A Meditation on Grace

Two weeks ago, just after my 50th birthday, we added a new member to our family:  Grace, a 4-month old yellow lab/basset hound mix (the vet calls her a “bassadore”), a rescue dog from the local humane society. 

Adding Grace to our family continues to be a great lesson in family systems theory:  she has definitely disrupted the status quo and changes are inevitable, whether we like it or not, because our collective well-being depends on our capacity for adjusting.  The youngest cat is curious and forgiving; a truce is in sight.  The older cat is taking it hardest; he is creative and persistent in his protests.

My husband is taking it in stride; he has learned to do this after 26 years of marriage, and perhaps adding a dog to the family is a small change after, “Honey, let’s quit our jobs; sell our house; move to Boston; attend seminary; move to New Mexico for the internship; enter ministerial search; and then move to Pennsylvania for our first settled ministry."

Grace is my first dog, and perhaps a mid-life quest to know myself in a different way.  She is humbling me and also helping me be in the world in a different way.  She’s a great little am-bassadore in our neighborhood, and around the Parish House.

She is energetic and often needs to stretch her short little legs (I so identify).  In the last two weeks I’ve spent less time at my computer and more time outside.  We’ve had pre-dawn walks in pouring rain; mid-afternoon walks under breathtakingly blue skies; and misty evening walks softly illuminated by porch lights and street lamps.  I know that  the harsh Pennsylvania winter and deep snow are coming, and that our walks are about to get much more messy, but in the meantime…

I’ve been serenaded by raindrops on the hood of my rain jacket, a surprisingly pleasant ballad.  I’ve spent time revering fall colors in full glory against azure blue.  I’ve actually heard the subtle pop of a single leaf launching into a choreographed descent that concludes in whispered landing on frosted ground.  One late afternoon, seated on the front porch steps, I followed Grace’s gaze and saw a crow flying overhead with a post-it note dangling from its beak.  I thought it a weird sight; Grace seemed nonplussed.

There is so much I need to learn about living with a dog, and I know that further transition is inevitable.  I’m thinking of this effort as a spiritual practice on transition: accepting change; leaning into the discomfort and inconvenience of my disrupted schedule and agenda; trusting that I’m developing more wisdom and  patience about being in relationship; and surrendering to that which is beyond my control (a spiritual lesson the cats have been trying to teach me for many years now) -- including loving and being loved by a creature who -- in the absence of words -- embodies her communications to me.  I have to pay attention.  It is a good lesson in grace.

Tending the Imperfect Church - 9/9/2012 UU Church of Meadville

Perfection Paralysis

I begin with an age-old philosophical question:  “How many Unitarian Universalists does it take to change a light-bulb?”
"Actually, we choose not to make a statement either in favor of or against the need for a light bulb.
However, if -- in your own journey -- you have found that light bulbs work for you, that is fine.
Indeed, you are invited to write a poem, throw a pot, or compose a liturgical dance about your personal relationship with your light bulb, and to present your poem, pot or dance at next month's annual Light Bulb Sunday Service, during which we will explore a number of light bulb traditions, including: incandescent, compact fluorescent, 3-way, LED, long-life, and tinted, all of which are equally valid paths to luminescence."
This is funny because it so accurately depicts our Unitarian Universalist desires to be completely open, inclusive, and tolerant.

       And it is poignant because it so accurately depicts our misguided desires to be all things to all people -- in other words – our desire to be a perfect church. 

       This desire for perfection scares me – NOT because I believe it to be an unreachable goal, but because I believe it to be a completely unworthy one!

       If we mistake the political correctness of those "light-bulb" punch lines for a welcoming and inclusive religion, the joke is on us because that “being-all-things-to-all-people” perfection has a way of paralyzing us:  remember that the first punch line is, “we choose not to make a statement either in favor of or against…”

       And worse, such political correctness and perfection paralysis can morph into the apathy of righteous self-satisfaction -- can fool us into believing that nothing more is expected of us, and that we need not expect more from one another...

       ...we can simply keep coasting along, doing what we’ve always done, being who we’ve always been, surviving as we've always survived, satisfied and mildly surprised that people are not knocking down our doors to become part of our exclusive inclusive club.

Daring to Be Imperfect

Rather than settling for perfection, I ask you to reach for the more worthy goal, I ask you to raise our expectations and to answer the call to be an Imperfect Church. 

Indeed, let us make a sacrament of being an Imperfect Church, together.  Let us be “perfectly flawed”, to quote our music director, Aimee Reash, “…oozing with real, gritty, honest, human life”;

Let us welcome the ritual of falling as we surf the chaos of living;

Let us reject the nice and the familiar, and instead observe a living liturgy of depth and discovery;

Let us make a sacrifice of our judgments, blame, bitterness, and rightness, that we may find meaning in what remains;

       Let us teach one another not with our answers, but with our questions, and let us encourage one another not with our certainties, but with our doubts;

       Let us comfort one another not by saying just the right thing at just the right time, but with our most attentive silence;

Let us heal and help one another not with our expertise and advice, but with our reverent presence;

Let us covenant to create connections so deep that we eagerly come to expect nothing less than imperfection from one another;

And then let us have the grace to forgive and love ourselves just as we are so that we may have the grace to forgive and love one another in the same way – let us love ourselves, one another, and our community so much that we all cannot help but be transformed.

Answering the Questions

       In this morning's reading about "The Church Where Everything Goes Wrong," the minister imagines God witnessing an unplugged worship service and asking, "What in the world are you doing over there?  This is what you call church?  What were you thinking?"

       I do not know how a Perfect Church might answer those three questions...it might be surprised that they had even been asked.

       But when I envision our Imperfect Church being asked the same three questions, the answers seem ready, and true:

       What in the world are we doing over here?  We're daring to be fully human, daring to live into the original blessings of our imperfection, daring to see the holiness in the struggle, in the beauty, and in the messiness of it all. 

       We're leading with heart by trusting one another, presuming good will, communicating often and thoroughly, asking questions that lead us toward understanding, and disagreeing in ways that still offer respect to the person with whom we may disagree.  Sometimes we fail at all of this; often we don't.

       We are celebrating the journey by bearing witness and being present to each other's joys and sorrows.  We do this by listening, singing, eating, worshipping, working, and playing together.  We do this by showing up.

       We are exploring the possibilities of life unfolding, learning with and from one another; experiencing moments of awe, wonder, hope and revelation as we witness the holy in the ordinary and then risk sharing the sacred stories and moments of our lives.

       We are loving our fellow travelers on the journey -- striving for deeper understandings of ourselves and one another, and trying to love so strongly and boldly in response that within these walls and beyond these walls we are creating an unbridled transformation of ourselves, our church, and our community.

       That's what we're doing over here, and yes, this is what we call a church.  And for most of us, this is the place where our imperfections make us more loveable, not less so. We have nothing to prove here -- and certainly not our cleverness or our worthiness.  This...this is the place where we can practice being fully human and beautifully flawed.

       This is the place where we are learning to open our hearts and expand our minds because we are encouraged toward discovery, and because we are expected to offer something of ourselves to the greater good by connecting and engaging with one another. 

       We get it -- we know that we each owe life a death; but in the meantime we each owe life a life and we are helping one another with that -- it is our most privileged work here at the Imperfect Church.

       And what are we thinking?

        We are thinking that none of this is easy.

       We are thinking that it is important to keep trying, especially when times get hard, because knowing that we can depend on other people...and that they can depend on us...this is knowledge that makes a difference.

       We are thinking that we have something vital and vibrant -- not perfect -- to offer to those who are seeking a safe place to critically examine all of life.

       We are thinking that it is okay to ask for help when we need it because we're not going to be judged as weak or incompetent, but simply in need -- a common condition of our humanity. 

       And finally, we are thinking that as important as thinking is to us, there is more to religion than thinking and believing -- that awe and wonder; inspiration and action; gratitude and compassion; intuition and feeling -- all of these are also a part of faithful living in the Imperfect Church, and what a privilege it is to practice our religion, together.

Answering the Call

       The great thing about being an Imperfect Church is that each and all of us are called to serve, and that our intentions and expectations of being imperfect, together, pave not the road to hell, but the winding path of understanding and transformation.    

       We do not need to be perfect -- we should not aspire to or be satisfied with perfection…if the "Perfect Church" is what you are hoping for, what you have settled for, then you may be disappointed as we continue our evolution into the Imperfect Church…

       ...I hope you will not be disappointed but excited and committed as we boldly answer the call to be a real, gritty, honest, falling, chaotic, deepening, discovering, sacrificing, teaching, expecting, encouraging, comforting, healing, attentive, connecting, graceful, thoughtful, forgiving and loving community of faith -- an Imperfect Church ready and able to transform the world with our steadfast commitment to a strong and abiding love.  

Tending Souls - 9/2/2012 UU Church of Meadville

“…we can never be born enough.

we are human beings for whom birth

is a supremely welcome mystery.

the mystery of growing,

the mystery which happens only and whenever

we are faithful to ourselves.

life for eternal us is now.”

e.e. cummings

Ineffable to Ineffable

            We are in the business here, of tending souls.  It is difficult, yet rewarding work, complicated by our theological diversity and by our natural resistance to religious language.

            Our Universalist heritage teaches that all souls are ultimately reconciled with God and when I speak of our souls, I am speaking of that ineffable part of us that longs for connection with the ineffable that we call by many names: Spirit of Life, God; Yahweh, Elohim, Allah; Mother-Father God; Beloved Mystery, Nature, the Oversoul, the Collective Unconscious, the Ground of our Being, Holy One, Transcendent Love. 

            No one knows for certain about that ultimate reconciliation of ineffable soul to ineffable source, but we do know – in the meantime – that “life for eternal us is now” and so when I speak of tending souls I am also speaking of our evolving human-ness that experiences reverence, awe, and wonder in nature; I am speaking of that unique personal core, that unique spark and spirit of life within us, that longs for love, and purpose, and connection not only with the ineffable, not only with the natural world of which we’re part, but also longs for connection – deep connection -- with other human beings.

Meeting J

            We are in the business of tending souls and earlier this summer we had a chance to do just that at our Harry Potter daycamp.  Our theme was "Lumos" -- which, in Harry Potter parlance is the incantation for “let there be light.”  Our focus was on the light that is all around us, and the light that shines from within us.

For example, when we considered the light that is all around us we talked about the sun and stars, and we talked bioluminescent creatures – we even had a live, bioluminescent scorpion that we checked out under a black light.  When we considered the light within each one of us, we talked about a person’s kindness and strength, their compassion and their creativity, their power to offer blessings to the world by the way that the treat other people.

11 children came to the camp, their ages ranging from 6 to 15.  One of those children was “J”, a 13-year old boy who has recently undergone those growth spurts that 13-year old boys endure -- at times he seemed to be all feet and gigantic sneakers.

There is a truth that is hard for me to admit to you:  I was nervous when J first arrived because I recognized immediately that he would require a lot of attention, and I did not know if we were prepared –-- I did not know if I was prepared -- to work with him.  

When in doubt, gather information.  I talked to J’s mother who explained to me that he has the mental capacities of a 6-year old boy in that evolving 13-year old body.  She shared a litany of his medical conditions which include, in her words, mental retardation, ADHD, autism, and epileptic seizures that play havoc with his memory – especially around language.  This makes it hard for him to remember and to follow directions.

As I listened to his mother it became clear to me that she is a fierce, devoted and frankly exhausted mother who must advocate for her son every single day.  She is a loving mother, too, who ended her litany with these words: “My boy is also smart, and he is sweet.”

Seeing J: What the Heart Understands

            I worked closely with J during the week, witnessing the challenges and frustrations he experiences due to that list of conditions that are beyond his control.  I saw the smart and sweet, and even the funny J, too.

More importantly, I witnessed J’s yearning to believe in and trust in us, trust that we were not going to exclude him because of his differences because let me tell you something:  he may struggle to understand a lot of things but he understands exclusion, he experiences it often.  He doesn’t know why it happens – he’s doing his best – but for reasons he is unable to grasp his best is often not good enough and he is teased, turned away, left out, excluded.  This hurts him, deeply.

If we are truthful, each one of us has experienced exclusion, has been judged “lacking” because of some innate “other-ness”, has been rejected despite our best offer of our true-est selves.  We can understand J’s yearning to be a welcomed part of a beloved community that sees us, cares about us, accepts us as we are.  We walk through these doors seeking something and we understand J’s yearning for a beloved community committed to sticking with us as we continue our personal evolutions, continue our shared journeys toward wholeness. 

We understand J’s longing because we, too, long to be met at soul-level, we long to get to that place of which Rumi sings – that place beyond all ideas of rightdoing and wrongdoing.  It is a place of soul-tending and risk-taking where we can share the deepest longings common to the eternal us:  our longings for love and purpose.

            Mid-week of Harry Potter camp J led Lisbet and me to that place of soul-tending because he had the innocent courage to ask for what he needed. 

            “Tell her about me,” he said to Lisbet, pointing first to himself and then to me.  “Tell her about me.”

            Lisbet could have responded in many ways.  She could have told me all the things I already knew, all the things that were so immediately evident upon meeting J, all the factual things that J's mother had shared with me on that first day of camp.  But that's not what J had asked for.   When he said “Tell her about me” what he was really asking was, “please, see ME…see ME in all my wholeness, please see the SOUL of me that is not retarded or autistic or epileptic or forgetful or frightening or unnerving; please, see the SOUL of me that is so much greater than all of those things that keep me apart.  Please, come with me to that place of understanding; please, can we go together to that place of SOUL-TENDING."

And then Lisbet offered J the gaze of blessing.  "Carmen," she said, "this is J.  He is a kind person with a big heart.  He is a little mischievous, and he also wants to do well.  His grandfather died recently, and J misses him terribly.”

J had been watching and listening as Lisbet spoke.  When she finished he looked at me, nodded, and said, "Yes.  Yes."

            J’s little shining face was a billboard-sized affirmation of inherent worth and dignity.  In those moments of soul-tending, he had not been found lacking – this is so much a part of his ordinary experience. 

Rather, for those soul-tending moments, two people had taken the time to journey with him, to be present to him, to witness that truest part of him that he knows is in there.

It was a moment of grace.  It was sacred respite from the chaos and cruelty, suffering and frustration, that is so often his daily bread. 

We had been called on to tend a soul, and we did not fail him.

Souls Flat & Flabby

I could end this sermon right now, end it on this sentimental, feel good note.  But we must remember that our religion calls us beyond sentiment, and that our shared ministries must be more than sentimental, feel good, sunshine moments because – as you heard in this morning’s reading -- "whenever struggle is replaced by sedate doctrines our souls go flat."  I would add that our souls go flabby if we settle always for "doing good" rather than "being with."

We are here, together, because we do not want our souls to go flat or flabby.  We are here, together, because we choose to be – choose the meaningful work of tending souls by way of the comforts and challenges that we offer to one another, we, the eternal us, engaged in the living quest for love and purpose.

Because I do not want our souls to go flat or flabby I cannot leave you with only the tender moments of J's affirmation, "Yes! Yes!"  There is more to the story – a harsh second chapter that involves misunderstandings, accusations, offenses, defenses, and a series of phone calls that resulted in J’s mother deciding that he would not be allowed to come back on Friday, to the final day of camp. 

I was devastated.  Here’s the evolved truth:  on that last day of camp I was as eager to see and spend time with J as I had been nervous and hesitant to spend time with him on that first day of camp.

I had a choice:  to let it go, or to try again for connection.  In this instance letting go would be the easiest thing for me to do because it had all grown so complicated. 

The Meaningful Way

But our religion does not beckon us toward the easy way, it beckons us toward the meaningful way.  The meaningful way is the soul-tending way and without connection, it’s just not going to happen.  My heart reminded me of my connection to J -- “Tell her about me” –and so I picked up the phone to call his mother.  "There’s been a terrible miscommunication," I said to her, "and I am so sorry for my part in it.  Could we try to find our way to a different place?”

            I am pleased to tell you that we did find our way to a different place, pleased to tell you that I was there when J came running through the Parish House doors to sign in for his final day of camp.  And I’m going to also tell you that my heart broke a little bit when he looked at me and said, “My mom told me that I upset people here and I didn’t mean to do it and I’m so sorry, it made me sad and it made me cry when I thought about it.” 

            The work of soul-tending comes down to this:  Are we “a healing presence for one another, or a hurting presence”[1] for one another?  Actually, the answer is always YES.  If we are connected, rather than indifferent, if we are open, rather than arrogant, if we are loving, rather than fearful, if we are robust in soul rather than flat or flabby in soul, then the answer will always be yes:  we are either healing presence or hurting presence for one another. 

When J offered me an apology he really did not need to give, I had to choose between being a healing presence or hurting presence.  If I tried to truthfully and simply assure him that he had had no real part in it all, that would only have further confused and thereby further hurt him. 

His apology, although totally unnecessary, was the very best he had to offer in that moment.  And so under the gaze of J’s blessing I said, “Everything is okay.  Please don’t worry.  I’m glad you’re here.”  In that soul-tending moment I was a healing presence for J; but here’s what I really want you to know:  in that soul-tending moment, he was a healing presence for me.

We choose to be together here, engaged in the soul-tending, meaningful work of comforting and challenging, encouraging and forgiving, teaching and learning, connecting and reconnecting in our quests to live with love and purpose.

Life for eternal us, is now. 

---

[1] From Marilyn Sewell, as heard in the documentary Raw Faith.

What is Worth Our Promises, and What are Our Promises Worth?

Someone asked me recently why I was spending so much time talking about God and Jesus in Church -- and also why I was lifting up covenant -- especially Jewish and Christian covenants -- since they seem not to have worked out so well.

As to the first question -- why am I talked about God and Jesus in Church?  Because I have faith that Unitarian Universalists are large enough in heart and mind to hear about God and Jesus, especially during certain times of the year -- like Springtime, when people in our culture and around the world celebrate Passover and Easter. 

There are those of us, even within this Congregation, to whom these are meaningful celebrations, and I think there's a certain maturity of mind and spirit when we are able to consider what many of our friends, families and neighbors are taking to heart, even if we do not agree with the literal interpretations of their sacred scriptures.  It is good for us to practice the tolerance that we preach.

Additionally, when we consider sacred texts from world religions, I respectfully use the names in those texts .  For example, we recently considered our Fourth Source together, which specifically mentions Jewish and Christian teachings and since I am sourcing particular sacred texts -- Hebrew and Christian texts -- I will respectfully use the names used in those texts, such as God and Jesus. 

There is integrity and respect in honoring sacred texts, and part of our work as Unitarian Universalists -- in the absence of a sacred text that is unique and particular to us -- is to hear and interpret the world's sacred writings in ways that inspire and challenge us.

It is also fun, sometimes, to consider all these enduring ancient stories in ways that help us learn something about our contemporary lives.  That's what we do together, as religious people -- we help one another make meaning -- we have made this promise to one another, we are in covenant to engage in "a free and responsible search for truth and meaning" -- and in this journey of understanding, in this exploration of possibilities, there is always something to learn -- about yourself, and about the lives of those with whom your own life intersects.  Also, here is always something to teach others about our faith -- and since covenant, not creed or doctrine, lies at the heart of our differences with most other religious traditions, it is helpful to be well versed in covenant and what it means to you, especially.

As I have acknowledged, there are times when we stray from our covenant, there are times when we break our sacred promises -- this has been demonstrated over and over again, in ancient texts and in modern life.  But we learn from our stumbling and our soaring; we don't give up on each other -- this is what it means to have faith.  We stick with it, and we keep at it -- and it is here, in this intimate space and time of revelation that we create and sustain together, that we tend our sacred promises to one another.          

In a world of convenience and performance, when entertainment has replaced thoughtfulness and we are so deconstructed as to flit from event to event, from channel to channel, from electronic device to electronic device, from text to text (even while driving!), it is worth our attention to figure out what is worth a promise, and what our promises are worth!

In your lives, here and now -- not in an ancient story but in the here and now -- what is worth your promise, and what are your sacred promises worth?  Are you in covenant with any other community that invites you into the intimacy of such revelations, that lets you strip yourself right "down to the bone" as you figure out the kind of person you want to be, the kind of life you want to live, and the contributions you want to make to the world during your brief tenure here? 

RevElations-April 2012

Welcome to the season of liberation, renewal, and reverence, the time of year when our Jewish friends celebrate liberation from slavery at Passover; our Christian friends celebrate the resurrection of Jesus at Easter; our Pagan and Druid friends celebrate the renewal of life at Ēostre; and many of us celebrate the sustenance, seasons, and cycles of life in the Interdependent Web (especially on Earth Day).

As a Unitarian Universalist I am most comfortable holding reverence for the seasons and cycles that bring us renewal of life in Spring.  I am delighted by the daffodils and crocus emerging in the gardens and pathways surrounding the Parish House and the Sanctuary.  I steal frequent glances at the redbud tree standing sentinel just beyond my office windows, for its branches seem to arch heavier with blossoms even as I'm watching...is it possible to see something growing right before my eyes?  There is a smell in the air over the last few days (before the rain set in again) -- that green-blue-fresh-sunny-earthy-warm again smell  that is like invisible poetry for the senses.  I stand in sunlight, eyes closed, arms spread in welcome, and take deep, renewing breaths of this potent offering.

A concerned person remarked to me recently, on a particularly warm Sunday, that we enjoy these early springtime flirtations at our peril because they are indicative of the terrors of climate change to which we contribute, even in our most innocent and best-intentioned daily actions.  I know that there is truth in these concerns.  But there is also truth to be found in the sights, smells, and sounds that invite us to remember our incarnation as temporal and physical beings inhabiting a world of wonder.

It is our lot, as human beings, to dwell in the tension between wonder and terror, and it would be a foolish and wasteful life spent to dwell only in one side or the other.  In this season of liberation, renewal, and reverence, guided by the wisdom of our own temporality, let us be ever mindful of our responsibilities to notice and to appreciate, with gratitude, the wonders that surround us every single day:  surrender your attention to a growing thing, lift your face to the sun in silent prayer, and fill your lungs with poetry. 

And, grounded in the knowledge that our actions as temporal beings can have long-yielding consequences, let us be ever mindful of our responsibilities to make a difference where and when we can make a difference:  liberate yourself and another with your forgiveness, resurrect hope with your presence and your determination, and show reverence for all life by your bold and daily actions to reduce suffering and oppression in all their terrorizing forms.

May the blessings of Spring abound for you, in body, mind, heart, and spirit.