Day of the Dead

Today we celebrate the Day of the Dead, an ancient Mexican festival. Why in the world, you might be thinking, would we celebrate death? Why now, would we celebrate death?  Death is a part of our lives -- for many, often an uncomfortable, feared, unwelcomed part. Yet we all experience it. Some Native Americans say that death lives just over our left shoulder and if we pay attention, every so often we can sense it. That is not a bad thing. Life is finite; life is precious and if we think of it that way we will treat it that way. Death is a part of our lives that we have to come to terms with, in one way or another. Celebrating the Day of the Dead can help with that.

Shakespeare said, "There is special providence in the fall of a sparrow. If it be now, tis not to come; if it be not to come, it will be now; if it be not now, yet it will come. The readiness is all." (Hamlet)

German poet Rainer Maria Rilke wrote to a friend, "We should not be afraid that our strength is insufficient to endure any experience of death, even the closest and most terrifying. Death is not beyond our strength; it is the measuring line at the vessel's brim: we are full whenever we reach it . . . . I am not saying that we should love death; but we should love life so generously, so without calculation and selection, that we involuntarily come to include, and to love, death too (life's averted half); . . . Only because we exclude death, when it suddenly enters our thoughts, has it become more and more of a stranger to us; and because we have kept it a stranger, it has become our enemy. It is conceivable that it is infinitely closer to us than life itself. What do we know of it?"

What do we know of it indeed? Some of us come to die and we realize that we don't believe the religious teachings we heard about death; we don't know what we believe or what we think. So we panic and suffer untold grief and regret. Some of us fear the pain and suffering and loneliness that might accompany death. Because we don't know much about death, it is so very important to include it in our lives.

Celebrating the Day of the Dead is about remembrance of the loved ones who have died; it is about remembrance of people we don't even know who have died. In remembering we celebrate the gifts of their lives and we honor them. In remembering we divest ourselves of the parts of their lives that were not gifts. Remembering can be a chance to forgive. In remembering we ground ourselves in our past so that we can move into our future. When we mark our history we lift up the continuity in our own lives. We recognize where we come from so that we can better know who we are. Setting aside this time for our dead also helps with our grieving, as it allows it a voice and perhaps, a tear. When someone we love dies, we feel -- some deeply, some not -- sadness and grief and sometimes a whole host of other difficult, uncomfortable emotions, including maybe anger, or a feeling of being alone, of being abandoned, or regret, or relief. Some of us cry, some of us talk, some of us don't talk, some of us get busy doing things, some of us walk around in a fog. We experience grief in our own ways.

Celebrating the Day of the Dead gives us a chance to experience grief, if that's what we need to do. More, celebrating the Day of the Dead helps to move us closer to acceptance of death, both our loved ones' and our own. And when we can remember with some measure of acceptance, how joyful and how freeing are the memories. The Day of the Dead has been celebrated in Mexico, from October 29 through November 2, for centuries. It is a time to remember the dead with joy and to honor them with feasting, processions, pageantry and religious rituals. It combines the Roman Catholic All Souls and All Saints Days with 2,000 year old Mexican Indian traditions. It is a very important time of closeness between the living and the dead. A Mexican folktale relates the story of a man who scoffed at the Day of the Dead and did nothing to mark it. On the closing day of the village celebrations he went out and partied with his friends and late at night, as he made his way home, a parade of dead souls followed him, each carrying the offerings their loved ones had made to them. In the crowd, the man saw his parents, alone among the dead souls, empty-handed. He felt great sadness. He went home and died of grief.

The Day of the Dead has a long history in Mexico. The Aztecs had rituals around the dead. They believed that heaven had thirteen layers and the underworld had nine and that souls went to different layers depending upon how they died. Warriors, for instance, accompanied the sun god and after four years became hummingbirds. Children went to a place with trees that sweat milk. The journey for all souls takes years to complete and so the Aztecs brought the dead food and drink to sustain them, believing that the dead could extract the essence of the offerings and leave the physical remains. On certain days of the year, they invited the dead to come and visit the living.

The more recent Christian customs reflect these ancient indigenous ones. Home altars are made, trimmed with satin cloth and filled with marigolds -- the flower of the dead -- votive candles, offerings of food and drink, photographs, statues of Mary and Jesus, skeletons and skulls made of sugar with the name of the dead on them -- and depictions of the tree of life. There are masquerades and parades. There is a belief that the dead return for a visit. At midday on October 31 the children come and stay until midday November 1, when the adults come. That is All Saints Day, when Catholics pray for the dead. Adults stay until midday November 2, All Souls Day, when Catholics remember the spirits of all sinners who have died. On that day, especially, Mexicans go to the cemetery and sweep and decorate the graves with flowers. They have a party there and some stay all night.

Our service today tries, not to recreate the Mexican holiday, but to learn from its wisdom by making a remembering of our dead.  The Rev Mark Belletini writes "Some of us remember with pleasure aunts, uncles, fathers, mothers, friends and lovers, cousins and neighbors, other times and other places: cities and farms, homesteads and rooms, yellow sunsets, chilly sunrises. Some of us find it hard to remember, for the memories that clamor inside us are jagged, like glass we ourselves did not break. Some of us remember people we have never met, but who through history, recent events, book and poem and film and painting have met us and entered the secret chambers of our heart. Some of us remember children, and cannot be comforted. Some of us remember and are set free in our thanksgiving. Some of us remember and are tight with guilt or shame. Some of us struggle daily to remember with greater charity. Some of us weep easily and often. Others weep rarely, but grieve all the same. Some of us are stoic and say, "These things happen." Some of us rail against the unfairness of it all, and clench teeth and fists with discontent. Some of us bear the burden of those who took their own lives, or who suffered greatly at the end. Others among us remember only vast meadows of love and charity in which we played with joy. But all of us remember, whether we speak or are silent, whether we deny or affirm, whether we love or find it hard to love. May the power of love embrace us all, as the curtains between then and now are drawn open for a moment, and the fullness of life impresses itself on us, each in our own way."

In our attempt to keep death at least at arm's length, our cemeteries have become visual symbols of the death industry rather than visual symbols of caring rituals by the living in remembrance of the dead. So we celebrate not because we pretend to be Mexican, but because we know as Unitarian Universalists that we do not have all the answers. By studying others' customs and beliefs we leave ourselves open to new possibilities. Surely something heals within us when we take time to look through boxes or drawers to find a photo of a loved one. Surely something heals within us when we bring that photo here and place it on our altar. Surely something heals within us when we take time to speak of a loved one departed. Surely we need rituals to help us confront what the Rev. Forrest Church calls “the dual reality of being human and mortal.

May it be so.

Day of the Dead, a sermon delivered at 1stUUPB by the Rev. CJ McGregor, Oct 29, 2013

Seventh Generation

I arrived home with my paper sack of organic vegetables that I picked up every Wednesday. The bag, as always, was bursting with crisp greens and I am eager to rush home to see what is in the bottom of the bag. This particular week I uncover beets, carrots, cabbage, sugar snap peas, and a zucchini. I set them aside and raise a large bunch of freshly cut basil to my nose to breathe in its sweet perfume. I am blessed.

The vegetables made their way to my home each week from the Many Hands Organic Farm in Barre, Massachusetts. I received a parcel from late spring with mountains of fresh greens through the fall when gourds and pumpkins signaled the end of the harvest. I enjoyed buying and eating that food because it is absolutely delicious and healthy. Perhaps more importantly my joy comes from knowing it is organic, grown locally, and my participation supports local farmers and agriculture. That particular farm also employs those formerly incarcerated and trains them to become certified organic farmers.

I’m told that's eating ethically. Eating ethically? I’ve taken ethics courses. I don’t remember being lectured on the ethics of what we eat. Paying a fair price to the grower and worker, supporting farms in our community, avoiding the devastating effects of pesticides on our bodies and our environment, and saying no thank you to genetically modified foods are some examples of eating ethically.

Could eating ethically be a theological concern?  Does our Unitarian Universalist faith have anything to do with what we eat? Absolutely.

One of the principles that Unitarian Universalists live by is the respect for the interdependent web of existence of which we are a part. That means we understand that all of creation is connected and that we should consider how we care for and use our natural resources. Easier said than done. Much debate surrounds the pros and cons of eating ethically and folks like me can get plain old confused and wonder if we are doing the right thing. 

Respecting the interdependent web of existence is what is right and must be a guiding principle. Within our faith we are asked to consider how our decisions and actions touch one another, our earth, and all that is the miracle of creation. It is our task to understand how we are to embrace that guiding principle. It is when we begin to truly honor that principle that we discover what we eat is an issue of faith. Our choice with what we nourish our bodies with and how we come by it speaks volumes about our respect for life and our understanding that we are indeed interdependent creatures. 

Ethical eating recognizes the moral dimensions of our food choices. The ways our societies raise, buy, and consume our food has direct effects on the earth, plants and animals, and humans who work to make our food available. Rev. Mark Hayes warns us “We engage some of the most challenging social issues of our time: hunger and malnutrition, free and fair trade, labor and exploitation, animal rights and human responsibilities, neocolonialism and globalization, environmental degradation and climate change.”

I have a story for you told by my colleague the Rev. Melissa Carvill-Ziemer of Rochester, NY. It is a tale of two heads of lettuce.

One head of lettuce was grown in Salinas Valley, CA. It was grown according to conventional, industrial farming methods by a multi-national corporation. They used chemical fertilizers and pesticides to grow it, low wage migrant workers to quickly and efficiently harvest it and get it into trucks, which drove 2,500 miles from Salinas, CA to Streetsboro, OH. She bought the lettuce in the Giant Eagle market in Streetsboro for $2.19 per pound. That lettuce required 4000 calories of fossil fuels to get to us today. The second head of lettuce was grown according to sustainable, small scale farming methods in Holmes County, OH by an Amish farmer who used natural fertilizers and no pesticides to grow it. The Amish farmer, or someone else in his family or community, harvested the lettuce. It was put on a truck and driven 67 miles from Holmes County, OH to Cuyahoga Falls, OH. I bought it at Krieger’s market in Cuyahoga Falls for $2.39 per pound. That lettuce required fewer than 100 calories of fossil fuels to get to us today.  How do we decide which head of lettuce is the better deal?  Perhaps the larger question is as Unitarian Universalists what should our moral response look like?

In his sermon What My Grandchildren Would Want Me to Preach the Rev. Scott Taylor tells us “Imagine having a conversation with your child, grandchild, great grandchild or a member of a younger generation. They begin to understand the disastrous world that they have inherited. They question their inheritance. You might answer: It’s really complicated. I’m only now understanding it myself. We weren’t really thinking about it like you and your friends do. It’s not that we didn’t care about how it would impact you; we weren’t really thinking about you at all. Oh that’s sounds terrible, you’ll say. I don’t mean that the way it sounds. Again, it’s complicated. It wasn’t personal; we just didn’t think that far ahead. It was more like a blind spot. Our focus was mostly on our daily living, which felt hard and overly complicated as it was. We had our hands full just trying to think about and find the time to spend with your mother and your aunt and uncle. I’m not trying to defend it. I just don’t want you to think we were callous or selfish. It’s more like we were overwhelmed. And when you’re overwhelmed it’s hard to have perspective. I mean, a lot was going on. The whole issue of how our military might was destabilizing the world and also undermining our ability to take care of basic services like public schools, and health care was just beginning to dawn on us. And I can’t say I regret focusing on that. Without the anti-war effort and the radical changes we accomplished there, things would be a whole lot worse than they are now.

And they would respond: But I don’t get that. You mean you could only handle one thing at a time? Didn’t global warming also feel huge? Your reply: No, of course it felt huge. And it’s not that we could only handle one thing at a time. That’s not what I mean. Again it’s complicated. I guess what I’m saying is that we knew it was a huge and scary problem, we just couldn’t feel it. What we felt was worn out. You’re used to things as they are now. These “little things,” as you call them, just didn’t feel little to us. The idea of a smaller house, going without air conditioning, voluntarily paying $5 for gas or finding the $20,000 to install solar panels just seemed too much and too big to wrap our minds and to-do lists around. And nobody else was really doing it. And more than that: we were hopeful. Ironically that’s a part of it too. We weren’t just worn out and overwhelmed with our personal lives, we actually believed the tide was changing, that bigger systems would begin to kick in and stimulate the changes for us. They’ll wrinkle their brow at this point showing confusion, so you try to explain. Scientists, you see, weren’t just telling us that we were on the verge of causing irreversible and dangerous climate change, they were also telling us we were on the verge of a technological break-through that would soon make alternative energy sources available and affordable... I think the best way to put it is to say that our optimism and our hope, well, it sort of betrayed us. We had hope in technology. We had hope in politicians. And we had hope in our market system. It really felt like they’d save us without us having to do much. There was a saying back then: “Let go and let God.” I guess we saw science, politics and the market as our gods -- more powerful and knowing than us tiny normal folk. So we gladly turned the problem over to them and waited for them to change us.”

A difficult conversation. But a conversation we should begin to prepare for because the need for an explanation to the generations after us is inevitable.

The Seventh Generation Principle is based on an ancient Iroquois philosophy that the decisions we make today should result in a sustainable world seven generations into the future. That philosophy is currently somewhat overused as a “green” marketing ploy to sell everything from dish soap to cars. The first recorded concepts of the Seventh Generation Principle date back to the writing of “The Great Law of Iroquois Confederacy,” although the actual date is undetermined. The Great Law of Iroquois Confederacy formed the political, ceremonial, and social fabric of the Five Nation Confederacy (later Six). The Great Law of Iroquois Confederacy is also credited as being a contributing influence on the American Constitution due to Benjamin Franklin’s great respect for the Iroquois. The Seventh Generation Principle today is generally referred to regarding being made about our energy, water, and natural resources, and ensuring those decisions are sustainable for seven generations in the future. And so using this principle to guide us we must ask ourselves what are we willing to leave as our lasting legacy?

Making good choices about what and how we eat matters. It matters to our bodies and to the planet. And like many of the choices we face — what’s good for us is often what’s good for the Earth. By choosing to eat more locally produced foods and more whole foods, we’re also choosing to do a little less damage to the Earth by our living here. “Choosing our food may not be so easy -- if we want to live in right relationship with Earth and all its inhabitants.” says Vicki Talbot. “The grocery store may not be that glorious paradise after all”. So by what principles will we choose to live by? 

Ironically we, as Unitarian Universalists, have seven. Take your pick. Much attention has been given to our 7th principle. We know that industrialized agriculture as it now exists flies in the face of that principle and threatens the interdependent web. It causes massive pollution, reduces biodiversity, and destroys land integrity at an alarming rate. But, let’s not overlook how our other principles fit into the equation of ethical compassionate and sustainable food choices. When we consider the inherent worth and dignity of every person, how can we ignore the family in a poor village in Asia whose culture has been degraded with their land when it was taken over by a multinational corporation to produce wheat for snacks for us? What about the migrant workers here in our own country who are exposed regularly to dangerous pesticides and then can’t get decent medical care? Don’t these people have worth and dignity equal to ours?

I’m not suggesting that you return home today and get rid of everything in fridge and cupboard. Well maybe the Barilla pasta. There's no love lost there. There are simple things we can do that will better equip us in answering that question asked by the seven generations after us: What did you do?  At my request Susan Gross has offered an insert listing local farmers markets that we all have access to. The insert is designed to take home and to post it where you can have this resource readily available to you. If we all commit to supporting those farmers by buying a percentage of our food from their farms we can make a difference. We will also be able to harvest fresh produce from our garden here on campus. Marika and Howie Stone have lovingly donated starter plants and the growing season has begun. Mary Reynolds, wife of Wayne Reynolds, recently deceased, has earmarked donations made in his name to beautify our campus and to support the garden. But we need your help to sustain it, harvest it, and partake in its fruits. You can join me in supporting a coffee hour that I have signed up for in late October where the only food that will be on the table will be from local farms. Let us consider investing in a compost barrel that we can use and open up to the North Palm Beach community. We can’t be the only people concerned about these issues. 

I’m making an official call to action to our Board, the Social Action Committee, and the Congregation to bring the Green Sanctuary Program offered by our association to our Congregation. This program offers us a framework and a way to live out our stewardship for the earth.

In his book, The End of Nature, Bill McKibben tells us “It’s so much easier to picture the defiant future, for it’s merely the extension of our current longings. I’ve spent my whole life wanting more, so its hard for me to imagine less in any but a negative way. But that imagination is what counts. Changing the way we think is at the heart of the question. If it ever happens, the actions will follow.”

May actions follow our questioning. May we prepare ourselves to offer the generations an answer to their difficult question that describes us as standing up, stepping forward, and taking action. May we answer the call and take first steps toward sustainability and witness justice for the earth.

May it be so.

Seventh Generation, a sermon delivered by the Rev. CJ McGregor at 1stUUPB, Sep 29, 2013.

I Will Remember, by Eunice McLafferty

Reinterpretation

They didn’t ask and I didn’t tell.

That’s right. I served in the United States military — the United States Army to be exact.

As you might imagine I wasn’t your typical recruit. I question authority, scream when I see a snake, and never look good in dark shades of green — it’s not my signature color. I’m more of an autumn and look much better in orange. I’m fond of sleeping, prefer the Sheraton to a tent, value non conformity more than obeying orders, and have a moral issue with war. There is also the small issue of fancying people of the same gender. But, like I said, they didn’t ask and I didn’t tell.

Believe it or not I excelled in basic training. In fact I received special recognition for excelling at all the basic training exercises.  I was a sharpshooter using the M-16 rifle and a handgun, was a master grenade thrower, at the top of my class in setting M18 Claymore mines, and could assemble my gas mask in record time. (There never seems to be an appropriate place to add these skills on my application for ministerial fellowship with the UUA.) I was stationed at Fort Dix in New Jersey. I was trained as a combat medic, which means I was trained to stabilize severely injured soldiers on the field until they reached the field hospital.  So I have many tricks to control bleeding and can set up an I.V. while under fire. Perhaps this will come in handy at the next annual meeting.

I hated it. Actually, it was one of the most miserable times in my life. I found myself enlisted in the Army at the insistence of my mother. At the age of 17 she aggressively persuaded me to meet with recruiters and at the age of 18 I was loaded onto a Greyhound bus leaving my hometown for boot camp. Why I went along with it baffles me. I resented my mother for manipulating me and pushing me into something I loathed. That resentment grew and rooted itself between my mother and I and our relationship was forever changed and damaged.

That resentment not only damaged our relationship, it damaged me. Having to hold on to and live with that emotional burden affected how I interacted with the world. I thought I was smart by tucking the experience away where I couldn’t see or feel it. I was naïve. That experience absolutely affected how I loved Richard and my family and led to destructive behaviors -- some of which I still battle with today. Like it or not I was trapped and had come to the conclusion that I couldn’t change the past and would simply need to learn to carry the burden.

In my late twenties, a few years after my mother’s death, something changed. I realized that all of her controlling, overbearing, and persistently nagging behaviors were, oddly, coming from a place of love. You see she believed the Army was the only way out of what she considered to be a dead-end existence. We lived in a small and impoverished town, we were hard-up and opportunities for college and jobs were slim. She saw a way out. Her methods were misguided, but the result she was trying to achieve was my success and happiness. I had missed this a decade earlier. Revisiting and reinterpreting that time in both our lives gave me freedom. I was released from pain and misunderstanding and free to love my mother in a different, perhaps deeper, way. The freedom wasn’t instant. Rather it grew as the truth was revealed.

Why don’t we revisit and reinterpret our past more often? Maybe a better question is why would we? Why not let bygones be bygones? Why don’t we just keep moving forward not wasting time dredging up the past?  “Stop living in the past” my grandfather would say. Why are we determined to release ourselves from our past by putting it, and keeping it, behind us?  In his book The Responsible Self, H. Richard Neihbur describes the method of reinterpreting and calls it “useful or fitting to us humans who have, like it or not, a remembered past which we cannot forget or leave behind.” Reinterpreting recalls, accepts, reorganizes, and understands the past, instead of abandoning it. To move towards freedom, towards freshness, towards something new and adventurous in our present we need to reinterpret or reconstruct our past.

I met with local clergy earlier this week and a theme of our conversation was the notion that we, as remarkable humans, make ourselves believe that we have made it, that there isn’t anything we should consider changing about ourselves. Others should change. Not us. We’ve arrived, cornered the market on being fully matured emotionally and spiritually, and are comfortable basking in our own light thank you very much.

We are fooling ourselves. Our emotional and spiritual growth is stunted and often frozen by our ability to neglect our past. Some of us, whether it be conscious or not, work very hard to push away, hide, forget, and pretend we don’t have a past. Trust me. I know all about it. Years ago when I was accepted to seminary I decided that I could not live a life that was not authentic. It would be impossible for me to minister and not be authentic. You see, up to that point I spent much energy on avoidance, shame, and denial. I wasn’t too proud of my childhood and family. But as I reinterpreted my past I was able to the advantages and honor of my past and how it graces my ministry.

In his book, The Book of Secrets, Deepak Chopra describes how ancient cultures answered the question, How do you set your mind free? He tells us “they tried to understand how the mind traps itself” and that “the ancient Indian sages devised the key concept of samskara. A samskara is a groove in the mind that makes thoughts flow in the same direction. Buddhist psychology makes sophisticated use of the concept by speaking of samskaras as imprints in the mind that have a life of their own. Your personal samskaras built up memories from the past, force you to react in the same limited way, robbing you of free choice.” Chopra writes “unable to escape their toxic memories, people adapt to them, adding one layer after another of impressions.  The samskaras rule the psyche through a jumble of old, outworn experiences.” We end up living the experience over and over and unfortunately getting the same old results.

Reinterpreting offers us a chance to experience freedom and to claim the opportunity to successfully move into and through the future and salvage that which has meaning and truth from our past. We can understand and produce the meaning of our lives from the stories that are available to us from our personal histories. Reinterpreting allows us to discover possibilities, hope, and previously unrecognized meaning. Reinterpreting goes both ways. When we engage this practice we may discover or realize pain that we have previously missed, ignored, or stowed away to be forgotten. Either way freedom will ultimately result and bring new understanding. I’ve heard reinterpreting described as the “Liquid Plumber for the soul.” This description assumes that the path to deeper truth and meaning is clogged and that we shouldn’t be surprised when we can’t move emotionally and spiritually. Several caps full of reinterpreting and time clears the way to growth and wisdom. You are freeing your soul, your mind, and your spirit to experience peace and stillness.

Author Steven Levine asks the questions “If the future rapidly becomes the present, and the present condenses into the past, how do we fully stay alive each day? How do we live a full and rich life in the present?” To be alive in the present we shouldn’t mute the music and sounds of voices, erase names and memories of our past. We should be mindful of days gone by and recognize the wisdom and visible marks indicating the places where we’ve lived in laughter, sorrow, friendship, and in spirit.  Reinterpreting is the stringing together of these experiences that will allow us to reshape and rethink our today.

Reinterpreting is not solely for the individual. Communities, especially congregations, can benefit from reinterpretation. If we’ve spent time together this week you’ve heard me talk about the writings of Ghandi as I’ve spent the last week deep in his words.  Gandhi characteristically led by example more than by grandiose speeches or writings. To him words are nothing if they are not demonstrated by action. He actively sought out people of other faiths, even as they sought him out. After his initial encounter with Christians in England, he read the Bible; after meeting and working with Muslims in South Africa, he read the Qur’an. He tried to learn what he could about the teachings of other religions and always welcomed dialogue, as long as it was pursued in the spirit of a sincere, friendly and respectful interchange of ideas and knowledge.

There are several principles that governed Gandhi’s interaction with those of other religions. A couple are useful to us:

The first principle is that God is truth, and Truth is God. Gandhi famously inverted the statement “God is truth” to say “Truth is God.” It “is very difficult to understand ‘God is love’,” he wrote, “because of the variety of meanings of love, but I never found a double meaning in connection with Truth.” In other words, it is more difficult to argue that truth does not exist than to argue that God does not exist. For Gandhi, commitment to truth had to be a core principle animating efforts towards the creation of a world based on nonviolence.

And so the second principle is the search for truth. For Gandhi this search, or the independent investigation of truth, was a lifelong passion. And he felt that it is an obligation of every human being. That is why we have the capacity to reason and to have a conscience. Truth must be weighed by reason and tested in practice.

Ghandi believed all religions are imperfect because they are transmitted, interpreted and practiced through imperfect vehicles He  said: “We have not realized religion in its perfection.” The religion of our conception, being thus imperfect, is always subject to a process of evolution and reinterpretation. Progress towards truth is possible only because of such reinterpretation.

Our fourth principle, a free and responsible search for truth and meaning, is referenced by Unitarian Universalists all the time. In fact we hold it up as a major reason we are Unitarian Universalists. It is in this tradition that we can freely search and question without being told what to believe, think, or feel. That principle calls us to use reinterpretation as a practice to understand ourselves, our theology, and the world. You see, reinterpretation is very different from misinterpretation. Reinterpretation calls us to understand, evolve, and to make whole. Misinterpretation takes the religion of love and murders, hates, and oppresses.  This is why Ghandi prescribes reinterpretation. It is the act of understanding versus dividing. I wonder, if we practice this how we might feel about those we disagree with. 

If not reinterpreted we will respond like we always have versus gaining new understanding. What are our stories that deserve reconsideration, a second look -- reinterpretation? Where are the opportunities for this congregation to reinterpret and bring healing versus letting the past continue to bog us down, hold us back, and remain clogged? What can we reinterpret that will allow us to be free?

Tired of responding emotionally and spiritually in the same old and ineffective ways, let us challenge ourselves to revisit this principle and understand it differently. Let us beautify our inner space. Let us be free to choose how we will act, work, live, and worship together versus being bound by our samskaras. Let us search for the truth and the meaning that allows us to unravel suffering and transform it into healing and serenity. “Know the truth, and the truth will set you free (John 8:32)”.

May it be so.

Reinterpretation, a sermon delivered by the Rev. CJ McGregor at 1stUUPB, Oct 13, 2013.

We Are What We Need Most

A Unitarian Universalist died, and to his surprise discovered that there was indeed an afterlife. The angel in charge of these things told him, “Because you were an unbeliever and a doubter and a skeptic, you will be sent to Hell for all eternity — which, in your case, consists of a place where no one will disagree with you ever again!”

My first career prior to the ministry allowed me to work with families and children and adults with developmental and emotional disabilities. I’ve figured that this work, coupled with ministry, has allowed me to have been in thousands of homes to provide support, services, and pastoral care.  One of them stands out in my mind.

I received a phone call from a congregant asking me to visit her and her husband for pastoral counseling. Naturally I agreed. The next day when I arrived at their home I was surprised but not deterred. I had to park three houses down on the side of the street because the driveway that had been dismantled the summer before was left in piles of soil and stone with the sprinkling of tools one might use to dismantle a driveway. And so I went to their house. I struggled to reach the doorbell because, well, I couldn’t reach it. There were two steps missing between the highest and lowest steps. So I literally crawled up on the first step, stood up, and knocked on the door. The doorbell wasn’t working. No worries. I was soon inside.

I was led into the living room and had taken a seat. Immediately Sara burst into tears. As I helped her gather herself she explained that she was embarrassed and ashamed. Her home had been in disrepair for at least 18 months and she didn’t see a way out of the situation. I looked around and she was right. The floors had no coverings they were simply large sheets of floorboards. The ceilings were crumbling with evidence of new electrical wires being installed. I could see pink tufts of insulation peek out from everywhere floor to ceiling. The window I was sitting next to, a large bay window, was rattling. It had been placed but secured only with a few nails holding it in place. I could go on but by now you get the picture.

I asked Sara if her husband, David, would be joining us and she said that he wouldn’t because he was out helping another congregant complete the finishing work on an addition they had added to their home. Interesting I thought. I asked Sara how David had made his living. Astonishingly she replied “He’s a contractor.” She again burst into tears.

Sara had been living like this for quite some time. She explained how her marriage was deeply affected by David’s decision to reach out to others to voluntarily help with their contracting needs when his home was falling down around them. Sara and David had the resources, and David had the skills to complete the work. However, David was turning his attention outward and neglecting the needs of his wife, his marriage, and his home. 

David was what he needed most, a skilled contractor who loved to help and support others. David didn’t understand that he and Sara needed just that. A skilled carpenter willing to help and support his own family. We are what we need most.

Let me make this concept a little more personal. I’d like to use myself as an example. One of the most deeply satisfying parts of ministry for me is pastoral care. That is, time spent caring for each of you. Its important to me as your minister that you feel cared for, able to reach out if you need, and learn ways to care for yourself. But here is the rub. I struggle with self care. I’m not careful to schedule time away from the congregation to spend time on myself and my family. Extra pounds have been creeping up on me and I’ve neglected to stick to my commitment to making healthier lifestyle choices.

You see while I have the ability and skill and passion for caring for others I’ve realized that none of this self care and compassion is being turned toward myself. Now this isn’t simply about me doing too much. I can actually care for the congregation and myself. I just need to do it.  I need to believe that I deserve the same care I give the congregation. We are what we need most.

So we’ve looked at the concept of who we are what we need most as a family system, as an individual. So let’s look at what this system may mean when we apply it to our congregation. A major part of our identity as a congregation  is our willingness to reach beyond ourselves and into the community and our world and offer love, compassion, meaningful connections and help to ease suffering, and advocacy to transform broken systems. People will say we are not where we would like to be in this area but it is something that the congregation does well knowing that our justice work will never be quite finished. So imagine yourselves standing in a circle along the walls of this sanctuary.

Now imagine yourselves facing outward. This is the place that congregation now stands. You see, the healing, the justice, the advocacy, the relational work is facing outward. An excellent image is one that graces our weekly newsletter the eBeacon. A beam of light rising through the skylight and focused away from this place. 

Focused away from this place. What would it be like if you accepted my invitation to remain standing in that circle but you turned around and faced inward? Imagine looking around and seeing faces that you have loved and befriended for decades. Imagine seeing faces that have just arrived this morning. Imagine the real need that each of these faces hold to be loved, accepted, understood, supported. Imagine that in this circle your needs are not the only needs, your projects and ministry are not the only important projects and ministries. Imagine that in this circle your theology has its place but you need to make room for the theology of others. Imagine directing the light from the skylight inward. We are what we need most. 

Taoist philosopher Lao Tzu writes in the Tao Te Ching :

Simplicity, patience, compassion.

These three are your greatest treasures.

Simple in actions and thoughts, you return to the source of being.

Patient with both friends and enemies,

you accord with the way things are.

Compassionate toward yourself,

you reconcile all beings in the world.

If we are not compassionate toward ourselves and one another as a congregation we aren’t able to send anything through our skylight let alone justice and freedom of thought.

So what is behind being able to give freely and without reservation that which we need most for David, Sara, this congregation and myself? I spent part of a week in Minneapolis last month reflecting on this very question. Sometimes we are afraid to look inward and so we move to giving outwardly. Sometimes our self worth takes a backseat so that we may direct our attention and deeds in making the worth of everyone around us rise.

Offering ourselves the same consideration, compassion and concern can be quite difficult. Self-care remains a challenge for many of us, personally and professionally. It is one thing to know, it is another to do. The reality is that many of us struggle with conflicts and deterrents to our own self-care.

Self-care is different from selfishness, self-absorption, or self-indulgence. In fact self-preoccupation is more likely to occur as a result of inadequate self-care over time. Fitting self-consideration is a manifestation of a healthy respect for one's self and for others.

Becoming more self-aware is not necessarily easy or pleasant for us. The process may be elusive and conflictual. It involves becoming conscious of, and grappling with, confusing and painful internal conflicts and tensions existing between different kinds and levels of needs and desires. 

Acknowledging unmet hungers may be anxiety-provoking. Yet awareness is crucial in the process of managing emotions in a manner acceptable to the self. Without awareness, unprocessed feelings are at risk of being acted out, potentially in very costly ways for ourselves, our congregation, our community.

There is an old story that tells of a little boy who is having a difficult time trying to lift a heavy stone. His father comes along and seeing him trying and failing to lift the stone asks him are you using all of your strength? The boy looks at him impatiently and says of course I am. No you are not responds the father. I am right here waiting and you haven’t asked me to help you. What if our strength was measured not by what we can do alone but by what we can do together? How might that change our idea of caring and being cared for?

So lets follow up on all that I have mentioned this morning. Sara and David continue to be married and their home as Sara puts it “is complete in many ways.” It took a lot of self examination for David to turn toward his wife and his home and realize that he could continue to helps others as well as maintain his own home. He shouldn’t choose one or the other.

As for me. I’ve been busy cleaning my own back yard. I have been accepted into a wellness program sponsored by Duke University which is piloting a self-care program for Unitarian Universalist ministers. There are only 20 of us in the program from around the country. I don’t need to choose the health of the congregation over my own and do not need to become so self obsessed that I do not care for the congregation. I can do both. I have decided that I will be healthier as a result of our ministry.

Now for the congregation. I raise this concept of being what we need most for a reason. Did someone just hear an elephant? It would be irresponsible as your minister not to ask you to consider what it is we truly need as a congregation in terms of relationship and walking together. Certainly all of our energy, compassion, and understanding cannot bring us closer to beloved community if we direct it in one direction. We are a congregation that loves and heals. What do we need most? We need to turn at least sideways and direct love and healing into this house. Clean our own backyard. We need the compassion that is directed outward and spend more time and energy filling this house. We are what we need. We are a strong, capable, committed, and loving bunch. We need some of those same things. We can do and have both. The love and excitement we share outside can also be shared inside. 

May we consider how we relate to one another in this house. May we bring back the joy, celebration, and the plain old fun back into this house. May we offer this congregation light. May this light continue to shine in and around us.

May it be so.

We Are What We Need Most, a sermon delivered by the Rev. CJ McGregor at 1stUUPB, Sep 8, 2013.

The Last Rose of Summer

'Tis the last rose of summer left blooming alone

All her lovely companions are faded and gone

No flower of her kindred, no rosebud is nigh

To reflect back her blushes and give sigh for sigh

I'll not leave thee, thou lone one, to pine on the stem

Since the lovely are sleeping, go sleep thou with them

Thus kindly I scatter thy leaves o'er the bed

Where thy mates of the garden lie scentless and dead.

These are some of the words of our musical offering this morning The Last Rose of Summer. The words tell us of the last rose in bloom for the summer, a season of warmth and growth. All the other roses have shared their beauty and fragrance and are now gone and there will not be another bud. So the flower is plucked and enjoyed as it is the last one after all, and who would want to walk in this world alone?

We are pilgrims in this season of summer. Travelers on a journey to a holy place. There are interesting points within the words of the last rose of summer. This is the last rose of the season so why not take notice and enjoy it as it is the last.

This begs the question. Have we noticed all the others that have come before? In order to identify this flower as the last of the season we would need to be paying close attention. We would have had to take notice of all others as they appeared and disappeared. You would have needed to celebrate each bud, each flower, each passing. This is the work of a pilgrim. To be present for the journey. Too often we go about our business in the world without taking notice or being fully present to witness the beauty, creation that is ever changing around  us. Poet Mary Oliver writes:

“Instructions for living a life. Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it.”

Wisdom from a Unitarian Universalist saint if ever there was one. I offer this quote to our small group ministry groups to reflect on this month.

Instructions for living a life. That is, accepting practices that allow us to live peacefully, meaningfully, spiritually and in a way that calls us to the present as a witness to creation. Witness to how it inspires us, transcends our being to a life of presence, awe, fulfillment, and mystery.

As Unitarian Universalists we have the luxury, perhaps the privilege, to access nature, the beauty of the earth, as in our hymn this morning, and allow ourselves to seek the divine and mystery within. This allows us to embrace a natural religion.

Religions are increasingly criticized, but should we reject a natural religion? Criticism of religions implies that there are better options. A natural religion, rather than focusing on criticizing conventional religions, takes a positive and forward-looking approach by adding a choice rather than replacing religion. The point is that if we as Unitarian Universalists reject all religion we are removing the choice of natural religion from ourselves.  Choosing to pay attention, to be astonished, to tell about it is evangelizing a natural religion which is a belief in the mystery and power of transformation in the natural world around us. 

 

Not using any supernatural beliefs, natural religion is so named because it only uses knowledge from the natural world, not beliefs about supernatural concepts.  Author Frederick Turner tells us “Natural religion takes a new approach towards religious and philosophical thought as it suggests a fact religion, as opposed to a traditional faith religion. It promotes reasoning to answer the great questions and issues that religions traditionally address. A reasoning that is informed by the huge wealth of knowledge that we now possess, but which did not yet exist when the established religions first emerged.”

One of the main motivations behind natural religion is concern about the welfare of current and future generations. For the last decades, worldwide, food is needed for an additional 65 to 90 million people each year; we need to alleviate poverty and protect human rights; resources such as freshwater and fertility of farmland need to be used sustainably. The aim of natural religion is to help improve and maintain quality of life, both on a personal and a community level, and strives to promote realistic and practical idealism. So as those concerned about justice for the earth we need not only think about how to save the earth but how the earth, as natural religion, will save us. 

Natural theology is a branch of theology based on reason and ordinary experience. Thus it is distinguished from revealed theology (or revealed religion) which is based on scripture and religious experiences of various kinds; and also from transcendental theology, theology working from something that is already known or self- evident to arrive at a conclusion (Wikipedia).

First Century Roman scholar Marcus Terentius Varro in his (lost) Antiquitates rerum humanarum et divinarum established a distinction of three kinds of theology: civil (political), natural (physical), and mythical. The theologians of civil theology are "the people", asking how the gods relate to daily life and the state. The theologians of natural theology are the philosophers, asking for the nature of the gods. And the theologians of mythical theology are the poets, crafting mythology. His writings promoted his experience as a landowner and farmer who documents all that he has experienced from the natural world. 

 

Natural theology is that part of the philosophy of religion dealing with describing the nature of the gods, or, in monotheism, arguing for or against attributes or non-attributes of God, without recourse to any special or supposedly supernatural revelation, a theology that is well documented since the first century.  During the early to mid-nineteenth century the Unitarian denomination experienced a counter-reformation, which started with the Transcendentalists.

The Transcendentalists were a constituency within the Unitarian church that desired to reform the church. They wanted to rid the church of its rationalism and infuse a naturalistic religion. The movement away from a rational religious understanding to a naturalistic one would include transforming the Unitarian view of God. The Transcendentalists were writers and thinkers like Henry David Thoreau, Margaret Fuller, Theodore Parker, Louisa May Alcott, George Ripley, and most importantly, Ralph Waldo Emerson.

Many of the Transcendentalists were brought up in the Unitarian church. They preached the idea of finding God through nature and natural experience. The Transcendentalists’, especially Emerson’s, ideals of individuality and self-reliance moved Unitarianism from corporate experience and traditional worship to an emphasis on individual worship.

So when we as Unitarian Universalists are called tree huggers, those who choose to honor the earth instead of dogma, be proud, stand up and say if it was good enough for Markus Terentius Varro and Ralph Waldo Emerson  then it’s good enough for me! Tell about it. Tell that a philosophical, theological, and intellectual discourse can include natural religion.

Allowing ourselves to be astonished surely calls on our spiritual practices of patience, of paying attention, of the revelation of how creation transports  our spirit and the spirit of others.

Rabbi Balfour Brickner tells of a lesson he learned from his peonies. He says “I have learned something from peony culture that all gardeners come to know: patience. You must be patient if you want to enjoy the enormous beauty that the peony has to offer.  In time they will put out their heart for you, but it does take time.” He goes on by writing “I am amazed  about how we ignore the obvious lesson of the need for patience in our everyday lives.  We seem to be possessed by the need to have the newest now.  It is not only our acquisitive habits that reflect this tendency.  It is our need for instant gratification.  Patience as a practice requires discipline, a willingness to commit to change, and an openness to be transformed.”

I was the chaplain in a forensic unit at a state hospital in Massachusetts.  The patients I offered pastoral care were being held to be evaluated to decide whether they could stand trial and answer for the violent crimes they allegedly committed. People were being held for murder, arson and other violent crimes. It sounds like a horrible place to minister within. But I asked, if these people don’t need a minister who does? 

I met several interesting patients but one frequently visits my thoughts.  She was a new patient and had been transferred to this unit because months earlier she had set herself and her home on fire. She felt she couldn’t live any longer. She was born a woman, but knew in her bones she was man. She had been rejected by her family, friends, and her faith. I knew there was a reason our paths crossed. We sat together daily.

Unitarian Universalism brought her acceptance, comfort, and the understanding that what she believed was God would be supported and nurtured. Sure she had some issues. But deeper, she had a love of trees, flowers, the wind, and rain. Things she could only observe through her secured window for the next year. Eventually I was able to convince her doctor and staff to let me take her outside. You see, her days were spent in her bed in tears or crouching in the corner afraid of the world and her confinement. I was able to take her outside three times a week with two other staff. I was forever changed by what I observed.

Her first trip she simply stood still, raised her arms in the wind, and wept.  Several months later she contributed six of her sketches to an art show,  sketches that she worked on during our outings three times each week. We both paid attention. All were astonished, and today I tell about it. The same hands and the same mind that disfigured her body were transformed by her religion. Natural religion. I need no convincing of the power of appreciation of creation, paying attention to it, and its potential to heal us.

Instructions for living a life. Pay attention. Be Astonished. Tell about it. 

There is a great mystery at work all around us. Be patient. Be attentive.  Let it unfold before you and inspire the practice of an ancient religion.  Natural religion. Let us transcend our criticism of religion. Let us embrace practices that move us closer to witnessing the great mystery that dances before us. Let  us consider the wisdom of the ancients that naturalism is healing, is transformative, and worthy of our notice and care.  The Rev. Max Kapp offers these words, which incidentally are Hymn #4 and are on our Facebook page:

I brought my spirit to the sea. I stood upon the shore. I gazed upon infinity. I heard the water roar. And then there came a sense of peace.  Some whisper calmed my soul. Some ancient ministry of stars had made

my spirit whole.

May it be so.

The Last Rose of Summer, a sermon delivered by the Rev. CJ McGregor at 1stUUPB on August 4, 2013.