective of character over fear. Eternal damnation would be one such superstition. By her mid-thirties she would vocalize publicly that the inferiority of women was another such superstition.
Cady Stanton spent her first thirty years being heavily influenced by prominent figures, she would spent the rest of her life setting the stage for influencing the world on her own – and with the help of a small cadre of fellow leading women – at first Lucretia Mott who helped Cady Stanton come to prominence and later Susan B. Anthony who Cady Stanton passed forward the favor by helping to send to prominence. In our play we heard that “Mother Wove the Morning” – and in history we hear that Elizabeth Cady Stanton helped to weave a deeper sense of humanity.
With her famous “Declaration of Sentiments and Resolutions,” that were modeled after the Declaration of Independence, she began the Women’s Suffrage movement and lit a firestorm that only the media could fan to a roaring flame. She would notably write, “I say require of the state that we be given full citizenship and that it happen now. And I say require of the church the same thing, to acknowledge that man and woman were created in the image of God and given dominion over this earth, but none over each other. None over each other!”
In rapid response, “the Philadelphia Public Ledger and Daily Transcript declared: ‘A woman is nobody. A wife is everything. A pretty girl is equal to ten thousand men, and a mother is, next to God, all powerful.’ The ‘ladies of Philadelphia’ therefore resolved, ‘to maintain their rights as Wives, Belles, Virgins, and Mothers, and not as Women.’”[5] It’s the kind of linguistic response we still hear today in the entertainment media. Opponents of Pro-Choice might say – “I retain the right to have my child” or opponents of Marriage Equality might say – “Everyone has the right to marry someone of the opposite sex” even in Healthcare Reform – “Everyone has access to healthcare, they just need to get a job.” They’re all language games that denude the meaning of the word “rights.” CadyStanton wrote with reason and a fair sense of indignation, and was responded to with a barrage of trite witticisms and societal fever. But sense, and instinctive intuitions of moral right would ultimately prevail – albeit not for a time.
The Public Ledger would bring us back full circle when they wrote, “and a mother is, next to God, all powerful.” A mother, next to God. We’re not likely say a father, next to God, is all powerful – because it would be a rare situation where we’d need to clarify the power of fathers. I think needing to say how powerful mothers of the time were, speaks more directly to how disempowered they actually were. Fathers were in, of and leading the world. Mothers were subject to their husbands at home. All notions of equality would have trouble being born, if we couldn’t even find equality over our breakfast tables.
If you’d like to go into closer historical detail of the time, I recommend a book by Gary Dorrien entitled, “The Making of American Liberal Theology: Imagining Progressive Religion 1805-1900.” It’s a staple these days for UU seminarians. It paints a vivid picture of how Calvinist, Unitarian, and Transcendentalist thinking fostered an intellectual and emotional setting for Elizabeth Cady Stanton to help transform our culture. “… to acknowledge that man and woman were created in the image of God and given dominion over this earth, but none over each other.”
What I find most impressive about Cady Stanton is that she helped us to revision what motherhood could mean while she herself was a mother of seven children. She wasn’t a fringe radical, breaking from tradition. She was navigating all the difficult politics of marriage to a husband who himself was involved in the political sphere. She helped to argue for divorce for women, while remaining devoted to her vows. She struggled with the abolitionist movement, without herself having an equal say. Not to say that her path was superior to Susan B. Anthony’s path of the unmarried activist; but rather that she always remained firmly within the conventional system and sought to configure a new way. In essence, she became a role model for women much in the same way our play, Mother Wove the Morning, seeks to find the feminine divine so that all people have another image to live by.
As we begin this new year, I’ll ask you to reflect on a few questions. What images of the feminine divine do you find in your own life? Which are absent? What can you do, yourself, to reclaim them?
A Call To Leadership
Posted by revjudegeiger in Sermon on December 27, 2011
This sermon was first preached at the First UU Congregation in Brooklyn on January 25th, 2009. It reflects on the inauguration of our first African-American President of the United States.
Our country came to a corner this week. We’ve been walking for some distance, for a long time, where we’ve been able to see straight ahead, and off to the side. Sometimes leaning up against what was a very comfortable wall for some, and rather rough for most. This corner offers a new trajectory of movement; freedom of space. Now we can continue walking in the same direction of course; it’s just a corner after all. We don’t need to take the turn. But now we seem to think we can.
It’s a secular corner, definitely cultural, and largely spiritual too. The White House, built by slaves, is now home to our first black president. Poets have poignantly noted how we know not where our efforts will eventually lead, nor who will some day reside in the sanctuaries we build this day even in the midst of injustice and pain. We can see a little ahead, and off to the side, but can barely imagine the scope of changes to the landscape that will some day come about.
What can leadership look like? In the American mythology, the answers have always been “anyone.” Of course, “anyone” has always had very specific implications. At one point “anyone” meant land holding straight white men. That was honestly progressive for the time. With it, we successfully moved a bit away from aristocracy and nobility as the places of power. For a decade or two, the American mythology has said it includes people of all races. Although I still feel we have a ways to go in this respect, this week has indicated that our practice has finally met up with our cultural self-conception of what we can be. Racism is not cured, sexism continues to thrive, ageism on both ends of the spectrum is almost a given, and homophobia is often confused with high moral standards. And yet, this week, rekindles our hope that we as a people, can grow past ourselves enough to recognize leadership despite our biases and short-comings. As Martin Luther King Jr once dreamt, we have chosen our president based on the “content of his character, and not by the color of his skin.” Whatever your political affiliations are, this is a remarkable sign of transformation for our country.
Our readings this morning both talk about the transforming power of leadership. The first, an early Buddhist parable, richly names the spirit of our time. In the midst of the flaming pit of crisis, the Buddha as parrot recognizes his two great gifts; being alive and being able to fly. As the world burns around him he chooses not to panic and succumb to uselessness. He chooses not to use his second gift of flight to preserve his first gift of life. Rather, he employs all that he has to make some difference in easing the suffering of others. His colorful feathers grow black through his efforts to save lives. “What, after all, can a bird do in times like these… but fly? So fly I shall. And I won’t stop if there’s even a chance I can save a single life.”
In contrast, the godly beings are relaxed, bright, covered in white ivory and glittery gold. Well fed, they shimmer and shine and remain clean. All most can do is continue to eat and wax eloquent on the absurdity of the parrot’s efforts. “Trying to put out a raging fire with just a few sprinkles of water from his wings. Who ever heard of such a thing. Why, it’s absurd!”
Where in our lives are we the parrot with greasy black wings who is fed with a mission and destined to make a difference, and where are we the fully entitled god who shimmers and shines and is just well fed? When have you met the well intentioned god on golden wings descend to warn you to stop your efforts because it’s not worth the trouble? When have you been that nay-saying voice?
“I don’t need advice. I just need someone to pitch in and help!” cried the parrot. I know I’ve felt that before. Whether it’s combating homelessness, raising children, or struggling through school, it is tough to do it alone, and often times we seem to receive more advice than actual assistance. It would be easy, and a bit triumphant, to preach on how hidden beneath the grime and soot of our efforts are splendid multi-colored feathers that help us soar. But this Buddhist parable seems to indicate that it’s that very blackness, that greasy water that differentiates us from the splendidness of those distant gods. In fact, it’s that blackness that calls one of the gods down from his place of privilege, to do what he ought to have done from the start; use his power to affect change. “All at once, he no longer wanted to be a god or an eagle or anything else. He simply wanted to be like that brave little parrot, and to help.” All gratitude at the story’s end goes to the little parrot, “for this sudden, miraculous rain.” It may have been the god’s tears that put out the fires of this world, but they blossomed from the witness of the action of the parrot – the otherwise dis-empowered, the oppressed, the not-privileged.
That godly nay-saying has woven itself into the fabric of our daily expression. We are burdened down with a difficult economy, an enervating war, diminishing gay civil rights, and a collapsing environment. Many say they are choosing hope, and yet our collective shoulders seem to indicate spiritual exhaustion. President Obama on Tuesday spoke of our country’s “nagging sap to confidence.” He named that which many of us see, but is rarely spoken of in public. It’s the echo of impossibility when so many things seem raw and endless like a fire that sprung over night and is left by all the world to burn. But I believe there continue to be rivers of hope, and waters of abundance, that eagerly wait for us to dip our wings and dirty our feathers; because there is much work to be done and gratefully many of us here able to do it.
So which of the many here, able to make the world better, do we work with? I struggled with our President’s selection of Rick Warren to lead us in prayer on Tuesday. Pastor of Saddleback Church in Lake Forest, California – he was a visible supporter of Proposition 8 in California which successfully revoked constitutional rights for gay men and women to marry in that state. It’s a conciliatory move for a presidency that claims to be bi-partisan in approach. I applaud the spirit in which the gesture was made, and yet I was stunned by his inclusion. Rick Warren’s prayer was religiously generous, including all people no matter how they name the divine. It remained apolitical. It was a prayer; and a good one if I had any capacity to judge.
Our second reading today touches on this question; who do we work with? In the Christian lectionary, Jonah 3:1-10 is one of the readings for the week. The portion of scripture we focused on is the Prophet Jonah’s commission to the city of Ninevah. He successfully petitions them to repent their sins and to place God back in their hearts and lives. On the surface, it’s a simple story of mission, sackcloth and redemption. And yet, it’s far more complex than that. Jonah has just finished fleeing as far afield of Ninevah as possible to avoid preaching there. He’s survived the ocean, the belly of a great fish, and the voice of God just to avoid going to this place. Ninevah is a city of Assyria, a long-standing enemy of his own people, and the empire that will in biblical times destroy the the state of Israel.
God has called Jonah to preach to his people’s enemy so that his enemy may not be destroyed. “’Forty days more, and Ninevah shall be overthrown!” And the people of Ninevah believed God; they proclaimed a fast, and everyone, great and small, put on sackcloth. When the news reached the king of Ninevah, he rose from his throne, removed his robe, covered himself with sackcloth, and sat in ashes.”
Jonah has crossed the political aisle to help redeem his enemy, in what he likely sees as a call to justice and righteousness before his God. In a sense, he has put first what we might call right living, or right relationship before his own opinions and inclinations – in fact, despite them. The sacred, the holy, and the transcendent come first in this story; before nationality, before politics and most importantly before preference.
The pastor Rick Warren has done a little of this himself. Largely seen as a conservative Christian, before all the world he has prayed for all our people to God in whatever way or ways we name God. In a simplistic reading of faith, one unfortunately we typically hear frequently on our televisions, Pastor Warren has broken with the traditional line to extend a hand to other faiths in solidarity before his God. His prayer called for “civility when differing,” and a reminder to be “so grateful to live in this land.”
“Civility” could just as easily be a reminder to liberals and moderates as it is to conservatives alike. In the case of gay marriage that I spoke of when I first mentioned Pastor Warren, differ we certainly will. The question remains how we will be judged by the “content of our character” that Martin Luther King Jr. mentioned some decades ago. Can we remain civil and citizens with one another, or will we succumb to bitterness in our differences. Can pro-civil rights activists be civil in their acceptance of Pastor Warren as the president’s choice to lead our nation in prayer? Will we allow the dialogue with those whom we differ? What will leadership look like, and who will we allow to share in that leadership?
Likewise, he reminds those of us of liberal persuasion to recognize how fortunate we are to live in this country. A close conservative friend of mine the other day noted how despite the apparent 180 degree changes in governance on Tuesday, the United States of America enjoyed another peaceful transition of power. Despite our many failings, we have achieved something on this soil that many people will never see in their lifetime and we often take it for granted. Our democratic voice can be realized without bloodshed, without violence, and in the midst of significant and substantial disagreements. We must stand in awe of how fortunate we truly are. Pastor Warren’s prayer captured that.
If I might offer the same gift to Pastor Warren as he has to us this past week; I would remind him of who else he shared the podium with that day. We witnessed an unlikely connection to a prominent fore-runner and founder of the gay civil rights movement. California Senator, Dianne Feinstein, who convened the gathering on Tuesday, took office as Mayor of San Francisco in November 1978 following the assassination of Mayor George Moscone and Supervisor Harvey Milk. Harvey Milk was our country’s first elected openly gay man. Although the story is complex, as most stories are, he risked much in a time when Proposition 6 threatened to hunt gay teachers in California. He successfully opposed the baleful legislature. He served as a role-model for gay men and women; suggesting to us that significant leadership opportunities were possible.
I am reminded again of the loss of life as we have seen in the past assassination of Harvey Milk, on-going high rates of suicide amongst gay teens, and physical brutality perpetuated against gay and lesbians to this day. Lives are lost as we stumble toward a more expansive and realized society rooted in civil rights. I caution conservative religious movements that vilify the queer community. If compassion is not truly at the heart of your actions, take a very hard look at the effects of your words and your deeds. Pray on scripture, and search diligently for what words Jesus Christ spoke of on this topic. I have yet to find one sentence by Jesus that speaks ill of homosexuality, and I assure you I have looked hard and long for them. Consider spending the fortunes you use to fight against these civil rights on the missions Jesus called us to. Use them solely to feed the hungry, house the homeless, clothe the naked and care for those in prison. You do all these latter things already and you do them well, I only ask you to better support the ministries Jesus specifically named, rather than what I see as your cultural sensibilities.
President Obama on Tuesday directed us once more to “a unity of purpose over discord” and to “begin again the work of remaking America.” There is much work to be done. We asked you earlier in the service to write down one thing you would be willing to put effort into to affect change. Those cards that were given as an offertory today are sanctified by our collective commitment to action. As poet Alice Walker has written, “We are the ones we have been waiting for.” Seek to be renewed by a generosity of spirit. This congregation has birthed many a social justice movement and effort in its long 175 years. We stand in awe of that history. I pray that it prop us up in our times of exhaustion and bolster us in our times of exuberance. Let us continue that tradition as we have reached this epic corner in our national and spiritual journey.
Taking a broader look, in some way, we all ought to cover ourselves in ash, wear sackcloth, or dip our wings in greasy water to redeem our situation, our condition and our lives. Meditate and pray now for a moment on how we have fallen short. What can we craft our sackcloth out of, what personal conviction would it take for us to don it long enough to make a difference? How can we seek forgiveness from God, from that which we hold as Ultimate, and from our society so that we can change our hearts and thereby begin to quench the fires all around us? As ever, since the dawn of humanity, we are in need of leadership. It must be humble, it must take flight. And it needs to be found in all of us.
Brooklyn Bridges
Posted by revjudegeiger in Sermon on December 26, 2011
This sermon was first preached at First UU in Brooklyn on March 22nd, 2009. It look at Faith through the imagery of Bridges.
Have you ever walked, jogged, or rolled across the Brooklyn Bridge? Up until moving to Brooklyn, I can’t say that I’ve done that myself much even though I’ve lived in the area my whole life. After work earlier this month, I was meeting up with a friend in the West Village for dinner, and I decided to take a stroll from here to there. In my mind, it seemed like it was going to be quite a bit of a stroll, but it was a warmish evening and the sky was clear. I think some of you may already know this, but over the past few months I’ve returned to a spiritual practice of daily walking to center and focus. Perfect! My mind was set, and off I was.
It took me a little bit longer to figure out how to get onto the bridge in the first place. Traffic patterns, turn signals, cement barricades and one entrance feed later – I found my way. On paper (or the internet) the bridge is pretty close to us – but you kind of have to already know the patterns to join the pathway. Even with the clearest map the electronic highway can produce, you have to do it once yourself, with all the natural missteps along the way, in order to get it. And between you and me… I broke out the GPS… shhh!
So I get on the entrance ramp, for lack of a better word, to one of the world’s greatest bridges, and it’s only about as wide as I am tall. No wonder I missed where it started! Walking along the now clearly demarcated pathway, stopped traffic was only separated from me by about 5 feet and low cement walls. People’s frustration was clear on their faces, all the while I was feeling a sense of success for finding my way and the surety of knowing I didn’t have to make any more choices for a bit of time.
Then the first cyclist came clown-bell ringing his way toward me. Enough of the sight-seeing; momentum and a narrow walkway meant I had some quick twisting to do. Surviving a few encounters with fast-paced inertia; the sort where you realize unless you move differently, no one’s going to, I achieved the bridge!
It was about at this point that I recalled exactly how bad my fear of heights actually is. I’m pretty good if there’s some width, or breadth or dozens of feet between me and down. In my head I was thinking, “There are whole car lanes between me and down. I’ll be fine.” I had forgot that the pedestrian walkway has those lovely little holes and slats that show you what’s below you. You have to face it all. No one’s going to hide the brutal reality of “down” for the feint of heart. After the initial horror, and then the wondering why no one thought to cover that up, I have to admit, it was kind of exhilarating!
After the acrophobia subsided a bit, I started to notice how I was the only person walking from Brooklyn to Manhattan. I began wondering if I missed the memo, news flash or Facebook/tweet status update somewhere. In a city of 8 million, how is that no one is walking this direction? The sights are awesome, and the view is energizing and scary, but I’m having that not so infrequent NYC alone feeling even though I’m around a ton of people. It can get much worse than any sense of loneliness I ever experienced in suburbia. So many people dream of being right where I am, and I’m wondering how did I get here, where am I going … and why are those 8 million people walking in the other direction?
When I got to the midway point on the bridge, I took a breather. I reveled in the solidness of the central pillar. And by “reveled”, I mean to say, “clung” to the solidness of the central pillar. And by “breather”, I should say, “started to breathe” again. I could see how awesome the view was. There were a lot more people hanging about here. Propping cameras up in small crevices so that their timers could capture a moment between a couple. Fingers pointing toward this or that. The night was our first warm night despite it not yet being spring. I had a better sense of where I was, and which way to go again once I was ready. I was comforted by the peacefulness of the center’s surety, but I had dinner plans to go to. The West Village was calling, and there was a long way still to go.
And thus ends the parable of the bridge. I look forward to hearing your thoughts and takes on it during coffee hour as folks get to know one another better. I want to share with you now some of my thoughts on this story. Broadly, I see our faith, Unitarian Universalism, as that bridge. It is what I consider one of the world’s great religions. Spanning back to the reformation, Unitarianism in Europe formed from the thoughts, writings and martyrdom’s of those that came before us. We have grown into a very contemporary religious expression, and we are deeply rooted in sacrifice.
Having a 400 year arc of tradition and change, how does one who is new to the faith, find their way in? How does one who was born into our religion, balance their life-path with the demands and rigors of our values? It can often feel very difficult to find one’s way onto the bridge. The many traffic signals, cement barricades and the on-line maps of life tell us how to live and how to be. Sometimes they’re helpful, sometimes they just don’t speak the truth. Consumerism teaches us to be more productive at the expense of living deeply. The crush of NYC and the protestant/american/capitalist work ethic (whichever descriptor you feel is most accurate) informs folks who are salaried or who are holding two or more jobs, that working less than fifty hours a week is being lazy. I’ve heard this concern enough times before and since the recession, that I think it’s crucial to point out the following value – and it is very much a value. The 70 hour work week might be a reality for some of us, but lazy doesn’t start at under 50 hours.
I remember a high school education with 8 classes, no lunch period – didn’t need it since the teachers would let me eat during class time, choir, track, and theatre. Mornings that started at 6am, and homework that ended by 9 or 10pm at night during the week. And mom still sent me to church and church school on the weekend as a kid. As a teen, I began returning the favor to mom, reminding her to make it to Mass.
Cement barricades that serve their purpose; they keep traffic flowing, give solidity to our way of life. They also make some of us have to walk a few extra blocks out of the way to get where we’re going. Where’s the path that lets us maintain our jobs and find time for a religious life? Homework on Sunday mornings means there’s no room to explore our values; just our facts. The cement dividers are here to stay. We have to find another way. When we print out, or memorize those google maps and see where the blocked paths are, we need to make the personal choice to not be surprised when the path is long. We need to manage our expectations. And when we still lose our way, and know that we will all lose our way at least at one point, the GPS of congregational life – our clergy, fellow congregants, our parents, our sons and daughters, need to be ready to help point the way.
So, look around. … This might surprise some of us, but this week, we are the ones who made it. We’re walking up the entrance ramp. For many of us, this is the first time we’ve done so. Coming to the congregation might be the challenge, with seemingly narrow paths to joining. You haven’t seen all the activities, heard all the stories, served the call of justice-making in all its ways yet. At first the walkway may seem tight, but trust me, if you keep walking forward it will seem more open. One significant widening of our pathway is happening this coming Saturday morning. Our congregational brainstorm on how we will move forward with our social justice programming is an exciting integration of our values. Individuals and committees already serve in this way, but now we’re intentionally seeking to connect, and to verbalize how we connect, our Unitarian Universalist values to our social justice making at this congregation. I encourage you to join us Saturday morning to help in this widening of our spirit and our faith.
For some of us, we’ve been coming for years and are active members. We volunteer our time, money and a ton of heart. We agree with the principles and purposes of Unitarian Universalism. And yet you might still be figuring out how to feel your way onto or up that ramp. You’re inline with our ethics and our causes, but the question of identity still seems elusive. The spirit in Unitarian Universalism hasn’t caught hold. The zeal of evangelism, even if it’s only to evangelize yourself, hasn’t taken grip. You might seek to figure out where our religious tradition’s values matches your own. You agree that people have value and worth; that justice, equity and compassion are imperative in this troubled world; that beliefs need not divide us in all things; that the search matters; that all voices should be heard; that world community is a goal; and that we are all related and that the natural world is inclusive in the word “we.” These principles ought to be impressive, because they are daunting and very difficult to follow.
For those of us who this describes, let me challenge you a bit, more than you already are in striving to live up to these values. In the month ahead, ask yourself what does our faith tradition ask you to do? When you catch yourself thinking, “I agree with that ethic, or value, or principle,” follow-up by asking yourself, “What can I do, or say, or consider in light of that value that I wasn’t doing, or saying, or considering before?” Consider it a spiritual self-assessment. We do all sorts of assessments in our lives – with our finances, our job performance, our buildings and homes. It may be time to perform one over what matters among the most in our lives.
For those of us who are ready for Advanced Lifespan Religious Education 405, take what you realize, or learn, or remember from that spiritual self-assessment and share it with your fellow congregant. Today Nell Evans in her reflection, and Lisa Hanson in her moment of witness, have modeled this engagement on the larger scale. Lisa recently reminded me that Hannah Arendt suggested that the highest form of human action is speaking amid and engaging with others. I agree with Arendt on this point. I think this point is often particularly difficult for Unitarian Universalists, not the speaking up bit, but the engaging with others about our spiritual values. We often act as if we are imposing on others should we engage in a discussion about values as they pertain to religion. Raise your hand if you are easily swayed; if you do whatever you’re told; if any belief shared with you becomes your own. (Be gentle with those whose hands are up.) We kid ourselves into thinking we are being responsible by not engaging with one another over our values. Be genuine as you engage, but remember to engage.
Our Senior Minister, Dr. Patrick O’Neill, and I have talked from time to time about our philosophies of religious education. That sentence gets at the crux of it. Be genuine as you engage, but remember to engage. Parents have often heard me remind them that most of our religious education happens at home. One can not learn Algebra or Spanish by studying it one hour a week for nine or ten months a year – it only adds up to about 40 hours, or one week of school. Believe me, I tried that approach with Spanish, and it did not go well for me. It takes immersion. We are that immersion. If religious education ends in the classroom, our oldest youth may have as much as 12 weeks of full-time class with very little homework or 3 months – one semester. Our folks who joined us as adults may have but a few hours. Since we are that immersion course, I need you to help me out by practicing our spiritual fluency with regularity.
As a quick aside, just like the widening ramp, let me warn you, at some point in your religious life, you will likely encounter someone speeding toward you rapidly ringing their clown-like bell to get out of their cycling path. Whether you may feel that’s coming from the pulpit, or coffee hour, please do not take my challenge toward deeper engagement to sound like a ringing cyclist on a narrow path. Be nimble, be swift. Take what is of value, even if it turns out to simply be that cycling (like spiritual engagement) is a healthy sport, and turn to the side as you need. I control not the sounds and bells along the way, only that we continue to have a path to share. How we share it is all our responsibility.
Some of us lament the lack of neat, simple answers in our faith to the questions of belief. Like my acrophobic-induced panic attacks, we do not cover up what’s below us and around us with straight, hard, and opaque answers. There are times in life where we feel we may desperately need the certitude of truth to be known by us as clearly expressed belief. … We don’t build that way. We lay walkways and frameworks that allow us a clear view in all directions – even the scarily downward ones; yet the path is firm. Millions have walked it. And it can get exhilarating if you let it. Know that belief does not equal faith. The path we walk is our faith. We may construct that faith with varying beliefs, but the wise choice of wood, metal, solid, or porous does not diminish the path. These choices will change the view though.
Some of you may question my choice in the West Village as the destination of my little spirit-walk. Kingdom of Heaven, Beloved Community, or Nirvana it may or may not be. But it was where I was going. I just so happened to know this time which way I headed. We don’t always know that. But the path remains as firm as it needs to be. We have chosen, or continue to choose each day, to walk through this precious and rare gift that we know as life in the manner we do. Each day we see a rebirth to this life, and are faced with the most serious question we can be asked. How do we live? Knowing that the majority of our religious education comes from one another in how we choose to answer this question of living; consider how you model the role of teacher? As our offertory song this morning from Rodgers and Hammerstein suggests – you have to be carefully taught. What would your students learn from you? How would they learn to live their life? Where do you connect with our values? Where do you fall short? From time to time, we all succeed and we all fall short. Each day that we see a rebirth to this life is a new opportunity to change, to grow and always and ever to teach.
Finding Our Voice – Bridging Sunday
Posted by revjudegeiger in Sermon on December 22, 2011
This sermon was first preached at the First UU congregation of Brooklyn on June 7th, 2009. It includes fond memories of being hit by a car, synchronicity and becoming an adult.
A week ago Tuesday, I got hit by a car. I was crossing Flatbush Avenue where it intersects Lafayette. I had looked both ways. I waited for the blinking walk sign. I had even counted to three before crossing, because the width of the avenue was frankly a little intimidating. Oh, and I wasn’t on the phone, or crossing between cars as some rumors have suggested. The driver was making a left turn onto Flatbush, so I really, really had the right of way.
Somehow I leapt onto the hood of the car and rolled with the impact. On Facebook I had to suffer folks making links ranging from ninjas to TJ Hooker (an 80‘s cop show with a lot of ridiculous car stunts.) I’m very grateful to be standing right now and to not have any broken or fractured bones. I’m almost more grateful Patrick won’t make me ascend to the high pulpit with my knee still bruised internally as it is. You may not know this, but those steps are tricky for me normally in my robe. I had fully expected to be borrowing that walking stick of Rev. Lathrop’s that Olive gifted to the congregation today. I’ll admit, I am a little disappointed that I don’t have the excuse to use it even for a little while now.
Many ministers, including myself, believe that the events that happen around us and our communities, have a tendency to be particularly relevant to what we say in our sermons. Whether it’s the action of the Spirit, or simply an expression of the broader trends we as a congregation face, they routinely are very apt. The happenstance of the walking stick gift only reinforces this belief of mine. It certainly opened my eyes to how difficult it is to travel even from room to room in our building. I knew the steps coming into the Sanctuary are tough for many, but I never noticed exactly how many rooms are only accessible by a few steps here or there.
So Luke – on this Bridging Sunday – I want you to know that I don’t exactly blame you for my run in with that wayward car; but I do fully expect you learn from it. My homily this morning will be a charge in light of this. I have three bits of advice, and one request:
First, do everything you feel you should, or need to, in order to take care of yourself. Whether that’s looking both ways in the street to avoid cars, or staying active in the gym or sports to care of your health, or keeping one day a week as a sabbath to rest from a very tough school schedule. Having received my first masters degree at NYU, I can honestly say that all three of things were very important components of my studies there. Take the time to figure out what your particular needs are, and allow yourself to attend to them. School will often seem like it’s trying to stop you from caring for the rest of yourself – don’t let it.
Now here comes the second bit of advice – when you do some or all of these things, know that it won’t always be enough. We’ll have our accidents and our lapses in health. People will always advise you on how you could have lived your life better. Sometimes they will be right, and sometimes it will just have been out of your control. It’s often hard to see the difference; and it’s usually a bit of both. Try to keep a sense of humor about it all as long as you can.
Resist the urge to think that bad things that happen to you necessarily have anything to do with you. It’s not always about you; even when it it’s hard to see how it’s not. Whether it’s the randomness of a wayward driver; or an extremely annoying professor whose grading system seems to change from week to week – and there will always be one; or the frustration of the role that luck plays in getting that next part on stage. Consider how rarely you make any personal decision based on the needs, actions, hopes, strivings or failings of everyone around you; and you can safely assume others will do so with as little frequency.
Lastly, after you get up off the ground from whatever it will be that will eventually knock you down, stay nimble and keep walking for as long as you can — despite the twitchiness. I’ll be honest, it’s been about two weeks since my accident, and I get so unnerved when I see a car take a turn even 5 miles over the speed limit. It’s natural, and I’m probably right to be concerned. But I encourage you (and myself) to not let the memory of the thing that scares us get in the way of our strivings. We all live by hope. Going to college is a time of a thousand new beginnings that breed possibility and growth. Move with and into them all as long as you can. More than anything, it’s what keeps us going.
I had said that I had three bits of advice for you and one request. Take care of yourself – really. Know that it won’t always be enough. And rely on hope to help you stay nimble. My request, is for you to remember your Unitarian Universalist identity. Know that we’re here. Know that we care. Make us what you need. There’s a myth that congregations are what they are, and never change to fit the needs of changing communities. The truth is that they’ll be able to speak new languages as long as they have members who are so fluent. If there’s something here that you need for us to be able to speak, be part of the conversation.
You may have already experienced this, or it might come up more frequently studying at a liberal school, but you’re going to find a lot of people in this City who share your progressive mindset; or who share your commitment to justice-making in the world; or who share your uncertainty about where the sacred begins and ends. And these people probably won’t identify as Unitarian Universalists. It might be an opportunity for discussion; or it might be a chance to show them our religious path that we oh so carefully keep locked and hidden away from others. But I want to caution you from thinking it means you’re not a Unitarian Universalist because they’re not.
We live in a culture where belief is equated with religiosity. I so rarely get the chance to use this word, so I will – I rebuke that notion. Belief is not what makes us religious — conviction and compassion are what make us religious. I see the challenge of faith to be one of how we orient our lives in the face of a broader reverence for being. When we say that life is sacred, we remember that it matters and it transcends us. My request for you, is to remember those values, and a respect for uncertainty that this faith continues to teach us all. As the words of our Bridging Litany read, “this is a transformative time.” Your relationship as an adult in this community will be different than it was as a child or a youth. This service and our tradition honors that transformation because life is sacred; because you have taught us so much in your years of religious education; because we are hopeful of the new paths we will all walk together. Luke – God bless you in your travels; we love you; and keep this faith.
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The Promise of Worth
Posted by revjudegeiger in Sermon on December 17, 2011
This sermon was first preached at First Unitarian in Brooklyn on August 2nd, 2009. It looks at our first principle as a covenantal promise.
“A woman in a village was surprised to find a very well-dressed stranger at her door, asking for something to eat. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I have nothing in the house right now.’”
What a curious predicament this story creates! All we know about the man with the odd soup stone, is how he’s dressed. Just a first impression really. But with it, a rock and some good clothes, all the folks in the village go from not feeling like they have anything to offer to being able to cook a meal for the whole town. It’s enough to make one want to carry a rock around with us all the time.
I’ve always liked this story for the rare tale of the charlatan who uses their charisma for the good; the sacred trickster who generates wealth and compassion rather than the type to siphon it away for their own ends. It reminds me of stories friends have shared who have benefitted from the random driver ahead of them who chose to pay their toll at a collection site, only to generate a string of folks paying for the next person behind them. Maybe nothing has actually changed if each successive driver still pays the same amount, but it makes a world of difference in how we see the drive. Then there’s my aggressive guerilla tactics regarding smiling, long lines, and Duane Reade. Sometimes they make me feel like the kind-hearted well-dressed stranger in the story, and other times like the villager who feels they have nothing left to give.
The story we heard this morning is a sad one in a way as well. It relays truthfully the world we live in when it reminds us of how much clout and status we give to strangers around us. There’s a message here that we all have something to give, but we so often give away that power to others with rocks in their hands and a smart set of clothes. It’s the internal voice that convinces us that everyone around us is smarter, or more skilled, more talented, or better looking. It’s the same one that loudly lies to us that others are more self-assured and confident. In case no one’s mentioned this to you today regarding self-assurance, (and it’s a message I need to hear just about daily to remember,) the other person is probably thinking the same thing about you. Most of us think we’re more of a mess than those around us; even and especially those who outwardly act like all the world is more a mess than they.
Of course, we will all go through times where we are particularly down from loss or illness, drawn out from work, or enervated from family. They are all realities in life that we will forever struggle with. But even in those moments, worth comes from within, even if it might take a stranger or a community to help bring that sense of self-worth back to the surface. The Soup Stone’s resolution involves a secreted exit for the trickster of the story, who leaves the very precious rock behind. The people of the village have been gifted with the magic they need to realize their capacity for giving. They are better able to see what they are able to offer to the world. I see them as better recognizing their own value. What they can only achieve from within, they are only able to do so by being in community; with a little good-hearted kick from the story’s roving trickster character.
So why do we do it? Why do we give rocks magical powers and think we have none of our own? Why do we so clearly see the value in others, and so often have a terrible time seeing the value in ourselves? Why do we all do it, and easily forget that that means the person next to us is also similarly struggling? How do we lift up the mantle of trickster in the story, and live that generosity for ourselves? That’s the religious question (or questions) for the day.
Our first principle states that we covenant to affirm and promote the inherent worth and dignity of every person. Often when I hear this first principle spoken about, it’s clear folks are very conscious of two of the three aspects to the principle that I find most important. One of those aspects crucially recognizes that we must stand on the side of love in our human relations. Every person is deserving of love and compassion. Just because we live, each of us are deserving of being treated with respect; regardless of race, class, religion, gender, sexuality or gender expression. Even though we don’t always succeed in this, this principle reminds us of our struggle toward that lofty and healing goal.
The second way I often here this principle applied is the clarion call that just like those we strive to support, we too are deserving of respect from others. We fight for others’ rights, and we struggle for our own. In this formulation, this principle reminds us that when folks are treating us poorly for our differences, we do not deserve it.
The third aspect to this principle I rarely hear mentioned is the obverse of the second way. If all of the rough treatments we may be subjected to by others is wrong, what of those we inflict upon ourselves? Who do we go to when our harshest critic and the most unjust judge is no one other than us? It’s the villager that believes they have nothing to give, when in fact they have so very much to give. We often hear the first principle as a justice issue; and it definitely is that as well; but it can be a pastoral issue as well. How do we convince ourselves that we deserve to treat ourselves as well as we expect ourselves to treat others? How do we teach ourselves to see the value we find in others within us as well?
I’ve been wrestling with these questions in relation to our seven principles. As Unitarian Universalists we are a covenantal faith. Rather than coming together based on a shared creed, we are a faith whose identity is based on shared commitments. As a tradition we first stand in relation to one another, rather than how much we agree with one another. Despite all this, we have structured our seven principles as beliefs. Yes, the wording for them all begins with us agreeing to “covenant to affirm and promote…” and yet they are essentially structured as affirmations of belief.
So how does this little aside, this sort of mini-UU primer, relate to the questions of how we teach ourselves to see the value we find in others within us as well? That question of the flip-side of the first principle and how we internalize it. Simply put, how can the principles be more than affirmations of static belief while offering a theological solution to the many intersecting questions of spirit and heart I’ve laid out this morning? I should say that if we were reading this sermon in a book there would be an asterisk next to the word theological. At the bottom of the page it would read something like, “Theological: how we find meaning in the world.” So, how do we orient ourselves in response to the religiously structured principles we covenant to affirm and promote?
I’ve been wondering how different we would engage with our principles if we saw them as religious promises, rather than simply religious beliefs. As a covenantal faith we focus first on our relations, so our core principles, in my estimation, ought to be similarly defined. A promise is a sort of belief that we extend out into the world between ourselves and someone else; although sometimes it is a belief that we commit to just with ourselves. And I’m talking here about the bigger ones. Like the promise a parent makes to their children, verbalized or implicit, in that they will raise and care for them with all their heart. It’s a belief that the parent typically holds to, and one that children usually believe – at least till our teenage years. The promise is lived between the parent and the child. It has as much power and substance as the maker invests in it. It’s deeply relational, and intrinsically predicated on belief.
So what changes? Our principles as written are somewhat action orientated already. Covenanting to affirm and promote is language of action, yet when you speak about them to most Unitarian Universalists, we internalize them as beliefs. For example, folks typically truncate the statement and say, “I believe in the inherent worth and dignity of every person.” Well, that’s a pretty good belief. One I happen to agree with. We may think of them as things we ought to also follow since we believe in them; but they tend to be expressed as beliefs first and actions second. So in some ways, visualizing the principles as promises could just be a re-clarification of what’s already written. To some extent, that could be enough in itself. I find that many of us struggle with explaining our faith tradition as non-creedal while conveying our core principles. When we forget they’re action statements, the line between creedal and non-creedal blurs. And if we’re trying to explain our religion to someone who’s not familiar with it, we might get a little tongue-tied here.
But I feel there’s more to hearing our principles as promises than simply that. Promises bring us back to the theological question. In the case of the first principle, our faith makes the bold statement that everyone has worth and dignity; including yourself; including myself. I promise you that your inherently worthy. You may not be feeling that to be the case at this moment because of something you’re carrying with you from work, or school, or how you acted on your way in here this morning. But it is a promise Unitarian Universalism makes. We’re not saying we’re forgiven, although we all need to be from time to time. We’re not saying we’re justified, or sinners, or lost or found. We’re saying we have worth, and we deserve to be treated with dignity; even by ourselves.
So in light of the question I posed before. “How do we teach ourselves to see the value we find in others within us as well?” Now we have the theological basis for a religious discipline. Do we choose to assent to the promise our faith puts forth, or do we choose to turn away from it? The three aspects of the first principle I mentioned also stand in relation to one another. Recognizing the worth in others; others recognizing the worth in us; and we recognizing the worth in ourselves. If the first two ways come more naturally to you – and I know they do for me; remind yourself of them when you can’t find anything about yourself to value. That’s the beauty of a promise made. They may be difficult to keep, but if they are made with integrity they plot a very honest course.
In this regard, the promise of our faith encourages us to live knowing that we believe in the people around us; that we are all deserving of a place at the table. Our story this morning ends with the exclamation, “Bowls for everyone. Then they all sat down to a delicious meal while the stranger handed out large helpings of his incredible soup. Everyone felt strangely happy as they laughed and talked and shared their very first common meal.”
We too often give up our self-worth to the judgements of others, and sooner place credence in magic rocks than believe unfettered we have something to contribute. The promise of our faith is the balm to this malady.
