Standing On the Shoulders Of Giants

Despite outward appearances of growth and success and inward feelings of pride at its accomplishments - controversy was mounting at a vibrant church in a small city in Western New York. The building was bustling. Most days and nights the church activities seemed endless as its rooms threatened to burst with theatre, parties, social betterment projects, public gatherings and lectures, all in addition to its own Sunday morning worship and church school. Most evenings it was nearly impossible to find a quiet room for a meeting.

Children overflowed the church school on Sunday mornings and young families seemed to be flocking to the congregation. Talk was brewing of adding another Sunday morning service, and during the week, the minister and the members of the church spent their days and nights creating innovative service projects and advocating for change in the community. Families and children were brought into the church off of the city streets, meals were provided, games were played, tutoring was offered as the church members lived into their pledge to put their faith into action.

Just about every week it seemed, the church found itself smack dab in the middle of the most controversial issues in the city and the nation. And the minister never seemed to let up, always preaching enthusiastically, urging the congregation to wake up and take their part in creating a better world - firmly advising them to "sleep over your business if you will, but not over your religion."[1]

With all of this activity, some of the church's members felt understandably unsettled. A wide diversity of opinion manifested itself - but luckily for this vibrant church in a small city in Western New York - the congregation held onto a unity of spirit and purpose which preserved the church through these exciting and difficult times. It was the early 1900s - and as you may have guessed by now - the church was ours, the First Unitarian Church of Rochester.

Fast forward with me if you will a little more than 50 years and that vibrant church in a small city in Western New York found itself in exciting but rough waters again. The energetic new minister seemed to take up every social and political issue of the day - preaching his first sermon on what was perhaps the most controversial topic of all - the civil rights march in Washington. Advocating for equal employment opportunity, equal access to education, and adequate housing, the congregation joined the minister in trying to make major changes in the city - and together they worked with a national organization to confront Kodak, one of the city's biggest and most influential employers to demand fair employment practices. The campaign caused quite a bit of controversy in the congregation - as I'm sure you can imagine, as Kodak stockholders and employees and those holding a variety of opinions brought opposing views to the table.

And just in case that wasn't enough - there was a war going on - the Vietnam war - a war that garnered a mix of both support and opposition and seemed to have no end in sight. The minister came out unequivocally against the war in sermon after sermon - calling it immoral and unethical and urging the congregation to come together to offer its building as a place of symbolic sanctuary for draft resisters. Congregational meetings were called and with several members threatening to leave the church if the proposal went through - the congregation voted to open their building as a place of symbolic sanctuary.

Despite all of this controversy and the very real loss of several members who disagreed with the direction of the church, the "congregation was growing rapidly", our history books say. "Some Sundays as many as three hundred people attended services. In September, 1964" the congregation "went into double sessions, holding two Sunday worship services and two church school sessions." They "even had a weekly radio program on a local station broadcasting" the minister's "sermons. It is difficult to explain precisely the causes of the growth." The history book goes on to say. "Certainly our attractive new building and its convenient location, as well as a popular new minister, had an impact. Our image had changed...Now it was attracting new young people."[2]

All of this growth placed tremendous stress on both the minister and the congregation - and after much conversation and discernment the church responded by adding additional space on to its building, calling an associate minister, and exploring whether or not to start another congregation. This time the year was 1965.

Fast forward nearly another fifty years to 2008, and this vibrant church in a small city in Western New York faced similar opportunities and challenges yet again. New ministers brought change, enthusiasm, and some times, controversy. Living into the call of the congregation's heritage - the ministers challenged themselves and the congregation - as its previous ministers had - not to sleep through the revolution.[3] They, along with the congregation, took up the tough issues of the day, calling for bold and radical change in our lives and in our community - speaking out against the war, calling for equal rights and opportunity for all people, challenging the businesses of their city to offer a living wage and fair employment for all people. Together, the congregation brought families and children off of the streets of the city and into the church, they taught and tutored, prepared endless meals and spoke out - often on some of the most controversial issues of the day - marching in the city streets when they had to and putting their faith into action by advocating for change in the city and nation they loved.

And yet again, the congregation grew. The church building bustled - hosting public gatherings and lectures featuring local politicians and nationally known authors, music and theatre events, social betterment projects, parties, small groups, and of course, the Sunday morning worship services and church school - which expanded quickly as young families joined the church in high numbers. Most evenings and every Sundays it was nearly impossible to find a quiet room for a meeting. And yet again, controversy arose as involvement in community issues and growth within the congregation brought both energy and change. Yet again, the congregation found itself beginning to ask, as it had in 1965, whether it might need to consider adding additional space and staff and whether or not it ought to consider starting another congregation.

As the ministers of this vibrant church in a small city of Western New York took a deep breath in the midst of all this - they looked back over the church's history and they began to wonder whether maybe, just maybe, the congregation's semi-centennial pattern of growth and controversy might be repeating itself once more.

Looking back over our history, we can see that repetition happens for many of us almost unknowingly - whether it takes place in our institutions, in our families, or in our personal lives. Looking back over our lives and over the generations, we can often see with the benefit of hindsight - the patterns that have gone on again and again in our intimate relationships, our friendships, our family and work lives. These patterns - be they personal or institutional - have power - holding us in their grasp at times with what feels like unescape-able centrifugal force. These patterns take shape in our lives and in our institutions, and as we in know them we can choose whether to lean in and allow their power to carry us - or whether to lean out, feeling their pull but charting our own course with gratitude for all that has brought us to this place. Whatever choices we make, looking back we are often amazed at the ways our lives have taken shape.

Unitarian Universalist minister and theologian, Rebecca Parker, shares her own story this way. "In 1990," she writes, "I moved to California to become president of the Starr King School for the Ministry. Truth be told, I was feeling proud of myself. Captain of my ship and master of my soul, I had valiantly charted my course to become first a cellist, then a minister, and now an educator.

"When I got to California, I discovered I had a passel of distant cousins I had never met. One of them, my cousin Eldon Ernst, was dean of the American Baptist Seminary at the Graduate Theological Union in Berkeley. He proposed an Ernst family reunion, and so we got together. When we arrived in the driveway of cousin Jane Ernst's home, my first impression of my distant cousins came from reading the bumper stickers on their cars. One said, 'If you want peace, work for justice.' Another, 'Teachers do it with class.' Another, 'Live music is best.' And then there was one that said, 'If you love Jesus, tithe.'

"Inside, over Jell-O salad, homemade rolls, and tuna casserole reminiscent of every church potluck I had ever attended, we said hello to one another. Here was Jane, a minister of religious education and graduate of the Pacific School of Religion. Here was Mike, a professional French horn player and high school music teacher, and Eldon, a seminary dean, and David, a United Methodist parish minister. Every single one of my distant cousins was a musician, minister, or teacher - and several were all three. Not only that, the ministers were all liberal social activists with an intellectual bent, and all the musicians were classical.

"Apparently, I had never made any choices at all! I did not make myself; my life was given to me. And this is how it is," she says "We receive who we are before we choose who we will become. As human beings, our lives begin and never leave the soil of this earth that shapes us through blood, kinship, genes, culture, associations, social systems, networks of relationships, and extended communities. Even when we do not directly know the people whose lives are linked with ours, our lives unfold in relationship to theirs."[4]

"Even when we do not directly know the people whose lives are linked with ours, our lives unfold in relationship to theirs.", she says. Whether we know these people from our past or not - our ancestors have warmed our rooms and polished our shoes - as the poet reminded us this morning. Those who came before us have warmed the rooms of this church and the rooms of our hearts. Weekdays and weekends they stoked the banked fires, splintering the cold, teaching us all that we need to know of the silent and austere offices of love. And we have risen and dressed and the sometimes harsh day is waiting for us. Our shoes, polished by these unseen and often unacknowledged hands of love, stand ready for us to step in to them and take up the unique legacy we have each been given.

And I believe that if we can step into these shoes that have been prepared for us - then there is nothing we can't do, friends. We've been given an unimaginable jump start by giants who have already changed the world and we are here - entering a time of new growth, excitement and change right on schedule.

Those who don't know history are doomed to repeat it - the prophets say - and those who do know their history, I say, may not be able to avoid repeating it - but we might just be lucky enough to do as the inventor and philosopher, Sir Isaac Newton did, and see a bit further by standing on the shoulders of giants.

And this is certainly a congregation of giants. From its best known leaders like Susan B. Anthony, David Rhys Williams, and Dick Gilbert to the countless individuals who each day have lived their faith in authentic and often unpopular ways through the years - our congregation of giants has had an impact on Rochester and the world community far beyond its numbers. Whether it's been through our work advocating for the abolition of slavery, voting rights for women, equal opportunity in education, housing, and employment for people of all colors, genders, sexual orientations, and gender expressions - or whether it's been through our early efforts housing the first Planned Parenthood program in Rochester, preaching on the controversial topic of evolution, or by offering a cutting edge values based honest sexuality education program to our children and teens in a time of dishonest, politically controlled health education - our Unitarian Universalist ancestors have done important, powerful work and they have bequeathed to us a rich legacy that we are challenged to live into - maintaining, as they did, a unity of spirit and purpose amidst a diversity of opinion.

All the way back in 1892 the congregation shared a powerful bond of union - asking never for unanimity of belief among its members, but asking rather that we enter together into a covenant of love and service and right endeavor - trusting that the best meaning of these words might open in our hearts and fill our lives, making us stronger to bear a helpful part in our community. These giants of our past knew then that innovation and change would always be a part of our religious life together, and they trusted that in time growing thought and purer life would reveal new truth.

And change has indeed come, my friends, but change has not touched everything. Some things will always remain the same, and as I close this sermon, I'd like to offer you a few words of constant truth that come from Rev. Bob West, past minister of this church and former president of our Unitarian Universalist Association. On History Sunday here in this church in ..., Rev. West rightly reminded us - "When people deal in history," he said, "they usually speak of leaders and causes and movements and buildings. But the real history of this congregation"- and the real giants whose shoulders we stand upon, I would add, are "...found in the lives of men and women and children who came to this church week after week, who brought troubles and joys, concerns and aspirations, as they came to this group where they could share them with one another, gain some sustenance for themselves and at the same time lend strength to another person or to a cause for people in this community and the world. No historian, no one, will ever know all that has been brought to this company by the individuals who compose it - nor will one ever know where the ripples cease, the good that has been done, by those same people - not the leaders but those who compose the body, the very lifeblood of our congregation."[5]

Each one of you make up the lifeblood of our congregation. As we live into the great legacy of this church together, may the ripples of good that travel out from this place and from our lives never cease. May we, this memorial day weekend, give thanks for all those who have come before us, and may we see a bit further as we stand on the shoulders of giants.

May it be so, and Amen.

Jen Crow, Associate Minister
May 25, 2008

1. Taken from the statement "The Purpose of the Church," by our minister, Rev. William Channing Gannett, circa 1900.
2. Salzer, Nancy J. "Covenant for Freedom : A History of the First Unitarian Congregational Society of Rochester, New York, 1829-1975," p. 21.
3. Taken from a statement by Rev. David Rhys Williams, who, when asked why he was participating in the Civil Rights Movement replied that he "did not want to sleep through the revolution."
4. Parker, Rebecca Ann. Blessing the World: What Can Save Us Now. (Skinner House Books, Boston, 2006). pp. 77-78.
5. West, Rev. Robert. "Since 1829: A History of Our Congregation." Delivered on October 29, 1967 at The First Unitarian Church of Rochester, N.Y. p. 4.