First Parish of Watertown

Andrea Greenwood - “Is It True?”
Easter - April 4, 2010

Opening Words from the “East Coker” section of Four Quartets T S Eliot

I said to my soul, be still, and let the dark come upon you
Which shall be the darkness of God. As, in a theatre,
The lights are extinguished, for the scene to be changed
With a hollow rumble of wings, with a movement of darkness on darkness,
And we know that the hills and the trees, the distant panorama
And the bold imposing facade are all being rolled away-
Or as, when an underground train, in the tube, stops too long between stations
And the conversation rises and slowly fades into silence
And you see behind every face the mental emptiness deepen
Leaving only the growing terror of nothing to think about;
Or when, under ether, the mind is conscious but conscious of nothing-
I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope
For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love,
For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith
But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.
Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought:
So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.

Reading excerpts from “All That” David Foster Wallace, printed in the New Yorker, Dec 14 2009

Once when I was a little boy I received as a gift a toy cement mixer. It was made of wood. It was a simple toy-no batteries. It had a colored rope, with a yellow handle, and you held the handle and walked pulling the cement mixer behind you.

At some point, my parents led me to believe that it was magic. My mother idly asked me if I was aware that it had magical properties, no doubt making sport of me in the bored half-cruel way that adults sometimes do with small children, playfully telling them things, unaware of the impact those tales may have (since magic is a serious reality for small children.

The “magic” was that, unbeknown to me, as I happily pulled the cement mixer behind me, the drum went around and around on its horizontal axis, just as the drum on a real cement mixer does. It did this, my mother said, only when the mixer was being pulled by me and only, she stressed, when I wasn't looking. She insisted on this part, and my father later backed her up: the magic was not just that the drum of a solid wood object without batteries rotated but that it did so only when unobserved, stopping whenever observed. If, while pulling, I turned to look, my parents somberly maintained, the drum magically ceased its rotation. How was this? I never, even for a moment, doubted what they'd told me. This is why it is that adults and even parents can, unwittingly, be cruel: they cannot imagine doubt's complete absence. They have forgotten.

Months were henceforward spent by me trying to devise ways to catch the drum rotating. Evidence bore out what they had told me: turning my head around always stopped the rotation of the drum. I tried sudden whirls. I tried having someone else pull the cement mixer. I tried peering through a keyhole as someone else pulled the cement mixer. Even turning my head at the rate of the hour hand. I never doubted-it didn't occur to me. The magic was that the mixer seemed always to know. I tried mirrors-first pulling the cement mixer straight toward a mirror, then through rooms that had mirrors at the periphery of my vision, then past mirrors hidden such that there was little chance that the cement mixer could even “know” that there was a mirror in the room. My strategies became very involved. I begged my mother to take photographs as I pulled the mixer. I placed a piece of masking tape on the drum and reasoned that if the tape appeared in one photo and not in the other this would provide proof of the drum's rotation. (Video cameras had not yet been invented.)

Before bed, my father sometimes told me stories of his own childhood adventures. He had been the sort of child who set traps for the Tooth Fairy (pyramids of tin cans at the door and windows of his room, string tied from his finger to the tooth below his pillow so that he would wake when the Fairy tried to take the tooth) and other “mythical” figures of childhood, such as Santa Claus. In retrospect, I believe that my father was charmed by my attempts to “trap” the mixer's drum rotating because he saw them as evidence that I was a chip off the block of ad-hoc intellectual mania for empirical verification. In fact, nothing could have been farther from the truth. My father's tales of snares for the Easter Bunny made me feel sad. What did my father propose to do with the Bunny if he were ever successful in catching it? I couldn't ask. The world they saw and suffered over was wholly different from the childhood world in which I existed. I wept for them far more than any of the three of us knew at the time.

As an adult, I realize that the reason I spent so much time trying to “catch” the drum rotating was that I wanted to verify that I could not. If I had ever been successful in outsmarting the magic, I would have been crushed. My failure to trap it caused a mix of crushing disappointment and ecstatic reverence. Reverence is the natural attitude to take toward magical, unverifiable phenomena, the same way that “respect” and “obedience” describe the attitude one takes toward observable physical phenomena, such as gravity or money.

The toy cement mixer is the origin of the religious feeling that has informed most of my adult life.


Sermon Is it true?

During the month of March, there were strange happenings in the Harris house. Things were going missing. First it was Levi's glasses. He had no way to see. Then it was Dana's tomagatchi toy. We walked to CVS to get a new battery for this little virtual pet, but when we got back, it was gone. How could the digitized animal escape, especially without its battery? Then a book I was reading disappeared. The book that vanished was called “The Immortals.” Hmm. It was Lent; we were supposed to give things up. But we hadn't consciously done that at all. Perhaps the mysterious order of the liturgical year is more powerful than we have recognized. If we lack the discipline to commemorate the time of the Israelites wandering in the desert, or of Jesus praying in the wilderness, the external world kicks in, and demands that we recognize the season. I realized that while The Immortals had disappeared upstairs, the book I was reading downstairs also had the word “immortal” in the title. I decided that this must be a sign. How often does a person read a book with hints at eternal life in the title, let alone two at the same time?

I could have sworn that Flannery O'Connor, the mid-20th century writer from the American South, once wrote that “Of course Christianity is literally true. Otherwise, what's the point?” But this, too, has gone missing. I google searched her and the quote - but there was nothing. I have now read A LOT about O'Connor, as well as the words of various other people with something to say about Christianity and literal truth, and though I never found the sentence, I do feel confident that she would have said it.

What is the point of faith if it is not literal? I can't say as I ever believed it was remotely possible that the story about Jesus rising from the dead was true. I do not think the people on the road to Emmaus literally saw Jesus. Metaphors were both accurate and deeply meaningful to me. But this week, it seemed the rains prodded me: Perhaps these Biblical dramas were true in a way I hadn't considered; were more concrete than I had imagined them to be. It really can rain until all the earth is washed away. Think of the earthquakes in Haiti, and then in Chile. We live in houses with basements, in towns with 911 access; in the land of superstores with endless supplies of sump pumps. Can you imagine experiencing rains of these proportions without all of the protections we have here, and now? It would be a drama about life and death; and survival would mean starting over in a completely new way. Loss is not about things; items we have packed and stored away. It is about losing people we love so much that we don't know who we are without them. It is about the terms we live by suddenly changing so much, we don't recognize anything at all. We come blinded and blinking out of the cave, unable to adjust to the light, which simply has not been able to reach the places we have been. It is we who have to move. To adjust, and acclimate. The light doesn't find us so much as we need to learn how to see again.

I was surprised to learn that resurrection is not just a Christian idea. I don't mean the cyclical notion of dark into light; renewal, spring and rebirth. A recent book talks about resurrection as a Jewish concept with a distinctly physical element, in which we are given back our bodies after death. In other words, this is not a spiritual truth or a soul which continues in some invisible form. Jon Levenson, the author of the book, who happened to be my Hebrew Bible professor at the University of Chicago - Levenson says that this body-less concept of resurrection is Greek philosophy, and it has infiltrated traditional Judaism and Christianity, which originally were literal in their belief. Resurrection was both bodily and communal, and would create justice for those who had been oppressed in this life. Levenson explained that as prayer books were revised all throughout the 19th century, these beliefs were deleted, because they were incompatible with reason and the growing understanding of science.

One of his points is that resurrection is not about individual salvation; it isn't about life after death conceived as this same life you already have, only better. Resurrection is supposed to turn the world upside down; change our expectations in a fundamental way. It is a divine response to the problem of evil; to injustice. God miraculously intervenes and the oppressed are given new bodies and new life. When I contemplate a people whose entire history is one of suffering, this belief makes some sense to me. Reason and science haven't done much to save the poor, or end racism. But I think sometimes it takes a personal connection to stick with a new idea; to consider something which is foreign to our way of thinking. I might have dismissed this article if I had not known Jon Levenson, and if I had not been reading a book called “The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks.” This book is both a biography of a woman who died of ovarian cancer in 1951, and a glimpse at what it means to literally never die. Cells from Henrietta's tumor were successfully cultured and reproduced and have been used all over the world for research. Again, the immortality is not a metaphor, even though we are approaching the issue from the other side. This is science, not faith: A part of this woman who died in 1951 is still alive today.

I can't do justice to this story in life or in death, but I can tell you a couple of things it made me realize. One is that even though I still can't really believe in the kind of God who miraculously intervenes the way Levenson describes, I can see his point. Our talk of immortality is philosophical and truncated; even when we embrace new life, it is part of an expected ritual; part of the cycle of life. We will do it again next year. This implies we don't REALLY change; we just change within certain expectations; and will adjust again. The second thing I realized is that we tend to assume immortality is positive; that resurrection is a gift because life is a gift. But the cells of Henrietta Lacks which never die are the ones that killed her. The reason they can live in cultures in labs across the world is that they divide far too quickly. They are lethal, and that is what makes them immortal. None of her non-cancerous cells could or did survive.

Where these mirror images of resurrection - a positive belief in bodily resurrection through orthodox faith, and the negative reality of eternal life documented through cell research -where they come together is in the idea of justice. Levenson talks about the resurrection as a chance for a community which has been persecuted to be reconstituted without being vulnerable any more. And the story of Henrietta Lacks requires a painful examination of ideas about justice and power. Her cells made so much life-saving knowledge possible, they changed the world. But her own family lived with nothing; not insurance, not care, not even the knowledge that the cells existed. Physical resurrection asks how we are bound to one another in a very real world, where the consequences to our actions reverberate not just in our hearts or minds, but in where and how and even WHETHER we live.

Ever since Augustine we have had the ability to think about the interior life as real. When he wrote Confessions, he basically started the whole concept of a spiritual autobiography. The journey he took was completely invisible, yet testified to the kind of transformation that is possible when we truly examine our missteps in a way no one can do for us. We liberal religionists don't generally celebrate saints, but we have certainly absorbed Augustine's message and method. Without an examining committee or priest, and with intense focus on how we feel and what we have experienced, we can be reborn. We can start all over. Anything is possible.

But is it possible if everything is metaphorical? Augustine didn't think so. He wrote “City of God” to convince folks of the literal, awesome beauty of heaven - which made no sense to him if it wasn't real. There you will be your perfect self, in a direct relationship with God. And both you and God are genuine beings; not ghosts or souls or spirits. The important part of this image for me today is how external it is. The man who made the invisible journey so valuable never lost sight of the importance of the visible, shared world, where anguish and suffering were real and caused trauma that no one recovered from. The only possibilities are death, or transformation.

The other day, Mark and I took the boys to see The Secret of Kells. This is an animated film which gives a context for the creation of the illuminated manuscript, the Book of Kells, in a community of faith which is under siege from invaders. In the end, it is the brother who is open to the outside world - which genuinely does bring horror - the brother who goes out to meet the pain rather than fortifying against it is the one who is able to truly illuminate the sacred text. The words can't come alive and truly move us until a story is constructed that brings the whole community together, even if that cloistered group has been broken open and can never be contained again. The break has become part of what it means to tell the whole truth. And it is what allows beauty to be born.

In the midst of our suffering and our sorrows, we come to church this day to experience redemption. If we confess misdeeds; seek to do better; try to understand, accept what we have been given, we might be granted new life. But it won't be our old lives, or the lives we wished for; it won't be recognizable. That is why we must do it together, among those with whom we share a faith. Because as light breaks out over the darkness each of us wanders in; as we emerge from the caverns where our old lives were tossed, none of us can see very well, and we need each other’s hands.
-

Spoken Meditation

Let us join our hearts and minds in the spirit of prayer.
We can be so weary. Made of dust,
Or clay.
We WANT to do what is right; our spirits are willing
But we are tired. We are so busy. There are so many demands --
Some we put on ourselves, some that truly must be met
We have so little control and so little that is truly our own.
And so we want to be doing more, we mean to be helping…
but maybe the first thing we need to do is help ourselves.
We seek some inner peace.
And so the time comes for action, and we settle in, and protect what little reserves we have.


But the opposite is true, too - we go to sit quietly and meditate; to think alone;
To pray
But find we are distracted. There is work to do - dishes, laundry, tasks
If we are lucky, jobs
That call us to move and rush and be in the world.
We are not at peace.

How can we win?
Let us try, for a moment, right now.
Lay your burden down.
Let hope for something new begin in you

It is Easter
a morning which creates a bridge between heaven and earth
when we are not so sure of who lives
or how
but something is being re-made
Maybe it is us
We are both nothing, and beautiful
Dust,
Catching the light


Let us walk in beauty,
And begin to remake the world as it should be

Amen


Closing Words e e cummings

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)"

“Denying for Love” Mark W. Harris

First Parish of Watertown - March 28, 2010

Call to Worship – Mark 14:66-72

And as Peter was below in the courtyard, one of the maids of the high priest came; and seeing Peter warming himself, she looked at him and said." You also were with that Nazarene, Jesus," But he denied it, saying, "I neither know nor understand what you mean." And he went out into the gateway. And the maid saw him , and began again to say to the bystanders, "This man is one of them." But again he denied it. And after a little while, again the bystanders said to Peter, "Certainly you are one of them, for you are a Galilean." But he began to invoke a curse on himself, and to swear, "I do not know this man of whom you speak." And immediately the rooster crowed a second time. And Peter remembered how Jesus had said to him: "Before the rooster crows twice, you will deny me three times." And he broke down and wept.

Story for All Ages - "The Naughty Shoes" - from The Netherlands

Reading - from Atonement by Ian McEwan

Sermon - “Denying for Love” Mark W. Harris

My son Dana’s school bus was late on Friday morning. As the minutes ticked by, and our older son Levi was long gone, we knew there was a problem. So I called the bus company, and asked where the missing bus was. They had not heard from our regular driver, and so they ended up sending another bus causing Dana to be very, very late for school. Asher’s bus is from the same company, and, as you might guess, his bus was very late, too. Frustrating conversations with the bus company were only the beginning of the story though. Eventually our regular driver called with tears in her eyes to say she had just been fired. Yet it turned out that she was sick with strep throat, and had told her boss previously that she could not drive. The boss in turn had told her to drive anyway, but not tell the parents. She wanted our driver to lie to cover up the possible exposure of the children to illness, and just keep working. She allegedly said, “I can’t afford to lose this contract.” The well being of her driver, the health risk to the children were all secondary to the money she earns from our town. Then when the driver slept in, and didn’t call, he was summarily fired. Now we could report the behavior of the owner of the company to the school, but it would merely be a “she said, she said” kind of situation, and the owner would almost certainly deny that she ever said, “don’t tell the parents you’re sick.” We deny the truth or twist the truth to protect ourselves against perceived harm to life or livelihood.

Friday morning’s incident was a reminder that denial in one form or another is always entwined in the fabric of our lives. The topic for today emanates from my personal concern and interest in the case of Nancy Kerrigan’s brother Mark who apparently assaulted their father a couple of months ago, perhaps in a drunken outburst, and then the father died two hours later. The case is made especially public because of the fame of Olympic figure skater Kerrigan who won medals, fought with and was victimized by Tonya Harding and her cohorts, and hails from Stoneham, just up the road. After the father died, the brother was arrested on assault and battery changes, and there was speculation that he could even be indicted for murder. He was then sent for psychiatric evaluation. Finally, the family made a statement to the effect that the homicide ruling from the father’s autopsy was not accurate, and they were going to do everything in their power as a family to uphold the brother’s innocence. Of course I don’t know all the details of this case or of the family’s history, but the bare details reminded me of so many families I have known, where a child or parent has an addiction issue, and the family is torn between doing everything they can to help and protect their loved one on the one hand, but also realizing on the other hand that his or her behavior wrecks havoc within the family, and it is thus impossible to ever feel safe, or relaxed or free because you are always on guard, or always protecting or rescuing your loved one, or always denying that something is seriously wrong and needs attention. One of the news reports said, “These parents seemed like they were trying to do the best for this guy and it looks like, from appearances, that he turned on them." Where do you draw the line? Our first response to a loved one is to help in every conceivable way, but what if their behavior is destroying our finances, other relationships in the family, and literally taking away the very sanity of our daily lives because we are always doing one more thing to take care of them, and neglect taking care of ourselves. Sometimes protecting our loved one, means we enable our loved one, and in the end no one is protected. The problem with this denial is that it is carried out with the best hopes and intentions that everything will be all right. We are denying for love.

Denial is, of course, one of many defense mechanisms we all use to help us deal with anxiety in our lives. We feel we must find ways of coping with an unpleasant reality or truth that we either want to ignore or refuse to believe. Just the other night it began raining hard in the middle of the night. Andrea and I both awoke around 3:30 a.m. I think I can say that with some assurance that fear and anxiety filled our minds. We both asked ourselves in our own way, “What if the basement is gong to fill up with water again?” As it pelted against the windows we could probably both see another two feet of water flooding the cellar, as we had just experienced with the consequence of ruined appliances and other items. There was the cold water, the pumping, the wet walls, and the cleaning. This was a legitimate question, and there was no way of denying that it was raining. The denial was in the refusal to go look at the basement, and the feeling of not being able to bear seeing such flooding again. The irrational denial is expressed as, “if I don’t look, maybe it won’t happen.” This is the same response we feel as when a loved one does some seemingly insanely dangerous act, and we say, “I can’t watch.” I remember a couple of summers ago my son Dana saw Andrea seemingly caught out in the bay in a sail boat in Maine, and he turned to run up the stairs to our cottage yelling. “Mom’s going to die, and I can’t watch.”

Dana was trying to protect his own psychological well being in a stressful situation. He was not ready or capable of dealing with such a painful reality. He was saying, Mom can’t really be in trouble, and it will all go away if I am not watching. And, in fact, Andrea was not in trouble. She does not get into trouble! Denial protects us from the overwhelming feelings that we think we cannot cope with. I think we may all experience this with a diagnosis of an illness. When a shoulder or a knee gives us pain or discomfort over a long period of time and refuses to relent, there is often a certain denial at work in going to the doctor in the first place. We often say that the pain is not so bad, or I’ll get over it. We may even cope by trying to live with it because we are busy denying the anxiety we feel over the ramifications of actually finding out there is something wrong with us. Denial is something I also associate with inner feelings, especially anger. In my family of origin it was inappropriate to express anger or negative feeling, except for the occasional outbursts that no one could ever address in any manner. When we come from these kinds of families then it is hard to know how to express these feelings, and I know that if I have them, it always feel like the extreme outburst that will end in disaster or in everything falling apart. Because of this anxiety of where anger will take me, it is much better in my view to hide the anger, and deny that it exists at all. This is like the stereotypical Englishman who has all feeling under complete control, and can just be morose, negative and depressed.

With denial we may deny that something is happening, or we may deny that we played any role in an incident, or to save our situation we deny that we said or did something. This as we know is also possible on a large scale. The Kerrigan family may be denying what the brother has done in order ot protect him, but the Catholic church in Ireland, and the Pope deny the ramifications of sexual abuse by priests all over Europe. The denial is a refusal to admit knowledge, and even the apologies are couched in terms that lead to no tangible actions or changes in the church. They want forgiveness without the mandate of actually doing anything about what they have done wrong. We see denial with a whole group of scholars who want others to believer that the Holocaust never happened. Is this due to anti-semitism or shame for what your fellow countrymen or family members have done or is it something else? Locally there is no more relevant example of denial than the Turkish inability to admit to the Armenian Genocide. Nobel prize winning Turkish author Orhan Pamuk had the courage a few years ago to say in a newspaper interview, “Thirty thousand Kurds and a million Armenians were killed in Turkey. Almost no one dares speak but me, and the nationalists hate me for that.” For that he was accused of high crimes. The press attacked him for dishonoring the Turkish state and incitement to racial violence. He has been called a liar, and a miserable creature. We have to wonder what the Turks are fearful of hiding. Why is it so hard to reach the truth?

Whether it is the national or the personal, we know there is a truth present that is too uncomfortable to accept, and so we reject it instead. We may deny because it is so private we do not wish to share it with others. We may deny because we simply cannot accept that amount of pain that acceptance would bring to us. When children do not seem quite normal, we may deny their issues by saying everyone has a problem. We may say things will get better using denial as a false belief that in time it will all change. We may believe that some people will not notice, and so we work to make everything appear ok. We may be able to deny the problem exists by focusing on another child or another activity so that we do not have to think about it. We want so much for them to be normal and ok that we may not even be able to ask ourselves the question, what is wrong? And then maybe after time and multiple traumas, the denial finally ends, because we have no other choices left, or we see things have gotten so bad we have to accept the truth.

There was a recent editorial in the Boston Globe called “Forgive Me,” by Karen Shepard. She details how she had to reject the pleas of her father who was addicted to crack cocaine. He asked her for money, and ultimately she said she loved him, and for that reason she could not give him the money. Her story had a happy ending of rehab and reconciliation before he died. The inclination in all of us is to help, and to be there for our loved ones at all times. But we have to weigh the price to be paid. There is the struggle between all we wish to be and have and know, and we may deny the reality because it may reflect what we fear is true, and it is too much to accept.

The story of Jesus being denied by Peter is perhaps the most famous story of religious denial. He has three opportunities to face the truth that he knows Jesus. He denies him each time. In a way he is like the bus company owner who will deny to save her skin. Peter perceives that admitting that he knows Jesus is tantamount to a death sentence. They will kill me if they believe I am a cohort of this radical. He denied his love and friendship. But he also wasn’t ready. Denial is a way of buying us time so that we can cope. And we want to cope. We do love, and we do try, but people are flawed, including ourselves, and sometimes we make bad choices. Accepting the problems we see in others can’t come until we accept ourselves and our own fears, especially of what we might lose.

Jesus died and Peter’s denial was part of the drama. Yet this is the Peter who becomes the rock of the church. He just wasn’t ready yet. Later he found his courage. Just as we can find the right time, too. He found his love. He lived up to the truth, and found that he could speak the truth of his message in love. And ultimately that cost him his life. But he didn’t die in denial. He died in love. I think that is probably what we all aspire to. We don’t want to intend to deny the truths in our lives. They simply are too painful at times. And we need time to find the ability to face up to what we have denied. We have to see what we gain when we sacrifice for love rather than deny. Our eyes are finally wide open. Peter’s sacrifice meant he could become that rock, that truth that once was hidden when he denied Jesus. We do sacrifice all that we dreamed would come true. We do sacrifice our image that we are perfect. But it never was the truth. It is like a church offering. We give up part of our goods or what our hard work has earned. And when we deny something we are often working very hard to protect and to save. We all want to take care of ourselves and our loved ones, and we need to do it, at least for a time. But to sacrifice that work eventually means we serve a greater good. There are deeper and more fulfilling results. There may be new life and freedom for us.

When we deny for love, we can never fully love. We may feel good about helping, or protecting, but the evident loss or flaw is never accepted, and it escalates. We may use all our strength to keep our lives together, but it holds our souls captive. The Irish writer John O’Donohue says we need some glimmer of outside light to reach our eyes, to help us recognize that we have fallen for a vampire. The vampire is the calm reassurance that we all want things to be fine. But when we deny the truth of the rising water in our basement because we don’t want to look, and we just keep baling, then we know we are being sucked dry by that vampire. Beyond that denial is the love we truly want, or as O’Donohue concludes, “That your lost lonesome heart, Might learn to cry out, For the true intimacy, of love that waits, to take you home. To where you are known, And seen and where, Your life is treasured, beyond every frontier, of despair you have crossed.”



Closing Words - “The Journey” by Mary Oliver

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice –
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
“Mend my life!”
each voice cried.
But you didn’t stop.
You knew what you had to do.
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations –
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice,
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do –
determined to save
the only life you could save.

Duffy Peet - "Cycles of Renewal"

First Parish of Watertown

Worship Service on March 21, 2010

Call to Worship

“We Bid You Welcome”

We bid you welcome, who come with weary spirit seeking rest.
Who come with troubles that are too much with you, who come hurt and afraid.
We bid you welcome, who come with hope in your heart.
Who come with anticipation in your step.
Who come proud and joyous.
We bid you welcome, who are seekers of a new faith.
Who come to probe and explore. Who come to learn.
We bid you welcome, who enter this hall as a homecoming.
Who have found here room for your spirit.
Who find in this people a family.
Whoever you are, whatever you are, Wherever you are on your journey,
We bid you welcome.

Reading


From: The Adventures of a Nature Guide

By: Enos A. Mills

As I climbed out of the dwarfed wood at timberline in the Rocky Mountains, and started across the treeless white summit, the terrific sun glare on the snow warned me of the danger of snow-blindness. I had lost my snow glasses. But the wild attractions of the heights caused me to forget the care of my eyes and I lingered to look down into cañons and to examine magnificent snow cornices. A number of mountain sheep also interested me. Then for half an hour I circled a confiding flock of ptarmigan and took picture after picture.

Through the clear air the sunlight poured with burning intensity. I was 12,000 feet above sea. Around me there was not a dark crag nor even a tree to absorb the excess light. A wilderness of high, rugged peaks stood about–splendid sunlit mountains of snow. To east and west they faced winter’s noonday sun with great shadow mantles flowing from their shoulders.

As I started to hurry on across the pass I began to experience the scorching pains that go with seared, sunburnt eyes–snow-blindness. Unfortunately, I had failed to take even the precaution of blackening my face, which would have dulled the glare. At the summit my eyes became so painful that I could endure the light only a few seconds at a time. Occasionally I sat down and closed them for a minute or two. Finally, while doing this, the lids adhered to the balls and the eyes swelled so that I could not open them.

Blind on the summit of the Continental Divide! I made a grab for my useful staff which I had left standing beside me in the snow. In the fraction of a second that elapsed between thinking of the staff and finding it my brain woke up to the seriousness of the situation. To the nearest trees it was more than a mile, and the nearest house was many more miles away across ridges of rough mountains. I had matches and a hatchet, but no provisions. Still, while well aware of my peril, I was only moderately excited, feeling no terror. Less startling incidents have shocked me more, narrow escapes from street automobiles have terrified me…. I was blind.

With staff in hand, I stood for a minute or two planning the best manner to get along without eyes. My faculties were intensely awake. Serious situations in the wilds had more than once before this stimulated them to do their best. Temporary blindness is a good stimulus for the imagination and memory–in fact, is good educational training for all the senses. However perilous my predicament during a mountain trip, the possibility of a fatal ending never even occurred to me. Looking back now, I cannot but wonder at my matter-of-fact attitude concerning the perils in which that snow blindness placed me.

I had planned to cross the pass and descend into a trail at timberline. The appearance of the slope down which I was to travel was distinctly in my mind from my impressions just before darkness settled over me.
Off I slowly started. I guided myself with information from feet and staff, feeling my way with the staff so as not to step off a cliff or walk overboard into a canon. In imagination I pictured myself following the shadow of a staff-bearing and slouch-hatted form. Did mountain sheep, curious and slightly suspicious, linger on crags to watch my slow and hesitating advance? Across the snow did the shadow of a soaring eagle coast and circle?

I must have wandered far from the direct course to timberline. Again and again I swung my staff to right and left hoping to strike a tree. I had travelled more than twice as long as it should have taken to reach timberline before I stood face to face with a low-growing tree that bristled up through the deep snow. But had I come out at the point for which I aimed–at the trail? This was the vital question.
The deep snow buried all trail blazes. Making my way from tree to tree I thrust my arm deep into the snow and felt of the bark, searching for a trail blaze. At last I found a blaze and going on a few steps I dug down again in the snow and examined a tree which I felt should mark the trail. This, too, was blazed.

Feeling certain that I was on the trail I went down the mountain through the forest for some minutes without searching for another blaze. When I did examine a number of trees not another blaze could I find. The topography since entering the forest and the size and character of the trees were such that I felt I was on familiar ground. But going on a few steps I came out on the edge of an unknown rocky cliff. I was now lost as well as blind.
During the hours I had wandered in reaching timberline I had had a vague feeling that I might be traveling in a circle, and might return to trees on the western slope of the Divide up which I had climbed. When I walked out on the edge of the cliff the feeling that I had doubled to the western slope became insistent. If true, this was most serious.

Sermon
Cycles of Renewal
By Duffy Peet

Does it ever seem like you are just going around in circles? I know I have had the experience many times in my life. The memories that stand out most are times when I was temporarily disoriented. Sometimes people refer to it as being lost. Whether it was hiking in some beautiful setting in nature like the fellow in the reading or driving in an unfamiliar city, the experience was the same. In an attempt to find my way, I would head in a direction that I thought would get me to where I wanted to go only to find some time later that I would be right back where I had previously realized I was lost. Thankfully, in all of those situations I eventually found my way. My example demonstrates that the phrase “going around in circles” is sometimes used to refer to a situation where no real progress is being achieved; kind of like being on a merry-go-round or a Ferris wheel. The difference is that it isn’t fun. The phrase going around in circles then isn’t generally perceived to be positive. Instead it is common in our culture to think of making progress as getting from one point, here, to another point, over there. As soon as one point is reached another point becomes the next goal or destination to achieve. What comes to mind as I think of moving from point to point is something I learned in High School geometry class. The Geometry teacher taught us about a mathematician from the third century BCE named Euclid. Euclid developed some postulates that help us measure all sorts of things. One of the things I learned in class was that the shortest distance between two points is a straight line. Euclid didn’t just consider points and straight lines though he also considered shapes such as circles. He recognized that nature didn’t seem to value the shortest route more than a longer route from one point to another. It seems to me though that our culture often puts a higher value on the shortest or fastest way of getting from one point to another. I want to hold up the importance of going around in circles; the importance of cycles and the role that cycles play in our lives, and in particular our spiritual lives.

Let us reconsider the question I began with; Does it ever seem like you are just going around in circles? Well, if it ever seems that way let me reassure you that you are correct. You are going around in circles. In fact, we are all going around in circles. We live on planet Earth that is constantly spinning on its axis. The spinning gives us the cycle of the day. Further, the Earth rotates around the sun. The full cycle of rotation we call a year. All of us are going around in circles all of the time. Without the spinning and rotating it is very likely that life as we know it would not exist and possibly our planet wouldn’t exist either. So let’s take a moment then and be thankful for going around in circles and the cycles that allow us to be here. From this perspective, the idea of going around in circles and the cycles that are involved seem to have much more value than getting from one point to another point in the shortest, fastest way possible. Taking the circuitous route can have some real advantages at times. Now, let’s consider whether taking a longer, slower approach may be advantageous in our search for truth and meaning as we are on our spiritual journey through life.

Moving away from mathematics and the sciences, it may be helpful to consider some of the perspectives on, as well as the importance of, cycles in various religious traditions. In a twenty minute sermon I can’t hope to cover a large number of traditions or explore any religion in any depth. I will give only a very brief overview of concepts in five of the major religious traditions. The religious traditions that are most prevalent in the U.S. are based, to one degree or another, on the Hebrew Bible. It is often referred to by Protestants as the Old Testament. The religions of Judaism, Christianity and Islam all find their origins in this ancient sacred text. People who follow these religions are considered to be “people of the book.” Unitarian Universalism has roots in the Judeo/Christian tradition as well. One cycle that is evident in the Hebrew Bible involves the relationship between humans and the divine. The Hebrew Bible relates that humans have a special relationship with God. That relationship, however, becomes strained because of human behavior that is displeasing to God. Eventually, avenues of reconciliation occur and the relationship is renewed. The cycle of renewal is seen in numerous stories contained in the Hebrew Bible. Christianity and Islam each represent an aspect of the renewal cycle. In the Christian tradition the life and death of Jesus offers all people an opportunity to be in right relationship with God. Within the Islamic tradition the prophet Muhammad has a similar role between humans and God. It is believed that he delivered God’s messages to the people that they may know how to live in a manner that is pleasing to God. All three of these traditions also share cycles of renewal that include regular and specific days of communal worship. Our worship service on Sundays is an example of such a renewal cycle.

While there are a very large number of people in this country that identify with the religious traditions associated with the Hebrew Bible there are also significant numbers of people whose beliefs and practices are based on other traditions. To consider a different perspective on the way certain cycles of renewal are viewed in some other religious traditions it might be beneficial to look to Hinduism and Buddhism. Just as Christianity and Islam developed out of Judaism, Buddhism emerged from or, possibly stated more accurately, developed in response to the practices and beliefs of Hinduism. A significant element of Hindu religious belief involves the concept of Samsara. “Samsara is the idea that one’s present life is only the most recent in a long chain of lives extending far into the past.” The Hindu perspective asserts that during one’s lifetime each person has specific work or deeds to accomplish. Such work is referred to as karma. The ultimate goal of doing the work is release from the world and a break from the repetitive cycle of rebirth. Release from the world is called moksha.

The Buddhist tradition also asserts that there is a cycle. It is referred to by names such as the “Wheel of Becoming” and the “Cycle of Existence and Continuity.” Like Hinduism, Buddhism asserts that it is important to achieve release from the cycle of returning. The First Noble Truth of Buddhism is often stated as “The Noble Truth of Suffering.” According to this Noble Truth, everything in human life involves or leads to suffering. The Buddha taught that release from suffering could be attained through proper “seeing, knowing, and understanding.” Some people may see a correlation between our UU Principle of “A free and responsible search for truth and meaning” and the Buddhist teaching regarding “seeing, knowing, and understanding.” What is clear is the connection between the Hindu and Buddhist perspective regarding the cycle that human life is a part of. Both of these religious traditions hold that a person or a person’s karma goes through lifetime after lifetime. Both assert that the ultimate goal is to escape from the cycle. As such, the renewal of the cycle is viewed negatively while the termination of the cycle is viewed positively. Here is an example of religious traditions desiring an end to a certain type of cycle. What is interesting to note is that both traditions teach that right thinking and right action can eventually end the cycle and lead to the release that is the ultimate goal. Our sixth UU Principle speaks to a goal but it is not for release from the world. It is “the goal of world community with peace, liberty and justice for all.”

Each of these religions holds a place in our Unitarian Universalist heritage. Both
Unitarianism and Universalism emerged from the Christian tradition. Hindu teachings influenced numerous Unitarians who were involved in the Transcendentalist movement during the 19th century. Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau read sacred texts of these Eastern religions and their own religious development was significantly impacted as a result. Thoreau went so far as to write that “It would be worthy of the age to print together the collected Scriptures or Sacred Writings of the several nations, the Chinese, the Hindoos, the Persians, the Hebrews, and others, as the Scripture of mankind…Such a juxtaposition and comparison might help to liberalize the faith of men.” I would note that while Thoreau was at the forefront of those seeking to liberalize the religious thought of his time, he had not yet realized the importance of using more inclusive language instead of speaking only of mankind and men. In spite of his limiting language, he, and others like him were calling for a review of religion as it was practiced in our country. He recognized the importance of renewal in religion and in the lives of people.

It seems to me that cycles of renewal are as important in our lives today as they have been in times past. The third of our Seven Principles of Unitarian Universalism speaks to “Acceptance of one another and encouragement to spiritual growth in our congregations.” While it may not be evident that this principle speaks of cycles, I would suggest that in order for spiritual growth to occur, there must be renewal and that the growth the principle refers to frequently occurs as a result of cycles. For example, our service today is part of both a weekly cycle as well as an annual church year cycle of worship. From my conversations with many of you I have heard the important role the church plays in supporting you when you feel uncertain, lost, or discouraged. These are the times when people need to feel not only supported and cared about, but also renewed. Our gathering together on a weekly basis offers the opportunity to return to a place we are familiar with, a place where we don’t feel lost but instead feel found. Our gathering together also challenges us to expand beyond what we are familiar with, to go into that which is unknown to us.

In my time at First Parish I have learned that many people here have come to Unitarian Universalism from other faith traditions. I have heard some of you say what you found here is a place where your children can explore and discover there own spiritual path in life, a place where they aren’t being told what they should believe. I would imagine that what led some of you to this faith was a sense of being lost and a need to find your way again. I would guess that whatever route you have taken to Unitarian Universalism and to First Parish included circles or cycles of one kind or another. For many of you there were likely times during your journey when you needed renewal. That has certainly been true on the path that brought me here. I would like to share with you some of my journey and the cycles of renewal that I have experienced. I hope that sharing my story will invite you to look more closely at your own religious journey.

Like some of you I came to Unitarian Universalism from another faith tradition. In fact, I have come to Unitarian Universalism from another faith tradition twice in my lifetime. During my late teen years and into my twenties I was active in the United Methodist church of my hometown in Michigan. My senior year of college I did the field placement required for my social work degree through that church. One aspect of my work through the church involved my making the announcements and doing the readings during the Sunday morning worship service. Every week I would be up in front of the congregation. Near the end of my field placement the minister asked me about what post-graduation plans I had. I hadn’t yet thought past graduating. He then proceeded to share with me that there were people in the congregation who were willing to pay my way through theological school if I was interested in becoming a minister. I was surprised and somewhat startled by his statement. I told him that I was appreciative of the offer but that I believed my professional path would lie in the field of Social Work. At that point in my life I couldn’t imagine myself becoming a minister.

Soon after graduating I was hired for my first professional job. I began working as a caseworker at a psychiatric hospital in Rockford, Illinois. Not long afterward I became involved with the UU church there and my perspective on religion opened up dramatically. I found a faith that was actively involved in witnessing to social causes and focused on making this world a better place for all. After four years in Rockford I moved to attend graduate school. I stopped attending church. In the two years I was away at school the church changed ministers. When I returned to Rockford after graduation there was significant disagreement in the congregation about the direction the church was now headed. Eventually the discontent led to a split in the congregation. While the church was undergoing a period of significant upheaval and change, I was introduced to the spiritual traditions of the Sioux. A friend asked if I would be willing to be his support person on a Vision Quest he would be undertaking. I agreed to do so and traveled with him to South Dakota. There I was introduced to three Sioux elders. They began teaching me about their traditions. They helped open my eyes to new ways of seeing and perceiving. They provided support to me in my spiritual quest. There was, and still is, significant controversy among the Sioux about allowing people of other ethnic backgrounds to take part in their sacred ceremonies. Significant fear and anger exist because of what the dominant culture in our nation has done to Native people and their culture. Most people in our country aren’t aware that there was a significant period of time when some of the spiritual practices of the Sioux were outlawed. To be invited by the elders to learn their spiritual teachings and traditions was an honor for me. Eventually the elders who were my teachers died. The safe space they created for my participation in their sacred ceremonies died with them.

Eventually, I was drawn back to a Unitarian Universalist congregation. At the time I was living in northwest Montana and the congregation there was calling their first minister. Coincidentally, that minister had been a member of the Rockford church during the time I had attended there. My call to ministry came as I was reintroducing myself to our faith. I thought that the decision in my twenties not to go into the ministry had put an end point to that path. As you can see, I was wrong. I wasn’t on a straight line path. Instead, my journey was a large circle. I am thankful for the circle and for the cycles of renewal that have been a part of it. I am thankful that I have at times felt lost. In being lost I discovered that there were multiple options of how to find my way again. I found that the traditions and perspectives of others could help me in deciphering my own path and in honoring the cycles that are present in all life.

Some of you have shared bits and pieces of your own journeys with me. With many of you I haven’t yet gotten the chance to learn about your spiritual wanderings and wonderings. Over the remainder of my time here at First Parish I hope to hear from more of you about the path that you have travelled. Through the course of my life I haven’t yet found anyone who has reached the ultimate end-point of a religious search. I know I haven’t reached the end of my own. The people who were most helpful in my search were those who assisted me in recognizing the cycles and the circles that are so prevalent in life. With their support and guidance I have come to respect and honor the circles and the cycles.

Whether by intention or by happenstance I believe we will all find ourselves going around in circles. Whether we perceive those circles positively or negatively, the possibility for discovery, learning and growth is ever present. Just as new growth emerges all around with the advent of spring, we too may experience rejuvenation through the cycles of our religious journey. In your journey through life I hope that you will be blessed with frequent and bountiful periods of renewal and that you may not feel lost for long. May the circles you travel widen and deepen your comprehension of the religious and your experience of the divine.

May it be so.

“He’s the One” - Mark W. Harris

March 14, 2010 - First Parish of Watertown

Call to Worship #640 (Responsive) “The Beatitudes” from (Matthew and Luke)
(Note typo in hymnal in last line, the congregation needs to say, “You are the light of THE world.”

Blessed are you poor. The realm of God is yours.

Blessed are you who hunger today. You shall be satisfied.

Blessed are you who weep today. You shall laugh.

Blessed are the humble. They will inherit the earth.

Blessed are the merciful. They will find mercy.

Blessed are the peacemakers. They will be ranked as children of God.

You are the salt of the earth. And if salt becomes tasteless, how is its saltiness to be restored? It is good for nothing.

You are the light of the world. When a lamp is lit, it is not put under a bushel, but on the lampstand, where it gives light to everyone in the house.

Reading from Nickel and Dimed by Barbara Ehrenreich

Sermon - “He’s the One”

Jesus Is just alright with me, Jesus is just alright, Oh yeah, I don’t care what they may say, I don’t care what they may do, I don’t care what they may say, Jesus is just alright. Well, that drone of mine is not exactly the Doobie Brothers who made a top 40 hit with the song “Jesus is Just Alright” thirty-eight years ago. One of my favorite groups, the Byrds, also released the song as a single a couple of years or so before the Doobies, but for some reason, it did not top the charts for them. It is a gospel song written by Arthur Reid Reynolds and first recorded by him in 1966. The implication was that Jesus was alright, not merely ok, but alll right! This was the phrase we used for someone or something that was cool or hip. And he looked the part to many long haired sixties political radicals. The classic depictions of him walking around Galilee in a flowing robe with a beard and long curls down to his shoulders was perfect. He was also a liberator. There was a book that appeared at the time called Jesus the Zealot that tried to associate him with the radical group depicted in scriptures who are trying to overthrow the Roman Empire by armed rebellion. They are zealous for God, and so was he. After all, he is the only figure in history who is considered a founder of a major world religion who was also executed by established authority.

About two weeks ago Asher and I were walking down Marshall Street on the way to the library. We were talking about our favorite toys. After he had shared what he liked, I mentioned my old favorite of theirs and mine when they were little. This was the object or mission of our shared summer in England in 1999 when we exchanged pulpits, houses and cars with the Baker family from Sheffield, and went to Britain in search of Thomas the Tank Engine. Years ago Andrea spent hours making elaborate lay outs of wooden tracks, and I memorized all the names, numbers, colors and associated personalities of these little wooden trains, led by that faithful true blue engine, Thomas. I also loved the odd little accompanying stories written by an Anglican clergyman. The discussion Asher and I were having soon ended, and a few moments of silence ensured. Then I began to sing spontaneously, “He’s the One, He’s the One, (hum), The number one.. . ” Without prompting, Asher asked me, “Are you singing about Jesus?” I had to laugh because of course I was singing the Thomas the Tank Engine theme song, and this might have been clearer if I had added, “He’s a really useful engine, the number One.” I told him no, it was Thomas’ song, the “other” one that we adore, but it was interesting to me that he had assumed that I as a minister, would be singing about Jesus. Was he my number one?

That, as you may know is always a perplexing question for Unitarian Universalists. Are we Christian or not? For some that may seem like a moot question. You may have joined a Unitarian Universalist congregation to leave Christianity behind. You wanted something less dogmatic and creedal, and more affirming and reasonable in a faith. You may have also assumed you were now part of an eclectic religious movement where many great religious traditions were equally respected and drawn upon for religious sustenance. We have people who grew up Jewish who find the strong ethical commitment, and the oneness of God and a human Jesus appealing in UUism. We have people who are attracted by the non theistic, non attached and introspective faith they find in Buddhism, and so they identify as UU Buddhists. But sometimes in our mission to affirm all the world faiths, some of us continue to remember our negative experiences with Christianity. We conjure up images of sin, fear and guilt and all powerful deities that we were told were gunning for us when we were kids . This week the Boston Globe featured an article on the declining use of the confessional by Roman Catholics. Many of you lived in a time when the power of the confessional was great. I remember my friends telling me they made up the most violent and sexually debased stories about themselves to shock the local priest, but they still went regularly. In UU circles we sometimes have tolerance of all faiths except Christianity because of people’s negative experiences, and so sometimes the reaction is similar to one that our former minister David Rankin wrote about in his sermon, “Confessions of a Unitarian Christian.” After a sermon he gave in Philadelphia on Christian symbolism, he went to a sermon talk back session, where he found a man pounding on a table and screaming, “We have a free pulpit in this church, and we don’t want any of that Christian garbage!” (1)

When we do that though, we fail to show respect for those people both within and without Unitarian Universalism who consider themselves Christian. Many of you have heard me give sermons on my childhood experiences with Christianity. My thirst for knowledge and the free spirit of inquiry were stifled by the literal interpretations of the Bible taught like pabulum by my matronly Sunday School teacher, and by the fiery righteous preaching that threatened eternal damnation spewing from the pursed lips of a straight backed parson. In her book Nickel and Dimed, Barbara Ehrenreich tells of attending a tent revival in Portland, Maine, where the preacher exhorts the people to believe in the risen Christ in order to go to heaven. She states that the focus on Jesus as savior makes the people neglect what he actually had to say, and that a social commentary on his teachings might provide lessons in income inequality, the need for a higher minimum wage, and we might add, health care for all. Jesus died, the preacher might have said , because of his passion for God, and God’s justice. Every summer we see a tent erected next door to a fundamentalist church on the road between Owl’s Head and Rockland, Maine. This independent church, called God’s Light House, has found their own brand of salvation, and the part time preacher is a local contractor we have employed for building projects a couple of times. His Italian sounding name probably reflects a Catholic background, but now he has found Jesus, but usually the Jesus of these revivals is not the social prophet who was a critic of what Marcus Borg calls “the domination system of his time that channeled wealth to the few and poverty to the many.”

I rejected that “Jesus Saves” understanding of Christianity, but that does not mean that my experience with Christianity then is an accurate or even fair measure of the faith. Good, loyal Christians today might well say in chorus with me, I don’t believe in that kind of Christianity either. And while that kind might be Fundamentalist or Catholic or Orthodox, does that have to mean we must reject Christianity? It is important to remember that there are many loyal Unitarian Universalists who affirm both their Christian heritage and their continuing Christian faith today. Unitarianism and Universalism are both ways of thinking about God and the meaning of life that have always had a presence in the history of Christianity, and both were condemned as heresies. They date to the years closely following the birth of the Christian Church, but it was a millennium and a half before they took organized institutional form. There were always those Christians who preferred a more human Jesus because having a relationship with him, and following his way was more important than worshipping him. There have also been those more skeptical Christians who respond to a rationalist element in their approach to faith, and they wanted to test truth claims that others made. These heretics were mostly engaged with this world and living ethically in it, rather than focusing primarily on what would get them into the next world and the afterlife. Their God was a loving god who wanted people to be happy. Their Jesus was a human teacher who wanted to show the way to godly living. And they believed that people had natural abilities to join in communities to build a better world. Even Ralph Waldo Emerson, the Transcendentalist leader, who rejected Biblical miracles, and his own background in Unitarian Christianity said in his sermon The Lord’s Supper that Jesus is an instructor of man. “He teaches us how to become like God.” He goes to say that “a true disciple of Jesus will receive the light he gives most thankfully; but the thanks he offers” is not in “commemorations” or the like, “but the use of that instruction.” (3) Emerson went even further in the Divinity School Address, where he said that Jesus, was “alone in all history” in estimating “the greatness” of people. Moreover, Emerson believed that God was incarnate in all of us, and that what was special about Jesus was that “One man was true to what is in you and me.” (4)

In fact it was this brand of Unitarian Christianity that first captivated me, and for a long time I called myself a UU Christian. First of all I think I felt the UU equivalent of born again when I learned that there was a type of Christianity that didn’t teach sin and damnation, but instead taught love and human possibility, not beliefs and creeds but deeper relationships and social change. Then I not only wanted to claim this faith, but I wanted to pass it on to others. It was almost evangelical. So I became a minister, who could spread the word, if not by conversion, at least by implying that we have a pretty good thing here, and you might like to try it. And with that 1960’s heritage of Jesus as my radical friend who taught equality and justice, I thought I had come home. I found a Christianity where I could claim what was of value to me, while rejecting what was damaging. With Jesus, I could affirm his “essential humanity out of the morass of adulation.” There is a verse of the original song “Jesus is Just Alright” that goes “Jesus, he’s my friend; He took me by the hand, led me from this land,.” Those words remind me of the dream I had while I was in seminary and was feeling anxious about my potential as a minister. At least once in a prior sermon I told you how in this dream I was walking along a pathway surrounded by dessert sands. But I was not alone. I was walking side by side with Jesus, and in that dream he said to me, “Don’t be afraid. I am with you. I am at your side.” I took it to mean that I would not be alone in this calling of religious leadership in a harsh and uncaring world. It felt like someone was taking me by the hand. This was my faith until a very few years ago.

During those years in the ministry, I was often concerned about using the identifying label Christian. Some of that was because of the stereotype of Christians that I carried from childhood of the big daddy in the sky God, who controlled everything, and would give me what I needed as long as I was a good boy. Some of that was also because of what I perceived Unitarian Universalism to be. Most Christians were Trinitarians, and rejected our participation in church councils or Christian groups because we do not accept Jesus as Lord and Savior. I didn’t want to belong to a club that wouldn’t have me as a member. Even within the UUA, where many of the Christians wanted to label their churches as Christian churches, I felt like even though I as an individual was a Christian, that labeling one of our free churches a Christian church was a violation of our very reason for being. To me, saying we are a Christian church would exclude all those members who wanted to identify their primary faith as non Christian or simply Unitarian Universalist -meaning free, and open to learning from many faiths, and not bound to one perspective. I felt there was a potential exclusiveness there that made me uncomfortable. So I felt all that ambivalence that strikes many UUs. On the one hand, it is part of our history, and part of our culture. We come from a Christian heritage, but I also recalled how Universalists defined themselves as Christian and more than Christian. There was the Jesus of history, but there was also the culture of domination and imperialism, and the faith itself that was often oppressive, exclusive and misogynist.

The confusion that was brewing in me at that time in my life presented an even greater challenge when I was struck by an ocean wave in Maine, and nearly killed. The Christianity I had claimed had been comfortable and acceptable, and I realized that this confrontation with death was forcing me to test every cultural facade and personal self-preoccupation that I had lived by. I had lived by a role, by what I thought a minister should be, rather than ministering from my authentic self. It was a false sense of self created by culture. Frederick Buechner says it is where we live our lives from the outside in rather than from the inside out. Out of that wave, I rejected my Christian label - God, the Bible, Jesus and everything I had associated with it. I stripped all my faith away, and started over. But now all these years later, there is still something powerful tugging at my heart.

Christians, especially those Christians whom we typically say are not like us liberals, have that experience called being born again. It may seem alien to us, but it really is a dying to an old identity, and being born to a new identity, a new way of being in the world. I realized that this is a process that continues throughout a lifetime. As a child I bullied others when I could only see myself as the fat boy who felt bad about himself. But then someone taught me how to run, and I found a salvation in athletics. As a college student, I found my jock friends didn’t seem to care about important issues like war and peace, and civil rights, and so I found all new friends. Later I found strength in relationships, and ultimately tried to turn from ways in which my life seemed a lie, rather than a living truth. Being true to my heart, seeking meaningful relationships, and striving to build a world that is radically inclusive are not simple things. And of course that is ultimately what is so challenging about the Christian message. As Stephen Kendrick, my colleague at First Church, Boston says in a UUA pamphlet, “Nothing has ever been simple about Jesus. He confounded and confused people in his own time”, and so today, we “are still wrestling with him, his message, and the tradition that claims him as God.” (5)

So I have found in this journey that Jesus still haunts my dreams. Jesus is alright. I don’t care what they may know. Jesus is just alright. What I know is that the memorized Bible verses of my youth are still deeply engrained in me, and when I want comfort I recite the 23rd Psalm. It feels like it is written on my heart. I don’t seek some Christian label anymore, but I do know if I am honest with myself that despite the rejections by others, despite the worship of the crucified deity, I find the truth of Jesus’ life the most profound and inspirational truth I could ever attempt to follow. Unitarian Universalism needs a broad and inclusive message. I would never change that, but each of us also needs personal inspiration and challenge. When I remember that troublemaker Jesus knocking over the moneychangers tables, I feel a kinship. We are constantly confronted with the injustice of this world, and it is in our hands to bring a measure of justice. We are just beginning to understand his radically inclusive message. He was given the name Lord because that was one of Caesar’s titles, too. He was taking it on as his own, but in a radically different way. He said feed the hungry. He said help the stranger. He said love must be revealed not in words, but lived in the world. And when we spend time on the margins with those who are in need, or when we are challenged to the very core of our being, then our hearts can be opened. Now we are on the road to Easter, and the challenge remains if we can be born into a new way of living. Will this life of peace, of forgiveness, of radical equality, of love for one another come into our hearts?



Closing Words - from Richard S. Gilbert

I hope he’ll be remembered --
Obscured by centuries of violence,
Clouded by countless creeds,
Dissected by a thousand scholars,
Preached from a million pulpits,
Mouthed by a million lips,
Crucified by willful distortion
And innocent ignorance.
I hope he’ll be remembered
In simple, unadorned humanity.

Notes:

1. David Rankin, So Great a Cloud of Witnesses (San Francisco, 1978), 65.

2. Marcus Borg, The Heart of Christianity (San Francisco, 2003) 91.

3. Atkinson, Essays of Emerson, p. 115

4. Stephen Cook, Selected Prose of Emerson, p. 60.

5. Stephen Kendrick. “The Faith of a Unitarian Universalist Christian,” UUA Pamphlet (Boston, 2004)

“What is Worthy?" Mark W. Harris

March, 7, 2010 - First Parish of Watertown

Call to Worship – from Ralph Waldo Emerson

A person will worship something - have no doubt about that.

We may think our tribute is paid in secret in the dark recesses of our hearts -- but it will out.

That which dominates our imaginations and our thoughts will determine our lives, and character.

Therefore, it behooves us to be careful what we worship, for what we are worshipping we are becoming.


Chair Dedication:

In the Book of I Chronicles in the Hebrew Scriptures, King David collects furnishings and treasures for the temple that his son Solomon would build. All houses of worship need memorials and treasures and furnishings - chalices and chairs and portraits that remind us of where we come from and where we see the beautiful and the good. They play a part in shaping the worship experience as the presentation and reflection of our religious home. They become community touch points that we might sustain our lives together in fellowship and conversation, covenant and celebration and consider together what is of ultimate concern to us. Today we dedicate new sanctuary chairs, a sea of blue where we would make a place for all the men and women and children who come here that they would find a spiritual home with these people, within these walls. May we find comfort and solace in times of need, inspiration and hope in times of conflict, and laughter and friendship in times of celebration in these chairs that hold our bodies in this place of rest and renewal.

(Stand, and face your chair) In gratitude for the hard work and sacrifice of all those who have contributed to this chair campaign, we say thank you. (Thank You) To the symbolic making of a place for all those people who seek out a religious community here, we say welcome, sit with us (Welcome, sit with us). In honor of those hearty souls who renewed this building as a house of worship in 1975 by decorating with red chairs, we now renew our dedication to this community and its new blue chairs, and we say, We dedicate these chairs to the ongoing life of the First Parish of Watertown (We Dedicate These Chairs to the Ongoing Life of the First Parish of Watertown). May they be soft enough that we would feel comforted in our pain. May they be hard enough that we would stay vigilant against injustice. May they be beautiful enough to rest our eyes. May they be bright enough that we might see clearly on a pathway to peace and understanding, as each of us leaves these four walls, and goes forth into the word. And we all say Amen. (Amen)

Reading – from Dakota by Kathleen Norris


Sermon

Some years ago I was a sometime fan of a stupid little comedy skit that first appeared on Saturday Night Live. It was called Wayne's World. It featured two crazed teenagers named Wayne and Garth who broadcasted a TV show from Wayne’s parent’s basement. I admit I used to laugh over the stupidity of these two, who loved heavy metal music and were always talking in a predictably sexist way about “babes.” They have frequently come to my mind over the years because Garth was played by comedian Dana Carvey. He was one well known male named Dana, whom we could tell our son Dana about so he would stop complaining so much that we gave him a girl’s name. Wayne and Garth, who went on to make a couple of movies, contributed a few catch phrases to pop culture. One of these was usually repeated more than once when they felt inferior to someone or something that they reverenced with deep affection, but they perceived that they were not good enough to even lick the person’s boot laces. And so for instance, when musician Alice Cooper appeared with them once, they bowed before him with arms outstretched, repeating, “We are not worthy, We are not worthy!”


Self-worth is something many of us are considering frequently. Am I good enough? Of course there are many things in our culture that fuels this feeling that begins to surface at a young age. Even in Dana’s case, it is possible that something as simple as a name will make him feel unworthy. He has been told that Dana is a girl’s name. Consequently people will think he is a girl. So many of us go through life trying to prove our worth as men and women. We live in a competitive culture, and our worth is verified by receiving the accolades of others. We draw a picture or write a poem, and we want to share it with others, and hear them say it is worthy. This continues as we grow and age, so that having a good education, a good job, a house, a lasting relationship, and possessions all verify that we are worthy before others. And then even if we end up feeling very comfortable in our own skin and shoes, and are satisfied with our lives, we know it can all change in a flash with a job loss, an illness, a death. So as life changes we continually ask ourselves, what is worthy of my life and energy? While we may no longer ask, am I good enough, we may well ask, is this the life I want to be living? Is it worthy of me and my values, and if not, how can I live those values?

Worship is also about measuring worth. Yet when we interject that word worship, some Unitarian Universalists get anxious, even in their new seats. One can sometimes see this even in the words we use for the order of events that happen every Sunday morning. Those on the more Christian end of the spectrum in our congregations will tend to refer to this piece of paper as an order of worship, and those of a more humanist persuasion will be more likely to say, order of service. The reason for that is often related to the perception of that term worship. Like Wayne and Garth’s groveling before some cultural icon, many Unitarian Universalists may recall a time in their lives when it felt like they were being asked to prostrate themselves before some deity who had deemed them sinful, was judging them saved or damned, and had minions on earth who were charlatans or hypocrites. They are not about to pay homage to this controlling tyrant who they do not believe in any more. Worship to them connotes bowing down to some non existent deity, and they simply are not going to do that. So they are often rebelling against the use of the word worship, and they’ll say service thank you. And because historically Unitarian Universalists have been a people who choose this faith rather than inherit it, there has been a significant amount of rebellion.

Yet if worship only meant paying due homage to a deity, then most of us would not be here. And, in fact it is not what it means at all. The root of the old English word worship (weorthscipe) is worthship, that is consider things of worth, or even to shape things of worth. Religion itself is a word that means to join or reconnect, and thus worship is the central activity of religion because it is through worship that we reconnect with worth. We celebrate, or we are reminded, or we aspire to those aspects of life that we consider worthy. So when we ascribe worth to an idea, a value, a vision of how the world could be, we are worshipping. (1) This broadens our initial idea of worship as worshipping some God, but it does indicate that we are worshipping something or someone. This is of course what Emerson implies in the call to worship. We will worship something. Whatever is ultimate to us will become the focus of our rituals of reverence. As Annie Savoy says in the movie Bull Durham, “I worship at the church of baseball.” Others may worship at the golf course, with the Sunday morning paper, or on the forest pathway.

Our own particular form of UU worship comes from the Puritan tradition. It has its own context and history, even if our theology is vastly different. Just as many of our members come to a UU church in rebellion from the forms and words of worship they experienced as children, so too, the Puritans service had a sincere emphasis on simplicity in rebellion against the more elaborate and sacramental forms of worship found in Anglican and Catholic liturgies. The focus was also different. Like most Protestant faiths, the center of worship was not the altar where Christ’s sacrifice was reenacted, but rather upon the pulpit where the congregation heard the spoken word. God spoke through a revelation and that revelation was recorded in a book. The words of the Bible filtered through the mouths of preachers proclaiming the Good News. So our services have always been filled with words. The meaning and value of words as each person understood them from the written page superseded the traditions and the interpretations of the church and its priests. The emphasis became how you respond to the word, and what worth do you find in it? Thus the Puritan churches had a strong teaching element in their worship. This meant there were actually pauses in worship to explain obscure passages in scripture. The equivalent would be if you raised your hand while I was reading a poem by say Wallace Stevens, who to my taste is a bit obscure, and you asked me what is he talking about?. Then the central part of the service, the sermon was meant to be the explication and application of a scripture passage to the people’s lives. Here in New England this was followed by a period of questions from the congregation to clarify and understand its meaning in their own lives, what we might call the sermon talk back. Then some lay members even stood up for “prophecying” what the Word meant and how it was fulfilled in their own lives. (2)

So even the Puritans, who struggled with a sovereign Calvinist God wanted to understand how they could apply the inspired words of scripture and make their own lives worthy. Simply speaking, they wanted to understand how they could love God and each other more, and create a holy commonwealth. How are we going to live together? Over the centuries this pattern has evolved in Unitarian and Universalist congregations. We still spend a lot of time proclaiming the word. Some might say too much.. The Word for us has become what we sometimes refer to as a loose leaf Bible, where all written words have the potential to be scriptures, if we deem them worthy, and especially if we can use them as sources of teaching and inspiration. Words also have a time and place. Our theology or religious faith means we do not wish to mouth words that we do not believe are true, or no longer have worth in our minds and hearts. Historically, members did not wish to sing hymns that had references to damnation or sinfulness or the Trinity. Later they did not wish to sing hymns that referred to converting the pagans, or that affirmed the hegemony of Christianity. The tunes were still reverberating, but the words had to reflect what was true and worthy in their lives. Our faith is one that teaches that all people need to be included, and that all faiths need to be respected and reverenced equally. So they slowly changed the words. A generation ago, women especially wanted to be affirmed equally to men, and so people began to question the references to mankind and God the Father, and we learned to use inclusive language or else provide a wider variety of metaphors that could affirm whole groups of people, so that no one pretended that all were equal, when some were really more equal than others. And finally, like those Puritans we believe that some people, who are not clergy, are wise in the ways of applying things of worth to their lives. We, too, want to hear them and make sure that a variety of values and ideas are proclaimed and shared. In good liberal fashion we believe there should be a free search for truth, and so we hope the words of worth we hear in the service will be talked about, and argued about, and wrestled with, and even affirmed, so that all of us in our diversity of opinion can feel listened to, and understood, and ultimately can grow spiritually from the experience so that we better understand what is of true worth to each of us. (3)

If worship is about discovering things of worth in life, then isn’t it true that these could be discovered and experienced anywhere with anybody? Annie Savoy talks about that church of baseball, and you may talk about experiencing God in the sunset over the Atlantic Ocean, or feeling a oneness of spirit in the quiet of Zen sitting in a meditation hall. We can worship and raise up the things of value in all life anywhere we want, can’t we? Yes, we are able to do that, but it does not capture the fullness of life in quite the same way as the experience of worship with a congregation. As Emerson says, we will worship something as a natural human predilection, but in community we are called to a complete experience that gives access to both the vertical and horizontal dimensions of life. Christians would say this is expressed through the symbolism of the cross. For us, we consider the horizontal, and look up or within, or to some deeper spiritual place that we might consider ultimate. Seeking the ultimate we want to know what is the meaning of life and death, what is the purpose of your life, the nature of human nature, our stewardship of the planet, and what are the enduring values I want to live by. All of these aspects of life surface when we consider life’s deepest meaning. We might call this dimension to mind through prayer or sermon or readings. For example, we close our eyes in the shelter of a meetinghouse and ask God for strength when a loved one is ill. Or we hear a sermon about a man who planted all his own vegetables and showed his son how to take care of the soil, and together they harvested what they needed for their family and gave away the rest. Or we heard a reading about a minister in France who organized his town to protect every Jew in it, so that none would be taken by the Nazis.

These represent enduring meaning- connection with the life spirit, caring for the earth, sacrifice for others. They are all things of worth that could be learned in private prayer, or by being involved with your children or reading a book. So why worship in community? In community the prayer becomes corporate so that it is made with every other person in the room sending you the strength of their prayers and their connection to the spirit and to you. The value of caring for the earth could be spread to a community that desires to protect and nurture its children, and the love for and valuing of others contributes to a movement for peace offered to a world in conflict. Worship addresses the horizontal as well as the vertical. The intimate as well as the ultimate. This is about connections and relationships and community. This community element of worship happens by singing together with all generations. It happens in joys and sorrows when we share the triumphs and tragedies of our lives with a caring community who hold us up no matter what the event. And it happens with the offering, where we acknowledge our freedom to give to the church of our choice, reminding us that we will not bound by chains of coercion or oppression. Here through the ritual of worship we renew our bonds with each other , and in turn our connections and bonds with a wider world in a vision of peace and justice. Moreover, the horizontal and vertical intersect, as they do on the cross. And so when I draw closer to someone - I feel a love for others, and thus I see a purpose beyond myself. And then when I draw closer to the mystery of life, I feel connected to others and to all of life.

In the book Dakota: A Spiritual Geography, Kathleen Norris writes of how the music in church was everything to her was when she was little. It speaks of the intersection of horizontal and vertical. It is an experience of praising God or the spirit of life, but it is done in the context of connection with others. We feel worthy in that context because we are not alone against the threat of a menacing world. We are one of many who sing in common voice. As a church community we may act in common spirit to help someone else near or far with our stand on the side of love, and that love is exponentially stronger with the more of us who are there calling for a oneness of spirit or a universal affirmation of a loving spirit in each and every one of us. After a number of maturing experiences, Norris comes back to her original vision that we go to church to sing, and theology is secondary. I agree. This is not a veiled attempt to pay homage to our music director. It is simply an affirmation that reminds us that singing together is a wonderful example of the human yearning for spirit that we do together. It happens no where else in life in quite the same way, and ultimately it is symbolic of our longing to be together reverencing all the joys and sorrows that make it a wonderful life, and give us the strength to carry on.

In 1838 Ralph Waldo Emerson was worried about the future of the life of the spirit in Unitarian churches, and he shocked the Unitarian world with his sermon, The Divinity School Address. In that sermon, he said, “And what greater calamity can fall upon a nation than the loss of worship.” He said Americans had devolved to worshipping trifles. I suspect there are times when it seems our culture entices us to worship trifles, or insignificant things - celebrity and shopping. These are things that are not worthy of all that is beautiful and true and right, our own UU trinity of worthiness. This is a canvass sermon that is really a sermon about worship. But worship is the center of any church’s life - not merely for good music, or good preaching, or a good RE program, but worship is representative of all the values we hold most dear - that the great mystery of life resides in everyone, that all people deserve to be listened to, valued and loved, and that all of us together must build a world founded upon justice and peace. In Religious Education we try to teach that. In preaching we try to show that, and in music we try to embody that. We hope being part of this worshipping community will focus your religious emotions, clarify your ideas, and reinforce your commitment to the life and values we hold in common. May the experience help you understand what is of true value in your life, and that you would choose to support this church because it upholds those values, and gives you and your children a community in which to sustain them. Thus you might go forth strengthened to cope with your own challenges, with greater understanding of others needs, and ready to make a contribution to a world that needs your faith to make it more loving and just. Your pledge would be a personal response to all the worth this community brings to your life, the life of others, and the life of the world. (4)

Together we sing and talk and learn, and celebrate our lives, and this great faith of ours. This church deserves your continued and committed support. It is our vision of what the great life can be. In 1986, I attended a General Assembly in Atlanta. The preacher for the Service of the Living Tradition that year was Dana McLean Greeley, the former president of the UUA. He was definitely a man named Dana. He was dying at the time, an old preacher giving his last public address before he succumbed to cancer. His topic was, Have We a Dream,Too? It was a reference to Martin Luther King’s famous sermon asking the living Unitarian Universalists if they had their own dream of a life of equality and justice. He wanted to assure us that we must carry on this dream, and he was not going to get to the promised land with us, just as King did not. Greeley had marched with King in Selma. That night his voice was stronger than his body, and it felt like this congregation hung on his words, feeling they might be his last, but they were also empowering him to say the words. They were his voice, just as the spirit was his voice, too. It seemed in this worship service the horizontal and vertical met. That may not happen very often, but when we sway to the music, or cry tears of relief or longing, or recall the power of a loving community to keep us dreaming of a world made fair and one, we know we have not lived in vain. We are each other’s voices, each other’s strength, each other’s dreams. We are worthy.

Closing Words – from Martin Buber

One should hallow all that one does in one's natural life.
One eats in holiness, tastes the taste of food in holiness,
and the table becomes an altar. One works in holiness,
and raises up the sparks which hide themselves in all tools.
One walks in holiness across the fields, and the soft songs of all herbs,
which they voice to God, enter into the song of our soul.

(1). Christopher Gist Raible, “Common Worship -- Why and How?,” Commission on Common Worship. (Boston, 1980), 1. ; Congregation of Abraxas, “Worship” (Overland Park, Kansas, 1979)

2. John von Rohr, “Worship in the Puritan Tradition: An Historical Statement,” Occasional Paper, Pacific School of Religion (Berkeley, Oct. 1976)

3. Raible, p. 3.

4. Conrad Wright, Walking Together (Boston, 1989), 40.