As my time with you in ministry comes to its close, some of you have asked me what I wish I had known when you called me as your minister seven years ago. This week as I thought about all the memories we have made together, I realized I wanted to write a letter to my former self, offering some hard-won advice and counsel to the minister I was seven years ago. Here is that letter, written as if it had been delivered to me on the day I accepted your call, which was May 9, 2010...

 

Dear Past Rebecca,

 

Congratulations on accepting your first call! Years from now, the people who were with you today will still remember what it felt like to watch you and your husband and your infant daughter come forward through those packed pews, as the congregation rose to its feet and clapped and cheered to see you say YES to their call. They will remember that you came to the microphone and said, I don’t know what to say, and that people were laughing and people were crying, also.

 

Right now all you can think about is getting everything set up for your cross-country move, saying goodbye to your life in Boston and heading about as far West as you can go. The last thing you need, or have asked for, is advice and counsel from a more experienced minister. But now that I’ve served in parish ministry for ten years – you’ve done 3 – there are seven things I hope you will consider as you begin this ministry with the good people of Santa Monica.

 

1. Practice self-compassion. The Buddhist author Pema Chodron often teaches about maitri, a Sanksrit word meaning “unconditional friendship with one’s self.” She believes that to befriend oneself is a fundamental practice of compassion, without which we are unlikely to be able to be kind or generous with others. And as another colleague told me recently, you can’t get through life without making mistakes. So since you are going to make mistakes, practice taking responsibility for your mistakes, making amends when you can, and learning from them if possible.

 

Remember that no one can learn when someone is being mean to them. So be kind to yourself. Practice maitri and help your self-compassion muscles get strong. It will help your compassion muscles get stronger, too.

 

2. Direction is more important than speed. In some ways, a congregation is a lot like an aircraft carrier. It’s built for endurance and for what it can carry more than agility and how fast it can go, and turning the ship to move in a new direction takes a long time and usually follows a long chain of command. Remember that all ministers are ultimately interim ministers, because we will come and we will go, but if we do our work well, the congregation will live on and on. So choose to value direction more than speed; moving in the direction of clarity, caring communication, of connection, learning, and growth is more important than how fast you are seeing results.

 

3. Don’t be afraid to say “Ouch! That hurts!” Ministers, like leaders in so many other parts of our lives, are giant projection screens, and everyone brings pre-conceived ideas of what the minister – or the leader – should or shouldn’t look like, act like, say or do into every interaction they have. These projections not about you and you will not be able to control them. But from time to time, you may be tempted to go along with these projections, if they are positive, and wanting to be seen as more compassionate, more generous, and more forgiving than you really are. Try to restrain that impulse. Your humanity and imperfections are some of the most powerful parts of your ministry, too. When you get hurt, say ouch, that hurts. Try not to let people think that they hand out armor for your heart, or turtle shells to guard your back, at seminary along with the diplomas and advanced degrees.

 

4. Try to learn from your critics as well as from those who praise you. Just because someone is criticizing you doesn’t mean that they don’t have something you can learn from them. That said, it’s hard to learn when someone is being harsh, mean, or unkind as well as critical – see #1, self-compassion. Try to help the congregation figure out the best ways to deliver disappointing news so that it can be said and heard with compassion... keep moving in the direction of growth and learning.

 

5. When in doubt, hold up a mirror to your people. Reflect back to them what you hear and what you see from them, so they can see themselves in a new light, through your eyes and ears. Ask, is this what you mean? Ask, how might this serve our faith and our people and our community? Ask, what are we here to do together? What is our purpose as a congregation? Ask, not so much so what, as for what? What is the North Star that allows us to navigate and find our way forward, as a community not just as individuals? Keep asking these questions. Keep listening to the answers.

 

6. Remember the past. Learn about the history of the church from the archives as well as from those who are still here who lived that history. Not only will it tell you how to live in the present, but it will also shine a light on how you can live into the unfolding future. It is your task, as minister, to honor the legacy of those who came before you – if not for the reasons I have just given then because you know that one day, it will be your picture up on the wall, and someone else will be telling your history from this pulpit. Tell the stories of the past so that others who were not here will come to know them. Celebrate milestones and anniversaries and traditions that will hold the community and make memories come alive as they return to them year after year after year. And when you do so, consider challenging yourself and others to tell both stories – what past UUA President, and current Co-Interim President Bill Sinkford called the “feel good” stories of when we got it right, as well as the “feel bad” stories of conflict, failure, all those times we wish we could forget, the times when we really got it wrong.

 

We need all the stories about our past. As I write this, from the future, the news is filled with images of statues telling one story about America’s history, statues that are finally coming down, statues glorifying the leaders of the Confederacy that have stood for decades in the public spaces of the historic city of New Orleans. Mitch Landrieu, the mayor of the city of New Orleans who has led the effort to remove the statutes, has received death threats for what his critics call his attempt to erase history. But Landrieu is not erasing history; he is telling another kind of story.

 

Landrieu speaks passionately about the pride of New Orleans in its history, but he also says, there are other truths...that we must confront; he means there are other histories, true histories, to which no monuments or memorials have yet been built.

 

In New Orleans, that story is the story of serving as a port by which thousands of enslaved people were traded, bought and sold; where hundreds of people were lynched; and where the courts made “separate but equal” the law of the land. These are some of the most “feel bad” stories we can tell about our American history. But they are true, too. The author James Baldwin told us, Not everything that is faced can be changed, but nothing can be changed until it is faced.'

 

And so, the time will come when you will need to tell not only the “feel good” stories about how we sent Ernie to Selma, Alabama, on a life-changing mission of spiritual commitment and moral courage, about how we have been affirming civil unions since the 1950s, but the “feel bad” stories, too: stories of failure, stories of values in conflict. These stories shape us, too. They are with us, hidden in the walls and under the floorboards. They are in our church and in our denomination and in our nation.

 

And it will be your work to face them, together.

 

7. Finally, and you may not believe me when I tell you this, but someday you’ll need to find a place to keep all the notes of appreciation and thanks you will receive for your work, for the work of the church that you have nurtured, and you will feel a sense of love beyond all measure. Try to let in the love. Try to amplify the love and send it back out again. When the cost has been high and the news is not good, when you are weary and in need of strength, when this ministry has come to an end and it is time to make a new beginning elsewhere, then the time will come when you will pull out those notes and mementos, and hold on to them, every cherished memory of the very best parts of your ministry: the lives and hearts that you have touched, and who have touched yours.

 

In those days you will remember the circle of grief that came together when tragedy came to the congregation, and to the community. How we lit candles together and shared memories together and held one another close.

 

You will remember the joyful news of a new baby on the way, and the way that child has been loved and cherished by the congregation every day since then.

 

You’ll remember wondering every Sunday if the people would come, and then seeing them come to church, again and again, all those brave souls.

 

You’ll remember the high heat of division and conflict among us, the days of being a lightening rod, and how we brought the heat down, how difficult and painful it was, and how the work continues.

 

You’ll remember the building projects and the constant work of stewarding the resources we have inherited for the future, and it will be your turn to plant the trees and dig the wells so that those who come after you will walk in the shade and drink from those deep springs.

 

You’ll remember the fundraising drives and the practices of generosity. You’ll remember how people gave to this church not only for all it is or has been, but also to its promise, to what it might yet be and become.

 

You’ll remember the weddings in the courtyard, covered in blossoms, and in the sanctuary, and the memorial services, too, every extraordinary life that we remembered together.

 

Yes, you will remember this. Long after the years of your ministry here have come to an end, as all ministries do, you will remember.

 

These things, you will never forget.

 

With love,

Future Rebecca

 

Please rise in body or in spirit and join in singing our closing hymn #1028, The Fire of Commitment, #1028.

 

Benediction

 

When you leave this place,

Practice self-compassion

Remember that sometimes direction is more important that speed.

When you are hurt, don’t be afraid to say ouch, that hurts.

Try to learn from those who criticize you as well as those who praise you, but remember that no one can learn when someone is being mean to them. Be kind to yourself.

When in doubt, hold up a mirror to those around you, so that they can see and hear themselves more clearly.

Remember the past, both the feel good and the feel bad stories.

And finally, when all is said and done, never forget let the love in, love beyond all measure. If you forget everything else, remember that.

 

May it be so.

 

“GOD OF OUR (MIS)UNDERSTANDINGS”

Rev. Greg Ward

Unitarian Universalist Community Church of Santa Monica

May 7, 2017

 

TIME FOR ALL AGES - Adapted from “The Zax” by Dr. Seuss

 

Let me call forth those young at heart for our Story.

Who here has a cold shoulder? How about a stink-eye? Show me.

Do you ever see anyone giving people a cold shoulder? A stink eye?

Do you think it’s helpful?

Have any of you ever heard your parents say something like, ‘if you keep making that face it’s going to

freeze in place and you’ll be stuck with that expression forever?

I want to tell a story about when that happened.

 

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The day before today, making tracks In the prairie of Prax,

Came a North-Going Zax And a South-Going Zax.

 

And it happened that both of them came to a place

Where they bumped. And they stood. Foot to foot. Face to face.

 

“Look here, now!” the North-Going Zax said, “I say!

You are blocking my path. You are right in my way.

 

I’m a North-Going Zax and I always go north.

Get out of my way, now, and let me go forth!”

 

“Who’s in whose way?” snapped the South-Going Zax.

“I always go south, making south-going tracks.

 

So you’re in MY way! And I ask you to move

And let me go south in my south-going groove.”

 

Then the North-Going Zax puffed his chest up with pride.

“I never,” he said, “take a step to one side.

 

And I’ll prove to you that I won’t change my ways

If I have to keep standing here fifty-nine days!”

 

“And I’ll prove to YOU,” yelled the South-Going Zax,

“That I can stand here in the prairie of Prax

 

For fifty-nine years! For I live by a rule

That I learned as a boy back in South-Going School.

 

Never budge! That’s my rule. Never budge in the least!

Not an inch to the west! Not an inch to the east!

 

I’ll stay here, not budging! I can and I will

If it makes you and me and the whole world stand still!”

 

Well… Of course the world didn’t stand still. The world grew.

In a couple of years, the new highway came through

 

And they built it right over those two stubborn Zax

And left them there, standing un-budged in their tracks.

 

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So… if you want to be happy, I hope you can see

That no-matter-what direction Zax you happen to be

 

If cold shoulders or stink eyes sprout in the prairie of Prax

You might give some thought to the seeds in your tracks

 

For if Love’s what you want and hope you think matters

Then it’s curiosity to plant when the world is in tatters

 

For attention, acceptance, understanding and care

Are infectious, contagious and well worth a share

 

So that you won’t come to the end still wondering how

You were wanting love but still having a cow.

 

READING (Rev. Greg) Isaiah 6:1-8

 

In the year that King Uzziah died, I saw the Lord sitting on a throne, high and lofty; and the hem of his

robe filled the temple. Above him were seraphim; each had six wings: with two they covered their

faces, and with two they covered their feet, and with two they flew. And one called to another and said:

“Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts; the whole earth is full of his glory.” The pivots on the thresholds

shook at the voices of those who called, and the house filled with smoke.

 

And I said: “Woe is me! I am lost, for I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean

lips; yet my eyes have seen the King, the Lord of hosts!” Then one of the seraphs flew to me, holding a

live coal that had been taken from the altar with a pair of tongs. The seraph touched my mouth with it

and said: “Now that this has touched your lips, your guilt has departed and your sin is blotted

out.” Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, “Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?” And I

said, “Here am I; send me!”

 

SERMON “God of Our (Mis)Understandings”

 

We are in trying times, my friends. Am I right?

 

And the sense of urgency – the disagreement and incivility we see – from ALL sides – is mounting.

 

Indeed, even in the conversations we have as we turn from the rancor of the world to find the quiet of our own solitude, we still feel a tension. We long for peace. And harmony. And unity. But we don’t always know how to bring it about. And we’re scared. And frustrated.

 

I’m thinking of a poem. One of my favorites, from Rumi.

 

 

And yet we are like Isaiah. Deeply intuitive. Hungry for connection. Longing for ways to be of use amidst

chaos… Isaiah responds eagerly to the call to become a bridge-builder. “Here am I!” he says. “Send me!”

This despite just having had seraphim – angels of the Lord – place burning hot coals on his lips to prepare him for the work before him. He did not cry or complain. Or back down from what was being asked.

 

THAT is the kind of spirit I like to see in volunteers. Especially those taking on the difficult and important work of mending the brokenness of the world.

 

“Here am I! Send me!” These words are often quoted from Christian pulpits to mobilize and inspire followers. What isn’t often quoted, is the curious part which follows Isaiah’s courageous proclamation. That’s the part where God confesses that the task before Isaiah will be difficult and discouraging. ‘Go out and talk to the people,’ God explains. Build bridges. Connect the disconnected. Instill trust in the timid. Help the hesitant, the hurting, and the disenfranchised come together. ‘Oh… and by the way,’ God seems to say in almost an afterthought, ‘understand that when you take this message to the people, they will not listen.”

 

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I HOPE I don’t need to explain to you that NONE of this actually happened. There is no “God” in the sky who orders angels to place burning coals on the tongues of devotees to blot out guilt and sin. And Isaiah, if any such figure DID exist in history, was not made pure by being traumatized by a seraphim of the Lord. It DIDN’T happen. Period.

 

And yet, it’s all true. People - everyday – all around the world - ARE being traumatized by polarizing forces

tearing us apart. And SOMETHING (our conscience, our morality or sense of justice… maybe just our

common sense) is calling us to stop this nonsense – end this incivility – heal the brokenness.

 

Figuring out what anyone could possibly mean by ‘God’, and ‘religion’ and this call to do good, summon Love and work for Justice – IS HARD. And confusing. And it’s what this sermon is about.

 

A story about this tension first becoming clear to me… I – a California boy – was called to my first church, in

1998. It turned out to be a small church in Atlanta Georgia. They were a little disoriented. They had lost their camel. I was eager to give advice. I wanted to build bridges. I was a little naïve about how hard it was. “Here am I! I cried. Send me!”

 

But when I got there, my challenge appeared in an unexpected form: Seraphim. Angels of the Lord. Four of

them, to be exact – a few days after I moved in, stood at my front door holding hot crock pots of food. They

told me it was macaroni and cheese. My favorite. I invited them in.

 

The conversation meandered around pleasantries. But soon turned to religion and church. I learned later that was the actual purpose of their visit. This was the neighborhood reconnaissance team. So their ears perked up when they heard that not only did I go to church but that I served a church. “Oh, what church?” they asked. “Unitarian Universalist,” I said. Dead silence. And, I’ll never forget, one woman leaned forward, smiled demurely and said, ‘Well of course you do, bless your heart.’ But I never got any more macaroni and cheese. And all future conversations were lax; like the North going – and South going Zax.

 

<><><>

 

How many people can relate? How many people have felt the pain of polarization while yearning for

something that felt connecting and unifying? All around us we see categories, distinctions – hierarchies of

ideologies and binary categories based on politics, race, class, gender, sexuality or language all of which

encourage more division, separation and isolation. 

 

A great number of people have been at their wits end – pushed to the margins of society and the edge of hope. “There must be something,” they believe – “something that rises above the sting of judgment and rejection that can lead us toward understanding and acceptance.” But they just haven’t found it.

 

There is a old story about such a person – a young man – searching without success. Standing beleaguered on a bridge spanning across a rocky gorge below. He thought about all the division in the world and about jumping. But an elderly walking by saw him. And he sensed what the young man was considering, and rushed to him, alarmed.

 

"Stop! don't do it!" came the cry.

 

"Why shouldn't I?" the younger man wailed.

 

"Can’t you see? There's so much to live for!" cried the elder in response.

 

"Like what?" the younger moaned.

 

"Well...are you religious or atheist?"

 

"Religious,” he sighed.

 

“Me too!” cried the elder. “Are you Western or Eastern?”

 

“Western,” replied the young man.

 

"Me too!” said the elder. “Are you Christian or Jewish?"

 

"Christian."

 

"Me too!” cried the elder. “Are you Catholic or Protestant?"

 

"Protestant."

 

"Me too!” cried the older. “Are you Episcopalian or Baptist?"

 

"Baptist!"

 

“Wow! Me too! Are you Baptist church of God or Baptist church of the Lord?"

 

"Baptist Church of God!"

 

"Me too! Are you original Baptist Church of God, or are you Reformed Baptist Church of God?"

 

"Reformed!" the younger said, beginning to smile.

 

"Me too! Are you Baptist Church of God, reformation of 1879, or Baptist Church of God, reformation of 1915?"

 

Now almost giddy, the younger exclaimed "Reformation of 1915!"

 

The older man suddenly scowled. "Die, heretic scum,” and pushed him off the bridge.

 

Like the story of Isaiah, this story never happened. And yet it’s more true than we know.

 

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Does anyone know how many different denominations there are in the world? According to the World

Christian Encyclopedia published by Oxford University Press, there are over 39,000 different denominations in the world today1 – not churches – but denominations of multiple churches – 39,000! And nearly 34,000 of those are Christian denominations.2 Each one of them separated from the others by some unbridgeable disagreement over God or ritual or sacrament or which prayer to use or which doctrine to follow…

 

‘Religion’ is a Latin word - really the joining of two words: ‘Re’ which means, ‘again.’ And ‘ligare,’ which is the root of our word for ‘ligament’ and means ‘to bind together…’ ‘to join together parts that are separate.’ ‘To bind together again.’ Take what is broken and make it whole. How ironic that this very word often creates more division than unity.

 

And that division is not something that Unitarian Universalism is immune to. This congregation, I’ve heard, like many in our denomination, feels some tension around theology. And many more simply choose not to talk about it for fear of upsetting people. So, the issue is perpetually unresolved. And some here, I’m sure, have accepted it is unresolvable.

 

So let me give you the real scary and heartbreaking part of the story: Every single day – all around the world – there are people – young people – who want to be bridge-builders… who want to be part of a solution. So they come to places like this… hoping for connection… hoping for a path… for unity… and they feel the hesitation and tension and become even more disillusioned.

 

It’s the real reason why more than 4000 churches are closing every year across this country. And that number is increasing. If you want to see the direction religion is headed in the US, look at Europe. And you’ll find some of the most amazing churches you’ve ever seen. Except most of them are not churches anymore. They’re museums. People go to them to look back in time – not to look forward – with a vision of Love and Justice – into the future.

 

Churches like this were made to help us see a better way ahead. To cast a vision towards what is healing… what can bring us together. Because that’s what the world needs. Unless and until we can do that, there will be no one to hand this church on to.

 

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About eight years ago, I taught a course on theology in my church. Twelve of us got together to try and name what we believed about God and religion. Initially, many expressed excitement about doing this with other ‘like-minded’ people. But when it came time to actually naming our personal understanding of God, our likemindedness became lax as we devolved into north – and south going Yax. But we did agree on one thing – that when it came to God, there was nothing ‘like-minded’ about us.

 

And then we tried one exercise that changed everything. We took turns offering statements about God where the only requirement was to say, ‘And’ before each statement. As we were doing it, the room became electric. Energy that had drained away in our earlier debates returned. I copied the list we came up with and sent it around to some colleagues. And they were impressed. Some asked if they could add a few understandings of their own. I’d like to read you the final list we came up with:

 

God is love

And God is an internal spark

And God is the cosmic heart beat

And God is the Space between the notes in music

And God is a cosmic force not involved in human affairs

And God is possibility after possibility unfolding

 

And God is daffodils in the spring – thousands of them

And God is reality

And God is imagination

And God is a misunderstanding from which comes coercion and violence

And God is truth when it comes

And God is justice when it happens

And God is the holding of breath just before justice happens

And God does not fit in any box

And God is within me

 

And God can never be defined because that would be too limiting

And God is everything we cannot possibly imagine

And God is a woman

And God has no gender

And God is a black, lesbian, divorced woman in her mid fifties who lives with her cats

And God is no one to mess with

And God is a holy mystery

And God is here

And God is not here

And God is things as they are waiting to be discovered

And God is the most frustrating and unnamable of realities I’ve ever imagined

And God is in both our laughter and our tears

And God is the blending of all things

And God is a word created by man to project his own image

And God is evolving

And God is one

 

It’s a powerful list. But you know the most powerful part about it? All the ‘Ands’ in between the statements.

The simple way all our truths became joined and additive. The simple way that, when joined together, they

formed a bridge. That brought us together. That become like a prayer.

 

Too often we get so emphatic about what God ISN’T – we tie ourselves up in ‘NOTS.’ “God is NOT this…

God is NOT that.” Our theological conversations – even in these loving and tolerant UU communities -

become a litany of rebuttals. And you can often identify a rebuttal because the first word is always ‘BUT.’

 

During the class, we talked about how divisive this feels. How hungry people are for unity. And how hard it is when we go looking for such connection to have someone put their ‘but’ in our face. We talked about how often we show each other our BUTs. We talked about the disillusion around churches being places where people go to BUT heads. So much so they often begin to see the minister as the chief BUT-head.

 

If we look around churches today – including Unitarian Universalist Churches - it’s true. We often get so

caught up in abstract distinctions. In needing to ‘be right.’ We lose sight of our need to be healed. Our need

to be healers. To build bridges and connect.

 

Religion needs places that can do THAT. Places that know how and are dedicated to extending their ANDs – connecting people – instead of revealing their BUTs and dividing people. I believe the church is called to teach us how to do that with grace… and humility… and a sense of humor.

 

Indeed, one of the best outcomes of that class I taught last year were the t-shirts we ended up making that had the picture of the church with the words, “Does this church make my BUT look too big?”

 

Friends, you have lost your camel. And all around you people are full of advice. Our words, themselves, may not always be in sync. But if we listen carefully – underneath the rhetoric, we will glimpse a people who care deeply… and love fiercely. Often they are people who are scared. But who, like Isaiah, feel called into conversations about Love and Justice. It’s time to return to the prairie of Prax and become forward thinking,  forward marching Zax. It is time to put our BUTs behind us and walk AND and AND together.

 

And on our way, I hope and pray, we will all say – each in our own way:

 

Oh Elusive God of our (mis)understandings, help us with these holy conversations. Reveal the connections

that elude us. Give us the strength to let go of the fear that divides us and help us build the Love and Trust

that will save us. And all the while, help us look upon one another, seeing clearly all our differences and say, “Amen.”

 

Copyright Wardswords, 2017