"Why Change?"

This is the third sermon about change I have preached this year.

What is this all about?

The first sermon was in early September,

        reflecting on the seasonal transitions in our lives and in our church

                that make us aware of the passage of time.

The next one was in January.

It was a post-September sermon,

        assessing how we had changed since then.

And now, presumably because there still seems to be a lot to say,

        here I go again.

 

My own life has made me aware of change

        more acutely than usual this year.

My father died,

        and no one can go through an experience like that

                without feeling as if a sea-change is taking place inside.

Everything shifts when a parent dies.

 

But all the changes I've talked about so far

        are ones that happen because life imposes change on us.

And what I had in mind for today

        has more to do with changes 

                we make in ourselves –

                        intentional changes,

                                made with effort,

                                        inspired by a vision of self-improvement.

While working on last week's sermon,                            

        I came across William Ellery Channing's lecture on "Self-Culture,"

                which exerted such an influence on 19th century Unitarianism.

He spoke about the human capacity 

        to be self-aware and "self-forming,"

                saying that it is in our nature 

                        to reflect on who and what we are

                                and to work to improve our character.

He may have been the first religious leader

        to speak about positive change as a human capacity,

                rather than as a benefit of religious conversion.

His concept of change still seems healthy and instructive to me,

        while change by conversion is always questionable.

 

Contemporary British writer Nick Hornby's latest novel

        takes up the question of change as conversion,

                and looks at the humorous

                        and existential consequences.

In his book "How to be Good,"

        a chronically sour, acerbic man named David

                stuns his disbelieving family

                        when he transforms himself, 

                                almost overnight,

                                        into an earnest, loving, 

                                                good-hearted altruist.

Even though these changes are improvements,

        they puzzle and enrage those closest to him.

His wife – 

        already disenchanted, 

                with one foot out the door –

                        thinks at least she knows the man she doesn't like.

And now she also doesn't like "this other man, too,"

        she says,

                "the one who likes the theater

                        and gives money away

                                and tries to be nice to people...

I don't really know him,

        and he is beginning to give me the creeps,"

                she concludes.

 

David's behavior grows increasingly alarming –

        at least in contrast to his former self.

He invites a homeless man with healing powers

        to live with his family.

This man cures the daughter, 

        but his presence in the household

                is far from healing.

And yet he inspires David to heights of selfless and uncharacteristic generosity

        towards all humankind,

                stranger or friend.

 

The story continues like this,

        as David's wife and two children struggle,

                each in their own way,

                        to make sense of his transformation.

In the end, they do –

        but not without raising important questions

                about what it means to be good,

                        and what authentic change looks like.

Nick Hornby, 

        no advocate for religion,

                seems to be showing how conversion experiences are always suspect.

Authentic growth can only come from long struggle

        with the realities of who we are,

                the limitations that come with us,

                        and the difficulty of life itself.

 

Healthy change is closer to what Channing advocated,

        rigorous self-improvement aligned with good social values.

As our opening words today observed,

        we "become like that 

                to which our heart goes out …

                        we are transformed into the likeness 

                                of the thing we love."

This is the uplifting, church version of 

        "be careful what you wish for."

And it's important to know.

We grow in the direction our desires take us.

 

Like William Ellery Channing and his 19th century cohorts,

        I believe that the purpose of life

                is to grow,

                        to change in good directions,

                                and to become a better person.

This is a radical affirmation of human development.

It is also a challenge.

"Unless we are roused to act upon ourselves,"

        Channing declared,

                "unless we engage in the work of self-improvement,

                        unless we purpose strenuously to form and elevate our own minds,

                                unless what we hear is made a part of ourselves

                                        by conscientious reflection,

                                                very little permanent good is received."

My non-scientific mind sees this impulse 

        as a moral force in evolution.

Evolution can go either – or any – way.

These days, genetic manipulations may also influence 

        what form evolution may take,

                and there are many moral implications to those activities.

There are moral implications to our individual strivings too,

        and how we change reflects them.

 

We change because life asks us to,

        because we cannot live fully

                or fulfill our vocation as human beings

                        unless we do.

But it is not always easy. 

As Howard Thurman reflected 

        in the words for this morning's meditation,

                the "growing edge" of life is birth and death –

                        nothing less.

Change is transience.

If you take a look in our hymn book 

        at the short section called "transience,"

                you'll find that almost all the hymns are sad.

We don’t accept change readily,

        because change is loss.

It is death as well as birth,

        and we know it

                even when we are celebrating birth.

 

Good change is always desirable,

        but we make few adjustments easily.

Our congregation has seen our share of change over the years.

There will be more to come.

New, improved facilities, hopefully.

And next week, 

        we will discuss what changes we want to make

                in our religious education program.

 

Although we don't know the exact shape these next changes will take,

        the impetus to make them comes from very real needs

                we have expressed among ourselves.

Shaping these changes 

        and thinking about the values they reflect

                will be an exciting and creative undertaking

                        in the life our church.

But it will also make us just a little sad

        to move on,

                because in order to do so,

                        old ways will be left behind.

 

If we don't change, however,

        we lose ground anyway.

Refusing to change has its own unhappy consequences.

A provocative article in the March "Harper's Magazine"

        about new archaeological discoveries 

                in the compilation of the Hebrew Bible

                        makes a pointed observation.

Canonizing history – 

        claiming that a particular version is authoritative –

                locks an entire tradition into one view of itself,

                        with the old questions

                                never fully answered,

                                        and with new questions never able to be asked.

Faith communities guided by unchangeable scripture or dogma or ways of doing things     

        cannot evolve or improve

                or overcome their particular weaknesses.

This controversial critique will make waves in religious circles,

        but at least one truth is applicable to everyone:

                if we don't remain open to change,

                        we are haunted forever by the same problems and questions,

                                the same flaws and frustrations,

                                        the same unfulfilled hopes

                                                and increasingly deluded expectations.

 

We need to be able to learn from life experience

        and revise ourselves accordingly.

In the children's story today, 

        an extremely confident rabbit conned a group of sharks

                into making a bridge for him 

                        to cross the water to an island.

When the sharks realize they've been had,

        they become angry.

One of them takes a bite out of the rabbit,

        snatching a piece of fur.

 

The wise king of the island advises the distraught rabbit 

        that his lies have gotten him into trouble.

He asks the rabbit to promise

        that from now on, 

                he will be good.

For this fur won't grow back 

        unless the rabbit is willing to change.

The rabbit agrees, and is healed.

He never fools anyone again.

It's a simple fable with a working truth.

Healing requires change.

It also requires us to keep our promises.

 

Healthy growth and self-improvement may be our lifelong vocation,

        but they arrive as often with painful insights

                as with bright opportunities.

We need to feel the consequences of the old ways

        before we have the motivation to find the new.

Such experiences are familiar to us all,

        as we look back on our lives

                and see turning points we have met

                        and choices we have made.

How often has sobering self-knowledge

        pointed us to change by strenuous self-discipline,

                only to yield one day to joyful, 

                        life-fulfilling outcomes

                                made possible only by our struggle?

That's how it has always been for me.

Even when it looked easy,

        it wasn’t.

Perhaps the same is true for you.

 

What this insight teaches us is that the painful self-discoveries

        that are part of every life

                can lead us to changes that are healing,

                        beneficial

                                and happy.

They challenge us to look at who we are

        and what values we use 

                to lead us as we go.

If we join self-knowledge with good values,

        as William Ellery Channing pointed out,

                we will grow in the right direction.

This is a radical position.

Channing knew it too, 

        when he offered it in 1838.

And he understood its social implications.

Growth and self-improvement were not opportunities

        only for the privileged and educated people of society,

                they were for all people.

In fact, Channing's gave his historic lecture "Self-Culture"

        before a packed hall of manual laborers –

                people for whom the message of growth and improvement

                        was also an affirmation of their worth, dignity and potential

                                as human beings.

 

It is for us too.

Whatever our ability to learn or expand our knowledge,

        every one of us can change in good ways,

                and move towards a better self

                        and a better life.

We cherish this affirmation.

We make it a foundation of our faith.

Resources for this sermon include Self-Culture, by William Ellery Channing(Boston, 1838); How to be Good, by Nick Hornby (New York: Riverheard Books,2001); False Testament, by Daniel Lazare, in Harper?s Magazine, March 2002; AStrange Freedom, by Howard Thurman (Boston: Beacon Press, 1998).