First Parish of Watertown

“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.

“Dodge Ball Faith” by Mark W. Harris

February 21, 2010 - First Parish of Watertown

Call to Worship - from Mark Harris

Season of darkness and winter,
You have brought us cold, north winds, and chilled bones and bodies. We long for relief, and look to the threshold of warmth that beckons us.

The candles of worship we ignited here helped us to welcome the seasonal stranger that we feared, and brought warmth to our hearts, even as the coldness reminded us of desires unfulfilled, memories of regret, and losses endured.

In the crackling of those flames, the embers of new life have emerged from the ashes of the past, and we have come out of the darkness whole. The glow within each of us reminds us that we have been blessed with many gifts - and so we hold the chalice of our life journey before the altar of love, and celebrate this community and the relationships we create together here, and the power of hope we share to carry on with strength and vision for the days ahead.

Reading from My Name is Asher Lev by Chaim Potok


Sermon “Dodge Ball Faith” by Mark W. Harris

My son Asher has been very involved with karate for the past few years. Generally he seems to enjoy it. I have also concluded that it is good for his emotional and physical development. I think it is important that children have outside interests that keep them growing in body and mind and spirit, and I want him to continue to advance toward the attainment of a black belt, which as you probably know is the highest achievement in this discipline. . BUT, there is a bit of a catch here. There is a dark side to karate. Asher now attends a weekly weapons class. Yes, weapons. While we are not talking about machine guns, the idea is still a little unsettling.

So the lovely symmetry of movement, coordinated, fluid steps and dance like motions that made it somewhat acceptable before has been superseded by regular combat between the students where the goal seems to be to defeat, overcome, subdue, and basically beat the crap out of the other guy. Yet this is simply an example of a concern that has been present since he started. If Unitarian Universalism had an Antichrist, the opposite of our peace loving, democratic ways this method of teaching would be it. I find karate to be militaristic, autocratic, rule driven, violent, dogmatic and coercive. These words that karate evokes from me are not typically ones I associate with UUs. Even the few rules we do have are often overly scrutinized and subjected to authority issues. While we focus on asking questions, karate merely tells you what you must do. At karate if you are a minute late, then you are subject to fifty sit-ups and possible public humiliation. Here if you are a minute late you might be congratulated for being on time, as many others will amble in five or ten minutes after the projected start time. No, my friends, this church is not like karate.

Yet karate is like church in some ways, or does some of what church should do. It teaches Asher many valuable tools that will help him in life. He learns discipline, and hard work. He takes responsibility for learning his lessons and then practices them. There is a progress through the ranks, but it comes at each person’s own pace. There are relationships with peers and adults through camaraderie and mentoring. So karate, like many things in life, teaches many positive lessons for living, while also giving pause because it promotes values that seem antithetical to what I believe, and to what we promote in this church.

Not long ago I witnessed a different scene at the Dojo. Instead of the sensei teaching forms, there were more than a dozen boys and girls dashing to and fro in the Dojo playing dodge ball. It seemed like a fun break from the usual karate discipline. Kids were running around like mad, whooping and hollering and obviously having a great time. Some kids got smashed with the ball, and others escaped harm altogether.

Nearly a decade ago dodge ball was getting a bad rap. It was called the scourge of the playground, and many schools banned it because it was perceived as too violent. Picture images of kids in circles throwing balls at each other, running, yelling, laughing, and yet there were some kids who pursued this game with violent intentions. Dodge ball is also called murder ball, and some consider it an incubator for aggressive or even violent behavior later in life. There was a law suit in New York by parents of a girl who fell and broke her elbow. On the one hand you might think that this is an absurd overreaction to a harmless playground game. We might say, its just kids having fun, or at worst children learning the hard knocks of life in an aggressive, competitive, dog eat dog world. Yet we all know the playground can be very nasty, and there are those children who pummel others. And this is a game with a human target, not a basket or a goal. We have all seen children gang up on others, and purposefully try to hurt them because they were new or different or weaker or had violated some behavioral code, apparently like the girl in South Hadley, who was taunted and bullied into submission, leading her to commit suicide. So maybe deciding how we feel about dodge ball reveals a little about what we believe about life. Is it basically safe, and fun, with some healthy competition and agreed upon rules; or is it a small scale version of Lord of the Flies?

Do you remember how to play dodge ball? Think about the movements. Once in a while it seems useful to stay still. You can hide behind those who are about to get hit, or you may not get noticed like the person who is streaking in front of the one with the ball. They will see the movement and fire away, and you will not get hit. But generally speaking it is not a good idea to stand still because you won’t win. You will be an easy target. So the ones who stay still are the losers. This fits a traditional Unitarian Universalist view of the world. Just this past week, Duffy was asking me about a much quoted phrase that goes like this: “Universalists are often asked to tell where they stand. The only true answer to give to this question is that we do not stand at all, we move.” By this, Universalist minister Lewis Fisher meant that we never affirm one position as final, but are open to new truths, and never stand still at all. Then he goes on to say, “we are not staying to defend any position, we are on the march.” This begins to sound like you can’t defend anything, and makes you wonder about the moral discipline of the position, except to keep moving on, onward and upward. But this sounds superior: we are evolving, moving forward; changing with the times; winning. What does life feel like when it is reduced to the need to survive by moving? Is there no time to rest; to savor our days?

Early in the 16th century Christianity came apart at the seams. People with money were buying their way into heaven with the purchase of indulgences, and the church was getting rich, while the wealthy were assured of salvation. Protestantism emerged because reformers like Luther and Calvin were disgusted with the moral corruption of the church. Ultimately they changed Christianity by affirming that people were saved not by what they achieved in the world with money or good works or even by character, but instead God saved people by grace alone. God accepted people for who they were, period. No achievement necessary. We just have to believe, and feel God’s stirring in our hearts. Unfortunately, they said only some people were saved, not all. Of course, people were anxious. How would you know if you were one of the elect? Our Protestant forebears slowly but increasingly came to say that salvation was dependent upon what kind of success people achieved in the world. Worldly success was a sign of God’s favor. Unitarians began to spend less time thinking about God, and more about life in this world. Sometimes this was devoted to making the whole world a better place, but often it was about achievement: wealth, education, and culture all became associated with Unitarianism.

Then along came the Universalists. They were different. Instead of looking at human achievement as a sign of God’s favor, Universalists believed that all of us human beings had failings and failures, and that God loved us anyway. They did not say that competition and aggression could be educated out of us, but simply accepted that life is not about displaying our status in God’s eyes or our own.

Here is the problem as I see it. If a person is the one with the ball in dodge ball, we can think those who move successfully and win the game really are the winners. The Unitarians were often in this position - in control and able to win. Therefore, they were superior and allowed to make rules for the rest of us. Historically, they were also the ones who would say dodge ball throwing is evil, and should not be allowed. Good people should not allow these aggressive traits to be made manifest. That is probably appealing to someone who has been victimized by a dodge ball, but it has a couple of flaws. First, it fails to recognize that people are not just minds. We have bodies that have dodge ball energy in them that they need to get out, and a discussion of different paths to heaven just won’t do. I need to get physical. Second, this is a position of assumed privilege. It denies the possibility that dodge ball can be fun, healthy, exciting and perhaps even a theater for life skills, and implies a need to protect us from our own human tendencies toward aggression and competition. Meanwhile, that competition continues to exist in more refined ways -education and economics.

When I saw dodge ball at the Dojo, I was thinking it was just like life. You run, you hide, you duck - and sometimes you get nailed anyway. There are times when stillness is what is called for. Or firm commitment to a position. With thought, my metaphor broke down. Dodge ball doesn’t work well for those who don’t move. Unless you’re the one with the ball. Then you can safely rest and control everyone’s actions. If we apply this to the world, how can we not think about those who are kept running and jumping and never, ever win? There are those who get hit over and over again - because the outward signs tell us they should be. People of color. People who are poor. People with disabilities, infirmities, illnesses. Maybe when we win at a game - even the game of life, it is not really a sign of God’s favor. It is simply human power. And that means maybe when we suffer, that is not a sign of failure, either. It is a sign of our humanity, and of our need for one another. If salvation comes through grace, the humble targets of dodge ball seem likelier to make it to heaven.

In the novel My Name is Asher Lev by Chaim Potok, Asher wonders if his gift for drawing has come from the source of evil and ugliness. Can beauty come from evil? What is wanted of us? How do we use our gifts? I have struggled with these issues of dodge ball. Should I run to the bigger and better church placement, and doesn’t that bigger place with the higher salary tell me I am more worthy? Do we hurl the balls of competition and success, as we watch and admire the perfection of the skater or the cool tenacity of the skateboarder, as they seize Olympic gold. What can I expect from my children? Don’t I just want them to be happy? What if it is one burden after another placed on your back? Then don’t you long for a little success? Remember when Jesus talked about trying to remove a speck from someone else’s eye, while failing to see the log in your own? How careful are we with the logs that blur the vision of seeing what others are going through, even as we describe our own success?

Dodge ball faith helps us see the world for what it is. We all desire achievements as signals we are worthy. We all hurl balls to make our way in the world. We all must flee the balls thrown by others so we are not hurt in significant ways. The privileges we have are many, and perhaps there is some evil in seeing the oppression of others, while enjoying the fruits of competitions. In some ways, celebrating a triumph with one who rarely succeeds at anything is a concession to this competitive world view; believing that God’s favor is measured externally. But I am not going to take away the joy of winning for someone who struggles most of the time.
Dodge ball faith asks us how much of our lives are still built on a salvation of achievement, and we ask where is the line between using my gifts to affirm a faith in universal salvation, or do my gifts lead to a faith of self alone.

The great philosopher Lao-Tse speaks of acting in the way of nature. Acting in the way of nature often means not acting. Not doing anything. Indeed an empire can often be won by doing nothing at the right time. A life can often be lost by trying to do too much. I am one who has believed that the more I do the better I am. I put a lot of balls in the air, and while they may not go at others, sometimes it seems as though they are spinning at me. Letting the ball whiz by may mean we do nothing for a change. When the Buddha was finished with his lengthy teachings, he summarized by raising a lotus blossom. This was simple truth that needed no words. To do nothing at the right time can be the finest form of action. We don’t cross the street when the car goes hurtling by. We don’t say another word when our presence is enough. Stop and see how many balls you are hurtling. Stop and see those who are being hit by the balls continuously hurled at them.

Dodge ball is the paradox of life - the desire to succeed, and the pain of being hit. I still will cringe at the militarism of the Dojo, but also know that it teaches a discipline of right living of dedication and loyalty, and the rewards of hard work. One of the great stories of these Olympics in Vancouver is the Canadian skier Alexandre Bilodeau who won the gold in moguls, whose older brother has cerebral palsy. The skier quit hockey as a youngster because skiing was something the whole family could do. His older brother became his inspiration. The success in the competition was based in the strength he drew from his brother’s example to overcome adversity. He felt the universal grace in his brother. We all must nurture our own gifts, AND those of others, and remember to celebrate them as worthy and good. We serve a larger life than our own; a universal life of greater love, and any gifts we have are meant to serve all.



Closing Words - from John O’Donohue

May you awaken to the mystery of being here, and enter the quiet immensity of your own presence.
May you have joy and peace in the temple of your senses.
May you receive great encouragement when new frontiers beckon.
May you respond to the call of your gifts and find the courage to follow its path.
May the flame of anger free you from falsity.
May warmth of heart keep your presence aflame and may anxiety never linger about you.
May your outer dignity mirror an inner dignity of soul.
May you take time to celebrate the quiet miracles that seek no attention.
May you be consoled in the secret symmetry of your soul.
May you experience each day as sacred

Duffy Peet, student minister
First Parish of Watertown
Worship Service for February 14, 2009

Call to Worship

A journey of a thousand miles begins with a first step. Confucius


Readings


Pay to all what is due them–taxes to whom taxes are due, revenue to whom revenue is due, respect to whom respect is due, honor to whom honor is due.

Owe no one anything, except to love one another; for the one who loves another has fulfilled the law. The commandments, “You shall not commit adultery; you shall not murder; You shall not steal; You shall not covet”; and any other commandment, are summed up in this word, “Love your neighbor as yourself.” Love does no wrong to a neighbor; therefore, love is the fulfilling of the law. Romans 13:7-10

Calling All Religions to Compassion by Karen Armstrong

Compassion is indeed central to every one of the major world religions – but sometimes you would never know it. Increasingly religion is associated with violence and intolerance; it seems preoccupied with dogma, belief, getting to heaven, or enforcing correct sexual behavior. There are magnificent exceptions, of course, but it is rare to hear religious leaders speaking of the primary importance of compassion. People don't even seem to know what it means. It is often assumed to mean "pity" or "feeling sorry" for somebody. But the root of this Greco-Latin word is "to experience with;" compassion compels us to dethrone the egotism, self-preoccupation and selfishness that hold us back from the divine and put ourselves in the place of another.

All the great religious sages insist that compassion is the chief religious duty. The first person to do so was Confucius, who, five hundred years before Christ, was the first to formulate the Golden Rule: "Do not do to others what you would not like them to do to you." It was the central "thread" that ran through all his teaching and should be practiced "all day and every day." Every single faith has evolved its own version of the Golden Rule, which requires us to look into our own hearts, discover what gives us pain and refuse, under any circumstance whatsoever to inflict that pain on anybody else.

"My religion is kindness," said the Dalai Lama; you can have faith that moves mountains, says St Paul, but it is worthless without charity; Rabbi Hillel said that the Golden Rule was the essence of Torah: everything else was "only commentary." Muslims begin every reading of the Qur'an by invoking the compassion of God. But the religions also insist that you cannot confine your compassion to your own kind; you have to have "concern for everybody," love your enemies, and honor the stranger.
The major task of our generation is to build a global community where people of all persuasions can live together in mutual respect. If we do not achieve this, we will not have a viable world to hand on to our children. We must implement the Golden Rule globally, treating other peoples ~ whoever they may be ~ as we would wish to be treated ourselves. Any ideology ~ religious or secular ~ that breeds hatred or disdain will fail the test of our time. The religions should be making a major contribution to this essential task.

Re-imagining the Holiday
Sermon by Duffy Peet

G_ng hè x_n xi! For those of you who don’t understand Chinese let me say that again in English; Happy New Year! I am aware that some of you may think I am confused about today’s date but I’m not. Honestly! Today is the beginning of the Chinese New Year. People who mark time by the Chinese calendar recognize that today represents new beginnings. Today starts the year 4707. As is evident, that calendar is much older than our own. In the Chinese culture as well as in our own, with the beginning of the New Year a person may imagine afresh what lies ahead in one’s future. Since today is the beginning of a New Year, it is fitting for us to look to the future and re-imagine what might be possible for us and for our world.

Now, with an eye to the calendar that we measure time by, let me wish each of you a Happy Valentine’s Day. I would say that in Chinese too but I have to admit G_ng hè x_n xi! is all I know. I would imagine that most, if not all of us, are aware that today is Valentine’s Day. There certainly is enough advertisement for flowers, chocolate, and other symbols of the day to remind us. The marketing approach for these things focuses on what we now view as the meaning of the holiday; LOVE! But not just any type. Valentine’s Day, first and foremost, celebrates a specific type, romantic love. Thus, the hearts, the flowers, and of course, don’t forget, the chocolate. But romantic love has not always been what the holiday celebrated. According to Noel Lenski of the University of Colorado at Boulder, the holiday’s roots go back to a pagan fertility celebration known as Lupercalia. The celebration included raucous annual Roman festivals where men stripped naked, grabbed goat- or dog-skin whips, and spanked young maidens in hopes of increasing their fertility. These ancient festivals occurred in mid-February. To my knowledge no such public celebrations continue in our culture today.

After Constantine came to power in 313 Christianity was recognized as the official religion of the Roman Empire. The behaviors that occurred at the pagan fertility festivals conflicted with the teachings of the early Christian church. The power and influence of the church grew steadily. The celebration of Lupercalia was something church leaders viewed as needing to be eliminated or dramatically modified. Gradually but significantly the meaning of the holiday changed over about a one hundred and fifty year time span. The story of St. Valentine redefined what was considered important about the day. According to the story, in the third century A.D. Roman Emperor Claudius II, seeking to bolster his army, forbade young men to marry. Valentine, it is said, flouted the ban, performing marriages in secret. For his defiance, Valentine was executed in A.D. 270—on February 14, at least, so the story goes. It is uncertain whether or not the legend is true. Some historians even claim that there wasn’t just one story that may have led to the change. Supposedly there were three different men named Valentine who may have played some part in the shift. All three men had significant connection to the church. But whether there were three or only one, fertility was no longer the theme celebrated during the middle of February. The raucous behaviors that accompanied Lupercalia diminished and eventually disappeared. The meaning of the day became centered on love and commitment. The legend of St. Valentine, a man committed to God, committed to performing marriages despite the emperor’s ban, being executed for his commitments, took over as the new story and provided new meaning for the day. Committed love, as supposedly demonstrated by St. Valentine to God, and by each member of a couple through the act of marriage became the new theme. The holiday became related to the church through a saint. Its meaning was no longer in dramatic conflict with the church’s message. Today, the holiday is not generally perceived to be connected with the church. While the holiday continues to have love at its center, the primary focus isn’t so much on committed love as it is on romantic love. What is clear is that the holiday has changed in significant ways and the early Christian church played a major role in influencing the direction of that change.

That is a very brief jaunt though ancient history. More recent history may also offer important information for us to consider. Instead of seeking information from scholars about changes in how the holiday has been celebrated over the past fifty of so years I thought about my own history with Valentine’s Day. My first memories of Valentine’s Day are from early grade school. The evening before the holiday, when I was either six or seven, I recall my mother bringing out a box that contained cards and envelopes. The cards were quite small and very simple. They weren’t folded so you could open them to see what was inside. There was just a front and a back. The front had a colored picture and maybe a few words. The back was blank. There were enough cards in the box for every child in my class. There was also one card that was a bit larger. It was for the teacher. My mother had to help me print the names of the other students on each of the envelopes. I got plenty of practice printing my name on the back of each card. I don’t recall if I thought of it as a penmanship lesson but I do remember wanting to be done with the task. It definitely seemed like a lot of work. At the beginning of school on Valentine’s Day everyone in the class put the cards they brought into the individual boxes that the teacher had us create earlier in the week. We had to go around matching the name on the envelope with the name on the box. Sometimes we would need to ask the teacher for help to accomplish this. Then, at the end of the day, we would be given our box and we could open the cards we had received. I remember how great it felt to find so many cards in my box; one from every other student in the room. As I opened each card the good feelings seemed to increase. It seemed like the whole world wanted to be my valentine. I would keep the cards for a long time and go through them periodically. Going through them always left me feeling good. The memory of taking all that time printing my name on the back of each of the cards I had given seemed to disappear.

I don’t recall exactly when the change occurred, but some time later in grade school the practice of celebrating Valentine’s Day by giving cards to every student in class ended. Instead, there was a party with treats including candy hearts that had one or maybe a few words on them. We would sort through the candy hearts, pick out ones that we felt said something special or meaningful, and then share them with others we wanted to convey that message to. Sometimes we would create sentences by putting several hearts together. Now I realize that it was actually a lesson in how to construct sentences but I didn’t know that then. What we were doing felt too good to be a school lesson. I realize now that it was during that time when the practice of giving something to everyone in class began to change. I might give something to some or even most of the students, but there was no longer the expectation that each of us should give something to every other student. Now, there were students who I might not consider in my valentine giving.

In high school there was no longer a single classroom where students were together all day for the entire year. There was no longer a class party, no more sharing of cards or candy hearts with all the other students. The celebration of the day didn’t involve expressions of love in the inclusive way I had experienced in early grade school. Instead, it became a much more exclusive and individualized event. If I wanted to give a card, some candy, or flowers to a person, I had to figure out a way to do so outside of classroom time. Maybe the teachers didn’t think that there was a way to incorporate aspects of Valentine’s Day with their lesson plans. By this time, I had learned that Valentine’s Day was associated with romantic love. I remember the excitement about giving something to a person I had special feelings about. I also remember very clearly the anxiety. What if they didn’t have special feelings for me? What if someone I didn’t have special feelings for gave me something? My feelings about the day had become more complex and confusing than when I was young. As I look back on my history I realize that over the years I was learning about the many aspects of love. Love is a multifaceted jewel that has so many different ways to show us beauty, to bring us joy and to teach us lessons. What I also realize is that as I got older the focus on romantic love, which tends to be exclusive, took precedence over the more inclusive type of love I had been learning about in grade school. In considering all of this I ask myself, is the romantic love I was learning about in high school more important than the love shared with all my classmates in grade school? Is exclusive love somehow more important or of higher value than inclusive love? My answer is no, it isn’t. In this area it seems that age did not provide me with more wisdom. I believe that while romantic love is a wonderful gift in life, its value is secondary to the more inclusive type of love that prophets and great teachers throughout the ages have spoken about and exhibited in their lives. If you read the seven principles of Unitarian Universalism along with the sources from which our living tradition draws, you will notice that romantic love will not be found there, but the type of inclusive love I am talking about is.

Our culture’s focus on Valentine’s Day is and has been for some time primarily although not totally on romantic love. I would say that celebrating romantic love is significantly more beneficial than the fertility festivals of ancient times. I wonder though if it is possible to also hold up a more inclusive type of love on the holiday. Whether we call it love of neighbor, as Jesus did, loving kindness, as Buddha did, or compassionate love, as Karen Armstrong alludes to, each speaks of a type of love that calls us to be caring towards those outside our closest circle. Our culture is going to continue to celebrate Valentine’s Day and many of us will do so as well. What I would like to suggest is that as long as we are going to celebrate the day, why not re-imagine the way we celebrate it. We can continue to send cards, flowers, and chocolate to those we feel romantic love towards. And we can also take actions that express our value of and desire for a more expansive and inclusive type of love. We can demonstrate that as Unitarian Universalists, we not only stand on the side of love, we move on the side of love, and we dance on the side of love with those who so badly need to feel that someone recognizes their worth, that someone cares about them.
So here are some ideas that you may want to consider today and on Valentine’s Days yet to come. Send a Valentine’s Day card to your elected representatives to express support for a cause you believe represents or expresses the value of inclusive love. Some examples could include the following: elimination of the “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy of the U.S. military and support for a more open and affirming policy towards those who are gay, lesbian, bisexual and/or transgender; support for a health care program that would provide services for everyone in our country; change of our country’s immigration laws and policies; or support for legislation that protects the environment that allows life to exist and flourish on the earth. These are only a few ideas but there are many more you might consider. You might consider going to the UUA website to learn about and become involved with the “Standing on the Side of Love” campaign that is currently occurring. You can find the web address on the “Standing on the Side of Love” card you received as you entered the service. Maybe you would want to learn more about the Charter of Compassion or even add your name to the many who have already signed on to this important document. Whatever it is that you decide to do, my hope is that it begins to shift how each of us imagines the meaning of Valentine’s Day. As I pointed out earlier, the meaning of the holiday has changed over the ages. The influence of the early church on the change was significant. I believe the church of today can have a meaningful and positive influence on how the holiday will be celebrated in the future. The type of change I am imagining does not happen quickly. It took one hundred fifty years for the shift from fertility festivals to a holiday centered on commitment and love. It could take a similar amount of time for a more inclusive type of love to be the primary focus of the day. Whether it takes ten years, fifty years, or one hundred fifty years, the journey will likely be long. As the opening words of Confucius tell us though, “A journey of a thousand miles begins with a first step.” On this first day of the New Year, I invite you to join me in the journey. I ask you to take a first step. May we begin together to re-imagine and expand the meaning of Valentine’s Day such that inclusive love becomes its heart.

May it be so.

Meditation from Singing the Living Tradition

Let us open our minds and hearts to the place of quiet, to the silent prayer for the healing of pain, and the soft, gentle coming of love.

Closing words

by Lauralyn Bellamy

If, here, you have found freedom,
take it with you into the world.
If you have found comfort,
go and share it with others.
If you have dreamed dreams,
help one another,
that they may come true.
If you have known love,
give some back to a
bruised and hurting world.
Go in peace.

“Not the Pope” by Mark W. Harris

First Parish of Watertown - February 7, 2010

Call to Worship - from Laurel S. Sheridan

Take from life its coals, not its ashes.
Fan the flames of love and justice;
join hands and hearts in common endeavor;
and there will be no limit
to what we can achieve together.

Reading - The Catcher in the Rye by J. D. Salinger

Sermon - “Not the Pope”

This sermon title comes from a story told by a fellow Unitarian Universalist minister a couple weeks ago at a meeting. Her teenage daughter was apparently doing some kind of report on the Catholic Church, and she asked her Mom who the pope was. My colleague replied that he was the leader of the Catholic church. Then she went on to comment that he is also considered infallible. That is, he makes no mistakes. Wouldn’t you know it, but a few minutes later the phone started ringing, and the daughter picked it up. Apparently there was someone waiting at the church office to meet with her mother, who seemed to have somehow forgotten a scheduled appointment. When my colleague took the phone from her daughter’s hand to sheepishly apologize and make an alternative plan with the church administrator, the daughter blurted out, “Well I guess you’re not the pope.” I don’t think anyone here at church or at home ever considered me infallible, as much as I might wish it were so. And even though our national church, the Unitarian Universalist Association, also has a religious leader, no one ever mistook the UUA President for being the pope. The reason is obvious. We are not hierarchal in structure, but democratic. While we have religious leaders of our congregations and the denomination, who have strong influence, they have no ultimate authority, for that lies with all the people. This democracy is also reflected in our religious views, whereby we do not expect to hear or believe some inerrant statement from this pulpit or the President’s column in the UU World, even if it seems perfectly valid and reasonable. Our members usually want to test the truth for themselves, and we are well aware that all humans are fallible, even popes.

Therefore, I would say most of us who end up loyal to the Unitarian Universalist faith would agree with my colleague, Michael A. Schuler who says, “Question your convictions, for beliefs too tightly held strangle the mind and its natural wisdom. Suspect all certitudes, for the world whirls on -- nothing abides.” This of course makes us very different from a Catholic church that issues infallible edicts. And yet, and yet. . . while we seem to love the rejection of dogma, and the openness to truth whencesoever it may come, we spend an inordinate amount of time either bemoaning the lack of faith by saying, I can’t figure out exactly what we do believe, or by making fun of ourselves by our unwillingness to believe in anything, such as repeating the old joke, that our prayers go out: “To whom it may concern.” It seems like we are often confused or embarrassed to be UUs, and so we imply that we don’t believe anything or that this faith is the faith that has no faith. Last Sunday’s guest minister gave a lovely sermon, but at the center of it was a retelling of some Garrison Kellior material about a UU football team at UUUU. Even if you were not here, it is not hard to imagine the details - That UU team doesn’t believe in prepared plays or following rules, they argue in the huddle and then run off in all directions. The problem is they have no powerful will to win, they let everybody play, and just want to enjoy this interesting experience, and then have a post-game discussion. The implication is, Aren’t they silly? Everyone should be able to laugh at themselves, but why do we do so much of it? Is religion a joke to us, or even though we don’t believe in the old religion, do we still long to define our faith in those terms, and are confounded that we can’t. I believe that because we struggle so much with a search for truth, that we are actually more serious about religion that most people. I believe that because we try to actualize our faith in what we say and do every day, and that we aspire to live lives that follow religious principles rather than merely mouthing the words of a creed; that we are actually more faithful to our religion than most people. Rather than saying to some stranger, Gee, I don’t know what we believe, we should be proud of our faith without apology for what it is, not what it is not. And so basically what we must remember is that it is an ethical faith, not a creedal one. This is simply summarized in a letter that Thomas Jefferson, who called himself a Unitarian, wrote to Mrs. H. Harrison Smith in 1816: “I am satisfied that yours must be an excellent religion to have produced a life of such exemplary virtue and correctness. For it is our lives, and not from our words, that our religion must be judged.”

Now let me say that Unitarian Universalism is not for everybody. Some people seems to prefer more ceremony and ritual, more concrete and definitive theology, and perhaps even an assuredness that God exists, or that there is life after death. Many of those people who become loyal Unitarian Universalists have rejected these traditions or beliefs that they grew up with as false or cruel or demeaning, or even abusive. To them this kind of blind following of beliefs without doubt or suspicion makes religious dogma pure bunk. Our word bunk, a kind of endless meaningless and meandering talk about a subject comes from a nineteenth century congressman from Buncombe County, North Carolina whose name was Felix Walker. Walker was not a great orator, but believed that his constituents back home would want him to speak up on every issue that was debated. And so even though he often had few insights or knowledge about subjects, and was one of the dullest speakers around, he always felt as though he must give a “speech for Buncombe.” This meaningless drivel in the eyes of his colleagues became “just so much buncombe,” or bunk as we know it today. While I respect the right of everyone to express their religious beliefs, I am under no illusion that anyone has cornered the market on truth. In fact, we exist as a faith because we see other religious claims as false, or at least only purporting partial truths. One of our newest members wrote in her introduction to the church that this church affirmed her belief “that there is no God up there in the clouds, but that there is a divine part in each of us.” Religiously, it is not just us who question theological statements about religious truth, but it was true of our ancestors as well.

In the mid 1500’s in the mountainous country of Transylvania, Francis David poured over the Bible, and decided that there was no scriptural basis for the belief that Jesus was God, and so the idea of worshipping this great religious teacher, this supreme example of what human beings were capable of becoming was while not quite bunk, certainly imminently false. He said we believe that people should follow Jesus not worship him. And so Unitarianism was born among those who realized that their faith must be something other than stated words, but must be the much more difficult challenge of whether or not we can become worthy enough to be true to our human calling to love one another; to live as Jesus did. Some wanted a relationship with him rather than a deification of him. David understood several new truths that we UUs take for granted today. He helped engineer the first edict of toleration in history, whereby four different faiths were accepted as legitimate paths to truth and were granted equal rights and privileges. This was when all the other churches were saying there is only one truth. David responded by saying that the idea that one religion must fit all is pure bunk. When the government demanded that the Unitarians not change any of their beliefs, but hold fast to the faith as it had developed to that point, he again said that is bunk. He said our understanding of truth changes, and new truths are revealed, even by God. We cannot assert that truth stops now. And for that he was thrown into prison, where he eventually died.

The liberal cornerstones of affirming the freedom to search for new truths, using reason to interpret scriptures to find the human Jesus and much more, and being tolerant of many approaches to faith have meant that over the centuries we have attracted people who rejected more dogmatic narrow faiths so that they might understand truth in broader, more inclusive ways. Consequently we moved beyond our Christian origins to invite the truth claims of many faiths on our hearts and in our lives. As a result, people may see us as the smorgasbord of religion, picking and choosing whatever sustains us, or conversely rejecting everything. This has made us seem like an adolescent faith to some, rebelling against conventional beliefs, not only because we have felt like they are irrational bunk, but also because we attract those who reject authoritarian systems that ask for unswerving belief. Some see us as a place where people come to get healed from the dogmatic faiths they have endured or survived, but once people are healed in our atmosphere of openness and affirmation, they have trouble seeing where this rebellion leads. I would suggest that we might see ourselves as The Catcher in the Rye of religions.

I am sure most of you have read The Catcher in the Rye, and felt some degree of sadness at the recent death of J.D. Salinger. Many of us identified with Holden Caufield, the rebellious youth who smoked and drank and swore a blue streak. Holden was a troubled teen trying to work his way through adolescence in a world peopled by phonies. Many of us at that age were bothered by all the false facades of living that we were asked to emulate, when we just wanted to be real. We hated the fake. But Holden is troubled, too, as many of us were when we were teenagers. It is not merely being given space to find yourself or to assert your identity, but there is a deeper pain in Holden, and perhaps there is in us, too. He drinks because he hurts. We learn there is grief over his younger brother, who died of leukemia, and we eventually learn he carries Allie's mitt for comfort and he prays to Allie to save him. Holden has material comforts, but feels adrift because he has absent parents and no one who is there for him emotionally, except Phoebe, his sister. She understands him more than most other people do, is his only consistent source of happiness, and she even chastises Holden for his immaturity. She becomes his catcher. When he says he is going to run away, she packs her bag, and says, I’m going with you. She says, in your pain, let me be there for you, let me take your hand. As catchers, we need to look out for those around us, our friends and family, our fellow searchers here, and especially all the children everywhere. In the end Holden goes back to a new school cynically asserting, “Don’t ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody.” Missing everybody points to what our church community is all about.

This idea of being catchers for each other really goes back to the foundations of our church and others like it that typified congregational polity. The foundations were in a church covenant, or an agreement made between the people of the congregation and with God, that they would walk together, living good lives that reflected not only their relationship with God, but with each other so that faith was founded not on some creed, but on the strength of how they lived their lives in community with each other. In modern times we may have seemed rebellious as a religious people because we have purported a faith full of doubt, inquiry and suspicion of any definitive statements of truth, but we have also let this doubt be based in an individual rejection of what many of us experienced in the past. Like Holden, we rebelled at the phonies. So individually, we may have been able to let go and be healed of the pain we endured, but if our modern liberal faith is based on how we live with one another, then it must be forged with our relationships in the community. We become crippled spiritually when as individuals we fail to leave a corner in our hearts that is reserved for trusting one another. This is especially vital for us as a religious community, for while our Puritans ancestors agreed in their Christian faith, we do not agree in the panoply of Christian, Buddhist, atheist, humanist yearnings we hold. For without trust there is no space for communities to gather or for friendships to be forged. This space reserved for trust is where we connect -- and reconnect -- with each other.

With The Catcher in the Rye, Salinger tells us the adolescent heart is looking for a catcher who will help support him in living a good life. We know that in the context of this story, that religious experiences come to us in the life of the every day, when we are listened to and cared for and loved. Not long ago I read a letter that was sent to a small church here in New England. The young woman wrote that she had “many fond memories of the church, and that it meant a lot growing up in a warm, caring active environment that the church offered.” I have similar memories of the church I grew up in, even though its theology eventually drove me away. I needed to rebel, but later in life I felt the need to come back to the church, because while I needed a liberal openness to religious belief, what I really needed personally was the community of trust and love, and the desire of people to live their religion. The young woman who wrote that letter went on to say that she wanted to thank the people of the church (even though the ones who were there when she was younger were mostly gone). She said she “wanted to thank the church for all that was, that made me the person I am today. It does make a difference in the life of a child to learn by example of tolerance, faith, love and maybe most importantly, community.”

Perhaps the greatest strength of what this young woman said was that even though none of the people who had modeled her faith for her were around any more, she still was moved to thank the church, which is a sign that the covenant of trust continues even as the people and the minister change. We don’t need popes elected through clouds of smoke, we need community recreated through a binding agreement of love and trust. My colleague Bill Gardner once said, “We all have two religions: the religion we talk about and the religion we live. It is our task to make the difference between the two as small as possible.” Don’t get caught up in trying to tell people about the religions we talk about, but rather tell them that your faith is one that you live. They may ask where is the under girding truth? And while you may say it is in the universal truth taught in all faiths, and in the unity or oneness of the creation, what you really mean is that that universal and unity is found in the local community. We have no wishful think here about God. We try to be honest, and don’t accept any bunk. In the passage from The Catcher in the Rye that I read today, we heard Holden speak about how he doesn’t care for very much stuff in the Bible. We can appreciate this distaste. He also says he doesn’t like the disciples. They keep letting Jesus down. We know Holden just wants someone who won’t let him down. He hates the phony voices, the phony lives. What he admires is that Jesus would not have sent Judas to hell. He would have forgiven him. He would have held out his hand to him. Living up to our responsibilities despite our failings is the ethical imperative of our faith. We pledge not to let others down, especially those in need. Our faith is found not in infallible declarations, but in the truths we discover together in community. It is in the love we share. It is in the trust we build.

Closing Words – from Kendyl R. Gibbons

There is, finally, only one thing required of us: that is, to take life whole, the sunlight and shadows together; to live the life that is given us with courage and humor and truth.

We have such a little moment out of the vastness of time for all our wondering and loving. Therefore let there be no halfheartedness; rather, let the soul be ardent in its pain, in its yearning, in its praise.

Sermon “The Sounds of Silence” by Mark W. Harris

First Parish of Watertown - January 24, 2010


Call to Worship from Robert Weston

There might have been other uses for this moment.
There might have been other pleasures;
There might have been rest,
But there is something beyond all this which I must seek.
And except I give it time and attention
It may never come to flower.
It is a yearning for meaning for which the tongue has yet no words.
It is a quest for holiness.
It is a quest for self-forgiveness,
For all the things wherein I have failed myself
In failing others:
The light I have ignored;
The pleas of the spirit, rejected;
The meaning still to be found,
peace in a world of conflict, and still something more.
It is something only sensed in moments of quiet and solitude
Or in the shared meditations of others
Who seek with me.
Perhaps, perhaps it is myself,
Now so buried under the demands and pressures of the world
That it may only be found as I take time
To listen for it and to let it grow.

Reading from Pierre, or, The Ambiguities by Herman Melville

All profound things, and emotions of things are preceded and attended by Silence. What a silence is that with which the pale bride precedes the responsive I will, to the priest's solemn question, Wilt thou have this man for thy husband ? In silence, too, the wedded hands are clasped. Yea, in silence the child Christ was born into the world. Silence is the general consecration of the universe. Silence is the invisible laying on of the Divine Pontiffs hands upon the world. Silence is at once the most harmless and the most awful thing in all nature. It speaks of the reserved Forces of Fate. Silence is the only Voice of our God.

Nor is this so august Silence confined to things simply touching or grand. Like the air, Silence permeates all things, and produces its magical power, as well during that peculiar mood which prevails at a solitary traveler's first setting forth on a journey, as at the unimaginable time when before the world was, Silence brooded on the face of the waters.

' No word was spoken by its inmates, as the coach bearing our young Enthusiast, Pierre, and his mournful party, sped forth through the dim dawn into the deep midnight, which still occupied, unrepulsed, the hearts of the old woods through which the road wound, very shortly after quitting the village.

When first entering the coach, Pierre had pressed his hand upon the cushioned seat to steady his way, some crumpled leaves of paper had met his fingers. He had instinctively clutched them; and the same strange clutching mood of his soul which had prompted that instinctive act, did also prevail in causing him now to retain the crumpled paper in his hand for an hour or more of that wonderful intense silence, which the rapid coach bore through the heart of the general stirless morning silence of the fields and the woods.


Sermon “The Sounds of Silence” Mark W. Harris

I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the republic for which it stands, one nation under God, indivisible . . . Indivisible? When do we ever use that word? Except in the context of the pledge of allegiance, I don’t think I have ever said it or written it. What does it seem to mean? The implication would be that we as a people cannot be divided. We are joined as one, and yet the word indivisible, as you might infer, comes from individual. What that implies is that the meaning of individual has changed over the last two centuries. Sara Maitland, who has written A Book of Silence, says until the end of the 17th century, indivisible and individual pretty much meant the same thing, that which cannot be divided, cannot be broken down into smaller units. Indivisible was related to the doctrine of the Trinity, and to marriage - three or two become as one. Whether that imagery resonates with you or not, there is this sense of the individual extending beyond the boundaries of the self. Since 1800 though, thanks to some degree to the Romantic period, individual has increasingly meant unique and separate. In fact, the development of the individual self has become a virtual religion in America, and it plays an important role in the religious orientation of most Unitarian Universalists, too. We are democratic. We are non doctrinal. We call for the free search for truth. Free search has often meant individual search.

And that search has meant that we have held up one use for silence to the detriment of another. That one use is when the individual goes into quiet reflection to consider the most profound issues in order to develop the self. This use of silence give us more profound insights that some of us could create great pieces of literature. Whether you write or not, it is still the idea of silence to fill oneself for self-understanding and/or self-expression. It is about me and my mind. That’s wonderful, but it loses the balance necessary for the individual to gain a sense of connection to the indivisible. Even in marriage, we hesitate to say these days that two become one, because we want the marriage partners to be equal, and not have one subordinate or worse be the property of another. What is lost though is that sense of silence where the individual gives up the self and merges with the larger whole or God. It is the silence of the monk or hermit who many of the individualists would find too unsuccessful or too simple. It is the silence of humility reflected in the Zen story of Ryokan, a Zen master, who lived a simple life in a little hut at the foot of a mountain. One evening a thief visited the hut only to discover there was nothing in it to steal. Ryokan returned and caught him. “You may have come a long way to visit me,” he told the prowler, “and you should not return empty handed. Please take my clothes as a gift.” The thief was confused, but slunk away with the clothes. Ryokan sat naked, watching the moon. “Poor fellow,” he mused, “I wish I could give him this beautiful moon.”

Can we even contemplate that kind of silence, where we give up the self and feel that which is indivisible, or one with us? Can we can have any silence in our lives to empty ourselves of the chaos of life, to reflect upon the difficult issues we need to make decisions about, or simply to enjoy the vastness and beauty of our natural surroundings? Whether it is the silence that fills us or the silence that empties us, the problem is that most people are not comfortable with silence. In Waterville, Maine, I used to see this giant sign by the turnpike exit advertising a restaurant called The Silent Woman. The image on the billboard was of the body of a woman in a colonial dress, but she had no head. Now that will keep you silent. One can only imagine the number of men chuckling over the image of a woman who had a body but could not speak. And this is one of the primary reasons we react negatively to the idea of silence. Who wants to be silenced? It means someone has power over you, and tells you that what you have to say is irrelevant or stupid, such as children should be seen and not heard. What women have had to say has been devalued for so long it may seem that silence is more like a jail sentence, then it is the idea of having a choice of sharing those sentences filled with thoughts and ideas.

We think of oppressed women and political prisoners, and even children who are told to hush, and we know that being silenced is not something desirable. To be silenced may mean we cannot vote, we cannot speak, we cannot stand up for our selves for fear of our lives. We may be shamed when a teacher berates us, and we take it in silence for fear of greater repercussions. We wait in silence for it to be over. There may also be a sense of dread we associate with silence. The night is silent. For some this represents the unknown or the forbidden. We dare not enter the dark forest that is filled with the silence of night. Who know what lurks there? Lions and tigers and bears . . . Oh my! My hometown of New Salem, Massachusetts was recently featured in the Globe as the safest town in the whole state. It has had one crime in two years. The town administrator commented in the article that there was not much danger from people, I’m not worried about crime,’’ she said “I’m worried about the bear that might be in the woods.’’ In fact, New Salem is the only place in my life that I have encountered a bear in the wild. It was a little scary, but exciting, too!

If the silence of the woods is mostly an unfounded fear, what about the silence of death? Doesn’t the dark night remind us of the darkness that we all must face one day, and would rather not speak about. Or perhaps we cannot stop from speaking because we are afraid of the day when we will be forever silent. Those of us who have been with a loved one in their final moments know that even after they can no longer speak, there is a steady breathing and a continuing presence, but that the silence of the final breath signals to us a time when their lives will be forever silent. Words are important in creation. For instance, God said let there be light. When we can no longer say things, we are cut off from communicating. Speaking is often seen as something that distinguishes us from other animals, but this languages also makes us the only animal who is aware of death. So we say out loud, Hey, here I am. I am alive here. Silence can mean some fairly scary things, inferiority, powerlessness, illness and even ultimately death. To be alive is to be speaking. Some of this heritage we get from Judaism, where the faithful speak to God, and God speaks back to them directly, or at least through angels and prophets. The expression of the relationship with the divine was through prophecy and poetry. And this is largely the tradition we have maintained, sometimes manifest in the words and actions of men and women who have inspired us to create a more just and peaceful world.

Yet Judaism also recognizes that silence must be part of the witness of faith. God cannot be named in Judaism, and even when God is addressed directly, God says, I am who I am. When God spoke to Elijah on Mount Horeb, God could have done so in the wind, earthquake, fire or any number of loud, noisy ways. But He didn't. God spoke with a “still, small voice that takes away the last vestige of Elijah's fear of being all alone. Elijah hears God in the stillness.
The problem is we expect to have noise around us all the time. Noise lets us know we are alive. It lets us know there is work to be done and places to go and things to do. So we have music in the dentist’s office, and TV’s in the grocery store and elevators that talk to us, and tell us welcome to the hospital and pay before you go, and buses that say watch out for luggage left unaccompanied because who knows about silent presences that we cannot explain. We have noise all the time now, and not even a moment of silence when we might hear a silence that is the echo of the great bang or mystery from long ago that created us all, or a silence of sight upon a vast galaxy upon galaxy of galaxies of stars that we cannot see, not even with the most powerful telescope of all, and yet they seem like eternal fires of burning light against the darkness of silence that is the night sky, when the noises of the city stop and we look up.

Maybe the only silence we know is a few brief moments of that reflection time on what we are doing with our days, but that silence is really more an absence of all that noise. Got to get away from it all. How could we cultivate a presence for silence? We desire not merely a little emptiness of cars and youtube and children yelling, as good as that might be. We want some silence that replenishes our strength, and takes us some place that lets us see beyond the horizon of the bed post or the dash board, or even the monitor that we spend so much time tap tapping away at. We want silence so that we can empty the shopping lists and laundry lists and to do lists. But we also want silence so that we can fill ourselves with deeper places of love and harmony that are indivisible. We need moments to reflect on how we are spending our time, and maybe even reflect on ourselves and what we are doing, but we also need time to reflect on what is it all means, and what is the rhythm of that breathing, thinking, loving that flows from me to you. It is the end of noise. It is the end of talking. It is deep listening to the sound of no sound.

(Let’s try to hear that silence for just a moment)

Melville says all profound things are preceded by silence. Perhaps it is fitting that he said that in his novel Pierre, that was also titled The Ambiguities. There is ambiguity in silence. Silence portends that something is about to happen. Sometimes that is a disaster. I think of the silence that we all hear when a child has been injured, and is about to scream a blood curdling cry, and there is the brief moment, that often seems eternal before our ears actual hear the awful sound. They say there was an eerie silence before Pickett’s doomed Confederate troops assaulted the Union line in July 1863. Perhaps this speaks of the presence of the pain of life in small and universal ways. It is not merely that absence of the cacophony of noise that irritates us and makes it so we cannot think. No, this is the presence of something more, something silent that is indivisible from larger events. Yet it is not only pain, but something perhaps more vast, and even beautiful that is the observance of a blessing upon the universe with its mantle of stars or shifting of tides that tells us life will continue and love will endure. It is getting noisier all the time. And so, we must open ourselves to the silence that can fill our lives, and be a positive presence. Empty the noise.

Perhaps you will come to know the Silence of Remembrance. As a child I saw the vast clouds that scurried across the sky. They were stratus, and cirrus, and cumulus. They were low and flat, heavy with rain, white fluffy and billowy and soft as down, ready to lie on and be an angel forever, and also forbidding gray turning black. They were shapes of ducks and elephants, marching armies with row upon row of banners. I saw so many things in those silent sentinels of the sky, and it was all orchestrated by my father. We would lay on the front lawn on one of those lazy summer days when it is so hot and humid it seems the sky will crack. Now I associate any moments like those with him. It was a silence of relationship, of togetherness in witnessing those clouds. Whenever we honor someone who has died, we stop and say, there will now be a moment of silence for those who have died, for those who have given their lives. Our silence is images of remembrance of pain and sorrow, of sacrifice and courage, of love for something greater. We often have these moments for soldiers, but there is silence to for all those who struggle, each one of us who remembers a face or a life now gone, that gave life to us as parent, teacher or lover- the silence of the embrace and the hand of comfort and security. Let us share a few moments of the silence of remembrance. Let us listen to those lives.

Perhaps you will come to know the Silence of Trust. Long ago I learned to swim. In swimming you often have to learn to trust others. I remember teaching my boys, holding them in the water, and feeling their flailing arms and legs try to create a buoyancy to stay afloat. The trust for me though was in the silence I heard and even endured in the pool. I would surface dive, and go to the bottom. There it was silent. My stroke went from my chest out, as I became frog like to move along the bottom of the pool. My goal was to swim the length of the pool and back under water. It was silent for what seemed an eternity, but not very long for a boy to hold his breath and execute this little risk of bursting lungs and straining arms. It was run silent, run deep. But it was the silence of concentration that I learned, of trust of self to prepare to do what was required of me. It was one of those moments that precede great acts, or small ones that give us confidence that we can do something. When we prepare to hit a ball, or enter the pulpit or make the important presentation, or even more intensely to give that final push before birth, or gird up your loins for the final climb, push or jump. This silence of trust is to know that you are taking a risk, but you trust yourself, or those who are there with you. And you feel their arms holding on as though you were belaying off a mountain top. There is trust here in the universe that others will help you, and support you in the challenges you will face, and it will be enough. That there is even something trustworthy about the universe that will give you life, even in the face of death. So if you survive that disaster you trust that someone will try to get to you, and hold a hand out to you. We will go on and face challenging forces with hope and love that tomorrow will be better. Let us listen in silent trust of ourselves, and in another.

Perhaps you will come to know the Silence of Awe. It is silent as the clouds float or scurry by. I often thought they ran from the wind. It is silent underwater. We think of fish blowing bubbles, but it is silent communication down there. It is eye to eye, and all the while looking in different directions. It is silent when it snows. I am in awe of snow. Once told that every single snowflake is different, I have never gotten over that. I am silent before this universe of chaos and diversity and beauty and grief. The snow is cold. I don’t care much for cold anymore. I feel it in my bones now as I grow older. I know that snow can kill. My great uncle died in a snow storm long ago. Passed out and froze to death. Life can and will take us, you know, and as I said before that is why we sometimes cannot remain silent for long. We speak to remind ourselves that we are still here. But that cold, frozen snow that took my relative from this life is also silent in its beauty, its grandeur, its purity and freshness. Those flakes are different, individuals in a way, each asserting its own identity with uncommon flair. Each calling out in its silent passing that we might pay attention. Then in that individual falling they become indivisible. This snow is a silence that brings me joy to see and to hear. We see its cumulative effect making a dark landscape light. And isn’t that what we long for? It is some reassurance that the cold, dark deadness of winter will turn to a landscape of light and life. Further I swear I can hear the snow, not like the pitter patter of rain, but that the silent snow comes down with a sound. It is the sound of the universe of the great mystery that creates and destroys. It is the awe we feel in prayer. I have felt and heard this silence at Bryce Canyon and at Mesa Verde. I have felt and heard this silence at Stonehenge and Fountain’s Abbey in Yorkshire. We stand silent before the creation, and we stand silent before human creations that are touched by the holy. And we are silent. They reflect a universal harmony, a tune if you will that echoes in our hears, even if you cannot hear it. I hope there is silence for you and for me, so that we remember all that has gone before, so that we can trust ourselves to be alone and yet together in life and death, that we can be in awe of all that is and ever will be. It is all a part of us - the weather, the place, the people, indivisible and free.

Closing Words from Where Many Rivers Meet by David Whyte

Enough.
These few words are enough.
If not these words, this breath.
If not this breath, this sitting here.

This opening to the life
we have refused
again and again
until now.

Until now.