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| This is the crest of the Clan Innes, one line of my own ancestors. The motto, "Be traist," is Gaelic and means, "Be Faithful." |
I am Erik.
Husband of Mary. Father of
Theodore and Lester. Brother of Patrick
and Paul. Son of Walter and Nancy. Grandson of Frank and Johanna, and Gladys and
William. Thanks to my finding on the
internet someone who'd done all the work, following one line on my mother's
side I could go all the way back to 12th century Scotland and Berowald, first Laird of Innes. But I won't. My point isn't about genealogical details. It's that my identity is grounded in my
relationships. And not just my family relationships
now -- husband, father, brother -- but my ancestral relationships as well. Even old Berowald. In a real sense, naming myself means naming
my ancestors as well.
Except ... that it doesn't. Like the vast majority of folks in the United
States -- at least the majority of us with European ancestry -- our arrival in
American led to assimilation, and assimilation meant losing our ties to our
ancestors. It hasn't always been a
"thing" to be a "hyphenated American." In some places it still isn't. So my father's parents, Frank and Johanna,
wanted their children to be "Americans." Dad grew up with no working knowledge of
Swedish, and when asked had to admit that he really wasn't quite sure where in
Sweden his folks had come from. And it
wasn't long before the descendants of James Innes, who came to Virginia from Scotland
in the early 1600s, had buried their Scottish identity in the Appalachian soil
they now called home.
To be sure, there are plenty of folks who
have developed an avid interest in their genealogical history -- and with
Ancestry.com's helpful little leaves, and even more so with a simple cheek swab
for DNA and a couple of hundred bucks, it's easier than ever to know where we
came from. And, of course, there are
some communities and some cultures in which it has always been important, always been necessary, to ground oneself in a sense of tribe. Last week I mentioned some of the differences
between so-called I Cultures and We Cultures. This is another one. It's not just about the "we" who
are currently around us. It's about the colossally
collective "we" -- the "we" that extends back in time and
the "we" yet to come. And to
the extent that a generalized distinction can be drawn -- that it's the white,
dominant culture that tends toward an "I" orientation and the
cultures of people of color that tend toward the "we" -- it's
interesting to note that the cultures that are today most strongly We Cultures are the ones for whom
assimilation was never an option.
This month the question we're exploring
is, "What does it mean to be a person of ancestry?" There are, of course, a number of ways to
look at this. Our Unitarian Universalist
faith gives us ancestors we can relate to and connect with. Margaret Fuller and her friends Ralph Waldo Emerson, Theodore Parker, Henry David Thoreau, and the other
Transcendentalists, for instance. We are
descendants of their experiments with liberal religion. And there's Dorothea Dix, who fought for the
rights of people with mental illness.
And Susan B. Anthony, who was one of the prime movers of the 19th
century women’s suffrage movement. Even
Phineas Taylor Barnum, who may be known best for his emporium of (largely fake)
wonders and his contribution to the creation of Ringling Brothers, and Barnum
and Bailey Circus – yet was also an entrepreneur, urban developer, community
benefactor, philanthropist, abolitionist, author, Connecticut legislature and
mayor of the city of Bridgeport (where he is credited with having, “assisted in
ushering in an epic of unprecedented industrial growth in Connecticut and on an
American landscape”). Being a person of
ancestry -- being a Unitarian
Universalist person of ancestry -- could mean learning from and emulating
the examples of our religious ancestors.
Yet today, in the season when "the
veil between the living and the dead is at its thinnest" (as it's said), I
think we should focus more on our own familial ancestors. Whether it's the Celtic Samhain,
Christianity's All Saints and All Souls Days, the Hispanic Dia de los Muertos, Japan's Bon
Festival, or the Chinese Yu Lan Jie, all across the globe
and throughout all time we humans have created festivals and rituals for
remembering and honoring those who have come before us. Some were designed to
protect us from supposedly scary spirits who would want to do harm to the
living. Others were more like a family
reunion, sharing together the joy of the ongoing bonds of love in often (often
with really awesome parties!). Still
others are respectful demonstrations of appreciation and gratitude for the many
ways one's ancestors have made life, today, possible. Very different attitudes toward what it means
to be in continuing relationship with our ancestors, yet each, in their own
way, is built on the understanding that, to paraphrase Faulkner, "The dead
are not gone; they’re not even dead."
How many people here this morning have
grown up knowing one or more of their grandparents? Great-grandparents? Has anyone known their
great-great-grandparents? How many people
know at least their great-great-grandparents' names? This could be something we all do during this
month of "ancestry" -- look into our family's history, learning more
than we already know. Of course, family
is more than bloodlines; even those of us who are not genetically related to
others in our family are part of each other’s histories and herstories. It could be interesting to spend at least
part of this month learning all that we can.
It could also be a good time to find ways
to honor these ancestors. Maybe you
could make a small shrine, like our Ancestors’ Altar here, onto which you could
place photos and mementos to call these people to mind. My younger son once made a mobile on which he
put the name of every one of his relatives.
You could do something like that with the names of deceased relatives as
well.
In a moment we are going to have an
opportunity to call out or, perhaps, call into, this place the names of those
we would recognize as our ancestors.
A little earlier you received materials
with which you can make a paper marigold.
(Some of you may remember doing this last year, so next year it will be
a tradition!) The marigold is a flower
that plays a large part in Mexico’s Dia
de los Muertos celebrations. It is
said that its bright colors and sweet scent help to guide the dead back to
visit the living. Take some time to
think of people you’ve loved who have died, and even those who died before you
knew them. Remember that microbial DNA
is not the only determinant of family – so anyone who touched your life in such
a way that you would remember them now “counts.” As you think of these people, make small
tears around the edge of the circle – you could make a tear for each person, or
for each memory that comes to mind. When
you’re finished, after we’ve called forth the names, you are invited to take
your marigolds and place them on the altar.
RevWik
This is the sermon I delivered to the Thomas Jefferson Memorial Church - Unitarian Universalist on Sunday, November 1, 2015. (I'm only now getting around to posting it, which I usually do on the Monday immediately following its preaching. Lo siento.) As always, you can listen to it if you prefer.
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