Dare To Hope
Sermon given at Brookfield Unitarian Universalist Church
September 28, 2014
by The Rev. Craig M. Nowak
We are entering, what for me and many a New Englander, is a favorite time of year...a time some call autumn, others refer to as fall...and few dub leaf season. It won’t be long now before the trees are crowned with leaves of golden yellow, bright orange, and deep red. Its also the time of year that brings to some communities, leaf-peepers, and along with them a little madness in the form of crowds and heavier than usual traffic. Yes, autumn, fall or leaf season, if you prefer, can be both a magical and maddening time of year in these parts.
Today I want to talk a little bit about magic… and madness, although I won’t be using those terms. Your mission… should you chose to accept it, is to discern between the two as I go along.
When I was a child one of my favorite programs was Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood. And my favorite part of the program was the regular visits to the Neighborhood of Make-Believe, courtesy of the Trolley. On the surface the Neighborhood of Make-Believe was perfect… a pristine place with tasteful and well kempt, if not unusual, homes and buildings… populated with interesting people…and a pretty good…or at least entertaining, public transit system.
Behind this beautiful, controlled façade, existed a different world….a world marked by what Jane Rzepka describes in today’s reading as, “the idiocy of flight,” the ups and downs of life. The Neighborhood of Make-Believe had its fair share of up and downs, even though it appeared to be perfect. But that’s just part of the illusion…that’s what made it make-believe. Real life isn’t like this at all, right?
I remember the day I drove up here to Brookfield for my first meeting with the Search Committee. It was a beautiful, warm and sunny afternoon. The Common...right outside these walls, was more quaint and charming than I had imagined and being an architecture buff, I was quite taken with the building. Like so many small New England towns, Brookfield looked like a postcard...beautiful...and in a way...it almost didn’t seem real.
Yes, the Neighborhood of Make-Believe is among us right here in Brookfield. Behind the picturesque town common… under the weight of history and pride of place that keeps cherished traditions and that small town charm alive…exists another world… a world where people are lonely; worried about money, worried about their health, their children, or aging parents; there are people heartsick or embittered by broken promises; people shaken by a first experience of abuse or fearful of another; people grieving losses...of loved ones, of jobs, of relationships; people struggling with addiction …people struggling to hold on. This is as much a part of Brookfield as the picture worthy common and long history. Indeed, it is a part of every human community.
“Publicly,” writes Jane Rzepka, “we speak the civilized language of human beings who have things under control…[and]…the world sees that we function well and happily. Privately, though, we experience long stretches of turbulence and the occasional sudden downdraft.”
Now, stretches of turbulence and even the occasional sudden downdraft are a part of life, and, by and large, we seem ready to acknowledge this uncomfortable fact publicly in the abstract. More disturbing however, than the actual events and situations we might call turbulence and downdrafts, is Rzepka’s all too accurate insight… that, “Awful life situations seem to set us apart from one another.”
They set us apart because these difficult, yet common, life experiences remind us that we are really not in control, they remind us that our lives resemble the flight patterns of butterflies more than we’d care to admit…fluttering up and down, sometimes erratically, on the changing winds of time. The neighborhood of make-believe among us…is built and maintained to communicate to the world that everything’s under control…separating us from one another and adding to our sense of isolation, that feeling that we’re the only one going through some difficult struggle or that we can and should endure on our own. The neighborhood of make-believe intended to communicate everything’s under control, is in fact, an admission of our fear of flying...of being vulnerable.
I’m reminded now of a conversation I had some years ago while getting a haircut. For some reason I don’t recall, the hairstylist asked me what religion I was…what religion I belonged to. When I told the young woman, “Unitarian Universalism,” she asked me, “Is that like Scientology?” “No…no,” I said, “It’s not like Scientology at all.” Now, I don’t know very much about Scientology, but from what I’ve heard, it doesn’t sound much like Unitarian Universalism.
Naturally, the next question was, “So what is Unitarian Universalism about?” Even before she finished the question I had begun to anxiously scan my mind to come up with the oft attempted, yet rarely adequately achieved, elevator speech many a Unitarian Universalist has spent far too much time fretting over. Being a tried and true UU I fell into a self-made trap of trying to explain this faith by drawing way too much on its rather complex history, diverse theologies, and the difference between creeds and covenants. Despite my response, she told me it sounded interesting to her and so I gave her a little card with the seven principles printed on it; my meager attempt at Unitarian Universalist evangelism.
I mention this story because the encounter caused me to go home and reflect on this faith I claim as my own, and to really consider what it is that I find most compelling about it… to ponder what it promises at its core...and why it persists in the absence of a common creed and the continued waning of religion’s influence in everyday life. What I found is hope. Not hope for a better world beyond this one, but hope for a better world, this world, here and now....a world already among us...if we’d only allow ourselves to see it. Hope…I wished this had been response to my hairstylist’s question, “What is Unitarian Universalism about?”
Hope. Ours is a religion of hope. For some of us it is a religion that helps us find or regain hope when it seems all is lost; for others it is a religion that nurtures our hope…hope for a more just world…hope for a deeper, more authentic life. More importantly, ours is not only a religion that uncovers and nurtures hope, but a religion that empowers us to transform that hope into action. Indeed, the late peace activist and minister, William Sloane Coffin said “Hope arouses, as nothing else can arouse, a passion for the possible.” - Even the possibility of letting go of our need to be, or appear to be, in control…the possibility of letting go of our fear of flying. What else in our lives affords us the same opportunity?
I dare say not much, for the Neighborhood of Make-believe is among us and it is ever expanding. Most of us live in it, work in it, and even play in it in one way or another. As it expands so too does the distance between what we are told is real and our own experience of reality. Our walls, those proud, fearful facades we erect to protect us end up instead imprisoning us in a fortress of hopelessness. These walls of separation… walls that isolate and alienate us when we most need to be with one another, only begin to come down when we dare express hope.
Hope involves risk. True hope is not wishful thinking but courageous affirmation. To hope is to risk imagining that life is more than the sum total of our years, that we are so much more than our job titles or social standing, more than our diagnoses or addictions, and that our worth is not dependent upon our accomplishments outnumbering our failures or measured by the cash value of our investment or retirement plans....nor is it dependent upon our race, creed, sexual orientation or various other ways we separate ourselves from each other.
Hope serves to tear down the neighborhood of make-believe we have built up around us. It invites us to risk appearing the fool...to dare question the conventional wisdom of the world and allow ourselves to feel and experience our vulnerability that we may grow in empathy and compassion.
If we are to let go of our fear of flying and accept, "the idiocy of flight," as Jane Rzepka suggests, “and know we're all up here flying every which way, together” then we need places where hope can be freely expressed, nurtured, and transformed into action, places where we can be honest about those things that keep us up at night and know we are not alone…places where our individual vulnerabilities become a source of common strength. One of the few remaining places I know of where this is still possible in our society is in our churches.
Here, in this church…in this community of hope…we come…we come to release ourselves from the hard labor and stress of maintaining the illusion of solid ground that characterizes the Neighborhood of Make-Believe. We come to encourage and teach one another to fly, to reach out and help each other navigate the turbulence, and ride the downdrafts of life together. It is here that we dare dream a different dream. Here we are called to live life at depths greater than the facades that mask our fears and silence even our most modest vision. Here… where we dare to hope. And so let this place be always a house to gather...to come together… and dare to hope.
Amen and Blessed Be
Sermon given at Brookfield Unitarian Universalist Church
September 28, 2014
by The Rev. Craig M. Nowak
We are entering, what for me and many a New Englander, is a favorite time of year...a time some call autumn, others refer to as fall...and few dub leaf season. It won’t be long now before the trees are crowned with leaves of golden yellow, bright orange, and deep red. Its also the time of year that brings to some communities, leaf-peepers, and along with them a little madness in the form of crowds and heavier than usual traffic. Yes, autumn, fall or leaf season, if you prefer, can be both a magical and maddening time of year in these parts.
Today I want to talk a little bit about magic… and madness, although I won’t be using those terms. Your mission… should you chose to accept it, is to discern between the two as I go along.
When I was a child one of my favorite programs was Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood. And my favorite part of the program was the regular visits to the Neighborhood of Make-Believe, courtesy of the Trolley. On the surface the Neighborhood of Make-Believe was perfect… a pristine place with tasteful and well kempt, if not unusual, homes and buildings… populated with interesting people…and a pretty good…or at least entertaining, public transit system.
Behind this beautiful, controlled façade, existed a different world….a world marked by what Jane Rzepka describes in today’s reading as, “the idiocy of flight,” the ups and downs of life. The Neighborhood of Make-Believe had its fair share of up and downs, even though it appeared to be perfect. But that’s just part of the illusion…that’s what made it make-believe. Real life isn’t like this at all, right?
I remember the day I drove up here to Brookfield for my first meeting with the Search Committee. It was a beautiful, warm and sunny afternoon. The Common...right outside these walls, was more quaint and charming than I had imagined and being an architecture buff, I was quite taken with the building. Like so many small New England towns, Brookfield looked like a postcard...beautiful...and in a way...it almost didn’t seem real.
Yes, the Neighborhood of Make-Believe is among us right here in Brookfield. Behind the picturesque town common… under the weight of history and pride of place that keeps cherished traditions and that small town charm alive…exists another world… a world where people are lonely; worried about money, worried about their health, their children, or aging parents; there are people heartsick or embittered by broken promises; people shaken by a first experience of abuse or fearful of another; people grieving losses...of loved ones, of jobs, of relationships; people struggling with addiction …people struggling to hold on. This is as much a part of Brookfield as the picture worthy common and long history. Indeed, it is a part of every human community.
“Publicly,” writes Jane Rzepka, “we speak the civilized language of human beings who have things under control…[and]…the world sees that we function well and happily. Privately, though, we experience long stretches of turbulence and the occasional sudden downdraft.”
Now, stretches of turbulence and even the occasional sudden downdraft are a part of life, and, by and large, we seem ready to acknowledge this uncomfortable fact publicly in the abstract. More disturbing however, than the actual events and situations we might call turbulence and downdrafts, is Rzepka’s all too accurate insight… that, “Awful life situations seem to set us apart from one another.”
They set us apart because these difficult, yet common, life experiences remind us that we are really not in control, they remind us that our lives resemble the flight patterns of butterflies more than we’d care to admit…fluttering up and down, sometimes erratically, on the changing winds of time. The neighborhood of make-believe among us…is built and maintained to communicate to the world that everything’s under control…separating us from one another and adding to our sense of isolation, that feeling that we’re the only one going through some difficult struggle or that we can and should endure on our own. The neighborhood of make-believe intended to communicate everything’s under control, is in fact, an admission of our fear of flying...of being vulnerable.
I’m reminded now of a conversation I had some years ago while getting a haircut. For some reason I don’t recall, the hairstylist asked me what religion I was…what religion I belonged to. When I told the young woman, “Unitarian Universalism,” she asked me, “Is that like Scientology?” “No…no,” I said, “It’s not like Scientology at all.” Now, I don’t know very much about Scientology, but from what I’ve heard, it doesn’t sound much like Unitarian Universalism.
Naturally, the next question was, “So what is Unitarian Universalism about?” Even before she finished the question I had begun to anxiously scan my mind to come up with the oft attempted, yet rarely adequately achieved, elevator speech many a Unitarian Universalist has spent far too much time fretting over. Being a tried and true UU I fell into a self-made trap of trying to explain this faith by drawing way too much on its rather complex history, diverse theologies, and the difference between creeds and covenants. Despite my response, she told me it sounded interesting to her and so I gave her a little card with the seven principles printed on it; my meager attempt at Unitarian Universalist evangelism.
I mention this story because the encounter caused me to go home and reflect on this faith I claim as my own, and to really consider what it is that I find most compelling about it… to ponder what it promises at its core...and why it persists in the absence of a common creed and the continued waning of religion’s influence in everyday life. What I found is hope. Not hope for a better world beyond this one, but hope for a better world, this world, here and now....a world already among us...if we’d only allow ourselves to see it. Hope…I wished this had been response to my hairstylist’s question, “What is Unitarian Universalism about?”
Hope. Ours is a religion of hope. For some of us it is a religion that helps us find or regain hope when it seems all is lost; for others it is a religion that nurtures our hope…hope for a more just world…hope for a deeper, more authentic life. More importantly, ours is not only a religion that uncovers and nurtures hope, but a religion that empowers us to transform that hope into action. Indeed, the late peace activist and minister, William Sloane Coffin said “Hope arouses, as nothing else can arouse, a passion for the possible.” - Even the possibility of letting go of our need to be, or appear to be, in control…the possibility of letting go of our fear of flying. What else in our lives affords us the same opportunity?
I dare say not much, for the Neighborhood of Make-believe is among us and it is ever expanding. Most of us live in it, work in it, and even play in it in one way or another. As it expands so too does the distance between what we are told is real and our own experience of reality. Our walls, those proud, fearful facades we erect to protect us end up instead imprisoning us in a fortress of hopelessness. These walls of separation… walls that isolate and alienate us when we most need to be with one another, only begin to come down when we dare express hope.
Hope involves risk. True hope is not wishful thinking but courageous affirmation. To hope is to risk imagining that life is more than the sum total of our years, that we are so much more than our job titles or social standing, more than our diagnoses or addictions, and that our worth is not dependent upon our accomplishments outnumbering our failures or measured by the cash value of our investment or retirement plans....nor is it dependent upon our race, creed, sexual orientation or various other ways we separate ourselves from each other.
Hope serves to tear down the neighborhood of make-believe we have built up around us. It invites us to risk appearing the fool...to dare question the conventional wisdom of the world and allow ourselves to feel and experience our vulnerability that we may grow in empathy and compassion.
If we are to let go of our fear of flying and accept, "the idiocy of flight," as Jane Rzepka suggests, “and know we're all up here flying every which way, together” then we need places where hope can be freely expressed, nurtured, and transformed into action, places where we can be honest about those things that keep us up at night and know we are not alone…places where our individual vulnerabilities become a source of common strength. One of the few remaining places I know of where this is still possible in our society is in our churches.
Here, in this church…in this community of hope…we come…we come to release ourselves from the hard labor and stress of maintaining the illusion of solid ground that characterizes the Neighborhood of Make-Believe. We come to encourage and teach one another to fly, to reach out and help each other navigate the turbulence, and ride the downdrafts of life together. It is here that we dare dream a different dream. Here we are called to live life at depths greater than the facades that mask our fears and silence even our most modest vision. Here… where we dare to hope. And so let this place be always a house to gather...to come together… and dare to hope.
Amen and Blessed Be
Proudly powered by Weebly