Where Have We Gathered? (Reflections for In-Gathering Water Communion)

Date Taken: 28 Dec 2011
Place: Bangalore, Karnataka, India

This is the text of the sermon I delivered to the congregation I serve, the Thomas Jefferson Memorial Church Unitarian Universalist.  You can listen to the podcast if you'd prefer.

Welcome

In Spanish it’s, “Bienvenidos.”  Our friends in Oltheviz Transylvania would say, “Isten hozott mindenkit.”  Our other overseas partner, the Nongkrem Unitarian Church in the Khasi Hills of India, might offer a simple, “Phi long kumno.”  I’ll just say, “Welcome everyone.”

<go into our usual welcoming words>

First Reflection

Good morning!  How many of you are back in school already, or have a sibling who’s back in school?  Any of you know an adult who’s back in school now?

For a lot of people this feels like the start of the year.  I know that New Year’s Day is the first of January, and that Chinese New Year is in February.  Some people think that the new year begins in springtime, and some feel like their birthday is the start of a new year.  (My younger son was born on December 31, so I’ve always told him that all those fireworks are to celebrate his birthday!)  The Jewish New Year – Rosh Hashanah – begins at sundown next Sunday.  (And did you know that on the Jewish calendar it’s not 2015?  It’s 5775!)

Lots of days and lots of ways of marking and celebrating the start of a new year.  We have In-Gathering Sunday with its wonderful Water Communion.  This is how we start a new year of being together.  I don’t know how long we’ve been doing it, but I know that it’s been quite a while.  I also know that in Unitarian Universalist congregations around the country people recently have done, are doing today, or are soon about to do what we’re going to do in a little while – pour our individual containers of water into one big container so that they all get mixed up with one another  Anybody know why we do this?

The Water Communion is a way of acting out with our water what we do as people.  We come together here, each of us unique and each of us different from everybody else.  Yet when we come together week after week for worship – here or in the children’s worship room (which this year, you know, is going to be next door over in Summit House) – when we come together week after week to learn together, and sing together, and play together, and laugh together, and sometimes cry together … when we come together over and over again to do these kinds of things we also – just like the water – start to become one big something instead of just a whole bunch of separate somethings.  And that big thing we could call, “community.”  Each of these separate people – including you, including me – come together and become a community.

Now … the water has something to hold it:  the bowl.  What do you think holds us?  Our covenant.  (Some of you may remember that at the start of RE year last year you made a covenant together for your class.)  A covenant is really just a promise, but it’s not a one-sided promise like when I would promise my mom that I’d never put my dirty shoes on the couch again, or that when I was done with something I’d put things back where I’d found them.  A covenant’s not like that. A covenant is a two-way promise – you and me, we both promise it to each other.  I promise to you, and you promise to me.

And here at TJMC we have a covenant, a promise that we all make to one another as a way of holding our beloved community.

I’d like to read our covenant to you this morning, and I’ve put it in less formal language than you’d find it on our website, in the framed picture in the Church Office, or on the big sign in the Social Hall.  Here’s our covenant, our promise, in words that even I can understand:

So that we can make TJMC the kind of place we all want it to be, we promise to each other:

·         That we’ll talk to each other with kindness and respect, especially when we don’t agree with each other;

·         That we’ll make room for all of our differences and work really hard at including everybody;

·         That we’ll be there to help each other;

·         That we’ll work for justice, fairness, what is right, both here in our congregation and in the world around us;

·         That we’ll give happily to this church with our time, our money, and our energy;

·         And that when we forget these promises, we will remind one another in loving ways.

I think that those are pretty good promises.

I hope this new school year, and this new church year will be really fun and full of wonder for each of us.  And all of us together.

Sermon

So … here we are.  As one of the hymns I’d thought about having us sing puts it, “Here we have gathered; gathered side by side.  Circle of kindship, come and step inside.”  Whether you have been away for the summer, or just for part of it, or have been here doing the day-to-day as if summer was just another season no different than any other (except for the humidity) – welcome back.  To students coming back to town for a new semester, and parents whose children have gone back to school, and children whose vacations are over, and people who for a myriad of reasons “took the summer off” from church – it’s good to see you all again at the start of this “new” year, this new church season.  To those who’ve been here pretty much each and every Sunday throughout the summer – it’s been nice to see you all along and it’s nice to see you now amidst all these returning folks.  Kumno.  Isten hozott mindenkit. Bienvenidos.

Earlier we did our annual Water Communion.  Our separate vials of water comingling in the bowl to create one common pool.  At some level we all get it – each of us comes here as an individual and together we create a community.  I’ve found myself wondering, though, just what kind of community is it that we’re creating?  “Community” in the abstract?  Some kind of generic community?  Somebody’s probably thinking, “a Unitarian Universalist community!” but that’s kind of a generalization too, isn’t it?  Liberal, progressive, free thinking, spiritual, loving, welcoming – these are all a part of it, yet I don’t think that any of them really captures it.

From time to time I remind us that each week we create a unique congregation – this particular combination of people has never been together before and won’t all be together, in this same way, ever again.  Even if next week everyone here returned and no one else joined us, it still wouldn’t be the same as it is right here and right now because many of us would be in a different place physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually.  The energy, the feel, of the group would be different.  We would be different.

So this community thing that we say we are building, that we join and say we’re a part of, that we come home to in this homecoming, is a kind of fluid thing, isn’t it?  In fact, there are people who think of themselves as part of TJMC who haven’t attended worship or anything else in a long time yet who still feel that connection.  And there are people who’ve moved away yet who also feel a tie to this place and these people.  And there are people in book groups who’ve never met some of the people who have breakfast together every week, who may not know the new families that have been coming for the past couple of weeks or the widower who’s dipped his toes in every now and again for the past couple of years and thinks he’s now ready for more of a commitment.  The truth is that we’re never all together at the same time in the same place, yet still, almost despite ourselves, we are one community.

And it’s sure not theology that holds us together.  It might not be immediately obvious, because we UUs often hold our religious beliefs and practices pretty privately, but there are a lot of folk here who are really deeply and passionately trying to live their lives in accord with their beliefs.  Of course, the person sitting next to them might be equally passionate for entirely different reasons.  As the quote so long erroneously attributed to Transylvanian martyr Francis David says, “We need not think alike to love alike.”  So it’s not our theology that holds us together, nor is this the kind of community that is built by constant face-to-face encounters with one another.

What holds us together, as I said earlier, is our promise.  Our covenant.  I’ll bet that many of you didn’t know we had one, or were surprised to hear that it’s posted in several places.  I would bet good money that there’s no one here who could recite it from memory.  And I am fairly sure that its unpacking wasn’t a part of any Newcomer Orientation, nor was it even explicitly shared at the time of “signing the book.”  (In preparing for this sermon it dawned on me that this would probably be a pretty good idea –asking people to think about and then actually make these promises as part of formalizing their membership.  How can we expect each other to keep them if it was never really clear that we were expected to make them?)

So … we’re going to try to make up for that oversight this morning.  I would like to ask you all to rise in body or spirit, and for the folks on this side to look at the folks on that side (and vice versa).  Here’s our formal covenant:

In order to create the beloved community we all desire for ourselves, we, the Congregation of [and I realized that that probably should be “we, the members of …”] Thomas Jefferson Memorial Church Unitarian Universalist Covenant to:

·         Communicate with compassion and respect, especially when we disagree,

·         Celebrate diversity and nurture our inclusivity,

·         Embrace one another spiritually and emotionally,

·         Promote social justice within our congregation and the larger community,

·         Generously support the ministries of the church with time, money and enthusiasm, and

·         When we have fallen short, lovingly call each other back into covenant. 

As I said earlier – I think those are pretty good promises.  I think they are strong enough to hold us together even as entropy – and elemental group dynamics – work to undo us.  These promises tell us who we are as a community – we are a people of covenant, of mutual promise, and these are the things we have promised to one another.  May these promises guide us in the coming year.  May they keep us safe; may the encourage us to try new things; may they get us through any hard times (and there probably will be some of those!); may they remind us inspire us to go deeper and reach higher; and my they be there to catch us when we have – as each of us at some point no doubt surely will – forgotten and fallen short of them.

Welcome home, everyone.  I think it’s going to be a great year.

Pax tecum,

RevWik

Walking Together

In case anyone is wondering ... yep, those are my kiddos!

In the Book of Amos (chapter 3 verse 3) the Prophet asks, "Can two walk together, except they are agreed?"  This is a line which has had a tremdendous importance in liberal religions, perhaps most especially in Unitarian Universalism.  The late scholar Conrad Wright made the point that the answer to this question is ultimately what separated early Unitarians from their Congregational neighbors.

Traditional religion answers this question with a fairly firm, "no."  Traditional religions cohere around shared beliefs, creeds, and dogmas.  If you don't accept and affirm the teachings on virgin birth, for example, you can't be a member of our tradition; if your understanding of resurrection is out of accord with ours, then we are out of accord with one another.  Can two walk together, except the be agreed?  No.

This attitude is perhaps nowhere more typified than in that well known joke about two people who meet on a bridge:

I was walking across a bridge one day, and I saw a man standing on the edge, about to jump off. So I ran over and said, "Stop! Don't do it!" "Why shouldn't I?" he said. I said, "Well, there's so much to live for!" He said, "Like what?" I said, "Well, are you religious or atheist?" He said, "Religious." I said, "Me too! Are your Christian or Buddhist?" He said, "Christian." I said, "Me too! Are you Catholic or Protestant?" He said, "Protestant." I said, Me too! Are your Episcopalian or Baptist? He said, "Baptist!" I said, "Wow! Me too! Are your Baptist Church of God or Baptist Church of the Lord? He said, Baptist Church of God!" I said, "Me too! Are your Original Baptist Church of God or are you Reformed Baptist Church of God?" He said, "Reformed Baptist Church of God!" I said, "Me too! Are you Reformed Baptist Church of God, Reformation of 1879, or Reformed Baptist Church of God, Reformation of 1915?" He said, "Reformed Baptist Church of God, Reformation of 1915!" I said, "Die, heretic scum!" and pushed him off.

Can two walk together, except they be agreed?  No.

Liberal religion -- or, at least, Unitarianism -- answers the question differently.  Absolutely, we say.  Of course two can walk together even if they do not agree!  Long (and apparently erroneously) attributed to Ferenc Dávid (aka, Francis David) is the sentiment, "We need not think alike to love alike."  Each and every Sunday Unitarian Universalist congregations prove this to be true -- Buddhists, Christians, Jews, Atheists, Hindus, Sikhs, birth-right Unitarian Universalists, Neo-Pagans, and so many others gather together as one religious community, and this is not only in spite of these differences but in a very real way because of them.  We recognize that this diversity strengthens us, stretches us, enriches our gatherings.

At my ordination twenty years ago, I was honored to have the Rev. Jane Rzepka preach one of her wonderful sermons, in this case, using this idea of "walking together" as the basis of what holds us together as a religious moment.  She was not the first to make this connection, of course, nor has she been the last, but my, O, my could that woman preach!

It is our agreement to walk together -- our covenant one with another -- that holds us together.  Creeds we can talk about and can lovingly and respectfully disagree about -- that's not what binds us.  Our promise to continue to recognize each other as kin even without either of us having converted the other, or been ourselves converted to the other's point of view.  We promise to walk together; to sing together; to laugh together; to struggle for justice together; to comfort one another together; to love ourselves, each other, and the world ... together.  And although it can certainly be a challenge, nor do we always succeed, it is the assertion of liberal religion that this is what Beloved Community looks like.

I was recently talking with someone who is not a UU about all of this and he asked me some very probing questions that got me thinking.  What, exactly, does it mean to "walk together"?  Does it mean a group of people simply milling about in one another's vicinity?  That wouldn't really be walking, would it?  So how about a group of people marching with purpose behind a leader?  Well, that's not exactly walking together is it?  That'd really be one person walking and a whole other people following behind.

There certainly can be a feeling of camaraderie, of solidarity, in such marching.  Think of a massive protest march in which hundreds, maybe thousands of people come together and march together in common purpose.  Look to your right, look to your left, look before or behind you and you see people with whom you feel connected no matter how many differences might otherwise divide you.  And there certainly can be a sense of empowerment, a "we are in this together ... this is our march" kind of thing.  But not always.  Often there's more of a "we're here together ... and I hope I can eventually find the people I came here with."  Very often there's the recognition that no matter how much we might all be "in this together," we are there at someone else's behest. 

So, again, what does it mean to "walk together?"  To really and truly walk together?

First I decided to see if this question -- "Can two walk together without being agreed?" -- has been translated in any other way(s).  What I found really surprised me.  "Blew my mind" might be a little more accurate.  Here are three other translations of the original Hebrew:

According to the New International Version, the translation should be, "Do two walk together unless they have agreed to do so?" 

The New Living Translation has it, "Can two people walk together without agreeing on the direction?" 

And, finally, the International Standard Version translates this verse as, "Will a couple walk in unity without having met?

Pretty different, no?  Each one of these points toward a very different understanding of Amos' question, yet each seems to support and reinforce the liberal religious understanding.  Can two walk together with having agreed to do so?  Well, that seems to point to the idea of covenant, as does the image of "agreeing on the direction."  (I often say to people that in Unitarian Universalism our first question isn't "what do you believe?" but, rather, "toward what do your beliefs point you?")  That last --- will a couple walk in unity without having met -- reminds me of a bumper sticker I've seen:  the most radical thing we can do is introduce people to one another.

As we look around us at the world we have created it seems clearer than ever that we need to find ways to walk together.  People are dying because of our inability to do just that.  I do not, by any means, imagine that Unitarian Universalism offers the answer to all our world's ills.  Even if we attained and maintained our ideals all the time -- which, of course, we do not -- we would not be the answer.  There is no one answer; life is to complex and varied for their to be any one way.  Yet our approach to building community is, I believe, an answer.  It is one way ... and I wish we did a better job of sharing our good news.

Pax tecum

RevWik

How Large Is The Circle

Yesterday after a couple of moving services at church I received an e-mail from a congregant.  He'd brought a friend with him and something had happened during the service that had made his friend feel unwelcome and had embarrassed him.  The issue was something that was said during the welcome:

"We are an intentionally inclusive congregation and we welcome everyone to our church regardless of age, race, sexual orientation, gender expression, theological perspective, and even political party. The circle is large."

The problem wasn't with the words themselves, to be honest.  It was the fact that after the words ". . . and even political party," people laughed.  It happened at both services.  And it has been happening, at both services, each week, since this language was introduced nearly a month ago.

I understand that for some it's an example of "nervous laughter."  There are things that we Unitarian Universalist have generally made an unspoken agreement not to talk about in our sanctuaries -- theological perspective and political affiliation are two of the biggies.  So to hear both of these things named in the same breath, well, there was bound to be a nervous giggle or two.

And, too, most Unitarian Universalists self-identify as liberal/progressive folks and it's taken almost for granted that most also self-identify as Democrats, politically.  There is, again, a largely unspoken assumption that Democrats are liberal and Republicans are conservative and, so, why would a Republican even want to come to a Unitarian Universalist church?  And, so, a chuckle at this seeming incongruity.

And yet . . .

And yet there are people who are liberal theologically, or socially, yet are conservative fiscally.  (For instance.)  There are people who, for any number of reasons, vote Republican and align with the majority of Unitarian Universalist in all sorts of ways.  Many of these people are Unitarian Universalists; some of them are members of our congregation.  And these people hear the laughter that follows our statement of inclusion and wonder if this church really is open to including them.

And then there are other folks who have family or friends with a different political perspective than their own who bring these people to church and they, too, feel the sting of that laughter.  It's like we put out our hand in welcome and then pull that hand away just before the other person can grasp it.  And then we laugh at our clever joke.  It's humiliating -- for that other person, certainly, but it should be for us, too.

Now I want to be clear, I'm not trying to slap our collective hands, here.  I wrote those particular words and was virtually certain that they would elicit some laughter.  I expected it the first week; I even anticipated that there'd still be a reaction the second week.  By now, though, these words have become a mirror, one that it may be uncomfortable to look into.

I have used words like this at some point in every congregation I've served.  (Although, to be honest, the specific challenging category has been different in each one.)  One of my jobs, as a pastor, and one of our jobs, as a faith community, is "to comfort the afflicted and to afflict the comfortable."  It is really pretty easy for us to affirm that "[our] circle is large."  It is harder, though, to keep reminding ourselves that it is not yet all-inclusive, nor even as inclusive as we'd wish it would be (if we're being honest).

There is always work to be done.  As inclusive as this community is -- as truly warm and welcoming as it is -- there are just so many people who have been marginalized, who have come to expect marginalization, who anticipate being unwelcome.  There is so much brokeness, and pain, and fear out there.  And "church" can be a really touchy place for people.  As I've mentioned in earlier posts, being truly welcoming involves a whole lot more than merely allowing people to come in the doors.  It means that we -- the ones doing the welcoming -- must be willing to change, to be changed.  Not an easy thing.

So I'm going to work on tweaking the language of our welcome to soften the "trigger" that elicits the laughter.  And I will continue to search for ways to challenge each of us -- and I certainly include myself in that -- to live more fully into being who we know we can be.

In Gassho,

RevWik

On Love and Hate

I recently watched the powerful and haunting PBS documentary, American Experience:  Freedom Riders.  I said to someone afterward that it showed us human beings at our best and at our worst -- the hate-filled bullying of the mobs terrified at the prospect of their world changing, and the courageous daring of the riders, putting themselves on the line to ensure that that change did, indeed, come.

And I truly found both groups to be nearly incomprehensible to me, if I'm completely honest.  I'm gad to say that I can't imagine being so blinded by hate and fear that I could be as cruelly violent as were those southern mobs; yet I also have to admit that I don't know if I would have had the kind of courage and commitment shown by those (mostly) kids.  I guess this means I'm somewhere in the middle between our "best" and "worst."

I'd written earlier about my intention to read through the Bible this year using a One Year Bible to guide my readings.  Well . . . the best laid plans and all that.  Let's just say that I'm a little behind.  But I am catching up again.  For the past few days my Gospel readings have been from the end of Matthew.  And as I read about Pilate's soldiers taunting Jesus, and beating him, and being so violently contemputous I found myself flashing on those scenes from Freedom Riders of those mobs in those bus stations in Alabama, Georgia, and Mississippi.  The same kind of malicious hatefulness.

The same kind of fear, then?  The message of radically inclusive community that Jesus offered then was, indeed, something quite dangerous to those bonded to the status quo.  Come to think of it, it was that same message those freedom riders were bringing in that summer of 1961.

It's a message we still need to side with today.

In Gassho,

RevWik