I begin with a story found on the Internet, told by some anonymous, but very wise, soul. "While waiting for my first appointment in the reception room of a new dentist, I noticed his certificate, which bore his full name. Suddenly, I remembered that a handsome boy with the same name had been in my high school class some 40 years ago. Upon seeing him, however, I quickly discarded any such thought. This balding, gray-haired man with the deeply lined face was too old to have been my classmate. After he had examined my teeth, I asked him if he had by any chance attended the local high school.
"Yes," he replied.
"When did you graduate?" I asked.
He answered, "In 1959."
"Why, you were in my class!" I exclaimed.
He looked at me closely and then asked, "What did you teach?"
What have I taught for these 32 years? What's it all about, Richard? When I try to reduce my basic religious faith to one sermon what do I say? It should be simple to do after all this time, but I think of the character in an E. B. White story who said, "Have you ever considered how complicated things can get, what with one thing always leading to another?" And so today, a primer, a summary of themes that have marked my time among you. There will be an exam at the end of the sermon, so you had better take notes.
My faith has three dimensions, the first one of which is vertical - the transcendent dimension.
All my life I have had a lover's quarrel with God. From my early days of uncritical acceptance of deity - "my friend God," an early sermon - to a more skeptical attitude of doubting any transcendent dimension - to my current stance of religious mysticism and honest agnosticism - my relationship to the Ultimate has been ever evolving. All I know for sure is that I must acknowledge and celebrate my conviction that we are part of a reality greater than ourselves - that the whole is greater than the sum of its parts - that creation is a mystery to be celebrated whether or not we know its name and nature.
The earth is our cosmic home - we are but the guests of existence. We live in the grace of being. Gratitude for existence is first and foremost in my spiritual commandments. Whether I am here because of some fortuitous cosmic accident or by the intention of some Great Cosmic Designer I do not know, though I am more inclined to the former explanation than the latter. That I am here is quite simply a matter of catching a break - and I do not intend to take that good fortune lightly. I stand in awe before the miracle of being myself a product of the great cosmic urge. It is that gratitude that prompts me to share that blessing with others as best I can.
I recall the story of a conversation between an astronomer and a theologian. The astronomer, quite confidently said, "Astronomically speaking, we are negligible." To which the theologian replied, "Astronomically speaking, we are the astronomers."
We are sparks of that divine impulse at the center of things come to life. We are bits of star fire passing on the torch to those who follow. We are beacons of brief fire between the portals of life and death. Like shooting stars we flash across the dark sky giving light for a time, and then are no more. What are we to make of this wonder while it is ours?
That brings me to the second dimension of my faith - the horizontal - the social.
People are precious - be gentle with them. Religion, liberal religion, has to do with how we deal with our fellow human beings - these pilgrims we have chosen to walk with us on the journey. Our lives are like fragile eggs - handle with care, handle with exceeding care, for there are human beings within - human beings who feel as we feel, who hurt as we hurt, who experience joy much as do we. Therefore, since we know how it is to be hurt by others, since we know how important it is to be respected and loved, we all need to be a little kinder than necessary.
Jean Paul Sartre's play No Exit has a memorable line with which I both agree and disagree. This drama is about the plight of three people who are in Hell and don't know it. The line is simply this: "Hell is other people." To be sure, many of our human problems are wrapped up in people and their behavior. But Sartre failed to note that Heaven is other people, too. Others are the firmament in which we float. To change the metaphor: "Friends are the chocolate chips in the cookie of life."
I know about "tough love" and the need to be strong, not to be an enabler of bad behavior. However, we need to remember that "tough" is the adjective here; "love" is the noun. Be gentle with one another.
To be is to be for others. I've worried about this teaching - it sounds so saintly. How can we focus our lives on others when it is all we can do to get up in the morning, earn a living and make our uncertain way through the labyrinth? I confess there is in me a strong Puritan strain that says I must justify my existence by being of use to somebody. It is the old question raised by a ministerial colleague: "If you were arrested for being a Unitarian Universalist, would there be enough evidence to convict you? I want to be sure.
Let me deconstruct. I do believe that service to humanity is what we are here for, but we cannot serve unless we are full of life-giving resources. To be for others means we must first be for ourselves - we need to be full of life-giving waters, that our concern for others overflows out of our fullness.
And, of course, there is no more satisfying experience that to feel that we have helped another person navigate the circuitous passages of human existence. Sometimes there is nothing to do but be there in love and justice - and that may well be enough.
I think of the story of the little girl who came home late and told her mother that her friend Billy had fallen off his bicycle and broken it. She had stopped to help. Her mother said, "But you don't know anything about fixing bicycles," to which the wise young lady said, "I stopped to help Billy cry." Sometimes that is all we can do; often it is enough.
Deed is more important than creed. Someone recently told a Christian friend this was their motto as a Unitarian Universalist. The friend said, "We believe in both." However, I have never seen a creed that is very much help in living my life. I have spent decades building my own theology and decades trying to teach people how they might build theirs - everyone needs a credo - an "I believe," "I value", "I am committed to" statement.
One of the first sermons I ever preached - at 14 - was "The Atheist Who Believed in God." I had already noticed that hypocrisy is one of the most generously distributed of human traits. I had observed people who lived for others, who were there in time of need, who would help in time of trouble, but were without formal religious affiliation.
And I had also noticed those who were pious to the hilt, who made much of their piety, who lived unto themselves alone. "By their fruits - by their deeds - shall ye know them." It is a hard truth about which I keep reminding myself. But what is it that enables and inspires our concern for the world - for nature and its citizens?
That question brings me to the third dimension of my faith - that of depth. What is it all about? What is the meaning of it all? Are meanings discovered or created? And is the search for meaning meaningful?
For me meanings are not given - they are grown out of the warp and woof of our experience. I do not find any inherent significance in the universe - something out there, up there, over there - to be discovered as if seeking the holy grail. Rather, to me meanings are those inner impulses we create as we try to figure what it is all about.
Those meanings come in three kinds of experiences - peak, plateau and valley. We have often heard of the so-called "peak experiences" - moments of ecstasy and illumination of which saints and sages speak. These are times of transcendence when life is good and we know enough to say so - to experience "the mysteries and the glories of this great gift." The tender embrace of lovers, the birth of a child, the splendor of a sunset or moonrise, the miracle of one perfect spring day in Rochester between the seasons of winter and summer and back again. Many have been the times over these years among you when I have been discouraged about the state of the world, the state of the church or the state of my soul. Then I look out my office window and my eyes rest on our memorial garden and my spirit is invariably refreshed.
Then there are the valley experiences of life - when we are brought face to face with life's finitude - when we know we are part of the "fellowship of those who bear the mark of pain." There are such things as the "eternal severities" - the inevitable rites of passage parade with their ultimate transition from life to death. There is no alternative to descending from time to time into the valley. Our paths inexorably lead there. But what I have discovered is that this, too, is a source of life meaning. Confronting life's vicissitudes with courage when we can, with resignation when we must, with hope always - reveals the deeper meaning of life as a finite adventure. "In the presence of life we say no to death; in the presence of death we say yes to life."
Between the peaks of ecstasy and the valleys of despair are the plateaus of the ordinary. We live most of our lives upon them in the routines of living. As I realize that my time is not unlimited I have new appreciation for savoring my daily rounds - getting up in the morning is the promise of yet another day of living. Taking my daily walk with the birds and the dogs and cats and people of my neighborhood becomes a kind of sacred ritual which sustains me when all the world seems topsy-turvy. The simple pleasures of eating, greeting friends and loved ones, the welcome rest of sleep all become part of that plateau of pleasure which invigorates my life and helps make it worthwhile.
To each sermon I give I apply the "so what?" test. Will these words matter? Will they make a difference in someone's life - even my own? Am I different for having written and said them? Will those who hear be changed by having heard them? Might I better spend my time doing something else? So what? It is a good test, not only for sermons, but also for all we do.
I conclude from this third dimension of faith that the good life is messy. I have always been one who savored order: a place for everything and everything in its place. That is the way I try to keep my office and my life. But a funny thing happens on the way to the good life - we seem always to be interrupted. Things often do not pan out as planned. Stuff gets in the way. There are bumps in the road we haven't been able to spot before we hit them. That's simply the way life is - we try to take these interruptions in our stride, but even off-stride we keep on going. The good life is messy.
I sum up these dimensions of faith in a kind of personal mission statement: In the spirit of truth and love of beauty, we unite for the celebration of life and the service of humanity.
That is all very well, but it does not really sing. It does not really adequately express my feelings in answer to the question, what's it all about, Richard? And so, the other night I gave vent to my feelings and I share this more experiential answer to the question I have posed: "What's it all about, Richard?"
It's about being there when babies are welcomed into our church community, eating our flowers as they accept our blessing;
it's about being there when two people - many of whom have been hurt before by love - exchange pledges of faithfulness;
it's about being there when loved ones no longer with us are honored in memorial services with their curious and beautiful mixture of laughter and tears, smiles and sadness;
its about being there to witness the march of the generations in this church community.
It's about being there when there is to be a witness for peace and justice and only a few of your friends and comrades are there with you;
it's about the loyalty of people who may disagree with what you say but defend your right to say it;
it's about spending hours at committee meetings to make sure the whole church thing will float;
it's about board meetings and retreats, and meetings and more meetings;
it's about being privileged to hear people pour out their hearts to you in the hard times even if all you can do is listen - and care.
It's about a long parade of fine people who have graced this building and this congregation;
its about growing with people through the tough and tender times of life.
It's about chocolate chip cookies which appear when you least expect them, and the nourishment of a hundred pot-luck suppers and a thousand brown-bag lunches.
It's about people who give themselves to poor kids who have come up on the short end of lady luck's largesse;
it's about people who travel to dangerous places to witness for peace and justice;
it's about people who work behind the scenes to sustain this community and those up front who dare to go public with their convictions and double dare you to take the lead in a community of independent, not to say occasionally cantankerous souls.
It's about pink suits that no longer fit and canvasses that never seem to be quite enough and never seem to end.
It's about congregational meetings when we struggle to find a quorum and leave early, and congregational meetings when the weight of the world seems on our shoulders and we speak out of our guts and find disagreement among us.
It's about hard-working staff members and equally hard-working volunteers we couldn't afford to pay even if we had the money.
It's about family and friends, congregants and colleagues, who full well know your flaws and have observed your foibles and forgive you for them.
It's about being asked the big questions and admitting you don't know the answer and feeling OK about that.
It's about trying to be a cheerleader of the spirit, when your own spirit is hurting and you don't know how much more you can give - but you try to give it anyway.
It's about trying to be a cheerleader of the spirit and hoping and praying others will do the same.
"What did you teach?" asked our dentist friend of his high school classmate. What did I teach? The basic theme of my ministry is articulated by Ralph Waldo Emerson: "What you are thunders so loud, I cannot hear what you say." That is the hardest theme of all - to walk the talk. We all do the best we can. Who can ask for more?
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